#I didn’t want to do a readmore but

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

Okay time for the PBS Kids essay

Read it under the cut!

:readmore:

In 1968, before there was PBS Kids proper, there was Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. While it came several decades before the children’s block, it laid the foundation for the themes and values present in every facet of the network’s history.

Mr. Roger famously hated children’s programming at the time. To him, it all was droll and useless. But he didn’t dissuade the medium entirely— he saw potential. Potential that led to a few smaller television jobs, and eventually the creation of Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.

Rogers didn’t invent educational TV for children, but he did perfect it. He poured real heart and soul into probably the most sincere, heartfelt program in history.

Honestly, he could have his own essay. The more things you learn about the real man of Mr. Rogers, the more you’ll like him.

Anyway, the biggest thing that makes PBS different is the fact that it earns money through grants, fundraisers, and private donors— not through sponsorships and merchandise sales. This way, PBS Kids can push programming that it feels is important, rather than programming that merely sells well.

This also means PBS is less afraid of pushing social boundaries. Money doesn’t go away when their shows become subjects of debate— and Mr. Rogers took full advantage of this.

For context, this was 1969. The Jim Crow era had just barely, barely ended. Pool segregation was still very much legal.

Mr. Rogers sharing a pool and a towel with the Black Mr. Clemmons was a pretty big deal at the time— especially on a show made for children.

Rogers was far from the untouchable sacred cow of today. When he was alive, he had a large number of detractors. Let’s just say that scene didn’t fly nicely by everyone.

Just one year after the debut of Mr. Roger’s came Sesame Street.

While Mr. Roger’s was made for all children, Sesame Street had the explicit goal of supplementing the education of underserved communities— especially inner-city Black (and later Latino) children.

While it was made to be accessible to children of all races and income levels, they definitely went the extra mile to make it something special for inner-city Black and Brown kids. (Why do you think it it’s “Sesame Street” and not “Sesame Cul-de-Sac”?)

At the time, a wholesome, sweet show set in a brownstone street was practically unheard of.

Jon Stone, the casting director, deliberately sought to make the cast as rich with color as he possibly could, bringing on a huge amount of Black talent such as Loretta Long, Matt Robinson, and Kevin Clash, as well as featuring Black celebrities as guest stars. Later, the show would expand its horizons, bringing on actors from Latino, Asian, Native American, and many more backgrounds.

White actors were and still are a minority on show.

In addition to letters and numbers, the purpose of Sesame Street is clear: make kids of color know that they’re smart, beautiful, and loved.

It doesn’t get more explicit than this.

I want to point out this comment because it’s funny

You’re telling me this bitch isn’t Hispanic???

Anyway, these two were followed up by Reading Rainbow in 1983. And guess what?

That’s right. Non-white focus.

These three shows, (along with other, lesser-known programs like Lamb-Chops Play Along, Newton’s Apple, and Shining Times Station (who featured Ringo Starr himself?? seriously how did that happen and why does no one talk about it) and some other nostalgic favorites like Bill Nye the Science guy, The Magic Schoolbus, Arthur, and Thomas the Tank Engine) aired on the new PTV block, which evolved into PBS Kids in 1999, bringing along Between the Lions, Dragon Tales, and many more.

Arthur is another stand-out that I’d like to talk about— it doesn’t have the same racial focus of Sesame Street, but it does focus on different income levels. The characters have various housing situations, from apartments to mansions to no home at all.

It also takes cues from Sesame Street and Mr. Roger’s in regards to talking about tough topics, though as Arthur has a slightly older target audience, it discusses things through stories rather than talking directly to the audience.

Cancer, religion, workplace discrimination, along with current (at the time) events such as 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina are all discussed on the show.

Another big focus on Arthur is disability. For once, they don’t stick a character in a wheelchair and then pretend he’s not in a wheelchair. A striking number of major characters either develop or get diagnosed with physical disabilities and/or neurodivergences, such as asthma, severe food allergies, and dyslexia, and they deal with them in very realistic ways.

A handful of minor characters have more obvious disabilities, and THANK GOD they go beyond the trite messaging of “disabled people can do everything abled people can do! everyone clap now!”

One episode in particular has the awesome message of “holy shit stop trying to help me all the time— it’s patronizing as fuck. I can get around just fine without you stepping on eggshells and trying to be the hero all the fucking time”

There are sooo many other shows I could talk about, but I can’t write about them all. I’m definitely gonna point out some more standout ones, though.

Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat

Created by Chinese-American woman Amy Tang

Dragonfly TV

Features a multitude of female and non-white scientists to foster an interest in science with kids in those groups

Maya & Miguel

One of the network’s first Hispanic-led shows

SciGirls

I shouldn’t have to explain what the goal of this one was.

Molly of Denali

When was the last time you saw a show that treated Native Americans as people? Much less a children’s show? 90% of the cast is Athabascan, and the show revolves around Athabascan culture, not shying away from topics like boarding schools and modern-day racism. Most of the writers are also Athabascan, and the show even has an official Gwich’in dub!

It’s this commitment to real, authentic social justice that makes PBS Kids so much different from its competitors. Could you imagine the Paw Patrol dog looking at the camera and earnestly discussing what happened to George Floyd? I don’t think so— but Arthur talked specifically about it, Sesame Street did an hour long special about race in general, and the network itself made a 30 minute special.

Disney Jr. could never. (Other than trying to teach colorblindness, of course.)

I’m gonna have to cut this into two parts, since I just hit the image limit

[taytrashmouth]

hello lovely!! would u consider writing a peeta x reader, where ur both in the quarter quell, but reader is separated from peeta from the start and goes through mutt attacks/blood rain/jabberjays by herself and when peeta and the group find her on the beach she is injured and traumatised. hurt/comfort, where he looks after her afterwards and comforts her, washes her in the water and stuff? loooads of gentle comfort and fluff. sorry for my bad english!!

Okay I am absolutely obsessed with this request!!!! Omg can’t wait for you to read this!!! Ahhhh! Okay okay I hope you love it 😊

Peeta x reader

(Catching fire)

Requests are open so don’t forget to send them in!!!! Prompts under my profile!

:readmore:

When you woke up the morning of the games in Peetas arms you somehow felt safe. It was like you weren’t being sent to die that day. He kissed your head and told you he’d be by your side.

You had dreamt about the last games, how you were separated and the only reason you survived was because he became allies with those horrible kids from 1 & 2

When you eventually found each other, all you did was help Peeta get better, applied the ointment and comforted him. He did all the killing, he saved you.

You only survived the first half by dumb luck, that spear was supposed to hit you…not Rue. If only you hadn’t moved out the way.

The whole lovers idea was Peetas too, only it was true. Deep down you both knew you’d liked each other since kindergarten back in 12

But here you were in the little glass tube that sucked you straight into hell. You felt sick but you really wanted to throw up when you couldn’t see Peeta.

“Peeta!” You screamed as the countdown started. Sweating and getting panicked. You couldn’t do this again, not without him. You had a deal: stay together.

The games had begun. You needed a weapon. You jumped off the platform into the water swimming for the weapons.

Once you found your feet at the cornucopia, you began to hear screams and watched people start to fall. You grabbed a machete and ran for the jungle on one of the thin arms of rock.

“Peeta!” You screamed from the beach. But no answer. That was when a knife flew past your head and missed by an inch.

You couldn’t kill somebody. So you ran.

You shoved past trees and vines running deep into the jungle.

You found a spot hollowed out under a tree. It was hot- and you needed water.

That was when you heard his voice. Peeta.

You screamed for him as you ran towards the sound.

“Help n/n!” He yelled.

“Where are you!?” You frantically turned around. “Peeta?”

That was until his voice became overwhelming. Your ears started to ring. His cried for help, his screams.

You began to cry, realising this was some cruel trick of the capitol. “STOP IT!” You yelled, throat raw. You screamed as loud as you could covering your ears to get it to stop but it didn’t help. It was overwhelming. You tried to run but a forcefield locked you in. You screamed and banged on it but nothing worked.

You grabbed your machete and banged at the field but it just ricocheted.

You sunk to the floor, covering your ears and cried. You were there for what felt like a decade but was probably only an hour.

When his cries suddenly stopped you felt a strange sense of sadness. The screaming had been awful but you were worried about him. What if he was dead.

You began to walk deeper into the jungle, sweating and with tear stained cheeks. You had never been so thirsty before, after screaming so loudly in what felt like 100 degree heat.

As desperate as you were you stumbled across a little pool of water. You smiled dryly and lay on the floor, drinking out of the pool. A sigh escaped your mouth as you quenched your thirst. You splashed your face. And sat up leaning against a nearby tree.

This is where you would sleep. You gathered sticks and placed them in a circle around the area, to ensure that if someone walked by you would hear them.

The music began to play, you looked up at the sky, holding your pin. Praying you wouldn’t see Peetas face. You didn’t. Relief washed over you as the final canon went off.

You barely slept when you felt a warm air hitting your face, as your eyes opened you were greeted with a large mutt, two inches from your face.

You took a shocked, shaky breath in and slowly reached for your machete. It belted a loud noise sending a signal to the rest of his friends.

You closed your eyes as you wedged the sharp end of your blade into the mutt in-front of you.

You pulled the machete out of its body and stood up. Swinging at any that got a little to close. Just as one of the beasts began to jump at you, you decided the best option was to throw the machete and run.

As the mutt jumped and you released your blade, the woman from 6 who had been hiding in the trees tried to save you. And the machete hit her instead. A scream escaped your lips. You had killed someone.

You covered your mouth with your hands, shaky breaths escaping your lips. “No!” You sobbed.

You bent down to try help her, applying pressure to the wound. “I’m sorry.” You cried as she became limp.

You held her to your chest in the hopes it would cause a miracle.

Soon you noticed the mutts had began to run as a white smoked reached the edge of the water, you stood up, knowing something was coming.

One of their claws ripped the back of your calf open as it ran away. “Shit!” You fell into the smoke, immediately screaming and running.

The sun had started to rise, and you were limping with an excruciating pain in your arms and legs with growing boils from the poison.

You screamed as you ran not caring about attracting other tributes. The sun has begun to rise, and you were now an easy target.

You ran through the jungle searching desperately for the beach but it was so overgrown you had no way of knowing.

You stopped in a small clearing. Crying and sitting in the dirt. Desperately wanting to rid yourself of the boils.

After a while of crying A cool liquid hit your face. Rain. You looked up at the sky, hoping the water would help your sores. Opening your mouth to quench your thirst.

It was definitely not water. You gagged. Spitting onto the dirt. Blood.

You sobbed and ran wherever you could and tripped over a log of wood. Tumbling onto the sand of the beach. 

You screamed and cried. Not knowing what to do. You hated the capitol. You hated that you didn’t know where Peeta was. You hated this. You hated that you had to die.

Just then you heard voices. You put a hand over your mouth trying to quiet your whimpers.

Tears running down your face. You couldn’t run anymore. This was it.

You shuffled back, trying to find and escape route but there wasn’t one.

You got on all fours and crawled on the sand, dragging your leg with a gash in it in the sand.

You let out chokes of pain and self pity as they grew closer, you refused to look.

“N/n!” You heard him…peeta. “Oh my god it’s y/n!!!”

You screamed and covered your ears lying in the sand. You would rather die than listen to the jabberjays again. Until someone rolled you onto your back and you were met with Peeta.

He looked so scared for you. You immediately started to cry as he hugged you tightly to his chest. “You weren’t real.” You sobbed into his chest, feeling his hair, his back, anything to make sure he was there.

“I’m real now. I’m here now.” He kissed your forehead and held you again. Until you hissed when he touched your boils.

“Oh shit! I had them too see-“ he showed you the faint scars on his hands.

“I need to get freshwater.” He began to get up but you held onto his hand. “Don’t leave” you whispered.

He stared at you for a moment too long, his eyes laced with concern.

“Finnick! I need water.” Peeta yelled at the group that was a safe distance away.

While you waited, Peeta brushed hair out of your eyes that was covered in blood and sand, just like the rest of you and you squeezed his arm in pain.

“It’s okay.” He kept repeating. Kissing your head despite your state.

When finnick returned Peeta poured water all over your boils and you screamed in pain as they vanished.

“Thank you.” You smiled sadly. Overwhelmed. Peeta often said you were a kind sole, you wouldn’t hurt a fly at home, literally. You sang songs and picked flowers. You weren’t meant for this. Nobody was really….

“Come on, let’s wash you off…if at least half this blood is yours, we’re in serious trouble.” He joked and you attempted to laugh. He picked you up bridal style.

You would argue that you could do it yourself but it just wasn’t true.

He dipped you into the salt water. You hissed in pain, clutching his wetsuit.

“I know it stings. I’m sorry.” He rubbed your arm but kept you underwater.

“It okay. Thank you.” You whispered again, almost scared something bad would happen like it had been. One after the other. Peeta cupped water into his hand and tilted your head back rinsing the blood out of your hair and carefully brushing through it with his fingers.

He washed you off, holding you with one had at all times. Afraid to let you go. He was careful around your cuts and scrapes.

“I killed her.” You let out, staring at nothing.

He stopped his movements and just helped you too his chest.

“Who?” He whispered.

“Six… she tried to save me and-“ you chocked on your tears.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay…I’m here. You don’t have to talk about it now.” He assured.

You were both wrinkly like the raisins Peeta used in his raisin bread back home by the time you got out the water.

You tried to walk but you could barely stand on your right foot.

“What happened?” Finnick asked before Peeta got the chance.

“Mutts.” You answered simply, trying to see the gash on the back of your calf.

You almost fell but Peeta caught you. He picked you up agin and placed you on the leaves they were using as beds in the sand tonight.

“Now we match.” Peeta smiled at you pulling up the leg of his wetsuit to reveal his prosthetic leg.

You laughed, for the first time in days.

The others were asleep while Peeta took the first watch. You sat in his lap, and wrapped your legs around his torso, like a koala.

Head on his chest listening to his heartbeat as he leaned against a tree looking at the waves.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispered, a tear running down his face. You sat up slightly to wipe it. “Me too.” You assured and squeezed his hand.

“So much for sticking together.” He half laughed.

“Yeah.” You looked at his brown eyes and played with his blonde fringe. He leaned in and Kissed you gently but passionately. Holding your cheek and pulling you in by your back. Carefully avoiding your right leg that was tediously bandaged with leaves and vines.

When you broke apart for air. You smiled softly at each other. Heart still heavy from the past two days.

“I love you n/n.” He spoke with only truth in his tone. It wasn’t just an act and you knew that.

“I love you too…so much.” You teared up thinking about how you were going to have to say goodbye soon.

You resumed your position on his chest and fell asleep to his hand rubbing your back and his whispers of “it’s okay.” And “I love you.”

[five-flavor-soup]

The funniest bit of the entire Fire Nation royal family is how stupid some of their decision are, yet somehow they keep working out in their favour?? Like Sozin loses his boyfriend (the Avatar. The one who keeps the balance) by suggesting the Fire Nation goes to war, and then the Fire Nation goes to war anyway. Ozai’s nephew dies in a presumably horrific way and he believes that’s a brilliant moment to ask his dad to make him next in line to the throne, and when that backfires, his wife saves him and their kids and he manages to become Firelord anyway. Iroh decides the best place to lie low and start a life outside of the war is to hide in the city he, personally, laid a 600 day siege on and become a renowned tea maker, and this would’ve worked out had his niece not taken over the city. He also wants tea SO BADLY while on the run that he canonically takes his chances on a potentially incredibly deadly plant (it’s the deadly plant) and he survives. Zuko’s numerous Impulsive and Arguably Bad Decisions that Somehow Work Out Anyway compile into a list so long I’d have to add a readmore to this post. Iroh II proceeds to prove he really is Zuko’s grandson and thinks it a good plan to firepunch a bomb, before deciding to take down a whole squad of airplanes by like, figuring out how to fly one as it’s flying and doing some good firebending to destroy the planes, and he somehow manages to make it work.

Azula appears to be the only one in the family who didn’t get the strong version of the “Make Impulsive and Dumb Plans that can Never Work Out but Do Somehow”-gene (thanks to Ursa’s DNA probably) and she still lost, largely because of elements outside of her control. Imagine being the spawn of the family who fosters all of the ‘best’ traits present in the line (resourceful, highly intelligent, physically powerful) and you still lose to the uncle who thought it brilliant to become popular in a city that hates him and the brother whose plans can all be summed up as “fuck around; find out; success”, because you didn’t plan for something that ended up occurring but you couldn’t ever have expected. I, too, would cry.

[somegrumpynerd]

HEY. POINTS FINGER… any thoughts on how everyone reacted when the other joined the team? as in how did killer react when dust came, how did he and dust react when horror came, how did they all react when cross came, etc. i love love LOVE your bad sanses thoughts way too much they make me so happy. if i write hurt you write comfort and it’s awesome. also how do you think they slowly started to get closer? just.. bah give me your thoughts on them!!!! any thoughts!!!!!!!!!

You fool!! You’ve given me a chance to ramble about my special little guys and now this post will stretch on forever!! Mwahahahahah >:3c

No but seriously this is probably gonna be wicked long cause I have 1 million thoughts about these guys joining and meeting each other so uh, readmore for everybody’s safety and sanity

(^ I wrote that in the document before I started typing out my actual thoughts and uh

yeah no kidding, this is like a fucking essay so proceed with caution)

OKAY SO

I’ve said before that Nightmare got Dust for two reasons; one being that Dream had just recently started working with Ink (and soon Blue) so he and Killer were no longer able to gang up on Dream. He wanted somebody else to bulk up their numbers and give Killer a little back up. He also was starting to realise that Killer didn’t handle being alone very well, since this was when he most often got worked up and broke things around the castle (and sometimes tipped over into stage 3). Dust would be a perfect fit since he had the same amount of lvl and fighting experience as Killer, and since they were so close in circumstance they would be practically like brothers right?

The irony that he thought this about a guy he was recruiting to help kill his brother was apparently lost on him.

They absolutely hated each other. Like, it was instant. Killer saw him as a replacement, why would boss go out and get another sans - one with almost the same backstory as me - when I’m right here? Does he think I’m not good enough? Am I disposable and this is the backup for when I die in combat? He didn’t take it well. He took it all out on Dust too, not cooperating in battle, trying to start fights in the castle, etc. He couldn’t outright kill him because Nightmare had given him strict orders not to, but Killer loves a loophole. If he roughed Dust up down to 1hp and something else happened to finish him off, technically he’d followed orders.

Dust just straight up didn’t want to be there. Nightmare just showing up and yoinking him had worked fine with Killer, but Dust had wanted to sit in his empty au and die, he had no intention of joining a team or doing work of any kind - good or bad. The only reason he didn’t just lie down and refuse the entire time was that he had to fight back against Killer, as much as he wanted to die he refused to give this ass the satisfaction or lvl. He didn’t intend to be any help out in the field either, but again, Killer was making sure he got fired at so he had to retaliate to stay alive.

Eventually it got bad enough that Nightmare had to pull Killer aside and demand answers. In the year or so of knowing him Killer had never willfully disobeyed orders before, so Nightmare needed to know what had gotten into him. He dispelled the replacement rumour right away, he still wasn’t quite softened up enough to be sappy about it but he made sure Killer understood what a good worker he was and that Nightmare had no intention of losing him. It didn’t help a lot, they still hated each other for other reasons, but it eased a little.

Killer still had pretty frequent dips into stage 3, except now he would go straight for Dust usually. Nightmare had tried to explain what he’d learned about it to Dust, but he didn’t really believe that it wasn’t just Killer deciding to try and kill him for funsies. He only accepted it after a particular episode where he attacked Nightmare instead, which Dust knew Killer wouldn’t try in his right mind.

After he came back to his senses he sought Dust out. The air around Killer was very different after a stage 3, sort of sombre and almost calm, so Dust let them sit together and Killer apologised for giving him such a hard time. They actually talked for the first time in months while Killer was still calm (or tolerable, as Dust describes it), and it didn’t magically fix everything but, things were a little better. They still fought and argued and bothered each other but it wasn’t as sharp, there was a lack of real murderous intent in it all, and sometimes after an episode they would talk a little bit. It was the best Nightmare was going to get for now, so he took it.

They were still completely incompetent about taking care of themselves though. Neither of them would eat unless prompted and Nightmare didn’t have good enough knowledge of mortals to know when that should be to stop them passing out from hunger on the job. Not to mention the stars were now a full team, and with the way Killer and Dust would sometimes rather target each other on the field he could do with more backup.

Horror was the first of the group to get a choice in joining. Nightmare had taken note of how much Dust didn’t want to be part of things, and while it was in his best interests in the long run given his situation, Horror’s au was still mostly intact - though a little in disrepair. Horror was also the first in the group to have a good (and ongoing) relationship with his brother, so Nightmare knew he couldn’t just pop in and steal him, he had to be a bit more diplomatic with this one and offer a deal.

He gave Horror some time to think on his proposal - he would set up regular deliveries of food to Horror’s au in exchange for him joining their team - and was quite surprised when Horror agreed, with some stipulations. Horror was equally surprised when Nightmare agreed so easily to his terms (that he didn’t want his brother to know what he’d be doing, and that he wouldn’t kill). A little down the line the terms were altered to add that he would also be left to visit his au every week or so.

