#Like is this man in a perpetual state of stress

[vqmpircs]

every clip i see of rsl in house he either looks like hes 10 seconds away from bawling or hes serving cunt for no reason at all

[grimesgirll]

“not happening.”

“what if i told you that you’d be helping to save the world?”

“by fucking him?”

you scoff, turning your attention back to the braid you’d begun down your back. “i’m not helping you with your passion project, okafor. i have actual shit to do.”

okafor grins at you. “bullshit.”

“no, i still have weekly duties and assignments. i can’t just drop all of that trying to seduce your ticking time bomb.”

“i see the way he looks at you,” he states with a breath of your name. “if he’s gonna be open to anyone, it’s you.”

“he doesn’t need to be open to anyone.” you counter.

“i don’t think you know what he needs yet.”

“and you do?”

“he needs you.”

“no.” you reply flatly, fists clenched. “you need him to enact your little plan that i have nothing to do with.”

the lieutenant colonel gives you a haughty smile. “well then, at the very least he needs stress relief and you owe me a favor.”

you glare at him. “that was a one time thing.”

“you got what you wanted didn’t you?”

“being perpetually indebted to you with favors isn’t what i signed up for,” you complain as you plait your hair.

“you get to sit around and make your little maps and fuck around all day.” your superior reminds you.

you do your best not to scowl too much, unlike the man who your former benefactor wanted you to de-stress fuck. he constantly had a sour look on his face. he was the consignee who cut off his fucking hand trying to escape. how would you convince someone like that to just lay back and let you fuck them until they didn’t miss whatever life they had before again?

“this is kind of a far ask, okafor.” you note and tie off the end of your braid. you finally turn around from the mirror in front of you to face the dark green fatigue clad man behind you. “it’s never gone as far as touching someone like that and actually fucking them. i don’t think i’m up for that.”

okafor crosses his arms. “are you sure about that? last time i checked, you eye fuck him almost as much as he eye fucks you.”

“you’re an asshole.” you spit, venom dripping from your words. “i’m not letting you coerce me into this.” your eyes meet his brown irises. “let this be the last straw for you, lock me up, dishonorably discharge me, whatever, but i’m not just gonna hop on your lackey’s dick because you say so.”

he takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together, smirking for whatever reason. “i think you’ll want to.” he suddenly stands and you’re paranoid for a split second that he’s about to summon backup or attempt to disarm you right here and now. “because i’m not serving up any threats, just desserts. you’ve been good to me and i’ve been good to you. i want you to continue to reward you. maybe with what you’ve wanted all along.”

your eyebrow lifts. “and what would that be?”

okafor doesn’t say anything when you begin breaking the dress code with your workout gear. you make sure to plan time around your community mapping projects to run past the officers' meeting hall in the tighest pair of shorts you owned.

you never forgot to smile and wave to okafor and rick as you pass by. it takes a few days but rick returns your wave.

content adorns your face when you catch him surveying your form from afar, getting closer and closer to that sweet reward okafor had promised you.

soon enough rick is running into you everywhere. you're crossing paths in helicopter hangers, on benches outside of the barracks, during your runs around the reservoir, at the gym, in the administrative office in your most yielding sweater, in the hallway, and at his front door on okafor’s orders.

“okafor wanted me to make sure this got to you.”

“thank you,” rick grunts gruffly, accepting the folder with his latest field assignment from your grasp.

“anytime, rick,” you crow.

before he can bid you good night, you ask if he’d been briefed by okafor yet. he shakes his head.

you smile sweetly. “well, he really wanted you to sit down and talk about the park with someone who’s been there before, knows the layout.”

the cowboy type raises an eyebrow. “you’ve been to olympia national park before.”

“mhmm,” you confirm. “a long time ago but i know more about it than okafor.” you let out a breath, eyes boring into his icy blue gaze. “got a minute?”

the dark wainscoting of officer’s quarters enters your field of vision as rick leads you through the skinny hallway, pointing out a bathroom before bringing you into what you assume is the downstairs living room.

“you can help yourself to the kitchen,” he offers graciously, gesturing towards the kitchen of the open floor plan living space.

“thanks!” you chirp and weave towards the kitchen, finding two short glasses and flinging a cabinet open.

“oh, you have whiskey!”

“it was a gift from okafor.”

you can barely keep a guffaw from tumbling out of your mouth. “that’s very on brand for him,” you comment, turning the handcrafted decanter over in your hands. “well, lucky for you, okafor has fantastic taste.”

rick observes from the leather sofa as you pour two short glasses of whiskey - not even asking if you could. the orange light of the kitchen does nothing to hide how great you look for nine o’clock at night. your gauzy long hair glints, looking sleek beneath the lights as it falls inches above the curve of your ass.

the same bottom that had seemingly been following rick around base. it was like everywhere he turned: you were there. whatever inspired this house call felt suspiciously related.

kneeling on the floor next to the coffee table, you place the tray with your drinks down and empty the folder of its documents in order to splay them across the table. you reach up to rick to pass him one of the twin glasses.

reluctantly, he accepts. however, he doesn’t take a sip from his glass until after you do.

he doesn’t miss the way your throat tenses at the burn of the liquor when it makes its way down. you throw another swig back like a young woman who’s grown accustomed to drinking with her fellow soldiers, but in the quarters of one of her superiors?

“so, here’s where you’ll be landing.” your glass is already on the coffee table and you’re pointing out green meandering lines. “whitehorse mountain is right here. just be careful of atmospheric rivers in the area. did okafor tell you about what happened to the apache team?”

the dark haired man shook his head, worry lines becoming more pronounced.

you shake your head. “forget i said anything.” you take another quick drink from your glass and rick looks alarmed - you’re not like your oxen brothers in arm who could drink themselves silly. he doesn’t have time to dwell on it though because you’re skipping right to the next print out to detail his planned trek along the sauk river.

“it’s a pretty ridge. you should stop and take a picture.” you suggest, thumbing through laminated landmark shots of valleys and vistas, making a verbal note of one which is a convenient stop on his trip.

he bites his pink lip. “i don’t think getting a photo of the view is gonna be on my mind, sweetheart.”

“why not?” you question with a glimmer in your eye. “someone like you should take time to relax when you can.”

he chides your name. “what’re you doin’?”

“your job is important, and we all have jobs to do, right?”

there’s a far awayness in his eyes that you can’t place when you lean in closer. feet tucked under your knees, you’re trailing your hand up rick’s thigh towards the tent in his pants.

“you wanna fuck my mouth?”

“why’re you doin’ this?”

when he iterates your name, you consider backing down but then you remember okafor’s promise and how truly repressed this man seemed.

“it’s been a while hasn’t it.”

rick squirms. he doesn’t mean to but it’s a question not many people have the balls to ask him and he didn’t expect it from you of all people. he tries to block whatever memories are bubbling in response and busies himself with taking in the view of your parted lips.

“you don’t have to say anything, just relax,” you coo, shoving him back slightly.

looking down at you, rick doesn’t know what he has to gain from saying no at this point. rick huffs as you approach his erection but he doesn’t object.

his waistband falls with your fingers and you’re faced with the massive length you’d been worrying about. ever since you first saw rick’s bulge, you were brainstorming how you’d even fit him inside your taut walls, much less inside of your mouth.

starting slow, you begin at the base and kitten lick up to the top. rick’s groans give him away immediately. how can he hide how repressed he is with a cock as hard as rocks?

at the top of him, you’re laving his cockhead in your mouth. “i’ve never been with anyone this big,” you admit for the potential ego boost - even though it’s one hundred percent true. rick has a fucking horse cock if you’ve ever seen one.

your hand is working overtime with everything you can’t fit into your mouth at first. rick exhales hoarsely at the wet heat of your mouth devouring him. he hasn’t had a mouth on him in so long. your tight, warm lips wrap around his dick and you swallow around him.

his self control is rusty so he curses when he bucks into your face, stalling his hips only for you to pick up your pace. he wants to pull you off when he feels like he’s about to cum down your tight airway which is crammed full of his cock.

at the first feeling of that telltale twitch against your tongue, you prepare to do your part to keep rick’s nice leather couch clean and swallow everything he’s been holding back.

popping off of him, you look back up at him and grant a toothy smile. his eyes are lurid and clouded with what you only assume is lust. you’re not prepared for his rough grip to drag you onto the surface and into his lap.

the green cargo mini skirt you were wearing falls down your legs and lands somewhere on the wood paneled floor. the moment after you wipe your mouth with a tight fitting sleeve, rick captures your mouth. slightly taken aback, you moan into the man, squirming borderline uncontrollably on top of him as he pulls your top over your head.

his sturdy fingertips ghost across up your waist to your breast. with one robust squeeze as a warning, he assaults your heaving chest with his flesh hand and bruises your collarbone with something between a kiss and a mini-puncture wound. the proesthetic invades your panties and teases your labia, eliciting a needy hum from you.

his horse cock makes itself known again against the front of your pale pink panties.

fuck, how will he fit?

“god, you’re already soakin’ me.”

you get past the feel of his embrace for a moment to glance down only to be greeted with the sight of your swampy lap. how did i do that? you ponder.

“i wanna feel you on my cock, sweetheart. is that something you can do to help me relax?”

you grin. “i’m glad you asked.” you feel a renewed tingle downstairs. “why don’t you see how i take your fingers first?”

a smirk forms on his face. “probably should.” and then he’s reaching between the two of you to prod a finger at your dripping mound.

a deft finger drives into you. you’re expecting another one but as you lazily rest your head on his clothed shoulder, you just whine. the finger inside of you curls and unfurls, stretching you out without the addition of another digit. just the way his fingers drags along your walls has you twisting on top of him.

“you’re really wet for a girl who came over to talk about maps.”

you don’t comment, just cant your hips and beg for another finger. he obliges.

the calculated sensation has you forgetting what he’s talking about, forgetting about your plan. that rhythm he’s adopted speeds up once you make eye contact with rick.

“one more?” he questions.

you nod furiously. “another!”

rick doesn’t delay and the floor drops out from under once you feel a tongue on your quiveting lower lips.

“rick!” you gasp as his fingers and tongue work in unison to squeeze every naughty little noise out of you.

the soldier doesn’t speak; he just laps up your pussy like it was an order.

you come all over his face.

“sorr-,” you’re shut up by a wet finger in your mouth.

“that’s it.”

the no longer meek man trains his eyes on you as you suck his finger clean. through half lidded eyes, you watch his pupils dilate into fully lust blown orbs. devoid of the bright blue you’d seen before, rick’s stare only shifts when he’s shifting you on top of him.

“is it going to fit?” you don’t even realize that your thoughts are materializing out loud.

the officer snorts. “never had a problem before.”

the initial stretch is challenging. your breath is caught in your throat and you’re almost asking the man beneath you to slow down but he’s already inching in at an excruciatingly stable rate.

fuck, you’re reconsidering this. you curse your lieutenant colonel for acting like this whole song and dance was easy. figures. okafor isn’t the one getting stretched out on an eight inch cock.

at the sound of your whines, rick places a kiss on the top of your forehead. “doin’ so good for me,” rick praises. “so tight.”

i know, i feel you tearing me open you want to rasp but you just try to settle into the feeling. you adjust your position, tilting enough for rick to take a renewed interest in your ass. a firm hand plants itself on your flesh in an attempt to leverage you closer.

“almost there,” he grunts and continues pushing through your clinging canal, through the thick rings of muscle that grip his cock so tightly.

momentarily, you slump against the soldier. yeah, you’d been running around the base in hopes of attracting rick’s attention but your exercise routine was no match for the man with a brick between his legs.

once he’s sheathed inside of you, rick reaches down to toy with your clit. you mutter a soft curse. the sensation picks up and you’re faced with not just feeling full but fully stimulated as well. each drag against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you whimpering into rick.

drives into you become harsher. the impact feels less like a truck and more like a commanding officer. an arm is wrapped around you to keep your position steady on top of okafor’s new favorite soldier. the same one who seems to be hitting the right spot every time he moves you up and down his length.

your hands reach for his graying chestnut hair. they find purchase while rick rocks into you. the urge to complain that his shirt is on exits once a familiar pressure mounts inside of you.

“fuck, you’re squeezin’ me.”

“mhmm,” you expire into his neck, nuzzling into him when he presses fingernails into your sides and lifts and lowers you like his own personal stress relief toy.

you can’t be bothered to care. you’re getting what you want out of this: a reward and a release.

pleasure is just radiating throughout your core again. whatever pain had you speechless earlier has evolved into an ecstasy that has you babbling. rick just keeps a hand on the small of your back and carries on pouring himself into you - into your tight little canal, back and forth, in and out.

“rick,” you’re mewling.

the man can’t be bothered to plant a hand pleasurably on your pussy or respond to your cries, so you complain a little louder.

“want you to cum in me.” you stutter into the pillowcase.

“don’t think you want that,” rick demurely admits.

“no,” you argue between pants. “i’m on the shot they have here. i want you to fill me up.”

rick utters a curse into your neck, pouring himself into you so swiftly you’re surprised. just like you asked, he pumps his hips leisurely into your soaked cunt. you wince at the sound of a squelch. hopefully rick doesn’t care too much about having to clean his sofa.

neither of you are expecting the noise you make when rick untangles himself from you. you’re too tired to have shame and simply sink back into the ductile pillows. your head swivels over slowly to find rick watching your chest fall up and down unevenly.

laying beside the man, you can’t help but feel accomplished. for once, the soldier is sporting a blissed out look on his face instead of a scowl or thousand yard stare. but as he slings an arm around you and tugs you closer to his sweltering, sweaty body, you can’t help but feel guilty - manipulative even.

mission accomplished, but at what cost?

pt. 2

[14thgalerie]

the one

• pairing: theodore nott x riddle!reader

• now playing: hayloft by mother mother / you that i want by divine

• word count: 1.7k

• genre: angst, fluff, hint of smut

— short one that i kept thinking of.

Theo slumped in his chair, fatigue weighing heavily on him. The clock on the wall opposite him ticked relentlessly, unforgiving of his sleepless state. He had long abandoned any hope of finding any rest. He hadn’t been able to since that fateful night when everything felt right in his life.

His mind wouldn’t grant him solace. Each time his weary eyelids dared to meet from the pure exhaustion of the stress of OWLS, the ongoing war, his brain kept feeding him images of you. You, who kept haunting him from the very forefront of his mind. 

The natural curve of your eyelashes. The way it fluttered against his cheeks as your lips made a blazing trail across his cheeks. Gentle whispers that drown him in sheer bliss still send shivers down his spine. 

His tie lay abandoned, discarded beside him, next to the pile of papers swept aside in his frustration earlier. The long, emerald fabric had felt too suffocating amidst the overwhelming thoughts of you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you would also be writhing in bed, unable to fall asleep as he does. Would your dreams torment you with the brief time his hands tangled onto your hair, wayward? Does your dormant body spin cruel variations of that time, telling him tantalising tales of what could’ve occurred if only your insufferable blonde companion hadn’t so abruptly interrupted?

He had never loved you.

Not in the way you wanted.

This desire to fill the emptiness in your heart, to have somebody give you the time and day has obscured that truth. A part of you knew, from the very beginning, but this desperation forced you to turn yourself blind.

Draco was there, a constant presence in your life, a perfect match to have by your side. Born only 24 hours apart, and 10 years of your childhood spent solely with him.

In truth, you both used the other, a fact that you ignored. He relied on you for protection and status as your partner, while you clung to him to feel the fleeting sense of warmth. But the perpetual storm of reality always wearing you both down and, you were rapidly losing the strength to keep yourself afloat.

Unspoken words hung heavy in the air between the both of you as the year progressed and the inevitable return of your father neared. At first, you had both kept your feelings at bay, not wanting this to jeopardise your friendship altogether. But as time went on, it became a routine. Venom spit from raised voices, threats of abandonment and indifference to each other, reconciliation accompanied by hollow promises and sex.

