#and now the fight's logic is barely holding on by a thread

[mayamidnightmelody]

In the gritty, expansive universe of "Battlestar Galactica," two women stand out not just for their striking presence but for the depth and complexity they bring to their roles. Tricia Helfer as the enigmatic Cylon, Number Six, and Katie Sackhoff as the fierce and rebellious pilot, Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, are more than just characters on a screen; they are embodiments of strength, vulnerability, and unspoken sensuality.

Tricia Helfer, with her statuesque figure and piercing gaze, captures the essence of Number Six—a being of both beauty and lethal precision. Her presence is magnetic, drawing viewers into a world where every glance and subtle smile holds a promise of seduction and danger. Helfer's portrayal is a masterclass in controlled intensity, where every movement is deliberate, every word carefully chosen to mesmerize and manipulate. Number Six is a complex tapestry of emotion, weaving together threads of love, loyalty, and the cold logic of her Cylon origins.

In stark contrast, Katie Sackhoff's Starbuck is a whirlwind of raw energy and defiance. Her character is a testament to resilience, embodying the spirit of a warrior who faces insurmountable odds with unyielding determination. Sackhoff infuses Starbuck with a blend of rugged toughness and hidden tenderness, creating a character who is as unpredictable as she is captivating. Whether she's piloting a Viper into battle or wrestling with her own inner demons, Starbuck's journey is a visceral experience, filled with moments of intense passion and poignant vulnerability.

Now imagine, in a rare moment away from the relentless fight for survival, Helfer and Sackhoff together, their characters shedding the weight of their respective burdens. They embark on a journey, a road stretching out before them under a vast, open sky. Both women are dressed in loose, flowing shirts, unbuttoned to reveal the smooth expanse of their chests. The openness of their attire speaks to a newfound freedom, a momentary escape from the rigid confines of their roles.

As they walk, the wind catches the fabric, billowing it out behind them like wings. The sun casts a golden hue on their skin, highlighting the contrast between Helfer's ethereal grace and Sackhoff's earthy allure. There is an unspoken bond between them, a silent understanding forged in the fires of their shared struggles. Their steps are in sync, a dance of shadows and light, where the line between Cylon and human, machine and flesh, blurs into insignificance.

In this tableau, there is a sensuality that transcends the physical. It's in the way Helfer's hand grazes Sackhoff's arm as they laugh at some private joke, the way their eyes meet in a moment of mutual recognition. It's in the gentle sway of their bodies, the rise and fall of their breaths, and the silent promise of companionship and understanding. This image captures the essence of their characters—two powerful women, finding solace and strength in each other's presence, if only for a fleeting moment.

The road before them is uncertain, much like their destinies within the battlestar's metal hull. Yet, in this instant, they are simply Tricia and Katie, Number Six and Starbuck, women who have seen the edge of existence and come back stronger, their spirits unbroken and their hearts laid bare.

[naartjie-hijabi]

The scariest part...

I think the scariest part of what's currently happening is the possiblity of a world war. In 2022, people joked about the possibility of Russia starting the third world war, two years later, I can't stop thinking about it actually happening.

Israel has been complicit in many global conflicts since its creation in 1948, now that they have been called out and are being held accountable for their actions for the first time in little more than 75 years, what exactly will be the outcome?

Both the UK and the US, two countries who actively support and fund Israel, have bombed Yemen, a country that has been kicked down so many times that it is only a matter of time before they start baring their teeth. The tension between China and Taiwan is increasing and the Russo-Ukrainian War has still not reached its conclusion. This year is the year of global elections and, honestly speaking, it feels like 2024 is a disaster in the making.

Of course I remain positive, this is just the musings of an 18 year old girl who has finally awoken to the state of current affairs. I am not educated in global politics, international relations, or anything related to law. I remain steadfast in my belief that Palestine will be free, that humanity will start caring, that individualism will decrease, but even still I refuse to be blindly optimistic.

It is because of my ill-knowledge of global politics that I have these terrible feelings. What is the actual state of the Middle East, how are things in Yemen, what kind of lives are Syrians leading, whose side is Saudi Arabia and the UAE truly on? It seems that in everywhere, Africa, Europe, Asia, the Americas, peace seems to be hanging on a thin thread ready to snap at the tiniest disruption.