Horror was not impressed meeting the other two. He didn’t need his power as judge anymore to sense the lvl coming off them both, and given who they were working for he was instantly distrustful of them both (the uh, brother situation did not help). He was also in a place that had an abundance of food for the first time in probably years, so he was doing a lot of going hog wild in the kitchen and then getting very sick as a result.

Dust didn’t particularly feel anything for him. This guy hated him, sure, but it wasn’t forward and slashy like with Killer, it was just quiet loathing which was fine. That’s how Dust felt about himself so, y’know, mood. He did kind of feel sorry for him though, not just because of the whole famine and everything, but also because he was watching this guy eat like his life depended on it and then get sick and undo it day after day. He was the one who suggested Horror getting his food in moderation to Nightmare, which did help but was an absolute ordeal to enforce. Y’know how some people get hangry? Imagine that but you haven’t had a proper meal in years and now these people give you tiny amounts of food and don’t let you eat more for hours. The hunger mood swings were a sight to behold, you would never have guessed in those days that Horror specified not wanting to kill.

When his ability to eat had evened out and he was in better shape, Horror made a point of apologising to Dust for being aggressive with him. Over time he’d kind of softened up on him from his initial impression, since he could see plainly how wracked with guilt Dust was over his situation. It was a little easier to imagine that whatever he’d done was truly out of desperation and not just for fun, as Horror had assumed at first sight. 

They also both retained that classic sans laziness, so it was easy for them to share a space while saying and doing nothing. It made Horror the first person that Dust willingly spent time around in the castle (and vice versa since Horror was still largely suspicious of Nightmare and Killer - the deal seemed too good to be true and the stage 3 episodes didn’t help). As time went on, Horror kind of became Dust’s emotional support skeleton in a way. Dust had become quite averse to touch in his solitude and Horror very slowly brought him back out with casual gentle touches, until not only did he no longer freeze or stiffen at being grabbed but Dust would seek him out to flop next to on the couch. Horror claimed it was just returning the favour for helping with his eating situation, but really it was nice to have something resembling a friend here.

Killer, for his part, was going through This is My Replacement 2: Electric Boogaloo. Not to the same degree as with Dust, since Horror was quite a bit different, but Killer was still wary of this new addition. He didn’t really instigate anything though since, to be honest, Horror had the intimidation factor. He was like a foot taller than both of them, he had a cracked skull and completely different magic and it seemed like every time Killer saw him he was eating bread like a wolf eats a deer. So while he was going through his food moderating, Killer mostly just stayed quiet and kept his distance.

Horror had not softened on him like he had with Dust, since Killer didn’t openly show remorse. He still watched him with distrust, especially after seeing the way he scrapped with Dust for seemingly no reason other than for violence’s sake. Killer was still mostly targeting Dust in his stage 3s, but Horror had to be careful to stay out of his way since he was still working with much lower hp than the other two. What did start to convince him was seeing how similar Killer and Dust were after a stage 3 episode. Once Killer was slightly more composed (ie stopped crying), he became so tired and quiet and blunt about things he normally joked his way around. It was a little startling, but also started to bring Horror around to the idea that Killer might regret his actions too, just buried under several layers of whatever the hell is also wrong with him at any given time.

Killer and Horror only really started interacting after talking about Dust. Killer was asking how he got Dust to like him since he seems to hate everyone and everything else, Horror told him very pointedly it was because he wasn’t trying to kill Dust. Killer admitted he wasn’t trying to kill Dust, at least not anymore, he just wanted to fight for fun. It opened up a better channel of understanding, knowing that Killer did not actually have murderous intent behind his swings (stage 3 notwithstanding). It made it easier for Horror to occasionally get involved in the roughhousing which Killer delighted in, knowing that the other two knew how to hold back enough to keep him from dusting.

Speaking of stage 3, it was around this time that Killer and Dust made a very important deal. After a particularly rough episode with a little too close of a call, Killer showed up in Dust’s room and begged him shakily to make a promise - that if he ever got too out of control during one of his stages, Dust would kill him. He’d been told over and over by Nightmare that it was impossible for Killer to hurt him since he was immortal, but now there were more people around him where that wasn’t the case, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he came out of a stage and found himself alone. Dust promised.

It’s also worth mentioning that, once they were all close enough to be on speaking terms, Horror started bullying the shit out of these two about eating. Now that Horror knew neither of them were going to kill him, he felt safe enough to pick them up by the scruff and set them at the table to say they weren’t leaving until they had at least a snack. He let them pick what they would eat - he wasn’t that cruel about it - but he had to see them eat at least 3 times a day or they would hear about it.

It was by no means perfect or regular, but after about half a year Nightmare finally had henchmen who ate food and worked together (mostly).

Now here’s the problem… I still haven’t really figured out how or why Cross joined the team. Like, obviously there’s some kind of point in the events of underverse where it splits off into an alternate timeline, but I haven’t really figured out where yet so. Leave that one with me just a little longer. Cross joins.

Nightmare really truly didn’t intend to take anyone else in. They were (mostly) getting along, they were pretty well matched to fight the stars, he had no need of more mortals.

…but he was also pretty soft at this point. Every one of them had taken a blow to his I’m immortal I’m an island I don’t get attached to others persona and he’d gotten pretty damn fond of them all. This was why when he felt the sheer weight of loneliness radiating off of Cross, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave him.

So Cross entered the castle. 

He did not particularly intend to stay or make friends, he was trying to get his world back and nothing more. He even revealed a little down the line that he outright refused to kill, and was quite surprised to find that Nightmare was fine with that. At the start he was polite but not friendly with the others and mostly kept to himself.

Dust, as is often the case, did not really have an opinion. Another new guy, this one was self sufficient and didn’t bother him so he had no reason to get involved. He was content to be in the same room as Cross but didn’t start up any conversations.

Horror felt the need to speak to Cross, since Dust would happily stay silent for years and Killer was, well, Killer. Horror was somehow the closest thing to normal they had, so he was the one that made small talk. Mostly asking what Cross would like for meals and encouraging him to pick something he liked when he got the answer of “anything is fine”. As Cross settled in a bit more and actually opened up, they bonded over being the only two to enjoy food. Horror made a point of adding chocolate to the stock they kept in the kitchen and making tacos here and there for Cross.

Horror was also the first Cross kind of warmed to, mostly because he was the one devoid of lvl and Nightmare had mentioned he’d also said he wouldn’t kill. Learning a little about his au’s situation only softened Cross to him more, especially seeing that he still cared a lot for his brother and was trying to protect his home (even if Cross found it unthinkable that he lived away from it). It was through Horror that he also got accustomed to Dust, how being quiet and distant was kind of his default and that he also felt deeply haunted by the loss of his world. They weren’t exactly friends, but it was comfortable enough.

So now boss had taken in another new person, someone who takes orders like a soldier and fights with knives and ruthless precision and aims to be his righthand man, and Killer was ecstatic. By now he’d mostly put his fears of being disposable behind him, Nightmare had gotten a bit less subtle in showing how important they all were to him and Killer felt confident he wouldn’t be replaced. Which was a little bit funny, because the only guy he didn’t feel threatened by was the one who absolutely competed for his spot.

Cross needed to prove he was useful, he had to feel like he earned his keep and that all the training and suffering he’d done was for a reason. When Nightmare sent them on missions, Cross aimed to be the fastest and the most efficient and to report to Nightmare without question. Horror and Dust looking on would have expected Killer to see this 100% as a threat to his position as (self proclaimed) Nightmare’s second in command, and to go for this guy’s throat when nobody else was around.

But Killer was fascinated. Cross was completely different from any of them, bar Nightmare whose au is a whole different kettle of fish, so he had a certain element of unpredictability to him. Horror and Dust were both based on classic sans just like him, so to a certain degree he knew how they would feel about most things and what they might say, the only differences being in what they had experienced through their own timelines. Cross was based on a swap sans and his au had taken wild twists and turns away from usual events, so Killer had to learn everything about him by poking and prodding for answers or observing from a distance, much like back when it was just him and Nightmare. Cross was something new to be studied and Killer loved taking notes.

Cross did not see this as friendly. He was competing with Killer for approval, not realising Killer was playing their contest like a game. When he saw Cross training he would jump in to spar for fun, but Cross saw his rival trying to get a jump on him and take him out of the running. When Killer would hang around and pester Cross in their off time with questions, it didn’t seem like someone taking interest, it seemed like someone being nosy and looking for weaknesses to exploit. When Horror mentioned that Killer was being surprisingly contained and friendly, Cross really thought he was fucking with him.

The first time Cross was willing to even consider this was the case was when his locket came loose on the field and Killer ran back to find it, since one of the notes he’d taken was how the locket wasn’t something Cross would play about (the same as Horror with food). It didn’t make sense for someone who was seriously competing to have him kicked out to just hand his necklace back, no ransoms or attempts to crush it to upset him, just some vague remark about “owing him one” and then right back to Nightmare for orders.

Cross had to give him something of a chance after that, Horror helped a lot by telling him “he doesn’t want to hurt you, he just doesn’t know how to be normal”. It was mostly a playful jab at Killer, but reframing their interactions changed it significantly for Cross. Now they were sparring playfully and having friendly competition on jobs. He wasn’t as put off when Killer went into stage 3 because he knew he could match him in combat and the others were always on hand to help restrain or distract him. Cross also took note of how Killer calmed down a lot for physical touch, not unlike how Dust had warmed up to Horror. It went a long way into not only making him a little less combative for attention every day, but it seemed to put longer stretches between his episodes (which Cross had also started tracking so they wouldn’t be caught out by them as much).

For his part, Killer has disobeyed instructions in the past to benefit Cross, usually ignoring the task to help him if he’s hurt. He’s also given Nightmare nudges towards praising him because he’s noted that that’s what Cross needs in the same way he needs touch (not that Nightmare doesn’t praise them normally, but when Cross is going through it and needs something). He also doesn’t particularly like chocolate but has made a point of not admitting this to Horror so he can give his chocolate to Cross.

(It’s also worth noting that Cross is the only one, besides Nightmare, that has been to Horror’s au. He offered to help out during the food delivery and got to meet Horror’s Papyrus (who he is a little intimidated by but ultimately friendly with, even though it’s a little weird since he’s a good bit different from his own Papyrus). Dust and Killer can’t really visit for a few reasons, mostly because everyone will notice their lvl immediately and know what they’ve done. Dust especially doesn’t know how he would react to having a Papyrus in front of him again and doesn’t want to put Horror's family at risk to find out. Whenever he visits, his Papyrus asks about Cross now and sometimes tries to make tacos for him (key word tries, he’s still a Papyrus after all). He may have joked that seeing Cross sometimes is “like having another brother but younger and less lazy” and when Horror told him this Cross may or may not have cried.)

And that’s where we are now!

They’re a very strange group who’ve been through some inexplicable events and have all changed each other in one way or another. And whether or not it can be admitted, they are a family c:

Now onto how Nightmare was made emotionally open by each of them!! In this essay I will no just kidding could you imagine this is already like 7 pages long

If you got to the end of this post please drink some water and get yourself a snack

[bangsinc]

⚪️ More Spot x Reader (prompts) 🖤

Because it’s not my duty with 15 whole followers to write more🙏🙏 ily all. This is pretty long since I did prompts I found and stuff so :3.. ALSOOALSO, I’m new at writing x reader and the love means sm!!! AGG!!

:readmore:

Who confessed first? what was the confession like?

Spot is an enigma, a man beyond his mortal realm. A man who has the power to travel anywhere he pleases…. But he could never tell you how he feels. He’d feel like, in the event of a heartfelt confession, you’d be terrified and run away. After all, it’s not everyday an inter dimensional being wants you to be theirs.

In the event of a confession, he would expect you to do most of the talking. It’s not something he’s proud of, but his emotions, to him, don’t matter anymore because of what he is. The confession, if he would imagine it, would be something incredibly cheesy but something so.. him. He didn’t have flowers because the kind you liked were out, didn’t have any romantic place to go to because he was afraid of being shunned, and the cupcakes he made burnt :(!

If he could, he’d cry upon a confession on your end.

Who gets sick/injured more often? who is the caretaker?

This goes without saying, but spot is.. not human, or at least he isn’t anymore. He can’t catch a cold, or get sick, it’s beyond him now. So, you would have to undoubtedly be the one he winds up taking care of.

He seems like a worrywart. In the event you are sick, or Ill, or whatever it may be, he’s going to act like you’re dying. He won’t leave your side for one minute, constantly trying to cook for you or *cough* steal *cough* medicine (it’s a little difficult with his holes.. please be patient).

How do they feel about PDA?

Oh my god.. please. He craves it. So much. It’s unhealthy. Even if he isn’t.. the most easy to hold or cuddle, he wants nothing more than to feel your warmpth against him. You’re the last, if not only thing he has to affection.

He can’t kiss you, or really.. do anything.. but he has hands! And a body! So he’d love it if you would spoil him with endearment.

In public, things are slightly different. He hardly goes out unless it’s to continue his ‘life of crime’, but if you were to tag along and show him affection, in public.. he wouldn’t know how to react. Like, you’re proud to be with him??? Him?? HIM??

How do they comfort you/cheer you up?

Oh how he just hates to see his love sad :(. You give him so much love and affection.. the least he could do is return it tenfold when you feel upset.

He’ll hold you, tell you sweet things, try and lull you. Your emotions, to him, are as important as breathing (if he.. even needs to do that).

Maybe will even cook for you! He has a thing for spicy food. Can he like, even eat?

Traits they like in a partner?

He wants someone who is like him in the sence that also feel somewhat outcasted from society. Someone who isn’t conveniently attractive, has features that aren’t considerably desirable. He loves those things. Hooked noses, droopy eyes, eyebags, stretch marks, pimples, he loves it all. He’s not a picky man.

Might perfer chubby partners (would appriciate the comfort of holding them, not to mention he thinks curvy women are attractive.. he’s such a dork).

Spot would like a significant other thats artistic or creative. They might seem more open to his ideas, or at least to him that’s how it would seem. One with a sence of humor aswell.

(Maybe a significant other who can defend him if he’s being attacked for robbing some place)

Traits they don’t like in a partner?

I.. really don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t like in a partner. He likes anyone and everyone as long as they love him and they’re nice to him. That said.. he probably couldn’t stand someone who’s rude, or cocky to an extent. Someone who’s on their phone while he’s trying to talk to them. Someone who actively turns down his love. He’s a very clingy man, he wants the affection and if you can’t give it it’ll upset him.

Do they buy you gifts often? What would they buy you?

He loves to (steal) buy things for his darling. Little trinkets, or other things he thinks they would enjoy based on his knowledge of them. He loves how their face brightens, how he knows he just made their day. He can’t do much for you, but he makes it up with anything he can do. He wants you to feel like a goddess.

[andreabandrea]

The AndreaBandrea UTY post

I need some place to put my Undertale Yellow (UTY for short) thoughts & criticism, and this is my blog, so I might as well put them here. If you don't want to see constructive criticism about Undertale Yellow, don't click below the readmore!

Pretty much everyone I talk to really likes this game, and honestly, I'm really sad that I don't like it more. I like some parts of it quite a bit! But I have mixed feelings about other parts-- I think the writing and characterization could have been a little more impactful than they were, and I’ll be discussing that here. I don’t want to just rag on this game without expressing suggestions and parts that I do like in more detail, so those will be covered as well. 

I also want to add a disclaimer that I don't have negative feelings towards the development team or fans of this game in the slightest. I have nothing but respect for the creators of Undertale Yellow. This project was obviously a massive undertaking with a lot of love behind it, and I'm glad to see that it's found success and a community of people who do enjoy it. 

The reason I’m writing this post is that, again, I liked parts of this game and wish I enjoyed it more. If I didn’t like it at all, I just wouldn’t engage with it at all anymore. I also haven’t really seen any other people expressing constructive criticism on the game’s writing, so it’s felt more important for me to express these thoughts, be heard, and see if others feel the same way. 

The Good

I'll start off with the things I like. The art, the animation, and the music are all fantastic. I was very impressed by the battle backgrounds and the little touches, like the way Clover runs. Clover doing things like reaching for other’s hands, giving fistbumps, drawing their weapon, changing their expression at times-- they feel very dynamic and fun to play as.

The music is really catchy and fun. I love the iterations on the battle theme-- Snowdin’s battle theme having bells, for example. 

I also had fun with most of the fights in the game! I liked the unique mechanics that came into play (e.g. the lasso in North Star's battle). I think that changing the way Clover attacks compared to Frisk feels organic and fun. 

I also love the mail system. Ever since you could deliver and receive letters in Paper Mario 64, I’ve been hooked on mail as a storytelling system in video games. I think the letters you receive are interesting and clever, and it’s a great way to keep past characters relevant in lieu of a cell phone. 

I’m going to be discussing criticism of the characters later, so I’m going to take a moment to talk a little about things I liked about them. I really like Martlet’s optimism and belief in humans. Starlo made me laugh quite a few times and the Feisty Five have a great dynamic with each other. A lot of the background characters in the game are fun-- I like the one who serves you at the Honeydew Resort. The fact that you can go back to these vendors later on and get four new topics to talk about is fantastic and makes the world feel a lot more alive. 

The Slightly Less-Good (and more disclaimers)

The writing is where the game falls short for me-- and it’s sad for me, because the writing is the heart of Undertale. I don’t think that the writing is bad by any means! I like the characters and story well enough, but- again- I just wish that I liked them more. I’ll try to incorporate suggestions so this isn’t just a total downer post without anything backing it up. 

I want to express something about the ‘suggestions’ that I’ll be offering after the criticism. I know that Undertale Yellow  is now out, and the team isn’t going to go back and change it now, and that’s totally fine. I don’t want to make it sound as if the team should change Undertale Yellow just because I have some reservations about it. I’m just one fan out of many. In the very off chance that a member of the Undertale Yellow development team is reading this--

First of all, hi! 

Second of all, I know that changing major parts of Undertale Yellow at this point is very unrealistic, and I wouldn’t want you to. If anything, I’m honored you’re reading my ramblings at all. I’d be touched if you’d be willing to take some of my words to heart as you move onto your next creative projects.

The reason I’m including suggestions, therefore, isn’t because I think that the team should or must make these changes, but because I don’t want to just sound excessively negative about this game without offering a little feedback. 

I don’t presume that my criticism and suggestions are objectively correct or better than what the Undertale Yellow team created. This is my personal blog, and these are my personal rambly thoughts about Undertale Yellow. The reason I’m including so many disclaimers is because I’ve gotten into discourse before due to poorly thought-out posts about Undertale, and I hope to avoid that this time. I don’t want to just not post something on my own blog, though, because I’m afraid it could be misconstrued or possibly upset somebody. So, I’m trying to discuss this as carefully as I can. 

As one final disclaimer, I'll say that I know that it was more likely than not that I'd be at least a little disappointed by Undertale Yellow. The original Undertale was a very important game for me, and very little could reach that standard. (I think this is one reason why Toby decided to do Deltarune, a sort of AU/spinoff rather than a full-on "Undertale 2", and I respect that decision.) 

I also think that quite a bit of my criticism is subjective-- several of the characters didn't fully click with me and several of the jokes just didn't land for me, personally. More people than you might think just didn’t connect with the regular Undertale, either. I’ll be talking a little about my subjective opinion on characters, but I’ll try to explain why I feel the way I do rather than just say, “XYZ character sucks because they’re lame, moving on.” 

With that said, the post. I’ll be addressing my criticisms from smallest to largest. To begin, I’ll recap the plot of UTY to better analyze aspects that I do and don’t quite like. Spoilers abound.

Undertale Yellow Plot Recap!!!!

The central story of UTY, to my memory and understanding, is as follows:

In the past, a fallen human being went on a rampage in Snowdin and hurt Kanako, the daughter of Chujin, a former royal scientist and monster who happens to be a boss monster. Dalv, an unrelated monster, was also hurt in this incident and sealed himself away in the Ruins in a self-imposed isolation. Chujin’s family (presumably him or Kanako, but not Ceroba, as she doesn’t recognize Dalv) felt bad about this and left him corn from Starlo’s farm as a gift. But, when Chujin died, the corn gifts stopped coming. 

Stepping back a bit, after the incident, Chujin developed a deep hatred for humanity. He invented a security robot called Axis and told it to go kill the human. Axis did this (and we will return to this later). Chujin kept the soul (at least, for a time) to experiment on.

At some point in this, Axis failed to impress Asgore and Chujin was fired as the royal scientist. At some point as well, he began to teach Martlet how to build puzzles. Martlet got a job in the royal guard and Chujin disapproved because humans are very dangerous.  

Due to experimenting on his own boss monster soul in an attempt to find a way to turn regular monsters into boss monsters so that monsterkind could potentially stand up to the threat of humanity, Chujin wound up very ill and then passed away. He left video tapes to his wife, Ceroba, asking her to finish his research. However, he asked her to leave Kanako out of this so she could live a normal life. 

Ceroba agreed to finish this research, but Kanako found out about it and asked to be experimented on because she, like her father, has the power of a boss monster. Ceroba agreed to experiment on her, which injured Kanako and caused her to ‘fall down’. Ceroba sent the near-death Kanako to Dr. Alphys, the new royal scientist, who was collecting ‘fallen down’ monsters for her own experiments with determination. 

Plot summary over. I’ll take a closer look at some of these aspects going forward.

UTY Plot Criticism

I don’t feel like this is a bad story, necessarily. With that said, it doesn’t feel quite as tied together as Undertale’s story does, and I think certain aspects don’t land. 

