#Why does it make ONE PIECE all capitals

[brokendeerteeth]

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU. GET OF MY SCREEN!!!

[hauntingblue]

I loved this movie about nami and her ex situationship reconciling and also anti capitalism

[morallysuperiorlips]

10 Ways to Ensure Your Villain's Evil Monologuing Dialogue is as Unsettling as Possible!

1.) Make sure you're mixing body language with the words themselves: You can have your villain saying the most twisted shit, but if they're just standing there like a cardboard cutout, their words probably aren't going to hit as hard. Have them touch your protag. Have them toy with a weapon as if they're going to use it. Have them pace. Have them put together the blood ritual they're ranting about. Keep them moving.

2.) Have them use personal knowledge as a tool: Does your villain have some deep dark dirt on your protag? Don't let that all go in one swoop. Let them hint at it in drops before they open the dam. Maybe they use that knowledge as a bargaining tool to get an upper hand, or use it to send the trapped protag into a frenzy because they love to watch them scream.

3.) When it comes to threats, certainty is key: A threat is a threat, but there's nothing like a threat being spoken as if the villain knows it's going to happen. Whether your villain has already caught your protag, or is in the process of doing so, everything they say they want to see happen to your protag needs to come with absolute certainty. Almost as if it's a certain warning, and not just something they’re saying to be scary.

4.) Contradictions are your friend: Nothing indicates a warped villainous mind more than some juicy contradictions. Your villain might be talking about how they're going to flay your protag's hide after catching them in their dungeon, only to throw in a subtle "but, you're probably safer here with me." Find ways to toss in twisted contradictions that also underline the crazy shit they might be saying.

5.) Mess with syntax: Unsettling dialogue calls for unsettling structure. Incomplete sentences, unforeseen pauses, longwinded explanations broken up by more unforeseen pauses. Whatever it is, keep the rhythm offbeat. Don't give your reader a chance to be able to tell what's coming.

6.) Expectations? Subvert those: Your protag and even your readers might be suspecting one thing from your villain, so throw them a curveball and hit them with the complete opposite. Perhaps you've reached a point in your story where it seems like the villain might kill your protag on sight. But no, have your villain mention exactly why they aren't going to do that, and why they want to wait it out.

7.) Mix quiet confidence and loud assertion: Some might say that the silent seether is scarier, while others might agree that the sudden explosive type takes the bigger unsettling prize. In my opinion, you can really capitalize on the eeriness of villain dialogue by tapping into both. A villain that speaks on with refined confidence before very suddenly exploding, without much warning, can really power up the dread behind their words.

8.) Sometimes, ambiguity is better than being straightforward: Whether it's obvious that your villain has a lot of tricks up their sleeves--or not--leaving things to the imaginations of your protag, and subsequently, your readers is great for building dread. You can use dialogue to make it clear that they're up to something, but never make them fully disclose what that is. They might show it instead of tell it, or it might just never happen. Either way, it'll likely have everyone looking over their shoulders.

9.) There might be times where silence says everything: You might be worried about penning the correct verbiage for your villain's big evil speech, but sometimes, silence speaks wonders. When used correctly, a long pause, or a bout of silence after your protag has said their piece can build a sense of uneasiness more than them actually speaking would have.

10.) Find ways for your villain to mirror the hero: A monologuing villain is better when they're throwing your hero's values and beliefs back in their face. A hero that believes in mercy? Well, have your villain talk about how they'll make them beg for it. A hero that believes in the greater good? Have your villain talk about their idea of a greater good.

As always, GO WRITE SOMETHING TODAY! <3

[satrs]

Kiss Me, Curse Me!

SYNOPSIS; You thought you were the summoner. Turns out, you’re the sacrifice.

FEAT; trueform!sukuna and dragonform!sylus x fem!reader

TAGS; MDNI! 2.9k. unprotected. porn without plot. monster fucking. Threesome, Size k!nk. dirty talk. petnames. both of them have two cocks. overstim. praise mainly from sylus. lotsss of degredation from sukuna. oral fixation. Power play(?). Softdom!Sylus and meandom!sukuna. breeding. knotting. creampie. double(triple) penetration. anal. nasty stuff. cum cum cum. everywhere. implied marathon sex. dacryphilia(?).

✎A/N; I feel so DIRTY oh ma gahhhwd!!! This must be the flithiest shit I've ever wrote man. And it feels so good!!!!! Sososo excited to post this hihi. Thanks again to @bluukive for this idea ahhhh hope y'all like it and have a wonderful day/night ^^

Demons are real. It’s true.

And dragons too.

You know this because you’re here now– trapped between two towering figures whose mere presence makes the air bend, their shadows swallowing the light.

This was supposed to be a joke.

A silly little manifestation ritual you found buried in the dark corners of the internet. Some scribbled runes, a whispered name, a drop of blood under the full moon.

You didn’t expect anything to happen as you sat on your bed, waiting.

You didn’t expect them to happen.

One of them smells like fire and you can feel the rumble of his breath down your spine, slow and controlled like he’s keeping something ancient locked inside.

The notorious dragon, Sylus, is the name given to him, and his voice is low and reverent. His fierce gaze bores through you, dark rubies soaking in your anxious form, a quick twitch tugging at his lips– and between his legs.

And the other?

He reeks of blood. His claws are already firm on your hips, grin splitting wider than it should. His four arms twitch with something between amusement and hunger, whilst the weak robe does a poor job of covering his sinful figure, a conspicuous bulge evident through the white cloth, digging into your back.

The infamous king of curses– Sukuna.

“W-what, are you?–” you break off with a sharp breath, chest heaving, “Are you going to kill me?”

Sukuna's resounding laugh is anything but comforting, only further forcing reality onto you. You can barely breathe sandwiched between the two, your hand forcing the sheets beneath you in a fist, and you realize–

You're fucked. Capital F.

“Foolish woman,” the pink-haired murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “If we wanted you dead, we would've cut you to pieces already, no?”

"T-then, what do you want from me?", you ask with wobbling lips, heart rapidly beating in your chest as your quivering voice reaches their ears.

Sylus growls in front of you, a warning, or a possessive sound– you can’t tell. His hands slide up your front, cupping your tits through the thin shirt like they’re something fragile, something sacred. His thumbs brush your nipples and you can't help but slip out a tiny little whimper.

“Don't play dumb, sweetie.” Sylus ushers, voice deep and steady, one massive hand sneaking around your neck until his breath comes hot onto your quivering lips. One of his crimson eyes begins to glow in a dangerous flame, invading your personal space. “You know exactly why you summoned us.” His voice is a deep whisper against your lips. "Your deepest and darkest desires", the white-haired continues before dipping his head to take a big whiff of your scent, placing a lingering kiss on your plumb lips right after, "I see it all."

You should end this madness. Gods, you should.

But when the demon's claws tighten around your waist just enough to sting, and when Sylus presses his chest to yours, his scales prickling lightly where they emerge from his skin– you can't help but let go of any doubt or fear and just let go.

And when neither of them moves away, you realize what exactly the cunning dragon means.

This wasn't a decision on a whim. You planned this– researched for hours upon hours through the darkest corners of the internet for the mysterious dragon and the feared King Of Curses. You did this on a night you've felt lonely, empty, and heated. Purposely.

You summoned them so they claim you.

But you just didn't expect it to work. And you surely didn't expect them to share your interest.

All rushing thoughts flee from your mind once Sukuna’s claws sink deeper into your hips, dragging your ass flush against his hefty, pulsating cock. The sound he makes is more beast than man, a low, guttural snarl vibrating down your spine.

“Fuck,” he hisses, leaning down, his breath hot on your neck. “Can even smell how fucking wet ya are." A shiver runs down your spine, your hips twitching back into his, a dark, prominent imprint of your juices covering your panties.

You try to speak, to deny it, to plead for something– anything, but right then the demon's mouth closes around the side of your throat, warm tongue dragging up the curve of your neck before sharp fangs tease at your pulse, a strangled sound ripping from your throat.

“Don’t you lie, woman”, he murmurs against your skin, his voice low, like smoke caught in velvet. “You reek of desire. It's painfully obvious that ya want your poor, empty pussy filled.”

His claws flex. “And you're shy now?” He laughs, dark and amused. “Just listen to her clenchin' around nothin'."

Sylus straightens up at that, predatory gaze fixated onto your clothed pussy, perked ears catching onto the desperate clenches of your cunny, a smirk creeping up his face, fangs bare. "Adorable. Let's give her what she wants, yeah?”

You gasp when Sukuna's claws rip the panties from your body, thick and heavy cock now poking out from the crumbling robe. His cock sits right between your thighs and–

wait, are there two?

Burning body tensing up as you feel two massive crowns sliding through your glistening folds and you shriek once one catches onto your clit as the other teases your entrance.

And Sylus doesn’t help.

His hands are already back on your chest, greedily kneading your flesh, rolling your nipples between his fingers with such aching gentleness it makes you whimper and squirm.

“Easy,” Sylus whispers, kissing just below your jaw, addressing his words to the demon behind you. “No need to rush.” His crimson eyes shoot a sharp glare at the pink-haired from the crook of your neck as a warning.

But Sukuna only scoffs, dragging his claws lightly down your thigh, just enough to make your skin ripple, pushing them further apart. “Easy? She doesn't want 'easy'. Am I right, brat?”

Your weak nod amuses them, their deep chuckles flooding your senses.

It’s quick, your mortal eyes are unable to track the motion, but your body feels it. The sudden stretch, the pressure of something massive forcing its way past your trembling resistance. Your mouth falls open in a soundless cry as two thick, throbbing cocks push deep inside, splitting you open in one sharp, devastating stroke.

Sukuna snarls behind you, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your bones. Fangs flash near your ear, and his grip on your waist tightens as two of his four arms brace your hips open. The other two wrench your wrists back, forcing your spine into a nasty arch that had your breasts pressed up toward Sylus’s chest, offering you up like a sacrifice.

Sylus' dark, lovestruck crimson eyes coo at you, one gentle hand smoothing over your cheek as if to soothe the sting Sukuna leaves behind.

“Feels good, sweetie?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. His other hand slips between your thighs, fingers circling your puffed clit, and your entire body arches like a bow. “Yes? No? Maybe so?”

"Y-yessss!– 's good! S-so good!"

“Of-fucking-course,”

The king spits, his voice dark and wicked, “Taking every. fucking. Inch. like the cockhungry slut you are.”

Each word is followed by a snap of his hips, knocking the breath from your lungs. He doesn't give you time to adjust– doesn’t want to. His pace is relentless like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

And frankly, he is.

Your body trembles under Sukuna’s merciless rhythm, every thrust deep and punishing, but it’s Sylus who draws your attention back to the front, fingers still teasing at your clit with maddening skill, his hand firm on your jaw to pull you into a dizzy kiss, swallowing each tiny sound of yours right up.

You blink up at him through heavy lashes, lips parted around gasping moans. Grip still fierce on your jaw, he forces your head down, bending your body to face his freed cocks– yes, plural.

“C'mon, pretty” he murmurs. “Show me what you've got. Make me feel good too, yeah?”

And you comply, teary eyes staring up at his hungry ones as you stretch your lips around his red and angry head, one weak hand grasping his other cock with desperate jerks.

Sylus let out a low, hungry purr, his scales glinting faintly with a deep crimson sheen. He's cradling your jaw in one clawed hand, his thumb brushing away the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try to take the thick head into your throat, veins scraping along your esophagus.

“Good job, sweetheart”, he murmured, gently guiding your head as you gagged around him. “Careeeeful now. Not too fast.”

Sukuna laughed, the sound jagged. “Fuckin' pathetic. Too fucked out to even do the job right. Need some help, airhead? I'll help ya, aight."

His two strong hands grasp at your torso, lifting you just barely in a tight hold for both of your hands to wrap around the dragon's cocks while your tongue swirled around the fat cockheads alternately.

"Now that's more like it, wouldn't you agree?" Sylus ignores the snickering demon with a scoff, breath halting in his lungs as you slide your tongue and nail experimentally along his slits, happily lapping up spurts of pre gushing out of them.

Sukuna's cocks were thick, ridged, and mean, curved just right to grind against every sensitive place inside your greedy cunt. He knew it too– used it like a weapon. Vicious thrusts, with each one punching a strangled scream from your lungs and driving Sylus’s cock deeper down your throat, the stretch maddening.

Behind you, a wet tongue suddenly draaaags along your puckering hole, and you don't even realize that another mouth appeared on the demon's stomach, because with one teasing prod at your asshole, you spray his two cocks with your cum, thighs shacking with a resounding cry.

And the bastard dares to laugh at you, placing one forceful smack to your ass. “Awww, cumming already?” he purred, claws digging to the back of your neck once you tear your mouth from the dragon's dick to spare a glance at the demon behind you, forcing your lips to kiss the crown of Sylus's thick head again. "Eyes to the front, ma'."

Sylus’s hand curves protectively around the back of your head as you choke around his girth, your hands occupied on the other, your spit dripping down onto the other length serving as lube.

“Good fuckin' girl,” he whispered. “Juuuuuust like that.”

His other hand slid down your belly, groaning at the massive bulge forming in the pit of your stomach, calloused fingers brushing where Sukuna was splitting you open. You jolted as he circled your clit again, with more force this time.

Sukuna groaned in satisfaction as you clenched around him– hard, sucking him in further.

“Thight fuckin',– f-fuckkkk” he cuts himself off with a broken moan, his tips now bullying your cervix. “B-brat.”

You couldn’t respond, not with your mouth stuffed full and your body trembling, but your choked whimper made both of them rumble with dark delight.

"C'mon, give our princess some credit. No need to be all grumpy." Sukuna sneers at the dragon's remark, and he would love to just slice him to pieces right now, but fuck– you're really doing a number on him with that feisty pussy of yours.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, those suffocating clenches around his double girth and your sweet hiccups around Sylus's cocks send blood rushing straight to his groin.

He leaned harder into you, his chest brushing your back, breath hot against your shoulder with his fangs breaking your skin with a possessive bite as he snarled. “Yer' right, she deserves an award for that rich pussy. Gonna make her cum over and over again."

Truly, a man of his word.

Between his unrelenting thrusts and Sylus’s teasing fingers, your body tipped over the edge again with a scream muffled around the dragon’s cock. You spasmed, helpless, muscles clenching so hard Sukuna cursed and threw his head back with a guttural roar.

But he doesn’t stop– doesn't even slow.

“Sweet thing,” Sylus murmurs, brushing your hair back with claws gentler than they had any right to be. “You’re glowing, darlin'. So beautiful like this.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, mouth raw and sore, but Sylus just wipes them away and praises you more, coaxing you to relax your throat, letting you feel every inch, every vein of his as you bobbed and gagged and took to no end, delicate fingers beginning to shake around the monstrous girth.

Suddenly, the fullness leaves you entirely as you hear Sukuna panting, then slap your ass hard enough to make you jolt against Sylus, earning a satisfied hum from the dragon.

“H-hahhh– on your back,” he commanded.

You're certain you're not walking out of this in one piece.

You collapse onto Sylus's lap as Sukuna flips you effortlessly. The gentle dragon caught you, pulling you up to straddle his thighs as he leaned back. His cocks slide back between your wobbling legs, thick and flushed in a dark red, and he nuzzles your temple.

“My turn now. Promise I won't be as harsh, sweetie.” He kisses your ear and you faintly notice the small chuckle following right after.

A blunt lie.

You whimper as Sukuna positions in front of you, laughing as he grabs your thighs and forces you down onto Sylus’s cocks, one entering through your quivering cunt while the other pushes past your tight puckering behind, slowly this time.

The menacing grin spread across the demon's face accompanied by the stretch made you sob, silent cries dying on your tongue as Sylus catches you in a heated kiss, whispering soft praises against your lips while Sukuna watches in envy, hungry eyes soaking in the stretch of both your holes.

“Look at that,” Sukuna growled, holding your hips in place. “What an insatiable pussy ya' got on ya'. Two cocks weren’t enough for that desperate little cunny, hmmm?"

You barely had time to gasp before Sukuna was pushing in– again–his cock sliding into your already stretched, soaked hole alongside Sylus’s, while the other rests heavily on your stomach, twitching with each weak squelch of your abused hole.

You can't do anything but scream– throat dry and hoarse.

Your body doesn't know what to do, torn between the two of them, the brutal drive of Sukuna’s cock and the slow but bewildering grind of Sylus’s cocks in both of your holes.

Pain and pleasure blur, and all you can do is sob and take, the astonishing fullness of it all flooding your senses.

“Ya feel that?” Sukuna hisses, teeth scraping your ear. “Mine. Gonna fuck a baby into ya."

Your eyes roll to the very back of your skull.

Sukuna’s claws dig into your hips, his upper hands grabbing your tits, pulling you back onto his cock harder, deeper. Sylus pushes deeper, slow and heavy, grinding against your walls as his knot starts to swell.

You're gone.

Body shaking, mouth open in a soundless cry. You feel them both stretching you, rubbing against each other inside you, cocks sliding and pushing deeper and deeper until–

“Nuh uhhhh” Sylus teases, cupping your jaw as his hips roll upward, slow and deep, knot threatening to push past your holes. “You're mine, right?”

They break you in sync. Make you sob their names, until you physically can't anymore, make you cum until you're nothing but a mess of hiccups and mewls, just broken sounds and clawed grasps at their bodies.

The demon growls, finally leaning in to tear your head from Sylus's grasp, much to his dismay to secure you in a nasty kiss, clash of tongue and teeth.

“Like hell. She's mine, Gonna treasure this perfect pussy forever."

Sylus doesn't back down, teeth already on your neck, followed by his soothing tongue. “We're gonna let her decide for herself”, one of his hands reach down your tummy, selfishly pushing down on your filled tummy making him growl before he reaches for Sukuna's cock resting on top of your stomach, aligning the tip to your clit in teasing slides, "She's our big girl, no?"