Yesterday, I felt pride and today I felt anger, tomorrow I wonder what will I feel. There is certainty in my heart that things will get better, that world is in its healing stage right now, that's why everything is chaotic, but the logical part of me says that perhaps the worst is yet to come.

All in all, I believe that Palestine will be free and the liberation of Palestinians is a fight that I will continue until the Apartheid Israel is dismantled once and for all. It is not simply free Palestine, it is free Yemen, free Congo, free Sudan, free every singled oppressed individual. This is what was taught to me yesterday and what was reminded to me today. Tomorrow holds as much potential as it does uncertainty, and I guess that if there's a fight worth fighting for, we should focus on that instead and not on the possibility of terrible outcomes.

[youngpettyqueen]

finished The Price of the Phoenix! review under the cut-

tldr: this book is gay as FUCK and on top of that its quite good

im gonna get it out of the way right now: Kirk and Spock are gay as hell in this book and its actually insane to read. every interaction between them- whether it be the original Jim or the clone James- was dripping with tension and longing and actual textual love. this was Amok Time levels of "how the fuck did this (insanely gay shit) air" and I applaud Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath for it. Spock's unwavering loyalty to Kirk, both Kirks, and it being his driving force throughout the novel, the mind link between him and James, the raw emotional state he's in... and both Kirks and how they rely on Spock, know him, love him... LORD

ahem. anyways. this is a GREAT Spock novel. the character exploration for Spock here is just so good and so compelling. this is Spock at some of his lowest, barely holding himself together, fighting his emotions down and just trying to keep going. Spock wants Omne DEAD and he wants to be the one to break his neck. he's so viciously furious and grief-stricken, its honestly beautiful to read him in such a volatile state. this isnt a side of Spock we often get to see, and what else could bring him to this point besides the faked death of his captain, the abduction, the cloning... great to see just what will drive Spock to literal murder and vengeance. his POV chapters were my favourite throughout, especially in the rare tender moments he shared with James. so many facets of his character are on display here, and all so wonderful to read

my second favourite part of this novel was the Commander's presence. what a POWERHOUSE she is. I thoroughly enjoyed how she effortlessly manhandles both Kirks whenever she needs to, and how bad this throws him off. she's a wicked fighter, every fight she has with Omne is fantastic to visualize. shes also ruthless and cold, with a lot of great Romulan logic on display. I love love love that she was one of the main characters in this novel, I love how we got to see more of this genuinely fascinating character, makes me wish we got more of her and the Romulans in TOS. her romance with James was predictable, but I found I quite enjoyed it, especially since they made it very clear that she wouldnt be bowing to him, nor him to her. they'll definitely make for an interesting couple

the issue of the two Kirks was a fascinating thread throughout. its quite the moral conundrum- the rights of the original, what to do with James, what rights does he have as a copy, what can they ask of him, etc. I dont think theres honestly a true right answer, and thats the conclusion they all seem to reach, as the best they can do is send to him to Romulus with the Commander as her princeling. its not an entirely satisfying conclusion, but I think thats deliberate, because I dont think there is a satisfying conclusion in this scenario. they cant keep James on the Enterprise, they cant just let him loose, the best they can do is keep him under lock and key and secrets on Romulus as the Commander's boytoy. a fate I wouldnt mind, tbh, but hey thats just me

Bones gets a couple of chapters, and I loved his. his relationship with Spock is what shines most for me from his chapters- his care for Spock is made very obvious, and the two of them are shown to be able to talk with just their eyes, much like Kirk and Spock do. I wish we could've had more with Bones, but that would've thrown off the structure and flow of the story, so I understand why his chapters were limited