“Are you a bloody fool? She is my best friend and yet again, Draco ‘can’t-keep-his-boxers-on’ Malfoy decided that didn’t matter!” You screamed in frustration, but it didn’t seem to matter when he didn’t even so much as falter at the volume. 

“We aren’t even together, so why should it?” He carelessly replies, an air of indifference surrounding him.

“We aren’t? You truly are an insufferable git, I spent two years committing myself to you, and you never thought to mention that little detail before?” You scoffed, incredulous at the idea. It was foolish and outrageous, and not at all like how the man you know would think. Despite your differences with one another, he would still treat you with at least the respect you give to a friend, but now…

“Oh please! Don’t act as if your mind has not been completely filled with that mindless buffoon.” 

“For Merlin’s sake, do not dare turn this on me…” You challenged him. 

“Or what? Threaten to have your father kill me? Well, surprise, darling, I’m no stranger to that already.” He humorlessly chuckles. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen that god-awful lovesick look on your face at the mere sight of his back. I am not the complete bloody fool you think I am.”

It hurt, truly, despite the fact that this started as a hilarious excuse of a relationship. You cared for Draco and to see him constantly destroy everything and everyone in his path of destruction left you unable to conjure up any more excuses for him.

“I am done, Draco. We can stop whatever awful pretentious act we put ourselves to and live on our own as you seem to hardly care for even yourself anymore these days.” You laugh, defeat etched on your face.

He never gave you the love that you sought, the kind that Theo had laid bare in complete display for you in just under seven minutes in that tiny closet. 

“You came back to me.” He whispers, close enough for his lips to touch the corner of your lips but there’s just a stutter of breath. It makes you want to instinctively kneel and look up to him and beg religiously for mercy, the way he speaks.

“I did.” You reply. Unmoving, but your patience wears thin.

“Look at you,” He mutters, his hand tugging at your head by your hair, exposing your neck to him, and your knees nearly buckle at his breath that burns against your jaw. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet and you’re almost like putty in my hands already.”

“Shut it, Nott.” You quickly remark a decision you notably regret when you are left standing in the middle of the room all by yourself. The cold air from the ajar window left your skin tingling with an uncomfortable feeling akin to when Draco touched you in the past weeks.

You scoff, the sound more as if you were nearly pleading. “What are you doing?”

“You know I hate it when you act like a brat.” He inclined his head, and the movement leaves chills running through your spine for the action is almost similar to someone sinister. But weirdly, it makes you want to tease him even more.

“Oh please, Theo. I’m not blind, as if you don’t dream of it.” You slowly approach him, your fingers make a motion of dragging along the ends of the poster beds. “The way I see your eyes tremble when I contradict every single thing you say. I know you are depraved when your thoughts are only of my mouth…”

You hear a sharp intake of breath when you come near. “The way you would just love it if you could shut me up by having my lips wrapped around you. I know you, Theo.”

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, he reaches almost mindlessly for your collar. His thumb barely touches the skin of your neck. “Yes, you do.”

His eyes are intense as they dart to your mouth. Your tongue unconsciously makes a sweep against your dry lips.

“I suppose Draco will show me exactly how.”

Taking a page of this man’s book is terrifying but you are tired of this game of tug that you keep playing.

“That would be wise. ”

He’s still looking at your lips.

“I’ll go then.” You try again, unwilling to make the move.

“Go on, you won’t hear a sound of protest from me.” But you remain standing in front of him, the will to move weak against the desire to have him.

“Really?”

“No.”

Theo grabs the back of your head, tangled his fingers in your hair, and made a mess of your mouth. With his lips attached to yours, you grab him by his shirt and the both of you kiss as if you were third years again. Your teeth clashed into each other time and time again and you couldn’t find it in you to slow down. 

The need to kiss him, to feel what you’ve been thinking of for several nights on end.  You push back at him, desperate to feel the same hunger and need in him, as he kisses you deeper and more profound than you ever thought possible.

The soft, selfish hands that you wished so badly to wipe clean off the bodies of other women move up from the bottom of your back to move you impossibly closer until you are almost one. His voice is ragged when he pulls away, a thin thread of saliva still connecting you.

He says against your cheek, “I love you. I’d die for you. Nobody can ever give you what I could make the pain go away like I could, not even that dense fuck who has a deeper sense of self-preservation than his parents.”

You swallow, agonised by the sudden slow pace that he moves. Not an ounce of energy dared to waste to defend your ex. “I will love you anywhere.”

You shiver at the raw and pure intensity that laced the declaration. You almost want to ask, to hear how. But you don’t think your mind could properly comprehend the ability to piece together the right words to ask.

His heart is pounding from beneath your fingers as you feel the pulse on his neck, almost leaping it out as if all it wants is for you to finally claim it as yours. Encase it in a glass case and put it on display for all else to see.

“In a bookstore, by the water fountain, the sidewalk, in the flames of your home.” His hands come down to your hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that by morning sunlight, purple will be painted on your skin but it feels so heavenly that you don’t push them away.

“I love you, not for the protection you provide and for your substantial looks, but for all the small things you do that bear your soul to me.” 

Your hands meet around the back of his neck as he carries you by your thighs towards his bed. Pulling at the fabric that keeps him away from you.

“I’ll love you even as you tell me you hate me. I love you enough that I will scour the face of this earth for a place where I can take you away from your nightmares.” 

“I-“ He sighs into your lips, completely delighted by the intimacy that only his mind could conjure up in the lone nights. “I love you.”

You move for the buttons of his polo, while he moves to pull your shirt from you. A race that leaves you both fumbling when you feel his hand carving a path against your waist and up to your chest. You are left scalding, tiny bounces of light flickering in your eyes.

“I will be at your string’s end.”

masterlist

[astrophileous]

Derek getting jealous over Bug’s pregnancy pillow 🤭🤭🤭 he just doesn’t understand how it can be that much more comfortable than he would be. If Bug makes him snuggle with it post-pregnancy when she needs to sneak out from his arms during the night to check on the baby too? He wakes up like “????”

Nooo but can you imagine how EXASPERATED he is when Bug pulls out the pillow again when she's pregnant with their daughter/Baby Bug???? 😭😭😭

Btw so sorry for the delay, I was stressing FOR DAYS bcs my brain refused to cooperate and write (I think it's back to normal now so YAY)

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

"Not this montrosity again."

Derek nearly whined at the sight of your pregnancy pillow; the one you had stored safely after the birth of your son, and the same one you had pulled out of its resting place now that you were in your second trimester with your daughter. It was a gift from a friend, and Derek was never a fan of it since the first time the pillow found its way into your shared bed.

"Don't say that." You put your palms on either side of the pillow, acting as if you were cupping its ears. "He might hear you."

"Great. So it's a he?!"

"Derek Morgan, you're not seriously jealous over a freaking pillow?"

"I have the right to be when you constantly choose to cuddle with it." You suppressed a giggle when you saw the daggers Derek was shooting its way. "I don't understand why you need the pillow when you have me."

"Because, as much as I love and adore your hard panes and muscles, I need something fluffy to get me sleeping comfortably through the night."

Derek scoffed loudly.

Who would've thought Derek would ever live to see the day he found himself mourning over the fact that he was fucking ripped?

Every night before the two of you went to bed, Derek never failed in throwing the dirtiest, nastiest look in the direction of said pregnancy pillow as if the inanimate object was singlehandedly responsible for ruining his entire life. Derek couldn't be more happy to get rid of it the moment you came home from the hospital with your daughter in your arms. Unfortunately, the man soon realized that getting rid of the offensive item might be a more challenging task than he had ever anticipated in the first place.

"Bug?" Derek mumbled blearily one night as he rose from the light sleep he had accidentally fallen under.

The last thing he remembered was lying in bed with you in his arms. Something about the lull of your voice and the familiar scent of your body wash had managed to make him drift into an unexpected slumber. Derek was putty whenever you were next to him, and he was perpetually alright with that knowledge if it meant he got to keep you constantly by his side.

The bedroom was enveloped in darkness as he stirred, squeezing your flesh wherever his arm could reach. But Derek realized a little too late in his half-awake state that the softness in his hand was, in fact, not you. And it took a few more seconds for him to turn on the bedside lamp to confirm that it wasn't you who was lying in his arms.

It was the fucking pillow.

Derek grabbed the object with utter disgust, stomping through the house until he found you in the nursery. You were sitting in the rocking chair, nursing your infant daughter in your arms, when you looked up at the sound of the door opening. Your head immediately threw back in laughter once you saw the look of contempt that Derek was aiming towards the pillow in his hand.

"What's wrong, Derek?"

"I woke up to this in my arms."

"Did you have a good sleep cuddling with the pillow?" You snickered, enjoying the way Derek's frown deepened with frustration. "I told you it's comfy."

Derek scowled at your cheeky wink, refusing to relent even if deep down he had also begrudgingly started to agree with that sentiment.

After that night, you never heard him threaten to throw out the pregnancy pillow, ever again.

[thesamoanqueen]

Blackwater XIX

Raiting: 18+

Warnings: well I said a couple of months ago that something was toxic… there’s a lil bit of non-con this time, so if someone of you is not ready, im sorry, is that chap.

A/N: this chapter wasn't very easy to write, but the next ones won't be either, let's wish each other good luck.

She had hoped to go somewhere else, but with problems piling up day after day doing so wasn't even an option. It was safer to stay south, where their reservation still acted as a natural stop to any external influence coming from across the border, plus Roman was in the area, though again not there with her, having yet another meeting with yet another person for yet another deal.

She hadn't been very happy about it at first, but had to admit at least to herself that maybe it was for the best. In town she had finally found something she could bring to Lisa to thank her and plus they were relatively close home, which meant they would be there before night and she could go to bed to recover a bit.

The stress caused by the situation did not help either her mood or body already affected by hormonal swings of a heat that Y/N prayed to postpone as long as possible. She wasn't sleeping well due to too many thoughts, she was losing her appetite, as well as the desire to go running and that afternoon she had another one of her waves of shivers which was trying to fight with some hot chocolate in an attempt to also replenish a sugars. She had bought Solo a coffee too, but he kept holding it in his hand without drinking, too busy glaring at anyone who dared come closer than necessary, that was not even so close.

- You didn't grow up here, did you? – she asked, interrupting silence between them once again, because they spent a lot of time together, but even if he seemed willing to talk with her, their conversations were never long.

He looked at her a bit confused, putting aside his perpetual serious face for a moment, coffee still in his hand.

- Jimmy said you came here after, like me – she explained, letting out an encouraging smile and he shook his head no.

- I grew up in the area, with my family.

Y/N let out a surprised oh, going back to twirling the straw in silence as they walked towards the suv.

From the stories she had thought he had come from out of state to help Roman, but she probably misunderstood. She hadn't spent much time with Solo's family, she had only seen them once actually and he didn't open up more than necessary, most of the time talking about what there was to do during the day, well she talked, he was more comfortable listening.

- Not with them. They were always together somewhere. – he added unexpectedly, perhaps not to make her uncomfortable with another silence or perhaps not to make her feel so out of place and Y/N smiled gratefully.

Y/N saw him nod slightly, as if satisfying her had satisfied him too.

She had never really thought about it, but there was an age gap between him and those three. Now he was a big boy with muscles and a menacing look, in those years he had probably just been a kid that them didn't want around. She couldn't imagine what it was like, Y/N hadn't had any brother or sister, she had grown up alone, but the half year spent with all of them before the chaos was enough for her to understand. Maybe he couldn't have tolerated them as a kid, always together already as pack leaving him at home and doing their own business, but now he was a man, it was different.

His family is broken.

- I'm sorry, Solo...

Standing next to the black suv, he looked at her, again confused by her reaction.

- We have to do what needs to be done.

- They're your brothers no matter what.

- I swore to the Tribal Chief. They did it too. – he said serious, his tone almost angry.

In packs like theirs, still tied to old laws and traditions, it was normal to have a relationship of deep respect with those at the top. Those were legacies that were now intertwined with a changed society but still subject to natural balances, such as the amendment on property rights between mates and social hierarchies for those who belonged to or were born from groups not commonly seen well. Y/N, with her omega smell, knew a lot about it and had had to deal with it there too in the first few months, but the prospect of an acknowledgment, oath, was new and something she hadn't heard.

She saw Solo open the door to let her in, his face less angry, but still solemn.

- You don't have to – he reassured her, mistaking her silence for concern, dark round eyes stopping too long lower, at the base between her neck and shoulder, where Y/N had tightened her jacket trying to send away the cold shivers – you already have his… smell.

Smell wasn't the word he wanted to say, but what Solo was referring to, she didn't have yet.

Our mark. His mark.

That too was an old legacy, dangerous in her case, but Y/N didn't have time to think too much about it by looking for her phone which in the meantime had notified of a message.

***

Paul was a smart man. Roman had chosen him as a wise man for that very reason. There was no one in the entire country more capable than him, no one who had his level of experience. He was a lawyer, an advisor, a connoisseur, he had political support, important acquaintances within the packs and outside, plus his family had practically adopted him when he was a boy, so he was not a stranger. The wise man was many things, but honest only when necessary and Roman had never had a problem with that kind of approach in their time together. He tolerated all sorts of expedient for his purpose, he had learned the hard way how much it cost to have feelings, but everything changed if those tricks helped something of which he was not made aware.

Because Roman knew from years and life lessons. Loyalty and trust were something he no longer expected, from anyone and certainly not from someone who had stayed afloat when everyone else drowned. Everyone could be a friend, everyone could be an enemy, his wolf now did no exception and all the whispers, phone calls and messages that kept Paul busy even when they were together were nothing but further proof of a picture that he knew. The wiseman acted driven by the feeling of ground crumbling beneath their feet, frightened by changes that his cousin and those dogs on the border threatened, by the possibility of a future that Roman would not allow as long as he was able to breathe. He loved the wise man, he could forgive him being a coward, pretending not to see, at least until he took a step too far.

- So? – he asked annoyed, almost making the phone fly out of his hand.

- Two weeks. Tomorrow both of you will exchange the sogi – he reported in a heavy voice, his shoulders low, his face frowning as if someone had just stepped on him after the news.

He didn't like the prospect of that fight, first of all because he was risking his head. Roman knew even without having to ask that he would play his cards to make things better and save everything, but for him the two weeks he had dealt were too much time and those plans useless. Fourteen days were the ritual time to provide what was necessary for families, so that both parties were ready for any outcome, but for him were just a useless wait. He wouldn't be the one to lose, he had no alternatives to plan unlike Jey, he just needed to have free way and get his hands on his cousin.

- About the stipulations, I was thinking- he advanced, trying to recover as much as possible.

- There are none.

- My Tribal Chief, if I may, considering what we are facing now, it would be better to leave a few more resources and perhaps-

- There will be no stipulations.

He had complied with stipulations, conditions for weeks, suffered weakness for months, the time for mercy was over. He had left many doors open for his cousins, he had tried everything and Jey however had gone where he shouldn't, disrespecting him to the point of contesting him with the Elders, they had gone too far and now there was only one way to put an end to it. The only acceptable stipulation was unconditional surrender, total humiliation, there was nothing else to talk about. Guts were needed to keep their family in line, his dad had reminded him of this and Roman was not willing to receive other reminders in the future, he was no longer a boy. Whatever happened next, he would handle it the way he handled everything, with a firm grip and without regard, he didn't need those two to do it. He was the alpha, he had control and winning cards to play against everyone.

- How much longer do we have to stay here? – he asked, tired of waiting, staring with annoyance at the watch on his wrist.

They had been in that office longer than he was willing to tolerate and he couldn't stand listening to the wise man calls or him typing messages anymore, he didn't have all day to waste signing a deal with the governor. He had to train, dedicate the next fourteen days focusing on the goal, not sitting bored in a chair waiting for a paper that should have already been ready the second he set foot in that building.

- I'm going to immediately check where Pearce has ended up, my… – the wise man snapped to attention, but he barely managed to turn to go towards the door – tribal… chief.

Roman smelled him before even moving his gaze to the man accompanying Pearce. He had no idea who he was, he didn't remember his face if they had ever met before, but he had a smell that he didn't like. He didn't like the smell of him, he didn't like the way was staring at him, he didn't like the attitude and he sure as hell didn't like that he came around when he had business to do.

