#and 'what's true is already so; owning up to it doesn't make it any worse'

[luveline]

Ok this isn’t Halloween but I would love to see a fic of the first time r spends the night at Aaron’s and she changes into her pj which r these super cute delicate tank and shorts set and Aaron goes crazy!! Like he’s a gentleman obvi (or trying hard to be) but he starts opening my flirting with her and she’s so confused bc usually he’s much more subtle

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

cw adult theme mdni

You don't bother changing in the bathroom. It's not an attempt to come onto him, though you're wondering if he might want that, but a realistic practice. If Aaron wants to be intimate with you tonight he's going to see much more of you than your bra.

He returns from the bathroom as you're pulling down your camisole. It's a simple pair of pyjamas but made of a more expensive fabric, the shorts bordering immodest and the camisole cupping your breasts with enough support that a quick glance in the mirror tells you what you'd wanted to know; you look cute. 

Aaron smiles at you, something unreadable in his expression. His brows lift ever so slightly. "Nice socks." 

"I get cold feet sometimes," you say, pressing your fuzzy heels together. 

"Yeah?" he asks, pushing his hair out of his face. "Me too." 

"What side do you sleep on?" you ask. 

"What side do you sleep on?" he asks back. "Go where you want." 

You pick a random side, too nervous to think about it in depth. The sheets are crisps to the touch and smell freshly laundered, soft against your naked legs. You feel a little like you're playing make believe all cleaned and washed yourself, your heart in your wrist as you squeeze it, watching him flick off the big light and cross the carpeted floor slowly. His room, his entire apartment, is smart but cosy, ambient lamp light and open space. 

"Do you wanna watch TV?" he asks, putting the remote in your lap as he shakes out the sheet and slips in next to you. His body heat is immediately felt. His knee brushes yours as he leans in. "Hold that button down." 

Despite what you'd said about cold feet, you're nervous and he runs warm; by the time you've found something to watch on TV he's sewn his arm through yours and you're practically running a temperature. You have to take your legs back out and lie atop the sheets. 

You pull a knee up. The shorts ease down. 

Aaron sinks into the bed with you, his head just a touch higher than your own. "I'm really happy you're here," he says. 

"I'm happy too," you say, turning your face to his. Nervous, sure, but this is a milestone for your new relationship you're ecstatic to achieve. 

Even if he doesn't have any seductive intention tonight, you're eager to spend the night in his arms. He's older (impossible to ignore), more gentlemanly as a consequence, and during the course of your relationship there have been more important things than sex, like establishing trust with one another, and making sure that your relationship could withstand his constant working. 

"I'm really happy," you say, lifting your chin and fireworks erupt in your chest as he leans down to meet you, kissing you gently. 

"Is this…" His hand trails to the soft of your stomach, pink brushing your thigh where it's hiked. "Your usual nighttime attire?" 

"This is the wanting my boyfriend to like it attire," you confess, because he already knows. Aaron knows everything. He could tell you where you bought them if you gave him long enough.

"Consider them true to form," he says, hand sliding like a heavy, hot weight across your stomach and leaving a worse heat behind. "You look amazing." 

"Yeah?" you ask. 

His lips skin your cheek. He nudges you with his nose to encourage your head back and kisses softly under the line of your jaw, "They're a little small," he says, kissing between whispers, "the shorts." 

"They're not tight," you whisper in turn. 

His hand falls to your thigh, spreading your legs a terrible inch as he tugs at the hem of your shorts. His fingertips dip under them a millimetre as he agrees, "No, they're not. Your top, though…" 

"It was a matching set. I couldn't choose–" 

"Do you have many like it?" he asks, pulling away, meeting your eyes with a charge you've only seen a handful of times. You know exactly what it means, your chest aching with want as his hand comes to rest at the top of your thigh. 

"Sure. Two or three." 

"That won't do." 

You're nervous, but he's your boyfriend. You know more about him than he might think even if you don't know him intimately yet, and his arduousness makes you laugh. He's always been such a gentleman —not many men would ask you to be their girlfriend with a pearl necklace, or invite you to stay the night via text rather than at the end of a date. You'd expected your first time together to be a come up for coffee situation, but he's never propositioned you that way. The text was a sweet surprise, an addition. 

Would you like to stay over after dinner on Friday? Let me know. Can't wait to see you either way. 

No matter what you want, Aaron wants that too. 

You turn into his lap and catch his lips with yours, his hand encroaching on the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

His lips part under yours and you take his face into your hands, a giving in if there ever were one, hoping it says everything you're too shy to admit aloud. No matter how much he clearly likes the shorts, he abandons your thigh and hugs your back to him instead, your chests pressed together until yours is heaving for air. 

"You're usually more subtle than this," you tease, breathless, good-natured. 

"You aren't usually wearing this," he says, his usually smooth voice roughened, "I'm losing my mind." 

"Well, we can't have that." 

He leans back in, laughing against your lips. When his hand works its way under your camisole, you think about where you can get more pyjamas like these ones considering he likes them so badly, but then his hand crawls higher and the thought leaves your mind for the time being. 

[just-more-pr0mts]

You have probably seen all the aus like danny gets adopted by batfam, Danny as damiens twin/older brother, Danny dating a member of the batfam, Danny part of the justice league, Danny as a gotham superhero and more.

But have we seen Danny Fenton as Batman.

Danny Fenton who was taken in by the original Wayne family, with Marta and Thomas Wayne. Taken in when Martha was not yet pregnant. They treated him as their own and raised him as such. When they discover that Martha is pregnant and go out to celebrate. When they take a short cut and danny is just a few seconds too late to save them.

The boy who lost his parents when he failed to stop Dan and for all he knows his sister is dead gone. Who was lost in the infinite realms for so long. Who got stuck in a foul city where the weak are crushed so only the strong prevail.

Danny, Who stumbled into the warm arms of the Wayne family. Who slowly opened up to them. Who never used his powers so he could have a shred of normalcy with them. Who realized they loved and cared for him as thier own. Danny who accepted he loved them in turn. Danny,the boy who lost another set of parents on one fateful eve.

Danny who lost-

Danny who

Danny

Bruce.

Bruce who takes in these lost stray children because he wants to look after them. But he doesn't know how to because he never had a normal childhood.

Bruce who puts up a front to protect himself as well as his family. Who lies to face of powerful beings to protect his family. Bruce who trains long and hard to protect his family from said beings, so much so that he ends up locking away his emotions, so that his children don't have to loose another parent -not knowing that they already had so long ago

Bruce who's so proud of his children, but just doesn't know how to show it. Who is so scared, so terrified they might fight the same battles as him...or something even worse.

BRUCE WHO WANTS to kill the joker. Who wants to hurt him like he hurt his CHILD and leave him there to die, but he knows better than that... he knows what a cruel joke it would be, the irony. He knows that it will just more horrible things to his children knowing they'll never be able to stop him. That's why he brought him back.

Bruce who as much as he tries is always two steps behind.

And now when his new dimension is at stake because of the very beings he left behind, he must choose between the life that he built for himself here or the one that he left behind.

A carefully weighted scale. With the future on the horizon, and choices to be made.

Will the scale stay true or will the choices made unbalance it all.

________

Hii my beautiful creatures of the day and night.

I sorta forgot about tumblr but if you like this piece let me know! Also I love hearing how I can improve and make my writing better.

Ps. If you have any suggestions on what I should write about feel free to ask! I'm so excited to hear about it

Ps.ps. if you have any cosplay blogs dm me! I'm trying to get into cosplau

[sukunastoy]

NSFW ABCs (N-Z) (Heian Era Ryoumen Sukuna)

A continuation of this! (A-M).

CW/TW: It’s true form Sukuna, that’s the warning.

Masterlist

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs).

He's not going to cuddle you. Just plain and simple. You might get lucky and be allowed to sleep against him, but there isn't any romantic gestures in it. If he does hold you tight in the night, it's because he isn't allowing you to get far for when he wakes up and wants to go another round.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Hes only giving if it's to overstimulate you. And he does that mostly with his tummy mouth. It's tongue is huge and he will fill you with it just to watch your eyes roll back as you can't handle the intensity. He enjoys overstimulating you as he's ramming into you by letting his tummy mouth lap at your swollen clit and send you into repetitive, unprepared orgasms.

Otherwise, you're on your knees taking turns on his dicks; swallowing them down and hoping you don't run out of breath cause he isn't going to pull out anytime soon.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He's fucking you like it's a race. Just because he's fast and rough, it doesn't mean it will be over soon.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Look, you're getting railed whenever Sukuna wants to rail you. He might be passing you in the hall and suddenly shove you up against the wall to bury his cock(s) in you. And if he doesn't take long, it's only because he plans on dragging you to his room to finish you later.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Nothing is really a risk to him. He'll dismember you in the moment just to hear you scream because he wants to fuck you through such agony. He'll patch you up when he's done, so he isn't too worried about any kind of risk. He isn't going to let you die and escape him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Sukuna is insatiable, so his stamina will go for days if he wants it to. Forget any plans you might have for the week, because you're going to be his personal fuck toy until he is otherwise bored with it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys don't really exist, but even if they did, Sukuna isn't using them, and you wouldn't be allowed to have any. His dick(s) provide more than you can even handle already.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You've never met someone more unfair than Sukuna. He doesn't tease to be cute, he teases because he wants you to be such a mess that you're basically begging him to fuck you. He'll let his tummy mouth lick you raw but offer no penetration otherwise. He might tie you up in his room for days, fucking you until you're just about to cum then he'll pull out and leave you to stay and whine. He'll edge you for weeks, and won't offer you any relief. He might let you think he's going to finally finish you off, but he'll halt and leave you screaming in despair instead.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not terribly vocal. You'll hear his grunts and growls, but unless he's insulting you, he keeps fairly quiet. He isn't afraid to let you know how pathetic you are though, and he might talk about that for hours. Rarely you'll get some form of actual praise, so you better accept it with grace.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He'll kill for you/because of you. Especially if someone touched you other than him. You're his property only. The worse someone treated you, the more gruesome and torturous their death will be. You might be just a toy, but you're HIS toy. It's nothing he'd ever admit, even to himself, but you being at his side completes him in a way nothing else ever could. It’s definitely not love, but it’s a sense of enjoyment and personal fulfillment. You’re the best at what he wants, and even though he sometimes scares the shit out of you in bed, you know exactly what he likes. You scream, moan, cry, beg, and even laugh perfectly (in those odd occasions when the two of you are just lounging.) And he isn’t interested in losing that.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

He is built to kill. All four of his arms are massive and toned, including his chest and abs. He might lounge around and seem lazy at times, but someone with that much power needs to be strong, and his body easily reflects it. Not to mention his cock(s). You thought at first he was a shower cause they were already so big, but he turned out to still be a grower, and they’re even bigger when they’re hard and throbbing for your body.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sex is like breathing for him. It's always a need. He does have incredible self control though, but it doesn't mean he isn't thinking about pounding you into his bed all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep)

He'll fall asleep relatively quick after shoving you out of his bed or rolling to his side. He's not going to cuddle or give you any aftercare, so if it's at the end of his day and he's looking to pass out after he's done with you, it will happen really fast. Though you have snuck back into his bed and cuddled up against him at times once you think he's asleep, just wanting to be close to your king. However, he's quite aware of what you're doing, as he's not the deepest sleeper. He just lets you think you’re being sneaky and getting away with something. Just be grateful when he pretends to not notice.

And MAYBE…you’ll get his hand to gently rest on your hip while you’re cuddled against him.

Maybe.

|| Hope you enjoyed! Comments and reboots are much appreciated! ||

[allbark-no-bite]

marriage and honor.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.5k)

summary: the Navy has already taken two people from your life, and you don’t intend to let there be a third. that is until Jake Seresin walks into your life

warnings: severe plot holes, mentions of character death, swearing

authors note: based off of the movie Purple Hearts. it’s a great movie and i highly suggest watching it! please bear with me in the beginning of this, the plot holes fix themselves, i promise lol. i literally threw this together because i wrote one scene for shits and giggles and had to commit to it

(read parts two and three here: december and devotion, cats and christmas)

————————————————————————

No one ever expects to have to bury their brother at fifteen. Kinda just like no one expects to have to bury their other brother at eighteen. But you do it the first time and then you do it again three years later. It's a bit like deja vu the second time, like you're reliving the actual nightmare all over again. Except this time there's no one to hold your hand and tell you it's all going to be alright because he's dead and buried too.

They both die honorable deaths in service to their country. At least that's what they say at the memorials. You're not so sure there's anything comforting about dying honorably. They're both still dead, honored or not.

Raised by your grandparents, you'd grown up the youngest of three on a military base smack dab in the middle of San Diego, better yet known as Fightertown USA. True military brats, your old brothers enlisted straight out of high school, one after the other. As their young and impressionable kid sister, you worshiped the ground they walked on and had your heart set on following in their footsteps. That was of course, until they both went and died.

'Sometime these things just happen', is what you were told. And you know, freak accidents do happen. Engines fail, training exercises go awry, safety precautions are ignored. But that doesn't make up for the fact that lightning has, against all odds, stuck the same place twice.