But you can't respond nor think straight as the three cocks hit your spot just right as you gush around them, glistening pussy spurting shiny essence onto them.

Your climax ripped through you like violent lightning, body clenching around them so hard Sylus groaned and snapped his hips forward, knot catching.

Sukuna loses it.

He slams in one final time, heavy balls clenching, spilling thick white semen inside your already overflowing pussy until it spills out while painting your tummy pussy with ropes after ropes, cum soaking your thighs and dripping onto the dragon's thighs below.

You're stuffed. Plugged. Held open by Sylus’s knot, Sukuna still throbbing inside.

Sylus follows seconds later, cock twitching as he groans your name against your throat, warmth spilling into the depths of your cavity, his swelling knots now locking you firmly into place as he buries his cum deep into you.

You collapse against the dragon with trembling legs, poor cunt, and ass stuffed to the brim, mind so fucked-out you barely register Sukuna pulling back with a chuckle, admiring the mess leaking down your thighs.

“Beautiful,” he says, for once, almost softly, sharp nails collecting the pearly white juices to rub tight circles onto your buttony clit, riding out your high. “Fuckin' perfect.”

Sylus wraps his arms around you, wings curling in as he pulls you flush against his chest.

“Rest now, darling,” he murmurs, voice like thunder rumbling in your bones. “We still got plenty of time to make you ours.”

Demons are real. Dragons too. And now they’ve claimed you.

Body, soul, and every trembling breath in between.

The ritual worked, but no one said it would ever end.

©︎SATRS. all rights reserved. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[bullet-prooflove]

Virgin: Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julius-ceasar @happyfox43 @totallynotavampir3 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis's heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Dennis is a virgin.

At least that’s what the rumours say.

They started when Santos had asked him when he last got laid and he’d flushed that pretty shade of pink across his cheeks and up his throat. It had spread like wildfire after that and of course everyone seems to have an opinion, whether he likes it or not.

“You know, I think it’s great at your age.” McKay tells him when he’s working triage with her. “I lost mine far too young and in the back seat of a Camero, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He really doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything. He kinda just hopes the whole thing will blow over but then he steps into the security office to drop off a cell phone he found in one of the bays and that’s when he sees the betting pool.

Multiple coloured post-its, all depicting when, how and where he’ll lose his virginity.

It seems to sway from romantic: candlelight, mood music and a sultry silk nightdress to fucked up and freaky: In the morgue, on a table, light on, scrubs off.

There’s even a sub division for foreplay: who does what to who, how good they are at it.

One very helpful person has even written ‘Whitaker eats pussy like a champ’ in block capitals. Another states ‘Lisbon cracks under the pressure’.

“Fuck…” He drawls out the word, one hand scrubbing down his face because there is no way in this world that you aren’t going to hear about this. It’s simply a matter of time.

You’re waiting for him after shift in your usual place against the wall when he gets out. Your head is tilted back towards the sun, your eyes closed as you catch the last of the dying rays before dark. You look beautiful in that moment, so serene, so at peace with the world. He hates that he’s spoiling it.

“You’re going to hear a rumour about me.” He tells you as he takes up residence alongside of you, his hands clasped in front of him. “That I’m a virgin… I’m not but… I guess you’d say I’m inexperienced… I’ve slept with one person in my life and it wasn’t…”

He fumbles for the words, trying to articulate.

“It wasn’t fire or passion or any of the things it is with you. I don’t even think I was very good at it…”

“Dennis.” You say softly, your hands slipping under his coat. Your palms come to rest on his waist, thumbs tracing tiny soothing circles through his shirt that make him exhale as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “I’m not worried about your capabilities in bed. The two of us have great chemistry and when the time is right we’ll find our rhythm. I’m just enjoying the journey right now, being with someone whose taking the time to get to know me, instead of trying to fuck me.”

“I know.” He whispers, his nose trailing over yours as he looks into your eyes. “I’m enjoying this part too.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[inkskinned]

most writing advice is good as long as you know why it is good, at which point it is also bad. the hardest thing (and most precious thing) about being an artist is that you gotta learn how to take critique. i don't mean "just shut up and accept that people hate your work," i mean you need to learn what the critique is saying and then figure out if it actually helps.

i usually tell people reading my work: "i'm collecting data, so everything is useful." i ask them where they put the book down, even though it's too long for most people to read in 1 sitting. i ask them what they thought of certain characters. i let them tell me it was really good but i like it more when they look a little stunned and say i forgot i was reading your book, which means they forgot i exist, which is very good news.

sometimes people i didn't ask will read my work and tell me i don't like it. and that is okay, you don't have to like it. but i look at the thing that they don't like and try to figure out if i care. i don't like that you don't capitalize. this one is common, and i have already thought about it. i do not care, it's because of chronic pain and frankly i like the little shape of small letters. you use teeth and ribs in all your work. actually that is very true. i don't know what's up with that. next time i will work to figure out a different word, thank you. you're whiny, go outside. someone said that to me recently and it made me laugh. i am on the whine-about-it website as an internet poet. you are in my native habitat, watching me perform a natural enrichment behavior. but i like the dip of whiny, how the word itself does "whine" (up/down, the sound out your nose on the y), but i don't know if i want to feel whiny. maybe next time i will work on it being melancholy, like what you would call a male writer's poetry.

repeated "good" advice clangs in a bell and doesn't hold a real shape, dilutes in the water. like sometimes you will hear "don't use said." you turn that around in your head and it bounces off the edges of your brain like it is a dvd screensaver. it isn't bad advice, but it feels wrong somehow, like saying easy choices are illegal! sometimes i will only use "said." sometimes i will just kick dialogue tags out to the trash. sometimes i make little love poems where the fact that i do not say "said" is very bad, and makes you feel bad in your body, because someone didn't say something. i am a contrary little shitbird, i guess.

but it is also good advice, actually. it is trying to say that "said" sometimes is clutter. it makes new writers think about the very-small words and very-small choices, because actually your work matters and wordchoice matters. "i know," you said. "i know," you sighed. "i know." we both know but neither of us use a dialogue tag, because we are in a contemporary lit piece.

it is too-small to say don't use said. but it is a big command, so it gets your attention. what are you relying on? what easy choices do you make? when you edit, do you choose the same thing? can you make a different choice? sometimes we need the blankness of said, how it slides into the background. sometimes we don't.

i usually say best advice is to read, but i also mean read books you don't like, because that will make you angry enough to write your own book. i also mean read good books, which will break your heart and remind you that you are a very small person and your voice is a seashell. i also mean you need to eat books because reading a book is a writer's version of studying.

my creative writing teacher in the 7th grade had a big red list of no! words and on it was SUNSET. RAZORS. LOVE. GALAXY. DEATH. BLOOD. PAIN. I liked that razor and love were tucked next to each other like birds, and found it funny that he believed we were too young to know the weight of razor in the context of pain. i hated him and his Grateful Dead belt, where the colored teddy bears held up his appraisal of us. i hated his no list. it is very good/bad advice. i wasn't old enough yet to know that when you are writing about death you are also writing about sunsets and when you write about love you are tucking yourself into a napkin that never stops folding.

back then my poetry was all bloody, dripped with agony when you picked it up. i didn't know there is nothing beautiful about a razor, nothing exciting about pain. i just understood sharpness, which he took to mean i understood nothing. i wrote the razor down and it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. that's what i'm saying - sometimes it's good advice, because it's not always necessary. and sometimes it is very bad advice, because writing about it is lifesaving.

hang on my dog was just having a nightmare. i heard that it is a rule not to write about dogs - in my creative writing mfa, my teacher rolled her eyes and said everyone writes a dead dog. the literature streets are littered in canine bodies. i watched the rise and fall of his ribs (there is that word again) and had to reach out and stop the bad dream. when he woke up he didn't recognize me, and he was afraid.

it is good/bad advice to say that poems and writing have to mean something. it is bad/good advice to say they're big feelings in small packages. it is better advice to say that when my dog saw where he was, he relaxed immediately, rubbed his face against me. someone on instagram would make fun of that moment by writing their "internet poetry" as a sentence that tumbles across a white page: outside it is sunset and my dog is still in a gutter, bleeding a galaxy out of his left paw. or maybe it would be: i woke the dog up/the dog forgot i loved him/and i saw the shape of a senseless/and impossible pain.

the dog is alive in this one, and he is happy. when i tell you i love you, i know what i said. write what you need to write, be gentle to yourself about it. the advice is only as good as far as it helps. the rest is just fencing. take stock of the boundaries, and then break them. there's always somewhere else you could be growing.

i love you, keep going.

[artbyblastweave]

I've been reading through some of your old asks since I remembered you were where I heard about Worm, and recently you wrote about how "deconstructions" of the superhero genre are often uniformed and lazy pastiche from people who seem to have not bothered engaging seriously with the source material. (There's a great quote from Ursula Le Guin about writers and critics all too often disregarding genre fiction, hence why the literati alll thought Harry Potter was original back in the day)

But you made the point that big two comics have been dealing with most of the plot holes in the genre for decades, and cited a few specific examples. I'm by no means a new comer to comics but I've largely stayed away from big two, and so I'm wondering, if you are so inclined, if you could share what you consider "required reading" to help me get started?

It seems like a fascinating thing to read about, and I love tracing genre histories.

Yesterday I finally finished a long long rec-list for @worlds-smallest-creature, which was a mix of foundational texts and stuff I personally thought was neat. I'm going to pare down and amend the list to ten comics that are particularly useful for getting a feel of the Big-Two space; comics that, if you read them, will instantly make significant portions of the references and in-jokes much more legible. Note that this does not universally map to high quality, ( though it does for most of them) just utility for understanding the genre and the space as it stands:

Watchmen: By Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. The big deconstructionist comic, most directly in conversation with the two-and-a-half generations of superheroes that had been published when it first came out in 1985. This is the comic all other superhero deconstructions have been chasing and it's tonally informed basically everything that's come after.

Batman: The Dark Knight Returns: Frank Miller and Klaus Janson. The other big deconstructionist superhero comic of the 1980s. While nothing in it is actually canon, it hugely (and arguably negatively) informed the writing of Batman as a dark-gritty-anti-hero and gave rise to the endemic "Batman vs Superman in a fight to the finish" thing; like Watchmen, it's also a rumination on what went unsaid politically in the Silver Age of Comics. Huge amounts of the Batman Mythos are either repudiating this or parroting this, for better or for worse.

Marvels: Kurt Busiek and Alex Ross's gorgeously painted retelling of the first 30 years of the history of the Marvel Universe from the perspective of a photojournalist, from the first appearance of superheroes in the 30s to roughly the start of the Bronze Age. In addition to being a comic about the existential horror of being a normal person living in a world with Big Two superhero dynamics, it's also an excellent primer of the major players and plot beats from the front half of Marvel's publication history.

JLA/Avengers by Kurt Busiek and George Perez: One of the last intercontinuity crossovers published by Marvel and DC before they started circling the wagons on their respective IP. A major thrust of the piece is the two teams reacting with horror to the business-as-usual of their counterparts universe, in a way that's meant to highlight the historical differences in writing trends between the two; it also contains basically Every Single Superhero Who'd Ever Been Published Up Until 2004, making it a pretty useful who's-who birdspotting guide of both settings.

Astro City by Kurt Busiek, Brent Anderson and Alex Ross: An anthology series set in a constructed pastiche Big-Two universe, following the lives of dozens to hundreds of characters as they make their way in the titular Astro City, the longstanding superhero capital of the world. Because the setting contains direct pastiches (and therefore commentary) on basically every significant Hero and general archetype who shows up in both Marvel and DC, and because every one-or-two issue vignette is usually in direct conversation with a specific trope or standing question raised by those characters and those settings, blowing through as much Astro City as you can will allow you to infer huge chunks of the decades-long history that it was written in conversation with- the type of characters who were published in each decade, the type of adventures they were going on in the 60s vs the 30s vs the 90s, and so on.

(Is this three things in a row by Kurt Busiek, you ask? Yes, because he's basically the on-call "thoughtfully root around in the guts of the architecture of Big Two Superhero Comics" guy.)

JLA (1997) By Grant Morrison and Howard Porter. This one was an ongoing, and it presents an interesting balancing act between being, essentially, a platonic example of the thing- no aggressive deconstruction, just a through and through superhero comic that balances accessibility to new readers, high-quality, high concept stories, deliberately enmeshing itself in remixed high-context deep-cuts from the silver-age, and having all sorts of odd little inscrutable asides that are the result of weird decisions being made in other books. Superman's blue and has lightning powers, roll with it. There's an Angel From The Actual Bible hanging around because they couldn't get the rights to Hawkman, roll with it. This thing is essentially training wheels for the reality that almost any big-two ongoing worth reading for any reason is doomed to be jerked around and informed by the larger editorial context at the time, which you might only know bits and pieces of going in; a sufficiently gripping comic will reel you in regardless.

Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont and a whole bunch of artists. Claremont's run from the 70s to the 90s was a development site of a huge number of enduring cape tropes- in particular a lot of the ones related to superpowered factionalism, dialing in on relatively specific and well-defined powersets applied to problems in a puzzle-logic kind of way, shoring up the "Mutant Metaphor" as a parallel to civil rights movements, and a lot of stuff related to bad futures and time travel. By virtue of the amount of time he spent in creative control of the book it coheres better than the average big two thing (though that's not necessarily the same thing as it being universally good.) To this day the genre is plastered in the thumbprints of Days of Future Past and The Dark Phoenix Saga, so those will both be useful context.

Ultimate Spider-Man by Brian Michael Bendis and Mark Bagley. A reboot and retelling of Spider-Man for a 21st century audience, which was so meteorically successful that the Ultimate Universe- a condensed, lean, and heavily politically barbed reboot of all of Marvel's major properties- was spun off from it. On top of being a very good comic, Bendis's background in crime fiction writing, decompressed style and ear for naturalistic dialogue became something of a house style at Marvel for a while and heavily influenced the space generally; the DNA of this one can be found all over the place. This remains probably the best self-contained Spider-Man run ever produced.

The Authority By Warren Ellis and Bryan Hitch. The premiere cool new superteam of the late 90s/early oughts; paradoxical revolutionary authoritarians willing to lay waste with abandon to all the evils of the world that normally go untouched or get off with a slap on the wrist. This book was extremely stylistically important in its embrace of a cinematic 'widescreen" pacing intended to make the comic feel like a breakneck blockbuster movie, and significant chunks of what was to come over the next decade ate its lunch stylistically. This team evolved out of Stormwatch, a Jim-lee 90s-antihero outing that Ellis took over with issue 37, hollowed out and wore like a skinsuit in order to write the same kind of genre commentary spec-fic story he liked to. Ellis's work on that run is useful context for The Authority, and a pretty good read, but not strictly necessary.

The Ultimates V1 and V2 By Mark Millar and Bryan Hitch. Millar was the guy who took over The Authority from Ellis after issue 12, and The Ultimates- the version of the Avengers created for the above-mentioned Ultimate Universe- was his attempt to create a superhero team with essentially the reverse characterization from The Authority. Where The Authority were quasi-left-anarchist mavericks willing to coup the president if that's where their fight against evil took them, The Ultimates were characterized as a gaggle of incompetent, jingoistic stooges who solved only slightly more problems than they personally created, backed Bush to the hilt with the illegal invasion of Iraq, and represented a massive escalation in an international superhuman arms race that was implied to be on course to end the world. Because of the book's massively uncharitable characterization of literally every member of the Avengers lineup with the exception of Thor, and because of Millar's deep-seated edgelord sensibilities, this book is regarded poorly by many. (I like it as satire.) However, it (and the rest of Ultimate Marvel) represent the single biggest aesthetic influence on basically every Superhero film of the 2000s onward and the MCU in particular- despite arguably being an aggressive attack on the enterprise the MCU would become.

I'll round the list out with Alias by Brian Michael Bendis and Michael Gaydos. This was Bendis's other keys-to-the-kingdom-granting outing at Marvel. A noire piece following Jessica "Jewel" Jones, a retired superheroine-turned-PI, as she roots around in the dirty laundry at the outer edge of the superhero community; similar to Astro City in how it uses "edge-case questions" about how superhero settings would work as the launchpad for sad (and frequently anticlimactic) little excursions about the Human Condition. The DNA of this one is also floating around in the space.

Happy Reading!

[yunsound]

The Third Installment to the Oubing Saga- Yunbing

PRIOR EXPERIENCE NEEDED!

Entry ticket: reading this post and acknowledging that the following is about to be 18+. No, I'm not writing anything explicit, but it's going to be some mentions of sex. Move on.

After finishing Ne Zha 2025 (or the 2019 version if you're a real one), did you feel overcome by the gayness? Did you wonder why the fuck anyone would ever look at their best friend like that? Did shoujo anime music start playing in the back of your head?

...yeah you're not alone.

As previously mentioned, Oubing is currently China's biggest fandom ship (I stay hopeful that this wave of hype will last longer than it did in 2019). I also trust that you all understand why that is.

Seriously, I've never seen any piece of Chinese media except for straight up BL THIS gay.

Let's count on one hand how many BL tropes these movies include.

Red/blue

Soulmates

Only friend

Enemies to lovers

Friends to lovers

Oh oops, we ran out of fingers! Next hand.

Friends to enemies to friends to lovers

Forbidden romance

Demon x angel

Two halves of one... thing

...bondage? I suppose? If you know you know THE scene.

Oh wow look at that we ran out of fingers again. MOVING ON TO THE NEXT HAND-

Okay, I'll stop here. All of this makes Oubing technically a very vanilla ship (ignore the bondage that's mostly a joke. Though you WILL see a lot of art involving Ne Zha's red sash in... different usages) and very sweet. Pure love, I suppose.

Do you know about Shangmei Oubing, a variation on Oubing featuring different adaptations of Ne Zha and Ao Bing? Well now you do. Read this post to figure out what I'm talking about.