First, I feel that the majority of the plot elements about Chujin & Kanako get dumped on you at the last minute. You might be thinking that the story about Chara & Asriel is also dumped on you at the last minute-- and to an extent, this is true. You do get a massive amount of information regarding their story near the end of the game, in the True Lab.

However, Chara & Asriel's story is a massive part of the narrative from the very beginning. You meet 'Asriel' (Flowey) in the very beginning of the game. Toriel is in the Ruins due to the fallout of Chara & Asriel's deaths. Asgore and the monsters are trying to kill Frisk and steal their soul because of this, and the royal guard has taken it up as their mission. Sans is aware of an anomaly that will end everything (implied to be the player), and he would have 'killed Frisk where they stand' had he not made a promise to Toriel. And so on.

I’ll be reviewing criticism of the game’s plot in sections themed around each major character. I will be discussing suggestions about each character in their respective section here, as I discuss things I didn’t quite like about each character, my suggestions are intrinsically tied to why I didn’t quite like them. 

Dalv

The connections between characters and the Chujin & Kanako plot feel a bit tenuous to me. Similarly to Toriel, Dalv is in a self-imposed isolation in the Ruins due to a major incident in his past. He fears humans due to the attack he suffered in Snowdin, and he suffers loneliness  after losing his friend (who left him corn). When he sees Clover, he wonders if this is “some sort of haunting” (implying he knows that the human who attacked him was killed). 

In the pacifist route, Clover can prove to Dalv that not all humans are evil and Dalv can move out and learn how to trust people again. This becomes a recurring theme-- Clover, pure of heart, proving to monsters that humanity isn’t that bad after all. 

However, Dalv then disappears from the story. His motivation is to basically be left alone, but once you prove to him that humanity isn’t so bad, his role in the story is essentially complete.

I feel that, by comparison, Toriel’s motivation is more active-- to protect humans who fall down from Asgore. It’s this motivation that drives her to return at the end of the true pacifist route and ultimately make the true ending of Undertale possible.

Dalv’s passiveness makes him a weaker character to me. Now that you’ve proven that you’re his friend and humanity isn’t so bad, I would have liked to have seen him take an active motivation to protect his friend or help them in some way. We don’t have to copy Undertale beat for beat and have him dramatically save Clover from Asgore or anything, but it would have been nice to see him vouch for Clover in some way at some point. 

Now, for the final time, I know that UTY is released and major changes aren’t likely. Some of my suggestions are “I would have liked to see this, but this change would require redoing the entire game,” which I don’t think should or could be done at this stage. This is just daydreaming and- if I’m praising myself highly- potential considerations for the devs’ future works (and the works of any other creatives who are reading this). 

With this proposed major change to Dalv’s character out of the way, I’ll suggest instead the most minimal possible change that I would like to see, so my suggestions don’t feel entirely like just daydreaming. 

I really like how Dalv sends Clover a letter about his moving out to Snowdin. This is active of him in terms of motivation-- Clover is his friend and he wants to keep in touch with his friend. I’d be absolutely thrilled to see a little bit of extra dialogue for him in an update. After you go back to Snowdin and see him, I think the dialogue he already has is totally fine! But, I’d be really happy if he’d take initiative and tell Clover a little more about his experience with the past human, or invite them to rely on him, too. 

Martlet

Martlet felt… a bit restrained in terms of her writing, to me. I think that one aspect of Undertale’s writing is that it’s not afraid to go over the top. Papyrus isn’t just silly, he wears a costume every day and cartoon eyes pop out of his head when he’s surprised. Undyne isn’t just determined, she aspires to be a badass anime heroine. I like Martlet just fine, but she never had a moment where she really stood out to me in this way. 

Martlet’s defining traits are that she likes puzzles, she loves reading and abiding by the rules of the royal guard, and she believes in humanity and wants to help Clover. As I said before, I really like this optimism and belief. I’d like to see more of it. 

Near the end of the true pacifist route, Martlet says that she was taught in the royal guard that humans are scary, but Clover proved to her that humans are kind. This felt very abrupt to me at the time-- we know that Chujin disapproved of her joining the royal guard due to his own trauma, but Martlet had no personal involvement in the last human’s violent actions. 

Martlet doesn’t seem to have any reason to dislike humans more than any other monster. We learn in her diary that she essentially joined the royal guard out of a desire to help people and build puzzles, and also because she needed a job. 

If she’s just supposed to be a representative of the average monster and their feelings toward humanity, and her growing to like Clover is meant to represent how all of monsterkind could grow to like humankind, that would be one thing-- but I think that she specifically is meant to represent a person who wholeheartedly believes that humans can be good and that humans and monsters can live in harmony. In the no mercy route, she repeatedly pleads to Clover to do better, that they don’t have to act this way, that she wants to help them. That’s not the response of the average monster, who fights Clover or tries to flee from them. 

I believe the intention is that Chujin & Martlet represent either end of an ideology axis (no pun intended). Chujin believes all humans are evil no matter what, but Martlet believes that humans can choose to be good. But why does she choose to believe in humans other than a sense of personal optimism? 

I would have liked to have seen some defining event that made Martlet choose to believe in the goodness of humanity. I would have liked to have her being kind and optimistic to a fault be more of a defining trait-- to have that go over the top in an Undertale-style way. A lot of her interactions with other characters just personally weren’t very memorable to me. 

Martlet spends a lot of the game sidelined. She loses you in the Mines. She gets thrown in jail in the Wild East. She has to go back to Snowdin once you're freed. Yes, she's there for you in the true pacifist route, but she's otherwise pretty absent through the neutral/true pacifist routes.

I recognize that the main characters in Undertale can be absent after you leave their respective sections of the game. However, you're able to call Papyrus & Undyne as much as you want, and you get a major hang-out (or “date”) with each of them and Alphys which gives time to expand on their backstory and character arc. Martlet doesn't get that. We even get a little bit of time to hang out with Dalv after we become his friend, but Martlet shoves us on a boat and hurries us to the next area as soon as we beat her. And sure, we get to talk to her on the boat, but it’s just a bit of silly dialogue-- it doesn’t really expand on her character. It feels like a missed opportunity. 

So, yes, my major suggestion on her would be to zoom in more on her belief in you and let her be a liiiiitle sillier and more over the top, and give more opportunity for Clover to hang out with her. 

At this stage, however? In this proposed minor ‘dialogue update’, I’d be really excited to see a little something more from her. Maybe a letter? She does send you one, but only in the neutral route to tell you to meet her on top of the apartments. It would be a good opportunity to either let her be silly or explain a bit about when she came to want to believe in humans-- or both, ideally. 

Starlo

I honestly have very little to say on Starlo. He seems to be the fan favorite, and I did find his section fun! Ultimately, though, he's just kind of… there? I mean, he's on the periphery of Ceroba's (and Chujin and Kanako’s) story because he's her childhood friend (and his family grew the corn that Chujin gives to Dalv), and yes, he later on reminds her that she can still choose to be a better person because he also almost killed Clover! However, every monster in the game almost killed Clover.

There’s nothing wrong with having a silly character who wears a costume and isn’t a major player in the plot. I feel like Starlo is similar to Papyrus in this way. But Papyrus isn’t just a goofball, he’s the monster in Undertale who believes unerringly in Frisk & the player’s ability to do better because he firmly believes that you can make anything happen if you just try. This belief helps elevate Papyrus from comic relief to an actual rounded character. 

I don’t feel like Starlo has any sort of strong conviction like that. We do learn that he wants to bring hope to the Underground by roleplaying as a sheriff in the Wild East town, giving them a slice of (supposed) surface life. I think this is fine, but I’d like to see a bit more of it. In the no mercy route, he does bravely stand against you because he’s a sheriff and it’s his job to bring justice to murderers like Clover. 

My expectation when I first met him, a fellow cowboy (gender-neutral), was that he’d have his own ideas about justice. I expected that he would clash with Clover about these ideals, and neither of them would be quite right or wrong-- and this would prove that justice can’t be measured mathematically, and one outcome can’t be applied to all situations. 

But, he’s not at all bad the way he is. He has a lot of fans, after all. The minor change I’d suggest now that the game is out is that I’d be interested in learning why the cowboy aesthetic specifically appealed to him. Maybe a diary in his room explaining that Westerns are the epitome of ‘justice’ to him? I’d like to see a peek into the motivation that transformed an ordinary farm boy into someone who could bravely stand against a murderous human. 

Ceroba

I’ll be honest. I want to like Ceroba, but I don’t.

I understand that there's an attempt to mirror Asgore in that the war against humanity, in general, has taken Ceroba's partner and her child from her-- and ultimately, Clover forgives her and helps her learn how to move on. It's about letting go, just like Undertale. I get that. But Ceroba’s story doesn't land for me, personally. In order to talk about Ceroba, I need to talk about her husband, Chujin, because Ceroba spends so much of the story acting out Chujin's will. 

Whereas monsters in Undertale do attempt to kill Frisk and steal their soul, and Asgore has killed other children before, it's framed in a very 'video game' violence sort of way (again, Undertale has these meta elements). Ultimately, in the True Pacifist route, none of Frisk's deaths have stuck, and Asgore's actions- while reprehensible- allowed for Asriel to break the barrier once and for all.

Chujin, in the video tapes he leaves for Ceroba, implies that Axis’s murder of the human- presumably a child, like Clover and Frisk- was very violent and bloody. It feels a tiny step beyond the 'video game violence' aspect, for me. While it’s shown that Chujin regrets this, it still doesn’t change the way that this violence is expressed in the game. 

Instead of giving the human’s soul right to Asgore to bring monsterkind closer to freedom, Chujin- who has already been fired by Asgore, I should add- chooses to keep the soul and experiment with it.

This is very selfish, even though he has good intentions. He’s told nobody else about his experiments with his soul at this point- not even his wife- and Asgore has told him to cease all activities as the royal scientist. 

While monsters do want Frisk's soul for their own selfish reasons, they notably do not butcher them violently, succeed in this, and still try to get painted with the same quirky and fun brush that the other characters get. 

After Chujin dies, he leaves detailed instructions for his wife to continue his work-- and although he says "don't involve Kanako", he leaves her all the tools she would need to experiment on Kanako, and notably, no other way to finish his work except to experiment on Kanako.

As I said, Kanako finds out about this and asks to be experimented on. And while she does give consent, she is a child. I cannot stress this enough-- she is a child who just lost her father and is still wracked by grief. Kanako is a child who cannot possibly know what she is consenting to. 

Ceroba chooses to experiment on Kanako and more or less kills her. And then she chooses to send her 'fallen down' daughter to Alphys's experiment, despite the fact that Kanako presumably has some sort of trace of human soul/determination left in her-- which could have compromised Alphys's work as well.

Let's return to how I said that Ceroba is a mirror for Asgore. She's made so many mistakes and it's cost her her family and she can't stop now or it will all be for nothing. She's done horrible things, just like Asgore.

But the difference is that Asgore is the king of monsterkind. Asgore has no desire to kill human beings. He declared war on humanity in a fit of anger and grief, but the Underground had lost hope due to the loss of Chara & Asriel. Believing that Asgore could gather seven human souls and free them all brought hope back to the Underground.

His actions, while wrong, are selfless-- and much less explicitly violent and more 'cartoon violence'-like. Chujin & Ceroba have the well-being of monsterkind as their own pure intentions, but their actions are far more selfish and violent. Axis, Chujin’s creation, massacred a human being. Yet we're still expected to find them silly and fun and relatable-- it just feels unusual.

I’m not someone who hates nuance or morally gray characters. One reason I’m so sad that I don’t quite like Ceroba is that I love morally gray women. It’s just that we’re not allowed to really dislike Chujin or Ceroba for what they’ve done, and instead we’re supposed to see Ceroba- and Axis- as silly and relatable like the rest of the characters. 

Immediately after Ceroba’s boss battle, instead of processing what just happened to a greater extent, Clover chooses to sacrifice their soul for monsterkind. 

I understand that the intention is that Ceroba's grief and Chujin's desperation to protect monsters from humanity contributed to Clover's decision to sacrifice their soul. However, the idea is- to me- abrupt. Ultimately, too, Clover's decision is just as much about how much they love their friends (and how it's impossible for them to hide out in the Underground forever) as it is about Ceroba and her family.

Chara & Asriel’s deaths, Asgore’s war on humanity, the war of humans and monsters-- these elements impact every part of Frisk’s journey. But Chujin and Ceroba’s actions, while impactful on Martlet and Dalv to varying extents, are only part of Clover’s journey. And Chujin and Ceroba did awful things for this comparatively minor impact on the plot. 

EDIT: Further analysis about how Ceroba doesn't have a lot of agency and spends a lot of the plot just acting out Chujin's will, as well as the inconsistency in her characterization (and feelings about sacrificing Clover and the well-being of Kanako), with input from @carlyraejepsans. Thank you!

I would have liked to have seen a bit more from Ceroba without any influence from Chujin- maybe an interaction explaining her relationship with Martlet and an additional conversation about Martlet’s nearly unwavering belief in humans vs Ceroba’s inherited grudge against humanity- but I don’t know where this would fit in. Adding more time for Clover to process Ceroba’s boss fight before sacrificing their soul might throw off the pacing. 

In general, though, Ceroba's boss fight- while flashy and fun- ultimately feels pointless with how little she learns from it and how quickly she changes her stance on using Clover's soul for the benefit of monsterkind, and what will happen to monsters after they break the barrier. To quote @carlyraejepsans in the ask linked above:

In addition, it's like the writing didn't want to commit to her delusions and little character development. She feels that her daughter is alive and thinks she can save her—wait no that was a lie—wait it wasn't. The moment she's defeated she goes "Agh, what was I thinking!" out loud (which is already a questionable writing choice imo but i digress), and recognizes that sacrificing Clover for her plans is horrible... and then 5 seconds later Clover chooses to sacrifice themself to break the barrier and whoops nevermind she's suddenly the one getting the others onboard with the idea... wait. didn't she say she was making the serum because the humans would've only slaughtered them again if they broke the barrier? oh wait wasn't that also chujin again? whoops.

I would have felt better if there were more room to view Chujin and Ceroba in a critical light (and time to view Ceroba outside of just being a mom and wife). I can’t think of any ‘minor’ suggestion that wouldn’t require a lot of editing. 

Axis…

And... okay. Let's talk about Axis real quick.

I want to give the dev team the benefit of the doubt, but I need to point out that this security robot's name is "Axis 014." If you don't know what I mean by pointing this out, I'll just say that both of these terms are nazi dog whistles and allow you to look up the specifics.

I recognize that, by this point, it’s too late to change his name. I’d at least be grateful if the team would acknowledge this and confirm that they aren’t nazis. 

Axis’s name makes his actions far worse in retrospect. He, as a security robot wants to kill a child, but he isn't able to anymore because his programming has changed. So, as a legal loophole, he forces them to hold 'a weapon' (a trash can lid) so he can justifiably kill them. This is the same robot that brutalized and murdered a human being in the past at Chujin's behest.

It feels tone deaf and ultimately the one thing I’d just outright call bad about UTY. I don’t think it was intentionally done this way, but I don't like that we're supposed to find this nazi-aesthetic police brutality robot "quirky and relatable" like the Undertale cast. In the true pacifist ending, he falls in love with a robot made out of a trash can and his eyes turn into cartoon hearts and etc. It’s even more jarring than viewing Chujin & Ceroba in a fun/relatable way. 

In the no mercy route, Axis will defend himself and claim that his programming forced him to kill the human and he didn't want to. This "just following orders" defense feels weak to me as well, personally. Axis clearly delights in harming humans, going out of his way to try to kill Clover. But also, Axis spends a significant amount of the game displaying a very similar amount of free will to the other characters. He’s not just a janitor robot that sweeps back and forth. 

He’s a nearly sentient being-- and the fact that there are these nearly sentient robots makes Alphys’s accomplishment of creating “a robot with a soul” (at least, so she claims-- Mettaton is only the ghost in a machine) much less impactful to me, personally. Yes, Asgore thinks that Chujin failed in creating a sentient robot, and so it’s impressive that Alphys supposedly did it. But I don’t know why Asgore wouldn’t be more skeptical of Alphys’s accomplishment after Chujin failed more than eight times and set fire to his flowers. 

I think that Axis is ultimately a missed opportunity to make a really villainous character. This concept that he disobeys his programming- used as sort of a parallel for law, as a security robot- to attack Clover could have been explored to further the ‘justice’ theme. He doesn’t write his programming (the laws), he just carries it out (violently enforces the laws). 

The ‘minor’ suggestion I’d make, though, is to just acknowledge the name. 

Undertale & Meta Elements

Now, we’ll be addressing my largest criticisms-- the omission of meta elements and the way Flowey is written.

Undertale Yellow never quite stopped feeling like a fan game to me. And it is, of course-- but I think that it feels as if it tries so hard to be Undertale (in the writing style, the humor, etc) that it fails to forge an identity of its own, and that holds it back from being just a fangame to a fangame that succeeds in expanding on the original creative work. 

At the same time, although UTY tries to feel like Undertale, I don’t think it captures certain elements that make Undertale be Undertale. 

Whereas Undertale was ultimately about video games as a medium and the normalization of violence in them, UTY doesn’t have this level of metatextual commentary. UTY does have a running theme of 'justice'-- and I don’t think this is bad! After all, if Undertale already said all there was to say about video games and violence, why retread that path? I respect that UTY knows its limits and simply focuses on justice as a concept instead.

At the same time, Undertale isn’t just an RPG about mercy-- it’s an RPG about RPGs. The fact that you can talk to and spare enemies isn’t just a quirk of the game, it’s what the game is about. This is one thing that makes Undertale great that UTY doesn’t focus on.  

UTY doesn’t completely ignore these elements, of course. Flowey takes over resetting for you, and you do have three distinct paths based on whether or not you kill enemies-- the ‘true pacifist’ path, the ‘neutral’ path, and the ‘no mercy’ path (I will not be calling it the ‘genocide’ route, especially in light of recent world events). Through whether or not you choose to kill enemies, the theme of ‘justice’ is explored-- who is Clover seeking justice for? In the true pacifist route, Clover seeks justice for the monsters, while in the no mercy route, Clover seeks justice for the fallen humans before them. 

However, Flowey taking over the mechanics of saving and resetting for you makes concept of ‘the player’ obsolete. I recognize that not everyone in the Undertale/Deltarune fandom quite enjoys the concept of 'the player' and the meta elements of these games due to the fact that there can be implications that playing Deltarune (as an example, which ups the meta elements quite a bit) can actively hurt Kris and make their world a worse place. However, Deltarune isn’t a complete work and we don’t know this for certain. Additionally, I feel as if at least acknowledging Toby's intentions are important to analyzing the work, no matter what one's personal feelings are about them.

The Importance of the Player

The presence of you, the player, is important in Undertale. Frisk is a subversion of the 'blank slate protagonist' trope. You think that you're able to name them and control them, but in the True Pacifist route, Frisk begins to act on their own (they walk slowly in some parts of the True Lab because they're presumably afraid, etc). In the end, you realize that Frisk is their own person with their own name, and you as the player have to let go-- when Frisk & the monsters go to the surface, Flowey (a mirror of the player themselves) urges you to let them go. Don't treat this as a game anymore-- don't replay and wring out any last drops of content you can. You enjoyed it, now move on.

But many players want to see the No Mercy route because it’s the last thing they haven’t done in the game, and they don’t want to let go. And that's where the role of you, the player, becomes undeniable in the game's story. What is the No Mercy route except playing a 'typical' RPG in the way it's meant to be played? You grind to become stronger, killing every enemy that stands in your way. And when you've killed all the monsters and become as strong as you can be, you've won.

Many players didn't do this because they hate the characters in Undertale and want to hurt them-- if they hate them, they likely just wouldn't play the game. Many players did it because they like the characters in Undertale, and wanted to see what would happen. They couldn't stop playing. And this is exactly what Sans means in his dialogue during his boss battle-- to paraphrase, "you think that because you can, that means you have to."

This is one of the ways that Flowey is a mirror of the player. Flowey didn't start killing out of malicious intent, but because he had become so bored and isolated that he just "had to see what happens".

Chara's role at the very end of the No Mercy route is to call you out directly for this. They tell you that their power was yours. Their words were very misconstrued by fans for a long time, and they themselves wound up as a scapegoat for the No Mercy route-- but ultimately, there's no reason for Chara or Frisk to kill every monster in the Underground. The only reason is because of you, personally. You want to see what would happen. You want to grind and play it like a typical RPG.

They call you out for this if you don't want to delete the game world at the end. Why go back to that world that you've already destroyed? Why play nice with the monsters that you just massacred because you can?

Why am I talking about this at such length? Because I believe that ‘the player’ and how they interact with the world of Undertale is important. Characters lampshade the UI and battle mechanics often-- Flowey talking about the world as a game and ‘saving’ and ‘loading’, Papyrus telling you to “press C to open the dating HUD”, Sans explaining ‘LV’ and ‘EXP’, and so on.

This is my personal opinion, and I recognize this is very nitpicky, but I feel that not acknowledging this or adding to these meta elements in some way makes UTY weaker for me. 

Flowey’s Role in UTY

Flowey essentially saves and resets for you because he's bored, and he wants to use Clover as a tool to access Asgore’s five stored human souls. His role as a mirror for the player becomes him essentially just acting as a stand-in for the player. While this in itself can invite self-reflection, I think that the execution of his role is a little awkward. 