Omne himself was an interesting villain. I wasn't super invested in him, but I did find the idea of him interesting. I think he's the weakest part of this novel, in that his whole thing relies on the idea of the alpha male, and a lot of him felt like... how do I describe this. you know when youre a kid, playing some sort of battle with your friends, and you make some shit up like 'oh you cant get through my shield' and 'I have a SHIELD BREAKING HAMMER'? thats what Omne's repeated one-upping felt like, after a point. the fight scenes with him were good, I could very much buy that he was physically stronger than our protagonists, but when it came to his tech and especially his last appearance on the Enterprise... yeah. im not saying I disliked it, but it did feel weak

overall I quite enjoyed this book. it was a slower read, I tended to read a chapter or two before going to bed every night, and I liked it that way. not one I picked up and tore through, but that isnt a criticism. sometimes books just want to be enjoyed slowly, and this was one I felt I wanted to take my time on. for my first TOS book, I thought it was really good, and ill definitely have to look into some more TOS books to read once im through my current to-read stack

[daintymechas]

Oh boy, it's venting time.

So 3 months ago, I took my cat, Little Foot, to my local vet after noticing she wasn't able to pick her head up all the way. After screening her and taking blood samples, the doctor reported that she had kidney disease and was going through renal failure. I didn't know she had that disease when I adopted her from her previous foster parent. She's 17, so at this point, it's to be expected. I had the vet keep her overnight to help her recuperate. Her health improved within a few days, and she was shortly discharged. Now that I was aware of her condition, I paid closer attention to her and changed her food to a renal friendly diet. Her health continued to improve, and she has lasted, honestly, longer than I expected her to. However, lately, she has stopped eating her dry food entirely. Even when I water it down (thinking it'll be easier on her teeth). I quickly switched to wet food, and she was enthusiastic about eating that. But recently, she has stopped eating altogether. Will barely drink her water. Has stopped using her litterbox. And wasn't able to walk on her own anymore. After seeing that she was dragging her back legs... it broke my fuckin' heart. I don't need a doctor to know that she's at the end stage of kidney failure. And that's where my frustration with this whole situation comes in.

I was told in the past that the culture in Japan in regards to euthanasia for pets is vastly different than the US. You'll be hard pressed to find a vet that will provide that service. It's basically a "they must pass naturally" attitude. But after seeing Little Foot like this, I decided to look more into the validity of that. I find a few threads on similar experiences and saw a bunch of people saying, "You need to be direct with the vet and request putting them down. The doctor won't openly suggest that to the owner. It's seen as disrespectful." Okay, now that I know that, I'll take her in and see if my vet will help with that. It's worth a shot. I can't imagine the pain she's going through, nor can I bear to see her suffer like this any longer than she needs to. Even though I'm aware the injection is extremely painful, it only lasts a few moments... I think in comparison, a few moments of pain is better than days of prolonged suffering.

I took her in this morning and asked the receptionist if that was an option they could provide. She said it depends on the condition, and it'll be at the doctor's discretion. It was relieving to hear but also heartbreaking having to wait, thinking this may be it... I'll lose her. I couldn't hold it in any longer and awkwardly cried in the waiting room. After a while we finally get into the examination room, and I speak to the doctor via translator on what her recommendation is. Of course, she refused. Logic being " While her condition is severe, she can still be treated with liquid IVs and thus have a fighting chance and live longer, so euthanasia isn't a consideration." Which comes off to me as a very Japanese way of saying, "We'll euthanize her when she's about to take her last breath."

To be completely honest? It took everything in me to control my frustration after that. I had to focus on staring at Little Foot while petting her to keep my cool. The rest of the conversation was about administering IV shots, and at one point the doctor suggested anti-vomiting meds. That set me off.

"That's not necessary. She hasn't touched her food in two days. She doesn't have anything in her stomach to throw up. And I can't force food down her throat."

After that I only remember bits and pieces of the conversation. I recall acknowledging the difference in culture/opinion, said at this point I'll just take her back home and let her pass naturally since there's nothing more I can do. But while I'm here I'll have her get liquid IV administered. In part to ease the doctor's concern and the other part because she seemed so adamant about the rehydration helping with getting Little Foot's energy and appetite back. Again. Worth a shot, I suppose.

There were two phrases the doctor said throughout this whole visit that just... really pissed me off though.

"Your last visit was 3 months ago. We can't just put her down out of the blue." and "I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted from this visit."