We don't like him.

- Reigns.

Pearce greeted, already adjusting glasses on his nose, his expression stressed as always. Roman didn't even look at him, focused on observing the new arrival who was already taking place at the table without having been invited. Pearce had that same attitude in the past, a couple of years ago, until Roman had taken it away from him in his own way and since then had never reappeared. He almost wanted to do the same with that new guy.

- What’s this idea Mr. Pearce?! It was supposed to be a private meeting for private business! Very important business! It's unacceptable! – complained the wise man, standing up against that lack of respect.

- Our new neighbors have informed the governor of activities across the border. It seemed right to him to invite Mr. Aldis as a delegate to clarify before signing anything. He’s in charge of that area now.

That's what he was. Another puppet, another well-dressed small dude convinced to have power or a chance against him, thought he was worth something, that he could stand face to face with Roman, thanks to the talks of those idiots to whom his cousins had left the field free. They were becoming arrogant, stupidly brave, throwing in his face that he had lost his hold in the north and that now there were others there. They hadn't gone too far yet, keeping everything legal, moving with what they could to make their voices heard, their new influence known, but Roman was fine with those games as long as they didn't go beyond the limit. And the limit was his patience running out.

- Since you no longer have jurisdiction there and the upcoming Bloodline activities threaten the entire area, restrictions must be established for the future. Real restrictions Mr. Reigns that I will take care of enforcing and making clear to you. Without it, nothing new will be authorized. – the new dude, Aldis, announced, openly defying his influence, head held high and the wise man behind him jumped.

They wanted to authorize him.

- How dare you- he screamed, but Roman simply raised a finger to silence him, the other hand gripping the chair.

That tanned, smug face of him would have looked perfect smashed onto his table or on the floor, better under his foot.

They wanted to play the big game, gamble when he already had more important business to take care of. It was almost hilarious, almost because that little game would be short-lived. He would let them do it, for a while, until Jey got what he deserved since everything that was happening was his fault. That was what happened if they left their side exposed, if they allowed a pack of strays to smell weakness, it was the price to pay for a crack and the reason Roman would have no more second thoughts.

Elders were right, he had to focus, do what he had to do and what he had been chosen for. He couldn't afford any more weaknesses or they would become ready and able to bite his throat.

- Go ahead – he conceded, collecting himself.

He would get rid of them one by one, blood of his blood or not. Without mercy.

***

She had sought comfort between now cold sheets smelling of him, curling up her legs for extra warmth, keeping her eyes tighter to ward off thoughts ready to fill her mind, but hadn't made it and her she-wolf had found Roman through the link. She had sensed him immediately, probably because he wasn't shielding anything believing that she was still asleep and Y/N had snuck out to join him in the dim light of his home office.

Mate is not here with us.

He was sitting on the couch with a solitary lamp, his face serious, fingers running through the seeds of his necklace. He was physically there, but his head was somewhere else as happened too often now. In the house he always kept the ulafala in the case, but Y/N didn't need to ask to know why he was there staring at it when he was supposed to be resting by her side, in their bed. Paul had told her as soon as he received the news, keeping to their agreement or perhaps already seeking help and Y/N had finally given a deadline to the anxiety that was weighing on her.

Fourteen days of peace before chaos, before completely crumbling what was left of the family, but in a few hours it would truly become inevitable. Or it was probably already late judging by Roman's face.

- Will you have to wear it? – she asked in a whisper, entering the room almost on tiptoe.

He hadn't told her anything about how the meeting would take place nor had he added anything about the fight, but she couldn't blame him. She had promised to stand by him, to defend him, yet she hadn't reacted well to his drastic change of plans and he didn't seem to really understand why she hadn't accepted it. What had happened was serious, but what could happened next would be even worse. Standing, she watched him keep his gaze fixed on the symbol of sacrifices, of his role and pains without turning to look at her and she too observed it, perhaps expecting a revelation.

Red for power, seeds for the rebirth of the dynasty.

She knew the value and pride behind that object, Roman had told Y/N all the stories about the ulafala, but no matter how hard she tried in her eyes it was only a necklace left weighing him down. It should have given him strength, conveyed his strength, represented the family future and instead he found himself fighting to keep it around his neck, to keep what he had gained after an argument born from unpleasant circumstances and degenerated due to old grudges.

- I earned it, represents me – she heard him reply, because in his mind it was the only thought.

She felt it, she knew it. He felt his efforts, sacrifices threatened and they were, but Y/N still felt like it wasn't Jey or Jimmy who was the real danger. At least not initially, now everything was a danger, even the elders who were supposed to accompany and advise him. Them all had fallen into a trap were building with their own hands and she couldn't resign herself to the sight of that disaster.

He's not just that for us.

- You don't need it – she reminded him, stopping looking at the ulafala to focus on him.

She saw him inspire with frustration, felt annoyance pass through him at the mere idea of continuing that conversation, his eyes far from hers.

- Go back to bed Y/N.

- Come with me then, is not mornin yet – she insisted, refusing to give up.

They had different opinions, different approaches, it had always been like that and perhaps it would never change, but they were on the same side. She didn't want to go back to their room if he wasn't there, didn't want to sleep if he wasn't there, she had been alone for too long to throw away moments, to wait two weeks to pass and then hope to go back to what they had before. She trusted Roman, she had never trusted anyone like him, but it wasn't going to end up with Jey and Y/N was honestly afraid of the aftermath he talked about. The threats were different, without blood ties and were just waiting the right moment to attack him, they wanted to get him out of the way and take everything, not just his role. No one can get rid of a weed without pulling out its roots. It had already happened with her family and now can happen again because he was focused just on what was in front of him. But she couldn't wait for the inevitable, it wasn't in her nature to do what she had to do or what he wanted, she existed to do what he couldn't.

She saw him stay silent, sign he had no intention of moving. So she stood in front of him, slipping the ulafala from his fingers without asking. That move finally forced him to raise his head, trying to understand what was happening, while she carefully placed it back in the case where he kept it and then went back to the couch. She listened him breathe heavily, scratch his dark beard with a grimace, and she sat down on his lap to take up the entire view.

- Ain't doing this talk once more – he stopped her soon, shaking his head.

- Not even if im the one asking? – she tried, seeing him immediately clench his jaw.

- Im doing it for you, for us, all! I told you and you said we were on the same side, now what?!

- I'm not taking anything back. I'm just worried it’s already too much – she confessed, not really knowing how else to explain the feeling in her.

Maybe she was giving in to the hormones, anxiety, or maybe was the fact she hadn't cared about others in years like she did now for him, but it was all happening so fast and whether Roman was ready to admit it or not, he was losing control and not facing things with a right mindset. Those outbursts of anger, the way he turned against everyone, judgments, drastic solutions, he was getting carried away by the desire for revenge and his justice. He kept saying he was doing it for them, for their future and instead seemed like a pretext to rush towards other problems. They didn't need acknowlegment, a border to build anything, they were fine, everything worked when it was just them, together. They had never been happier than in the time spent getting to know each other, digging their bond out of the dust and strengthening it. Life certainly couldn't be made up only of moments like those, dates and runs in the woods, but things could certainly have been different.

- Whatever it takes, doesn't matter, at all – he announced, almost exasperated by having to explain, by having to hear, his gaze so confident and Y/N stared at him for a moment without being able to say anything else.

Whatever it takes, he said.

The prospect of those sacrifices and ease which he said he wanted to face them would torment was heavy, but as she had sadly learned to do growing up, she hid all the worry in the back of her mind.

He didn't listen or maybe he didn't want to.

So Y/N simply moved closer, challenging his growing temper, to seek some warmth and his lips in an uncertain kiss. Saw him look at her almost suspiciously for her reaction, studying before reciprocate the kiss and sliding his hands down her thighs. Close, felt their breaths slowly mix in the silence of the dark house and that warmth she had found too late, growing from the most vulnerable part to her chest begging for comfort.

- You matter to me – she reminded him in a heated murmur, forehead resting on him, swollen lips touching, eyes burning for something that went beyond words.

She didn't really care about anything else. They could have been anywhere, surrounded by anyone or in utter desolation and Y/N would still have searched for those eyes. They were her firm point, he was her person. The thought of it terrified her, but she was done fighting and pretending. Roman was everything for her, she had nothing else anymore and she wanted, hoped... he would understand that for that exact reason they couldn't give in. They had to stay together, as a pack, mates.

She saw his gaze lingering on her lips, rising then to meet her eyes, two brown pools now dark in the dim light of the room. Felt his fingers gripping her hips, digging into soft flesh with possession, domineering and lust, marking her skin to claim and force her where she already was.

- Then you gonna be there with me, as you should – he demanded, resolute and despite fighting with everything her head suggested, Y/N nodded to please him again, letting Roman finally crash his mouth against her, satisfied.

They would find a way, they would find a solution even if it seemed difficult, they could do it together, but in that moment Y/N just needed to feel him close, just for her, far from all the noise and problems that awaited them out. They could give themselves that moment of rest, cherish it and Y/N rocked on him, moaning into his hot mouth as their bodies inexorably warmed up. His tongue was insatiable, ready to devour and intoxicate her with his good taste, thrown into a fight that she didn't even dare win. She preferred to let him have control in those moments, while her fingers made their way through dark soft locks, scratching the back of his strong neck to once again elicit that raw growl that vibrated through his broad chest into her bones. Felt his hands slide deeper, grasping her ass, encouraging Y/N to move her hips, pushing on his boner which was quickly answering to juices already wetting his pants.

She had stopped wearing panties when they went to bed a while ago and now was even grateful. She would bear nothing but the feeling of his hard body against her, pressure building like a blessed torture as he guided her growling for her to ride him shamelessly. Y/N had been trying to slow down and control herself for months now, so as not to give in to the heat of their bond, stay with feet on the ground and mind clear now that everything was falling apart, but it was an inexorable descent faster every time Roman touched her. She clung to him, feeling one of his hands travel up under her shirt to roughly grab one of her breasts, his calloused palm rubbing her sensitive nipple making her squirm. Her body had always been hyper-reactive to his attentions, but now she had fallen into a spiral with no exit. Y/N yearned him like a castaway for salvation and in moments like that the need mixed with something more, something that Y/N had never felt for anyone else and her she-wolf fought to make her whisper.

Tell him. We need him. Our mate. Tell him.

- My pussy wet as fuck hm? You need me, don't you? – he said voice like velvet, breaking their kiss and motioning for her to raise herself just enough to sink easily into her cunt – Ima fill you up good, babygirl… don't worry. Aint going nowhere and you'll be stuck with me.

The heat caused by his intrusion had already forced Y/N to open her mouth without being able to speak back, but the sudden thrust of his hips quickly accelerating to pound her almost made her cry. Hands tightened on his shoulders, eyes narrowing with each thrust and then opening as the wave of heat rose from her belly, sending her entire body into flames. Bouncing on his lap, she felt Roman moving his hand from her breast to give her a sharp slap on her ass, he did it one more time drawing a moan and then move up to her throat, to squeeze it just enough to bring tears to her eyes. Quickening the pace, in the frenzy of their moment, Y/N began to confuse the her own pounding heart with the slick sound of bodies slamming together. Her mind becomes more clouded by the second, ears filled with Roman's growls and threatening promises like dark spells ready to tear her soul and climax away. Confused between pleasure and desperation, she held him to her as he held her by the throat, twitches of her wet center uncontrolled amidst the panting of both of them that grew angrier. Room around flashed, throbbing like folds around his cock, impregnated with smell of their bodies, air charged and heavy, saturated with sweat and lust, with a mix of their smells.

They were racing with no intention of slowing down, as if the only goal was to consume, melt and crumble thanks to the other one. Y/N end came sudden and violent between a sloppy kiss and a particularly insistent push on that soft point on which Roman loved to rage without any mercy, fast, powerful, in a strangled moan that made her bare feet tingle, rising in an electric discharge up her legs to a sweaty body, chest begging and hot face. She closed her eyes, grabbing Roman's arm for her life, throwing her head back and then immediately hiding her face on his shoulder because he wasn't slowing down, he wasn't even giving her a moment to breath and she had already went over her limit. Heat kept growing and shake her, causing Y/N to lose all contact with her surroundings, ears ringing as if she had been underwater, body still crying out for more while Roman pounded furiously. Stunned, she stood abandoned in his arms, letting him have his way as he wanted, until something made her eyes widen, pushing her to gasp.

- R-Ro- she tried, because his hand had somehow left her throat, to grab Y/N by the back of her neck and tilt her head to the side.

He was holding her by her curls, beard scratching her hot neck, tongue ready to lick away sweat from her sweet pulsing weak spot to prepare it.

- Easy, stay still – his breath against her skin, so close, pushed Y/N to stiffen as much as his words – I'll be gentle, ssh…

Roman had never pushed, he had never held her like he was doing at that moment and feeling his teeth on her flesh sharper than usual, Y/N wriggled away.

- Don't - she tried again, feeling him tighten his grip, slowing down his thrusts, another hand moving to her wrist.

Why he was acting like that?

- Don't panic, its me – he reassured her, words heavy, attitude raising for her reaction and she planted her feet, her only free hand tapping on his bare chest.

It was him, Roman? Was it really him that one? Suddenly Y/N wasn't so sure and ignoring her wolf pleas, confused between the sense of discomfort and desire to give in, she pushed again to put some space between them.

- Y/N

- No, not like this! – she wailed and when finally managed to slide away from his legs, Y/N saw him jump up with a growl.

The crash of the coffee table froze her on the couch, eyes wide as she watched him pant in anger with clenched fists, body stiff. Still dirty for their moment, but with her mind completely clear now, she watched him stand there trying to regain control in a heavy silence she hadn't felt between them in a while. Roman rubbed his face, rolling his large shoulders, rocking his head and even though she was shaken, something in Y/N's chest tightened following the imperceptible direction of his gaze across the room, where she had put the ulafala away.

Did he want to mark her to prove a point? To have full control in order to not go through what had happened with his family? It was that?

Mate…

She moved her eyes to his hand, the one would have grabbed to calm him, to bring him back to there with her, the one she always found on herself for any reason even the stupidest, the one Y/N had learned to want, but a second too long passed and her hesitation was enough for Roman to quickly settle down, deciding to walk out of the room without a word to leave her again.

***

Uncle Afa was a man bent by age and illness now. When him and his dad stopped traveling around the country, he opened a gym in a recreation center on the eastern outskirts of the city where family had settled. He only trained their people at that time, city folks didn't want to set foot among savages, but his uncle ignored comments like his dad, dedicating himself heart and soul to the pack. Roman remembered going into that place the last time when he was sixteen, probably with the twins, to put on muscles that had grown bigger on their own later and fill his stomach always asking for more. The gym was different now from then, it was larger, it had incorporated buildings next door and it wasn't dusty at all. There was a sign, clean walls full of photos and articles, in the central one there was also him, right at the top.

They had organized the meeting there to have a neutral place, a place that represented everyone, a symbol of the pack values as the Elders demanded. Yet sitting at the head of the table in the gym hall, with the attention of many of his blood just beyond the threshold, Roman kept undaunted watching that perfectly framed photo at the top of the wall. He was there to talk, ready to prove his worth even if it was thanks to him that that picture had a wall to still be on, if that gym existed after his uncle's family had spent almost everything to pay the national healthcare system, if the next generations would have a place to go or eat like he did. He acknowledged his family efforts, but all of them would have been still in that dusty past of mediocrity if Roman had not taken everything into his own hands knowing he was more than what the world saw.

- Don't try, don’t think about it, I wouldn't do it if I was in your place - he heard Jimmy warn, blocking the wise man from trying to come forward to break the silence of their meeting that had already started a few minutes ago without a word.

Roman heard him clear his throat anyway, but payed no attention until Jey, the only one sitting besides him and Y/N, decided to cut it short.

- I don't have any piece of paper with me – he announced, rubbing his hands on his legs.