We learn at the end of the neutral route that Flowey has already reset the timeline hundreds of times by the time we first start playing the game. According to him, Clover always ends up at a dead end (they choose to stay in the Underground for the rest of their life) or they die (and they can’t reset of their own power). Thus, Flowey chose to set Clover on an alternate path by sabotaging a lever in the Ruins, which made them fall into the Dark Ruins and meet Dalv.

Flowey then tries to kill Clover and absorb their soul because they, again, hit a dead end. Yet he gives up on it after a while because Clover won’t stop fighting back, and he thinks he can just reset and try again anyway. 

At the end of the true pacifist route, Clover instead opts to sacrifice their soul willingly to Asgore & monsterkind. Flowey comments that he could just reset (and you still can, if you want to play again), but Clover “earned their rest” and he calls them a friend. 

This progression from “Clover is a tool that Flowey is using to access the 5 human souls” to “Clover is a friend and Flowey willingly lets them die and stay dead” feels undeserved and underdeveloped to me. 

"But, Andrea," you might say, "Flowey went from trying to kill Frisk as Omega/Photoshop Flowey to hugging Frisk as Asriel really quickly too!"

Yes, but in that short time, Frisk and Flowey/Asriel had a Whole Thing where Frisk 'saved' him like everyone else and he learned he needs to let go, too. It was a short time, but it was a poignant time. By contrast, Flowey is pretty much absent throughout most of UTY's true pacifist route. Sure, you could easily say that he just got bored of Clover and gave up-- but that, too, doesn’t feel quite right to me. 

I really hate to say this, but I feel that Flowey’s writing in UTY cheapens the original Undertale for me, which is why this is one of my major criticisms of the game. 

Flowey's entire character arc in Undertale is about how he was stuck with the same places and same people for an endless amount of resets. In my opinion, the limited amount of places and characters for him to interact with in Undertale only adds to how trapped he is (and the Underground being so small really strengthens the concept of "there's overpopulation and the monsters are running out of time to find a solution/earn their freedom" that we see in the game, but I digress).

So when something finally changes and he meets Frisk, it's deeply impactful to him. Finally, someone new to play with! Finally, potential for change! Even though Flowey admits that, even if Chara came back, there's a great chance that he couldn't really love them due to his lack of soul, just experiencing something new for the first time in ages is as close to love as he can possibly get. So Flowey:

Starts to believe that Frisk is Chara, this person he ‘loves’ or wants to love, or some manifestation of Chara. 

Refuses to let Frisk go, even if that means- when Asriel has the power of seven human souls- just resetting the Undertale timeline over and over instead of going to the surface or doing anything else.

For Flowey to have gone through everything that he does in UTY- all these new places, all these new people, Clover included- weakens this, in my opinion. And sure, there's very heavily implied to be lots of places that Frisk doesn't explore and people they don't meet-- 99% of New Home and its residents, for instance. But Clover themselves is the real problem for me.

No matter how many times Flowey reset with Clover, I really struggle to believe that he would get bored of a human being that easily. He even said that Clover's actions and choices would sometimes change from reset to reset, and he only recently learned how dramatically he could alter their path by sabotaging that lever in the Ruins. Clover isn't a static being-- and even if they were, they're at least a new static being.

And although we learn in the neutral route that Flowey can't really absorb Clover's soul because they fight back too much, I can't believe that would stop Flowey so easily. What about at the end of the pacifist route, where Clover has given it up willingly and it's being transported in a little jar? Clover’s body is separated from the soul, now-- could Clover still fight back?

Or, what about if Flowey tried to kill them as soon as they entered the Ruins? Or, what if Flowey played nice the entire route and then at the end tried to convince Clover that if they sacrificed their soul, he would take it to Asgore for them? With access to full control of the timeline, I don't think Flowey would give up on this. We learn in Undertale how painful it is for him to be soulless and how desperate he is to access power so that things will change.

For Flowey to acknowledge Clover as a 'friend'- maybe even a true person, not just a compilation of dialogue- suggests character growth. It suggests remorse for his resets that he isn't capable of having and doesn't have until the events of Undertale. I just don't feel like it’s earned. 

Flowey is, of course, an unreliable narrator. 

At the end of the no mercy route of UTY, Flowey expresses that he never saw Clover as a friend-- he only enjoyed watching them die over and over again. It should be noted that this was said while under extreme duress (Clover is LV 20 by this point and has killed everyone save for Asgore), and this route isn’t canon in the way that the neutral and pacifist routes are. 

With that said, if we agree that Flowey can’t feel love as a soulless being, then I could argue that this is about as much of a ‘friend’ as anyone could be. This is how he wanted to keep Frisk (“Chara”, in his mind) for eternity when he had the six human souls + the entirety of monsterkinds’ souls-- just watch them try over and over again, for eternity. 

Why am I contradicting myself? Because, let’s suppose that Flowey doesn’t mean Clover is a ‘friend’ in the traditional sense- that they earned his respect and he cares for them in some way- but Clover is a new toy that he got bored with and gave up on. I feel like this, too, makes Undertale a little weaker. 

If Flowey did have some type of positive regard for Clover, but was willing to let them go, then it feels- to me- like Frisk’s role in his story isn’t that significant. Frisk helped him learn how to let go and move on, but Flowey has already demonstrated being capable of this. The circumstances are different- if Flowey gives up at the end of Undertale’s true pacifist route, it’s over for real, whereas if he gives up at the end of UTY, he can just wait for another human to fall- but I feel like the core feeling is the same. Flowey, by the start of Undertale, doesn’t strike me as someone who’s capable of letting go. 

So, how would I have changed this?

I recognize that- again- Undertale already made these points about video games and violence, and Flowey has his entire character arc in that game. For Flowey to have more of an arc in this game would potentially make this game no longer line up with canon Undertale or weaken Undertale further. And why retread old ground that Undertale already talked about?

I respect the decision to tell a self-contained story, but the meta commentary about video games in Undertale is so significant for me that I personally would have liked to see a bit more of it in Undertale Yellow. I also recognize how much of my criticism of Flowey’s writing in UTY is subjective. It feels unrealistic for me, his arc feels abrupt for me, it makes Undertale less poignant for me. 

A lot of people love his inclusion in this game, and it’s very novel to see Flowey as a friend throughout most of UTY and hear his snarky commentary on demand rather than having him as an enemy who’s absent through most of the game, as he is in Undertale. 

The Flowey Suggestions

First, I’ll be honest. I know this is not and has never been possible, but my easiest solution to the dilemma of Flowey’s lack of a character arc- and the lack of an ability to give him a character arc- would have been to just remove him from UTY. 

I think that Flowey’s inclusion in the story of the yellow soul human and his role saving and loading could have been interesting. It goes against certain story elements implied in Undertale, and popular fan theories-- and I don’t mind that, if something meaningful is done with it. But, I feel as if Flowey’s relationship to Clover isn’t impactful enough to justify including him. 

To clarify on ‘implied story elements’ and ‘popular fan theories’: 

While I might be misremembering, I thought that it was implied in Undertale that Flowey came into being after Asgore had already collected six human souls, and that a significant amount of time had passed since the last human had fallen down. 

I won’t go into it at length because this post is long enough and I, again, am not an Undertale expert. With that said, it’s also implied that all human souls are capable of saving/loading/resetting in the Underground. If you make Frisk tell Asgore that he killed them before, he just nods as if he’s used to it-- and he’s the one character who we know has killed humans before.

Now, how did Asgore successfully kill beings that can just reset the game whenever they die? Well, Sans faces the same dilemma in Undertale’s no mercy route. There’s no way that he can permanently defeat you, the player, who is a real being. Therefore, the way he ‘wins’ is by infuriating you enough with his difficult boss fight until you give up and stop playing Undertale (or, at least, reset and make better choices). 

Think about all the times you’ve played a game, got stuck on a hard boss, and never played it again. While it’s not ‘canon’ to the story- giving up on your copy of Mario doesn’t mean Bowser really wins- functionally, giving up on a game means that the story ends for you. This is how I believe Asgore captured the six human souls, even if they were also capable of resetting like Frisk is-- he fought them until they gave up.

Humans all are said to have great amounts of ‘determination’, not just red soul bearers. We don’t even know what trait the red soul exemplifies. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s determination itself. 

The bottom line is that I don’t think it would be unrealistic for Clover to be able to save/load/reset on their own, or for Flowey to not exist yet during the time they fell down. 

But, I get it, Flowey was in UTY’s demo that has been out for seven years. He’s in the trailers. He couldn’t be removed at any part of development, and he sure as hell can’t be removed now. 

My second suggestion would have been to zoom in on him, instead. While the prequel is about Clover, the yellow soul human, I would have liked to see it be about Flowey in a significant way. I kept hoping for Clover to have an opportunity to ask Flowey at some point, “why are you helping me, anyway?”.

This is my personal interpretation, but I’ve come to believe that Flowey thinks that the reason he’s stuck as a flower is that it’s a punishment. Because he, as Asriel, refused to fight back, he failed Chara, and now they’re dead. Now he’s stuck as a rinky-dink flower with no soul, he can’t love his former family, and he can’t stop playing this game. 

In the no mercy route of Undertale, Flowey feels very much like he’s trying to appeal to Frisk- the person he believes is Chara- in a way like a younger sibling trying to impress an older sibling. He says he’s impressed by how you killed everyone. He helps solves puzzles so you won’t have to slow down. He brags to you about how he’s also a heartless killer. 

Notably, he talks about his past. He tells ‘Chara’ that he was afraid to start killing, at first. He said he wouldn’t enjoy it, but he just had to know what would happen.

Then, Flowey laughs and says that you (Chara) know how liberating it is to be this way-- to kill people and shape their fates. He ‘recognizes’ Frisk as being actually Chara because of how they killed everyone in the Ruins. 

But we have no indication that Chara was a violent or evil person in their life. I believe that Flowey is partially projecting and partially recognizes Chara because, in the last moments of their life, they were telling him to kill. He always knew that Chara hated humanity and wanted power to better the position of monsterkind. This is why Flowey brags about how he has a plan to get the human souls, and once they do so, they can go to the surface and “finish what [they] started.” 

To Flowey, in my opinion, killing people isn’t just about seeing what happens. It’s about trying to understand and appease Chara and doing what he thinks he should have done all that time ago, as Asriel. 

I bring this up because I think that I would have liked to have seen this be explored in Undertale Yellow. Flowey is still a very misunderstood character today due to being an unreliable narrator. I believe that a lot of Flowey misinterpretations are due to taking him at face value-- hearing him say that he’s an unfeeling, manipulative, patient killer and agreeing with him.

But Flowey contradicts himself at several points. He gives up his “catch these friendliness pellets” trick after you dodging just a few times. These aren’t the makings of a perfect manipulative killer, but an impatient child. That’s who Flowey is at his core-- a child. 

I recognize that, again, if Flowey told all of his tragic backstory to Clover and they became true friends, this wouldn’t fit with canon Undertale and his actions in that game. Flowey and Asriel distance themselves from each other, and it wouldn’t make sense for Flowey to tell this to Clover-- especially if he just views them as a tool to use and play with. 

I think, however, it wouldn’t have been impossible for Clover to have learned this information about Flowey in a way that could still be canon compliant with Undertale itself. Hypothetically, maybe the “hopes and dreams” statue in the UG Apartments near the Core could have sparked intrigue in Flowey. 

Maybe analysis of Flowey could have come up during his neutral route boss fight-- after all, Clover appears to peek into the minds of Ceroba and Martlet during the true pacifist and no mercy run boss fights, respectively. We already get a little of this- Clover has to run through a hallway of flowers in Flowey’s boss fight, and we hear sad and scared dialogue that’s presumably from a past version of Flowey himself. However, it’s not necessarily new and doesn’t quite add to Flowey’s character in my personal opinion.

I feel that including Flowey’s story more in some way would justify having Flowey in the game, and knowing the history of Asriel & Chara could factor into Clover’s decision to give up their soul for the sake of monsterkind. Chara, too, sacrificed themselves willingly, after all. 

I don’t have a ‘realistic suggestion’ that could be implemented with a dialogue update because these suggestions are so vast-- and, ultimately, very personal and subjective. I have very strong feelings about Flowey.

Meta Elements of Undertale 

In Undertale, you’re asked when you should or shouldn’t fight. As a pacifist, you can get through the Ruins without killing anyone. Flowey will then ask you what you would do if you met a relentless killer. Would you betray your morals and fight? Or would you give up and let yourself die?

Undertale is the friendly RPG where nobody has to die. While you have to kill Asgore at least once to do the neutral route, and you do have to fight back against Omega/Photoshop Flowey to end his battle, the game ultimately posits that there never is a good time to fight. You don’t beat Omega Flowey by being stronger than him, you do it by appealing to the souls and allowing them to rebel. You don’t beat God of Hyperdeath Asriel Dreemurr by beating him up, you do it by saving your friends- him included. The game, again, is about an inversion of the necessity of violence in video games to me.

I would have been interested in seeing an exploration of when it is necessary to fight, and this could be done through the lens of ‘justice’. Would Clover fight if it brought them closer to justice (on a pacifist route)? Is it morally correct to kill one person if it saves thousands? 

Sparing someone is always the correct option in Undertale. In that way, the true route is quite linear-- there’s one solution that works for everyone. What if there were situations in UTY in which there is no single correct option that works for everyone? What if Clover were placed in situations in which they had to act as arbiter and decide between two outcomes and what is right? It could have been like how they get forced to solve the trolley problem in the Wild East, but with consequences. 

Adding to putting a ‘twist’ on the elements that Undertale introduces with its combat system-- what if sparing someone ultimately enabled them to keep hurting others? What if fighting to weaken someone was the correct solution for once? These inversions could have built on the meta elements of Undertale, and I think that it would make Clover’s decision to sacrifice themselves to bring justice to monsterkind more poignant to me.

Again, I have no ‘realistic’ suggestion for this in the full release of UTY. I think that the plot about justice alone isn’t bad, but I would have been happy to see it tie into the gameplay a little more. 

Conclusion

Ultimately, I think that UTY tries too hard to be Undertale without iterating on the aspects that made Undertale memorable. The characters feel like they fail to pop or relate to the game’s story in meaningful ways, and to me, the main story isn’t executed as well as it could have been (and far darker than the main Undertale in ways that don’t feel as if they’re handled sensitively). 

I will say, again, that this project is very impressive in scope, and I applaud the dev team for finishing it and releasing it. I recognize that a lot of my distaste is subjective, and creating another Undertale is a fool's errand considering the acclaim that Undertale got. I recognize one final time that my suggestions are just daydreaming, and this game has already found a lot of success-- which I think it deserves.

I tend to criticize a lot of media I like, which might sound contradictory to some, but it makes perfect sense to me. If I don’t like something, I won’t engage with it. I think that the original Undertale has its flaws, too. At the end of the day, I like UTY, but no media is perfect. This is how I think it could have been better, and I hope that I think other creatives who want to make Undertale fanworks (or any creative works, for that matter) will take these thoughts into consideration.

Thanks for reading.

[ms-fade]

We all have needs.

Anthony lockwood x Fem!reader +18 drabble.

Disclaimer: The “Readmore” sign has been causing glitches with my fics so I apologize if it happens again.

Warnings; Anthony being a little shit, smut, dirty talk, smut book talk, chocking, dominance, him trying to embarrass you and of course, you being embarrassed. And spelling mistakes.

You felt so embarrassed that your body was on fire, your cheeks puffed out and your eyes glaring at the man in front of you. You had been chasing him all over the house and now you two stood in the kitchen, him on one side and you on the other. Each time you threaten to move so did he, and you two have been running in circles for too long already.

“She dripped onto their shared sheets, her thighs burning with passion and desire-” You rolled your eyes as he spoke the words to the book in his hands. It was your book, one that you thought you could read in peace but Anthony had other plans. He stood with a proud smirk and his face was too cocky, he was having the time of his life embarrassing you.

“Anthony, stop.” Slamming your hands onto the table separating you. He looked up at your harsh tone and raised a brow. “Why? It’s getting good. Here, listen.” He laughed and looked back to the page.

“His wet muscle dragged through her folds, she was already so wet for him and dripping with aroused. The moan she left out when he finally got-” you had enough of his teasing and decided to try and take him down or get to him fast. You hopped onto the table and didn’t care of it would hold you, you just had to get to him.

He looked at you and stepped back to get away from you. “Y/n!” He laughed as you got closer to him. “Give it back.” You demanded while walking closer, he didn’t have much room until he backed all the way to the counter.

“Give it back.”

You shouted again and went to grab the book but before you could make it to the book his hand caught your wrist. Anthony tugged you forwarded and moved out the way so you were the one to hit the counter. His grip on your wrist left but was replaced by his body weight onto your back pressing you to the counter.

He was against you. He was pinning you so you had no way to escape, his arm was now around your stomach and bringing you closer but also to hold you still. You felt weak as you realized what was happening, how close he was- How close his mouth was to your neck. His hot breath hit your hot skin, but even though you couldn’t see him you knew he had a smirk on his face.

“I wasn’t finished.” He whispered closely. “Don’t be embarrassed, y/n. It’s just a smutty novel, I mean we all have needs don’t we? I know i do.” He chuckled. The grip he had on you tightened and he pressed you harder into him. “Anthony-” He shh’d you. He kissed your ear and his teeth nibbling the area softly, you let out a soft gasped.

“And, I know you do, y/n. When you think we all leave, or it’s late at night when everyone should be sleeping. I hear your pretty little gasps, just like the one you just did. I can only picture you rubbing your clit to get some release, each moan or pray to the god above.” Fuck- He heard you. Of course he did, just for him to make fun of you and use it against you.

“But what you don’t know is I like to stroke my cock to your moans, I imagine how you would feel around me.” He started to kiss down your ear and onto your neck and then to your shoulders. Your brain froze at his words, he did that- He wanted you back, he thought of you while he pleasured himself.

“And why didn’t you tell me- Lockwood.” Trying to ask him a question he had to shut you up with bitting into your collarbone. You moaned his name and closes your eyes, trying to back up into him for anything.

You were so needy.

“You want me to fuck you now? Like how he does her in your book, probably so rough and sensual. Tell me that you want my cock.” You jumped as he slammed the book on the floor. Squealing in surprised as he turned you over to face him, his hand quietly wrapping around the lower part of your neck.

He wasn’t chocking you but having ahold on you, just to hold you in a more dominant way. But he did make you look up at him and into his eyes, he wanted you to beg. To beg for him. And you wanted him so bad, everything was aching for him now within you.

“Please,” you whined out and tried to get out the words, “Fuck me.” There it was, the words he needed to here.

“Then I will, darling. I’ll make you scream only for me, and make you see how useless books are when you have real cock pleasing you from the inside.” That’s when his hand closes around your throat and brought you forward to meet his lips with a kiss.

Thank god you decide to read that book in the open.

[carminecherry]

inked | kazutora hanemiya

this is PART TWO of the series PUT A COLLAR ON YOUR PET

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!kazutora hanemiya x bff fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: kazutora has wanted a neck tattoo since middle school. after you get a tattoo apprenticeship in the city, he wants you to be the one to do his neckpiece. however, the neck is an awfully sensitive spot. especially for a first tattoo. some people handle pain better than others. some people even enjoy it...

⇝ PART TWO LENGTH: 6k words

⇝ PART TWO WARNINGS: fem reader, heavy nsfw (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; AU! where kazutora never got a neck tattoo; angst, teasing, power play, tattooing sub!kazutora, confession, Y/N and kazu are both switches, dom!kazutora, possessive!kazutora, jealousy, kissing, hickeys, licking bug bites, nipple play, oral sex, fingering, safe sex, penetrative sex, orgasm denial, biting

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's smutty, hot, and heavy, enjoy 😘

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

When you got to the shop today you talked to your boss. His enthusiastic approval for Kazu’s neck tattoo didn’t make you as excited as it might have otherwise. Something about last night wasn’t sitting right with you.

The way he had lingered at your door, an unfamiliar look in his eye. Knowing you’d see him again so soon had that flurry of emotion stirring in your chest. Maybe that’s why the message sat unsent as you picked at your lunch.

“I got the go ahead, when do you wanna do this?”

You reread the short message for the nth time, your lip long since tender from anxious nibbling. You lock your phone and put your head in your hands. Before you could spiral, your boss, Rei, pops his head around the corner, “Hey newbie.” You sit bolt upright.

“At ease, soldier. I’ve gotta head out early today, how do you feel about locking up the shop by yourself tonight? You can stay and practice, just clean up before you head out.” “Oh… Yeah, sure, that’d be great!” “And if your friend wants to come in for the neck piece, you can stay as late as you need.” He says with a wink. Damn. 

“Dope… Thanks, Rei.” He tosses you the keys with a jingle. You swipe them out of the air. “Have a good day, boss.” With a salute he turns and exits the shop. You sat there, alone in the not yet familiar space. It’s now or never. You finally hit send on the message.

His response is immediate,

“ASAP! When is the earliest you can do it?”

“Today if you have time”

“Fuck yeah it’s on! Is it cool if I come after work?” 

You hesitate before confirming,

“If you have nothing better to do, playboy. I’m in the studio all night”

He reacts to the message and you lock your phone, taking a deep, steadying breath. Your phone buzzes with a string of messages from Kazu. You open them and see a chain of tattoo inspiration pics. They’re done in a kind of tribal style.