If there's a spectrum of the wholesome-ness of Oubing ships, Shangmei Oubing is in the middle. Yes, it's very toxic, but technically Ne Zha does really love Ao Bing a lot, just in the wrong ways.

On the OPPOSITE end of that spectrum, we have Yunbing.

Yunbing is the ship between Ne Zha and Ao Bing from the 2021 movie New Gods Reborn: Ne Zha. The movie itself is on Netflix- it's kind of a mid movie, I'm NGL, but the animation is pretty good.

I haven't watched the whole movie (how do I know it's mid? Because I saw some clips and they made me sigh out loud) so I'm maybe not the most reliable critic, but it's just not peak storytelling, okay?

Yunbing is 80% made TF up (headcanon ships are the best ships) because in the movies they hate each other, like TRUE hate, not gay hate. I'm talking GENERATIONAL hating.

If you ignore canon, though, (my favourite thing to do), you are left with Yunbing, which is honestly really fucking yummy.

Here's a quick overview of the background and dynamic of the ship/movie/characters without spoiling the plot of the movie.

The main character of the movie is called Li Yunxiang (remember that Ne Zha's dad is Li Jing, so technically his full name is Li Nezha prior to him fucking himself up via sashimi-ing his flesh from his bones).

Li Yunxiang is the reincarnation of Ne Zha in a modern setting in the fictional East Sea City (Donghai City). He doesn't know or remember being Ne Zha. He works as a deliveryman I think, or a smuggler or something low-paying and dangerous I think.

In East Sea City, water is in shortage due to the Dragon Clan (now a rich family business) hoarding it. The third son of this Dragon Clan (his name is De San) is, you guessed it, the reincarnated Ao Bing.

Actually I'm not sure if he's reincarnated or if he's just been here the whole time hating.

De San, unlike our polite nice Ao Bing from Ne Zha 2019/2025, or the terrified victim Ao Bing from Shangmei, is a huge bitch. He's also a girlfailure. He's not some mass-murdering psychopath, but he's a spoiled rich brat who lives and breathes capitalism and privilege.

Look at his stupid face. Isn't he punchable? No, despite the blonde hair, the director has confirmed he isn't mixed or foreign, he's just an idiot who bleached his hair.

He was supposed to be some sort of dominant playboy daddy character but the entire nation of China just immediately saw the potential for girlfailure brat bottom and I guess that's where my brain went too.

After Ne Zha pulled his tendons out, his dad paid some SERIOUS money to make him a mechanical tendon. Let me tell you I don't know why but this shot of his metal spine is SO fucking sexy

Sorry for thirsting on main, IDK what it is but it's getting to me.

De San still wants revenge on Ne Zha for pulling his fucking tendons out so he spends like 10000 hours trying his very best to kick Li Yunxiang's (confused) ass and never manages to get there, it's so funny.

See, the main reason this ship is so delicious is the dynamic, not their interactions because this is ACTUAL hate, I'm talking they'd kill each other in an instant with NO hesitation. The sexual tension is through the roof. Okay, they're both straight, but you DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE IN THAT DOCTRINE.

Mild spoiler alert!

There's a scene in which Li Yunxiang gets one over De San by making him crash his car. As De San goes flying out of the car in intense pain, he glances over at Yunxiang, who's looking back at him.

Instead of giving him a middle finger or a thumbs down, Yunxiang fucking gives him a finger heart. IK it's supposed to be mocking but it's so funny, especially the BLATANT rage on De San's face afterwards.

The appeal of this ship is just the hate sex. This is a ship 100% meant for gooners, if you'd prefer sweet vanilla hand-holding and blushing you probably want to go back to regular Oubing.

Why does De San have such pillow princess potential? First of all, look at him. What the fuck is that waist to shoulder to leg ratio?

Second, in the Cantonese dub, he calls his father (Ao Guang) "daddy" (in English btw). Sorry, what? You are a twenty-something year old fully grown man. It is fairly common for rich Cantonese people to call their father daddy (according to my rich Cantonese friend) but it's a little much.

Third, he's such a failure it's hilarious. Spoiler alert: there's a whole scene in which his father calls him a failure and he's like "wait what". He's kind of dumb and pathetic despite being arrogant and proud.

Very princess-like. Chinese version of Drarry, basically. They also both really like cars! TBH if they weren't Ao Bing and Ne Zha's reincarnations they'd probably be really good friends.

Generations of hating each other is such gay behaviour, WHY is that other man on your mind over thousands of years??

Some of the popular headcanons for Yunbing:

Yunxiang calls De San "third princess" or "princess" because he's such a... princess

In the middle of like, fistfighting each other they somehow transition to having sex without knowing how

De San slaps Yunxiang in the face and he's like "on the other side too"

"Only I can be the one to kill him, fuck off!" *surprised look* "No that's not what I meant-"

Inappropriate usage of the metal spine (which is probably more sensitive and delicate...?)

I recommend, if you're looking for Oubing content (of the decidedly not workplace friendly variety) and if you like ENEMIES to lovers (emphasis on the enemies part) that you go through the AO3 Yunbing tag (云冰, I'll link the AO3 tag here directly).

If you want recs please ask me, I am so passionate about all three iterations of Oubing.

To quote a XHS user:

Oubing: Pure love

Shangmei Oubing: Pure fear

Yunbing: Pure hate

[kawoala]

📧 you have two (2) new messages !

@ aizawashouta ˒ 5h ago

“capital-b Bitch”

contents; word count- 564. profanity. kitty!! this is short, sorry. i blacked out writing this. enemies to lovers. neighbors! au.

If there’s one thing you’ve noticed while living in this building, it’s that your neighbor is a capital-b Bitch. You’ve had exactly one interaction and it went something like this:

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I am darkness incarnate. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t even think about me. If I hear loud noises from your apartment, I’m breaking the door down to shut you the hell up.”

Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but pretty damn close! He exudes the energy of a ten-year-old street cat who's been through so much shit, that he refuses to trust anyone or anything. He glares at you every time you get your mail, and from what you’ve picked up, he’s the same for everyone else in the building.

Even now, as you’re crouched down outside of the building, rain pouring down on you, trying to give a stray cat some food, you can see him glaring at you from the doorway.

“Come here, kitty,” you coo softly, reaching forward just a little bit. The cat retreats back into its corner and your brows furrow, frowning slightly. “I just want to give you some food, kitty.” You tear some chicken off of the piece you’re holding and toss it over to the cat. It hesitates, sniffing it suspiciously, but inevitably eats it.

His stare is burning into your skin, your brows furrow further at the thought of it. You glance over at him, hoping he’ll get the hint and go away, but his stare doesn’t waver.

You roll your eyes and stand. “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” You put your hands on your hips and narrow your eyes. “You keep glaring at me like this is your cat and I’m trying to steal it, or something.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he walks closer to you, then past you, crouching down right in front of the cat. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue and you peer over his shoulder in confusion.

The cat comes out of its hiding spot, purring and curling around his hand.

Your jaw drops. “What- what the hell? How did you do that?”

He turns slowly, eyes half-lidded, shaded by his hair. “She’s my cat.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times. “What?” Your voice is quiet, hands dropping limp at your sides. “Why is she outside then? You must not be a very good cat owner.” You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth. You’ve always prided yourself on being nice to people, even when they don’t deserve it, but that was . . . Not your best moment. “I- sorry, that was rude. Why is she outside?”

He stands to his full height and you take a step back, almost intimidated by his aura. “I work long hours. It’s not good to be kept up in that apartment all day.” He walks by you again, brushing your shoulder as he does so. “She didn’t come to you because she doesn’t really like chicken. She only ate it because she’s gluttonous. Try fish next time; all cats like fish.”

“Oh,” you breath out, shoulders slouching in defeat. The cat follows him as he walks inside, swaying its tail in an almost mocking manner. “Bye, kitty,” you whisper, frowning.

Okay, so maybe he’s a Bitch, but he’s a Bitch with a cute cat.

[thecrabbybarista]

We should talk about The Lords in Black I'm gonna do that right now because I wanna talk about their trope subversion and symbolism and shit.

So obviously The Lords in Black are a subversion of Cosmic/Eldritch horror and I'm gonna explain how using an ant metaphor

So the classic ant metaphor for cosmic horror is to imagine that you're an ant encountering a piece of human technology, right? I believe it's usually a circuit board. The whole point is you're witnessing something deeply incomprehensible and unfamiliar.

The ant metaphor for the Lords in Black is: imagine you're an ant and a teenager starts burning you with a magnifying glass.

It's still incomprehensible, but not in the way the complexities of a circuit board is. If you were suddenly stricken by a scalding beam of light, the only way you could rationalize that is that it was an act of a god. You and your ant colony would invent and fear this god.

The Lords in Black each represent a kind of strange and inscrutable cruelty that the modern world offers, the cursed lasers that cut into our souls, from places we have no power over.

Wiggly is obviously the idol of capitalism. Animalistic desperation, commodity fetishization, and the exchange of money, products, and emotions. All of the things that the other Lords represent stem from elements of capitalism, hence why Wiggly is THE Lord in Black, the leader of his brothers. What Wiggly offers will never be enough. He is what leaves you always unsatisfied.

Nibbly is the idol of the consumption of human beings as products. Obsession with self image and presentability, trends of all kinds, and the beauty and fitness industries. People in the modern age are desperate to be consumable, and some would go to any lengths to do so. This is an attitude that especially impacts women, who feel that they need to wear make up every day just to earn respect. And when we feel the need to change to be respectable, the need to look appealing and to be consumable, the bourgeois eat well. Our quest to look special makes us like any other customer, filling. It's no mistake that the two leads of Honey Queen are women desperate to be noticed and respected. It makes them all the more eager to be eaten.

Tinky is the idol of infinity and repetition. Dead end jobs, middle class suburbia, and the inability to escape one's circumstances. It's no coincidence that the first time we see Tinky is at a wedding, a ceremony dedicated to eternal commitment, or that he's associated with CCRP, a company in which most of the workers do useless busywork all day. When you look at the life you have ahead of you, it can feel crushing. Will you ever have a real career to be proud of, or will you be stuck at this job until you die? Will you ever not struggle to make rent? Will you really love your spouse forever? What if you don't? Isn't it just easier to continue the routine than to address the problem? After Ted is driven to insanity by the Bastard's Box, after he discovers that he can't escape the person he's become, he becomes homeless, one of the most terrifying eternities a person can find themselves in, fully dependent on random acts of kindness to survive while your situation drives you further into insanity.

Blinky is the idol of the panopticon. Gossip, public drama, and unwanted attention. One of the first things Blinky does on screen is sexually objectify a girl who's fresh out of high school, and this plainly displays a consequence of living in a content driven world. There is constant scrutiny and interpretation given to your every action. At any moment, you could have over a thousand eyes on you, whether you want them there or not. The panopticon we live in captures us in moments of time, and turns the person we were in that moment into an object deserving anger, embarrassment, lust, admiration, judgement, or anything else a watcher might assign. But Blinky also targets another fear, the fear that we feel when we can't see the danger, and cannot protect ourselves or those we love. Alice's anxiety that Deb might cheat on her when she's not around are made manifest in Watcher World, and Bill's frustration at not being let into Alice's life are used against the family. We are inclined to both want and fear the panopticon. We hide, and we seek, and we expose.

Pokey is the idol of tyranny. Complacency, sedation, and obedience. The world revolves around the few and uses the many in service of this. We are all expected to fill some role in service to the rich, to work for a corporation and to buy the products of those corporations, and when we cannot fill these roles we are at risk of starving, or being kicked out of our homes. We must join them in their quest for profit, or die. But we must also accept their pacifiers or we will be driven insane. We must choose between complacency or despair in confronting our place in the world as a pawn, as an ant in the colony. Isn't it easier to accept the comforting lies? Your job is important. Corporations give people what they want. People in power deserve their power. People in power are using it well. We are happy. America is great.

These are the magnifying glasses that are being used to torment us, that we cannot make reason out of, that we've made dark gods out of. But this isn't the first time humanity has encountered scorching light from the heavens. When the people of ancient Greece witnessed burning rods of light, falling viciously from the heavens, they invented Zeus.

But we know where lightning comes from now. We know the science behind electricity and its place in the world. We know what keeps lightning away and what attracts it. We can protect ourselves from it.

But there's an important difference. Lightning is natural. It's existed long before we have and it will continue when we're gone.

The unorthodox cruelty of being alive today is not natural. We cannot logic our way into surviving it because it does not operate under a sound logic. But we can make things a little more bearable by focusing on what is sound, understandable and natural.

There is humanity. There are families friends and lovers who would go to the ends of earth to protect each other. As long as we have this humanity, we have hope.

That's why Miss Holloway's deal with the Lords erases her from living memory after her temporary deaths. To have the powers that she does she gave away the power most important to have under the Lord's rule: human connection. The only real thing we have left.

Alice and Bill escaped Blinky's manipulation through the love they have for each other

Emma survived the longest out of any character in tgwdlm because of the genuine hope Paul gave her of a better future

Lex snapped Tom out of Wiggly's control by reminding him of what his son really means to him

Ted couldn't escape Tinky's plan for him because he was too jaded to make a genuine connection with a woman.

Linda was eaten by Nibbly because she didn't have a loving connection with her father, because her father always made her believe that she was never good enough, because this mindset led her to take for granted the connections she did have in her life.

The world no longer cares about us. We have to care for each other. It's the only thing we have left

[playpirateswithyou]

Chapter 943/episode 941 of One Piece gets a lot of attention for the Zoro & Sanji reunion scene, but I don't think I've seen anyone call out the ZoLu parallel that happens right before that. Despite being in different situations at different locations, both Luffy and Zoro have the same visceral reaction when they think the villagers are mocking Yasuie's death.

This parallel gets overlooked because Zoro's response happens in chapter 942 while Luffy's is shown in chapter 943, but their reactions are happening at the same moment in time, while Zoro is in the Flower Capital and Luffy is in Udon prison camp (watching the execution on live stream). Not knowing about the Smile Fruits, both Luffy and Zoro are shown to be furious that Ebisu Town villagers - including Yasuie's own daughter - are laughing at a man's death. The anime makes the parallel even more apparent because you can really hear the anger in both their voices.

Although the rest of the Straw Hats are there along with Zoro, none of them have nearly as intense emotional responses to the laughter as Zoro and Luffy do. We can only speculate as to why Zoro & Luffy both get so angry, but regardless of its coming from, the point is that there's something about the (perceived) lack of respect that affects Zoro and Luffy more than it does the other Straw Hats.

This is a small moment, but it once again shows how Luffy and Zoro are on the same wavelength, with the same values shared only by them. (It's a precursor to the more overt ZoLu moment later on in Wano, when they both have the same reaction to the spilled oshiruko, right down the same flashback.)

Bonus Chapter 944 Panel: Luffy watching all the resulting chaos, with eyes only on one person.

Your other crew members are also there Luffy.........,,,,,,,

(The anime moment of this is even cuter! Luffy starts cheering, then realizes that cheering might give away his identity, thinks about it for a second, and then decides, fuck it, imma cheer for Zoro anyway!! And they say Luffy doesn't play favorites)

[a-very-tired-jew]

Another Colleague Conversation

I recently had a conversation with a friend and colleague about stuff they shared regarding the rescue operation of the four hostages. They had posted the tweet from the Deeja account that said in all capital letters that Israel used an aid truck. I reached out because 1) I know this person to be reasonable and evidence based, and 2) I knew they were coming from a place of genuine concern that was being manipulated. For context, this friend is a brilliant geneticist that I have know for nearly 2 decades as we did our undergrad together and have stayed in touch ever since. They're a kindhearted person and their work has led to some breakthroughs that highlight this trait as they've worked on certain types of genes that can have detrimental mutations when expressed. As I've said before, a lot of people are empathetic and sympathetic individuals to the plight of others, and those behaviors are being manipulated for nefarious reasons.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Me: Hey G, that thing you shared about the aid truck? Yeah, that's not the complete story or accurate.

G: What?! What do you mean?

Me: It wasn't an aid truck that they used. In fact, only that tweet and Al Jazeera were reporting that initially. All the other sites, including pro-Israel and anti-Israel, were reporting a civilian truck of some sort. Most said a moving/furniture truck.

G: Wait. Hold on. So it was a moving truck then?

Me: Well...we now know it was a soap truck.

G: Why the fuck are people saying it was an aid truck then?

Me: You know the reason.

G: Yeah...okay, admittedly I am not well informed on all this. Thank you for reaching out and correcting me. Do you have any suggestions on how to stay informed? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (Now this is where it gets interesting because at this point they say something that I knew was a thing on some level, but hadn't really put the pieces together.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Me: Well, I wouldn't share anything from Al Jazeera. All they do is spout Hamas propaganda. I'd also avoid accounts that share from them as well, unless you're really interested in what the propaganda is itself. I'd avoid JVP since they're the Autism Speaks of Jewish groups. And also avoid SJP groups, many of them openly support terrorist groups and have been recently endorsing domestic terrorism. G: Wait, wait, wait. AJ is bad? I've been following them since we were in undergrad.

Me: Since undergrad?

G: Yeah, they were the only ones covering news in a Lefty manner. Like, remember when Occupy Wallstreet broke out during grad school? They were the one of the few news sites that covered it in a left leaning manner.

Me: Ah fuck...that makes sense. Okay. So. AJ is the state media of Qatar, think of it like RT or Sputnik. Qatar has literally hosted the leaders of Hamas for years and they live there in multi-million dollar homes. AJ pretty much acts as the propaganda mouthpiece for Hamas through Qatar.

G: But what does that have to do with how they covered stuff when we were younger?

Me: Well, there was a meeting in 1993 in Philly of Hamas members that was wiretapped. Those wiretaps were submitted as evidence during some trials in the 00s and they revealed that Hamas had planned at that meeting to use the language of progressive Westerners to garner support for their cause and manipulate them.

G: oh

G: Oh, fuck!