So after the Navy takes away not one but two people from your life, you swear off all things to do with military life. The moment you graduate high school you pay out of pocket just to move off of the base into a shitty the-bedroom-and-bathroom-are-in-the-same-place apartment. You go to college and get the kind of degree that looks good on paper but you can't really get a job with. But it's fine because it helped you to put the past behind you and move on. So much that when your grandmother passes away unexpectedly, leaving your grandfather widowed, you're able to stomach moving back closer to home to take care of him.

At least, you'd thought that you had moved on.

Now, standing in the middle of the courthouse wearing what had been your college graduation dress (the only white dress you could find on such short notice) and watching the man before you slip a ring on your finger, you're not so sure. As a matter of a fact, you actually feel sick, queasy like you might have to bend over the nearest trashcan to get the blood rushing to your head again. That might would be a good idea because what the hell were you thinking.

Jake must take notice of the expression on your face because he offers you a weak smile, his pink lips pressed together. The same thought must be running through his mind too because he also looks like he might be sick at any moment.

What the hell were either of you thinking?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Thankfully the minister is too bored looking with his own job to notice that both of you are looking worse for wear. He also completely forgets to say 'you may now kiss the bride', which is another thing to be thankful for. That might have been the straw that broke the camel's back and sent both you and Jake running for the hills. Instead he mumbles a unenthusiastic congratulations and departs from the room, leaving you and Jake standing numbly side by side.

In the following seconds after the minister leaves the room, silence settles between the two of you, partially due to shock and partially because you don't even know what to say. It's a sight, Jake in his pristine navy dress whites and you in your too short college graduation dress.

Finally, Jake clears his throat, swallowing. "Well, there's no turning back now."

*queue rewind noise* 

You may be wondering how we got here.

*six days ago*

"C'mon baby, you didn't think that was funny? Girls usually love that line."

He'd been after you all night, smiling, cracking jokes, buying you beers. You had to admit, he was nothing if not persistant.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't date funny guys." Despite your tone, you're actually genuinely amused by the situation. He's trying so hard, and it's getting him absolutely nowhere.

He's handsome, without a doubt the most attractive man at the bar, but he could be the most attractive man in the world and you still wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Not with that smile and defiantly not with that uniform on.

"And why is that?" he laughs, undeterred by your blatant disinterest. His friends are watching, have been watching the two of you do this dance all night, and he's not about to back down now.

You watch the smile lines that appear on his tanned face, the way his eyes crinkle in amusement as he awaits on your answer. He's probably a few years your senior, early thirties if that's anything to go by.

"Funny guys are dangerous. They make you laugh and laugh and then boom you're naked."

His smile twitches and yeah, you can be funny too, wise guy.

"Is that where you think this is going?" he asks.

"Where else would it be going?"

And that's how it all started. The beginning of the end.

"You know navy spouses get a monthly stipend and are allowed to live on base?"

You remain facing the bar, peeling at the label on your bottle, not bothering to glance to your side. "You know, I really fucking wish Natasha would keep her mouth shut."

"(Y/n)—"

"It's no one else's fucking business what—"

He grabs the seat of your stool, nearly jerking it out from under you as he pulls it closer to his own. "Listen to me," he growls, a stark change from his usual demeanor.

Stubbornly leaning away so that you're not so close, you regard him with suspicious and narrowed eyes. You raise an eyebrow as if to say he's got your attention, however unwillingly.

"Right now, we're both in a tight spot, okay?"

You knew about his dad. Heard the whole spiel from Natasha— who you're learning that while, your best friend, cannot be trusted to keep her mouth shut— about how they weren't on good terms, hadn't talked since Jake got into the academy, and suddenly he calls out of the blue to tell Jake that he'd had enough of his son's playing around and that it was time for him to start thinking about getting married. That if he didn't within the next few months, he'd arrange the whole thing himself.

"You need a place to live—" You shush him, eyes darting to the people around you. You don't need anyone knowing that you can't exactly afford to pay your rent. Jake rolls his eyes because he doubts anyone could hear him even if he was yelling with how loud it is in the bar, but he lowers his voice regardless. "You need a place to live, and I need to get my old man off of my back..." He trails off, as if you should know where he's going with this.

You don't. You're just staring at him with an increasingly annoyed expression on your face, wondering how soon you can get out of this conversation.

He takes a deep breath and sighs. 

"Hear me out, okay? What if we get married?"

You had actually laughed in his face at first, and Jake was so dead serious about it that he didn't even dwell on the fact that it was the first time you had laughed at something that he'd said.

"Not a chance in hell, Seresin,"  had been your second response. But that's the thing with pretty guys, they can be awfully convincing.

It all happens so fast that you have metaphorical whiplash. Next thing you know, you're wearing a brand new diamond on your finger and going out to the bar with his entire squad the night before their deployment.

Of course, they're all a bit shocked at first. You would be too. You and Jake hadn't exactly been even remotely civil with each other just a few days prior. But if any of them are suspicious of your's and Jake's sudden union, they don't let on, all too happy to have something to celebrate before they ship out. Fanboy and Payback have each brought their wives and Natasha her girlfriend as well. You suppose you're expected to mingle with them, maybe shed a tear or two over the shared bond that your partners are going across the country, but you can't really find a way to connect with them so you kind of just avoid them altogether. You do feel bad, sitting there without a care in the world while they all try to offer comfort and reassurance to each other. But you don't really know what else to do because it's not like you're exactly sad.

Thankfully Javy, or as he's known, Coyote, stands up and raises his near empty bottle of beer in the air and saves you from anymore uncomfortable sitting. "I'd like to make a toast! To the newlyweds!" You spoke too soon. The table cheers and raises their bottles in response, all of the attention turning to where you and Jake are sitting. Cheeks immediately flushing, you have to refrain from sinking down in your seat. Jake is grinning, accepting the few rough pats on the back that he receives from Rooster beside him.

And just when you think that's the worst it's going to get, it gets worse.

"Kiss!"

You're not sure who starts it, but like teenage boys, the entire squad parrots in unison.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

At first Jake just laughs and shakes his head good naturedly, shrugging off the insistent urging of his friends, and you think that's going to be the end of it. But the chanting doesn't stop and finally Jake turns towards you. Your face is probably red hot and undeniably panicked. Heart racing, you try to read him in the half second that you're given as he leans and wraps his arm around you. Is he going to kiss you? Are you supposed to kiss him?

Neither option happens. Jake's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side and at the last moment, he turns to press a kiss to your cheek. A series of disappointed boos follow but they are drowned out by clapping for the most part. He's uncomfortably close, closer than you ever would have liked to be to Jake Seresin, but you have to remind yourself that it's all for show. When Jake does turn away, you can still feel the warmth of his lips smeared against your cheek. Even so, he hasn't let go of you pressed into his side. 

Your heart still racing, you reason with yourself that if Jake can play the part, you might as well too, and under that pretense, allow yourself to hide your face into his shoulder to conceal it's redness. The smell of his cologne washes over you, and oddly enough, you don't hate it. It's subtle, with a hit of what might be amber, and nothing like the overwhelmingly masculine scent that you would have pegged him for. 

If Jake finds your sudden willingness to touch him strange, he doesn't comment on it, likely assuming that you're just trying to make this thing between the two of you seem real. You somewhat reluctantly pull away when Coyote's voice raises again.

"And here's to shooting down some fucking MiGs!"

Again, the table erupts into a chorus of cheering and hollering. You still, allowing Jake to fully pull away from your side while the proclamation rings out in your head. It's a very grounding moment, and suddenly you feel very alone sitting at the table. No one seems to have noticed your shift in mood. Maybe you're the only one put off by Javy's statement because this is their reality. There are people who are not coming home from this mission; everyone just likes to assume it won't be them. You know better.

You can't help it, the words just come out of your mouth. "That's a fucked up thing to say."

It's the first time you've really spoken up the entire night and all heads turn towards you. Based on the look in Jake's eyes, which is a bit apprehensive, as if he knows this is headed nowhere good, you realize you probably should have just kept your mouth shut.

Payback shifts uncomfortably in his chair while the rest of the crew glances around the table wearing varying states of confusion. Their gazes shift from you to Jake, as if waiting for some sort of explanation. 

Coyote is the first to break the silence. "Look, sweetheart, that's just the way things are. Here in the Navy, that's a badge of honor. Your boy Hangman here is the only one of us with a confirmed air-to-air kill."

"(Y/n)—", Jake attempts to interject, but you're not about to let him explain himself to you in front of all these people.

You set your jaw and swallow back the anger threatening to rise up in your throat. "Yeah, because killing people is so honorable."

Coyote scoffs. "We're just doing our jobs. And if that means taking down a few planes while we're at it, so be it."

"Your job is to protect people," you snap. "There are people out there who have families—"

"Alright, that's enough—" Jake begins to interject for the second time, but this time it's Coyote who interrupts him.

"Come on, man. You're really going to let her say that kinda shit—"

You stand up. "I don't need his permission to—"

"I SAID ENOUGH." This time it's startling enough to cut both of you off. "(Y/n), what is your fucking problem?" Jake snaps.

You flinch at the harshness of his question.

Your eyes travel around the quiet table, where everyone is holding their breath, and then back to Jake. His green eyes reflect a type of pissed off what would be terrifying if you weren't so angry yourself.

A small, logical part of you knows that he has a right to be angry. You've picked a fight for no apparent reason in front of his friends and he hasn't the slightest clue why. It's not his fault your brothers are dead and you blame the Navy for it.

Regardless, that doesn't make up for the fact that you're pissed off by his defense of what Coyote has said. Even though you probably owe him an explanation, you're not about to answer him when he's just yelled at you. You also know that if you don't say something, he's going to and you'd rather die before letting him tell you off in front of all these people. You abruptly push away from the table and storm off for the bar top. You can hear Jake chasing after you.

"(Y/n)."

You ignore him in favor of heading towards the back door of the Hard Deck, pushing past people regardless of whether they're in your way or not. Being slightly more considerate, you can hear Jake moving much slower as he excuses himself through the crowd.

"(Y/n)—"

You come to a stop once you reach the door, spinning on your heels with a fire in your eyes.

"What's my problem?!"

Behind you, you can hear the loud jesting and jeering of his friends back at the table. They're still ruffled with excitement from your outburst, and Coyote's voice follows your retreating back. "Jesus man, get your girl under control."

I'm not his girl, you want to snap. He doesn't own me.

Jake has stopped a few feet away from you. 

"What's my fucking problem?! My problem is that your friends are sitting over there calling murder honor."

Jake sighs harshly though his nose. Shaking his head, green eyes looking up, he begins, "He didn't mean—"

"No. I know what he meant, Jake. You're all a bunch of cowards. You're all too goddamn scared to admit that maybe you're not doing as much good as you thought over there, and so you just justify it by saying all killing is good killing, right?" you spit.

His vibrant green eyes harden but he doesn't respond. "That's some real goddamn honor, right, Jake?" you repeat, angrier this time, wanting more than just some watered down reaction from him. If there's one thing that pisses you off about Jake, it's that you've never gotten anything more than what he's conditioned himself to respond with. It's like he's locked up in this stupid box of his and the most you can ever get out of him is a glance. You want him to be angry with you.

"That's enough." His jaw is tight, and you can tell that even despite his lowered voice and rather subdued demeanor, you've hit a nerve.

"Admit it. Admit that you—“

"(Y/n)." His voice adopts a seriousness that you've never heard from him before. It sounds almost dangerous.

Jake steps towards you and for a moment you think you've won. And then in the moment following that, you actually think that he's going to get physically angry with you. Your heart stalls. Jake's a big guy, a naval aviator, and no matter how good he sells himself to be, he could hurt you if he wanted too. You would never have pegged him as someone who would put his hands on a girl, even after only knowing him for a week, but a man is a man, perfectly ironed uniform or not.

Only he doesn't. Instead he steps into your space and leans in closer than you've  ever been before. His hand presses into your back, firmly pulling you into his chest so that you have no choice but to shift closer to him, your bodies molding together. "I said that's enough. They can see us arguing."

The press of his mouth to your ear conceals the exchange of your conversation from the listening table. You can smell his cologne on the starched collar of his uniform.

"I don't care if they see us—" Pushing your palm into his chest, you try to reestablish the distance between you, but like a brick wall, Jake doesn't budge.

"You realize that we have to make this look real?" he hisses. "From here on out, they're watching everything we do. The government is watching everything we do. Do you understood that?" His voice is tense, and it sounds more urgent than angry now.

Standing there, you realize his heart is thumping heavily beneath your palm. His body is uncomfortably rigid, like a scared dog waiting for its owner to show up and see the mess he's made. Behind you, the table has gone relatively quite. Rooster murmurs something along the lines of, "It's a little early for there to be trouble in paradise already."

Someone—Coyote—responds, "I don't think he thought this through, man. They won't last two weeks."

Jake's eyes meet yours, and you know he can hear them too. You swallow, trying to relax a little in his grasp. He's right, you have to make this look real, and fighting right off the bat doesn't exactly look good.