From your buzzed conversation last night, you remember he wants a tiger in that style. You crack your knuckles and get to work, sketching up a design on your ipad. You’re immersed in your drawing when you feel a puff of air against your ear, “Boo.” 

You jump, to Kazu’s delight. “You should lock the door if you’re in here alone, anyone could come in.” “I- When-” You look and see it’s grown dark outside. He laughs, pacing around, sizing up the space.

“Just now, you seriously didn’t hear me come in?” Your silence is answer enough. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your boss you little liability.” He says with a wink. “That looks perfect, by the way.” He gestures to the device in your hand. 

“Oh, thanks, um I’m almost done if you wanna- '' He plops down on one of the worn leather couches. “... make yourself comfortable…” He flips through the TV channels before settling on one for background noise, a horror flick. You return to your work, adding the final touches. 

When the credits are rolling on the TV, you finally stretch in your chair, drawing his attention. “How’s this look?” You turn the screen to him. His eyes sparkle. “It’s… It’s perfect! God, I knew it had to be you.” The compliment and sincerity in his voice had your heart acting up.

“Of course, I’m basically a genius.” You say dismissively. “So you said neck piece but what size are we talking?” You roll your chair over to him, wheels squeaking. “Like around here.” He palms the space on the side of his neck, bringing it down slightly to his chest. 

“Oh… So, like, huge?” “Gotta keep it on brand.” You scoff at his innuendo.  Let me add some more for the chest. You turn your attention back to the screen, adding some swirls to the edges that would extend the tattoo. He watches over your shoulder, occasionally humming with approval. The theme music of another horror film plays on the TV. “Okay, how’s this?” He gives two thumbs up and a toothy smile. “Ok, I’m gonna print it.”

You look up and meet his golden eyes. “Say, have you ever gotten a tattoo before?” “Nope, you’ll be my first.” He says with joking seduction. He’s on your turf here. A streak of confidence flashes through you with the realization; the power balance is shifting in your favor.

“Oh~ I don’t know if you’ll  be able to take it. The neck is very sensitive” You tease back. “If it’s just about endurance, I’ve never had any complaints.” His body leaning towards you. “No shame in tapping out, tickle boy.” You match his lean “That’s not a thing, you just play dirty.” He shoots back in a low voice. “That’s not all I do.”

The air in the shop turns heavy with your comment and the two of you simmer there. His eyes have a dark look. Your face feels warm. You clear your throat and rise. “Ok… Printing.” You tap across your screen as you walk to lock the shop door, flipping the sign to closed.

“Ohhh~ after hours, what an honor.” He says in a saccharine voice. “You don’t know how many other guys would kill to get an after hours session with me, don’t you feel lucky?” His taunt from last night turned back on him. 

There is a fire behind his eyes and you avert your gaze quickly as the printer buzzes out the stencil, the distant screams and tense music from the TV washing away into the background. You swipe it up, the transfer paper still warm between your fingertips.

You take your time cutting out your design, hoping the extra moment may diffuse the tension in the air as your senses come back; you have tiptoed the edge of that boundary again. With a final snip you make your way over to him, he’s reclined in the plush sofa, legs spread in a confident, imposing way. His eyes trace your every move but you can’t meet them. 

“So… For the placement… Since it goes down so low… It’s probably easiest if you take off your-” You don’t even finish the sentence before he peels off his shirt, placing it on the arm of the sofa as he looms over you. “Shirt… If you’re comfortable…” You look away, an effort to spare yourself from his relentless teasing.

He has a lean, muscular frame. Ghosts of scars littered on the defined planes of his chest and abs. “Like what you see?” His voice drips with honey. “Shut up and sit down.” You say, fully not facing him. He laughs knowing he’s gotten under your skin. 

That swirling anxiety clenches in your chest. He plops back down on the sofa with a chuckle, spreading his arms across the back, giving you a full view. “Sit up, I’m gonna sanitize your skin.” You huff. “Oh! And sign this.”

You shuffle around some papers on your workspace and produce a consent form. Slotting it into a clipboard and thrusting it in his direction. He flips through the pages halfheartidly as you pull on some latex gloves. There’s the scratching of the pen on paper as he signs the form. 

You grab the disinfectant and some wipes and finally face him. He catches your eyes as you do, a devilish grin on his face. “Let’s do this.” You pour some of the disinfectant on the wipe and get to work cleaning his skin. With a sharp inhale he says, “Fuck, that’s cold!”

“This is gonna be a long night.” You mumble. You laser focus on the space on the side of his neck, how the muscles and tendons flex under your touch, visualizing the tattoo there. You wipe down to his collarbone, trailing across the hollow space there before moving lower to his chest. 

His silence is uncharacteristic but you welcome it, getting lost in your work. When you’re satisfied you withdraw the wipe and use your hand to fan the space you’ve cleaned. “Let’s let it dry for a second.” You turn around to grab the stencil and when you return you catch the final ghost of a blush leaving his cheeks. You choose to categorically ignore it.

“I’m gonna place the stencil, so try to hold still.” You hover over him, lining up the paper. Silence hangs in the air as you bring the top of the stencil paper to his neck, working in slow, firm strokes to lay the paper nicely.

You can feel the heat of his neck bleeding through the paper as you stroke lower to his collar, his chest. Your hand lingers, you can feel the flutter of his pulse. When it’s laid with no crinkles, you give a few more firm sweeps across the whole thing, bringing out a sharpie to mark the final stencil placement.  

“Alright, let's see.” You peel the paper back and admire your work. The weeks of practice you’ve put in at the shop have paid off. “Take a look, do you want to adjust any parts?” He makes his way to the mirror across the shop. He twists and admires the stencil. You can’t help it when your eyes scan the muscular back, flexed, the one you felt last night. “Perfect…” He says softly. 

“Let’s get into it then.” You say with a clap. Turning away from him before he notices you staring. You gesture behind a nearby privacy screen to your station’s tattoo bed and he reclines on the papered surface with a crinkle. You set up your ink, vaseline, and tattoo gun among other paraphernalia. He watches you attentively as you do. You grab the bottle of black ink and portion some out. “Ready?” “Ready.” 

“Ok, so if you need a break, feel dizzy, or if it’s too painful, just say the word.” “What? Like a safe word?” “Sure, if you want one, tickle boy.” You can’t control the teasing tone in your voice. His nose scrunches in distaste at the nickname. “Hmm how about strawberry.” He relishes the word.

You cringe at the memory, an inside joke. A night spent over imbibing on strawberry vodka with the gang. A night that ended with you kicking off a two month sobriety stint after the violent vomiting and epic hangover that ensued. 

“Strawberry it is.” You confirm, gagging on the word. “So, it’s gonna suck for like five minutes but after that… Well I might be weird, but for me it starts to kinda feel good.” “Yeah, that’s what makes you weird.” “Ha ha, he’s got jokes.” Your tattoo gun buzzes to life in your hand. “Here we go.” You swipe some of the vaseline over the spot you’re sizing up as the starting point. 

Your gloved finger glides across the skin, the vaseline slick and warming quickly. He locks eyes with you and a crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The little shit looked excited for this, total masochist. You bring the needle down, feeling a small pushback as it breaks the skin. He inhales sharply and groans. “Jesus fuck!”

“I know.” You say in a low, comforting voice. You continue, the gun hammering the ink into the sensitive skin of his neck. His eyes close and he bites his lip. “You ok?” He nods in response. You do a wipe to clear some of the blood and excess ink. His hand finds your leg over the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the fleshy part of your thigh. “Fuck” he exhales.

“Dude we’ve barely started, you sure you can handle this?” You tried to sound comforting but you can't help the smug taunt from seeping into your voice. It’s wrong, you know that, but something about this felt so good. A kind of revenge for the torment he’s put you through over the years, finally being the one in control. 

“I’m going to start again.” You say in a low voice. He nods. You continue the line over the milky column of his neck, the skin around where you’d just tattooed turning a pretty red. His hand kneads the skin of your leg.

If it were anyone else you would’ve pried their hand off in seconds. But his touch… Felt warm. Familiar. You continue like this until the outline is done. Small noises occasionally bitten back by the man beside you. The hours pass by in a flash. 

***

The buzzing stops and you place the gun down on your station cart, stretching. “Let’s take a quick break.” “Oh~ and you were worried about my endurance.” His words come out, slurring together pleasantly. That tattoo adrenaline high that you are good friends with. He must be feeling it after sitting so patiently through those first few hours.

You rip off some paper towels and do a dry wipe. He gasps, a little whine escaping at the end. His hand shoots up to grab your wrist, halting your movement. You freeze, face hot. His breathing comes in heavy puffs. With effort he opens his eyes, meeting yours.

His pupils are blown so wide they devour the pretty gold of his irises. He looks you up and down in a hungry way, bare chest rising with each breath. You try to ignore the way the rosy buds on his chest rise have grown hard and perky. “Ha- you weren’t kidding. It does start to feel good, really good after the first few minutes.”

His smile is feral, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. “G-good. That’s, uh, that's good.” He pushes his torso up from the tattoo bed, the paper crinkling underneath him. You can’t help but notice the prominent bulge in his pants as it enters your peripheral vision. He tugs your arm, your stool rocketing towards him. 

“Kazu-!” “Hmm~ You like this, don’t you, you sick little freak. You get off on this, huh.” “What the fuck are you talking about?! Kazu, let me go!” “You act like I can’t see you, see the way you look at me, do you think I’m stupid?!” “Time out, Time out.”

You feel a flash of anger, panic, taking your usual defensive stance. “God, come ON, when are you gonna get it?!” His grip tightens on your wrist. “Jesus! Strawberry!” You yelp. With a grunt, he releases your wrist. You shoot back in your chair, clattering into the cabinet behind you. 

“Oh my~ Y/N, are you… scared?” He says with a glint in his eye. You feel yourself flush, “You’re seriously acting fucking weird, Kazu… More than usual. If you don’t feel well we can stop here for today.” You spit out venomously. “Why do you do that? Run away from me…”

His eyes widened in a strange way as he hops off the bed. “Is it cause you like to make me chase you?” You rise as well, squaring your shoulders, head spinning with the shift in energy, your eyes feel glossy with the prickle of angry tears. “Seriously, shut the fuck up. You’re pissing me off, for real.” 

“But you’re so cute when you’re pissed off. You’re even cuter when you cry.” He says towering over you. You give a firm push to his chest to make space between the two of you. “God! Back UP! You’re such a dick Kazu! Why are you acting like this?” You hate that your vision blurs with unspilled tears. “There they are~” He swipes a hand up, thumb wiping one of the tears that threatens to overflow your lashes. You slap his hand away but he brings your tear to his lips, licking the digit slowly. The knot in your stomach tightens further. 

“Come on, Y/N, this little dance is getting old. Why won’t you just admit it? You want me, just say it.” You feel that nauseating twist of emotion in your chest, arrogant ass. You want to swing, to cuss him out, but you feel yourselves balancing on the ledge between safe and new again.

Instead you ask, “What… Are you saying, Kazu?” You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You’ve been dreading this. He sighs, leaning his head back with a curt laugh. “You were always slow to notice things, huh.” He says to the ceiling. “Such a sadist under that cute facade…”

He takes a step back, giving you some breathing room.  “Now don’t get me wrong, I do love the chase, but after so long… I can’t understand why you’re still running…” “... Kazu… You… Uh, we…” You let out a frustrated sound. “It’s just… I’m not gonna be another notch in your belt… Another name on your list of fair maidens… What we have is special… I don’t want to lose you… as a friend.” The words pour out reluctantly. Choppy after being bitten back so many times. 

“Hmm, that’s too bad. Maybe I really need to spell it out for you. I’m serious about this, us.” You feel your face heat anew with his sudden confession. “Frankly, I don’t know how I could make it any more obvious to you. That I want you, I need you. I’ve wanted you all to myself for years.” “You sure have a funny way of showing it, fucking anything that bats their eyelashes at you.” You feel tears threaten to spill.

“Baby, I have needs… It’s awful, but I meant it. Those other girls didn’t mean anything to me. But you… This-” He gestures to the completed outline of his tattoo, “It’s a piece of you, I’ll get to have it with me forever. Sorry for tricking you into putting a collar on me. I wasn’t sure how else to get such a selfish owner to claim their pet.” His mouth ticks into a smile, like he’s told some inside joke with himself. 

“I’m sick of waiting… God, don’t just stand there.” He averts his gaze from you, blush dusting his cheeks. “Kazu… I… If this is some sick joke I’ll never forgive you.” “Joke?!” He leans in dramatically. “What other motherfucker is out there making me blush?! I feel SICK.” He snaps back. 

“I… Kazu, if you know, if you can read me so clearly, don’t make me be the first to say it… Just-” He’s over you in seconds. His lips parting yours in a feverish kiss. You don't hold back, meeting him there, lips, hands, teeth. You are careful not to touch your masterpiece on the side of his neck, running a hand through his hair and another up the exposed skin of the toned muscles of his core. One of his hands is tangled in the hair at the back of your head, adding pressure to the kiss. 

He moans into your mouth, “fuck my neck, it hurts… It… feels really good.” This sparks something in you, leaning into the kiss with more passion. You nip his lip and then smooth the irritated flesh with a firm swipe of your tongue before returning to the kiss. He groans at the action, pressing you up onto the counter of the cabinet, grinding against you. You feel the bulge in his pants against your stomach. So hot that the warmth seeps through the layers of fabric between you.

He’s brought a hand down to play with the hem of your shirt, the light touches tickle. The two of you break your kiss, gasping for air. He chuckles, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” “Yeah… That was… amazing.” You look up at his hazy eyes, thick heavy lashes, that perfect beauty mark. You crane your neck and place a soft kiss there, the intrusive thought that's haunted you for years finally fulfilled. 

The air is heavy, like the space around you was holding its breath. You move first, locking your mouth on the other side of his neck where the skin is unmarred. You swirl your tongue over the sensitive skin, giving a nip and sucking gently on the skin. “Fuck, you’re gonna mark me there too? I never pegged you as the possessive type. Letting me run around all these years.” His voice is low and lazy. You hum into his neck feeling the bulge against your stomach twitch.

“And the jealous type.” You add, before moving lower and repeating the process,  crimson blooming on the skin of his neck as you nip and suck and bite your way down his collar bone. “That feels so fucking good baby.” He grabs you by the waist and lifts you, maneuvering you back to your tattoo bed, pulling you to straddle his lap as he sits. He takes advantage of the new position to tug you firmly by the hair, exposing your neck to him. “My turn” he says, licking a hot line up your jugular. 

He kisses down the side of your neck. “Mmm yeah, Kazu.” He sucks gently before his teeth graze your skin, the pressure building with a wet, slurping noise. You groan, it hurts in a delicious way that makes your stomach flip. “Mmmore, more Kazu.” You whine. “So needy.” He says into the throbbing spot before moving lower, making a twin bruise there, pulling your head back further, the skin taut. “Nnng” “Yeah babe, fuck.”

He goes lower, eyes locking on the small circle of raised skin, slightly pink from irritation and itching. He licks the bug bite, making you yelp. “Fuck, thats.” He licks again, the spot warming, the sensation is strange. Tingly, itchy. He starts to suck, “O-oh my go- that’s-” It feels strange but not bad, like scratching an itch too hard where it hurts in the most satisfying way.

You feel that knot again in your stomach, wetness spreading between your legs. You lower yourself in his lap, grinding into him. The friction sends sparks of pleasure through you. “You like that? Little freak.” “You’re one- to talk- you’re the one sucking-” his hand releases your hair, bringing both to your hips, grinding into you hard. “Ah- ha- fuck babe you’re so hard.” You say breathily.

“Mmm yeah, that’s your fault.” He says into your chest. He drags you down again, you feel the seat of your pants growing uncomfortably wet. “Kazu… Please I…” “Say it, say what you want baby, it’s done.” “Kazu… I want you.” “Mmm finally.”  He flips you easily, laying you on the tattoo bed with a harsh crinkle of the paper. He pins you there, eyes devouring your flushed face and he pretty marks he’s left on your neck. Your hand comes up to absently play with his earring. It jingles between your fingers. 

“You're so… Pretty, Kazu.” “Yeah?” He tugs your shirt up, over your head, letting it gather by your wrists, using it to pin you there with one hand. “You’re so, god. You’re so beautiful Y/N. I mean it. You don’t know how long you made me wait.” He trails a finger up your side, a featherlight touch that makes you squirm. “Hmm, ticklish, Y/N?” He asks, mimicking your voice from last night. “Dick” You laugh. He traces the edge of your bra, making your breath hitch. 

He continues, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. You adjust yourself, wriggling under his grip, offering a better view of your chest. “So eager Y/N.” “So slow, Kazu.” your mouth ticks up in a challenging smile. When he sees it his own smile turns animalistic.

He rips the undergarment up roughly, your chest bouncing free as he forces it up to join your shirt around your wrists. He eyes your chest hungrily before using his free hand to palm one of your breasts, massaging it. The flesh spilling out in the space between his fingers. He drops his head to lick around the sensitive flesh of the other.

 He presses a knee between your legs, knocking them apart harshly to give himself space. You welcome it, finally having something to apply pressure where you really want it. You grind up and down his leg building the feeling there. He gives a hard flat lick over the sensitive bud on your chest before sucking, grazing his teeth along the puckered skin. “Oh fuck, Kazu, that feels so good!” 

You toss your head back, closing your eyes, savoring the feeling growing. Your body feels heavy and fuzzy, a pleasant buzz in your head. He releases your abused nipple with a pop, the skin pink and glistening with his saliva. He gives a soft blow, savoring the view of the bud pebbling in the cold air.

He grinds his knee into you, earning him a breathy whine. “Kazu, please. I want you.” “Hmm? You made me wait so long I plan to make it last.” “Ha- nng- and I’m the sadist?” He releases your breast and trails a hand down your stomach, toying with the button of your pants. You grind up his leg, encouraging him to continue. “Patience, you vicious little thing.” He chides.

He pops the button of your pants open with one hand and drags the zipper down painfully slowly. He pulls the waist of your pants down, the task proving to be difficult one handed. You raise your hips to help him shimmy them down your thighs. “Fuck” He releases your wrists to pull your pants all the way off, tossing them to the floor. You start to sit up before he shoves you back down by your wrists, situating himself between your legs again. 

“Now, where were we?” “Well, I was falling asleep while you took your sweet time undressing me.” “Oh, well that won’t do. Let’s wake you up, shall we?” He trails his free hand up your thigh, squeezing the fleshy part at the top, humming with approval. He traces his thumb against the edge of your panties, dragging down a glistening trail of your wetness. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, babe.” He swipes his thumb up again, gathering some of your juices as he brings it to his lips, sucking on the digit. “You taste so good.” 

“Yeah? You like it, sicko?” “Mmm, love it. Let me taste you, pretty girl.” He slides down the tattoo bed, dragging you with him. He spreads your legs apart, hooking them over his shoulders. You take this chance to free yourself from the clothing around your wrist, snapping off the latex gloves in the process.

He runs a finger up and down your slit through the fabric of your drenched panties. “Fuck” He pulls the garment to the side watching you twitch and flutter being exposed to the cool air of the studio. He brings his head down, lapping up the wetness between your legs.

You can’t hold back the moan that comes out with the sensation, tangling your fingers in his silky hair. “Mmm babe you taste even better than I expected.” He says from between your legs. You can’t string together a coherent sentence. Between the teasing and his skilled tongue circling your clit, you feel yourself tumbling towards release.

“Ah- Kazu- ha- I’m-” The words come out high and breathy as you feel like you’ve been dipped in honey, your limbs heavy and warm. Right as you’re at the brink of your orgasm his movements slow. You let out a frustrated whine. You swear you can feel him smiling there, between your legs.

“Wha- Why?” “Hmm? Is something the matter?” He teases. “You’re… insufferable.” You pant. “Am I?” He challenges, bringing a finger up to your hole, testing the water there. Your breath hitches as he pushes it deeper, his long fingers curling in a tantalizing way. 

He licks the sensitive bundle of nerves again, swirling his tongue. You feel the sensation building again. “Kazu, please, I want you.” You whine. “I know you do, pretty girl. I’m getting you ready, just relax.” “How can I relax when you’re-” He adds another finger and you feel the stretch before a third is inserted. You moan, grinding into him, fucking yourself on his face and fingers.

You feel the tension rising again, your breathing getting heavier, the knot in your stomach about to snap. As you feel the sensation swelling, fuzziness crawling over your skin, he removes his fingers, leaving you so empty. You choke on a frustrated cry as you feel tears prickle in your eyes, having been denied twice. 

“Kazu, please, I’m so close. Let me come.” “Eager as ever, darling.” You hear the tearing of something not-quite paper. You peel your eyes open, looking down at him. A small, square wrapper reflects the light in a metallic way, dangling from his mouth. The sound of a zipper directs your eyes down to his pants. He lets the clothing drop to his thighs. There is a prominent wet spot spreading through the fabric of his underwear beneath. You can see his size through the thin material. It is formidable. 

You eat up the view, his flexed abdomen, the defined lines low on his stomach that disappear beneath his waistband, his blown out pupils, his flushed face, the hickeys you left him on one side of his neck, and the tattoo outline on the other. You feel a deep throb inside of you.