G: So you're saying they purposefully set themselves up to be more sympathetic to Leftists and manipulate them through using their jargon and it's on tape?!

Me: Yep. Here's the link (https://extremism.gwu.edu/sites/g/files/zaxdzs5746/files/2023-10/the-hamas-network-in-america.pdf)

Me: Now there's a lot more to that doc. It goes over how they planned to set up research groups to influence academia, political groups for politics, and charity groups to raise money. The latter of which is what the 00s trials were about.

G: Fuck...that's well planned out. I can't believe it's on tape.

Me: Mhm, it's right there. I'm surprised it's been allowed to go on this long though. I think after all the dust settles we might see some Bush Era Patriot Act shenanigans go on.

G: I wouldn't be surprised.

G: Thank you for reaching out and letting me know. I can't believe I fell for that.

Me: It's totally okay, and understandable. If you have questions about anything please feel free to reach out.

G: Again, thank you so much. I will.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What G said about Al Jazeera though and how they'd been following it for years stood out to me. I remember when Occupy Wallstreet happened and AJ was reporting on it. I remember so many American news sites denigrating the movement and AJ was one of the few that was actually covering those protests in an objective manner. We didn't have a lot of the Left news sites that currently exist today. It was a wasteland of center and right wing sources as far as the eye could see. But that makes sense for the time period and why AJ is still so prevalent in Left spaces.

As I told G, the 93 meeting documents Hamas members talking about using the language of Westerners against them and infiltrating their spaces to garner support. With AJ being the mouth piece of Hamas and having been one of the few "Left" leaning news source since Occupy...well, they've been grandfathered in to Leftist spaces as "trusted". That's why so many of these Western activists will accept an AJ article with no question or critical analysis, it's one of the go to sources and has been for a long time.

I'm a little mad at myself that I didn't remember the coverage of Occupy and other events in the USA by AJ and how they were framed until G brought it up. I'm second guessing all the times I read articles back then and my reactions. G admitted they're now doing the same. To think that many of us older Lefties have been manipulated for years because we had some friendly coverage of our opinions is disheartening. But then again, how many of us actually knew what AJ was, who was running it, and what the agenda is/was? I mean, hell, I'm a forensic consultant and consider myself well versed on big cases, but I didn't know about the HLF stuff until Vidino's report came out (the doc mentioned and linked above).

The internet has come such a long way since then. I'm hoping that when this is over that many of these news sites, Leftist and otherwise, will reconsider how they interact with AJ and other such groups. It's quite clear that we've been in a long con, and something has to change.

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt3

pt 2 here content: Choso refers to reader as his gf- other than that no use of pronouns. mention of reader wearing lipstick, obsessive crush to stalker arc :>

(a.n) this is slowly becoming a fic and I don't hate it. I felt lack of inspo last night and did a deep dive into what stalkers do- the red flags before they start the actual stalking lol

taglist: @flam3bird

Obsessive!Choso who almost felt his heart burst when he saw you wave hi at him when you walked into class. Smile on your lips as you walk down to your seat. Hearing your friend speak a little louder than a whisper while taking a practice test, seeing you look back at him and make a face almost asking him, ‘can you believe what she's saying?’ before turning around again, watching your friend lean in close to you and keep pestering you. His eyes watching you turn your phone on under your desk, ‘During a test? What are you thinking-’ he thought, mentally scolding you.

Obsessive!Choso who almost died when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, pulling it out and seeing that you had texted him. ‘can u hear her from all the way over there ?’ reading it and hearing your voice. The realization of, ‘you were thinking of me?’ making him slouch in his seat, feeling his heavily pieced ears start to warm. Staring at your text, looking down at you, noticing you had the conversation still open. ‘Are you waiting for me?’ he asked you in his mind. Quickly screenshotting the notification before opening it, ‘yeah, i can.’ he typed, sending it and seeing you turn your head and smile at him. Seeing you look down at your phone, his heart beating quickly when he saw the typing bubble show up. ‘she keeps asking me what the answers are’, smiling when he saw that your auto capitalization was off, another thing you two had in common. ‘is this not a practice test?’ he typed, thinking how crazy it is that he was talking to you. To you! Person of his dreams, everything he wanted in a partner. You. The person who always greets him with a warm smile, who's always nice to him.

Obsessive!Choso whose heart skipped a beat when he saw you move your shoulders, indicating that you were trying not to laugh. ‘I make you laugh?’ looking down at his phone and seeing you had texted again. ‘dont think she knows that’  you replied, putting your phone away and getting back to the paper in front of you. Making sure to remember to ask you why you're friends with someone like that. ‘You're not the same kind of person- or even on the same level mentally. So why would you be friends with someone who does nothing but bother you?’  Thinking he knew everything about your friendship with this person. 

Obsessive!Choso who went to the campus coffee shop, in hopes that maybe you'd be there. Knowing from your instagram stories that you usually came to pick up a coffee after one of your classes. Only this time you weren't here. Pulling out his trifold wallet before paying, looking to see he didn't have any cash, trying to find his card. “Pretty girlfriend.” the cashier said, breaking the awkward silence while looking at the photo of you in his wallet. “Sorry?” he asked, looking at them when he found the piece of plastic. “Your girlfriend-” they continued, eyes pointing at the picture. The sentence made him flustered, not paying attention that some people notice small things like that. Smile on his face as he mumbled a quiet ‘I know.’ before tapping his card onto the screen. 

Obsessive!Choso kept those few words in his mind whenever he caught a glimpse of his wallpaper. ‘My girlfriend.’ he'd think, smile on his lips when he would refer to you as that.

Obsessive!Choso saw a picture of your laptop and a notebook next to it in your story. Knowing you were home, knowing that you were waiting for him to text you, you had to be right? Opening the google doc on his computer, seeing that you were on it as well. A few minutes of him watching your cursor type a sentence and delete it. Before seeing a message from the upper right corner of his screen. A message from you, ‘Hey, I know it's late. But I hit a wall with this stupid project- could I call you?’ he read, eyes widening at how right he was. Clearing his throat at how forward you were being. Call? As in on the phone with you? 

Obsessive!Choso who almost choked when he heard your voice on the phone. Pressing the phone closely to his ear, closing his eyes with a smile when he heard you say- “Heyyyy”, not being able to find the words to say to you. A small ‘hi’ leaving his throat. Hearing you let out a small giggle before hearing you place your phone down. “So i'm on the doc- and I saw you were on it too-” you started, Choso pictured you. Sitting in front of your laptop, smile on your face while speaking. He could tell by just your voice that you were smiling, smiling while talking to him.

Obsessive!Choso who desperately wanted to record the conversation- well, more like record your voice. He wasn't the one speaking a whole lot. You had gotten used to filling the silences he left in the air, being able to tell that he wasn't much of a talker. But little did you know that he was thinking longer replies, but only thinking them. Smiling when he’d hear you ask a question. You started reading aloud what you had written- making sure it sounded right. Choso accidentally let out a low ‘Mhm’ while hearing you read, closing his eyes in regret when he heard you stop. “You sound so different on the phone-” you started, almost a whisper. He exhaled quietly in relief when he heard your fingers start to press onto the keys of your computer. The call didn't last longer than 20 minutes, you just wanted to ask him his opinion on if what you had so far sounded smart or not. But in his mind, the only real reason you called was to speak to him- to hear him. 

Obsessive!Choso who felt like he could die when you told him ‘thank you’ for his help. But when you mumbled a tired, “Goodnight Choso-” before you hung up, made his cheeks flush and his heart pound in his chest. The first time you had ever said his name. Immediate regret filling his gut when he remembered he didn't record it. But he would always remember it, always keep it close to his heart in memory. 

Obsessive!Choso was walking to the campus coffee shop after class. Seeing you speaking to some guy- probably one of the so called friends you choose to surround yourself with. Slowing his pace when he saw you slowly backing away from him- and nodding no at him. Seeing this guy, reach for your arm, speaking over you as he stepped closer. Even from a distance he could see your face look uncomfortable. At that moment, Choso didn't know what came over him. He walked over- more like storming over. His face full of anger, slapping a sweet smile onto it when he saw you look over at him. “I was just about to go find you.” Making sure to keep a sweet tinge in his tone when he spoke to you. Smile of relief on your face when you saw him. Dark eyeshadow and combat boots almost making you feel safe. A quiet ‘hey’ trailed from your lips, feeling the stranger's hand fall from your arm, taking a step back. “Me too, I wanted to bring up-” you started. Rambling about what the professor had taught today, noticing the guy back off before walking away. Seeing you exhale before looking at his face. “Thank you.” you whispered, looking down at your shoes. “A friend?” he asked, his tone deeper than before. Using the same tone he spoke to you while on the phone. “Absolutely not-” you smiled, looking back up at him. “Just some guy from my public speaking class. He's been bothering me since the first day.” You laughed, seeing him crack a small smile, his hands fidgeting with his rings. “Are you busy? I was just about to go grab a coffee-” you started, looking away from him in the direction of the same coffee shop he was going to.

Obsessive!Choso who thought; ‘Aren't you forward. Trying to spend more time with me?’ as he nodded no, “I'm not.” he replied, his hands in his pockets.

Obsessive!Choso who was convinced you were starting to feel the same way he did, even if it was only a week since they paired you together. I mean, who would ask someone if they wanted to have coffee with you? “Sorry if you had plans- or whatever.” you started, walking slowly next to him. “I didn't.” he mumbled, hearing his boots drag onto the concrete. “The least I could do is buy you a coffee!” you exclaimed, ‘No need to thank me- who else but me will protect you from all the horrible men in the world?’ Choso thought, looking over to see you, remembering all the people who have been broken by men who didn't love them. Knowing that you would never have to worry about those silly things with him. 

Obsessive!Choso who purposefully switched the two coffees you had paid for- in hopes he'd be able to share an indirect kiss with you. Knowing if he tried to pay, you'd see the picture of yourself he had in his wallet. Sitting down at one of the round tables, heavily ringed hands around the cup as he looked at you pick up his coffee. Making a face when the sour taste hits your tongue. “I think they switched our cups-” You smiled, pushing his cup towards him. Seeing him mutter a feigned ‘Oh’ as he gave you the correct cup. His eyes focused on the light print of lipstick you had left on the black lid. “I could get you a new one- I know some people are huge germaphobes.” You smiled, taking a sip from your cup to wash the bitter taste from your mouth. “There are worse things in the world than sharing a drink with someone.” He murmured, slouching in his seat, seeing you give him a sweet smile in return.

Obsessive!Choso who took one sip of his coffee, only to assure you that it was okay that you had drank from it. Who felt his knee start to bounce with anticipation when he felt the satiny feeling of your lipstick on his bottom lip. Hearing words falling from your mouth, but not listening to them. Thoughts of how technically that was your first kiss with him. Seeing your phone light up on the table, hearing you sigh loudly. And it continued to light up- repeatedly. “Jesus- this girl doesn’t know how to take a hint.” You exhaled, picking up your phone and typing something. ‘Must be the girl from class.’ he thought.

Obsessive!Choso whose lips moved before his brain could process what he was saying. “The girl from class?” he asked, seeing you look up at him and smile. “Yeah- she keeps trying to come over to my house for a sleepover.” You placed your phone down, “That girl is the epitome of peaked in highschool.” You mumbled, Choso finally found an opportunity to ask you. “Why are you friends with her?” he questioned, seeing you inhale at his words. “I chose this college to get away from all the bullies and all the pretentious people who would live the same boring suburban lives.” You started, “And to become myself- to find myself.” You mumbled, looking away from him. “Imagine my disappointment when I got here and it was full of superficial delta chi’s-” You laughed, seeing him return a smile to you. Humming in response to your words. “I was never good with confrontation- The idea makes me anxious and uneasy.” seeing him look at you with his head in his hand. Eyes half lidded while listening to you. His pointer finger tracing doodles onto the table. Liking the way you opened up to him, letting him get to know you. Being able to hear your unfiltered thoughts, not the bullshit you over thought before you posted on your story. 

Obsessive!Choso who paid close attention to what you were saying, hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. Feeling yourself cringe at how you just aired out your business to someone who was practically a stranger, not knowing why it was so easy to speak to him. Somehow never sensing any judgment or lack of interest in what you said. Feeling a wave of relief whenever you were able to speak to him- a real person who didn't care about people's opinions. “Honestly I don't know why I'm still friends with her- I've tried to sit in other seats, hoping she wouldn't sit next to me in that class anymore.” You spoke, finally answering his question. ‘I know. I watched you every time you moved seats.’ Choso replied to your words mentally. “I think the reason I'm failing that class- is that I can't focus on what is being taught because she's in my ear the entire time.” You smiled, easing up on the heavy topic. ‘Aha. I knew you were failing- just like me.’

Obsessive!Choso wanted to suggest that you to sit next to him, knowing your childish friend won't follow you if you did. “Failing?” he asked, eyes scanning your features. “Yeah, I was hoping this-” You sighed, “stupid project would help my grade at least a little.” Closing your eyes and leaning back into your chair. ‘Ask me. Ask me and I'm yours. Ask me to help you.’ he thought, fighting off his excitement when you looked at him. Lightbulb practically popped up above your head, “You're doing good in class, aren't you?”  you asked, smile on your lips as he nodded yes without thinking. “I know that we were only paired for this assignment- but would you be ok with helping me study?” You smiled, eyes so bright he swore he could see the universe in them. “Of course.” He smiled, seeing you exhale and look down at the table with a smile.

Obsessive!Choso who almost let out a small giggle when he saw your face flush. ‘Are you- blushing?’ he asked himself. The question you asked him didn't make him nervous. He understood most of what was being taught, but he didn't have the energy to physically write the essays, and besides- Choso preferred spending his free time thinking of you. Not of the stupid course work that he didn't need for real life. Trying to get to know you better through your social media. Dissecting every single photo you posted. Zooming into the background of your bedroom, seeing if he could find anything worth researching. A band poster, a shirt on the floor, a stranded bottle of nail polish he could buy so he would match with you- anything that would let him see you. The real you- not the person that you pretended to be with the fake friends you had. The person he saw a flicker of that day at the cafe. The person you came to this college to become.

-

pt 4 here

(PLS LET ME KNOW IF U WANNA BE TAGGED IN THE NEXT PART PLSSSS) omg thank god I posted this. I am alr writing pt 4 I don't CARE. this is my new passion, wrote this while listening to 'Such Small Hands- La Dispute' Choso thinks this is all fun and games, what happens when he sees I am crazier than he is ?

[cowboygenesis]

8: good side | din djarin x reader

part 8 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 5.7k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: squeezing this in at 3am, hope y'all enjoy the rebirth of this fic and some new friends joining the roster!

The rain is much gentler this morning.

It drums against the roof of your small cottage like fingers tapping thoughtfully on a table, not thunderous like last week’s storm, but steady and promising of lush greenery come evening.

You stand by the rustic window with your arms crossed, watching the mist rise off the fertile earth, fields blurred into watercolor by the curtain of rain. Your fingers wrap tightly around ceramic, letting the warmth of it seep into your bones.

Din sits near the hearth, a half-cleaned rifle resting against his knee. You hear it clatter every so often, and when you turn to look, you’re met with the gorgeous sight of the Mandalorian’s broad back clad with nothing but an earthy shade of linen. His trap muscles flex and unflex with every tug of the rag, hypnotizing you with the gentle rhythm.

It’s come to your selfishly satisfied attention that, gradually, he had begun settling into the comforts of your home. First it was a pauldron, then a cuisse, and eventually he shed it all like a bear in summertime.

The spare pieces of beskar lie in the corner, nearly piled atop each other in a shiny stack. You spot Grogu curled up in a woven basket nearby, tiny snores barely audible above the pattering rain.

You turn slightly, gaze flicking toward Din. The silence has been comfortable, yet you know it’s been hours, and the void never did your overthinking any favors.

“Poiko’s back in town,” you announce softly, prepping your face with a smile.

Din doesn’t look up right away, but you see the way his shoulders shift with the sudden presence of your voice. You hope you didn’t startle him, though you doubt much did at this point.

“The merchant?” he questions smoothly.

“Head merchant,” you gently correct, turning toward the dining table and placing your half-finished mug with a soft thud. “You can make your trip to the capital, if you’re still after that.”

There’s a pause as he leans forward, flames licking up his helmet like a sunlit creature. His elbows press into his knees, visor tilted toward the ground as rain drums against the roof above, steady and soft like a lullaby you’d love to listen to forever.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “I’ll need to.”

Something briefly unsteady in his voice makes you glance back at him, tightening the shawl around your shoulders, the small tassels tickling your forearms. “Looking for something?”

His fingers flex slightly where they rest on his knees, and for a second, you think he might brush the question off entirely. You wouldn’t blame him.

“Just tying up a few loose ends,” he says, voice consciously neutral.

You narrow your eyes a little, not out of suspicion, but curiosity. The few months you’ve known Din weren’t nearly enough to actually know him, but you never saw that as a flaw. All either of you needed was some quiet company and a shared meal, and the rest could come later, if at all.

Still, his past sometimes tugged at your curiosity. Despite your earthly comforts, the open galaxy still found sneaky ways of tempting you back in, and Din’s mysterious past happened to be just one of those things.

“You mean... from before you got here?”

Din raises his helmet, his hands tightening around the rifle. “Something like that.”

The soft pattering and infrequent coos fill the space between you. You think of all the things he’s never told you: how he found Grogu, what he does when he’s not in town, why he carries enough armor to start a war —and you know better than to pry. But it still lingers on your tongue.

“Are you taking him with you?” you ask, trying to sound casual as you nod toward the tranquil crib.

Grogu’s tiny body shifts with a sleepy sigh, curled up like a stone tucked beneath moss, utterly unaware of the tension hanging in the air between the three of you.

Din keeps his gaze on the weapon in his lap, hands flexing slightly around the stock. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the question weigh down on his shoulders as they dip. Something about your query broke his usually calm demeanor, and you couldn’t help but boil it down to your endless curiosity.