"Are they still looking at us?" You finally ask, leery now to even speak too loud.

Jake breathes a sigh of relief beside your ear, taking your sudden quiet as cooperation. "Yeah, just keep talking, okay? Act like we're working it out."

Despite trying to appear more comfortable than you are, you don't move your hand from his chest. The coarse material of his dress whites rises and falls steadily beneath your palm. It's calming in a sense, and you try to focus on its rhythm rather than the fact that you're so close that you can feel the heat of his mouth beside your ear.

"Still looking?" You ask after a few moments pass.

He hums. "Yep."

"Well then what do we do? We can't just stand like this forever." The longer you stand together, the more details you become aware of. Like the fact that his face is freshly shaven against your cheek and that he must have brushed his teeth before this because his breath smells like Listerine.

"Look at me."

"What?" You ask, your brow furrowing as he pulls away. His hand that had been holding your waist firmly in place lifts to grip your jaw.

"You're going to have to kiss me," he explains, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

"What?" Before you can even protest, he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. Without the time to process what exactly is happening given your state of alarm, all you can do is go along with it. His lips mold against yours in what might be the most borderline tame kiss you've ever had. Despite this, you are reluctantly surprised to note how good of a kisser he is. It's just forceful enough to let you know he's in control but not so much that it's unpleasant. His lips are full and taste vaguely of his mouth wash.

You don't kiss him back.

It makes no difference to the group behind you whether you actually kiss or not; they can't tell from this distance and all they have to do is believe it happened. It's more for your own self preservation than anything. It's one thing to play the part, it's another thing to get caught up in it and catch feelings. And with Jake Seresin, that was a dangerous game to play. You'd already felt it, him prying his way under your skin when he'd held you at the table and the smell of his cologne filled your sense. It would be that easy.

To his credit, Jake lingers just long enough to make the kiss believable before pulling away. Even si, it still feels uncomfortably long. He leans back and you don't miss the fact that he wipes his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath, looking away.

"Jake..." you begin, immediately feeling bad, but he stops you.

"Whatever, (Y/n). It's fine." He won't look you in the eyes now. You turn to look over your shoulder, desperate to get yourself out of this increasingly bad situation .

"They're not looking," you say, finding the table now amicably chatting with each other rather than focused on the two of you. The sudden PDA must have finally diverted their attention. "...you can step away now."

"Right," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. Jake drops his hand from your waist and steps back like he's glad to finally put some distance between the two of you. So much for making this look natural.

You return to the table shortly after, in hand to make it appear as if you've made up and smiling tightly when Bob cheerily welcomes you back to break the awkward silence. Once seated, you drop each other's hand beneath the table immediately. The rest of the evening is spent avoiding contributing to conversations that involve the other. If anyone notices, they don't comment on the fact that the two of you hardly look at each other for the rest of the evening, and somehow you manage to put up an otherwise happily married front.

When a few of the guys finally get a little bit too drunk, specifically Rooster, you're all too happy when Natasha calls it a night. Because they ship out the next day, Jake drives you back to the hotel where all of the married couples have rented out a room for the night. Apparently it's a tradition or something. You make the drive in silence. You let him check into the room and carry both of your bags up, disappearing into the small bathroom to splash cool water onto your face. It helps to ease some of the tension from this evening. Leaning over the sink, you watch the water swirl down the drain.

Is this crazy? This is crazy, right?

Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands when you step out. He's taken off his hat and suddenly he seems a lot more fragile than he was a few minutes ago. There's a softness to him, something having been previously concealed by the precise styling of his hair and tense pull of his set jaw. Before you can break the silence, he sucks in an uneasy breath.

"Hey, we need to talk about something. Um, you know... in case I..."

In case he doesn't come back.

You swallow, looking down at the ground. After tonight, after he's kissed you, all of this is starting to feel a little bit to real. What the hell happened to pretending? This was all supposed to be pretend. "Jake, please don't do that—"

He stands up from the end of the bed, and you notice the folded paper in his hands. "This is all of my personal information, you know, bank accounts, passwords, phone numbers... Anything you might need if something happens to me." He says it all as if it's so normal, but you can hear the apprehension in the thinness of his voice.

Already, you're shaking your head as he hands you the letter. "Jake, please. I don't want that." Your heart is pounding and all you want to do in the moment is go back in time and never have agreed to do this in the first place. This was insane. What were you thinking? Like you were going to put yourself through this again? 

"(Y/n)—“ Jake tries, interrupting your spiral of thoughts.

"I said NO, Jake," you snap, stepping back from him and the letter. There are tears burning at the backs of your eyes, like you might burst into a hit of hysteria at any moment. "I change my mind. I can't do this..."

Jake's eyes glance from you to the paper in his hand and then back to you, and then he drops his outstretched arm with what sounds like a laugh. "Right. Not like we're fuckin' married or anything." He releases a puff of air from his cheeks and runs his hand through his hair like he's contemplating pulling it out. "Do you know how screwed we are if anyone finds out about this? Do you, (Y/n)??" he asks, his voice rising to a concerning level. "We're done!" 

"Jake, I—"

He tosses the letter onto the bed and sits back down with a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. When he finally speaks again, his voice had lowered to a more acceptable volume. "It's a bit too late for you to back out now. If the Navy finds out about this— if anyone one finds out about this, I could lose my job. We could both go to jail."

Silence settles over the two of you as Jake sits on the bed, staring at his feet, and you stand there in the middle of the room, willing your heart to stop pounding in your chest. You need to get out of here before your heart implodes. You turn and grab your coat from by the door.

"Where are you going?"  Jake asks, his voice tired and annoyed.

"I need some air," you say, shrugging on your coat and opening the door. He doesn't try to stop you on the way out. 

You regret the decision the second that you walk out the door. Now that the sun is gone, it's freezing outside. Your original plan had been to go for a walk to clear your head but you doubt now you'd make it very far. Walking down the stairs and out into the nearly empty parking lot, you look around, considering whether or not you would survive the trek to a gas station. When you realize you've left your phone back in the room, you decide against it. You aren't dumb enough to walk in the dark alone. Instead you head towards Jake's truck, which is parked out by itself at the end of the lot. To your surprise, you find it's unlocked and the door swings open when you tug on the handle. You climb in and the switch to lock the door behind you. Even the inside of the car is cold but at least it's out of the wind. You hug your knees into your check and tuck your chin into them, curling up in the driver's seat to keep warm.

And then you just sob.

It's the kind of sobbing that starts long and drawn out and then escalates into the rapid breathing that happens when you can't get enough air into your lungs and it feels as though there's an entire golf ball stuck in your throat. You haven't cried this hard since you were a kid—since your first brother died. You didn't cry the second time, didn't allow yourself to feel anything the second time because you knew there wasn't going to be anyone to pull you back together if you did. 

At least being away from all of this had allowed you some time to forget, even if for just a moment, that they were gone without having to be constantly reminded. You had moved to put as much distance between yourself and the Navy as possible. Because that way life wouldn't get the chance to take another person from you in the same way. Looking at the ring on your finger now, that's exactly the opposite of what you had just done. This was just supposed to be until you could get back on your feet, and if it helped Jake out in the process then great. Now that you think about it, it was stupid of you to think that you would be able to make it through this with out catching feelings for him. 

Now you're going to lose him too.

You cry until you almost make yourself sick and then some more. Your sobbing is interrupted every few minutes when you choke on your own air and have to swallow the golf ball that is lodged in your throat so that you can breathe. You're not sure how long you sit there just crying. Surely at least an hour has passed. By the time your sobbing has slowed, your head hurts and your chest aches enough to be sore.

Knock knock knock

You jump at the noise, head shooting up from between the bracket of your knees. It's dark outside, the parking lot just barley lit in a wash of grey by the moon. Even so, you can make out Jake's broad figure in the darkness.

"Open the damn door." His order comes out in a puff of frosty condensation that warms a spot on the window, his voice only partially muffled by the barrier. His shoulders are hunched against the cold, the upturned collar of his coat doing little to protect him from the brutal conditions.

For a while you just stare at him through the window, swallowing back the spit in your throat.

"Open the door," he repeats, knowing better than to think that you can't hear him. If only locking yourself in his car was the solution of all of your problems. Reluctantly, you reach over and click the lock, slowly rolling down the window.

After it stops, you stare at each other through the open car window, separated only by the frame of door that he could now easily reach out and open. His soft brown hair is mushed and in disarray, nose and cheeks tinted pink form the chill. The pleasant green of his eyes is mostly hidden as he squints against the wind.

Finally, you suck in a breathe, your chest shuddering. "I cannot do this," you stress, all of the fear that you've been shoving down now presenting itself in a singular sentence.

Jake sighs, his face softening to reflect a look of sympathy. "Look, I promise you, it's not that bad. You'll come with me to the carrier when I ship out tomorrow, we'll hug each other goodbye, and then you won't even have to see me for a couple of months. It'll be like none of this ever happened. And when I come back... we'll figure it out. Okay?" His voice is soft and understanding, like he's talking to a child.

You stare at the dashboard, your stomach still churning anxiously. "That's not what I'm... It's not you, Jake." Quite the opposite. "I lost my brothers to the Navy. Both of them. And I don't think I can take losing anyone else."

Immediately Jake's face falls as he puts everything into place. Your initial distaste for him, your furious outburst at Hard Deck, your reluctance to have have anything to do with the Navy... "I—God, I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I had no idea."

You shrug, calming down now that you've finally let go over everything that you've been holding in. "I asked Natasha not to tell you. I just thought that I could get over it so what was the point in even telling you?"

The wind blowing into through the open window is bone chilling and so you can only imagine how cold Jake is standing outside the car. For a while there's only the sound of his quiet breathing.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, (Y/n)," he says into the darkness.

"How can you be so sure?"

Hands shoved into his pockets, body braced against the wind, he shrugs. "I'm not. But if I didn't tell myself that every morning, I'd never get out of bed."

Sighing, you pull the handle on the inside of the door. "C'mon, it's fucking cold out there."

Jake huffs as if to say, you're telling me, and grabs the handle to pull open the door. Only instead of climbing in, he steps further inside the door and grabs your head in his cold hands so that your faces are mere inches apart. "I mean it, kid. I'm not going to leave you, alright? You just gotta trust me."

Looking into his eyes, you know he means it. For the second time since you've known Jake, you really see him. Standing before you is the same man that you saw in both of your brothers. Granted, they were much younger than he is now, but you get it. You'd been trying to see him as anyone else other than the brothers you lost, praying that it would hurt less, but you can't make someone into something they're not. 

"Okay," you whisper. "I trust you, Jake."

You're awake hours earlier than what you're used to in the morning, but that's only because you had glanced at the alarm clock at half past three and realized that you only had few hours left with Jake. The both of you had returned to the hotel room and changed in comfortable silence, slipping into the single bed together without a word. Jake had reached over and pulled you into him without so much as a second thought. Now his body is draped heavily on top of yours, his nose tucked into your hair as your fingers trace along the bare skin of his exposed back. 

You switch between staring at the ceiling and watching the numbers change on the alarm clock, trying to think about anything other than the fact that Jake would wake up in about an hour, you'd drop him off at the carrier at six, and that would be it. You'd only just gotten him and now you were going to have to let him go.

When Jake's alarm does go off, you're more emotional than you thought you would be, but Jake seems to be fine, dutifully putting on his uniform and carefully packing all of his bags, so you try to put on a brave face. You move slowly, dragging out the process of getting dressed as long as possible just so that there's no excuse to leave for the dock any sooner than you have too. After you're done getting ready, you watch him shave once and then again for good measure before he ultimately decides that you've both wasted enough time putting off the inevitable.

The drive there is silent as well and would have been unbearable had Jake not reached over the consol to reassuringly squeeze your hand. He doesn't let go of it until you pull into the crowded port. Between people trying to get their things on board and a bunch of teary goodbyes, it's beyond you how you manage to find the Dagger Squad in the midst of the chaos. Fanboy and Payback are saying goodbye to their families while Rooster and Natasha chatter excitedly with an older man also dressed in naval attire, the name plate on his uniform identify him as 'Maverick'. It's all so overwhelming that only when Jake squeezes your hand again do you realize that it's time for you to say goodbye.

Reluctantly, you turn towards him, interlocked hands swinging between the two of you. He does his best to smile, and to his credit, it's not entirely fake. "Well," he sighs. "This it it."

"For now," you add, returning his soft smile as you look up at him.

"For now," Jake agrees, his smile brightening now that you seem to be okay also. He pauses, just staring down at you for a moment before he adds, "Are you going to let me kiss you?"

You smile, answering him this time without hesitation. "Only if you keep your promise."

Jake's large hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling your chin in his palm as he leans down to you. "I promise," he murmurs before pressing his mouth to yours, perhaps even more tender than he did the first time at Hard Deck. Only this time you reciprocate it, chasing his mouth as you lift up on your toes and run your fingers through the back of his hair. Groaning, Jake sighs into the kiss. It's dizzying and you don't know how it's possible to put all of the passion that you've been holding back into one kiss, but somehow you do. His lips are soft and you have to shove down the urge to grip his hair and demand him for more, because it by some miracle occurs to you that you're on a ship in front of hundreds people. 