“Kazu, baby, you look so good.” He leans over you, brushing his lips to yours, “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking hot.” You taste yourself on his lips as you draw him in to deepen the kiss. He pulls back, an hungry look in his eye. He makes a show of pulling his waistband down, freeing himself from the restraints of the undergarment. Your eyes widen. 

Maybe he wasn’t exaggerating all of those times he’s bragged about his ‘big dick energy.’ “Think you can take it, princess?” He goads with a lazy smile. He gives himself a few firm strokes before rolling the condom over his sizable member. “Think you can actually make me come this time?” You quip back. He steals a quick peck from that bratty mouth that he loves.

“Mmm, this time, and the next time, and the next time.” He punctuates each word with a kiss to your jaw then your throat and your chest. He positions himself over you, “so if you need a break, feel dizzy, or if it’s too painful, just say the word.” He imitates your voice, repeating your earlier statement back to you. “Shut up and fuck me.” You say breathily, taking a firm grip of his silky hair and pulling him into a feverish kiss. 

He moans into the kiss as you nip at his lower lip. You feel his tip, prodding at your entrance. You grind down on it, urging him to continue. You feel that delicious stretch as you adjust to his size. It’s been far too long since your last time and he is huge. His ministrations earlier had done little to prepare you for his actual size.

He moves slowly, working with you as you grind up to meet him. You can’t fight back the little noises bubbling up in your throat any more. Small whines and whimpers. “Fuck, good girl, let me hear you.” You moan louder as you feel your walls stretching to take him. 

You can feel it, the tip pushing against your cervix, making your breath hitch. He pauses there. A string of praise and profanities spilling from his lips. “I’m gonna move.” He pants. He props himself up over your face, looking deeply into your eyes. He’s slow, so excruciatingly slow. You feel like he could split you open. Your face twists in pain and pleasure.

He peppers your cheeks and forehead with light kisses, a jumble of, “good girl, you’re taking me so well, you’re so tight, fuck, babe you feel so good, you’re gorgeous.” Are whispered with every kiss. “Look at you, pretty girl.” He says, staring at the space where the two of you are joined. Your hazy eyes drift there too. To the swollen, sensitive spot that is sucking him in. You’ve almost taken all of him. 

“Y/N, I…” He bucks unconsciously. You gasp sharply. “I can’t… It feels so good.” He groans, bucking again, so close to being buried inside of you. You whine, completely stuffed. He moves, shallow ruts, picking up speed. “Fuck, Kazu, you’re so deep, you’re- it’s so big.” You whimper. You flutter around him, making his movement stutter. He continues with fervor. He’s so deep, with each thrust you feel him brushing past that spot that makes your toes curl before pressing into your cervix. 

He adjusts his position, bringing your legs up to hook over his shoulders, folding you in half. He grabs the edge of the tattoo bed, gripping it so hard his knuckles turn white. You cry out as he buries himself even deeper. Your cry melts into a moan as the rush of pleasure spreads from the pain.

You can hardly see him through the blur in your eyes. You feel yourself unraveling as he fucks freely into you in this new position. Each stroke is more intense than the last. Lewd, wet noises spill from your puffy entrance with each thrust. You feel it coming, huge and intense. Your arms and legs are blanketed in tingles, your head is light and dizzy, release hurtling towards you.

“Uhhng, Kazu, don’t stop, I’m gonna.” He grunts, snapping his hips into you, fucking you down into the crinkled paper of the tattoo bed. He brings a hand down, grabbing one of your breasts, bullying your nipple with a harsh pinch. The sensation is too much. You cry out, clenching around him, vision going white as your release washes over you. A slurry of curses and affection pour from you as the waves of pleasure wrack your body. He continues his deep, cruel thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out of you. 

You flutter and clench around him, a whimper then laugh leaves the man over you. “Y/N, You’re sucking me in, you want me so bad, huh, baby? Fuck, I’m gonna come, pretty girl. You’re gonna make me come.” He mutters, his thrusts becoming frantic, your bruised cervix opening, swallowing him deep inside of you.

“Oh, FUCK!” With one final, brutal thrust he’s pouring himself into you. He latches onto your collar bone, biting hard. You yelp, feeling the sting of his teeth breaking the skin and his tongue swirling.

He moans, grinding into you, riding out his own release. Stuffing the condom full of his seed inside of you. Fucking into your womb. His grip on the tattoo bed loosens, as he lays himself over you. Lazily thrusting. He snakes his arms around you, embracing you as he grinds the last of his cum into you.

You bring a hand up to play with his fluffy hair as he slackens his jaw, planting sloppy, wet kisses over the bite mark. Your chests rise with heavy breaths, reveling in your shared releases. Your limbs feel like lead and your head is still fuzzy. Every nerve in your body is shot, tingling pleasantly.

“That was so much better than I could’ve imagined.” He hums. “Yeah… That was… Worth the wait.” You say, burying your face into the crook of his neck opposite his tattoo. “I think that’s enough of a break.” You laugh as he kisses your temple. “Mmm, yeah, let’s finish this up.” He gestures vaguely to the outline of his tattoo.

“I’ve got some big plans for the night.” He says in a low voice, pulling out from you as you quiver around the emptiness, missing him. “I should probably finish what I’ve started this time, and the next time, and the next time.” You tease him with his earlier flirtations, earning you a playful jostle. You reach absently over the edge of the tattoo bed, feeling around for your discarded garments. 

“This is gonna be a long night.” He laughs, passing you your clothing as he grabs some paper towels from your station. cleaning himself up. “Promise?” You joke, masking a deeper desire. The animalistic way he smiles at you is answer enough.

[xalicitie]

Unwarranted Thoughts — Kaz Brekker (smut) PART 2

You’re a new member of Kaz’s gang of crows. You and your boss share a cryptic relationship which neither of you seem to understand how to approach, but within one night in which you attend to a dire wound Kaz receives in battle, the two of you discover your true feelings for each other.

I didn’t think this was actually gonna be seen so I never finished it .. I just checked to see how it was doing and I screamed 😭, so I like rushed the ending part — and DISCLAIMER: I’ve heard some controversy about how smut about Kaz should be written since his trauma unfortunately hinders him from physical touch. I haven’t been necessarily finished the SOC storyline, when I started this I hadn’t even begun the books so let’s just say my writing is very likely inaccurate but I tried my best to be realistic. I read thru this again and I realize I made a lot of mistakes having to with this but I didn’t mean any harm 👌

Like a rabid animal that had been held back, Kaz lunged forward, finally connecting your lips with unhindered force, his fingers molding into your neck, supporting you as he dove into your lips. Passion teemed between the connection of your lips, his tongue dominating and entering your welcoming mouth. You moaned into his, softening under his touch.

His hand at your neck rushed to your back to force you closer to him, your breasts now hitting his clothes. He further deepened the kiss, exploring the depths of your sultry mouth until you two were breathless, throbbing.

In that last moment he pulled back, a sigh escaping his lips, and you doing the same as you two parted from the vigorous, ungovernable passion.

:readmore:

You and Kaz looked at each other. Really, looked at each other—not like the faint glances you'd once given, unsure of your feelings for one another. You looked right into each other, you gazing into his once cold blue eyes, now incandescent in their softness.

This was Kaz Brekker. Beneath his cynical skin, here he was. Dying to fuck you.

And like that, Kaz was shirtless again. With a bandaged waist, nonetheless, but finally you were allowed to explore his chest as you had yearned to do so badly moments ago. Feel the strength of his muscles, run your fingers over the surface of his pale skin.

But you wanted to allow him such pleasure, too. So momentarily, you hurriedly peeled your shirt off from yourself, cold air hitting your shoulders. With coy eyes, you gazed at Kaz as you slowly reached at your back, releasing your bra, letting it fall to your legs and to the floor.

His eyes were free and vulnerable—a sight to behold. They disarmed immediately under your gaze, then wandered greedily as they meandered the softness of your skin and the pertness of your breasts. Before long his fingertips and the sensation of his lips were all over you.

His gloved fingers brushed against your breast, his tongue delicately roaming your sensitive nipple. You mewled, throbbing, yearning and needing all at once at his touch, fingers crawling at his back, grabbing at what they could.

"Kaz.." you whispered, edged with something harsh like sin. Greed. Desire. He groaned against your skin with his lips exploring your breast.

"Such a good girl.." he hissed. Your brows tightened in pleasure, your restless fingers bringing themselves to dig into Kaz's hair.

Lower and lower, Kaz moved, towards your aching cunt. You were just so sensitive; every brisk touch sent shivers down your spine, engendering greatly your growing need for Kaz deep inside of you.

His clothed fingers slipped into the sides of your pants, and steadily, pulled them down your thighs and down to your legs, allowing you to squirm out of the garment and push it aside. And he did this all while maintaining a lustful gaze—silent, but intimate and personal. The intent of his gaze pulsated in the blue of his eyes.

The intensity in the air was so sharp, it could have been sliced by a dagger. As the tension continued burned, your hand reached for Kaz's.

He scrutinized you intently as you placed his gloved hand in yours. You'd heard tales from the crows about the truth of Brekker's gloves as well as from the whispered rumors of the Barrel; he had never allowed anything to brush his bare fingers, at least for as long as he'd owned his gloves. You knew this was something to do with his past—the tales of his digits being stained with blood made you scoff. Although you wanted to unveil all the layers of Kaz, explore his past and understand the core of who he was, you understood that it would take time.

"..Is this.." you began, holding his hand in yours, as you snuck two of your fingers just barely into his glove. He looked afraid—you knew this was novel to him as his eyes gaped. "Is this okay?"

Kaz's blue eyes then averted from your hand to you and your comforting, lovely gaze. Even if this was difficult for him, he knew he was safe with you. Something about you soothed him, made him want to open up, and there weren't many with the same ability as you.

"Slowly." He eventually whispered, and his voice, his voice was no longer strict. It was wanting, heartfelt.

With an assuring nod of your head, you peeled his glove from off his hand. His hand was beautiful—his skin was soft and his fingers were slim and worked. You guided his fingers between yours, massaging his sleek skin, slowly welcoming his touch.

"I wish you wouldn't hide this." Your voice was low, husky, matching the quiet and amorous atmosphere of the room. "You've got beautiful hands."

"What makes you think that?" He inquired. He was staring at you so intently, eyes so sharp and cunning. He couldn't get enough of you.

You ran your fingertip along the side of his finger, stroking it back and forth. "You have strong skin. Strong fingers; it shows how far you've come."

His brow raised softly. He loved how you worded things; he never thought he'd hear such a thing about him in his life.

Desire sprouting inside of him, Kaz cupped your jaw with his vulnerable hand so quickly you didn't process it until you realized his lips were back on yours. He kissed you fervently, gliding his other hand along your side and onto your breast.

You went like that for awhile until he was back down at your waist. You stood, back against the seat, your cunt begging for touch as Kaz fiddled with the cotton of your underwear, teasing you, loving seeing you so bare.

"You're so perfect." He said as he scrutinized your body. Every scar from the battles before, he loved every inch of you. A tender smile grew on your face.

Patience withered, he slipped the panties from under you. His bare fingers traveled, and he slipped one into your entrance, breaking the earlier anticipation. Your breath hitched, lips split as you watched in front of you, Kaz Brekker fingering you. Like each one of your dreams went.

His left hand followed to press against your clit, rubbing circles into your cunt. The feeling of his fingers was more pleasurable than you could’ve ever imagined—you grasped the edges of the seat, breathing heavily. You were already so wet.

You were mewling and struggling to contain your composure as Kaz entered his ring finger in, pumping his two digits slowly in, allowing you to get accustomed to the tense feeling. He continued to play your pussy with his fingers, eyes reaching your dazed ones.

“There you go. All mine.” He crooned, hovering forward, as he was on his knees, to unleash hot breaths onto your lower stomach and waist, staining your skin with his saliva.

“Kaz…Kaz, don’t stop..” you begged, going on to dig your fingers into his brunette strands of hair, grasping his scalp and tightening your already taut hold as he quickened his pace.

At this point you were a mess. You bucked against his hands as his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot inside of you. Moans fled your mouth, your body stuttered and buckling. Sweat trailed at your temples, the beginning fluids of your climax coating Kaz’s fingers and trailing down your shivering thighs.

“Kaz, I’m gonna..” you bit you lip as his pace became quick and restless. You felt your climax approach, and your body could just barely handle it as your fingers gripped the edge of the seat and roam Kaz’s hair desperately.

“You gonna cum for me?” You nodded fervently with tightened brows. He loved seeing you like this, all he wanted to see was you come undone for him, split in front of him and climax onto his working fingers. “Come on, darling. Cum for me.”

That tipped you over the edge. Your pupils dug into the back your head as your back arched simultaneously. “Fuck!” You cried with collapsed breaths, and you came undone right there. Fluids dripped and coated your pussy, leaving Kaz’s fingers soaked. You shook intermittently, breaths dissolving into the air like mist with your eyes shut, processing all the pleasure that you’d felt all at once.

“Perfect.” Kaz said as he came back up to you, watching as you shook in your strained breaths.

And once more, he connected his lips to yours.

[flaggermousseart]

rambling headcanons under readmore

After rebuilding the hotel Lucifer moves in, wanting to help Charlie in whatever way he can. For Charlie’s sake, he’s going to try and get along with her friends somehow. What starts out as a trial in ‘not raising to any of that fucker’s insults’ becomes ‘alright, I can tolerate the Radio Demon’ then ‘okay, maybe Alastor is not THAT bad’ and somewhere along the line he starts to develop feelings for him.

Lucifer panics. He’s never felt anything like this since Lilith. She’s been gone for years, and he didn’t think he’d feel anything like this again. He decides that this is crazy, and if he just ignores it and pushes all these new feelings as far down as possible, they will go away.

They don’t.

And soon the whole damn hotel seems to know. This is extremely embarrassing, but the only one who’s opinion really matters to him is Charlie. Lucifer thought she’s be disappointed that he’s moving on from her mom. Charlie is not; she’s seen how depressed her father has been, how much he’s been struggling these last years, so if he can find happiness again, he should go for it! When Charlie starts pushing for him to ask Alastor out, Lucifer almost wishes she’d disapproved.

But ... perhaps he should do it. He’ll probably get a no, but maybe a humiliating rejection is what will finally snap him out of it. Maybe he can somehow move on then.

It turns out there was one person in the hotel who had not picked up on Lucifer’s feelings:

Alastor had no clue.

So, when Lucifer asks him out, his first thought is ‘is this some sort of trap?’ and the second is ‘oh. how can I use this?’

... so he says yes.

[visenyaism]

If the King Visenya Dance ends with Rhaenyra on the throne, who’s crowned after her? Just curious no worries if you haven’t thought about her?

Does Aegon IV still exist since Viserys was sent to Lys?

no i have a outline for this very silly conflict. buckle up under the readmore this is barely hinged and deeply unserious

so.

- Queen Rhaena (the lesbian) dies, names Saera as her successor at the last minute which no one wants to honor.

- Starts with Rhaenys on dragonstone, Baelon in KL, and Saera in Volantis headed to KL.

- Baelon still gets appendicitis and dies pretty early but everyone thinks it’s some kind of treachery.

- The war officially starts when Damon Targaryen runs into Corlys at Riverrun, trying to negotiate a betrothal between his daughter and some Muppet to back Rhaenys for the throne. fresh off of losing his father and currently consolidating support for his brother, Daemon wants someone to blame and kills Corlys.

- Daemon and Aegon (Viserys I) try to jump Rhaenys at Rook’s Rest, but she gets her way out of the trap and manages to take down Aegon’s dragon and severely injure him in the process. Aegon goes back to KL to rule and protect his daughter Rhaenyra, Daemon spends the rest of the time flying around the riverlands and lighting stuff on fire.

- while all of this is happening, there’s also an extended naval conflict between the Targannister faction, which exists, Viserra has a dragon(this is my mind palace i make the rules) and the Saera chaos faction. Two battles there:

1. combined Greyjoy/Triarchy chaos faction, almost successfully take Casterly Rock while Viserra is down by the gullet and little Jaeson (lol) tries to flee on his dragon at which point Saera’s daughter Aerea takes him down. However he just barely survives even though he loses his dragon, and the last man ended up killing Aerea, who is pinned down in enemy territory in the keep.

2. While trying to break the Triarchy blockade of the Gullet for her nephew who holds King’s Landing, Viserra and Saera have a dragon fight. Balerion is old and slow and unwieldy: takes a few scorpion bolts meant for Vermithor and goes down. Viserra and a severely injured Vermithor go down as well, some historians argue she was trying to save her drowning sister. Who knows.

- With both other factions, looking pretty bad, Rhaenys takes King’s Landing: Aegon (Viserys I) dies here, but his 10-year-old daughter Rhaenyra is able to see the city on her dragon. However, Syraxis very young at the time and takes a few hits which get infected and dies right after they makes it to the Eyrie.

- Daemon and Rhaenys kill each other over the gods eye on their parents’ dragons.

- Some variation of the storming of the dragonpit happens. Laenor and Laena successfully flee to Dragonstone, but Silverwing and Seasmoke do not :(

- No longer worried about being burned by Daemon. The Riverlands, Crownlands, and Stormlands forces are able to muster enough troops to actually get to Kings Landing and restore order.

- The war ends when they put Laenor on the throne. it ends with the wedding of Laenor and Rhaenyra to create some form of stability after everything.

- They have three kids “together.” Baela the Bdefiant, future mother of Daena Darksister, Jakey who dies in dorne with cregan stark, and Joffrey the religious freak.

- Laena stays in KL and later becomes master of coin.

- Saera’s son Viserys II is in Volantis and comes to King’s Landing with his wife Larra Rogare and their son Aegon to serve as Laenor and Jake and Joffrey’s hand after they extend an olive branch.

- The Targannister kids technically survived but lose their dragons so they’re just sort of like well you guys didn’t see any of that. we’re just lannisters now.

arc 2 of this absurd fire and blood revamp where everything is cringe in a way that’s specifically appeals to me complete

[taytrashmouth]

Heyy I was wondering if u could do prompt 22 with peeta I’ve been having peeta brainrot for so long 😭

tysmm!!

This is so real!!!!! Peeta supremacy. I really hope you love it.

Prompt 22: “You’re staring!”

Requests are open so please send them in!!!!!!!! Prompts under my profile.

(Set before the games)

:readmore:

It was a cold day in district 12, the snow had started to fall. But it was a good day, because you had somehow giggled your way into getting a date with Peeta Mellark.

You pulled your small brown bag, that’s been patched up so many times you couldn’t tell which fabric was the original. And began to walk to the bakery.

You pulled your dark blue beanie over your ears as you approached the door. You contemplated for a minute before knocking.

Peetas family were gathering supplies from the local market, they wouldn’t be back for the next few hours.

He opened the door and smiled the minute he saw you. You smiled back.

“Hey.” He ushered you inside, looking at the snow that dusted your shoulders.

“You must be freezing.” He took your coat and put it over the chair by the entrance.

“Only slightly.” You joked.

“You’ve got- umm snow.” Peeta pointed to your eyelashes. You giggled “oh, would you?”

You closed your eyes and he gently dusted the snowflakes off of your long eyelashes.

His hand lingered on your cheek as you opened your eyes.

“Thanks.” You spoke just above a whisper.

“I’m making bread.” He let out as he pulled his hand away. You smiled at his awkwardness.

“I’m glad! Your bread is like what I look forward to the whole week.” You told him as you walked to the kitchen.

He smiled shyly.

“I just need to get this in the oven and then we can do whatever you want.” He spoke, walking over to a metal bowl where the dough had been rising.

You sat on the kitchen counter and watched him knead the bread. You were mesmerised by the muscle in his arms, and the way he used his whole body to knead the dough.

He was talking about something but if you were honest you didn’t know what.

“Y/n-“ he called and you broke out of your trance. “You’re staring…” he smiled cockily.

You turned crimson looking at your hands and swinging your legs. “Sorry-“

“Don’t be…” he let out as he placed the bread into the oven.

“Come on.” He spoke and helped you down from the counter by your hips.

You blushed more.

He led you to the living room where a fire was going, it was small like all the houses in 12. But it was nice. Cozy.

You took your beanie off and attempted to smooth out your hair. Messy curls bouncing everywhere.

There was a severe lack of chairs in the living room. All single chairs in every corner of the room and a huge table in the middle. Furniture wasn’t one of the luxuries the Capitol provided.

You noticed some daisies lying on the table. Peeta picked them up. “I- I uh picked these for you. They grow down by the river.”

You smiled. “They’re beautiful.” You smelt them.

“Like you.” You both blushed then.

He took a daisy out of the bouquet and placed it behind your ear.

After a while of talking Peeta spoke “what do you wanna do? Unfortunately when it’s snowing there’s not much to do is there?”

“We could read.” You suggested fishing a book from your bag.

“Where did you get that?” Peeta examined it in awe.

“My dad, he knows a guy in 7 that owned a library before the rebellion. He’s really old. But every month my dad travels to get wood from 7 for our district and he gives him a book for me to read.” You explained.

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, when I was little he said that if the Capitol ever crumbles the library’s mine.” You smiled at the memory.

“You’ll have to take me with you.”

“Always.” You looked at every feature on his face. “You can lend some of them anytime you want. I have a feeling we’re gonna have to wait a long time for the whole library.” You joked and Peeta laughed

I would love to, but I’m not that great at reading.” He hesitated to speak. You could tell he was embarrassed.