“Yeah,” he says after a pause, placing the rifle down before the fire.

You blink, slowly approaching the crib and smiling as soon as you catch the slight outline of Grogu’s large ears peeking from under his quilt. The small, intricately woven dandelion in the corner makes your heart swell. You had embroidered it during one of their stays, being meticulous with each individual leaf.

“Really?” you question, gently smoothing the feather-light fur on the baby’s head with your digits. “I figured you’d want to travel light.”

When no response comes, you glance toward the man. He’s still seated against the hearth, coiled into a tense bundle as he contemplates your words, silently.

“Let me guess,” you press gently, attempting to inject some levity into the situation. “You need him to find a properly fitted crib. I mean, have you seen this one? All scratched and worn—little guy deserves an upgrade.”

Din doesn’t rise to the joke, you realise that when he reaches for the pile of beskar in the corner.

“Oh! Or maybe he’s outgrown that old sack of his and—” you lean back slightly, eyes narrowing when you spot him dressing. He spares you a single, fleeting glance, through which your smile drops. “You’re… you’re serious.”

He grumbles something incoherent within his helmet, crouching against your loveseat. “I am.”

You study him for a long beat, watching in silence as he shifts his beautifully tanned hands back into the gauntlets. You frown, realising you took the moment of vulnerability for granted. A part of you worries it might be your last time seeing them like that.

“It’s not just a supply run, is it?”

You don’t look at him when you ask. You keep your eyes on Grogu’s basket, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest, the way his ears twitch every now and then with some dream you’ll never know about. Din shifts slightly in his seat, weighing your question or just ignoring you altogether.

And you know much better than to push. You’ve learned that he doesn’t offer unless he chooses to, yet you can’t let him go without at least a slither of information.

Because something cold and gritty tugs at your heartstrings the moment he settles into his beskar again, making your lip quiver in the warmth of the hearth. You make a soft noise, like clearing your throat to get the pitiful phlegm out of fear’s way.

“Are you coming back?” you croak, quiet yet determined, and your voice carries through the din of rain like a desperate prayer, round near the edges as if you tried to plead but couldn’t muster the courage to.

He looks at you then. Not moving much, but enough that you feel the weight of his gaze. You hate how much your heart sinks at that silence between you. His helmet shifts between you and elsewhere entirely, reflecting shades of brown and green.

“I can’t leave him,” he says quietly, nodding toward Grogu. You don’t follow his gaze, yet something about the confession urges his child to coo happily from the safety of his crib. He must have awoken, feeling the palpable tension in the air of your home. You knew he was particularly attuned to that, and it’s something you had in common. Sometimes you pitied yourself for it, and the baby by proxy.

The Mandalorian shifted uncomfortably on the woven carpet, stiffly leaning his back against the plush loveseat. You watch as he slowly rises to his full height, hesitating for a moment before taking a few steps toward the crib. His gloved hand reaches for his kid, a three-fingered nub grabbing his knuckle with a squeal of delight. The baby babbles out, stringing words that nearly sound coherent.

And then Din turns toward you with a hum, as if broken through a shared revelation. If you weren’t impartial to fantasy, you’d think Grogu told him something vital.

“Or you.”

You blink. The room feels smaller all of a sudden, or maybe just warmer with the steady pumping of blood to your face.

“What?” you question quietly, non-accusatorily, hands fiddling the hem of your sleeves.

“I—” he stutters, and you’re quick to note the absolute miracle of the fact before he clears loudly his throat. “I can’t leave you.”

You squeeze your lips tight, holding back a wide, selfish grin when you catch Grogu reaching out toward you. The pumping spreads through your skull, ringing your ears and making your eyes widen with awe-struck glitter.

“You’ve been good to us,” Din elaborates suddenly, his voice losing that unusual edge and stiffening back to business. “It’d be irrational to move on now, just as the kid has gotten comfortable.”

Your hands clutch the backrest of a dining chair, exhaling your giddiness and replacing it with a sympathetic, nearly grateful smile.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable here, Din.” You nod, smoothing a flyaway.

His visor levels on you with an acknowledging nod, letting the sudden silence settle over you like a warm blanket. A gust of wind picks up outside, whistling through the trees and knocking fat pellets against your windows.

You sigh deeply, pushing the chair into the table and moving toward the kitchen. You feel Din’s eyes tracing your movements, helmet tilting when you stand on your tip-toes to withdraw a large wicker basket from the wall-mounted cupboard, settling it on the counter with a soft thud.

“What are you doing?” he questions as you withdraw a paper-wrapped hunk of cheese from your fridge, a small bunch of Shiir fruit, and a flour-dusted bread loaf.

“I’m packing sustenance,” you reply simply, tapping your cheek for a beat before finally deciding on loading the basket with a jar of preserves and a small knife to go with it. “For the road.”

The Mandalorian stays silent for a moment, letting you pack the rest of the basket in comfortable silence interrupted only by your quiet whistling. Once you secure the produce with a checkered cloth, you hum in satisfaction and turn toward the man with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he comments stiffly, arms lax at his sides. He must have gotten closer while you were packing, because your ears finally manage to pick up the slow gust of his breath.

“I want to,” you say with a shrug, heaving the basket up and groaning slightly at its added weight when you drop it on the dining room table. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you eat something that isn’t freeze-dried.”

You think you catch the man’s shoulders bouncing with a chuckle, but the fantasy is quickly intercepted by a loud sigh carrying through his modulator.

“I’m saying you don’t have to go,” he stiffens his palm in the air through the explanation, lingering on every word like it’s hurting him to utter. “You shouldn’t.”

You poke the inside of your cheek at that, tracing a fingernail down a coiled length of hardened twine before it weaves with the rest of the basket.

“Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replies promptly, and suddenly you realise that he’s not trying to scare you off. If anything, any doubt of your being a burden slowly trickles away the longer he takes to satisfy your curiosity. “There’s always a chance for something going wrong.”

“All the more reason for me to go,” you bite your lip, eyes wide with kindness and reassurance, when he rubs a glove up the length of his helmet. “Who’ll take care of your kid when you’re off catching criminals?”

The Mandalorian groans in exasperation, planting his fists on his hips. “It’s not a bounty this time. I—”

“So you are a bounty hunter!” you intercept, painting your investigative revelation with a wide grin that you’re certain Din isn’t mirroring. He stares at you in silence, stiff and stonelike save for the brief tensing of his fingers. It’s not like you minded, anyway. Bad people were capable of good, and it took but one glance for you to decide that Din was the very opposite of that. You knew his profession didn’t define him, but you’d reassure him another time.

You sigh, dropping your jolliness in favor of a serious-ish smile.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” you explain, softer this time. The man’s head tilts at that, shoulders dropping just an inch. You approach him slowly but certainly, matching the square of his shoulders with your own. “Promise.”

Another stretch of silence twists taut between you, and it’s only now you’ve realised the rain has come to a slow, quiet drum. You imagine the clouds passing overhead, disappearing down the horizon and giving way to light again.

Din sighs, his shoulders visibly heaving under the weight of his breath. “You’re so stubborn.”

You can’t help the smile that pops on your face at the tired but rarely tender words, squeezing your fists with excitement as your companion shakes his head.

“Does that mean I’ve convinced you?” you wiggle a brow humorously, but the man rejects it with a common flatness.

He stands then, straightening slowly with that quiet, intimidating ease that always makes the room feel smaller. Despite his hesitant mein, you know that deep down he’s already made his choice. You beam at that before he even gives you an outright answer.

“All right,” he finally succumbs, his body going lax like clockwork while yours tenses with a happy giggle. He watches you flatly, his gaze briefly flickering toward Grogu who has once again fallen into a deep slumber. “You’re the only other person he listens to, anyway.”

You feel your breath catch slightly, emitting with a barely audible hitch. Not because of the words themselves, but because of how easily he said them.

You smile faintly, boldly poking a finger against his chestplate and having your reflection smirk back at you. “Is that Mandalorian for I don’t trust anyone else to take care of my kid ?”

Din grunts, slowly pivoting toward the hearth again to collect his weapon while you make sure your basket is neatly tucked in.

“It’s Mandalorian for don’t let him eat worms again .”

You chuckle, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill of rain against the windows.

୨ৎ

The rain has quietly settled into the remnants of a soft drizzle by the time you reach the outer limits of town. The dirt path to Poiko’s home winds through mossy lowlands and old stone walls, water dripping from broad leaves and shivering grass as you press through dampened earth.

Grogu coos softly against your chest, bundled in your makeshift baby sling that you insisted on using, leaving the floating crib abandoned as it floats by Din’s side. He walks just behind you, footfalls steady and quiet like a metal-clad ghost as you duck under a particularly broad shrub.

“Mando?” you ask in a mild croak, vocal cords cramped from walking in comfortable silence for so long.

“Hm?” he hums in acknowledgment, keeping his visor on the road ahead as it dips downhill. His hand flexes, keeping your provisions steady in one hand while the other grips his own pack. The sight of such a great, fearless mercenary donning a ribbon-tied basket makes your heart both jump and swell at the contrast.

You pucker your lips, angling your body backward as the decline becomes steep. The ground had yet to dry, so you place a palm over Grogu’s back in case you’re unfortunate enough to slip and land on your ass.

“Why don’t we just take the Crest?”

Din gives you a once-over, making your eyebrows crease with sudden worry. You hope you’re not coming off as ungrateful for letting you tag along on his mission with the absolute minimum of training and combat knowledge—not like you’ll need it, but still. It makes you feel like a burden on some level.

“It’s more hassle than it’s worth,” the man explains calmly, briefly eyeing his son. His ears twitch softly through a dreamful sleep, lulled by the warmth of your body. “A speeder is much more subtle and harder to track.”

You hum, trying your best to ignore the latter part of his answer. Part of you wants to believe Mando simply favored practicality and safety at all times despite the actual threat level, yet you couldn’t help but worry your lip between your teeth for a beat as your stomach sank just an inch.

“Right,” you nod quietly, your lips curling into a bittersweet smile as you try to insert some levity into the situation, “and parking is absolutely ridiculous in the city.”

He looks at you for a long moment, visor unreadable, yet his shoulders jolt briefly with something like a dry chuckle. You smile.

As you walk on, you pass by a moss-hugged, rundown shed darkened by years of rain and memory, its roof half-collapsed from the sheer force of the elements. You watch the overgrown path toward the doorway with mild curiosity, wondering if the shed had always been there.

“Can I ask you something else?”

The Mandalorian keeps walking, never turning his helmet, but still gracing you with a visible nod. “I have a feeling you’ll ask regardless of my permission.”

You flash your teeth just before he inches his visor toward you, sending him a wild, mischievous smile you wish you could see him return. Over the few months you’ve spent getting to know Din, you’ve learned to puzzle together his expression purely based on the way his body reacted, or the small sounds that left his modulator. A sigh meant a scowl, one shrug a frown, and two meant laughter. But a smile? You’d never know unless he spoke.

“What will you do once we reach the city?” you ask with more confidence than you’d warranted, your body jolting when you realise the weight of your question.

Din stiffens, his pace jittering for a beat before it picks up again. You frown at his poor reaction, cradling Grogu as you rush to catch up.

“You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to,” you elaborate softly, adjusting your shawl once it briefly slips off your hair, “but I promise I’ll be understanding. Whatever it is.”

He carries on through the soft drizzle, squeezing his gloved fists as you round a wooden signpost. Needless of a single glance, you know you’re getting close to your destination.

“It’s not just about me,” he speaks, voice low and rough through the dryness of the modulator. You blink, surprised at the admission, and glance over at him properly now. “It’s about the kid.”

Your gaze softens, instinctively cradling Grogu a little tighter against your breast.

“There’s an informant passing through Mon Kilim, on their way toward the Inner Rim.” Din explains carefully, nitpicking his every word and even their individual annunciation. You flatten your lips at the detailing. “It’s not guaranteed, but they might… know something I need.”

You open your mouth to ask more, but something about the way he holds himself back—even physically—makes you recoil, too. Your voice is low and hoarse when it finally comes.

“For him?” you question, gazing down at the grey tuft lying upon a canvas of green. Grogu snores softly against you, his eyes shut tight and making your heart ache at the purity of this very view. You think that if you were in Din’s position, you’d also move mountains just to see his little giggles. You wondered if his dad felt the same way.

The Mandalorian follows your eyes, his helmet tilting just slightly in your peripheral.

“For him.”

There’s an indescribable force pushing through his words, tugging at your nerves like thunder. For a second, it feels like the brewing electricity flickering through the air, making your breath hitch and ultimately stay silent. It’s all you need to know, and much more than you’d ever expect your companion to say.

Your boots squelch against the wet dirt, and stray patches of grass as you walk on, settling into the silence like clockwork. As the trees thin out, you catch sight of the familiar fork in the road, and beyond it, Poiko’s home perched on the outskirts of your town like a stubborn old tree root clinging to the hillside. The stone house leans slightly eastward from years of wind and rain, but its wooden beams are still strong, and the plumes of smoke curling from the chimney are a welcome sight as always.

You pick up your pace slightly, the shawl clinging damply to your shoulders, and grogu stirs with a soft coo in your arms. As you catch the soft, cascading waves rolling through the lake beyond, Din catches up to your side with a tilted helmet.

“You trust Poiko?” he asks lowly, yet you can’t help but linger on the slight underbelly of warning lacing the edges of his tone.

“With my life,” you say without hesitation, adjusting your hold on Grogu as you huff a loose strand of hair from your face.

Maybe it’s the way Poiko used to sneak you treats from his merchant stands when you had just arrived, or the countless times he saved you broken bits of machinery from his trips to the city without asking for a credit in return. Or maybe it’s simply because he chose to stay by your side when most others turned their back.

Din doesn’t respond immediately, but you sense his acceptance in the way his gait loosens a fraction.

The mist rolling off the lake carries the subtle scent of wet stone and pine as you close the distance, worn path crunching underfoot as you step onto the crooked walkway leading up to the house. A sputtering lantern swings above the front door, casting long, dappled shadows against the mossy stone like a beacon of hope amongst the grey.

You shift Grogu higher and lift your hand to knock. Before your knuckles can touch wood, the heavy door creaks open with a drawn-out groan, revealing a familiar figure as it bustles forward. Poiko, wrapped in a patchwork cloak stitched from dozens of mismatched fabrics, a wide grin splitting his broad, weathered face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he rumbles, voice warm as fresh bread. His deep-set, gold-flecked eyes crinkle at the edges as he sweeps you into a firm, sturdy hug, urging a muffled laugh as you smush against his chest.

“Stars above, look at you!” Poiko pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you, his rough palms cupping your face for a moment before he catches sight of the green bundle in your arms.

“And what’s this?” His voice shifts immediately to a softer, cooing register, his large hands hovering awkwardly over the sash as if unsure whether to touch or just admire from afar. His eyes briefly shift toward Din, before looking you in the eye again.

“This,” you say, stepping back with a smile, “is Grogu. And…” you gesture toward Din, who stands a few paces behind you with one hand resting lightly near his belt, every inch the wary protector. “This is Mando. A friend, and this little guy’s dad.”

Poiko’s sharp eyes flicker over Din, lingering a beat longer than necessary on the armor and weapons. His expression turns politely guarded, though not exactly unfriendly. For now, you think.

“A Mandalorian,” he muses, scratching at his scruffy jaw. “Maker. You need the speeder, don’t you?”

You offer him an apologetic smile, clasping your hands against the mound of your sash. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Poiko huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, eyeing you down with cat-like irises. “Trouble follows you like a shadow, girl.”

Your eyebrows furrow with worry, but before you can try to beg your case, he turns, waving you both after him with a casual flick of his wrist. “Come on, come on. She’s out back.”

You offer Din a reassuring glance before trailing behind Poiko, Grogu nestling deeper into your arms as the wind picks up again, carrying the rich scent of wet earth straight into your nostrils. Din’s boots are steady behind you, his gaze sweeping the surrounding landscapes like he’s on the lookout for danger. You’d normally think him silly, yet knowing of his reserved nature and dangerous profession, you instead opt for careful.

The old boards of the back porch creak underfoot as Poiko leads you through. Beyond, the lake glimmers like a stretched mirror, flowing reeds lining the shore where a worn chair sits, propping up a makeshift fishing rod.

But your attention is already on the speeder. It sags into the ground like a patched-up beauty, rough but loved for years and years. Poiko gestures broadly toward it, showcasing his own pride with a palm over his heart.

“That’s the speeder?” Din voices lowly, surveying the battered vehicle parked under the lean-to. The rain slicks off its mismatched panels, some still bearing the faintest trace of an old insignia that had been sanded down to near oblivion.

The taller, lankier man crosses his thick arms, giving the mercenary a snort. His amber eyes gleam under his heavy brow, a faint smile curling the edges of his broad, leathery mouth. “You think there’s a hangar somewhere behind me? Of course that’s the speeder.”

Din approaches it warily, one gloved hand brushing along the frame. His head tilts as he notes the strange construction, making you bite your lip in slight insecurity.

“It doesn’t look Imperial.”

Poiko lets out another snort, this one almost fond as he approaches the speeder on the other side. His hand moves toward the windshield, smoothing along the top with a long finger.

“It was,” he explains smoothly, sending you a silent wink. “Before we got to work on it.”

Din follows Poiko’s line of sight, meeting you with the T of his visor. You suddenly feel hot, tugging at your shawl to let it fall over the nape of your neck and reveal your forehead to the soft, warm droplets of rain.

“She’s not much to look at, but she’s solid,” you shrug, giving the two men a kind smile. “And most importantly, she’s the only speeder this village owns.”

Din steps toward the front for inspection, his gloved hands running over the bodywork and tapping lightly on the sleek hood to test its frame. You watch him for a moment, noting the care of his movements as Poiko takes your side, leaning in to just barely match your height.