Roman eyed him silently, slowly tilting his head and Jey shifted in his seat, face so serious as he settled himself better to speak.

He could broaden his shoulders and give himself as much tone as he wanted, but he would never be on his level, he would never be like him and it was evident. That meeting was ridiculous, disrespectful even.

- It's just between us for me. Families have nothing to do with it – he explained, quickly nodding to whoever was outside the door – Same for Solo, he's my brother... and Y/N, she's family too. He disappears with you though and won't set foot in the packland again as long as I'm here. – he concluded, pointing to the wise man who didn't even manage to mutter his disappointment before Roman burst out laughing.

He’s crazy and dumb.

His hoarse laugh echoed throughout the entire empty hall and he didn't bother to hide it or hold back, simply running a hand over his beard to regain control only after a while. With the entire family's eyes on him, he knocked the table with his hand, eyeing his cousin once more.

Jey. The little soldier Jey. Roman had tried to keep him close, to teach him how things worked, because he loved him and still he didn’t get it. Not a single thing. Anything at all.

He persisted with his speeches even a few days before the moment which Roman would have removed him from the family, putting everything on the table to play the good pup. He wanted the title, he wanted to chase him away, but he was willing to vouch for his family anyway, for Solo who had kicked him and even Y/N… as if there was only one scenario out of all the ones imaginable in which Roman would have left her if not as a deadman or it would have allowed him to realize the ideas he had in his dumb head. He still thought the problem was him or the advice the wise man had given him to stay on top, he thought he could keep his hands clean, not involve anyone and he didn't understand that the situation they were in already, was the exact reason for which he would never have survived in Roman’s place.

- You're wasting my time – he said, giving him an annoyed smile.

Jey didn't reply, cashing in without even a nod. He was good at cashing in, Roman acknowledged it, it was his talent, perhaps his only one, but it still wouldn't have been enough against him. He might be determined and willing to fight him one more time, but it would be no use. Roman had no limits and had learned over the years and blows what was needed to kept the role he had.

- Whoever will standing at the end decides, tha’s the deal, the stipulation. There's nothing else to say – he established, tone suddenly deadly heavy.

There was nothing he wasn't willing to do or lose to keep what was his.

He saw Jey nod, imitate him and stand up and in the silence of the room leave the table to join him. Face to face to each other, he stared at his reflection in his cousin's dark eyes, the ulafala still around his neck as it was in the photo of him on the wall and as it always would be. He squeezed Jey forearm and allowed that even if the bond between them no longer existed, their wolves shared a final breath.

Blood of my blood. Brother. Traitor.

When the air left his lungs again to fill them with the stale smell of the center, Roman let go without hesitation, Jey imitating him in a perfect mirror. However, was he who turned his back on his cousin this time to go away first, ignoring the wise man's sad look and those of the rest of the family outside waiting. Y/N who had been on the sidelines the entire time, unexpectedly joined him, her back straight and face betraying nothing as she took her place next to him. Roman didn't comment, there was nothing to say.

Two weeks and he would have control again. Only two weeks before moving on.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @racerchix21 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @spritelucozade @tribalchiefdaily @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318

[margaretoakgrove]

Taking care of Heisenberg

If once you decide to open an old huge dictionary and find the word ''workaholic'' within this book, i bet the name of this handsome man certainly will be its definition.

It is just incredible that each day Heisenberg finds so many hours to build his metal army of mechanical undead soldiers and, unfortunately, such a small amount of time for taking care of himself.

The lord tends to put his own self-care and state of health aside, but you, on the very contrary, put them on the first place along with yours.

Actually, it will be fair enough to say, that you enjoy taking care of your loved one, and the undeniable fact that you are able to make his life easier and better turns you into one of the happiest people in the world.

Heisenberg is definitely a man of a good appetite, but in spite of that he prefers a simple food over rare exquisite dishes. Therefore if you just cook a fried meat with boiled potatoes and a simple vegetable salad, be doubtlessly sure that your pretty hands will be covered with little kisses of his endless gratitude.

Oftentimes, the old worn clothes of the lord become dirty and damaged as he usually works with motor oil and different metal scraps with rather sharp edges, but you are always ready to remove any oil stain from his trousers and sew up every hole in his shirt.

One needs to mention that your loved one's work is not only physically hard, but it's also hazardous, and, at times, sharp tools, metal scraps or even his own creation that, all of a sudden, went totally crazy can injure him. After such unpleasant situations you carefully patch his bleeding wounds up, and Karl, seeing a concerned look on your face, every time gives you a reassuring smile and tells that you shouldn't be so worried because of just another scratch. (Well yeah, just another scratch which, in the afterwards, turns into another deep scar.)

As Heisenberg strictly forbids you to wander the lowest levels of the factory completely all alone, warning that it's super dangerous, you cannot go down there and check on him when he burns the midnight oil, creating one more addition to his army.

But when the lord sits in his workshop on the highest and safest floor of the building, designing and improving scatches or writing down important notes, you always bring him a healthy snack and a mug of aromatic strong coffee even in the middle of the night which is not a problem for you at all.

When your loved one, after working hard during all day almost in nonstop regime, tirely flops down on your shared cozy bed, you don't ever mind to provide him with a wonderfully relaxing massage. The caring hands of yours slowly and gently rub his weary neck and shoulders, and Karl doesn't even try to hold slight moans of an absolute pleasure, letting you understand like this how unbelievably good you make him feel.

By the havoc which practically daily happens in his life Heisenberg, rather often, feels very stressed out, and you perfectely know that at these gloomy days of his Karl needs the comfort of your company more than usual. You caringly offer him to drink a nice cup of hot relaxing herbal infusion and take a slow walk on the fresh air somewhere in the woods, trying to speak on positive themes in the process of your little trip, at the same time listening to the calming ambient sounds of the nature.

In winter you are especially worried about the health state of your dearest man, noticing that despite a cold weather he is quite lightly dressed, and his neck is perpetually open to the strong gusts of freezing northern and western winds. Does one need to say how surprised the lord was when you timidly gifted him a simply-looking yet so soft and warm scarf knitted with your own golden hands? No, the man wasn't just pleasantly surprised, he was baffled, even shocked by this gesture because literally nobody in his entire life has ever done such a nice thing for him.

Having the new accessory wrapped around his neck (which fits him well, by the way), Karl attends special occasions by the name of family meetings where he with a smug-ass smile on his face lively brags to the siblings (especially to Lady D) about what a kind, caring and attentive person his precious darling really is, unlike someone's annoyingly buzzing bloodthirsty bugs.

Heisenberg is sure as hell that he will never be grateful enough to you for everything you do for him every single day, understanding very well that without your divine presence in his life he would never ever feel so truly loved and cared for.

But the lord does not even imagine that the short sincere ''thank you, Buttercup'' of his makes you melt like a sweet sugar cube in a hot fragrant tea.

And each new day you are willing to keep tirelessly surrounding him with your priceless love and tender care because this so close to your heart man means the world for you and, surely, even more.

[aceandurmom]

Harlequin Hearts: The Archivist's Swordsmaster Affair Chapter Three

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ONLY ON TUMBLR UNDER ACEANDURMOM//////////////////

TRIGGER WARNING: Toxic Relationship (not Mihawk), Morally Grey Reader

Finally calm from your earlier meltdown, you thought it better to explain from the beginning. 

Mihawk’s gaze was smothering, your chest feeling as if it was closing in on itself. There was nothing compared to how you felt now, like you had to spill every secret you had to the man so that he knew. You didn’t know how to feel about that, other than knowing that right now…you felt safe. To tell him everything was the only option you had at this moment, even if Crocodile and Buggy were present. 

Not even Buggy knew the entire story, just the extent of Arlong’s…orders. 

Buggy looked up, also wanting to know what you were to say. He knew that not every detail was told, and he had been fine with that. He had no authority to tell you to spill every secret you carried, and as your Captain he had allowed that. 

But now he was your Brother. 

Now he wanted to protect you from even your thoughts that he knew still plagued you. 

It looked as if you were aware of this now, on the verge of opening your heart and soul to those in the room. 

To say Crocodile was a close friend was a stretch…but he had grown on you. The perpetually angry man had a kind heart, underneath many, many, many layers he had built over the years to protect himself. He had opened up a little, the two of you coping with stress by- unhealthily- drinking them away. Sipping whiskey and wine, stolen from Miahwk, and joking in the conference room was enlightening to say the least. You had managed to start to enjoy his presence, genuine excitement at the idea of getting to spend time with him after Buggy and Mihawk left. 

It was fun. 

So, changing a glance to the towering man, you awkwardly smiled. Accidentally choking on his spit, Crocodile laughed at the facial expression. He turned and closed the door, assuring that no one else could hear what you were about to explain. 

“So, where should I start?”

“Do you care to explain your relationship with the Strawht’s Navigator?”

It had been Crocodile to start up the conversation. Sensing the unease and trying to- gently- push you to begin. 

You blushed.

A response none of them had expected. Nervously giggling, your fingers started to twist at the strands of hair at your nape. Looking off to the side, you tried to think of the best way to explain. 

“Nami and I were…closer than you might think. We were the only humans on a crew full of fishmen who were desperate to put humans in ‘their place.”

Fingers insinuating the absolute bullshit that was being referenced. 

“She…she was always there for me when Arlong was at his worst. When he was the angriest, Nami was there to soften the blows afterwards. She would bandage me with the softest touch. And sometimes…”

Well, most of the time after the worst had passed, the two of you…would spend the night in each other’s arms. The ginger and you had a complicated relationship,best friends often bordering on more. 

Crocodile picked up on your fidgeting, coughing into his fist to bring you back. 

“Right, well, Nami was the only one who was on my side. She was my savior.”

Buggy butt in. 

“She sure as hell didn’t act like it.”

Face falling, you smiled, solemn. 

“You have to remember, she was just as much a prisoner as me, maybe even more so. He had her entire village under his thumb, threatening their lives. If she worked for him and made money on the side, he promised she could buy it back….but he lied.”

“As much as I feel bad for her, I am not concerned for that woman at the minute.”

Mihawk stated, not at all listening to the details concerning the woman. You were priority right now. 

Buggy glared, trying to look through Mihawk and try to get him to back off. He wanted you to take your time, not feel pressured and rush through.

But the words Mihawk had said had made you flush harder, trying to laugh it off the best you could. 

“Well, what exactly did you want to know? Specifically?”

“What did he do to you.”

It felt like the air was sucked from the room, struggling to breathe in as deep as you should. Crocodile groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. 

Coming forward, the large man sat down beside you instead. Leaning back, Crocodile placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“Straight to the point, Hawkeyes.”

He looked at Crocodile like he was stupid, not at all pleased at the interruption. 

“Forgive me if I sounded insensitive, I simply want to know who I need to kill. And how long I should prolong his death.”

Buggy relaxed, shoulders falling. 

“I guess that’s fine, then. I have to admit, I’m eager to know what all happened. You’ve never told me what all he put you through.”

You grimaced, understanding what they were asking and why, but not really the happiest about it. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Face darkening, you grew frustrated.

“What, you want me to describe every time he put his hands on me, ordered me, pushed me around, touched me when I didn’t want him to!? I don’t know who you all think you are, but that past is in the past, he’s supposed to be dead anyways. Gone.”

“What do you mean he put his hands on you? He was your captain, was he not!?”

Buggy was outraged. Granted, he had a guess that he had hit maybe once, but to hear you say it into existence was damning. He thought it may have been a one time thing, maybe even just making you work nonstop (that in itself was also abusive to be fair). The bluenette sobered from his rage, trying to calm himself to comprehend the words coming from you. 

Mihawk wasn’t really thrilled either, frown still in place. But he tried to let you talk it out before interrupting too too much. 

Without meaning to, you fell back on your time under Arlong. 

–

It had been ages before Arlong showed back up. Not wanting to show his face to you just yet, letting you simmer in your rage and fear towards him. He had forced you to make a contract for a man who had wronged him. You didn’t know the whole story, but it had made you uncomfortable either way. You had told him so, not ever going through with something like this before. 

He had dragged you by the hair to another room before bringing in the man. Throwing you into the barren room, you fell to the floor. Gasping in surprise, you were shocked. He had never been so rough before, always maintaining a kinder attitude in front of everyone. But to have him standing so angrily over you was intimidating to say the least. His teeth bared, he snarled at you. 

“You will do as told! I don’t care about your puny human morals, you will do as I say! If I tell you to lick the fucking floor you’ll do it! If I tell you to kill yourself, you’ll do it!”

Tearing up, you tried to remain strong in front of him. Not wanting to look weak to him. 

You wanted him to think highly of you, to need you so that he wouldn’t get rid of you. To feel needed. To feel wanted. 

Despite your own morals screaming back at you, you sucked it up and nodded.

“Yes, sir, of course. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He backed up, grinning once again. 

Lowering himself to your height, he reached a hand out to you. 

Webbed hand resting on your head, he caressed the side of your face, thumb passing circles on your cheek. 

“Such a good little thing. Always listening so well. So sweet and respectful. You’ll stay won’t you, never leave?”

You looked back at him, eager to please.

“Of course, sir. I have no plans saying otherwise.”

Arlong hummed in thought, continuing to give you the attention he knew you craved. You were so transparent about your wants.  

The force he threw you down with had busted the back of your head. Blood seeping from behind your hair and onto your skin. Arlong had noticed, swiping some of it away. Humming, he pondered how to push you further in the future. 

Hand coming back to his face, he licked it away. Groaning, the shark looked up at you.

“So sweet…”

“Come. You have a job to finish, little minnow.”

–

And you had done so. 

Again and again you were pushed past your limits. And again and again you caved to his whims. 

Tears falling, you tried to wipe them away before the trio of men noticed. Trying to ignore your weeping, they all struggled with trying to let you have a moment. 

But Mihawk wasn’t okay with letting you stew in your sorrows much longer. He reached up, trying to cup your face.

It was too similar to Arlong, the motion almost exactly the same. 

Flinching back, you did your best to restrain the yelp in your throat. 

Brows furrowed, he stopped. Slowly lowering his arm to study you further. 

“What are you not telling us?”

“Arlong was a cruel man, he always had been. But…I wanted to be useful. You have to understand, no one had ever needed me before. Arlong wanted me!”

Hand clutching your chest, you tried to explain. 

“But there were times he pushed me to the limit, more often than not passed them. When my own values were in the way of my work he made sure I ignored them. No matter what he had to do in order for that to happen.”

Buggy finally made his way beside you, body sitting right next to yours. He pushed his side as close as to yours as he could, trying to comfort you just by being present. You had known Buggy long enough to be confident he would never hurt you, despite the facade he constantly put on for others. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you allowed yourself to close your eyes. 

Crocodile broke the pause.

“What did he do, you’ve been deflecting.”

Scoffing, you nustled deeper into the Clown.

“Sorry, but I’m not really fond of speaking about these topics.”

Plucking a cigar from the dozens on his person, he lit the smoke. Breathing in, the man attempted to calm his irritation. He understood, he was only growing frustrated at the lack of progress being made. They had been here for half an hour now. They could be making progress in other subjects.

“I get that, I do. I’m just…annoyed.”

Not needing a response as you empathized with him, you opened up your eyes once again. 

“Well, I’ll make this quick then. Arlong did more than simply put his hands on me. He beat me until I was black and blue, unrecognizable until I conceded. When I did, he flipped his persona. Turning kind and offering me a shoulder to lean on. He would hold me and play with my hair, and speak so softly, encouragement and praise alike. It would go farther some nights, when I exceeded his expectations that day. I tried to keep him away from Nami the best I could by doing so, but the days grew longer.”

Crocodile huffed before stubbing out his cigar. He had needed it for only a brief second before the annoyance burned away into resentment. He looked to Mihawk who had started to seethe below you. 

Eyes alight with pure fury, he tried to placate himself. 

Only to face back up to be met with you leaning entirely on Buggy. Eyes once again closed, except you seemed to be holding back tears once again. 