I get the sense that's an indirect way of saying I didn't do everything I could for her and I'm at fault. That I'm in the wrong for even suggesting euthanasia in the first place. Like, what in the actual fuck do you expect me to do then? This vet advocates letting them pass naturally, which was my orginal intention and reason why I didn't come in sooner. But I'm subtly jabbed at for that. And then once I learn I may have another (more humane imo) option, I'm treated like I'm some killer that they thwarted. You're damned if you do, damned if you don't.

I'm trying really hard to view it from a doctor's perspective. It makes more sense if it's a "I don't want to be the one to prematurely end a life and have that on my conscience" kind of way, that's understandable. I get that, I won't push any further. But at least be fuckin' direct about it so there's no confusion.

All of that aside... we're back home. The liquid IVs didn't seem to help that much. Little Foot can barely move on her own now. She won't touch her food or water bowl when I hold her steady and place them in front of her. She can't get up to pee anymore. Just lays in place. She is starting to cry out... either in pain or for assistance, I can't tell anymore... This is breaking my heart. She's struggling and I can't help ease her suffering. All I can do is coax her to eat/drink, clean her up after accidents and keep her company with an abundance of pets and kisses. This is so fuckin' hard. She is the sweetest little bean, she doesn't deserve to go through all this. I wish she can just be at peace soon. I love her so fuckin' much.

[angelcent]

𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋

summary. you wait for a phone call that will never seem to come. still, you yearn and long for someone who doesn't deserve it.

contains. y2k au, rockstar!geto, model!reader, angst, reader smokes cigarettes, cheating (sort of), hints of a toxic relationship, exes, undefined relationship. wc.800+

four cigarettes. four cigarettes that have been absently flicked onto the glass ashtray beside you and no sign of suguru. it’s only you and the buzzing sounds of the paparazzi on the ground floor scouring the area like ants, itching to catch a shot of you on the hotel balcony.

suguru hasn’t called, not even to leave a message to remorsefully say he’s busy the way that he used to. you grit your teeth, fighting back the tears gathering in your eyes. there’s a longing in your chest, like vines intertwining around your heart for something that was no longer there. the ache is almost hollow.

for a version of suguru that simply didn’t exist anymore.

in your mind was the pressing question—were you still happy with suguru or were you merely holding out in hopes that who he used to be would come back? the thought has circled back over and over like koi fish in a pond. as if you didn’t know the answer by now.

still, you rested your elbows over the cold balcony. as if the blatant lack of effort on his part the past few weeks wasn't like a slap to the face.

you shuddered as the night breeze picked up, goosebumps forming over your bare arms. flipping your phone open for what seemed like the thousandth time—your glassy eyes managing to catch the time in a blur.

11:56pm. suguru wouldn’t call.

normally by now you would’ve been over an hour into your conversation with him, laughing and talking about anything and everything that was going on in your lives. you’d be playing with the carton of cigarettes, not chain smoking the way you’ve surprisingly been. and you certainly wouldn’t be cold right now, because for some reason these things cease to affect you when suguru’s voice and laugh was in your ears.

the cold was almost painful.

it bordered on pathetic to wait like this, but all logic and dignity seemed to go out the window when it came to suguru.

you wanted to be irrational the way you used to be—blowing up his phone and accusing him of all sorts of things. call him names and threaten to never speak to him again. tell him how much you hate him and how you wish you never met him.

poke and prod until suguru snapped—until he pushed back and spit out venom like a threatened snake ready to strike. and he used to do the same to you, serving as an unhealthy reminder that he cared so much for you.

but now you’re afraid to do so. not because you’re afraid to hurt suguru; you’ve done that too many times as he’s done to you. but you’re afraid that you’ll do all this and he just won’t care. that he’ll let you go and never look back.

when the tears well up once again, you don’t stop them. you almost don’t note them falling down your cheeks until the breeze picks up again and they cool against your skin.

you exhaled shakily, feeling a heaviness over your shoulders. the aftermath of crying over suguru is becoming more constant in your life than the man himself. so you’re familiar now with the exhaustion afterwards, as if the ache in your heart has spread throughout your body, weighing you down until you’re sure you’ll be left with nothing of your own.