“That’s okay, my mom taught me. Honestly I don’t blame you, schools here just care about coal and the rebellion.”

“Yeah…I’m sorry by the way.” He was talking about your mom. She died a few years back.

“It’s okay.” You smiled sadly.

“I can read to you if you want.” You offered.

He nodded. Hiding his excitement.

He sat on one of the chairs, and you sat on the floor next to him.

“Hey don’t sit on the floor.” Peeta sat up.

“No no! I’m fine, you won’t hear from over there, really.” You insisted.

“Sit with me.” Peeta suggested.

Blush crept into his face the second he said it.

“You don’t have t-“

“I want to.” You stood up.

He sat back onto the seat squeezing as far right as he could. You tried to squeeze next to him but you were half on top of him. You were both tomato’s.

He carefully placed his hand on your lower back and under your thigh. You took a sharp breath in as he moved you to sit on his lap, legs over the armrest.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

“Perfect.”

You began to read and he held onto every word. He was in deep and he knew it. He watched your lips move and the way you smiled when something good happened. And giggled when something romantic happened.

“Peeta-“ he broke from his trance when he realised you weren’t reading anymore.

“You’re staring.” You smirked.

Now he was the blushing mess. “It’s hard not to.” He moved some hair behind your ear.

You squealed and hurried your head in his chest at how perfect he was. He chuckled and stroked your hair as you continued to read, head on his chest.

[vibingandsimping]

Hey it's me from the Karlach/male human request- thanks a million again for indulging my brainrot- next request is a bit more spicy. Basically something like, after her engine's shut off, since she can feel stuff now again, she basically gets, like... high on feeling? If that makes sense, and basically, a SUPER spicy subby Karlach who just wants to feel things- pain, pleasure, teasing, overstim, all of it... bonus points for any mentions of her tail wagging I think that'd be nice... uh anyway thanks again :))

As always… smut under the readmore!

It had been a pain to acquire all the infernal iron and track down Dammon. Luckily, he was a selfless man who gladly helped Karlach considering their history. She nearly kissed him then and there out of sheer gratitude. You might’ve let her, honestly. You both knew your hearts belonged to one another- it was more of a display of appreciation rather than actual affection. She had been a lot more touchy with you after that. Any chance had her hand linked with yours or her tail around you. If you initiated a kiss she’d grin wildly. That, of course, extended into the bedroom as well. She sought you out nearly every night (ten years of forced abstinence will do that to you).

You had your face buried into her cunt as she laid atop pillows and blankets on your tent floor. Her hand clasped in your hair as you ate her like a man starved. Tongue darting in and out of her folds. She’d grow too excited often and you’d pull away leaving her to whine. Blowing cool air onto her sensitive flesh to further torment the desperate tiefling. Her tail lashing in a mix of need and frustration. Occasionally, it’d nearly smack you so you pinned it to the ground with your palm. Karlach whined once more and attempted to tug you forward. You sat rigid and stared up at her til she finally opened her eyes and met your gaze. “Beg.” You commanded simply and she bit her lip. Sharp teeth grazing her crimson-tinted skin. “I said beg or you won’t be finishing at all tonight.” Her eyes opened like saucers at that. It was nearly immediate the way she began to cry with no abandon. Clearly, she didn’t care if the camp heard her desperation and pleasure. “Please! Please, please- i’m so close. It nearly hurts. I’ve been so good, i’ll do anything.” Your grin was wicked.

You leaned back into her. The taste on your tongue like an ambrosia. Fingers slipping inside her as you found her spongy walls with practice. Curling two fingers as you lavished her clit with your attention. Suckling and working your fingers together in tandem. Your cock ached as you listened to her cries and tasted her. That could wait for later. You had so much in mind. Her moans began to reach a fever pitch. Your signal she was close. You began to work faster and abuse the spot you’d been curling. Lips wrapped around her clit as she began to squirm and writhe in your hold. You didn’t want her to just cum; you wanted her to squirt and you had a good feeling she’d succumb tonight. Working her to the edge again and again leads to a very fulfilling orgasm. Pair that with a little expertise in her body? Your wishes would be granted. Her thighs clamped around your head as she rocked her hips a couple times. Then, sudden stillness as her walls began to flutter erratically. Against your chin, arm and fingers (even reaching your chest) was a stream of her pleasure. Covering you as you groaned in satisfaction. You didn’t stop as she came. Working her body faster and a little rougher as her moans turned into cries. Her fingers tugging at your roots to pull you away as you worked her into overstimulation.

This night was far from over.

[rosanna-writer]

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (5/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally...

Warnings: None

Thank you again to @itsthedoodle for beta-ing my gift for @the-lonelybarricade!

Ch. 1 - Got a Feelin' 'bout the Headline | Ch. 2 - Beautiful. Smart. Independent. | Ch. 3 - Guts and Glory | Ch. 4 - Dead or Dreamin' | Ch. 5 - Something to Believe in

You can read the fifth chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore.

A mating bond was a massive, overwhelming thing. Feyre didn’t have the words to talk about it—didn’t even know where to start. It all seemed safer if her suspicions stayed suspicions.

The moment she voiced them aloud, her whole life would change.

For just a little while longer, she wanted to stay Feyre-the-newsie, not Feyre-the-prince’s-mate. And it felt good to give in to the urging of the thread in her chest—her mind went pleasantly blank every time Rhys’s lips touched hers. She wanted to drown in him and forget about everything else.

She started to reach for the buttons of his jacket, but a broad hand covered hers. “Mother above, Feyre,” Rhys murmured, huffing a soft laugh, “we don’t have to do this on a rooftop.”

Feyre started to protest—after all, they’d have even less privacy if she brought him down to her crowded, shared bedroom in the tenement below—but before she could get the words out, her feet were off the floor. Rhys had slid his hands beneath her knees and shoulders to scoop her up.

Her stomach flipped. If being cradled against his chest didn’t feel quite so nice, she would have wiggled her way out of his arms. She still had half a mind to do it, just to spite him for not giving her any warning.

Rhys snapped his wings out wide. She felt the slight bend in his knees, as if he were about to— “Don’t take off without telling me where we’re going,” she said quickly.

“The House of Wind,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.

A blush crept up her cheeks. “You’re…taking me home?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not an ill-mannered brute.”

They shot into the sky, and the rushing wind drowned out any of Feyre’s further complaints. All she could do was loop an arm behind his neck and cling to him even tighter.

Feyre was built for the shadows—not the open skies. As the city fell away beneath them, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the hard warmth of Rhys’s body against hers. With each beat of his wings, she could feel the powerful muscles of his back and chest at work. An Illyrian warrior exactly where he belonged.

But still, it was something of a relief to feel the world fade into mist as he winnowed them. He was impatient, she realized. The flight wouldn’t take more than a few minutes, but apparently that was too long to wait.

In the space of a heartbeat, they were in the sky again, this time directly above the House of Wind. Rhys held his wings out as they descended past the wards in a smooth glide. The balcony rushed towards them, but Feyre barely felt anything as Rhys’s feet touched the stone floor.

She didn’t feel like she belonged in the palace—especially not after the High Lord had called her there earlier just to intimidate her. Feyre spent her life on the streets, never anywhere this opulent. She couldn’t shake the feeling, ridiculous as it was, that they’d be caught any moment and she’d be forced to leave.

Rhys set her down, and on instinct, Feyre made herself incorporeal again. He hadn’t dropped her hand, and the shadows skittering along her skin extended down her arm, enveloping him, too.

“There’s no need to hide,” Rhys said. “In case you’ve forgotten, I live here, and I invited you.”

“Don’t be a prick. There might be problems if we run into someone,” Feyre said. She was sure the High Lord wouldn’t be thrilled to see her again—and she was fairly certain Rhys’s sister was also somewhere nearby.

“After all those headlines about how many people I’ve brought to my bedroom, no one will be scandalized, I assure you.”

Feyre growled, and perhaps that should have embarrassed her. But it was a relief to stop pretending she hadn’t been envious of everyone the press had linked to him romantically over the years.

Something sparked in Rhys’s eyes, an excited gleam that made Feyre’s toes curl in her boots. He’d liked that low, possessive sound when it came from her.

“I thought it would be obvious by now,” he said, “but apparently I hadn’t made myself clear before. You are the very last person I’m bringing to my bed and the one I want there the most.”

She knew why. But she still said, “Prove it.”

In an instant, Rhys was tugging her through walls and furniture. He seemed completely unbothered by temporarily becoming incorporeal, which was unusual—Lucien had always complained the shadows felt like spiders crawling all over his skin. Maybe it was different for mates.

Feyre let the shadows fade when they reached a room that could only have been his—bed large enough for wings, desk covered in paperwork and the sword she’d seen him brandishing the other day, curtains rustling gently in the glassless window.

Curiosity got the better of her, but only for a moment. Rhys had used their joined hands to pull her against him, and his tongue was already pressing its way between her lips again.

Perhaps his way of proving he wanted her there was just…devouring her whole.

Not that she was the sort of person to just stand there and get devoured. Feyre had heard all the rumors about Illyrian wings, so she reached for his, brushing a hand against the membrane just to see what would happen.

Rhys groaned, and they were pressed so close that Feyre felt every inch of his full-body shudder.

So there had been some truth to the stories she’d heard, then. She reached out and pressed a little harder against his wing—the taut skin was cool to the touch, silky and surprisingly soft. Slowly, she dragged her hand down.

Rhys’s hips bucked against hers, and Feyre couldn’t help but giggle. “Did you just…” she said.

“No, but I will shortly if you keep that up.”

That sounded like encouragement, so she stretched her hand out again. Rhys snapped his wings back before she could touch them.

“If you can’t last very long, I promise I won’t leak the story to the press.”

“My stamina isn’t an issue,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. It was softer than on the rooftop, his hands settling gently on her hips. “As I told you, I’m not an ill-mannered brute. Ladies first.”

Before Feyre could respond, he was already on his knees. Splaying one broad hand across her stomach, he pressed her back against the door, then hooked one of her legs over his shoulder.

There had been a flurry of headlines about Rhys refusing to kneel to his father in protest, then several more after an interview where he’d revealed the mountain and stars tattooed on his knees—that they meant he’d bow to nothing and no one but his crown. It had been dangerously close to declaring an intent to kill his father and take the throne.

But he’d knelt for her without a second thought. His crown and his—

No. Feyre wouldn’t let herself think it again.

Besides, Rhys was already hooking his fingers in the waistband of her pants. He looked up at her, a question in his eyes. As if now, she might actually change her mind. She’d never known him to look unsure of anything.

She nearly managed to say what they were to each other, just to wipe the doubt from his face. But Feyre wasn’t quite brave enough to manage it. Not yet.

“Keep going, please,” she said, hoping it was enough.

Rhys peeled the threadbare leggings down, and Feyre gripped his shoulder to steady herself as the fabric stretched around her knees. But that hand pinning her to the door wouldn’t let her fall.

He pressed a kiss to the bottom of her abdomen, and Feyre couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been so soft with her.

There was nothing hesitant in the first sweep of his tongue, a slow stripe up her center. Too much, but not enough. Feyre whined and canted her hips closer.

With a satisfied growl, Rhys feasted on her in earnest, licking and sucking every part of her he could reach. Feyre writhed, her hand on his shoulder digging into the fabric of his jacket. A wave of knee-wobbling pleasure was building within her, and the fingers of her other hand scraped uselessly against the wooden door.

The relentless strokes of his tongue didn’t slow despite his hand reaching up to interlace his fingers with hers.

Feyre squeezed his hand with enough force to crush his fingers as release crashed through her. Breathing hard, she started to slide her leg off his shoulder. The hand on her stomach pressed her back into the door, holding her in place.

His voice echoed in her head; with his tongue already slipping inside her again, Rhys couldn’t speak aloud. You taste too magnificent to stop after just one.

There was nothing to do but let him wring more pleasure from her. Rhys seemed to be intent on making her climax as many times in a row as he could, at least until Feyre finally managed to whisper, “I want the next one with you inside me.”

She kicked her leggings the rest of the way to the floor as he stood and lifted her up. Without his mouth on her, her head finally started to clear, and it suddenly seemed massively unfair he was still completely clothed.

He carried her towards the bed, and once her shaking legs were locked around him, Feyre tore at the buttons of his jacket. The rest of their clothes disappeared with a crackle of magic.

Quite a lot of ink had already been spilled about Rhysand’s chest. Since he’d won the Blood Rite and earned his tattoos, he’d favored plunging vee necklines to show them off, and it wasn’t unusual for him to stumble out of Rita’s missing the tunic he’d gone in with. Feyre had certainly never complained—not when that chest splashed across the front page sold so many papers.

But none of that prepared her for how good it would feel to run a possessive hand down the expanse of hard muscle.

Feyre couldn’t make promises—not with a one-way ticket to the Continent in her pocket. If she was leaving, it wasn’t fair to snarl and call him hers and no one else’s.

She wanted to, though. Cauldron, she wanted to.

He was staring down at her like he wanted the same thing, and it was all too much. They were coming dangerously close to blurting out a confession, so she plunged her fingers into his hair and dragged his lips towards hers again.

It was another hungry, open-mouthed kiss, and it felt far better than talking. Feyre tipped her hips up, a silent plea to keep going. Her clit brushed the underside of his cock, drawing a mewling sound she made right into his mouth.

Needy little thing, aren’t you? The words floated into her head as if carried on a night-kissed wind.

I’m not needy, you’re just slow. I told you what I want.

The thread tying them together—that Feyre was still trying very hard to ignore—seemed to hum with wicked amusement. She lifted her hand from his head and stretched it over his shoulder.

She could feel the rumble of his low laugh as he tucked his wing out of her reach. His hips shifted, and his considerable length slid into her.

The stretch was ecstasy. There was no way around it—Rhys’s cock was big, just like the rest of him. He moved slowly at first, and Feyre let her eyes flutter shut as she just savored the feeling of him filling her up.

It was nearly too much, but at the same time the instincts driven by the bond in her chest pushed her to take him deeper and demand more. She pressed her hips up, taking every inch of him she could. 

It was all the urging he needed to go faster. Suddenly, Rhys was fucking her like his life depended on it. He was far from Feyre’s first partner, but she’d never had someone chase her climax so relentlessly. There was nothing to do but give into it until she shattered around him.

He was breathing hard when Feyre came back to herself. She knew she should have smirked, said something blasé to make it clear this was just a bit of fun before she left for the Continent. Made it clear this was casual so she could ignore the bond in her chest just a little while longer.

But no, whether it was the mating bond or something else, Rhys had just utterly ruined her for anyone else. And based on the way he was looking at her…he felt the same way about her, too.

Leaning down, Rhys rolled them both over until they were on their sides. The mess they’d made disappeared from between her legs with half a thought.

“Stay,” he whispered into her shoulder. “Please.”

Feyre let herself believe he only meant for the night. After all, she’d have to be back here in the morning for the start of negotiations anyway. Not forever.

“I will,” she whispered back, pulling him tighter.

Even during bombshell tell-all interviews, none of Rhys’s lovers had ever mentioned his wings, and most of them had stumbled out of his bedroom or bid him goodbye before he skittered home. Feyre pillowed her head on his massive bicep, tangling her legs with his as his wing blanketed them both.

Warm and safe, she drifted off and let herself dream.

Out of habit, Feyre woke just as the eastern sky began to lighten. She wanted to linger a bit longer—she couldn’t remember ever sleeping on a mattress free of lumps before—but years of poverty had shaped her into an expert at dragging herself out of bed.

She started to wiggle free of Rhys’s hold, but he let out a sleepy, irritated growl. The arm around her waist tightened.

“I can’t be late for my own strike. Don’t be a prick,” she whispered.

His reply slipped into her mind, as if he weren’t awake enough to speak aloud quite yet. You can’t be late when you’re already here.

She still needed to bathe and change. Pulitzer and the High Lord would laugh her out of the room if she arrived at the negotiation table in yesterday’s clothes and reeking of Rhysand and arousal. If word got out, that would certainly—

Did you really plan on taking all ten thousand steps instead of just using my tub? Rhys asked, interrupting her train of thought.

She had. It seemed easier than asking to use his bathing chamber and borrow some clothes. Feyre didn’t regret what they’d done last night, but she’d get her head on straight easier in the familiar territory of the Rainbow instead of staying in the House of Wind a moment longer.

And Feyre needed to be sharp today.

Before she could protest, one of Rhys’s legs joined the arm twined around her. Something deep within seemed to purr in satisfaction as he pressed her flush against him. Stay. You can sleep for another hour and still have plenty of time to make yourself presentable.

It made sense. And even if it didn’t, Feyre suspected the thread in her chest would pull her right back to him. A contented little noise escaped her as she tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes.

Golden light streamed in through the glassless window when Rhys nudged her awake again. Feyre lifted her head and spotted a gown folded on top of a chest of drawers. Someone—Rhys, presumably he didn’t allow servants in his room while he slept—had placed her cap atop it.

“You needed something to change into,” he said, answering the question before she could ask.

This time, when Feyre pulled away, he let her. To her immense relief, Rhys didn’t try to kiss her good morning. Feyre’s mind was already on business, and she didn’t need him setting her head spinning.

After pointing her to the bathing room, Rhys set off to handle breakfast. Probably just because he was making himself useful. Feyre did need to eat, after all.

Definitely that, and not to head off any possibility that she might be the one to find food and offer it to him.

Feyre thought that she’d feel more herself after she’d gotten something in her stomach and washed her face. But the flaky, layered pastry and impossibly fluffy eggs were nothing at all like the porridge she usually breakfasted on, and the fine fabric of the gown must have cost more than she’d ever make in a lifetime of selling newspapers.

It fit perfectly. Just a bit of good luck—Rhys certainly didn’t know her measurements, even if as the heir, he probably kept a small army of seamstresses on retainer. Feyre supposed his sister or Mor had just lent her a spare gown. Probably.

Their eyes met in the mirror as she slipped the newsie cap onto her head. Just like at home, it was the very last step Feyre took before venturing out for another day of hawking papers. It had never made her feel quite so much like a knight slipping on a helmet before battle.

“Are you ready?” Rhys said, offering his arm to her.

Feyre took it, oddly grateful for something steady to hold onto. Her hand brushed the fabric of his tunic, and she realized their clothes were made of the same cloth. As if the two of them were a matched set.

A pair, equals matched by—

She cut off that line of thought before she could finish it. Rhys didn’t blink; her shields must have been intact, and she thanked the Mother for that. Besides, there wasn’t time to be distracted, not when they were already headed towards the meeting rooms in the more public sections of the House of Wind.

They paused at one of the main balconies, where Feyre and Nesta had agreed they’d meet the other day. It was empty. Feyre stared at the door, hoping Nesta was just late.

It wasn’t like her sister to forget. Not when there was money on the table.

The sound of rustling wings pulled Feyre’s attention to the window. An Illyrian. And in his arms…Nesta. She’d tucked her head just under his chin, resting it against his chest, as if he often cradled her like this.

Feyre recognized the male, another war-hero friend of Rhys’s, who’d graced front pages since the war. They’d never met, Feyre remembered shouting the headline about the building that he’d leveled in Adriata. That one had sold more papers than all the stories about his courage on the battlefield and swift promotions through the ranks. Cassian, if she wasn’t mistaken.

As the pair landed, Rhysand slipped into Feyre’s mind again. I wasn’t aware they knew each other.

Neither was I.

They’d discuss it later. Nesta was already dropping gracefully to the floor and smoothing out her skirts. “Work has already halted in Illyria,” she said in lieu of a greeting. “They’re following through on their promises of support.”

The faint sound of chanting floated all the way up to the very top of the House of Wind. Hundreds of newsies and their lesser fae supporters rallied at the base of the stairs, accompanied by Illyrian war drums. Feyre could just barely make out the words— minute by minute, that’s how you win it.

When she turned to her sister, Feyre’s smile was grim. “Then let’s go hand Pulitzer his ass.” 

***

For Rhysand, watching Feyre negotiate was exquisite torture. She handled herself like a queen—like a High Lady, really. A businesswoman who’d gotten down to brass tacks as soon as everyone was seated.

“The Illyrian warriors have chosen to lay their weapons down in solidarity with the newsies of Velaris,” she’d said. “We have you surrounded, and Lieutenant Cassian can confirm. Until we sign a fair contract, the Night Court will be without an army.”

But as much as he admired the efficiency, Rhys couldn’t help but hate it, just a bit. She’d be gone when the strike ended.

He tried not to think about it, instead choosing to observe his father. Rhys had expected far more bluster from the High Lord—the newsies had, after all, essentially arranged for insubordination on a massive scale. But the High Lord had gone strangely quiet.

To Rhys, that spelled danger. He knew from experience that if the High Lord wasn’t making a show of power in front of others, it was because he was waiting to do something more devastating in public.

Rhys tried not to shiver when ebony claws speared his mind, ripping down his shields. His father never bothered to knock out of courtesy.

You can keep her. The words rang with ancient power, and Rhys tried not to bristle at the way his father spoke about his mate as if she were a stray dog.

Then what was the point of that one-way ticket to the Continent?

If she doesn’t use it, a daughter-in-law I can send to beat the governors of the Palaces into submission would be useful. Merchants often get cocky and mistake their wealth for true power. And if she leaves the Night Court…well, you won’t see me complaining if the trash takes itself out.