It was odd seeing you cry so much. Never had he assumed he would ever see you in such a state, but the vulnerability you were allowing yourself to show was admirable. He admired you letting them see this side of you, not just the stern and hardworking face you usually presented. To have the honor of witnessing you was making him realize how much he looked up to you and your ability to emote so freely. 

Mihawk was utterly enraptured with you. But you being in the state you were for him to realize such a thing was shameful. 

You pulled yourself together, pushing the intruding thinking to the side. No longer focusing on the past, you sat up. Back straight, you stood. Buggy had tried to stop you, wanting you to stay where you were. Protected by him and the others that had surrounded you. 

Instead, you gently pushed him away. 

Standing up completely, you leaned down into Mihawk’s face. Avoiding his questioning gaze, you dipped your hand into his coat. Fishing out the previously forgotten blade, you pointed out the symbol. 

“This is Arlong’s Jolly Roger, but the more I look at it, the more I see the inconsistencies. Arlong would never have let someone defile his symbol by carving it in such a crude manner. So the idea that Arlong himself is behind this is gone.”

“Then why such a big reaction over a dead man?”

Crocodile grumbled. 

Snapping a glare back at him, you growled.

“Just because the man is dead doesn’t mean the memories aren’t. Dumbass.”

Buggy’s eyes widened, mouth forming words but never coming out. 

Crocodile only looked away, not too bothered by your mouth at this point. He had become endeared to you due to your honesty, not familiar with the way you spoke to him. It had been a long time since someone spoke to him so easily. It was pleasant, so he did not admonish you. 

Grunting, he waved an apology at his previous words.

“Fine, fine. So what were you thinking.”

“That someone on Karai Bari knows of my previous affiliation. A fact I hide to my chest closer than I do other darker secrets surprisingly enough.”

“You have other secrets more intense than this one? How interesting, little Plover.”

Scoffing, you ignored the warmth of being acknowledged. 

“Yes, but being under Arlong for so long is my least favorite. To have someone know it is not ideal. The crew is from East Blue or need I remind you? And that man caused more harm than good, there are many of my nakama that have been personally wronged by him.”

“I do not see what that has to do with you.”

“The fact I was with him at all is punishable enough, Hawkeyes.”

Buggy groaned, throwing himself back onto his bed. Hands coming to cover his eyes, he tried to come up with a name that he thought might do something like this. 

“So someone on your crew is actively threatening you with information. Sounds like grounds enough to kill the bastard. We can’t have our useful little Archivist being blackmailed under our watch, can we?”

Crocodile stood, done with the conversation. He approached you and laid his lone hand on your head. Lightly ruffling your hair he gave you a small smile. 

“Especially one so practical and consistent.”

Leaving the room, Crocodile looked back at you one more time. Frown settling back on his face, he shot one last glare at the other two men. 

“We nip it in a bud immediately. Nor will anyone else hear of it.”

Mihawk agreed with him, but refused to let his coworker know it. Buggy had confirmed it out loud, not shying away from letting the crocodilian know he thought so. 

Stretching out your arms, you tried to crush the growing affection budding. You enjoyed being around them, feeling safe here. 

–

Days passed and the three had been busy. There hadn’t been a meeting since the blade had been found on your carpet. 

You had been busy as well, reading through all the crew records Buggy had you compile over the years. Everytime someone had caught his attention, he had you run a check on their past or criminal records. He had only a few requirements that you had to look for explicitly. 

No Marines or Former Marines. Even if ‘reformed’

No Sexual Deviance

No Domestic Violence Charges

And that was about it. Granted, of course, there were a few more limits the man had. Buggy would make the final decision once he met them. He had Observation Haki that rivaled the best, could sense anyone and bend his own Will in ways you had never heard of. 

Today, you were in the Records room again. You had left to get food before promptly returning. Scanning through paper after paper, you kept on coming up empty handed. You were growing more frustrated as the time continued to pass. 

There had been a knock on the door, more a courtesy than anything else. There were only a few people in the area that even knew about the room. So, you turned to the entrance expecting your captain or maybe even Mihawk or Crocodile. Before you could open your mouth to greet one of them, you were stopped. 

You were, truthfully, fed up by the amount of times you had been caught off guard. You had been off your game the longer you felt safe. 

It was a good thing you felt uncomfortable once meeting the eyes of the stranger entering into your room. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

The woman scowled, teeth bared in pure hate in your direction. 

“You have some nerve pretending to be a good person after everything you’ve done.”

Her voice was wavering despite the threatening facade she was trying to put forth. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know damn well what I speak of. Being Arlong’s little whore and doing WHATEVER he asked without even blinking.”

“...who knows what I did and didn’t do while being under Arlong. I know for damn sure I killed or hurt no one. So whatever you assume I’ve done, you are incorrect.”

“So you didn’t force a woman into a contract with Arlong? You didn’t force her to be in his debt so he could use her whenever he so damned pleased!? So she would never sleep through the night without worrying about when he might call on her!? Yu destroyed her life!”

“You might want to be more specific. I’ve written a lot of contracts over the years, girl.”

Her eyes narrowed, tears tracking lines down her cheeks. Her pretty blue eyes were alight with hatred and fury. She was stunning as she was here. 

Maybe being under Arlong really had fucked with your head. To find yourself enraptured with a crying woman that had made it known she hated you. It was thrilling to watch her there. You wanted to sink your claws into her, to tear her apart and watch her cry. 

Sucking in a breath, you tried to will away the intrusive thoughts. 

You knew better than this. You were a better person than this. 

“I apologize about forcing her into such a position.”

“You’re a foul fucking person. I want you DEAD, not an apology!”

She rushed you, the same kind of blade in your room found in her hand. You couldn’t defend yourself against such a woman. Such conviction and bravery was deserving of your awe. You let her do as she wished, not at all concerned for your own life. 

She stabbed you in the chest. Knife plunging as far as her weak arms could push. You gasped, the pain throwing you off more than you thought. You had been hit, thrown, beaten, and whatever else Arlong wanted to put you through. 

You had felt pain before, but this was the first time you had been stabbed. The metal wasn’t steel, it burned far too much for it to be so simple. Looking down at the intrusion, you saw the glint of black metal, tinged with light blue that reflected back at you. 

You gaped at her, unsure where such a weak woman could acquire a precious and rare stone like that. 

Finding yourself growing angry, you pushed her back. Spitting at her feet, you punched her as hard as you could. There was no rational reason you were so mad, maybe all that rage from before that had been piling on itself was finally showing through. 

Screaming out some choice profanities, you felt for the knife lodged there. 

Pulling it out, even though there was the knowledge that this was a bad idea, you stabbed it back at her. Digging past her hand, you pushed harder until it lodged into the floor underneath. She howled in pain. 

There were steps echoing by the door, shouts following. The door had been locked behind her, but whoever had been trying to get in made it known that there was no difference in the fact. 

Sitting back on your heels, you watched as the woman under you squirmed. Straddling her, your face fell. Leaning forward, the back of your hand traced her jawline. Pushing back her blonde bangs, you kissed her forehead. There was a gasp from in front of you where the door was. 

“I am sincerely remorseful that I hurt you so. I was under Arlong’s wicked hand, but that does not excuse my actions. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Crying out, her other hand swung and smacked your face. The sound reverberated around the room. 

Mihawk walked in, grabbing the wrist from the woman and stopping her from doing any more damage. 

“You are the one who sent the threat?”

She spit at him, breathing harshly. 

The ache in your chest grew harsher still. Grasping at the wound, you struggled to stand. Wobbling on your feet, you looked up to see Crocodile walking in as well. Chancing a look to Mihawk, he tried to gauge the rage simmering there. 

“Hawk. What do you need me to do.”

“Take this woman and bring her to Buggy. I will deal with the rest.”

Pupils shrinking, Mihawk looked back to you. Glancing down at the wound in the center of your chest, he was relieved to find that the woman was an idiot regarding anatomy. Trying to hide his pure disdain to the woman, Mihawk reached you in two wide strides. 

“Did she hurt you anywhere else?”

You shook your head.

“No.”

He heard you, scooping you in his arms. 

“Forgive me for the position I am putting you in. But I do not wish for you to lose more blood than necessary on the way to the infirmary.”

“It does not matter.”

You huffed, trying to breathe despite the pain growing overtime. Gasping for air, you pat his back. 

“It’s fine, let’s just get this over with.”

“As you wish, dove.”

[macdenlover]

My fucking god. There is so much to take apart.

This episode gave us a peak into Dennis’s mind and it’s the closest thing we’re gonna get to putting him under a microscope like a little bug and studying him in a lab. It isn’t what I expected from this episode but man oh man am i glad to have it. There’s a few things we need to establish first that’s gonna be the basis of my analysis. Dennis is angry, but he ultimately uses that anger to mask fear, pain, and every other emotion that he doesn’t allow himself to feel. Also, the entirety of the episode— every little detail was intentionally conjured by Dennis’s mind either consciously or subconsciously so none of it is off the table to dig into.

There’s two big things at play here— one, his desperate need for control; and two, his instinct to self sabotage. This episode did one hell of a job at showing how woven together the two are.

The essence of Dennis’s character is this impenetrable shell he’s built to protect the vulnerable part that sits at his core, and we finally got to see HOW he builds that shell piece by piece. This is the pressure-cooking of the diamond— if you apply enough pressure it’ll harden the shell.

Everything is thrown out of balance when Dennis learns about his high blood pressure, but what really bothers him about that is the inevitability of aging— something we’ve seen him be insecure about for many seasons. But what’s different about this episode is that while his usual fear of aging comes from vanity, this time it’s combined with Dennis being so afraid of the world around him changing and leaving him behind. This follows the thematic trajectory of this season— all the characters struggling to cope with inevitable change. 

A stress-free day at the beach is a pipe dream. Happiness is something so hopelessly distant from him that he builds a fantasy about chasing it while never getting there— sabotaging the plan because he either thinks it’s too impossible, something he doesn’t deserve, or both. This is not the first time we’ve seen this from him. In The Gang Saves The Day, the rest of the gang’s fantasies revolve around them finally getting their dream ending, while Dennis’s stuck out from the others as a barely comprehendible mess of his own misery. (I’m gonna rewatch this episode soon and give you a full breakdown of my thoughts). Dennis self sabotages in his own fantasies because he can’t imagine a reality where he is capable of getting what he wants. Dissatisfaction is something so permanent to him, and Dennis Takes a Mental health day is all about him trying to cling to things that are permanent to regain his sense of control. He is creating uncertainty in his own fantasy so that he can be certain about it. He is such a broken man and it is such a fucked up cycle— one thing continues feeding into the other. “The pin’s the key to the phone, the phone’s the key to the car.” 

The primary source of his frustration in this episode was the automated systems, which I think holds place to represent more than one thing. It’s a symbol of the changing world that he can’t control or escape from, but it also represents the parts of himself he’s fighting against. He forms systems in his life that are so methodical and complicated that it gets in the way of his ability to have real human connections. They went right on the nose with it in this ep by having him spelling out his own name as an acronym in a fit of rage. Subconscious Dennis’s d.e.n.n.i.s. system is fucking crazy. 

D- “Deliver me from this”

E - “Engage with human”

N - “Nightmare”

N - “NIGHTMARE”

I - “Is this real?”

S - “Somebody help me”

If you interpret this as his frustration with not only the state of the world but himself and his perpetual loneliness it gets incredibly heartbreaking. Guys I’m really tearing up here. 

His interactions with others in this episode also say so much about him and the inner conflicts he’s experiencing. He knows he establishes control by taking his frustration out on other people, but he simultaneously struggles with that making him a bad person. He yells at the customer service workers and then APOLOGIZES and reassures them that it’s not them who he’s really mad at. He doesn’t mean to take it out on them. (Potentially wild implications for Dennis woobifiers here.) He wants to take his frustration out on people who he believes deserve it, like the CEO. He gets to see himself as a hero in this story even if he’s miserable. If happiness is a pipe dream, he can settle for second best which is the rush he gets from taking his pain out on the guy who fucked him over. But he is simultaneously the person he spent his entire fantasy craving a real human connection with. He doesn’t know how to do that. It got weird and a little sexual (he definitely wanted to fuck that guy till the room stank). he is vindicated with violence at the end, which is ultimately what he will always resort to because it gives him the sense of power that desperately needs to make the frustration, vulnerability, and weakness go away (mentally AND physically). This is his cycle. 

I’m not sure Dennis could have an episode where he breaks down and cries and has a huge cathartic moment and then goes back to his regular self the next episode the way Mac and Charlie have. Dennis is a whole other can of worms. RCG are comfortable with exploring different sides to these characters as long as they are kept in a state of limbo for the length of the show, but letting Dennis openly express his feelings (even to himself) might make it impossible to come back from because this is literally the entire crux of his character. The last time he opened up emotionally he fled to another state only come back a year later more hostile and emotionally distant than ever. They had to put a hard reset on him after season 12 because they knew that version of him didn’t have longevity in the show. I WISH so fucking bad that they would explore the vulnerable parts of him more explicitly on the show but for now I will settle for being a little vulture and picking it out of the carcass of this season. 

[gremlingottoosilly]

Feel free to ignore if you’re not comfortable writing this but I’d love to see how you think könig would react to an autistic/ ND reader! Like reader verbal stims a lot (repeating phrases, making noise, mimicking people) and maybe they mimic könig one time or make a noise at him out of the blue and he’s like “whar?” :D

Hi!! It's totally okay, I'm autistic, and sometimes a lot of the mannerisms of my life slip into how I write either reader or Konig. It's less obvious with Konig because he is ND, yes, but he is also obsessive and violent, so it kinda hides his more unusual characteristics. He doesn't even notice at first, this man lives in a perpetual love bombing first two weeks of relationship state, every little quirk or habit of yours is just a sign that you really are a precious little angel that needs his protection. Despite him being autistic too, Konig is often trying to infantilize you in some way, making you weaker than you actually are. He is trying to build a perfect environment for you, but often fails to listen to what you want - he kinda of wants you to depend on him, to just stay at home and allow him to bring you your safe food, to build a perfect stress-free room and he would even try to mimic your mannerisms so you could be weird and unusual together. He means well, really, he will never call you weird or be impatient about things directly, but he is often overwhelming and "Hug you in the middle of a panic attack" type of guy. He doesn't read anything on ND unless you are giving him articles, but he has an instinctive understanding of your needs...and he also refuses to get a diagnosis, so he just thinks that you are soulmates.

[yuesya]

Suguru has a conundrum.

“Say ‘aaah,’” says the white-haired gremlin sitting across from him, full of mischief. A fork laden with warm cheese tart is held out in front of his face, right before his lips. “C’mon, Suguru! It tastes really good, I promise!”

The sorcerer purses his lips, doing his best to level an unimpressed look at his companion. “… Really, Shiki?”

A sly little smile is his only response. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Suguru snorts. As a Special Grade sorcerer on par with Satoru, he highly doubts that Shiki failed to notice the first year students conspicuously crouched behind a set of outdoor dining tables on the other side of the street. He makes a mental note to help them train up their stealth –learning to properly hide their cursed energy is one thing, but learning to actually blend in is another. The three of them are getting many strange looks from the passerby… and they all seem completely oblivious to it.

… Probably because they’re too engrossed with spying on their teachers, the little rascals.

“Su– gu– ru–” He does his best to ignore the strange flip-flopping sensation that rises in his stomach upon hearing his name drawn out like that, genuinely pliant and pleading beneath the blatant teasing. From the way Shiki’s smile widens, his reaction does not go unnoticed. Damn. “Won’t you humor me? Just one ‘aaah.’”

Suguru sighs, resigned.

“You’re having entirely too much fun with this,” he accuses her, although without any real heat. Like her brother, Shiki is entirely too playful… and stressful for Suguru’s blood pressure.

“Please?”

Unable to deny her, Suguru opens his mouth and eats the cheese tart.