Jake's the one to pull away, his eyes shining and pink lips slightly more swollen than they were a minute ago. You can't help but laugh, wiping away some of your lipgloss from his mouth with your thumb. "Goodbye, Jake."

"Goodbye, (Y/n). And don't forget, I'll see you soon."

[colonelarr0w]

Hey hi hemlo

Love your writing style so much, that asshole Gojo fic made my heart squeeze like you wouldn't believe

Can I make a request?

A foreign Jujutsu Tech teacher/sorcerer struggling to do paperwork in Japanese. Satoru and/or Suguru try to help, but end up a distraction instead lol

A Welcome Distraction

Sypnosis - Working is already grueling enough, made worse only by the human-sized distractions that are ... the loves of your life.

Warning(s) - None, this is really just pure fluff.

A/N - This really just spiraled into Gojo being an absolute distraction, but I hope y'all enjoy nonetheless!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"There she is!" 

"Satoru … restrain yourself, even if it's just for a second." 

With a smile already curling the corners of your mouth upward, you turn your head to your classroom door – which had been swung open by Gojo, a wide smile already plastered onto his face. Not too far behind him was Geto, whose apologetic eyes flicker to you and whose lips quirk upward in an equally as apologetic smile.  

You say nothing as Gojo enters your classroom, beelining to where you sit behind your desk and wrapping his arms around you. His chin lowers to rest against the top of your head, a content hum rumbling in his throat when you lean back in his arms.  

“Hello sweet girl,” Gojo says with a wide smile, tilting his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You hum, then turning your head to watch Geto as he approaches. 

“Hi. What brings you both around here?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, turning in your seat to get a better look at Gojo. He peers over your shoulder, glancing at the unfinished paperwork that you had been tending to for the better part of two hours.  

Geto leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and sneaking a glance at your paperwork. “Hi honey, we just wanted to check in on you.”  

You smile, accepting the kiss that Gojo leans in to steal from you, his hands holding either side of your face as his lips curl into a boyish grin against your own.  

Geto rolls his eyes, reaching out to grip the collar of Gojo’s shirt and lightly prying him away from you; though he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest at both of his lovers doting on one another.  

“That’s sweet of you both, but don’t you have physical training with your students today?” you tilt your head, remembering how Gojo was supposed to tend to the first-years and Geto the second-years.  

At the mention of fulfilling his teacher duties, Gojo groans childishly, hanging his head so that his forehead hits against your shoulder. His back arches uncomfortably, but his discomfort is lessened by the sound of your sweet laugh.  

“I let them have a small break, I couldn’t let Satoru run rampant,” Geto replies teasingly, grinning down at you. You set down the pen in your hand, lifting a hand to Gojo’s hair and scratching at his scalp — which he doesn’t hesitate to purr at.  

“Not true!” Gojo murmurs against your shoulder, removing his head from your shirt and turning to glance at Geto with a dramatic pout, bottom lip jutted out like a child who had been denied a snack before dinner.  

"It's entirely true love," you nod in agreement, chuckling breathily to yourself. Gojo huffs, this time completely disconnecting from you and taking a step away from your desk. He crosses his arms over his chest, still pouting.  

"You're both just so mean to me, and for no reason," he complains loudly, borderline stomping his foot against the ground as his gaze flickers between you and Geto. You turn to your raven-haired lover, both of you sharing a knowing smile just as Gojo grows annoyed with being ignored.  

Geto once again sneaks a glance at the paperwork scattered about your desk; ranging from mission logs given to you by Ijichi to student papers that you had procrastinated grading. His eyebrows furrow at the notes that you had scrawled into the paper's margins, but he doesn't bring any attention to it. 

"It's not being mean 'toru," you try to reason with your childish lover, but he merely presses his palms against his ears and hums obnoxiously. You sigh in exasperation, rubbing your temples before turning to Geto – your only saving Grace.  

Geto chuckles, catching Gojo as he dramatically falls into the former's arms, head knocking against Geto's broad shoulder.  

"Come now, you know she didn't mean it that way," Geto says, voice shaking as he struggles to hold back the chuckle that rises in his throat. "There isn't any reason for you to be this dramatic." 

It's your turn to chuckle now, the noise making both men smile lovingly at you. You half lean over your desk, arms covering your now abandoned paperwork as you turn your attention to both Gojo and Geto. 

"He's right, I don't mind that you both came to visit me," you say truthfully, lips still curled upward in that smile that your lovers could spend hours admiring. "I appreciate it actually." 

Gojo immediately disconnects himself from Geto's arms, beelining for you once again and wrapping you up in a bone-crushing embrace. You laugh heartily in his arms, squealing as he effortlessly lifts you from where you sit behind your desk.  

"'toru! I have work to do!" Your plea to return to working goes completely ignored by the snowy-haired man, who only tightens his grip around you and proceeds to spin you around. Geto joins in on the laughter, his chest warm and his eyes crinkled in a loving smile.  

Even with your complaining, and even with your pleading, you truly do love the distractions provided by not just one … but both of the loves of your life. 

[canonizzyhours]

I'm a professional screenwriter. I know nobody reading this has any reason to believe that, and I work pretty hard to keep my fandom activity separate from my professional identity, so I'm not going to offer any proof that would doxx me here, believe me or don't. But it's true and I don't just mean I'm trying to get hired as a screenwriter, I mean I am pretty well established in the industry and I've worked on some stuff big enough you've probably heard of it. I've also been active in OFMD fandom for about two years now, since nearly the beginning.

The canyon really freaks me out because seeing it up close makes me worried I've drastically underestimated audiences' empathy gap around characters of color and tendency to sympathize with and excuse the actions of white characters. I've always tried to be conscious about that sort of thing in my work but now that I'm seeing the whole process up close it's so much worse than I always thought.

I think a lot about what I would have done during season 1 of OFMD, if I were in the writers' room and I'd wanted to make sure it would be clear to the audience that Izzy was Ed's abuser and wasn't acting out of secretly sympathetic motives and we're supposed to be genuinely horrified by his actions. I'm in writers' rooms workshopping issues like this all the time. I know the kinds of suggestions I'd make.

Like, if we were worried that the audience would think Izzy's hostility toward Stede was about class instead of homophobia, I might have suggested we make sure Izzy's dialogue never has any reference to Stede's class at all, and that we might do a subplot in one episode where Izzy is equally hostile toward Lucius, since Lucius clearly isn't rich but is extremely gay. But that already happened, and it didn't help.

If I wanted to make sure the audience understood that Izzy is bossing the crew around and screaming at everyone to work harder because he's a petty little bully on a power trip and not because the work actually needs to get done, I might have suggested a scene where Izzy deliberately makes a mess on purpose just so he can order the crew to clean it up. But that already happened, and it didn't help.

If I wanted to make it clear that Izzy has always been awful toward everyone around him -- especially his colleagues of color -- since long before the show started, I might have suggested we repeatedly emphasize throughout the season that while Fang is willing to work with him, he doesn't like or respect Izzy and this is because Izzy has always treated Fang very badly. Have him pull on Fang's beard for no reason and have Fang explicitly say he hates that but knows it wouldn't help to complain. Have Fang tell strangers jokes about times Izzy humiliated himself in public. Have a scene where everybody unanimously VOTES TO MURDER IZZY and someone explicitly stops to ask Fang if he's cool with this and Fang explicitly says yes this is absolutely fine with me and then he actively participates in the murder plan while smiling. But all of that happened and I still see the canyon insisting that Izzy was a much nicer person before the events of s2 when he wasn't under so much stress and has always been liked and respected by the PoC around him, including specifically Fang!

If I were worried that the audience might take seriously the idea that Izzy is motivated by "loyalty to your captain" -- well, honestly I don't think it ever would have occurred to me to worry about that, since he says that in a scene where he's in the middle betraying his captain and I'd probably assume people are capable of picking that up and understanding that when someone says they're abusing you for your own good you should not believe them. But if someone else insisted we address the concern, suggestions I'd make would include: make sure some of the first interactions we see between Ed and Izzy involve Izzy complaining about how he doesn't want to do the job Ed just gave him, then half-assing the mission and lying to Ed's face about it. Show Izzy deliberately undermining Ed to the crew by telling them he's half-insane, then insist to Ed that he's the only one keeping the crew loyal when they're worried about his judgment. But they did that stuff and we still have people thinking Izzy's central motivation throughout season 1 is selfless devotion to Ed.

The show did every single thing I would have suggested, and none of it worked. So what does it say about all the stuff I've already worked on, whenever I've written a scene where a white guy was being a dick to characters of color? Have I just been embarrassingly naive this whole time? Have I undermined my own work by not getting this?

You can't control audience reactions, I know that, that's part of what's great about art, you have to let go and accept that people will interpret things in ways you never intended, I get it. But if it's THIS impossible to choose words that will create the kind of feelings you meant to, what's the point? Is it even possible to write about the kind of abusive relationship Ed and Izzy have, where the white guy thinks he's entitled to control a brown man's life "for his own good" and that the brown guy is obligated to be grateful and reciprocate his "love" and not have a huge group of people creating elaborate justifications for the white guy? What else could they have done? What else can I do, when I'm writing about characters of color? I'm seriously asking. If anybody reading this has advice I want to hear it. What could I do?

#408.

[ukrainian-psycho]

Everyone hates the Ventrue calling them boring and insufferable with their grindset-mindset and while most of it is true, if you dig into the clan's culture there isn't much that makes them worse than other clans really, there's a lot of endearing qualities that also explain why are they stupid like this. So here's some of my favorite facts and bits of the in clan lore (some of these traditions are applicable for cammies or for those in the clan-clan, done with the Agoge etc; an anarch ventrue obv doesn't have to follow no rule).

Blood preference is made up. It's in their head. There were incidents of a ventrue changing their preference, takes a huge effort but nothing says you can’t. Many ancient ones perished because there's no more Yugoslavian blood or whatever and they couldn't get used to any other. The biggest problem of the Clan of Kings is that they all think they all have an imaginary lactose intolerance they absolutely will die for.

Unlike other clans who let their progeny run around doing fuck all you are responsible for your childe. Providing for them first time, teaching them to hunt, all that regardless if they want to go through the Agoge or join the clan. As a capital V Ventrue you have to respect their choice. Being a deadbeat sire is generally frowned upon.

Actually, everyone in the clan feels entitled to your childe. Any clan member has the right to show up on your doorstep whenever because they thought of something profound to say to the fledgling or give you an advice on how to mentor them. Turning them away is impolite. Absolutely insufferable.

When in a serious trouble you can always ask a fellow clans-mate for help and even if they hate your ass they have to help and do a good job at that lest they want to lose some dignitas. You are expected to return the favor obviously.

Deathnights! 🥳🎉🎉. The thought that any kindred care for birthdays (or deathnights, the time you were embraced) is already silly but the fact that it's ventrues who care about this so much is especially funny. Yeah you sire sucks, but she invited Paris Hilton and got you a new car for your sweet 160. If it's an elder's deathnight you can even rizz them and it's all in good fun!

The general opinion that your local venture is an e*lon m*usk type o guy and not a gas station manager doesn't help. In the digital era even the most powerful ventrue have to influence from the shadows which is quite a hit on their ego. Others settle for less.

They are the smallest clan. The key to survival is resilience and mutual support. Trust no one, not even the other ventrue but you know they've got your back because you've got theirs. Fucked up, however "familial" bonds like sire-childe and such are much valued.

Wholesome-ish, ventrue cliques. Many looove chess and have chess clubs. Both as a hobby and often preferring to solve personal disputes over a game. Then, Philosophes and Diplomats. The first one is just a bunch of an armchair philosophers. The other can be considered as "progressive" and want to build bridges with other clans and think the Camarilla needs to be more cooperative and inviting. The elders often snark at the "friendly ventrues" but at the end of the night it is the Diplomats they send out to represent the clan and do the talking and make peace with others. There's also a club for neonates just to bitch about their hard unlife without the restrictions of the etiquette. Btw look up the Olympian clique on your own lmao, I'm not even delving into that.

And to be fair, there's so much etiquette. You're being told what to wear, what to gift, how to act.

don't argue with those younger than you, embarrassing them in the act. Don't argue with elders because it's disrespectful. Don't argue with your peers because arguing is stupid. If someone really pissed you off please submit a request to your closest ventrue primogen and wait 15-20 business nights to be informed if you have a go at killing their ass. This is not a joke. Always show up as a united front at all times.

Be respectful and treat other clans as you would have wanted to be treated. Even if they are ugly, annoying, or unhinged. At the end of the night the inquisition will come for all of us.

The Agoge sucks. Everyone hates it. It fucks you up but complaining is for pussies so drink some cocained up blood or get a therapist like everybody else. Suck it up.

Crying in the boardroom is not allowed. No public display of emotions or feelings is allowed. The purpose of it is to minimize the amount of conflict between each other and other clans but it's the next best thing to Lasombra's catholic guilt in terms of repressing yourself.