Rhys growled, low in his throat. The negotiations ground to a halt as every head in the room whipped in his direction. On instinct, he reached towards his hip for a sword, though he hadn’t carried one since coming home from the war.

His eyes flicked to Pulitzer. “I agree with Feyre,” Rhys said evenly, covering up the fact that he’d been speaking mind-to-mind with his father. “That proposal would be unacceptable.”

He’d been too distracted to hear what the proposal had even been, but it seemed to be the right answer. The talks resumed, even if Feyre did shoot him a brief confused look.

The High Lord didn’t invade Rhys’s mind again, but he didn’t need to. He’d made is position clear. Instead, Rhys sat back and continued to marvel at how well Feyre held her own as the details of the agreement were hammered out.

Nesta communicated with the rest of the newsies, making sure there would be support for the contract when they put it to a vote, working in tandem with Feyre, who dug her heels in with Pulitzer.

He challenged her on every single aspect of the deal, a transparent attempt to wear her down. A sound strategy, considering the resources at his disposal. But fortunately, the well of Archeron stubbornness was infinite.

Eventually, they came to what Feyre termed “a compromise we all can live with.” To let Pulitzer save face, the price of papers would still go up, if only by half of what he’d originally planned, but in return, the publishers would buy back the unsold papers at the end of the day.

A victory—fewer losses for the newsies to eat when papers didn’t sell on slow news days.

The sun had long since set by the time they finished it all—the back-and-forth, the voting, the signatures, spitting into palms and shaking over deals, celebrations with Elain and Nesta and Lucien and the rest of the newsies. By some miracle, Feyre had allowed Rhys to stay at her side throughout all of it.

Once it had all ended, they found themselves alone, walking along the Sidra. A last look before Feyre left. Rhys wanted to mention it—and perhaps try and change her mind—but the words caught in his throat each time he tried. He’d thought about offering his arm, but Feyre had kept her hands jammed firmly in her pockets.

If last night had merely been a distraction before a long day…he understood. Watching the lights glitter on the surface of the Sidra with Feyre nearby was more than enough.

It wasn’t Rhys who finally broke their companionable silence. He tensed at the sound of hurried footsteps behind them, then the abrupt silence as whoever it was winnowed to catch up.

“I’ve been looking for you two everywhere,” Mor said, materializing on Feyre’s other side.

Rhys glared at her over the top of Feyre’s head, irritated by the interruption. “Have you now?” he said, voice icy.

“I was positive you’d be at Ressina’s, but when I asked around, no one there knew where you’d slipped off to.”

“And you didn’t consider that might have been because we didn’t want to be found?”

Mor stuck her tongue out at Rhys, earning a laugh from Feyre. “I needed to catch Feyre before she left,” Mor said. “Ressina let me have the stack of paintings you were going to leave behind. There was a portrait of your friend, the one with the mechanical eye. Apparently he’s quite the charmer—flirts with them all when they buy their daily paper. They were horrified to hear the High Lord sent him to the Prison. After the fuss they made, Rhys’s father is going to start sending petty thieves somewhere more humane than an island full of monsters.”

Feyre stopped in her tracks, so abruptly that Rhys nearly walked into her. For a moment, she stood rooted to the spot, blinking in surprise.

“All that because of my art?” Feyre said slowly.

Mor nodded. “I wanted to make sure you knew. That was just one portrait, so just think of all the good you could do. And congratulations on the victory today.”

“I—”

Before Feyre could get the rest of the words out, Mor pulled her into a rib-crushing hug. Rhys raised his brows, locking eyes with his cousin over his mate’s shoulder. Mor winked and flashed him a grin.

“Safe travels, Feyre,” Mor said, giving her one last squeeze before winnowing away.

“She’s right, you know. Your paintings could do a lot of good here,” Rhys said quietly.

Feyre merely nodded, her gaze flicking back to the lights of the Rainbow. She seemed to be staring at the view as if she were trying to memorize it. They were silent, and it took all of Rhys’s willpower not to slip into her mind to find out what she was thinking.

“I should get home and pack,” she whispered.

“So should I.”

Feyre stilled. For a moment, Rhys thought she might disappear into a shadow. But she said, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t aware you held a monopoly on leaving for the Continent tomorrow. Unless you don’t want company.”

“But don’t you have obligations here? Work, your family?”

“Don’t you?” Rhys said. When Feyre said nothing in response, just opened her mouth and closed it—he knew he’d won. More softly, he added, “If you want to get out of the city, there’s somewhere I’d like to show you. We can leave now if you want.”

Feyre’s cheeks went pink, but perhaps that was just the cold night air. “Alright.”

She reached out a hand, clearly expecting that he’d take it and lead her somewhere. But Rhys scooped her into his arms instead. To his surprise, she didn’t protest, just looped an arm behind his neck to steady herself, comfortable and familiar.

Rhys let his heart swell before winnowing them to the cabin in Illyria.

This far north, it was even colder, and Feyre shivered, pressing herself closer as Rhys glided to the ground. They could have walked from the edge of the wards—it was only a few yards. But it had been a long day, and some part of him wanted to carry Feyre instead of putting her back on her feet.

“What is this place?” she said, finally wiggling out of his arms after they’d crossed the threshold.

“Traditionally? It’s where the wayward youths of my family have been sent for ‘reflection’ for millennia. But I thought you might want the peace and quiet,” he said.

Rhys waved a hand, and a fire sprang to life, lighting up the cabin and warming it. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but out of habit, he toed off his shoes and placed them near the door. Feyre did the same, apparently following his lead. She sighed, and Rhys could practically feel the tension melting off of her as she closed her eyes.

“Thank you. It’s like I can finally hear myself think.”

It was exactly what Rhys suspected she really needed—a break. Even if a new life on the Continent seemed appealing, everyone she loved was in Velaris. But if Feyre didn’t agree…there would be no forcing her to stay.

He couldn’t let her leave without telling her the full truth, either.

Rhys forced himself to say, “We need to talk, and no one will disturb us here.”

“I think we do.”

There it was again—that tug, right behind his heart. The first time, Rhys had hoped he wasn’t mistaken, and after feeling it again, he was more sure. Feyre knew. And hopefully she wasn’t about to rake him over the coals.

He ushered them into the living room and gestured for her to sit. Out of habit, his movements had gone stiff and formal, though he longed to pull her close and share a blanket. But he wasn’t sure that would be welcome. Instead, he kept a careful distance between them as he sank onto the sofa.

“Feyre,” Rhys said, forcing himself to look at her. Each word felt like it was dragged out of him. “You’re my—”

“Mate. I know.”

Rhys flinched—the words sounded like a rebuke. And there was a harsh finality when the words were spoken aloud for the first time. They couldn’t be taken back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that we’re mates? Or is there something else you’re about to confess to me?” Her voice went sharp, and Rhys wished he could disappear.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner,” he said quietly.

“How long have you known?”

“The bond snapped a few months after meeting you. That day our fingers brushed as you handed me the paper—I think the contact triggered it.”

Another tug. This time, Rhys pulled back, just because there was no fear of being found out this time. Feyre’s hand flew to her chest, eyes going wide.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I felt the spark that day, too. But you were such a flirt—with everyone —and I didn’t want to be some deluded girl who convinced herself it was more than a bit of fun.”

“I thought you would have noticed the headlines about my love life stopped after I met you.”

“I did. I just…didn’t think it had anything to do with me. At least not until recently. And then we were in the middle of the strike, and it’s not as if you had an opening to tell me.”

“I didn’t want to burden you with it.” Rhys still didn’t. It was honestly a wonder that Feyre hadn’t rejected the bond already; she’d shouted headlines about enough kidnapping and assassination attempts to know what a life with him would be like.

Feyre slid her hand across the sofa, interlacing their fingers. “It’s not a burden, but I need time. Can it be just us for a while? No High Lords, no labor unions, no newspapers.”

Word would get out eventually. They’d been seen together often enough in the past few days, and Rhys could hardly slip out of Velaris unnoticed. But if they stayed at the cabin, they could put it off for a while.

He pressed a kiss to their joined hands. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Another tug, but not behind his ribs this time. Feyre was pulling him closer, until Rhys lost his balance and they became a tangle of limbs and nearly tumbled off the sofa together. Her breath tickled his ear as she let out a peal of laughter. Rhys hooked a leg around her waist, twisting until she was on top of him the way he liked.

It was a while before they actually made it to the bed. And even longer until he finally fell asleep with a wing blanketing them both.

Rhys woke to a claw poking at his shields. Not hard, but insistent. His father would have just pushed his way in, which meant the daemati who wanted his attention must have been his sister.

He opened a crack for her, one just wide enough to say, Go away.

I’m outside.

Go. Away.

I’m coming in. Make sure you’re decent.

Truthfully, he was lucky Rhiannon hadn’t pounded on the door to wake up Feyre, too. Rhys bit back a snarl and slowly slid out of the bed; hopefully, he could get his sister to leave before Feyre even realized someone else had been there. With a flick of his wrist, Rhys summoned a robe and slipped it on, hurrying to the door.

Rhiannon was already in the entranceway, running a hand through windswept hair. Her dark cheeks and the tip of her nose had a pink tinge from the early morning cold—she must have flown here.

“Mother’s tits, how the hell did you two make this place stink so badly in just one night?” Rhiannon said, making a face.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys said.

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Meeting my new sister because you couldn’t be bothered to introduce us before running off.”

“She’s not your—” A shuffling sound from the other room cut him off; Feyre must have woken up. Rhys snarled, then slipped into Rhiannon’s mind to add, Do not ruin this for me.

Ignoring the sound of her snickering, Rhys turned to see nothing more than the faint outline of Feyre creeping through the shadows. She’d gone incorporeal, probably because she was shy.

“We can go back to bed. Rhiannon was just leaving,” Rhys said pointedly.

Rhiannon pushed past him, nearly smacking Rhys in the face with a wing. Feyre materialized fully and, still a bit groggy from sleep, blinked at them both owlishly.

Rhiannon reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a copy of the Herald . “I’m just here to make a delivery, and I’ll be out of your hair,” she said, holding it out to Feyre.

Feyre took the paper and unrolled it. Rhys stepped closer, reading the headline over her shoulder. Newsies Stop the Presses: Historic Lesser Fae Coalition Secures Labor Win. The accompanying picture had been taken just after they’d inked the deal, a smiling Feyre flanked by her sisters and Lucien in the House of Wind.

Rhys heard his mate’s breath catch, and he decided that perhaps he wouldn’t kill his sister for this after all.

“After all that time you spent selling the paper, it just seemed fair to bring it to you when you’re finally in it,” Rhiannon added, a bit more softly.

Feyre smiled. “Thank you.”

To Rhys’s shock, Feyre accepted a hug from his sister, and true to her word, Rhiannon slipped back out after that. Thank the Mother she hadn’t insisted on staying for breakfast.

Once the door shut and they were alone again, Rhys said, “I suppose if we head back to bed, tomorrow’s headline will be about the mountains shaking.”

Feyre laughed and took her cap off the hook where she’d hung it near the door. Pressing a kiss to Rhys’s cheek, she put the cap on his head. “We’ll make a newsie of you yet, mate.”

It was only a matter of time before he made her a High Lady, too.

[sangre]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons, etc.

pawn and arisen edition!

TAGGED BY: no one i stole this from myself :}  TAGGING: @reides @the-lovely-lady-luck @interstices @ritens @soloavengers

@muracasardis @pawnguild @lepidopteralabyrinth @edgier-than-a-diamond

@ishgard @hit-tab @lesbianbreastmilk if you like!

name: adamaris solvesal nicknames: “ada” to her sister, only. “maris” with close friends. “ves” in a formal/informal sense, and obviously, pawn titles/endearments. age: thirty-three. race: human. gender: fluid, predominantly she/her but happy with he/him. Especially likes masculine titles – lord, king, sir. mx. and mistrex (acofaf reference). are also good. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: cancer. moral alignment: chaotic neutral. class/subclass: warfarer; mystic archer + sorcerer. briefly trained in spearhand, but she liked the on-hand brutality more than she wanted to deal with at the time and didn’t like it as an outlet. effectively “i’m not unpacking all that” and moving on. very proficient spellcaster, exceptional archer. the back definition hehe background: she and her younger sister (diantha) were taken in by their grandma, who was already rather old when she took them in. their grandmother was a fish and abalone/jewelry merchant who had adamaris take lessons at the apothecary so that she might be helpful in an emergency. diantha helped her grandmother with fishing and collecting things for the shop! (adamaris did this too of course, i think she just spent more time at lessons as elder sib.) interests/hobbies: mapmaking, navigating, astronomy, sailing, reading. spoken languages: dd2 equivalent of common as well as pseudospanish. also, the arisen's innate ability to understand the dragons after losing their heart. profession: the arisen, sovran-to-be. height: 5’7” colors: deep pink reds, pale red-browns, dark purple-red, almost black-red, wine red. the wine dark sea. fruits: raspberries, cherries, mango, lime, strawberry. drinks: ciders, guava and citrus juices, pulpy drinks like with aloe vera... alcoholic beverages: sweet/white wines, fruit sangrias, mango margarita with tajin, in theory... smokes: nope drugs: not really. just kind of hasn't had the time. drivers license: CAN drive a carriage. ever been arrested: almost and then she lifted the guard and threw him off the cliff in the inside of the jail. that's their fault for having cells that open up into cliffs of endlessness

pawn info under readmore:

name: yvaine nicknames: yve (adamaris), vaine. age: ??? race: pawn - yvaine is more draconic in NG+, admittedly. his pointed ears and fangs are from plague overexposure. and other things. :-) gender: transmasc, he/him. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: sagittarius somehow. moral alignment: neutral good in first run, but chaotic neutral later and then in NG+ class/subclass: he was a mage to begin with! he was also a fighter, but his steady class now is thief. i think he likes having his 2 big knives. background: a somewhat eccentric summoning. adamaris attempted to frankenstein a body prior to becoming an arisen (with parts from corpses) but could not bring it to life/reanimate it/give live to it as what would have been a homunculus/a familiar. however! adamaris' first rift summoning brought her face to face with the animate version of that body she built. except... this time, he's very much alive. so there's a sort of inexplicable tether to his coming to life and rift-traveling! he doesn't remember much of his life prior to being summoned, so he and adamaris are in the same boat to start with. but. much has happened since then. interests/hobbies: he's a bit of a history and the arts dweeb. i think he loves seeing where things come from and learning about the stories that make up people's lives. music makes him cry like all the time. so he has been studying how to play the lute! spoken languages: dd2 equivalent of comic, and the language of dragons as well. profession: effectively the sovran's 'seneschal'/advisor/right hand/assassin. before that point, he's just my party's sweetheart. :-) height: 5'9" colors: lavender! pale lilac/desaturated brown, silvery purples! like silk, moonlight, like opal and fluorescent purple. and crimson red. fruits: honeydew..! kiwis, passionfruit, plums :) and papayas drinks: mulch. just kidding umm. very strong things! like i just think he's weirdly fond of VERY strong flavors or bitterness! i can't think of anything to describe this outside of black coffee but you get the vibe alcoholic beverages: i don't think alcohol affects him much but i also think he doesn't like the way it does feel for him. smokes: no. drugs: no by happenstance but he would try some substances recreationally with maris if it ever came up haha. drivers license: NO! ever been arrested: no he's too fast.

[mistergandalf]

ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO MASTERPOST

Who is THE blorbo of the Tolkien fandom here on tumblr dot com? Let's find out!

What are the criteria for voting?

What is a blorbo to you? As Aragorn would say: What does your heart tell you? Therein lies your answer. For me, it's who I'd like the whump the most. Maybe for you it's who is the most shippable. Maybe it's the one that means the most to you for what they represent. Maybe it's your poor little meow meow (looking at you, Angbang lovers). Let your feelings guide you.

Is this only supposed to be about the books, or is it based on any Tolkien-based media?

This is about blorbos. Wherever you found your blorbo, that's fine. If you want to be a book purist about it, you're valid. If you love Thorin Oakenshield simply because Richard Armitage is hot, you are also valid.

***PLEASE ALSO NOTE that my blog is a Rings of Power positive blog! If you don’t like it that’s fine, but if you post negative comments or reblogs on my posts, I will block you! I don’t want negativity in my activity feed, thank you!***

When will polls be posted?

Polls will be posted daily at 12pm EDT (GMT -4), staggered by 5-10 minutes on each poll. There will be a day between final votes as the data will be needed for the next poll!

Schedule is as follows: (Updated because I’m dumb and didn’t realize how many rounds the second chance bracket has)

4/23 - Round One 4/25 - Round Two (Primary Bracket) 4/26 - Round Two (Second Chance Bracket) 4/27 - Round Three (Primary Bracket) 4/28 - Round Three (Second Chance Bracket) 4/30 - Round Four (Second Chance Bracket) 5/2 - Round Five (Second Chance Bracket) 5/4 - Round Six (Second Chance Bracket) 5/5 - Round Four (Primary Bracket) 5/7 - Round Seven (Second Chance Bracket) 5/9 - Round Eight (Second Chance Bracket) 5/10 - Round Five (Primary Bracket) - decides the finalist 5/12 - Round Nine (Second Chance Bracket) - decides the finalist 5/14 - FINAL ROUND - THE ULTIMATE TOLKIEN BLORBO

Check the tag #ultimate tolkien blorbo to see new posts! Feel free to share your thoughts in the tag as well!

I have more questions!

Okay, click the readmore then!

Hey! Why did you pair this character with that character?

Because I spent a whole evening googling how tournament brackets work (I am not a sports person) and then I did a lot of math and sorting.

Okay, but I really want to know!

WELL first I thought: "How can I quantify and rank blorbos?" The answer: AO3. I went into the Tolkien fandom general tag and ranked the first 32 characters by the number of fanfics in which they appear.*

Then I split them by story. I roughly kept Hobbit characters with Hobbit characters, LotR with LotR, and Silmarillion with Silmarillion to keep it as fair as possible and give all corners of the fandom a chance to see their blorbo win. Some characters are in multiple sources, like Elrond or Gandalf, so I tried to keep those characters with someone who is probably just as well-known.**

Then I followed the rules the internet told me about how tournaments work. The highest-ranked character goes with the lowest-ranked character, the second-highest with the second-lowest, etc.

And that's how I did it! It was a fantastic way to waste an afternoon.

*I may have eliminated and/or played with a couple options. Some of these characters had fewer fics than the character "OC," which makes sense. I took off Erestor because literally only Glorfindel stans would choose him, and Glorfindel is on here. I also lumped together Elladan and Elrohir because if you can tell them apart, it's because they're both your blorbos. Tolkien did NOT give them distinct personalities. Also if I didn’t lump them together, I wouldn’t be able to fit Celebrimbor, and that would be a shame.

**Characters who appear in multiple stories had their rankings weighted to account for that fact. I got a C in statistics in college, though, so I frankly have no idea if the way I weighted them is correct, nor do I care, because I'm satisfied with how the rankings turned out.

I don’t like how you did this!

Okay, don’t vote then. Nobody’s making you.

FORTH EORLINGAS! Have fun voting! As Gimli would say... May the best Dwarf win! ;)

Round One [results & analysis]

Thorin vs. Bard | Bilbo vs. Dwalin | Kili vs. Gandalf | Fili vs. Thranduil | Legolas vs. Eomer | Aragorn vs. Eowyn | Elrond vs. Elladan & Elrohir | Frodo vs. Merry | Gimli vs. Pippin | Samwise vs. Boromir | Faramir vs. Galadriel | Maedhros vs. Celebrimbor | Maedhros vs. Celebrimbor (RoP free version bc some of you are whiny babies) | Maglor vs. Finrod | Glorfindel vs. Morgoth | Sauron vs. Celegorm | Fingon vs. Feanor

Round Two [results & analysis]

Thorin vs. Bilbo | Legolas vs. Thranduil | Pippin vs. Éowyn | Maglor vs. Frodo | Gandalf vs. Samwise | Elrond vs. Maedhros | Faramir vs. Glorfindel | Sauron vs. Fëanor

Round Two (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Elladan & Elrohir | Gimli vs. Morgoth | Merry vs. Bard | Finrod vs. Celegorm | Boromir vs. Kíli | Fíli vs. Celebrimbor | Éomer vs. Galadriel | Fingon vs. Arwen

Round Three [results & analysis]

Bilbo vs. Legolas |  Éowyn vs. Frodo | Samwise vs. Elrond | Faramir vs. Fëanor

Round Three (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Gandalf | Gimli vs. Maedhros | Merry vs. Glorfindel | Finrod vs. Sauron | Boromir vs. Thorin | Celebrimbor vs. Thranduil | Éomer vs. Pippin | Arwen vs. Maglor

Round Four (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Gimli | Merry vs. Finrod | Boromir vs. Celebrimbor | Pippin vs. Arwen

Round Five (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Bilbo | Éowyn vs. Merry | Boromir vs. Elrond | Pippin vs. Fëanor

Round Six (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Aragorn vs. Éowyn | Boromir vs. Pippin

Round Four [results & analysis]

Legolas vs. Frodo | Samwise vs. Faramir

Round Seven (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Éowyn vs. Faramir | Pippin vs. Legolas

Round Eight (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Éowyn vs. Pippin

Round Five [results & analysis]

Frodo vs. Samwise

Round Nine (Second Chance Bracket) [results & analysis]

Éowyn vs. Frodo

FINAL ROUND

Samwise vs. Frodo