He’s aware of how it looks from the outside, a man and a woman sitting down at a cafe table together, with the woman feeding the man a bite of her food. But, it’s the only way to soothe Shiki over unless he wants her to be huffy the rest of the evening. It’ll take forever to smooth over her ruffled feathers, and then he’ll also have to deal with Satoru dramatically flopping over him the next morning to complain about how he was ‘bullying’ his little sister.

… If anything, Suguru was the one getting bullied between the two of them!

The man determinedly stares her in the eyes as he eats the cheese tart proffered out to him, biting down and closing his lips over the fork, before slowly drawing back. If Shiki is going to embarrass him in front of their students, he’s not going to be the only one going down here.

The girl’s smile doesn’t waver as she retracts her arm and returns to eating her cheese tart, seemingly unaffected. But Suguru is long familiar with both Shiki’s and Satoru’s habits, and it’s minutely gratifying when her gaze flickers towards the side in a nervous tell, and her cheeks color faintly. She shares that with her brother –Satoru also blushes easily.

Shiki’s gaze returns to him, and she pouts. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re the one who started it,” Suguru responds childishly, instinctively.

“I did,” the girl admits easily enough, to her credit. “But you’re still terrible!”

“And you’re incorrigible,” he shoots back.

Shiki lets out a small ‘hmph,’ leaning back in her seat as she carelessly flips back a lock of long white hair over her shoulder. Hair extensions, apparently, but the way it looks and the way she acts makes it appear as if it’s the real thing. Admittedly, it’s a little startling to see Satoru’s body with long hair like this, and Suguru still isn’t entirely sure about the feelings he has about seeing Shiki –Satoru– in a dress from an obviously feminine angle, no matter the number of times he’s seen them like this already.

… But that’s nothing new on his end. He’s felt this way for years, and at this point Suguru is resigned to the fact that this is going to be his default state around Satoru and Shiki for the rest of their lives in perpetuity.

Somehow, the thought is both full of aching fondness and headache-inducing despair.

“You look like you have something on your mind.”

Suguru shakes himself out of his thoughts. “It’s nothing. Are you done with your food?”

“Mhm,” Shiki nods absently, dangling the fork in her mouth –the same fork that she’d used to feed him, he realizes. Suddenly, Suguru can’t taste the lingering creamy flavor of the cheese tart in his mouth at all anymore.

Shiki eventually releases the fork from her mouth with a small pop and a soft ‘ah.’ She twirls the utensil over her fingers, then levels it directly at him with a sharp little smile that’s all Satoru.

“You know us, Suguru. We don’t play around with our food.”

… Yeah, there’s no doubt about it. These two are going to be the death of him someday.

[sp-by-april]

Dude, could we please have some more smutty Elf King!Kyle content?? Been aching for some horny elf king fucking his pretty bride on his throne

I love Elf King Kyle!!!

Elf King Kyle x F!Reader

[Submit a prompt for tonight's smut-a-thon!] [Kyle Broflovski Master List]

The King had run out of patience. Not with me this time, but I still knew that meant I’d get the brunt of it. He loved to take his frustrations out on me.

We’d barely been wed a week, but I wondered if I was his only form of stress relief.

I wasn’t sure why he picked me as his bride. From what I understand he was presented with every eligible maiden on the continent, if not farther. In fact, when our betrothal was finalized he was already set to marry someone else completely.

The only thing that I was sure of, was that couldn’t get enough of me.

On our wedding night. he climbed on top of me and ripped my gown open before he deflowered me. He was so fixated on my body, that it felt like we were the only two people in the world. He’ll get so focused on me that everything else falls away.

Kyle was my husband, my King, and whenever he fucked me, he was my God.

I quickly discovered that he loved to show me off and remind other men that there’s a death penalty for touching me.

He likes to keep me naked and chained to his throne just to taunt certain members of the court he’d have an audience with. This was one of those days.

He sat on his throne, bored as fuck as the Grand Wizard rambled on about some treaty proposal between our Elf Kingdom and Kupa Keep. Occasionally the Wizard would glance at me. I could feel his eyes scanning my body… It felt like being groped by a stranger at the market.

The Wizard’s eyes fell to my breasts as he spoke and The King pulled on my chain.

I knew it wasn’t a coincidence, and I knew what the yanking of my chain meant.

The Wizard watched in a perpetual state of bewilderment as the King unstrapped and untied his garments. I watched breathlessly as his robe opened wide, revealing his chest, his abs, his thighs… And of course, the broad cock I knew I’d be sitting on soon.

Kyle was the only man I’ve ever been with, but thank the Gods, I was so lucky. His manhood is a sight to behold. I’m grateful he never shares it with anyone else.

I climbed onto his lap, straddling his naked thighs, and slid my arms over his shoulders. Just our skin touching was starting to turn me on.

His hands ran down my back and settled on my ass while he spoke past me to Cartman, “This treaty sounds like a scam,”

Cartman sounded befuddled, “Uh-- With all due respect…”

“You know what to do,” The King whispered in my ear before turning his attention back to the Grand Wizard, “When have you ever respected me?”

The Wizard cleared his throat as slid my slit over the head on Kyle’s swollen cock. He felt so hard; The way his veins bulged and he was dripping for me… I could tell he’d been wanting to fuck me for a while.

“I just– Uh–” Cartman stammered.

I sank onto Kyle and gasped sharply as his width tested the limits of the delicate walls inside my core. The way it felt when he squeezed into me was divine.

The King’s hand drifted over my breast. He massaged and caressed me. He pinched my nipple and smirked as he listened to me whine.

He was totally enthralled with the way my body moved on top of his. His eyes were half lidded and his jaw hung slack as he watched me bounce on him. He was so fucking big and in so fucking deep that I could feel the his manhood caress the sweet spot inside of me and then kiss my cervix as my hips moved over him.

He brought his mouth to my ear and the heat of his breath made me melt.

“I should fill you with an heir right now,” He brushed his tongue over my earlobe, "If I haven’t already,”

“Please,” I murmured and pulled him into a hungry kiss.

My tongue rolled over his eagerly and I could feel his lips slide into a smirk.

“I bet I could fill you up right now and you’d just want more, wouldn’t you?” He mumbled into my mouth.

“Yeah,” I whined pathetically into his, “I would,”

“I’m gonna keep you dripping with my seed for ages,” His hand dipped between us, and his fingers found my clit, “You’re so good, I’m never gonna stop using you,”

His other hand gripped my ass so tight that his fingertips left little bruises.

I couldn’t resist his hands on me. He studied me on our wedding night, this entire week after, and had already mastered my body.

A loud, shuddering moan spilled forth from me and my back arched just the way he loves.

“Come for me,” He closed his teeth over my bottom lip and gave it a brief tug, “Come for me and I’ll flood your tight little cunt,”

I obeyed him.

I didn’t have a choice. My body was outside of my control. My muscles seized up, I moaned like some common whore and it echoed throughout the throne room. The bliss completely overwhelmed me, I was nearly drooling.

My soft, silky walls fastened up around him and gripped him tighter than I’d ever felt. He groaned in pleasure as he watched and felt me come on him. I’m not sure if feeling me seal up tight around him pushed him over the edge or if he was keeping his promise to me, but his hips bucked up into me and his cock pulsed intensely, violently, as he spilled spurt after spurt of his royal seed into my womb.

His mouth locked onto mine and his tongue turned over mine as his hands ran over my body unbridledly.

The Grand Wizard cleared his throat, “...Your Highness,”

The Elf King sighed into my mouth and then quickly turned his attention back to Cartman.

“Wizard, you have two choices,” Kyle shot Eric a devastating glare, “You can run from here with your tail between your legs, or you can stand there trying to ignore how much you wish you could fuck my bride while I fuck her again,”

“Dude, what the fuck?” The Wizard’s voice faltered.

Kyle’s hands ran down my back and he gave my ass a firm squeeze, “I can turn her to face you if you didn’t get a good enough look at my cock stretching her out,”

The Grand Wizard chose to leave.

[gaytventhusiast]

(!Warning!- Slight hints at domestic abuse. Nothing that isn't in canon)

(Do not read if you do not want to see a critical analysis of Jmart. Some people don't want to see their comfort ship criticised and I respect that.)

Me on my first listen of magnus (aged 15): Omg omg there are gay people this is amazing. Wahoo Jmart!

Me on my second listen of magnus: Wow Martin is lowkey a bit of a secret gaslight gatekeep girloss. ICONIC. He and Jon are murder bfs :D

Me on my third listen of magnus: Hah. Martin really is kind of a bitch sometimes.

Me on my forth listen of magnus: God Martin can be so condescending wtf. I dont really ship Jmart anymore. And did he just hit Jon wtf ?!?!

Me after my 5th listen to now (Aged 18): Yikes. Martin has so many red flags oh god.

(Disclaimer: I do think these characters and their relationship are still well written and I do not dislike anyone for shipping them. However, I do think the fanon interpretation of their relationship removes how flawed Martin actually is and people don't hold him accountable nearly enough)

(Additionally this is all not to say that Jon is exempt from poor behaviour toward Martin. The way he treats Martin in s1 was dickish to say the least. However, unlike Martin this behaviour isn't perpetuated throughout the entirety of the podcast/ relationship, with Jon quickly coming to respect Martin at a similar level to himself.)

Martin Blackwood is not a kind person.

He never holds himself accountable for anything or so few times I literally don't remember them. In MAG 194- Parting, it is Jon that makes the decision to apologise to Martin. Additionally after Martin hits Jon earlier on he is never seen apologising for it, even after Jon's honestly heartbreaking line of "Thank you for not hitting me this time".

Martin also tends to get pissy at Jon for something he cannot help. Jon cannot help 'giving statements' in season 5 and yet everytime he does, Martin acts like it's some sort of attack on him. He is perfectly allowed to have the boundary of 'Don't do that around me'. However in instances where Jon accidentally does it around Martin, Martin responds with aggression, either lashing out and shouting at Jon or as previously mentioned, hitting him. These can be explained as maybe reasonable responses to high stress situations however Martin never apologises for them as discussed previously.

This also comes in the form of Martin antagonising Jon's well meaning suggestions. In S4, during the 'Gauge your eyes out' scene, Martin immediately shoots back, making it about him rather than the desperate attempts at salvation from a man who's been broken down to all hell.

There's a clear bitterness from Martin throughout. He clearly feels inferior to Jon and is trying to gain as much control over the situation as he can which often means doing all he can to control Jon.

And Martin is right at the end of S5 when he says it took 4 years of the shit they've been through to be compatible. However, what I think is more accurate is that it took 4 years of Jon being broken down and into a state of perpetual emotional vulnerability and loss of autonomy for him to be so alone that he reached out to Martin. And vice versa, Martin (being affected by the lonely and always having had an attraction to Jon) reaches out in return later in s5. Aside from that, they've not got much in common and although I do think that they at least get along as friends and colleagues, I can't really see them consistently bonding outside of the world of the fears.

Now I'd like to clarify that this isn't all to say that the way Martin acts isn't understandable, it is. Having to care for his mother for years has lead to him mothering Jon at times as well as his constant need to prioritise himself and defend himself in response to her abuse. He probably also has some left over resentment (understandably) from the way Jon used to treat him in s1. Along with a bunch of other stuff that explains his behaviour. But that doesn't mean that the way he acts sometimes isn't harmful.

Their relationship is more nuanced than I'm able to fit into a tumblr post. I might write an essay about it at some point. If there is anything i didn't mention it's either because it's been a while and I forgot, or I did not have space to fit it!

Anyways, what do you guys think about all this? TMA is one of those shows I've been a bit apprehensive to critically analyse due to the fandom but I found that Jmart is a lot more interesting than I initially thought.

(SUMMARY: Jmart is not as healthy of a relationship as the Fanon tends to show it. Martin has a lot of red flags and the two aren't all that compatible aside from their trauma)

[historia-vitae-magistras]

A lightee ask than usual but do you have any food or eating habit thoughts?

Ooohooohh, I did a whole ass seminar on the history of food. Failed it because I almost bled to death but I got to keep all the material! I've got.... a lot of thoughts and feelings about food culture. Too goddamn many, tbh. This got really long so I'll have to do a part two for other characters if wanted but lol enjoy.

Alfred:

 —Actually pretty gourmet little shit when he's got time and effort. He's made food Maria loves so often she has to give up on pretending she didn't enjoy it because fucking hell, he makes good chilaquiles after they've been drinking and fucking. There is, however, a non-zero chance he hasn't eaten a vegetable since the Nixon administration.

 —With that combustion engine metabolism, he's also perpetually hungry, so he eats whatever is around him. His guts do not like this, especially when it's a lot of dairy.

 —He has that kind of lactose intolerance that's tied to his health and stress, so if he's been particularly freaked out lately, he'll remind the world of his nuclear arsenal when he's got to use the toilet after that triple cheeseburger with a side of deep-fried cheese curds.

 —He's a stress eater too. He eats every negative emotion he's ever had especially when he's trying not to binge drink or do drugs.

 —He’s exceptionally food-motivated. They didn’t call one of his first major historical eras ‘the starving time’ without reason. He has preferences, but food is also food, and he’ll genuinely enjoy it in most forms as long as it's not rotten or otherwise godawful. Cowboy coffee and beans for ten days straight, and he will genuinely be the only man on that cow trail not sick of it by the end.

 —This also goes into why he’s so generous with food. He’s big on homemade food. He’ll make a whole big ass batch of like some sort of mac and cheese, and all the neighbours will get a big ol’ bowl of it with an ‘oh just return the Tupperware whenever,’ and it will genuinely be one of the best things they’ve ever eaten in their lives. Europeans recoil in horror, but our portion sizes are almost never single servings. It’s a generosity and hospitality practice except drinks. He really will down like a 2 liter of Slurpee in a single sitting.

 —He doesn’t mind eating alone. Actually prefers it sometimes. He loves eating in his car. American frontier culture, especially mountain men, had an often hyper-individualized, almost mythic culture of spending long periods alone in the woods and not being very sociable; thus a lot of situations where single servings were a thing, eating alone in quiet without something to do can be a real goddamn luxury.

 —He’s a really big protein guy with his metabolism. Sometimes exists on protein shakes but is more often a beef or barbeque or ham or alligator jerky. And a somewhat chunky Alfred is a healthy Alfred. A perfectly cut no flab Alfred is an Alfred who might be severely dehydrated and on several kinds of uppers.

 —He has better tastes than Arthur who didn't really realize food was supposed to taste good until like ten years ago but his combinations can be equally wild and unappetizing as they are batshit tasty.

—He loves spicy food. He's got so many opinions about hot sauces.

—He’s always hungry. If he isn’t hungry or turns down food, its genuinely a bad sign. If he turns down anything or just is just picking at it his food alarm bells should be sounding. He’s either about to declare war or puke all over the table or keel over dead. Peckish or food coma is his default state. Like if he was a smaller guy someone would say he’s got a binge disorder but he’s tall and beefy so he’s pretty okay.

 —Incredibly adventurous eater too. People will assume since there’s that old school culture of Anglo-American who eats the same 7 meals every week and might keel over dead if the meatloaf is slightly different he’ll be a bit hard to please but then he’s absolutely charmed by everything from Korean kimchi to Lithuanian Lašiniai.

 —He loves anyone who feeds him, just got to be a bit careful because he’s got surprisingly delicate stomach for the world superpower.

 —That American obsession with authencity means he’s surprisingly good at remembering people’s food culture or eating norms. He figured out chopsticks in ten seconds and quickly picked up the cues and manners of eating in any given culture. Still struggles with modulating his voice and personality, so he can often come across as rude, but he's so excited to do so. It's almost frustrating how happy he is to try and adapt to people around him and how happy he can be to fit in.

Matt:

 —He's a very good cook when he's putting in effort for other people, but he's not really like Alfred, who he'll make a whole ass meal for one just to relax on a Sunday.

 —He does tend to eat more vegetables than Alfred, but only because his northern vitamin deficiency has him binging them when he can afford them or they're available during the summer.

  —He can be weirdly picky on his own, but no one ever really needs to ask about his favourite food or how he likes anything because he always just goes with the flow around other people. “Just get me whatever you’re getting.” comes out of his mouth often.