Older ones have a hard time keeping up with technology, the concept of email is on par with other paranormal forces. The Board risks their unlives traveling to an in-person meeting to resolve something that could have been a 10 minute conference call. If you are a neonate who knows what a DVR is you've got quite some power.

[tablestoastandtime]

Legacy and Shadows

Say what you will about large parts of Tim's characterization being a product of the archetype he used to embody in the DC universe, it's kind of fucked up to suddenly become a completely different kind of character without your say so.

Or, Tim and the fact he doesn't get to have a future.

Tim wasn't sure what to make of the way everyone seemed confident that one day Damian would be Batman.

The kid was the only one to say it out loud, for the most part, but like a surprising amount of things that came out of his mouth everyone seemed to mostly take it for truth. And to be fair, when had Damian ever let anyone really stop him from going after something he felt he had a right to? So maybe it was true, if only because he was going to make sure of it. 

It was just. People used to think that about Tim, too. Not that he'd ever said that, ever even wanted it. If anything, Tim had spent as much time as he could reminding people that he wasn't Batman and had no intention of being him. But the shadow of it had lingered, and part of Tim had been bracing for it for years.

After all, Dick wanted to be Batman even less than Tim did, had initially been willing to let the mantle die to avoid it. Dick was Nightwing in a way not everyone ever got to inhabit their titles. Part of what made Dick one of the best of them was how he managed the split; by not letting there be one. Dick was Nightwing was Coach Grayson was whatever bullshit name he'd picked up while playing super spy. He never stopped being himself in any of those roles, for all that he'd put on the appropriate hat to play the crowd. There was a difference between performing and lying, and Dick was born for the lights. 

Batman didn't have much to do with light even at the best of times.

And on the other end of the spectrum, Batman was bad for Jason in a way that honestly caught Tim off guard when he first saw it. Sure none of them had been at their best back then, all alone in their own seas of grief, but Jason had lost whatever stability he'd had for a while there, and was only more recently leveling back out. He'd latched onto the mantle as both connection and insult, a last 'fuck you' to a man he wasn't ready to let go of yet. For Jason the cowl hadn't been about any actual interest in the job that needed doing. And yeah, maybe Tim was a bit biased because if he ever saw Jason in a batsuit again he was liable to do something truly stupid to pay him back for last time. What was worse, being attacked by a symbol of trauma or a symbol of faith?

Tim sure knew that he hadn't liked his end of the stick, at the very least. Maybe he'd feel differently if things hadn't gone the way they had, but he didn't want Jason to be Batman and it was only mostly personal.

Even before all that though, the idea of legacy had still been haunting Tim for longer than he'd wanted to admit. People died, heroes died, Tim knew that better than he knew what school he'd taken second year bio at, but the job always remained. Dick had only been interested in doing part of that job. He'd do the parts he wanted to well, Tim had always believed that, but that still left the rest of the job.

And Tim had kind of figured that would be his responsibility.

He hadn't always been happy about it, had resented the shapes Bruce built into his work even as he'd learned more and more why they'd been necessary to keep the undead freight train of the Bat going. Tim didn't like a lot of what Batman had to be to be effective, but he understood it and he didn't want to see Gotham or the world go without the pillar he represented. If you wanted a job done right, sometimes you had to do it yourself. Tim wouldn't ask anyone else to do something he wasn't willing to do, and if it meant Gotham got to keep its hero then yeah, he'd put on the cowl one day. He'd already tried once.

More than that, Tim was pretty sure Bruce used to see things the same way. Half of his training only made sense if it was to be something that was both more and less than Robin. He'd been preparing Tim for a role that wanted to eat him alive, and for all that Tim had gotten maybe more attached than was strictly healthy to the Robin mantle, it had become a part of him rather than his whole identity. Robin leapt into dark and danger feet first. To be Batman was to live there all the time.

Whether Tim had liked it or not, he'd spent the better part of the last four years half-knowing he'd have to move there one day and he'd lived like it was true. Frustrated, fighting it sometimes and dutifully twisting his edges to better fit others, but always like it was a future he couldn't afford to be unprepared for.

And then Damian came into their lives and Darkseid tried to transtemporally nuke Tim's remaining mental health. There was a paranoid imp that lived in the back of Tim's head that still half-believed that the whole thing had been another elaborate test, except this time if it had been then Tim must have failed because he never did get his life back afterwards. 

Tim put himself and everything he believed into a blender to find the cracks in everyone else's certainty and for all that he'd been right it had never even mattered. The Justice League found out about and went after Bruce independently. They'd only called him after he'd spent months playing into his own worst instincts to get the job done, just to do almost all of the work in front of him.

Maybe he'd done it all wrong. Maybe he'd been doing it wrong for a while.

Even if he hadn't wanted it, he'd been Tim Drake. Robin. The kid who might one day be Batman. And now, by some silent consensus he hadn't been invited to, he wasn't.

It was a relief. It was a deeply haunted house he'd been written out of the will for, it was a black hole that had materialized over his head and swallowed everything he had seen ahead of him.

It was the reality Tim needed to figure out how to live with.

He was doing his best these days, trying to fit the pieces of the person he used to be into the new shape of his life, but he kept cutting himself on the edges where they didn't quite line up. Cut other people sometimes too, even when he tried not to. But when he tried to take space to keep the sharpness to himself, it took his eyes off the movement of the world and when he looked up he had to start all over again to try to put together the puzzle of what he was going to do for the rest of his life.

And through it all, Tim kept turning over the issue of finding a name to use, methodologies to employ, somewhere he could even live, because the ones he used to have didn't really belong to him anymore. Never had, in all fairness.

They'd always been things gifted to him in exchange for dedication and hard work. He'd thought at the time that had meant earning. Now, of course, he knew better.

And now he had to do without them.

Who was Tim Drake if he was never going to be Batman? Who was Tim Drake, as someone who used to be Robin?

He had no idea. Tim just hoped it didn't take the rest of his life to figure it out.

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

There is an intimacy to sharing a body with someone. That's an obvious conclusion to make, but to experience it is something else entirely.

Shadow Milk may be adept at controlling people, but he has never possessed anyone before, not like this. He has never had any need to in the first place, because before his unjust imprisonment, he'd had his own body. Even if there hypothetically could have been a need, he much preferred the detachment his puppet strings allowed him. There was a superiority to having full control of a situation while being completely untouched by it, and that aside, inhabiting some insignificant Cookie's body as a concept was irritating, an insult to his own skill and strength.

Unfortunately, the circumstances have now changed. It is a compromise he is willing to accept though, because he'd take anything over staying sealed, and because he isn't sharing a body with just anyone.

No, it is Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is nowhere near as brilliant as Shadow Milk himself, but nowhere near as insignficant as the rest of Cookiekind either. No, he's special, and he has Shadow Milk's Soul Jam, so it is ultimately a matter of efficiency, to latch onto him.

Still, he had expected it to feel odd. Shadow Milk hasn't had a physical body in a long, long time so on principle, he figured becoming grounded and solid again would already be a strange feeling, let alone in a body that wasn't his original one.

But when he settles into Pure Vanilla's dough for the first time, Shadow Milk is forced to reassess his assumptions, because while it isn't familiar, it feels right. Like it is already his, and was always meant to be.

Thinking on it now, it is obvious that it would. Pure Vanilla isn't just anybody – he is the current holder of his Soul Jam, and no matter how undeserving that may be, that must make them compatible with one another. Even now, Shadow Milk can feel the core of his stolen power, so close yet just far out of reach.

That, of course, is the drawback of this little plan. Pure Vanilla is awfully paranoid – though Shadow Milk will admit, he is flattered with how often he crosses his mind – so he doesn't get many opportunities to seize control, and the ones he does get, he has to achingly hold back from jumping at.

Shadow Milk may be a jester, but he's no fool. He understands dramatic tension and build-up better than anyone else, and something like this is only worthy of being a heartstopping cliffhanger reveal, right on the cusp of the show's climax! To be able to do that, he has to play the waiting game for a little bit. It's aggravating, especially since he had planned to be free as a bird by now, but it isn't the worse. More fun than growing stale in a tree, at least.

And Shadow Milk really is fascinated by the intimacy of sharing this body. The inherent closeness, the blurring of lines and the warmth. Pure Vanilla's thoughts run like a river, sometimes churning furiously and other times meandering slow like honey, and he fishes them up effortlessly to marvel at how soft and ridiculous he is.

Pure Vanilla is not aware of Shadow Milk's presence. Well, that isn't quite true, because he obviously has suspicions, with how he mumbles questions and warnings to his reflection with a wary, anxious tone. How could he not, when Shadow Milk entertains himself with whispers and visions and taunts that are intangible enough to be classed as hallucination?

But he doesn't know about Shadow Milk's presence for certain, which means he can't fish Shadow Milk's thoughts out in return. It doesn't seem like they spill over naturally either. Shadow Milk wishes they did, wishes some of his more fun thoughts seeped into Pure Vanilla's brain like syrup, just to see how he would startle and panic.

Ah well. There were other ways to fluster him. It was easy, actually, as long as you knew what to say, and Shadow Milk is a master with words.

Shadow Milk taps their finger lazily against the staff while Pure Vanilla is busy, focused on his conversation with White Lily and those itty-bitty Cookies – and they really are itty-bitty, barely out the Oven, especially not compared to him. It's an easily overlooked movement, but that is exactly why Shadow Milk does it, finding it exciting to slowly push at those boundaries.

Moving the body without full control makes it feel less like his own hand, and more like his hand is laying on the top of Pure Vanilla's and moving it in tandem. It is almost similar to puppeting, if it wasn't for the added sensation of their hands merging together with the movement, warm and cold and heavy with the presence of another person. It feels thrilling, and it feels like two opposite magnets forced together, and it feels like coming home.

Shadow Milk knows it will feel even better when he is in full control. The freedom is exciting on its own, but Pure Vanilla will probably kick up a little fuss too. To press him into surrender under his presence, to surround and suffocate him so thoroughly that he lives in his very dough, that their minds and spirits have no choice but to intertwine – that is the sort of romanticism lovesick maidens would crumble for, truly, to be possessed in all senses of the word, and Shadow Milk is going to offer it all to Pure Vanilla on a silver platter. He should be thankful, he really should!

As for him, to possess Pure Vanilla in every meaningful way possible just feels natural. Again, Shadow Milk finds himself considering how Pure Vanilla really is his, and it is just as true as before. It has been true since the moment Pure Vanilla recieved his Soul Jam, and the moment Shadow Milk first laid eyes on him, which are incidentally one and the same.

It's so unfair, really. That he has to wait even longer when he could take over completely at the slightest push of effort.

Pure Vanilla, seemingly finished with his little conversation, begins to stroll off on his own. He pauses on a bridge, looking over the edge into the clear waters below, and Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to wink at him, Pure Vanilla's mouth twitching into an echo of a smirk, just to tease.

Pure Vanilla jolts, and blinks furiously back, shaking his head. Shadow Milk retreats from the surface to soak himself in the rushing of Pure Vanilla's thoughts.

I didn't– did I? No, no, no, I must be seeing things. The water's surface is quite far away, and the current must have disrupted my reflection–

Shadow Milk hums, pleased with himself, and it translates to an ominous chill down Pure Vanilla's spine.

Shadow Milk still wants his own body again, eventually. It isn't exactly feasible to share one long-term, because even though he is confident in his own abilities, there will always be a non-zero chance of Pure Vanilla stealing control at a vital moment.

For now, though, it's fun. A novelty he hasn't grown tired of yet.

It's only fair, anyway, since Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam. If anything, it's his right.

[k2ntoss]

Omg omg omg

Pls do “shit— do that again” and “this is so wrong” with dickie grayson pretty please

(The second prompt gives enemies to lovers vibes SO MUCH, so if it’s included the better.)

— ❤️‍🩹 xx

SECOND ANON WITH AN EMOJI, LET'S FUCKING CELEBRATE!! first of all, thank you so much for this request, i have an idea buzzing into my head and if i don't post it i'll go insane (i'm already insane) and second... i'm listening to the weeknd so yeah....

“do that again- shit, just like that, right there.” + "this is wrong... so wrong." (plus enemies to lovers trope omg yes please!!!)

dick has never been known to be a bad detective, his partners adore him and so does every kid and person he helps, he does his job so well everyone is aware that whenever he's got a new case he will be at it all the time but there is just one person that doesn't really agrees with that, dick knows it and it gets on his nerves because it's always just his cases and investigations the ones that you observe and deny before they reach the court.

he really hated the moment he had to go present his case to the prosecutor, mostly when it was you who was assigned to it and what's worse it's that dick knows that you take it personal because there's no way on earth you let mobs or criminals to pay for justice and that is pretty much clear when you have an amazing percentage of cases won where criminals end up getting what they deserve.

"you have to be joking," at this point is almost a routine. dick arrives to your office with a folder filled with documents and reports from the officers and his own, a box full of evidence he picked up and sent to check to the labs, all the signed paperwork and the hope that you won't send him back to re-do all the work from zero "everything is in that folder!"