"He don’t talk much, does he?"

You suppress a grin, hiding it in the curve of your palm as you whisper back. "Not if he can help it."

Poiko chuckles under his breath, straightening back to his full height and shaking your shoulder playfully. His meaty fingers dig into the soft linen of your dress, familiar and warm when they squeeze. "Figures you'd end up finding someone even quieter than you."

You nudge him lightly with your elbow, trying to ignore the way your chest warms at the idea. “It’s not like that.”

Your friend opens his mouth, but before you can keep pestering you with remarks, Din returns to your side, giving a short, approving nod.

"It'll do."

You and Poiko nod in return as you walk forward, spotting your luggage and Grogu’s crib tucked into a small compartment behind the two leather seats. You figure Din must have loaded up while you were talking, meaning you could sit back and take a nap with the baby as soon as you hit the road.

Poiko eyes the Mandalorian for a beat before turning back to you with a sly, almost knowing smile. He withdraws something from the pocket of his overalls, hooking his finger into a small, silver ring.

“Care to do the honors?” he asks, jingling the ignition fob in his palm.

You blink at him in surprise, yet the smile painting your lips is palpable. “You know I don’t drive.”

He shrugs, a mischievous twinkle lighting up his weathered face. “Got the intuition for it, if you’d just trust yourself a little more.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but tuck his words away somewhere quiet and warm inside you. You knew he meant more by it, always seeing you just a little clearer than most until recently.

Din watches the exchange in silence, then steps forward to relieve Poiko of the keys. His glove's fingers brush briefly against yours as he passes you to get to the speeder, and for some reason, the small contact leaves your heart beating a little unevenly against Grogu’s little body. He lets out a soft coo against your chest, and you smile down at him, brushing your fingers gently over his ears.

Poiko leans against one of the porch beams, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches Din climb into the pilot seat. His gaze flicks back to you, more serious now as you settle into the passenger seat, sighing at the unexpected ergonomics of it.

“Take care of yourself, kid. Roads are rougher than they used to be,” he speaks, waving two fingers your way, and you return the gesture with a reassuring smile.

“Should be back by sundown tomorrow,” You nod, feeling a weight of excitement settle low in your stomach. “We’ll be careful.”

Poiko nods, pushing himself off the wooden beam and approaching you with a glint of slyness in his bright eyes. He leans against the speeder’s side, his elbow poking into the door as he lowers his face to your ear.

“And if that helmeted fella gives you any grief,” he adds in a stage whisper, with a sideways smirk, “you tell him he’ll answer to me.”

You snort, biting back a grin as you playfully slap at his arm. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

Din settles into the seat beside you with a low grunt. The old engine rattles to life with a familiar whine, coughing up a small cloud of smoke before smoothing into a steady purr.

Poiko stands at the edge of the path now, arms crossed over his wide chest, squinting against the misty rain as it drizzles over the four of you. He lifts a thick hand in farewell as you ease the speeder forward, tires splashing through puddles as you start down the muddy road.

You lean out the side slightly, waving back with a grin so wide it makes your cheeks ache.

“See you soon, Poiko!” you call over the hum of the engine.

Poiko only shakes his head and lifts his hand higher, his rough face softening with something like affection as he watches you go.

The speeder bumps along the rutted path, the countryside unfolding around you in rolling swaths of gray and green. Rain dapples the worn windshield, the wipers barely keeping up as you pick up speed, the mist curling like breath around the edges of the road and along the muddy trail, throwing up small sprays of rainwater from its worn repulsorlift pads. You lean back against the cracked seat, feeling the mist dampen your hair as the rain thins into a lazy drizzle.

Grogu snoozes quietly against your chest, tucked snugly in the folds of your shawl, his little hand curled into your tunic as you enjoy the flickering wind.

Din shifts beside you, glancing back over his shoulder at the shrinking figure of Poiko’s house. His armor clinks softly with the movement. When he twists forward again, you catch the low grumble from his modulator.

“He doesn’t like me,” he says.

You hide a grin behind your hand, casting him a sideways glance. “Poiko doesn’t like anyone,” you whisper back, voice warm with amusement.

Din’s helmet tilts slightly, surprisingly considering your words. “He likes you.”

You grin openly now, your eyes crinkling with mischief.

“That’s different. I fixed his broken repulsorlift once and never charged him for it,” you explain softly, leaning your head back to let the thinning droplets settle over your bare face. “He’s been trying to adopt me ever since.”

Din shifts again, the leather of his gloves creaking as he adjusts his grip on the controls. He glances once more toward the fading outline of Poiko’s home.

“He looks like he could break me in half,” he mutters.

“He probably could,” you reply in a mock-serious tone, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “So you better stay on his good side.”

Din huffs under his breath, almost a chuckle, and his helmet tilts as if he’s throwing you a look you wish you could see. “And how do I do that?”

You smile, brushing a thumb gently over Grogu’s soft ear and feeling your cheeks warm with a comfortable heat, even under the chill of the elements.

“Be nice to me.”

Din’s voice lowers almost teasingly, one arm shifting against the back of your headrest. You’re not sure why or how, but the small gesture makes you swoon.

“I am nice to you.”

You turn your head toward him, catching the faint glint of his visor through the misty air, and for a heartbeat, the world feels simple, with just the three of you in the soft gray rain as you admire your companion's wonderful, steely profile.

“Yeah," you murmur, voice thick with something you don't dare name. "You are."

The speeder rattles steadily beneath you, the worn old machine pushing onward through the misty countryside. Fields roll by, waterlogged and golden-green, trees dripping in the last threads of rain. Somewhere far off, a low river sings against the rocks.

You adjust Grogu carefully in your arms, smoothing a hand over his head before glancing back at Din, a mischievous twinkle returning to your eye.

“You know, if you smile really nicely, Poiko might even let you call him ‘dad.’”

Din presses a little more firmly on the throttle, the speeder lifting off the muddy ground, skimming just a breath above the earth.

“I’ll take my chances,” the man replies, voice stiff yet so full of life you’ve longed to discover, and now? You think you might have the chance to.

You match his gruff with a soul-filled laughter, letting it carry between you like bells in clean, damp air. And with the stutter of daylight, you set off toward Mon Kilim, leaving the cozy hearthlight of Poiko’s house flickering like a beacon behind you as your eyes slowly glaze over with sleep, the gentle elements lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

[martialartslover7]

Why I think Kishimoto isn't sexist, but just VERY tonedeaf and an idiot

Boy, will I have some venting to do today. I mean, at this point, it's not a secret, that Kishimoto has consistently stated that "he can't write women", to save his life. And to this day, for as long as I was a fan of the series, I am going to be absolutely real: This statement is so full of shit. Why? Simple. And allow me to express it in very big capital letters, so that even the last giant mental invalid can understand:

WOMEN ARE HUMAN-BEINGS WITH BREASTS AND A V BETWEEN THEIR LEGS. WHAT TYPE OF "NUANCES" IS THIS GUY TALKING ABOUT? THERE IS NOTHING "COMPLICATED" ABOUT THEM. WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS?

Like, this entire statement is bullshit for a completely reason altogether: Why even reduce his own point to the fact that the shinobi just so happen to be female? This just sounds like excuses on top of excuses, especially considering the competition like One Piece and Bleach, who all have badass, memorable and sometimes, quite well-written characters, that just so happen to be female.

Let's count up a few IPs that I am aware of, written or directed by males, that has some of the most badass, and most memorable females in all of media:

One Piece

Bleach

Soul Eater

Kill la Kill

Jujutsu Kaisen

Code Geass

Persona

Tekken

Street Fighter

SoulCalibur

Fire Emblem (not all of them, some of them, from what I have seen, can be insane jokes)

And so on, and so forth, the list goes on. And you know what all these IPs have in common, that make them stand out, compared to what Naruto does to its females?

THE FEMALES AREN'T GETTING BOGGED DOWN BY IRRITATING, REDUNDANT AND DOWNRIGHT OFFENSIVE TROPES, THAT FLAT-OUT RUIN THEIR POTENTIAL AND APPEAL AS STANDALONE CHARACTERS!

Like, allow me to list up all the tropes, that Kishimoto made use of, while writing the manga, or being involved in the process of writing / directing the anime, along with the movies.

1. Making the women overtly dependant on the male characters

This one, is not as egregious, but it's a good kickstarter. In the context of the world these characters operate in, to me, it does make sense to show that, like in the Edo period of Japan, women were always seen as second-class citizens, always needing to be tied to men somehow, otherwise they are "worthless". Considering the corrupt, militarized system that most of the girls work in, mostly operated by wrinkly, old farts, who enjoy playing god too much, it does remain understandable to me, that they would be hesistant to be 100% committed to the job, and just ask for normal lives...

...BUT...

...it does leave you asking: Why did they choose to be ninjas in the first place, then? To get smitten with the boys (not counting Hinata, by the way, because she was literally forced into this role)? Just applying as literal child soldiers in a war, that they didn't even start to begin with? And yes, I get it, kunoichis excel in areas that male shinobi struggle with, like silent reconnaisance, charming other men, or sometimes women, to tickle information out of them, being healers, but here is the thing: As the Naruto progressed as a story, this pattern kept repeating, every time a female character got introduced, it would fall back on the following checklist:

Is this woman a healer?

Is she obsessed with looking for a boyfriend / a husband?

Is she lacking in combat-based strength, to the point where she needs protection from either of the male characters?

Because, except for the healer bit, which is more of a specialized field, I just brought it up, because I felt it to be awfully noticeable how often the girls requested to be healers, as if they have to fit into such a mold, or they aren't capable as shinobi, the other two questions get repeatedly answered, for pretty much 98% of all female characters, especially by the end of Shippuden.

And don't get me wrong: This is NOT a negative, per se, that they desire a boyfriend, or someone to spend the rest of their days with, this is not what I am complaining about. In fact, a good chunk of ships in the series are hella cute, and I don't want them to go away. Because to an extent, the romance aspect feels genuine, especially between Naruto and Hinata, or Sasuke and Sakura (yeah, fight me on that, I will defend these two as a ship, until I die), or hell, especially Shikamaru and Temari, which are the GOLD standard, of what a good ship needs.

What I am complaining about though, is that, the series kind of uses this romance aspect as a shield, or excuse, to undermine the female characters, in the long run. Think about it, when was the last time when Sakura, in spite of all the grueling training she had to suffer through to become this strong in the first place, not wanting to be a hindrance to anyone, legitimately kicked ass, after killing Sasori? Not counting the war arc, because this arc is frankly, an inexcuseable mess, and Kishimoto should be ashamed of himself for making it suck this hard for how many asspulls this arc had. Nope, the moment Naruto goes berserk, and Sasuke just... appears... she is reduced to a whimpering mess, who can't stand on her own two feet, and has to be saved by someone. And this happens. ALL. THE. TIME. That's all that happens with her, sure, she heals countless ninjas during the war, but again, healing isn't the only specialty she got:

SHE IS A SHINOBI! SHINOBIS FIGHT! THEY DON'T JUST STAND AROUND LIKE IDIOTS, AND EXPOSING THEMSELVES TO ENEMY FIRE! GET! ON! WITH IT!

I swear, man, this just frustrates me beyond any reason, and the worst part, even someone as awesome as Hinata, who kicked so much ass in Part 1 (especially the filler arcs, don't get smart with me, I watched the anime, suck a small one on that), who had a whole, potential story arc hinted at with Neji, and the issues regarding their entire clan, was reduced to a simple Naruto #1 fangirl for the entire duration of Shippuden, not even the filler could salvage her in any way, and for someone like me, who relates to Hinata on a spiritual level, I find this just so damned pathetic. And whenever I watch The Last, all I could think about was this one coherent thought: You. Had. ONE JOB. Kishimoto. And you failed her. As a standalone character. Causing the entire movie to come off as if you were just shoehorning everything together, as if we only liked Hinata, because of the NaruHina ship. Well, newsflash, it couldn't be further from the truth. So, screw you, and the entire The Last movie.

Plus, I am sure I am speaking on everyone's behalf here: Anko Mitarashi and Tenten were done the MOST dirty by Kishimoto. Nuff' said.

On that note, that brings me to my next point:

2. The angry Karen housewife stereotype

I swear, this meme right here...

And Kushina's entire existence truly proves my point that, Kishimoto is really not doing himself any favors, whenever he says "I don't know how to write women". Oh, but then THIS is your answer? Is this how you see them all, the very second they get married and have kids?

So let me get this straight, the moment a woman, in the Naruto universe, gets married, has kids, and takes care of them, they become:

Aggressive, to the point of physically assaulting their own kids (Kushina definitely would have done so, let's not lie to ourselves, I love her, but this behavior of hers, combined with Sakura's general attitude towards Naruto, would have definitely made him suicidal after a while, if it weren't for the fact, he accepts it in his mom's case, because she doesn't know any better, considering her childhood)

Unpleasant to be around for their husbands (as if, we get guilt-tripped into thinking, the wives are the ones being selfish, wanting their lovers to be home with them, which, by the way, is a serious piece of shit way of thinking, because, they are married for a REASON, and not to stay apart all the time, THEY ARE FAMILY, at least, from how it gets painted as, in Boruto, from what I have seen so far)

Becoming total sociopaths, as if their genuine worries and concerns get painted as something so abnormal and "creepy"

...and this is how you see them all? THIS is your answer? Again, I know, we have ZERO evidence to prove that Kishimoto himself, is sexist in real life, it would be irresponsible of me to put that out there, because I just don't know the guy. I am just saying that, with how the housewives were all written thus far, and how, from Naruto's POV, he began having a fear of angry moms, calling them "scary", and how the females got seriously underrepresented in the course of the story...

...IT DOESN'T DO HIM ANY FAVORS.

I can't even believe I have to say this, because, newsflash, Kishimoto, and I will say it in caps: NOT ALL MOMS IN THE WORLD, ACT LIKE THIS!

They can get mad with us, they are fully in the right to whenever we do something stupid, no matter how old we get, because they will always view us as their babies that they cradled in their arms. But the problem here is: In Boruto, it gets painted as if the moms are the ones in the wrong here, just for being a tiny bit more concerned than others, because again, the world that they live in, is dangerous. And leaving the Otsu*redacted* aside, I can fully sympathize with them, so seeing someone like Boruto himself taking so many liberties being a spoiled, rotten brat, who never suffers serious repurcussions for his behavior (I know, he lost his headband for cheating, but for someone like him, who wished literal DEATH on his own father, just for him not being around enough, needed a way harsher punishment, you just don't say that your parents, dude, this doesn't take a genius to understand, especially since this is Naruto and Hinata we are talking about her), once again, it undermines the females, as if the kids ALWAYS "know better", and they "just suck, because moms are scary". Fuck off. Seriously. This is just disrespectful. No excuses. It shouldn't be written this way. Even more so, because the POV of the mothers gets never tackled, making this seem one-sided.

3. A few romances fall back on tropes, that disrespect not only the girls, but also the guys

OK, I will probably get some flack for saying this, but, regardless of the explainations in one of the Retsuden mangas, the InoSai ship, is perfectly encapsulating to me, how the romance in Naruto isn't without its flaws, and it mostly stems from how some of the characters just never get the privilege of gaining their own story sections about their own individual struggles as standalone characters.

I AM LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU, CHOJI AND KARUI! THEIR ROMANCE IS SO OUT OF LEFT FIELD, IT'S NOT EVEN WORTH JOKING ABOUT, EXCEPT, IT'S LITERALLY A JOKE, DUE TO THEIR NAMES BEING POLAR OPPOSITES TO ONE ANOTHER. HA. HA. HA.

Personally, to me, Sai is not that interesting of a character to me, I was never able to connect with him in any way, despite the importance he had in the story, alluding to the ROOT Anbu under Danzo's leadership.

But his "romance" with Ino, was seriously pushing it to me, not only because, it just regresses Ino's entire character, pushing her back into this mold that she is only interested in brooding, mentally ill edgelords like Sasuke, which paints her a shallow person, but it just paints Sai himself, as a stand-in for Sasuke, too, which undermines his own character, unintentionally. There are so many things wrong with their overall dynamic, I can't even put it properly into words.

And don't think, InoSai are the only exception to this rule. As much as it pains me to say this, NaruHina and SasuSaku are also affected by this, not as severe, but it's still pretty noticeable.

NaruHina

The fact that, with NaruHina, we needed an entire freaking movie, which, frankly, should have never happened, had they done a better job at utilizing Hinata as her own character, with Naruto present to help her out with her clan, and it all hinged on Naruto himself regressing as a character too, needing to be put in a fucking Genjutsu, just to see how he "truly felt" about Hinata... I am sorry, what is this? I mean, from a writing standpoint, this is just straight-up BAD. It's clichéd, it's painting Hinata as a damsel in distress, needing to be saved by Naruto, and Naruto himself being pardoned with "he is just dense", and overall, you can really tell, this is all just hamfisted into a single movie, because they needed to desperately convince us: Look, this is a thing. They are together now. Now play the emotional music, because that's all it needs.

Listen, I know Naruto never had a clear grasp on his own emotions, but the overall pay-off, to me, is just not there, no matter how hard I try. It just feels hollow, I don't feel happy with this. Because, for this to ship to work, they had to go through all these extra lengths to regress them both first, as individual characters, just so they can shut the lid on the whole thing. Made even worse by how this confession of Hinata during the Pain Invasion arc, was never brought up again to Naruto, until the freaking movie, and I still don't understand why. I know he didn't "ignore" her, but why does he fail to recognize Hinata's love confession, but the moment Sakura drops by to confess to him, too, he immediately calls it BS? Please. Make it make sense.

SasuSaku

Listen, nothing will stop me from loving these two as one, they deserve the peace amongst themselves, but the problem is, like InoSai, it falls back on the trope of, the girl bearing this mindset of "I can fix him", and while Sakura certainly did succeed... hear me out:

This is a purely universal thing now, this isn't just applying to SasuSaku. Otherwise, both ships have a solid foundation, ruined by shit writing. Nothing else to say.