 —There's a lot of sour cream/crema and yoghurt/coconut milk involved when he eats Mexican or Indian food for as much as he loves it.

 —Katya was singlehandedly responsible for his ability to maintain a normal weight during the 20th century by adding rye bread and perogies/vyrenki to his diet. He craves mushroom-umami flavours when he misses her, which is most of the time.

 —When he’s normal and eating the Anglo-North American diet, but he isn’t always eating it, he gets some strong sugar cravings, especially when he’s west of Manitoba. He’s as fond of birch syrup as a flavour as he is maple; there’s just less production. But the kind of deprivation he got and his own tendencies to not eat sometimes cause white sugar to just straight-up burns.

 —There's very much something of François to Matt's dietary habits, but less in his personal tastes and more in that he might be more sensitive to flavours. He has that kind of discerning and slightly oversensitive palate, but he’s a shitty perpetually broke frontier settler colony. He knows better/feels too guilty/is too embarrassed of himself to really indulge it.

 —He kept too much of his peasant communalism in his eating habits. Where Anglo-American communities did have a lot of cooperation, communal eating was a special occasion. The norm was based on the individual household. In contrast, French Canadian habitants still technically lived on medieval land plots and owed labour to a lord while also having a culture of seasonal male work, so Matt grew up used to communal ovens and eating most of his meals around others. Later, in Arthur’s jurisdiction, it was usually the same. He got a plate of whatever he was given, and it wasn’t something he had ever had to initiate himself.

 —Partially, he's sometimes exceptionally bad at eating when he has to choose to do it himself. Especially since the Americanization of the food culture took hold in the '80s and '90s. Whereas Alfred is food motivated from going without when he was little, Matt learned how to block out physical sensation until he collapsed because it was rare that someone, including himself, cared about what kind of state he was in. He just doesn’t eat at all when he’s stressed or anxious. And now it's his sole responsibility to do so as there aren’t the same community structures. He has a lot of Alfred’s abundance now, all the brunch and BBQ places anyone could ask for, but it hasn’t meshed with his eating habits. His people gave up so much of their communal eating in exchange for various choices and then wondered why they were so lonely. So he’ll just microwave a potato or a packet of Kraft dinner a day for a week straight and wonder why he feels dead because, technically, he did eat something. It’s seriously a miracle he got as tall as he did.

 —Feed him nothing but hardtack for three years, and he won't complain until he's dropped dead of scurvy. If Arthur puts some sort of godforsaken mixture of plum sauce or gin-infused spag bol in front of him, he’ll compliment it before he disassociates to get at least some of it down.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: September 18, 2024

Reworked Character #7: Ralf Jones

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to divorce, death, and crime.

Real name: Rafael Paul Jonesbury (his spirit name is Miskwaadesi)

Esper title: Avatar of Flaming, Renewal, Authority, and Physical Destruction

Alias: One-Man Army and Marauding Lupine Carnivore

Occupation: Colonel of the Ikari Warriors

Retirement plans: Open a boxing gym and experience all thrill-seeking activities that society has to offer

Special skills: Driving military vehicles, close quarters combat, orchestrating stress relief programs, proficiency in all weapons, and mercenary work

Esper abilities: His go-to esper ability is the Vulcan Punch, a rapid-fire series of punches capable of obliterating everything from humans, riot shields, bulletproof armour and glass, cars, all known slugs, small to medium-sized tanks, and smaller helicopters. Despite his belly being constantly bloody and inflamed, he experiences surprisingly little pain due to his exceptional pain suppression, increased blood vessel density, resistance to extreme temperatures, and rapidly regenerating organs. This unique combination, coupled with a secondary esophagus lined with razor-sharp, spiky hairs, enables Ralf to harness the inflammation and blood to vomit a controlled stream of scorching, burning red liquid that incinerates his enemies. The sole drawback of his perpetually bloody and inflamed belly is impaired digestion, leading to difficulties in processing food, which in turn causes persistent vomiting and diarrhea.

The skin on his torso, arms, and legs can harden into diamond-hard scales, providing impenetrable protection against bullets, blades, small bombs, and weaker cannon blasts. He can move at incredible velocities, effectively achieving infinite speed, allowing him to move indefinitely while time appears to stand still around him. Ralf can manifest up to twenty invisible arms composed of solidified telekinetic energy, which can be utilised to move around easily as well as bludgeon and slice through people and objects with precision. These arms appear to be malnourished and exhibit constant, erratic movements, reaching up to 20' 5" (622.5 cm) in length. He possesses the hearing and smell of a dog as well as the ability to manipulate red and orange flames. He can also induce explosive blasts with his punches or a mere touch of any of his fingers.

He has the ability to split his arms into six parts, exposing his coppery muscles and a gaping, organic muzzle that fires ten tentacles with sea lamprey-like mouths. These tentacles can insert themselves into the spine or brain of deceased enemies, injecting a black, tar-like substance to reanimate them. In the process, they augment their physical strength and render them obedient to Ralf's commands. Whenever Ralf is killed, his body rapidly transforms into a cocoon adorned with serrated shell plates, as his corpse dissolves into a mushy, visceral substance. This cocoon then violently pulsates before rupturing, giving birth to a new, fully formed Ralf, covered in bloodied slime and emerging stark naked, with no visible injuries or scars on his body. Whenever this occurs, he experiences temporary blindness, dizziness, and intense, bitter coldness.

Hobbies: Baseball, participating in the biennial fighting tournaments that the Ikari Warriors host, taking his friends to carnival rides, camping trips, and science and art museums, rewatching his favourite anime movies and shows, and playing arcade games and iconic riffs on the electric guitar

Likes: A medal awarded from the President of the United States, the natural sounds of the jungle, collecting blades that look cool in his eyes, alebrije sculptures, and Clark (views him as a brother)

Dislikes: False rumours, poisonous snakes (he almost got bitten by one during a past mission), abuse of power, children being killed, and people hurting and insulting those he considers as “family”

Favourite food: Intestinal sausages and bubblegum that taste like watermelon and blueberry

Favourite drink: Root beer floats

Sexuality: Biromantic asexual

Gender: Male

Age: 25 (in 2022), 31 (in 2028), 33 (in 2030), 35 (in 2032), 37 (in 2034), 44 (in 2041), 46 (in 2043), 47 (in 2044), and 50 (in 2047)

Blood type: A+

Weight: 243 lbs. (110 kg)

Design: He's a 6' 2" (187.96 cm) American mesomorph of Latino, Ojibwe, and British descent with a robust build, decently chiselled musculature, broad shoulders, and a bit of a beer belly. He has almond skin, sunburst amber-sage green eyes, sharp claws, bear-like teeth, and six fingers on his left hand. He has slightly messy ash brown hair with wispy bangs, which he often ties into a braid that falls to the middle of his back. On his left deltoid, he has a tattoo of a stylized red otter playfully escaping the jaws of a black-furred wolf with piercing yellow eyes, clutching a ball of purple fire in its forepaws. On his right forearm, he has a tattoo of an alebrije with undulating cerulean horns, an orchid-purple eagle head, languid lavender eyes with aquamarine pupils, a fiery mane, a forest-green elk body, and a hot pink salmon tail with red-orange tiger stripes. Sprawled across the right side of the creature in a vertical line is a Spanish phrase in silver: "La sangre nos fortalece", which translates to "Blood strengthens us" in English.

Ralf's military gear consists of a chrome orange bandana with shaky rifle green spots and cinnabar fingerless driving gloves with four ivory spikes on the knuckles. He wears a waterproof dark green vest with the Ikari Warriors logo emblazoned on the back, a coyote-fur trimmed collar, and two concealed strapped compartments, each capable of holding up to two firearms. However, one of the compartments often houses a sheathed Zantetsu sword instead. He wears cargo pants with an army green, brown, and silver-grey camouflage pattern, which aren't tucked into his beige jungle boots. He wears a grimy, asparagus-hued sleeveless shirt paired with a yellowish-tan belt featuring four black pouches for bullets and a holster for his handgun.

Attached to his belt are two blades: Harpe, a khopesh-like sickle sword with a flint-encased adamant blade, and Yawarakai-Te, a double-edged katana featuring a green-grey hilt and a hardwood sheath adorned with iridescent crow feathers. When the air gently blows past Yawarakai-Te's blade, it produces a soft hissing sound. Yawarakai-Te's blade is unnaturally frigid, able to cut a leaf in half with ease, and compels its user to spare the innocent and undeserving from attack. Ralf dons a cardinal red waist pack that holds two cans of root beer as well as black elbow and knee pads. He also wears a black drop leg sheath for his combat knife, which features two pointed silvery stripes that form a triangular pattern.

Over his shirt, he dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries around his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. Above his belt, he has a dark brown bandolier for holding sticks of dynamite. Ralf carries around a yellowish-tan load-bearing backpack that contains camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a bazooka, maps for all continents, an extra pair of clothes, and a bag of THC-infused box gummies in orange, red, and yellow. His backpack also contains a faded photograph of a younger him and Clark, an army Medal of Honor, a silver milagro charm in the shape of a fiery heart for good luck and protection, an empty spotted turtle shell, and a dreamcatcher adorned with a grey web design, song sparrow feathers, and colourful beads in red, white, yellow, and black.

He occasionally brings his copper-hued electric guitar and goldenrod-coloured pick holder, containing a rainbow of guitar picks (he jokingly says that he dislikes the purple one the most), on deployments and during downtime in the field. He wears hook earrings, each featuring three porcupine quills tipped with gaspeite beads, and a Jocla necklace made of alternating white wampum beads, copper beads, and raven feathers.

Thanks to Tarma, he owns a key to access his red-violet Matchless G3/L motorcycle, which has a purplish-black sheen. The gas tank features a sky blue fish scale pattern with malachite green dots at the centre of each scale.

Super Devil form: He's a 15' 7" (474.98 cm) draconic entity with a grotesque musculature and scaly, iridescent rifle green skin. He has a cerulean coyote-shaped head with sunburst amber-sage green eyes, a cardinal red nose, and a wispy silver-grey goat's beard. Ralf also has horse ears, an orchid-purple snout, two rows of olivine shark teeth, and a slimy, pointed tongue. His arms and legs are covered in ash brown otter fur, featuring six fingers and razor-sharp copper claws. He has eagle-like feet with copper talons, a fiery mane, and the upper skeletal body of an antlerless elk partially emerging from his back.

This skeletal elk body features otter-like teeth, an aquamarine forked tongue, and glowing goldenrod eyes. It’s covered in a layer of translucent flesh stitched to his back with forest green sinew. A hot pink salmon tail with red-orange tiger stripes lies flat on his back, attached to both the skeletal body and the muscle fibres, veins, and flesh of his back. The tail is slightly less than half the length of his actual tail and appears to flutter lightly every now and then.

Three rows of symmetrical, deadly sharp, conical spikes are positioned on his back, running from the base of his neck to just before the start of his tail. He has two massive bat-like wings, boasting an impressive wingspan of 21 ft (640.08 cm). Despite being dull and tattered, the wings' membrane displays silvery spots and a striking gradient from grenadier red to flush orange to selective yellow. Additionally, Ralf has olivine thumbs tipped with copper claws, and his forearms, wrists, and five fingers are dark green. He has a long, winding, serpentine tail that's twice his height, boasting distinctive coloration and markings reminiscent of a pickerel frog, and culminating in a silver arrowhead-shaped tip.

Personality: He's a rowdy, outgoing, stubborn, and honest individual with a strong passion for action and thrill-seeking ventures. However, he also values his leisure time and ensures others take regular breaks to rest and recharge. He's extremely protective towards new recruits under his command, comrades, and friends, viewing them as family. Ralf is willing to go to great lengths to ensure their safety and the security of innocent lives, even if it requires taking bold action or putting himself in harm's way. However, he harbours a deep-seated hatred for betrayal, particularly among those in the Regular Army or whom he considers family.

He often enjoys teasing Clark, playfully poking fun at his serious nature while showing him brotherly affection, but also treats him with great respect and compassion. The thought of potentially losing his brother-in-arms, Clark, through unfair circumstances is unbearable to him. He deeply cares about children, recognizing their importance to the growth and future of humanity, and is appalled by those who abuse and harm them. The thought of inadvertently causing harm to a child or being forced to do so is utterly devastating to him.

Similar to Marco, he has a habit of concealing his deepest emotions, particularly those related to the many people he has lost during countless wars and terrorist attacks. Instead, he often tries to drown his sorrows with a few drinks, seeks comfort in the company of friends, or indulges in reckless activities. Whenever he gets drunk, he exhibits forgetfulness, clumsiness, mild paranoia, excessive joviality, and loquaciousness. He has a habit of frequently mistaking people's names, often using similar but incorrect variations (e.g. calling Marco "Mark" and Fio "Fia"), which greatly embarrasses him, prompting him to profusely apologise for the mistake. Ralf is truly fascinated by Hyakutaro, drawn to his enigmatic origins and historic status as the first esper ever known to humanity. He tries his best to avoid water activities like cruising and canoeing as they make him prone to seasickness. He finds Tarma and Nadia to be absolutely hilarious and has a soft spot for Trevor's nerdy and laid-back demeanour.

He believes that immortality is unattainable for espers and humans, reserved for the psyche and most powerful deities. He's an animist who believes everything is interconnected, and everyone has a vital role in stewarding the earth. He's a devout believer in manitou, which represents the mysterious power of life and the universe. Surprisingly, Ralf is a skilled storyteller, often recounting his past experiences and sharing entertaining moral stories his father once shared with him. Although he's a fun-loving, hot-headed enthusiast of arcades and classic anime with a great sense of humour, he possesses remarkable wisdom and generosity. He's not fond of the false rumours that surround the goings-on of the world and his personal life. He closely holds onto the values his mother taught him, including independence, loyalty, dignity, self-respect, healthy pride, and respect for elders and authority figures.

Backstory: Rafael Paul Jonesbury was born on August 25, 1997 in the Midwest, United States. His father, Gabriel Jonesbury, was an Ojibwe shaman and owner of an arts and crafts shop with a spirit name of Kechewaishke. His mother, Javiera, was a British-Latina mercenary who served in the Regular Army. Like Ralf, she was an esper with the esteemed title of the Avatar of Physical Decay, Luminosity, and Fogginess. Gabriel would often share moral and entertaining stories that connected various figures from Ojibwe spiritual beliefs, such as the Thunderbird, Great Serpent, Mishipeshu, and Nanabozo. He also taught him about other important beliefs valued among First Nations peoples, including the Grandfather Teachings and the Medicine Wheel. He sparked Ralf's love for nature and encouraged him to fearlessly explore his identity and interests.

Javiera taught him numerous Latinx cultural values, the importance of family, and how his faith in God would be greatly rewarded. She often crafted wooden alebrije sculptures for him when she was away from home. She usually encouraged him to be proud of his cultural heritage and not let others bring him down for being different. While she appreciated his fondness for nature, she found his love for arcades and anime perplexing. She would unknowingly spark his interest in the military, particularly the mercenary lifestyle, through her stories and experiences.

At age 7, his parents decided to get a divorce due to their differing spiritual beliefs, which were starting to clash more and more. He lived with his father for the most part but was allowed to visit his mother whenever she was between assignments or not away on mercenary work. He also began to take up baseball, which became his favourite sport to play and watch on the big screen.

At 12, with the support of his father and his Ojibwe community, he embarked on his spiritual quest. Ralf recalls that it produced visions of his future life as a great warrior and storyteller, revealing that he's an esper and teaching him how to harness his powers and access his Super Devil form. After a period of isolation and fasting, it revealed the spirits of his ancestors and his three guardian animals: the wolf, turtle, and otter. Through this experience, he developed his survival skills, gained maturity, and strengthened his connection with nature and the divine forces of life.

At age 14, before embarking on a mission against mysterious terrorist cultists, Javiera gave him her silver milagro charm for safekeeping, telling him it would bring him good luck and protection. Tragically, that mission proved to be her last, as she was captured and tortured to death. When Ralf received the devastating news, he struggled to come to terms with it and felt overwhelming guilt, as if her fate was his fault because he possessed her milagro charm. Although his parents were divorced, Gabriel was deeply saddened by the news and did his best to support Ralf through his emotional turmoil.