"detective, would you lower your damn voice?" you'd ask him, the snark on your tone is upsetting and dick has to take a deep breath to cool down a bit "there are several forms you haven't filled, how do you expect me to work like this?" and it was true, paperwork was important even if everyone hated doing it.

"you can't return the whole investigation for a couple of stupid papers! it's a big case, if you return it to the station we'll have to let the criminals go because the time runs up." dick is starting to lose every trace of patience and good will he has, hands gripping the fabric of his trousers and his hands clench a little more when you look at him, unamused and with any intention to help him.

"i can't help you if you don't bring everything in order, not to say that there are so many things that don't make sense on your files," you say, reading through some pages "this doesn't looks like a real detective's work, how do you expect me to do anything with this?" you leave the folder down, looking at him with your arms crossed over your chest and leaning back on the chair behind your desk.

dick is about to scream, you're telling him his work sucks and sending him back to do it all over again when he is sure there are cases pilling up back in the station but he has to hold it back. it's weird that the person he despises the most isn't some villain he fights at night but a prosecutor that he desperately wants to shut up for once and for all.

you are way too cocky for your own good and since the first case you dismised from his hands he has wanted to show you why he had the reputation he had, he's fighting his rage right now because he knew that in this case you were right and it would be stupid to keep pushing but he was too stubborn and a little too lost on how much he liked to get in your nerves.

"there's no way you can't help me with that case," he says and dick's voice is now an indicator of how upset he is feeling, not only because of you dismissing his work but also because this time he wasn't right (not that he has been before, he always forgot a paper or the whole background of a piece of evidence because he was too distracted on thinking how jolly the moment would be when you'd had to accept his work) "you just don't want to do it and that's bullshit, you should be dismissed from all the station's cases because this is personal."

"detective grayson," you warn him, if it was on your hands you'd help him just as you always tried to help but as a prosecutor you had to stick to the rules and make sure your coworkers did just the same "i'd suggest you to lower your tone and keep your emotions in check, the fact that i can't work with this investigation it's not my fault." you said, letting the folder fall back on your desk before standing up.

there went the last string of patience and good will dick had, he stood up but stayed still until you started walking your way to the door and he'd be lying if your figure wasn't distracting him a little bit with the way that greenish button up shirt hung a little loose on your shoulders but gave a hint of your figure. he had to shake his thoughts away and as soon as he saw your hand reaching for the door he darted towards you, pushing the door closed shut again and standing a little too close to you.

dick is hovering over you, looking down as his eyes fix on yours and there's no way to hide the surprise of the sudden outburst that causes you to flinch a little.

"you think so high of yourself, y/n," dick hisses as his eyes narrow, he leans in closer and it sends a spark that danced between anger and pure expectation from what he could do "you think that you make the fucking calls and that is just so upsetting, i wish i could just bring you down from that cloud and show you just what you are." he points at you and it's distracting because dick grayson has always managed to keep his anger in check.

"keep your emotions in check, detective" it was another warning, it came throught gritted teeth and narrowed eyes as you stand still ready to snap back at him on the first chance "am i the one that thinks too high of themself? let me break it to you, grayson, at least i'm trying to do my job as i have to."

the banter between you two has always been a little more snarky and less heated, not to be taken so serious because what you wanted to do was to push dick to do his absolute best so you could also help people to be safe out on the streets, living their lives but this time was just different because there was something else fueling the words.

there's a spark that ignites inside of dick as soon as your words hit close to home and next thing you know is that you're being cornered against the door of your office and he managed to inmobilize you; he grabs your shoulder to turn you around, his right leg between yours and his face right next to yours.

"you think you're better than the rest of us just because you get to take the credit of putting the bastards we catch behind bars but you just have to sit pretty here," he speaks lowly into your ear, his tone making it clear that he was letting it all out, months of bottled up frustration flowing out of him "you do nothing but talk, that's all that mouth of yours can do and it was just time someone put you in your place."

"richard grayson, you better back the fuck up now or–" you start, the warning hanging in the air and interrupted by a low grunt that just escaped your lips when he pressed a bit more against you just to mess with your nerves, causing his thigh to press a bit more between your legs and sending a jolt through your spine that mixed with all the emotions "do that again– shit," and even tho he is surprised and a little taken aback by your reaction he complies, moving closer until he could feel his leg pressed up against your clothed core and he decided to grind it teasingly "just like that, right there..."

"that's all it takes to turn off your brain?" he asks mockingly, his hand pressed between your shoulders as his lips brush against your era and it's easy to hear the smirk on dick's voice "pin you against the door and let you grind yourself against my thigh? it's pathetic how a smartmouth like you turns to a puddle when someone touches your cunt like this."

yeah, it's pathetic because he managed to shut you up without even trying and he's proud of it. his hand trails down your back until it reaches the lower part of it making sure to hold your body in a way you couldn't move your hips to grind on his thigh.

"go on, why don't you move?" he asks teasingly, his hand pressing harder when he felt the jerk of your hips and an amused laugh escapes his throat when you grunt frustrated "who would have thought that miss great prosecutor was such a desperate little slut." and he could have stopped there, make you help him because you'd be too embarrased to deny him anything after putting this show for him but dick decided to lean in and press a lingering kiss on your neck that made your breath catch on your throat.

"dick– fuck, don't be such an ass" you say in a hoarse tone, looking at the ceiling as you try to rock your hips once again, feeling yourself able to do so when dick's hand wanders from your back to your stomach and then up, resting between your breasts as he breathes you in.

"pretty fucked up, isn't it?" he asks against your neck, nibbling on the side of your neck as his fingers start undoing the buttons of your shirt while you grind against his thigh and everything feels so forbidden, one of your hands moving to lock the door because there was no way you'd let yourself get caught being groped by the detective you've told all your department you hated.

it wasn't news for your coworkers that dick and you had a long history of not getting alone but truth be told, you just wanted to make dick give his best because that would also allow you to give your best. it was a win-win, if only he saw it that way because you weren't trying to buy more time for the criminals to make up evidence or build new alibis or get fake witnesses.

dick gets your shirt open, his hands messily working on pulling your bra down and growling lowly when he saw your breasts spilling out against the door, his eyes moving from your chest to the way your features contorted from the way you were getting yourself off like this. with every jerk of your hips he could feel your ass pressed against his cock, the bulge inside his dressing pants now hard in a way you could feel it againt your body.

he lets go of you, turning you around and ignoring your grunt when you were left without that pleasurable feeling on your aching pussy. his hands gripping your hips as he presses a hungry kiss on your lips, demanding and bruising between the smirk it draws from him when you kiss him back with the same need as your hands undo his shirt, pulling it away from his body as he manages to walk until he is sitting on your desk with you sitting on his lap.

the messy making out is only interrupted when the clothes come out of your body, heavy breathing as he squeezes and gropes your flesh into his hands in a rush of pure lust that's fueled by the way your wetness feels when pressed against his hard on as he moves you to tease your pussy, his shaft moving between your folds and the wet sounds are only muffled by the low moans and growls you both try to keep as low as you can.

"this is wrong..." you say breathlessly, feeling how dick picks your body up with his arm around your waist as his free hand lines his tip with your entrance and he grunts into your neck when you are the one that slides down on him with your eyes closed shut "so wrong, god."

it's not much when your body moves on its own, going up and down on his cock as he looks up at you, hands gripping your waist to hold you as his lips are around one of your nipples, sucking and licking at it while your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders.

you'd never set yourself into this kind of situations but there was no time to think about how wrong this was when it felt so good, the way he filled you up as you rode him slowly, teasing him to grip your hips in order to set the pace to make you bounce on him.

"you look so good like that, fuck," he whispers against your chin when you start grinding on him, his hands on your hips so hard that his fingers bruise your skin as he thrusts deeper into your pussy "so desperate fucking yourself like a bitch in heat, you think you're using my cock for your pleasure but you're nothing but a pretty toy."

his words work as a turn on, the way he looks at you with hunger and need as he pounds harshly inside your cunt makes you moan without care on who could hear you.

"you look so pretty like that, so tight around me" he grunts into your ear and it's right there when he takes the lead, setting a fast pace as he holds your hips to make your body bounce "you like it like this? when you're being used like a dirty whore, sweetheart?"

"i like it so much, fuck–" you whine and the sound of your voice makes him chuckle, this was pretty bad because the degrading words were making you needier and the way you couldn't hide it made you appear more like a slut for him, clenching around him the closer you got to your climax as he hit all the right spots with each thrust he gave.

it was hard to talk for you, between moans and whines of pure delight that came after each stroke dick made as he kissed your jaw but he had no problem on doing it while his hand moved and reached that space on your pussy.

his thumb pressed against your clit made you shiver into his arms, whinning pathetically as he played with your sensitivity with a wide grin "look at the little mess you are, always so collected and now you're here with your legs all spread for me to fuck you into a brainless slut."

"dick– i'm close" you say, eyes teary and voice broken as your face finds a place into the crook of his neck but it's not too much time until he finds your gaze, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss into your lips before he pulls back and nods, thrusting in a faster pace and with deeper strokes.

"c'mon, cum for me, sweetheart." he growls against your ear, both hands holding your waist as your movements become sloppier and erratic, the tension on your belly building more and more until your orgasm hits your whole body making your walls clench tighter around him "that's it, that's a fucking good girl... i'll pull out now, yeah?"

and he doesn't wait for your response, knowing you won't be able to think straight while you were still on your high and with you still straddling his lap dick moves, strocking his cock until he is throbbing into his fist before he reaches his own climax, painting your stomach with those milky white streaks.

maybe, just maybe now he could find a way to fix his work without feeling so upset about it.

[beanghostprincess]

Rayleigh and Buggy reunion, but Rayleigh is being over the top judgemental about everything, like idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV show but Rayleigh shows up and acts exactly like Rebecca's mom does. Overcritical of his life choices and dismissive of what he perceives as excuses coming from Buggy, because he knows Buggy's true potential and is annoyed with Buggy not living up to it. He gives Crocodile a once over and goes "is that what you found to replace Shanks with" and moves on and Crocodile doesn't even have a moment to compute the way he was just insulted because Rayleigh has moved on to criticising Mihawk's cooking instead. Worst part is, this all comes from a genuine place of love and care, Rayleigh is legitimately worried sick about his baby clown son of 39 years, but he cannot express that worry without being extremely invasive about everything. Buggy isn't even responding, he just shoots ppl apologetic looks and rolls his eyes when Rayleigh isn't looking because of course he does this obviously Buggy is never good enough for him and Shanks had always been the favourite (you ask Shanks or any other Roger pirate and they will tell you that Buggy is Rayleigh's baby boy and absolute favourite with utmost confidence, too bad the emotional constipation runs in the crew). Dinner is awkward as fuck, because Rayleigh makes attempts at being easygoing but his motherhenning nature irt Buggy shines through, his conviction that Buggy would be happier with Shanks by his side is making him be overcritical of everyone in that dinner and he keeps discussing the good old days and subtly hinting at Buggy that there is still time for him to go back to Shanks....and Buggy looks close to frustrated tears (and everyone agrees, Crocodile has snapped 5 cigars in half with his teeth and Mihawk is 5 seconds away from banging his head on the table).

Just overbearing father Rayleigh being stifling and trying to overcompensate for his shit parenting choices during Buggy's childhood and Buggy having his daddy issues expanded upon (and Crocodile and Mihawk gaining insight to Buggy's entire deal)

"Idk if u are familiar with crazy ex girlfriend the TV sho-" My therapist literally told me to stop watching it so much because it was affecting my mental health. So. Yes. I know the show. It's one of my favorite shows EVER. Rebecca is just like me fr my beloved. All of them my beloveds. The songs my beloveds. Don't make me go into CEG x OP because I won't finish. And as you can see, I did not listen to my therapist.

Even though I've always seen Rayleigh as the one who understands Buggy the most (Roger and him love Shanks and Buggy equally but it is quite obvious they put more pressure on Shanks to be more like Roger and that only made things worse by making Buggy's inferiority complex exist) and the one who stands up more for him and comforts him when needed, it is true that he might be more judgemental and he'd be worried for Buggy. Like. Think about it. Roger died and the kids (their kids) ended up alone and going their own separate ways. For Rayleigh, finding out Shanks and Buggy aren't together is just?? So weird?? Because they've always been together. Birds of a feather (if somebody mentions the song 'Two Birds' I am punching them because I can't handle that song today please). And it's just... Well, surprising. 'But as long as they're okay' but they're obviously not okay!!! And it's not that Rayleigh is judging Buggy. In fact, I think he would do the same with Shanks. The second Rayleigh sees Shanks he's already saying he drinks too much (even for a pirate) and that he's been acting recklessly and "What the fuck are you doing without Buggy? Is this because of Buggy?" / "I do not drink because of him. It's- It's not about him. He left-" / "HE LEFT AND YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?????" / "I hate it when you get like this" / "Like what?" / "Like you want to still do something about my life. I'm an adult, thank you very much-" / "No, you're not if you keep acting this way". And I personally think Rayleigh would just be worried for the both of them and also feel extremely guilty because he wasn't there to fix things when they fought, the way he always did. "The second I left you alone you two start a fight that lasts two decades?" and he would say this to both of them and they would hate it.