That moment of Ino crying for Sasuke, really made me realize: Kishimoto really is clueless, not just about women, but men, too.

Because, again, for how often some of the girls bore this mindset of "I need me some brooding hunk of meat", essentially, desiring a man that knowingly treats them like crap, just so they can bear the delusion of "I can fix him", while downplaying and belittling the "uncool" guys like Choji, Rock Lee, or hell, even Naruto or Kiba, guys who, for the most part, have a solid grasp on their moral compass and their self-worth, denouncing their advances with "ew, no", is honestly disgusting to me. Like, come on, man, they aren't as cool as the edgelord teammates, but why downplay them so hard in the presence of the girls? Don't they deserve love too? Why belittle them for their eccentricities, it not only paints the girls in a bad light, but it straight up mocks the male "goofball" teammates for being the way they are. In short: NO ONE IS THE WINNER HERE.

Phew, OK, I hope, I made my point, loud and clear now. Because these points have been bothering me for a VERY long time now, and look, correct me if I am wrong. I am never 100% foolproof, so if I left out anything, feel free to correct me.

I needed to vent about this, because I felt so genuinely pissed off for how underpowered and underepresented the girls are, and how unkind and unforgiving the writing was to them, overall.

Peace.

[wordstome]

kingdom come - iii

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting

7.7k words

tw: explicit smut, animal death, mentions of child death, violence, mild body horror, ableist language (use of the word "cripple")

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"I'm not going to sleep with you." -quote from woman who is about to sleep with him

There’s a portrait of a woman in your room.

Of course, König offered to have it removed or replaced, but you’ve procrastinated the decision because you never thought you would be here long enough for it to matter. Yet here you are, staring up at this lovely young woman on the wall.

You tilt your head, studying her. Her expression is neutral, almost pensive, but the artist captured a playful sparkle in her eyes, as if she’s keeping some sweet secret.

It’s the first queen, of course. König’s first wife. The one who died many years ago. It’s strange that after so long, he hasn’t gotten rid of the portrait.

What happened to you? you wonder. If someone had asked what you thought when you first arrived here, you would have said, without hesitation, that König had her killed. All your life, you had been taught that he and his father were evil, unfeeling tyrants. Now, this conviction has wavered.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s ridiculous, to be thinking better of his character. You only ever wanted to know him better to kill him. But the more you understand about what makes him tick, the less you think that he would do such a thing. Perhaps it’s true, then, that she died in childbirth.

Your eyes travel all over the portrait, poring over every detail of her features. Did you know him? Did you understand him? Did you love him?

Did he love you?

What did that feel like?

“Good. You haven’t left yet.” Calliope comes into the room, bustling with energy even before the sun comes up. You don’t know how she does it.

“We’re about to.”

“That’s why I’m here.” You notice she’s wearing gloves, but more importantly, she’s holding a necklace: a silvery chain with a small, intricate pendant. Vine-shaped pieces of metal hold a white, almost clear jewel in place, its various facets reflecting the candlelight in vivid colors.

“Jewelry? I’m going to be living in the woods for the next few weeks,” you tease as she lowers the necklace over your head. It does look quite durable, but you’re not exactly dressing for a costume ball here.

“Consider it a reminder that I await your safe return,” Calliope responds, securing the necklace behind your neck. “Look at it and remember me. You’re not to do anything reckless out there, am I understood?”

“Understood.” You give her a soft smile as she arranges the necklace on your collarbones. You’re grateful for the gift: though she can’t come with you, a small piece of her will always remain with you.

“Good. And don’t let that handsome husband of yours distract you and get yourself killed.”

“Calliope! What happened to ‘something’s not right with him’?”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t handsome!”

You snort and roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face.

You used to think that living in König’s home already exposed you to an exhausting amount of the man. As it turns out, going on a journey with him is even worse.

There’s nobody else to talk to, nowhere to run or put distance between you two when he frustrates you. It’s not so bad for the first few days: the towns surrounding the capital are still populated enough to provide some respite from him. But once the two of you have made your way outside the bounds of civilization, it doesn’t take long for things to become stilted and awkward.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the last town.”

“I don’t feel talkative.”

“Really? I’m out of my mind with boredom right now. Come, you’re not in the mood to get to know each other a little?”

You give him a look. “What else is there to know? I’ve lived with you for several months.”

“But we don’t talk.” König nudges his horse to walk closer to yours. König is such a large man, his horse is massive too: comically so, next to your normal one. You let out a sigh.

“There’s nothing to know about me.”

“I doubt that. All I know about you is you’re a princess trained to be an assassin. ‘Your whole life’, according to yourself,” he says with a touch of mocking.

You purse your lips, determined not to let him get under your skin. “There’s nothing else to know.”

“Truly? Nothing about what you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…your favorite food. Or hobby.”

“Hobby? …I suppose I spend a lot of time at target practice.”

“That’s not a hobby.”

“It’s relaxing to hone my skills.”

He gives you an amused look. “You remind me of myself as a young man.”

Something about that irks you. “We’re nothing alike.”

“I used to have the same mindset as you, at least. I held one objective in my mind and didn’t seek purpose outside of it.”

“I…”

As much as you loathe to admit it, he’s right. You have been focused on one objective your whole life. If you probe deeper, you can’t remember having any friends outside of Calliope, nor any interests outside of the curriculum your father set for you. “It wasn’t as bleak as you seem to think it was.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not like I never had fun. I had my own way of finding it.”

“Such as?”

“Well, when my training progress stalled, I’d be sent to bed without dinner. Naturally. I eventually learned how to climb out of my window at night and go foraging in the woods for something to eat.” A smile curls your lips as you reminisce. “Eventually I even worked my way up to hunting—little things, like squirrels. I spent many a cozy little evening cooking for myself over a fire.”

You turn to find an abject look of horror on König face. “What? What’s wrong? Is there danger?” You turn around to scan your surroundings, but nothing immediately jumps out at you.

“No. No danger. I just…he sent you to bed with an empty stomach so many times you learned how to crawl out of your room and hunt squirrels to eat?”

You blink at him. “You’ve never had squirrel before?”

He looks scandalized. “Of course I have! That is not the issue with what you just said.”

You shrug. “It was important discipline. Besides, it gave me hunting experience at a young age. Squirrels are hard to skin, but I could do it in twelve seconds flat if you gave me one now.”

König looks like he wants to say more, but instead he looks up at the sky. “We should make camp soon.”

“Is it that time already?”

“It needs to be set up before it gets dark. We should also start hunting while it’s light out—not all of us can catch things in the dark, squirrel-girl.”

“Hey!”

Later, you’re both chewing on a rabbit when he speaks.

“You know, when you said you wanted to travel with me, I was quite concerned.”

“Yes, I know. You didn’t think I was capable of handling myself.”

“Not just that. I was worried you would be…unaccustomed to living rough.”

“You thought I would be a spoiled princess.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes.”

You snort. “Well, now you know. I can handle myself in the outdoors.” You toss the rabbit bones you’ve just picked clean into a small hole dug into the dirt. When you leave, you’ll cover it with dirt to prevent predators from smelling the remains and following you on your journey.

“You want the other leg?” you ask. König seems startled, for some reason.

“You caught this one.”

“Yes, but you’re bigger than me. You need the food.” You reach up to pluck a leaf from a nearby tree and wipe your hands. Rabbits sure are greasy…

There’s a strange look in König’s eye as he regards you. You raise an eyebrow at him in response. “What?”

“…nothing.” He reaches for the rabbit while you shrug and walk off to find some water. The back of your neck prickles as you go, as if his stare is physically touching you.

You can’t stand to be near him nowadays, and you don’t know why.

Of course, you have no choice but to. There’s a tension that feels weighty, forbidden. You know he can tell, because he’s been more cautious around you, giving you as much space as he can afford to. Somehow, that irritates you even more.

Tonight, the two of you are camping in a dense, thick part of the forest not far from a road. It’s quiet, secluded: even the usual soundscape of ambient animal noises is silent.

The fire crackles and pops as you stare into the flames, as if you’ll find any answers in it. Instead, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as König returns from washing himself in a nearby stream, approaching you from behind.

“This won’t work if you’re constantly upset with me for some unknown reason.”

You don’t turn to look at him, though some invisible force compels you. “Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I’m worried about your comfort too, you know. If you just told me what I’ve done wrong, then we can resolve it before it breeds resentment.”

“I’m just stressed.” Everything he does or says seems to irritate you nowadays, but you know in your heart of hearts that it’s not his fault. It’s your own problem—you assume camping outdoors for so long has taken its toll on your psyche.

He frowns at you, but doesn’t pry any further. You can’t help but watch as he walks around to the other side of the fire, drying his hair with his shirt. God, he is a work of art: all chiseled muscles and glowing skin. Your eyes travel down his torso, drawn by the line of his abs, down to the happy trail leading to the slightly askew waist of his trousers.

“You’re drooling, princess.”

Your eyes snap back up to his face. His eyes are dancing with mirth as he realizes he’s just caught you ogling him. You make a face at him, but it only makes him laugh. “Was not.”

“Incorrect answer. You should have attempted to strike at my ego. Now I know you were looking.”

“I think I’m just being driven mad by spending so much time alone with you in the woods.”

“I know several ways to drive you mad, sweetling.”

You slouch against a tree, your face hot—and not from the fire. In a blink, he’s standing before you, with a gleeful expression on his face like he’s just discovered a cure for dropsy.

“I know what’s making you sour as vinegar. You need to be fucked.”

You bury your face in your hands, unable to look at him. “I thought we had moved past this,” you groan, trying to ignore your rapidly quickening heartbeat.

“What, your ever-growing carnal lust for me?”

“You being a pervert.”

“I’ve never made a secret of it. You, however…” You suck in a startled breath as he leans down, trapping you against the tree just like he had the day you sparred with him. “You’ve been denying yourself.”

Your breath is ragged as he looks you in the eye, the tension between the two of you as taut as a bowstring. A familiar sense of panic rises in you, the same way you feel every time he’s close to you like this. Before, you thought it was because it felt dangerous to be so close to your enemy. Now, you’re second-guessing yourself.

“So what if I have?” you mumble.

“There’s an easy way to fix that.”

“…The last time you had me in this position, you were threatening me.”

He tilts his head slightly, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You don’t feel threatened now?”

You don’t respond immediately, and heavens forbid, he takes it as hesitancy, his demeanor instantly transforming. “One word. One word, and we will never speak of this again. But if you tell me you want this, I will fuck you senseless.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and his lips on are on yours.

It’s a strange sensation, considering half of your mouth is pressed against the cold, smooth surface of his mask. You don’t even ask him about removing it—it’s become a part of him in your mind. And maybe part of you even finds the mystery of it alluring.

You all but melt into the kiss, against him. It’s different, everything is different than that first awkward kiss from when you were younger. It makes you ache, makes you long for him in a way you’ve never wanted someone before.

You have to separate to breathe, but your reluctance to break apart from him is clear by the way you chase his face with yours. He laughs at you, but it’s not condescending at all. It settles in your chest, warm like honey.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmur.

“Luckily for you, you’re in good hands.” It’s the cockiness in his voice that does you in, what makes you let go and give yourself over to him.

You feel flustered, awkward, and like the least desirable creature on earth, but he looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like there’s nothing else he wants more than to have you right now.

“You can trust me,” he says softly. You try to respond, but suddenly find you’ve gone mute. All you can manage is a small nod.

To your surprise, he lowers his mouth to your neck. You gasp, a full-body shiver running through you as he kisses you there, sucking and nipping at you as he goes. “W-wait, I’m—”

“Sensitive? I can tell.” You squeak as he continues to lavish you with attention, his fingers trailing down the front of your torso to undo your pants. His movements are deliberate but slow, giving you plenty of opportunity to stop him. But of course, you don’t.

You let out a quick little breath as he finds his way to your pussy, his deep chuckle reverberating against your throat. “You’re so wet…did I do that to you, liebling?”

You’re about to respond, but instead let out a sharp gasp as he dips a finger into your pussy. “How are you ever going to take me into this tight little hole of yours…” he taunts.

Oh, God, you hadn’t even thought about that. Your mind flashes back to your wedding night, and the first time you tried to kill him. You had mostly been shocked by his audacity, but only now do you recall how big he had felt between your thighs.

He’s gentle with you at first, patiently stretching you open as you whine and beg in his arms. You just about sob when he finally pays your clit attention, circling it with his thumb, and in what seems like no time at all, you’re cumming, hard.

“That didn’t take long at all,” he says with that awful smirk of his.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you stammer. “You know…”

“I’m only teasing you.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead as you come down, shivering with pleasure.

He makes you cum twice with just his hand. Your legs are trembling by the time the two of you properly get undressed. You’re soft and pliable, helpless putty in his hands as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Ready, liebe?” he asks.

“That is not going to fit,” you say, eyes wide and fearful. There’s absolutely no way, you think, staring down the absurdly thick and long monster between his legs.

“Trust me, remember? We’ll take it slow,” he reassures you. You bite your lip and nod, giving him the go-ahead to sink into you.

Instantly, you realize that no matter how well König could have prepared you, there was no chance that it would have been enough to ready you for the stretch of him. You feel like you can hardly breathe as he splits you in half with his cock, your mouth dropping open in a wordless cry.

“Fuck, you are tight,” he groans, but he keeps his promise to go slow, feeding himself inch by inch inside you until he’s sitting snug up against your cervix.

The two of you stay there, suspended in a moment in time, connected to each other in the most intimate way two people can be. It makes your head spin, makes you dizzy with the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You nod, and he starts to move.

If you had thought before that his fingers felt good inside you, then his cock is something else. The delicious stretch of him is almost electrifying, and you wonder how you went all your life without it.

All you can do is let him take control—you don’t have the presence mind to do anything but hold onto him, gasping and moaning. He’s all around you, above you, inside you, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters, or that there is a world other than König, König, König.

Your third orgasm surprises you, waves of pleasure flowing through you as you cry out, your pussy sucking him in as if it wants him to stay inside forever. That’s what seemingly pushes him over the edge too, a string of expletives bursting from him as he floods you with his cum.

You’re limp and weak, all but purring as he shifts to lay next to you and pulls you into his chest.

“You are sweet when underneath me like this,” he purrs.

You swat him in the chest, but it must feel no heavier than being hit by a branch, because he just laughs.

“There’s no reason to be shy now. I’ve seen everything at this point.” You pout at him—something that only seems to bring him delight, because he pulls you in for a kiss.

“This isn’t how I wanted to take you the first time,” he says, a hint of shame in his tone.

Your heart twinges with affection. This isn’t how you imagined your first time, either, but the idea of him wanting you so badly he thought about it beforehand, fantasized about it even…“I’ve slept in trees before, this is nothing,” you reassure him.

He shoots you a concerned look. “You continue to share alarming events from your childhood.”

You sleep together that night, curled up against him with your legs tangled with his. He falls asleep first, the slight rumble of his chest as he sleeps against your cheek. You lay awake a little while longer, watching him, breathing him in. Now, you have no choice but to be confronted with the truth that you’ve been refusing to acknowledge this whole time.

You don’t hate him anymore. You don’t even dislike him now. And you certainly don’t want to kill him.

On one hand, things are easier. Crossing the line feels more like having torn down a wall, with no more need for pretense. On the other, König is somehow even more insufferable than before. Or perhaps insatiable is a better word for it. You go from having daily sexual tension with him to daily sex, period.

It’s like the floodgates have opened. He’s always loved to tease you, but it gets a hundred times worse now that he knows just how to make your cheeks feel warm.

“I was thinking…” he muses one night as you cuddle by the fire. “You may have to start riding on my horse.”

“Don’t I already do that?” you ask, sleepily playing with his hair.

He snorts. “Your susceptibility to my corrupting influence is truly something to marvel at.”

“You’ve been enacting psychological warfare on me for months.”

“Anyhow, as I was saying.”

“Your horse is quite large, but I don’t think it could handle me astride it as well.”

“Well. Certainly something else that’s large could handle that…”

You sigh. “Get to the point.”

“It’s becoming quite distracting, watching you moving up and down with the horse’s stride.”

“I cannot believe you. Innuendos twice in a row?”

“This is a legitimate grievance!”

“Riding on your horse would not fix the problem. Unless you plan for me to sit behind you in the saddle, which I refuse to do.”

“You’re no fun.”

You lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth instead of responding.

Your newfound…activity, however pleasingly distracting, can’t eclipse what comes next.

The mood is somber as you arrive in the village: it’s a quiet, sleepy place, just a scattering of simple houses dotting rolling hills and one singular street lined with buildings in the center of it all.

In sharp contrast to his playful, almost jubilant mood on the road with you, König instantly snaps into his authoritative persona. It especially suits him when he puts on the hood: it makes him seem that much more intimidating and threatening. Almost inhuman.

The first order of business is to hold counsel with what passes for the leader in this tiny village: a local merchant patriarch. He’s a sturdy man in his older years, face lined with both wrinkles and scars. He must have been quite the warrior when he was young: you can tell by the way he carries himself.

He gives both of you the lay of the land, and it’s a grim predicament indeed. Herding the livestock is a job most often given to the children, as it’s a relatively safe job with less skill required than the tasks the adults take care of. That’s changed, of course, with the arrival of the beast a few weeks ago. He confirms the most gruesome details that have been brought before König by previous messengers, and it turns your stomach just to imagine it. Those poor children…

The two of you set off early the next morning, with directions from an experienced hunter who had been keeping track of the beast and reporting its movements. At first, it feels normal: just another walk in the woods with König. The solemn silence between the two of you serves as a stark reminder that this isn’t like normal—followed promptly by increasing signs of a presence in the woods. Snapped branches, giant pawprints, and worse, streaks of blood.

Then you break though into a clearing, and your blood runs cold.