When he turned 20, his father was killed during a robbery at the arts and crafts shop he owned. To make matters worse, he was facing financial difficulties at the time and struggling to find a stable job. In his desperation, he turned to an illegal fighting ring, drawn by the promise of cash prizes likely funded by other criminal activities. He participated in numerous fights, both in the ring and on the streets, for profit, eventually becoming the most skilled fighter among them. Ralf also discovered a fondness for THC-infused gummies, which provided relief from his emotional pain and served as a pleasant indulgence.

All of that changed when the Ikari Warriors discovered the famous street fighter's true identity as an esper after he joined their biennial tournament. With little convincing needed, Ralf joined the Ikari Warriors, driven by a desire to carry on his mother's legacy and explore the world. He excelled in all aspects of the military training he received, particularly in utilising his esper abilities and mastering hand-to-hand combat. The news that the Ikari Warriors had recruited another esper caught Clark's attention, but he was hesitant to approach Ralf. However, after a mission against a corrupt politician attempting to seize control of Brazil, Ralf and Clark became fast friends. During his time with the Ikari Warriors, Ralf formed close friendships with several comrades, including General Kawasaki, Second Lieutenant Cook, Eikichi, Leland, and Byron.

Ralf has been on numerous missions for the Ikari Warriors, rising through the ranks to become a colonel due to his natural leadership skills and courage on the battlefield. He and Clark played a crucial role in defeating a secret society, referred to as the Serapion Fellowship, that had infiltrated and influenced much of Latin America's political and religious landscape, a group that would later evolve into the Ptolemaic Army.

In another notable operation, Ralf, Clark, and a few comrades successfully rescued Elise, the U.S. President's daughter, from a massive criminal organisation that had planned to exploit her to gain access to the President's funds and harvest her organs. Ralf fondly recalls this mission, as it earned him a Medal of Honor from the U.S. President. He acquired Harpe during a mission in Greece where terrorists had raided a recently discovered catacomb. Additionally, he obtained Yawarakai-Te during a separate mission in Yamagata, Japan where a cult with illegal weaponry had taken over an old village, intent on instigating a nationwide war.

Ralf has endured numerous tragedies, fueling his determination to improve and protect the innocent. He witnessed the devastating loss of General Kawasaki during a battle against a cartel in Mexico, where he was tragically crushed and burned alive by flaming debris from a missile strike. Second Lieutenant Cook fell victim to a traitor within the Ikari Warriors, who betrayed them to a bioterrorist group during a mission in Czechia, resulting in her assassination. While investigating a town ravaged by a guerrilla army in Saudi Arabia, Byron was horrifically devoured by a swarm of Man Eaters. Leland met a brutal end during a mission on a stolen submarine, where he was fatally gutted by a criminal. Eikichi suffered a terrifying fate when a Mutated Soldier latched onto him while investigating an abandoned laboratory, promptly exploding shortly after.

During the Great Morden War, Ralf made a name for himself as he single-handedly successfully defended the United States against the Rebel Army's invasion. Notably, he destroyed a massive Rebel aircraft that had been using captured men, women, and children as hostages and human shields. However, upon destroying the aircraft, Ralf was met with devastating news: there were innocent civilians on board, and they had all perished in the attack. This heroic yet tragic act caught the attention of the Regular Army's high command, who subsequently approached the Ikari Warriors to propose a strategic alliance. The offer was readily accepted, and as a result, the Ikari Warriors were integrated as the elite mercenary branch of the Regular Army.

As a way to support the Regular Army and show his respect, Ralf frequently trains new recruits to hone their melee combat skills. Due to his mercenary work, he rarely had the opportunity to meet members of the Regular Army's other special forces. He had always heard heroic stories about Hyakutaro and the elite members of the P.F. Squad and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., especially those from the Great Morden War and the Martian-Rebel Alliance War. He initially hoped to meet them in person, fascinated by their tactical prowess and teamwork. This dream eventually became a reality during a mission against the Invaders.

[hogans-heroes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hogans-heroes/743601634680193024/thinking-about-how-buck-wouldnt-share-a-bed-with

this was my ask and of course avonne took my one little thought and wrote something so beautiful and angsty but also give urself some credit cause ur one little tag (about buck getting sick) GOT ME. imagine bucky hearing from the other guys that they thought buck was like seriously unhealthy cause he always had a cough or a sniffly nose but now he’s like totally fine and looks alive again. and when bucky asks him about it buck is like well it was cold i don’t know what to tell u! bucky might be upset that his anti touching tendencies led to him being sick all the time and honestly i do think bucky would share a bed with someone else if he really needed to. he would obv miss buck like CRAZY but he’d do it, whereas the thought of being up close and personal like that with anyone he doesn’t trust as much as he trusts john makes buck’s skin crawl. anyways bucky might be upset to hear that, but he couldn’t help the part of him that finds it endearing 😅

You are SO right on the money here. Bucky would deal with it but for Buck it’s a hard no go.

“I couldn’t. I just couldn’t, they weren’t you.”

And Bucky melts a little because he knows Buck’s history and his aversion to touch and he’s had a perpetual cold because Bucky wasn’t there and it overwhelms him with love but also sadness. You’d better believe he’s never leaving Buck’s side again and is going to cuddle him within an inch of his life every night. That first night back in each others’ arms is the best sleep they’ve both had in ages and they sleep very late the next morning. No one has the heart to wake them up.

OH MAN a big angst thought just hit.

So when Bucky arrives at the camp he’s obviously in bad shape and goes downhill with his wounds and fever, we’ve been over this a lot. So what if, since Buck has been treading the edge of sick from the cold and no sleep and stress, he crashes too? Now they guys have to deal with BOTH Buck and Bucky feverish and very sick. Buck with a horrible cough and Bucky with his infected wounds etc. The guys try to take care of them but it’s too much and they finally beg the guards for a doctor. They bring in a German one who examines the boys and promptly demands they are brought to a proper local hospital (which did happen with prisoners who were bad off enough). Of course the guys have a hard time letting their majors get taken away by Germans but they don’t have a choice. And the poor boys would be scared in that state too.

[dailyanarchistposts]

J.5.13 What are Modern Schools?

Modern schools are alternative schools, self-managed by students, teachers and parents which reject the authoritarian schooling methods of the modern “education” system. Such schools have been a feature of the anarchist movement since the turn of the 20th century while interest in libertarian forms of education has existed in anarchist theory from the beginning. All the major anarchist thinkers, from Godwin through Proudhon, Bakunin and Kropotkin to modern activists like Colin Ward, have stressed the importance of libertarian (or rational) education, education that develops all aspects of the student (mental and physical — and so termed integral education) as well as encouraging critical thought and mental freedom. The aim of such education is ensure that the “industrial worker, the man [sic!] of action and the intellectual would all be rolled into one.” [Proudhon, quoted by Steward Edward, The Paris Commune, p. 274]

Anyone involved in radical politics, constantly and consistently challenges the role of the state’s institutions and their representatives within our lives. The role of bosses, the police, social workers, the secret service, managers, doctors and priests are all seen as part of a hierarchy which exists to keep us, the working class, subdued. It is relatively rare, though, for the left-wing to call into question the role of teachers. Most left wing activists and a large number of libertarians believe that education is always good.

Those involved in libertarian education believe the contrary. They believe that national education systems exist only to produce citizens who will be blindly obedient to the dictates of the state, citizens who will uphold the authority of government even when it runs counter to personal interest and reason, wage slaves who will obey the orders of their boss most of the time and consider being able to change bosses as freedom. They agree with William Godwin (one of the earliest critics of national education systems) when he wrote that “the project of a national education ought to be discouraged on account of its obvious alliance with national government … Government will not fail to employ it to strengthen its hand and perpetuate its institutions … Their views as instigator of a system will not fail to be analogous to their views in their political capacity.” [quoted by Colin Ward, Anarchy in Action, p. 81]

With the growth of industrialism in the 19th century state schools triumphed, not through a desire to reform but as an economic necessity. Industry did not want free thinking individuals, it wanted workers, instruments of labour, and it wanted them punctual, obedient, passive and willing to accept their disadvantaged position. According to Nigel Thrift, many employers and social reformers became convinced that the earliest generations of workers were almost impossible to discipline (i.e. to get accustomed to wage labour and workplace authority). They looked to children, hoping that “the elementary school could be used to break the labouring classes into those habits of work discipline now necessary for factory production … Putting little children to work at school for very long hours at very dull subjects was seen as a positive virtue, for it made them habituated, not to say naturalised, to labour and fatigue.” [quoted by Juliet B. Schor, The Overworked American, p. 61]

Thus supporters of Modern Schools recognise that the role of education is an important one in maintaining hierarchical society — for government and other forms of hierarchy (such as wage labour) must always depend on the opinion of the governed. Francisco Ferrer (the most famous libertarian educator) argued that:

“Rulers have always taken care to control the education of the people. They know their power is based almost entirely on the school and they insist on retaining their monopoly. The school is an instrument of domination in the hands of the ruling class.” [quoted by Clifford Harper, Anarchy: A Graphic Guide, p. 100]

Little wonder, then, that Emma Goldman argued that “modern methods of education” have “little regard for personal liberty and originality of thought. Uniformity and imitation is [its] motto.” The school “is for the child what the prison is for the convict and the barracks for the solder — a place where everything is being used to break the will of the child, and then to pound, knead, and shape it into a being utterly foreign to itself.” Hence the importance of Modern Schools. It is a means of spreading libertarian education within a hierarchical society and undercut one of the key supports for that society — the education system. Instead of hierarchical education, Modern schools exist to “develop the individual through knowledge and the free play of characteristic traits, so that [the child] may become a social being, because he had learned to know himself, to know his relation to his fellow[s].” [Red Emma Speaks, pp. 141–2, p. 140 and p. 145] It would be an education for freedom, not for subservience:

“Should the notion of freedom but awaken in man, free men dream only of freeing themselves now and for all time: but instead, all we do is churn out learned men who adapt in the most refined manner to every circumstance and fall to the level of slavish, submissive souls. For the most part, what are our fine gentlemen brimful of intellect and culture? Sneering slavers and slaves themselves.” [Max Stirner, No Gods, No Masters, vol. 1, p. 12]

The Modern School Movement (also known as the Free School Movement) over the past century has been an attempt to represent part of this concern about the dangers of state and church schools and the need for libertarian education. The idea of libertarian education is that knowledge and learning should be linked to real life processes as well as personal usefulness and should not be the preserve of a special institution. Thus Modern Schools are an attempt to establish an environment for self development in an overly structured and rationalised world. An oasis from authoritarian control and as a means of passing on the knowledge to be free:

“The underlying principle of the Modern School is this: education is a process of drawing out, not driving in; it aims at the possibility that the child should be left free to develop spontaneously, directing his own efforts and choosing the branches of knowledge which he desires to study … the teacher … should be a sensitive instrument responding to the needs of the child … a channel through which the child may attain so much of the ordered knowledge of the world as he shows himself ready to receive and assimilate.” [Goldman, Op. Cit., p. 146]

The Modern School bases itself on libertarian education techniques. Libertarian education, very broadly, seeks to produce children who will demand greater personal control and choice, who think for themselves and question all forms of authority:

“We don’t hesitate to say we want people who will continue to develop. People constantly capable of destroying and renewing their surroundings and themselves: whose intellectual independence is their supreme power, which they will yield to none; always disposed for better things, eager for the triumph of new ideas, anxious to crowd many lives into the life they have. It must be the aim of the school to show the children that there will be tyranny as long as one person depends on another.” [Ferrer, quoted by Harper, Op. Cit., p. 100]

Thus the Modern School insists that the child is the centre of gravity in the education process — and that education is just that, not indoctrination:

“I want to form a school of emancipation, concerned with banning from the mind whatever divides people, the false concepts of property, country and family so as to attain the liberty and well-being which all desire. I will teach only simple truth. I will not ram dogma into their heads. I will not conceal one iota of fact. I will teach not what to think but how to think.” [Ferrer, quoted by Harper, Op. Cit., pp. 99–100]

The Modern School has no rewards or punishments, exams or mark — the everyday tortures of conventional schooling. And because practical knowledge is more useful than theory, lessons were often held in factories, museums or the countryside. The school was also used by parents, and Ferrer planned a Popular University.

“Higher education, for the privileged few, should be for the general public, as every human has a right to know; and science, which is produced by observers and workers of all countries and ages, ought not be restricted to class.” [Ferrer, quoted by Harper, Op. Cit., p. 100]

Thus Modern Schools are based on encouraging self-education in a co-operative, egalitarian and libertarian atmosphere in which the pupil (regardless of age) can develop themselves and their interests to the fullest of their abilities. In this way Modern Schools seek to create anarchists by a process of education which respects the individual and gets them to develop their own abilities in a conducive setting.

Modern Schools have been a constant aspect of the anarchist movement since the late 1890s. The movement was started in France by Louise Michel and Sebastien Faure, where Francisco Ferrer became acquainted with them. He founded his Modern School in Barcelona in 1901, and by 1905 there were 50 similar schools in Spain (many of them funded by anarchist groups and trade unions and, from 1919 onward, by the C.N.T. — in all cases the autonomy of the schools was respected). In 1909, Ferrer was falsely accused by the Spanish government of leading an insurrection and executed in spite of world-wide protest and overwhelming proof of his innocence. His execution, however, gained him and his educational ideas international recognition and inspired a Modern School progressive education movement across the globe.

However, for most anarchists, Modern Schools are not enough in themselves to produce a libertarian society. They agree with Bakunin:

“For individuals to be moralised and become fully human … three things are necessary: a hygienic birth, all-round education, accompanied by an upbringing based on respect for labour, reason, equality, and freedom and a social environment wherein each human individual will enjoy full freedom and really by, de jure and de facto, the equal of every other. “Does this environment exist? No. Then it must be established… [otherwise] in the existing social environment … on leaving [libertarian] schools they [the student] would enter a society governed by totally opposite principles, and, because society is always stronger than individuals, it would prevail over them … [and] demoralise them.” [The Basic Bakunin, p, 174]

Because of this, Modern Schools must be part of a mass working class revolutionary movement which aims to build as many aspects of the new world as possible in the old one before, ultimately, replacing it. Otherwise they are just useful as social experiments and their impact on society marginal. Thus, for anarchists, this process of education is part of the class struggle, not in place of it and so “the workers [must] do everything possible to obtain all the education they can in the material circumstances in which they currently find themselves … [while] concentrat[ing] their efforts on the great question of their economic emancipation, the mother of all other emancipations.” [Bakunin, Op. Cit., p. 175]

Before finishing, we must stress that hierarchical education (like the media), cannot remove the effects of actual life and activity in shaping/changing people and their ideas, opinions and attitudes. While education is an essential part of maintaining the status quo and accustoming people to accept hierarchy, the state and wage slavery, it cannot stop individuals from learning from their experiences, ignoring their sense of right and wrong, recognising the injustices of the current system and the ideas that it is based upon. This means that even the best state (or private) education system will still produce rebels — for the experience of wage slavery and state oppression (and, most importantly, struggle) is shattering to the ideology spoon-fed children during their “education” and reinforced by the media.

For more information on Modern Schools see Paul Avrich’s The Modern School Movement: Anarchism and education in the United States, Emma Goldman’s essays “Francisco Ferrer and the Modern School” (in Anarchism and Other Essays) and “The Social Importance of the Modern School” (in Red Emma Speaks) as well as A.S Neil’s Summerhill. For a good introduction to anarchist viewpoints on education see “Kropotkin and technical education: an anarchist voice” by Michael Smith (in For Anarchism, David Goodway (ed.),) and Michael Bakunin’s “All-Round Education” (in The Basic Bakunin). For an excellent summary of the advantages and benefits of co-operative learning, see Alfie Kohn’s No Contest.