But yeah, going back to Buggy I think he'd be worried because. Well. Have you seen Crocodile and Mihawk? I mean. They're kind of on good terms with Buggy now (more or... More or less. Kind of. They're not equals but they're some sort of weird thing and they respect and care for each other. More or less. It's- It's complicated. Don't ask) but they're still them. And Rayleigh can't help but see the situation and be like "I'm proud you made a name of yourself, kid, but you don't have to do this if you don't want to" (meaning: You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted) and Buggy takes it as an "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be safer with him" instead of the real "You could go back to Shanks any time you wanted because you'd be happier with him and this war of pride and hearts you have going on is dumb". And he understands Buggy needs to be away from Shanks to grow, but it's just so, so sad to see them like this when they used to love each other so damn much.

Also, I think Buggy would be going through the worst moment of his life and Crocodile and Mihawk would be so done for different reasons. First, they don't give a fuck about all of this drama. And second, they are starting to see Buggy more like a person and understand why he is the way he is, and the things Rayleigh is saying are bothering them a lot. They've been trying to make the clown move on from his past so he's useful for once (because when he believes in himself he's actually not a burden and more interesting) and now this guy (that they respect because it's Silvers Fucking Rayleigh) comes and tries to change things around here? Nope. Not happening.

So basically, what you're trying to tell me is that Rayleigh regrets raising the boys that way and now he's overcompensating and it's overwhelming for everyone, right? I- I love it. Great plot. 10/10. In character. Perfect. It makes me go insane. I love their daddy issues.

(Also, can we talk about how "This Was a Shit Show" and "What'll it be" are extremely Buggy songs??? Because- Because now I want to-)

[theoraclephobetor]

Franklyn makes Hannibal so uncomfortable and he hates this little cheese man so much.

Dan Fogler is a master for acting this character in such a smarmy and unsympathetic way - and he does it without making Franklyn actively evil or mean. There's just this undercurrent of piteous desperation in everything he does, and he's so obviously dysfunctional in a way that is deeply repellent to viewers.

For Hannibal, it's worse. Hannibal is canny enough to recognize another human who constantly wears a 'person suit'. He watches Franklyn craft himself a persona from their conversations, from his own preferences, moulding himself into a perfect friend for Hannibal. Franklyn has such an ego, and thinks that where the world failed a famous man, he - in his infinite capacity for support and friendship - could succeed. But in crafting his person suit to perfectly fit his therapist's tastes, he makes himself repugnant to Hannibal.

Franklyn is doing to Hannibal what Hannibal is trying to do for Will - he wants to make himself into Will's anchor, to get behind his walls and touch greatness, to be his saviour (in a way) and show Will his true potential.

And yet Franklyn is objectively pitiable.

Which means Hannibal, seeing his actions played out by this small man, has to grapple with the fact that he is also a small and desperate creature. He is also pitiable.

This is the same episode where Will talks about the Chesapeake Ripper as an insignificant thing that should not have been born and can never really be a person - no matter how hard it tries. He talks about the Ripper's person suit as an extrapolation - something that must exist because how else would he have evaded capture - but what Will sees in that moment is the Ripper.

Will takes so much longer to figure out Hannibal because he gives Hannibal his trust so early on in the series. He isn't looking too deeply below Hannibal's facade (which I firmly think he sees) because he trusts that there is something behind it that vaguely resembles a person. Hannibal gets all the credit for seeing that Will has a cruel streak, but Will also sees parts of Hannibal that (almost) no one else has spotted - mainly, that he holds himself firmly apart from people, even as he charms them.

And Will is completely right. Hannibal is so lonely that he goes to find Will when he doesn't show up to an appointment. He has been confronted with his own loneliness through Franklyn, while at the same time needing to shore up his identity as the Chesapeake Ripper after two copycat kills. Sorbet is all about Hannibal's identity crisis working in opposition to his desire to make Will Graham his friend.

That's also what Bedelia sees when she calls out Hannibal's person suit/human veil. Like yeah, she'll have a glass of rose and a nice conversation with him, because she honestly does like the character Hannibal's been puppeting for years. But she knows it's a shadow play. She knows that they may be friendly, but friendship requires knowing Hannibal. Bedelia peeked beneath that veil - once, at her most vulnerable moment - and she never forgets that the person suit is tailored for a lonely predator. She never forgets that the only way he was able to truly connect with her was to manipulate her into killing.

Bedelia's place in all this is so interesting to me, because for a little while she is the audience surrogate. She has the same knowledge of Hannibal's character as any viewer who grew up with The Silence of the Lambs. Later she becomes a participatory character (until Hannibal makes her a surrogate for Will), but in the beginning she exists to help show the watcher what they already know. She reaffirms - in a time when Will and Jack are becoming untethered from their realities - that what the viewer knows about Hannibal is true. Bedelia is the viewer's anchor in this narrative, up until the point she chooses to disappear from it.

Though she knows better than to clearly say as much, I think she hears about Franklyn and knows exactly why Hannibal wants nothing to do with him.

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

"Izzy Canyon dwellers just want to turn him into an innocent victim who did nothing wrong!"

Actually my problem is that, in hindsight, Izzy didn't do enough wrong to justify the common interpretation of his relationship with Ed. In my book, the first time in the series he legitimately crossed over to villainous antagonist territory - someone you actually loved to hate for it even if you understood his reasons - was when he set the British Navy on the Revenge. That way he not only betrayed his integrity as a pirate by consorting with the common enemy of all pirates, but risked Ed's life too - cause, like, come on, that "plan" to send CJ to convince Ed to leave Stede was so far-fetched it barely counts as a plan. I don't buy Izzy ever looking at CJ and going "yep that seems like a smart, responsible, trustworthy man I could rely on for a delicate mind games operation like this". It was an act of sheer desperation on Izzy's part, but he still chose to do it. IMO this was actually worse than what he said to Ed in S1 finale. Although of course that was very nasty, too.

But the thing is, we don't actually have any info on what their relationship used to be like before S1. We were only ever shown, not told - and both times from Izzy's perspective: the first time in S01E04 during his resignation rant, which was very heartfelt and I'm sure a lot of it was true, but it's still one-sided, and the second time during his deathbed speech, which was, again, one-sided and this time biased in another direction - instead of airing his pent-up grievanced Izzy was putting most of the blame on himself.

Other than this, the entirety of Ed and Izzy's pre-S1 relationship gets extrapolated from one single episode, S01E04. The narrative itself seems to want us to see it as a microcosm of their usual long-standing dynamic, at least on the surface. We see Ed being depressed and suicidal, trying to open up to Izzy about it, and Izzy shutting him down and making him act like Blackbeard again. Since it's already clear that Ed and Stede are the main characters, we're primed to see Ed as the victim here and Izzy being an annoying, insensitive nag.

Except the context of those interactions changes everything. The context being that they are literally about to be attacked by the Spanish - something Ed knowingly brought on them with his decisive power as captain - and Ed is deliberately withholding crucial information from his own first mate and the rest of the crew, making them all think they're going to die and he isn't doing anything about it. Izzy wasn't just being a boring buzzkill not being excited for Ed when he showed him that ship model. He was actively panicking and trying to do his job asking Ed for orders so they don't all get slaughtered.

So, yeah, those are some very exceptional circumstances that don't say anything about their typical day to day interactions go when they're not in immediate mortal peril due to lack of communication. Was this the first time Ed ever told him about not wanting to be Blackbeard anymore? Izzy didn't seem very surprised, so probably not, but we don't know, and if Ed had confided in him before, we don't know how Izzy reacted - but I'd like to point out that this time he didn't ridicule Ed in any way, he simply pointed out that they were about to die if Ed didn't do anything. Does Izzy usually indulge Ed in the stuff he finds fun when they're not about to be killed? Again, we don't know, but Izzy's playfulness during that first confrontation with Stede in S01E02, and his whittling and jokes in S2 showed that he wasn't always as grouchy and joyless as he's made out to be. We actually saw him smile when Ed got excited about Buttons, too. Pretty sure if Izzy always shut him down about things like that, Ed would have stopped trying to share it with him long ago.

And, finally, there's one piece of this puzzle that doesn't seem to fit in with the rest at all. The show both told us and implied that Izzy couldn't let Blackbeard go because his own identity was too tied up in it, and because he idolised the glory of violent pirate lifestyle. But if that's the case, then why did he have no problem with Ed wanting to retire? Izzy literally gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up on the whole "kill Stede and steal his identity so he could live the rest of his life as a rich aristocrat" plan. If Izzy only admired Ed as a pirate, and was so hell-bent on keeping the Blackbeard persona alive, why was he ok with Ed retiring? How does this square up with the idea that Izzy had been keeping Ed chained to piracy?

I'd honestly hoped we would get some flashbacks of the two of them in S2, and then S3 before that hope died too, because there's still so much we're missing.

[fooled-around-and-fell]

Hi, could I request Joel Miller and reader fighting A LOT, and then reader saves his life by risking her own, but Joel thought it was so reckless and started scolding her. And then she just shut him up with a kiss and IT WORKED. And now he doesn't know what to do.

Love your work!

a/n: of course! hope you enjoy this 🖤 i may have changed the part where he doesn't know what to do lol

Warnings: cursing, kissing, making out, suggestive.

Masterlist

"That's 1 for me, and none for you." Joel smirks, watching as you kick your clicker aside.

The bet was 'who could kill a clicker first'. Winner gets... well, the title of a winner. You and Joel are just very competitive individuals, who for some reason need to prove yourself to the other person.

Normal people would call it flirting, but you and Joel curse out whoever dare accuse you of such heinous acts.

"God.. get a room." Tommy mutters.

"Shut up, Tommy." You glare.

Maria chuckles, leading the group back to the base. "Why do you always push their buttons?"

Tommy shrugs. "They look cute flustered like that. Look, Joel won't even know how to talk to her now."

It's true. Every time someone says something along the lines of "y'all look good together", Joel does not know how to act. Yes, he curses them out, but then gets quiet with you.

"So," Joel mutters. "Wanna wrap this up and grab a beer?"

You get on your horse. "Are you buying?"

"I make my own beer."

"Gah, no thanks then." You say, though you know damn well that you'll take that beer in a heartbeat.

He rolls his eyes. "You're impossible."

A smirk makes its way up to your lips when you see another abandoned cabin nearby. "Tell you what Joel, let's go for another round. Cabin at your 10."

"Yeah?" Joel looks at the cabin. "Are we bettin' for something real this time?"

"How 'bout you bet for a date?" Tommy chimes.

"Shut up, Tommy." Joel glares at his brother.

Maria chuckles at Tommy's little jabs towards the oblivious couple. "We're going to checkout that cabin tomorrow anyway, so go knock yourselves out. But be careful, it's getting dark out."

You raise your eyebrow at Joel, who looks doubtful.

"Scared you're gonna lose, Miller?"

Joel scoffs. "Careful there, sweetheart. You don't wanna tease me."

You and Joel take a turn towards the cabin, Tommy and Maria riding ahead. The cabin seems to be in pretty good shape, no sign of clickers. Until of course, you spot the ominous amount of blood seeping through the back door.

"That amount of blood," you whisper to Joel, "Gotta be a big animal. Maybe a horse."

"Or just a shit ton of humans." Joel adds.

As if things can't get worse.

And it does.

The sun's setting, but you can hear the sound of a clicker inside. You're sure it's just the one. You and Joel both agree that you should finish this quickly. Usually, a more silent approach is preferred, but since there's only one clicker, it can't hurt, right?

Joel kicks the door open and you make your way inside. The clicker's already running towards you, but with quick work, Joel shoots it down like nothing.

"That was easy." You comment.

"Too easy." Joel frowns. "Looks like it's two-nil, sweetheart."

You're about to roll your eyes when you catch a stalker unlatch itself from the wall and about to attack.

"Joel, watch out!"

You push Joel aside and let yourself get pushed down by it. Your arm is preventing it from getting close to you, and you shoot it dead. Joel kicks the stalker away from you and help you up.

"Fuck." He checks for any bite marks. "Tell me you didn't get bit. Or a-any scratches-"

"I'm fine, Joel-"

He checks again, and sighs in relief once he found nothing. "Why on earth would you do that?"

You frown. Still in shock, but Joel's comment shocks you more. "I just saved your life."

"No one asked you to." He quips. "You could've died- worse, it could've bit you."

"Yeah, it could've bit you, Joel." You say. "That's why I stopped it."

"You were reckless." Joel scolds.

You scoff. "You know what, let's just head back. I'm done having this conversation with you."

You try to stand up, only to almost fall. It seems like you've sprained your ankle when you taking the fall. Hoping Joel didn't notice, you slowly make your way to your horse.

But of course Joel notices.

"What's wrong with you?"

You glare at him, "I said, I don't want to-"

"No, what's wrong?" He frowns. "You're limping."

"..It's just a sprained ankle." You mutter.

And despite Joel's lack of hearing in his right ear, he picks that up perfectly clear. He hops off his horse and helps you get on yours before tying your lead to his.