The beast before you could only be described as a wolf for lack of a better descriptor. It’s monstrously large, being König’s height and half again, with all of its proportions just slightly wrong: its legs scrawny and just slightly too long for its body, the snout lean and far too sharp to fit the rest of its head. Dried old blood crusted into the fur of its muzzle and chest belies the savagery of the creature, even streaking onto the fur along its neck. And the most obvious tell-tale sign of an unnatural creature is that fur: a dark, rusty blue that shifts with impossible pinpricks of light, like the night sky is ensnared in this feral animal’s coat.

You heard its growl before you saw it. But now when it lays eyes on you and König, it opens its snout and…speaks.

“What do we have here?” The voice comes out as a broken, reedy croak, as if stretching vocal cords that haven’t been used in a long time.

Something about it raises your hackles, like your body’s responding to an ancient, ingrained fear. Fae.

“Don’t listen to anything it says.” König’s voice is suddenly soft, dangerous. “None of it is trustworthy.” Slowly, deliberately, his hand moves to his back and draws his sword.

���Ah, the boy king,” hisses the beast. “You simply couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You’re eating my subjects,” König responds. Your eyes flit to where his hand tightens its grip on his sword. “This is not personal.”

“But it always is, is it not?” The beast and König circle each other, like two combatants in an arena. “You are as ever driven by your past mistakes.”

“König, what is it talking about?” You feel like you’re witnessing a conversation you shouldn’t be, but you feel helpless to do anything about it. If you tried to make a move towards the beast now, it would have its jaws snapped around you in an instant.

“It’s lying, liebling. It’s what they do. It’s trying to throw you for a loop so it can catch you off guard.”

“Liebling now, is it?” The beast lets out an awful, barking laugh. “My, the two of you have come far. But not far enough, it seems.”

König gives you a quick, sidelong glance, then tilts his head back towards the beast. The message is clear. We need to distract it. I’ll keep it talking.

“From her response, it seems you’ve been keeping secrets from your lovely little bride.” The beast shakes itself, its fur puffing up to look larger and more intimidating.

“There’s nothing to keep. None of that is important.”

“I would beg to differ. And if your liebling knew what it was, she would disagree as well.”

“You know nothing about us,” König growls. Yes, you’re in a life-or-death situation right now, but the viciousness in his tone sends an excited shiver up your spine. You’re opposite König now, almost completely hidden behind the beast’s monstrous form.

“You know nothing about each other!” Before either of you can react, the beast whips around. Its glowing-white eyes are fixed on you. “Not that it matters any longer.”

You barely have time to scream before the beast is upon you.

“No!” König’s voice rings in your ears. You can feel the creature’s hot breath, its vile drool spilling onto your clothes, its teeth closing around your neck—

Time slows to a crawl, the events unfolding one after the other in sequence. The first thing you’re aware of is the beast’s roar of pain, booming deafeningly all around you. I’m inside its mouth, you think numbly. The second thing you notice is your necklace: it’s glowing red, as if the metal has become molten hot. But you don’t feel any burning sensation, just a faint tingle.

The third thing you see is König shoving himself between the two halves of the beast’s snout, physically holding it open with his body.

It’s truly an impressive sight, like watching Atlas hold up the sky. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up at him in awe.

“What are you doing?! Get out!” he yells, and you snap back to your senses.

You roll aside out of the beast’s range, scrambling to get back on your feet. König dodges out of the way just as the jaws snap shut.

“Is that..?” the thing wheezes. You rush to help König up as it glares balefully at you. Its beady eyes focus on the pendant around your neck, narrowing in disgust.

“Calliope,” it spits. “I should have known. This bears marks of your meddling all over.”

Your blood runs cold. “What did you just say?” What does your lady in waiting have to do with this?

“You—” The beast doesn’t get a chance to finish its sentence, because König takes advantage of its consternation to stick his sword into its neck. The creature bellows in pain and lunges at König, who barely manages to dodge the strike but loses his grip on his sword in the process. The monstrous animal whips around and around, attempting to grab hold of the sword with its teeth.

“Strike, now!” König calls before promptly getting clocked in the head with the pommel of his own sword as the beast thrashes and screams.

You don’t hesitate to spring into action, unsheathing a wicked-sharp blade as long as your forearm and sprinting towards the creature. König’s left you a perfect opening: as long as the beast is trying to get ahold of the sword, its chest is wide open for attack.

You don’t waste the opportunity. With the running start, you leap forward, sinking the blade into the wolf’s chest, right where its heart lies. The long, keening wail that the beast lets out is confirmation that your blade has struck true.

You have to throw yourself into a roll to get out of the way before the massive body crashes down on top of you. It lies on the ground, its heaving breaths growing shallower by the moment, its wounds staining the ground with a faintly shimmering golden ichor. So the fae do have golden blood, just like the old legends said, you think, watching the macabre scene with stunned terror.

“Brought low by two fae-touched mortals with barely a fight…” the beast huffs. It sounds weary and resigned to its fate, strange for a creature that had seemed so deadly and menacing just moments before. “Fate is cruel.”

“Fae-touched…what do you mean?” you ask, eyes widening. “Wait! What do you mean by that?!”

The beast doesn’t respond, its chest now hardly moving with its breaths. It’s not long for the world, now.

Behind the hulking, dying animal, you spot König staggering into a standing position. “König!” You gather yourself and rush towards him.

He’s visibly unstable on his feet, swaying slightly and looking dazed. The sword must have hit him hard, because his hood has been partially torn away. Despite everything, though, you can’t see any visible blood or injuries from this angle. Until he turns.

A bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of your throat. König cringes slightly at the sound, but you can’t help yourself. The sight is terrifying.

The skin above one half of his mouth is simply gone. He has no lip, not even any flesh up to his nose. His upper teeth and gums on one half of his mouth are just exposed, giving him a grim, unnatural appearance. He looks like Death itself, resembling the skeletal depictions in the manuscripts.

You should be afraid—scratch that, you are afraid. But you realize quickly your fear is not of him, but for him.

“Did it do this to you?!” you say, panicking. You dash forward and grab ahold of his face, turning it so you can examine the injury more closely. The act seems to startle König, who simply looks down at you in confusion.

“What are we going to do? There’s no way this village has a healer who could dress this wound…” you fret. An injury on this level is almost certainly a death sentence if he doesn’t receive adequate attention immediately, and he certainly won’t last the night if you’re forced to travel by horseback again—

“Schatzi…” König grabs your hands with his and removes them from his face. “I’m fine.”

You stare at him in shock for a moment. “You—how can—you—”

He heaves a heavy sigh, as if a massive burden has been placed on his shoulders. “I’m alright. The wound is…not new.”

“How can it not be new.”

König screws his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather his composure. “It’s been this way since I was young. Look,” he says, touching the area with a finger. “There’s no blood.”

On closer inspection, you realize he’s right: not only is there no blood, but the skin around his mouth and nose appear to be completely healed. And not even as if it were a true wound: there’s no scarring, no uneven flesh. The skin and muscle are simply…missing.

“What…how…” You’re at a total loss for words. Since he was young? What happened? How had he survived such an injury as a child? You have a million questions, but you find yourself unable to ask any of them.

You watch him, stunned, as he walks past you towards the beast’s body. It lays completely still now, all semblance of life having fled from the corpse. With one hand on the grip and one foot braced against the beast’s body, he wrenches his sword free, then bends to pull your knife out.

“I know you must have questions,” he says, wiping the blood off of both weapons onto the wolf’s fur with a grimace, “but I can’t answer them here. Please, if I promise to explain, will you…will you wait until we’ve left the village?” He turns to look at you beseechingly.

“I…” Now that the adrenaline and initial panic is beginning to fade, your whole body feels heavy and exhausted. You don’t have the energy to be angry, or afraid, or demand an explanation now. You have no choice but to agree, nodding quietly. König seems relieved at your calm response.

“So that’s why you always wear a mask or a hood,” you say numbly as you watch him take the ruined hood off, shaking his head to get the hair out of his face. He gives you a sad, regretful look.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

“I never meant for anyone to find out.”

The villagers throw a celebration. A modest one, to be sure, but the relief on the peoples’ faces is enough of a reward for you. You can tell König is glad to see it as well—though every time you look at his face, hidden once more behind his mask, you feel a twinge in your heart as you remember what lies underneath it.

You can’t find it in yourself to enjoy the celebrations, even as excited children and grateful parents swarm you to give their thanks. You give them all a smile and a kind word, but that’s all you can manage. Dread and curiosity mix to form a terrible feeling in your gut.

The days between your defeat of the beast and your departure go by in a blur. You’re grateful for the rest, but you can’t stop thinking, worrying, about König’s condition. You manage to stop being petrified that he’s going to drop dead of infection at any moment, but you can’t look at him anymore without thinking about it. About the secret that he’s kept from you, from everyone who’s ever met him. You can’t even wrap your mind around what it all means. You have no point of reference for what could have happened to your husband’s face.

Husband. What a strange thing, to be wed to someone whose full face you had only seen a few days ago, months into your marriage. You haven’t thought of him like that at all. He’s always been König: the king, the enemy, the annoyance. And your lover, you suppose. For the first time, you start to wonder exactly what kind of man you’ve bound yourself to.

Because it’s exceedingly clear to you now. You can’t kill this man. Not just because you don’t want to anymore, but because he might be unkillable.

The village hasn’t yet vanished in the distance behind the two of you when you speak. “What the hell?”

König’s eyes slide to you, then back to the road ahead. “Language.”

You sputter in indignation. “Lang—that’s not what I want to hear!”

“Forgive me. I couldn’t resist.”

“König, this is serious! You promised an explanation.”

“I know what I promised,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

“Well?”

König takes as deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

Then he begins.

“Well. What do we have here? You’re awfully young for this, little prince.”

He’s fourteen. He’s about to make a decision that will shape the rest of his life.

He had done as the crone’s old tome instructed. Bone from an animal slain in its youth. Flowers bloomed under the cover of pitch black night. A blade whet on the summoner’s own flesh. He’s knelt under the light of the full moon, round and blindingly white.

The ethereal creature standing before him is easily twice his height, with an unearthly glow to their skin and hair and a smile that could almost be mistaken for kind and benevolent on their unnaturally beautiful face.

He’s done it. He’s summoned a fae.

With no small amount of difficulty, he rises to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane that helps him walk. The fae lets out a noise of amusement as they watch the young boy struggle.

“Usually, mortals don’t gamble away their lives until they’re older, and greed begins to dictate their actions.”

He glares at the fae but doesn’t respond.

“Come, now. Do not look at me so. Give me your name, little prince.”

“…you may call me König.”

The fae’s expression sharpens, ever so slightly. “Clever boy. ‘König’…don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“I want to make a deal.”

The fae sighs. “Straight to the point, I see. Well, I can’t fault your efficiency. Or is it desperation?” They smirk at him, their eyes taking the rest of him in. He knows he must make for a pathetic sight: a cripple with a harelip, spine curled and legs thin and spindly.

He doesn’t care. This is the last day he will ever be this pathetic.

“Let me guess. You wish to no longer be a cripple.”

“I want to be able bodied. I want to be strong enough to defeat my enemies. I want to be rid of my harelip.” Clear, concise language. He’s spoken these words to himself in the mirror countless times.

“You’ve certainly done your research. Then you know what price I will ask for such things.”

He swallows nervously. “Yes.”

“Very well then. Let us begin.”

It starts in his toes, the strange sensation that flows up through him that he will know all his days. He can feel the strength rushing into his limbs, feel his spine straightening, withered muscles coming to life.

Then comes the pain.

It’s white-hot torment, as if his body has become a living coal. He falls to the ground again, screaming and writhing as his bones crack and realign themselves. Somewhere, in the distance, he can hear the fae’s cruel laughter as they watch him suffer. For a brief moment, some primal, animal part of his brain thinks he’s going to die.

“Fret not, boy king. You won’t perish—I won’t let you until you give me what you’ve promised me,” the fae says, as if they can hear his thoughts.

He’s not sure how long he lays there on the ground, body wracked with agony. It feels like hours pass before he regains use of his limbs. But the pain does eventually fade away, leaving him dazed but still alive. Slowly, he manages to stand up again.

He stares at himself in wonder, legs and arms stretching. For the first time ever, he’s able to stand tall and straight on his own, his cane discarded to the side. And he feels strong. At last, he doesn’t feel weak for once.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The fae’s face has changed: they still look the same, but there’s a beastly, ugly quality to their lovely features that chills him to the bone.

His hands fly instantly to his face. The harelip is still there, he notes with displeasure.

“You forgot something,” he says, frowning in his lopsided way.

“Oh, I didn’t.” Before König can react, the fae’s eyes hollow and grow dark, becoming two pools of endless void. Their teeth sharpen, their face grows gaunt.

“Remember what you owe, boy king,” they remind him. “On the day and the hour your first child is born, I will come to collect.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream before the fae reaches forward with black talons and tears off his mouth.

You’re rendered speechless by his story. Where do you even start?

Your first thoughts are of the way he described himself as a child. König, weak and crippled? König? You look at him now, eighteen hands high astride his horse, the picture of raw strength and dominance. You can’t imagine it at all.

Your second thought is— “You made a deal with the fae? Do you know how foolish that is? Fae never give you what you want, and the cost is always far too high!”

“Don’t lecture me,” he says tightly. “I know what I was getting myself into. I had no other choice.”

“What do you mean, no other choice? You were the king’s son—you are the king! You could have had servants carry you everywhere if need be!”

“You don’t understand what it was like,” König snarls, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “Nobody would have accepted a cripple as their king. My life would constantly have been in danger, having to rely upon others. Unable to even defend myself if an assassin set upon me in my bed.” He’s getting angrier, more worked up as he goes.

“I told you that I was once poisoned as a child with nightshade berries. Did you wonder why there was such a plant in my mother’s garden? Why the royal heir was unsupervised for so long in the first place?” König’s expression is twisted, his voice turned bitter with betrayal. “It was a plot against me by some of my father’s advisors. They conspired with my nursemaid to make it seem like an accident…they expected me to die.”

“I…I’m sorry, König. I didn’t think.”

He glances at you and takes a moment to collect himself before speaking. “I was lucky. My father sent for the best healers he could find. My mother cried at my bedside for weeks.” His brow furrows. “My lot in life could have been worse: my parents loved me, at the very least. But it made me hate myself even more—that I was such a profound disappointment.

“My mother had a difficult birth. Some whispered that it was penance for what my father did: that the spirits of those slain during his campaigns had cursed my mother’s womb. She never was able to conceive again…so all their hopes rested upon my shoulders. My crippled, useless shoulders.”

The venom in his voice when he talks about himself makes your heart ache with sympathy. You move your horse closer to his and put a hand on his arm, squeezing him in what you hope is a comforting manner. His expression softens as he looks down at you.

“It would have been easy for you to kill me if I were still like that, liebe.” You feel your face grow warm again at the term of endearment.

“It makes sense, your strength being fae-given…Calliope said there was something not right about you.”

“Calliope is a perceptive woman.”

You study his face, eyes regarding his mask in a new light. “It really doesn’t look so bad. I only reacted that way because I thought you were injured.”

He shrugs. “Never was that good-looking anyway.”

You make a face. “Are you suggesting I sleep with ugly men?”

“You’ve only slept with me.”

“I’m trying to compliment you.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“When you’re not annoying me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, now you know.”

You study him. He seems relieved to have finally gotten this off his shoulders. “Do you regret it?”

He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “…No.”

The village’s leader had advised an alternate path back home: it might take you a day or two longer, but it was less remote and lined with other villages. You arrive at the first inn just as the sun is about to duck beneath the horizon, the sky streaked with orange.

It’s a serene part of the wood, and the inn is quite quaint as well. Whoever runs it has done well for themselves, you think absentmindedly as you and König dismount and prepare to unload.

A side door swings open, and a quite frankly huge man walks out, facing away from the two of you. Your sense of scale is attuned to König now, so he’s of course not the biggest man you’ve ever seen, but he’s broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can just about spot his blond hair—

“Shit. Shit.” König instantly spins around so his horse is between him and the man who’s just walked out of the building. You squint. Is he…hiding?

“What’s going on? Should I be worried?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Is he cringing? “Do you think it’s too late to set up camp?”

“Set up camp? When there’s a perfectly good inn right there?”

“Yes!”

“What has gotten into you? That man is quite big, but he’s not that sc—”

“I’m not scared of him, I just recognize him. And I don’t particularly feel like seeing him.”

You’re agog at the scene before you. “You’re the king.”

“Even kings have their hangups, alright?”

“I am not sleeping in the woods.”

“As your husband and supreme ruler, I demand it.”

“Come now. I know you’re tired of fucking me outside.”

That gives him serious pause, which almost makes you giggle. Ridiculous man. You could probably lead him onto an executioner’s block if you held him by the cock.

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward to hold his hand and giving him the biggest, most wide eyes you can muster. “I’m not ready to go back to sleeping on the ground yet.”

His face scrunches up in a hopelessly endearing, almost childlike way. “Fine. But you have to go in and talk to the innkeep. I’m going to stay out here.”

“I don’t know what all the fuss is, but fine. You big baby.” You hand him your horse’s reins and make your way to the front door of the inn.

You’ve barely pushed the door very far at all before you hear a friendly voice from inside. “Welcome, traveler! Come on in.”

“It’s wonderful to make your—” You stop in the doorway, frozen with shock.

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, your highness.” A pair of familiar sparkling eyes look back at you. “And you can tell his majesty that he can come inside, I’ve already seen him.”

König’s first wife stands before you, watching your reaction with clear amusement.

Forgive me for that smut. It's been years since I've written anything nsfw, and I wrote this at like. 5AM after a very long day because when I'm not exhausted, writing smut becomes impossible. It's quite the pickle.

Well...I did say that part 3 was going to be a doozy! I'm looking forward to all the reactions...🤭

Comments and feedback are of course always appreciated <3

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