He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride back home.

--

Once you've arrived at the stables, Joel picks you up and gets you down from your horse before you can do it yourself. The only problem is that he's not putting you down.

"Joel, I can walk by myself."

"The hell you can." He mutters.

You sigh. "Put me down, Joel."

"Can you quit fussin' around?" He frowns. "You're heavy."

You look at him in disbelief. "Put me down right now. No one asked you to carry me."

He fully ignores you. Once he's sure that the horses are good, he leaves with you in his arms, back to his place. All the while, you're still demanding him to put you down.

"Joel, honestly." You sigh again. "People are staring."

"You'd rather walk to your house with that sprained ankle?" He questions, "I know you're in pain."

"It's barely a sprained ankle." Lies.

"Probably just sore." More lies.

Joel sets you down on his couch and goes to get an ice pack. You took this chance to stand up and make your way towards the door - which, obviously, with your sprained ankle, you can't do very fast.

"Jesus Christ," Joel sighs. "Can you just sit down??"

You huff and sit back down. There's no winning against Joel now.

Joel kneels in front of you and takes off your boot. He examines your ankle and sighs. You won't be able to walk properly for the next 4 to 6 weeks.

You're in severe pain, but you're not about to let Joel know. You can see that your ankle is badly swollen, and when Joel tries to move it, you hiss in pain.

"You really shouldn't have been so reckless."

"Joel, please-"

"No, cause what if you'd gotten bit?" He looks at you. "I'd need to-" He doesn't even want to think of what he'd have to do.

"It's just a sprained ankle, Joel." You tell him. "I'm fine. I can handle it. I've been doing this just as long as you have."

He shakes his head. His face is all kinds of worry. Despite being so sour and sassy all the time, Joel actually has a soft heart. It's what draws you to him. He's very caring, he just hides it.

"All, I'm sayin' is, next time, just let me handle it, alright?" He says.

"Ugh, Joel-"

"No," He interrupts you. "I don't want to hear it. You keep doing this and I keep worryin' about you-" he rambles on and presses the ice pack on your ankle.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" You wince.

"See? This is why you-"

"Oh good God, just stop." You grab his face and kiss him before he can lecture you further.

Joel drops the ice pack and his hands find the back of your neck. Your legs spread and he places himself between them, pulling you closer to him.

There's a need of exploration and urgency. You don't even think about taking a breath because you don't want this to end.

"Joel." You moan softly when he pushes his tongue. His hands softly squeezes your waist and the other inching closer to your inner thigh.

You try to take charge, but Joel's having none of it. His hand travels up to your neck and gives it a gentle squeeze, reminding you who's in control. He smirks when a gasp escapes you.

You might've started this, but Joel is definitely winning.

"Too much for you, sweetheart?"

You're both left breathless. Touching Joel again feels electrifying, yet somehow the world surrounding you feels like a blur. It's making your head spin, and you want more.

Joel chuckles at your state and presses the ice pack on your ankle again. You moan out in pain, resting your head on his shoulder.

He smirks and whispers in your ear, "Save your moans, babygirl. You're gonna be doing a lot of that tonight."

.

.

.

a/n: I hate that I can't write smut :(

[ungodly-amounts-of-godly-trauma]

wotw round 1

propaganda under the cut!

shen qingqiu:

Okay first a quick intro: Shen Qingqiu / Shen Yuan is the main character of SVSSS, and his deal is that he's a guy from the modern world who wakes up in the novel he read, in the body of one of the characters. Shen Yuan is his name in his original world, while Shen Qingqiu is the name of the character he became - that he uses for himself for most of the novel.

Now, what happened to him… The thing is, at the core of his woobification are his actual canon traits, but some fans really crank them up to the point where it becomes a disservice to the character. So you never know when someone saying "oh Shen Qingqiu is so oblivious" means "due to several intersecting factors Shen Qingqiu has some extremely specific blindspots regarding certain topics" (which is just true) or "haha Shen Qingqiu could get kissed by a man and still not realize that man has romantic feelings for him" (just one variation of the sentiment, but one i find particularly bewildering considering. in canon. a man kissing him was exactly what made Shen Qingqiu realize that man was actually in love with him. like my dudes the bar is low but its there!).

Stumbling into this second version in fic was funny a first few times, but now it's like… I genuinely can't tell whether any particular author is overplaying it for comedy, or genuinely believes the character is That dumb.

Also ppl often severely underestimate his power level. Like idk if that's because they compare him to the characters he often hangs out with, who are those genius top-of-the-world experts (despite him outpacing literally everyone else he ever fought against), or because of how he bungled his first-ever case (like, you know, two weeks after waking up in a whole NEW BODY, in a different world), or because he tends to downplay his own strength and also tries to avoid killing people… but like, this man took a technique that in the original was just "aesthetic and interesting" and developed it into something that could be super deadly within weeks, he's just not using it that way. And he also fixed og Shen Qingqiu's broken cultivation within the first few months of being in that body. So he's actually extremely talented and pretty strong, he just spends most of the book either nerfed by external factors (such as poison that disables his spiritual energy at random times) or surrounded by veritable powerhouses.

And this is for Shen Yuan-as-Shen Qingqiu. But the version that drives me completely up the wall is actually the portrayal of just Shen Yuan - in fanworks where he either never gets transported to the world of the novel, or wakes up as a different character. Because suddenly the traits that already get unduly amplified with Shen Qingqiu version become straight up caricature-like. He's not only oblivious to the extreme, he also gets painted as this completely naive soft babyboi (this is about a guy whose most well-known pre-transmigration canon trait is that he writes famously vitriolic rants about novels on the internet); plus, like, on the physical level, super frail and waifish which uh. wow. nice walking right back into the BL tropes the novel itself avoided?…… So yeah I'm super not keen on this portrayal. I know he doesn't appear as not-Shen Qingqiu version of himself in the novel, if we don't count the rant in the beginning, but like. please extrapolate from the character we actually have instead of writing this mega-woobie who shares nothing with the base version?

Terrible little bastard man who has a sad backstory but is actually genuinely a terrible person. Fans like to act like he is just a soft sad boi deep inside and make him lose all of his edge.

So the thing about Shen Jiu / og!Shen Qingqiu in canon is that we first learn of him as an unquestionably, almost cartoonishly villainous character. As in, he is literally a villain in the book our main character has been reading… before dying and waking up in the world of the book, as that very villain (hence the distinction of Shen Jiu being the "original" Shen Qingqiu, as our main character begins to use the name Shen Qingqiu for himself. Shen Jiu, however, is an old name that only the original has used). The original Shen Qingqiu that our main character knows is a serial child abuser in a teaching position, a murderer (killed his colleague, killed his old fiancee's entire family…), and a lecher (visited brothels and had designs on his female disciple).

Then, over the course of the novel, we learn more about Shen Jiu - in particular, that a number of things our MC "knew" about him were not true. He did not kill his colleague, but rather failed to save him, despite trying to; he killed his "fiancee"'s family because her older brother has abused him for years (and also, Shen Jiu was forced into agreeing to marry her), and also he only actually killed half of them (only men); he visited brothels because he only felt safe in the company of women, and he just went there to get a good night's sleep; and he only ever saw that female disciple he was accused of lusting after as a daughter. And in general, he had a horrible childhood, and was himself a victim of abuse.

However, not everything gets disproved. Shen Jiu still turned from a victim to perpetrator, abusing a child (coincidentally the protagonist of the og book) and trying to set him up to die/be killed several times. Canon is very clear on that point. The situation with Shen Jiu and the og book version of the protagonist is very much an illustration of cycles of abuse.

Also at a certain point, we meet the author of the in-world book, the one our MC was reading - who explains he scrapped Shen Jiu's tragic backstory because it would make him too controversial. Quoting from memory, something like: 'if you said he was a villain, he was also tragic; but if you said he was pitiful, he'd also done terrible things. All in all, a character like this was a hotbed for all kinds of fandom discourse.'

Prophetic fucking words.

Somehow, seeing all that, some 'fans' have decided to jump into a completely opposite direction: making Shen Jiu a poor little misunderstood meow meow who did nothing wrong ever and was a soft princess and totally was never mean to the protagonist ("the protagonist just has inflated sense of ego and misunderstood Shen Jiu's normal teaching as singling him out for abuse" was a take I had to see with my own two eyeballs. Theres btw an extra from Shen Jiu's pov where he laments that the fake manual he gave the kid has failed to horrifically kill him yet).

Which puts the rest of us in an awkward position of having to defend his canon assholery. Like, the whole point of this character is that he's complex! That he's both a villain and a victim! Reducing him to just one is doing him a disservice, and either extreme is equally incorrect! And this is something that happens with many similar characters, I know, but what boggles my mind about Shen Jiu's case in particular is that. it's spelled out. The whole deal with his character is spelled out in canon. And some people still go "oh so Shen Jiu was secretly the most morally pure and good character, got it". Like. how?????????????? ??? ?? ?????

noriaki kakyoin:

Uke-fied to the max so he can be shipped with jotaro lol

Ohmygod where do I even start. Kakyoin's the poster boy for twinkification and woobification of a canonically very capable, interesting (and not twinky at all) character who's so many things at once- a loyal friend, really smart, a bit of a weirdo, infodumping trivia at random times, quick-thinking in dangerous situations, reckless, polite and respectful, vengeful towards enemies but always kind to friends, depressed, determined and motivated in the face of mortal danger despite it all - even when he had the chance to leave the Stradust Crusaders and just come back to his normal life, he decided to stick with them. This decision eventually cost him his life since he got killed by Dio, the main villain. The fandom either calls him a cardboard with no personality (which is not true at ALL, where did that take even come from) or they downplay his canon badassery- Jotaro x Kakyoin shippers are often guilty of this along with twinkifying Kakyoin. The ship is fine, but they're way more interesting if you take into account their canon characterisation as huge weirdos who somehow work pretty well together- they're both different flavors of autistic that sometimes just so happen to align on the same wavelength.

[difeisheng]

Fang Duobing kisses him, wine-clumsy movement tugging him forward, watchlessness of the night and all its courage summoned, sunk into his veins as pure helpless impulse.

Li Lianhua doesn't kiss him back.

"What are you doing, xiaozi?" he hears, in a moment's chasm of hesitancy, soft release of a sigh against Fang Duobing's mouth. He shifts back, leaving Li Lianhua's warmth behind, to look him in the eyes.

Fang Duobing has witnessed nearly every emotion spelled out across this man's features before. Committed the shape of each one to memory— amusement, irritation, a fleeting glimpse of what might be affection— to recall during lingchen when sleep refuses to find him. Li Lianhua's face is familiar to him in every guise and angle, like any other beloved artwork Fang Duobing could bring to his mind's eye.

Whatever this is though, wide-eyed shock and wordlessness and something else unknown, is new.

"Li Lianhua," Fang Duobing says. Only half a question, the rest plea, betrayed by his own tongue.

In a minute's suspense, there is no answer to meet it.

Shame, the twisting burn of it, crests and settles somewhere in his core. Fang Duobing makes to stand, to turn away, to wait. For whatever Li Lianhua will inevitably say to this latest foolish action, yet another in the misstepped journey of Fang Duobing's life. Perhaps Li Lianhua will tell him he made too many assumptions. Perhaps he will declare Fang Duobing too young, too naive for want like this, despite the fact that want, wanting for so many things, has been a lifelong compass lodged in Fang Duobing's heart and for months it has only led him back to Li Lianhua. Perhaps he will say—

"Don't go," and graceful fingers reach for Fang Duobing's wrist, his hand, his sleeve, keeping him in place.

Fang Duobing sinks down again.

He watches Li Lianhua glance down. Up, to the sky, stars cloaked in wisps of cloud. Over Fang Duobing's shoulder, into the long shadows of this clearing. Words form and tumble again into silence behind his lips, Fang Duobing can see it in the lanternlight, and this, the careful choice of the next lie, deflection, excuse, is worse than the dearth of anything to be read from his face at all.

"If you're not going to say anything honest," Fang Duobing starts. "Don't say anything at all."

Silence falls like a stone into a river. Out in the forest, an owl calls to the darkness.

"What I was going to say," Li Lianhua says, tone treading too light, "is that if you're going to try this, it should be with someone better for you than I can be."

Fang Duobing glares at him. "Didn't I just tell you not to say things that weren't true?"

"I—"

"Li Lianhua," he repeats, snaps, and finally, Li Lianhua properly shuts up.

Fang Duobing's hands are at Li Lianhua's lapels, clutching at rough, wash-worn fabric, warmed against his skin. He doesn't know when they got there. Something of the conflict clears in Li Lianhua's eyes, dark and blinking slowly. Maybe Fang Duobing understands now what it was in his expression, that he couldn't see through before.

But why would Li Lianhua have anything to fear from him?

Let me try this again, Fang Duobing thinks, begs a prayer to any deity that might listen. When he focuses on Li Lianhua once more, he's already being watched.

Li Lianhua's gaze slides down from Fang Duobing's own stare to his mouth, for the briefest of instants.

This time, when Fang Duobing leans in, so does Li Lianhua.