feeling like a fool, you flip your phone open once again and click on your messages, suguru’s name closer to the bottom. because his last message was more than a day ago, so you aren’t really sure what to expect when you open up the thread.

past messages no longer bring you the comfort that they did—if anything, they're now reminders of suguru's current apathy. it almost feels as if you're yearning for an entirely different man.

because the man you're yearning for is definitely not—

SUGURU GETO MOVES ON IN THE MALDIVES!! Things have been quiet with Suguru Geto since his recent split with on-again, off-again girlfriend supermodel [name]...but it seems that things are done for good this time. Geto was spotted with fellow musician Yuina this afternoon...hands locked and looking love-struck. The rockstar and singer blended amongst other honeymooners while ex-girlfriend [name] is busy back home in New York for fashion week. The two have been recently linked and can't seem to get enough of each other, a source tells TMZ.

your heart drops.

it's only an hour later that your hotel phone rings off the hook and cellphone has to be shut off as the article is posted for the world to see.

[weilhelm]

Pain, of a sort

 I’m not a special man. Nor are my thoughts original. My thoughts are an embodiment of countless situations in life, strewn together like a great tapestry, yet without any genuine pattern to accurately define to those who come after.

 I can explain, in some detail, to those who come next, the threads, and how they are strung tightly, and how every thread connects with another in some way. That these connections are what make you, as you are, as you were and as you will be. 

 I can tell them some threads will be like silk, pleasant to touch. Others, like thick cable, sturdy and reliable. And others still, like twisting nettle, prickly, yet important either way. 

“There will be countless threads, so many you will forget some even existed in the first place”

Forgetting is the real pain. The facts of our lives we refused to acknowledge and took for granted, and now look back on with bittersweet nostalgia, as if those experiences were as sincere and genuine as we wish to remember them.

But memory is a fickle thing. It lies to us, constantly. We exist in a position where our minds only remember concepts and ideas rather than anything real. There is no guarantee that the memory of your best friend, for example, is genuine, and that you haven’t tainted it with foul logic and woeful optimism.

A lover could have been the most painful thing for you, yet you would choose to view them like pillars of companionship. Foisting them above all else. 

In your disparity with the world around you, you chose to ignore the brutal and harsh realities laid bare before you. Choosing instead to coil inwards like a snake ready to bite, telling everyone; “It’s someone else’s problem.” or even better; “It is my problem to bare, but not to understand.” 

To observe but to not care. To listen but not understand. To graduate, but never have applied. 

Easy is how you want it to be, but Hard is how it always has been. Yet in your stubborn arrogance you would still choose to believe those above you hold themselves accountable, when you yourself have chosen not to. 

The Kettle boils, and overflows.

The hot water burns all around you but the fire remains, steady and unrelenting. Until of course you acquire the sense to put it out. 

How? 

You have to figure that out, not me.

“What is the point of this?” I ask myself after typing and re-reading all of this.

 Does there need to be one?

 Is it not enough that MY words have been forced thought into my skull where OTHERS have failed to do so. 

Perhaps not. My thoughts alone cannot be enough to sustain the world I experience, although they may be enough to understand it, in my own, twisted way. 

I would not dare to say my views are above another's, but I would dare to say they are just as relevant. That they hold as much weight as any others. And that on the great scale of society, Majority weighs out over all. 

But Majority is fickle too.

Susceptible to corruption, to plague, to lunacy and silence. to fear, and gluttony. Sin, I suppose.

It is a fool who trusts in the majority, but an even bigger one still who devotes themselves to the minority. Who chooses to rebel for the sake of rebelling and who destroys for the sake of destruction. to fight for a cause they know nothing of, and who ignore all signs of ignorance, BLASTING in their subconscious.

Subconscious.

Such a wonderful gift. 

It’s a shame we constantly try to return it from where it came. We shove it back inside, deep in the pits of our mind, exclaiming in our hubris; “No-no, I'm in charge, just me, only me, and YOU are not ME...” Only to be proven, time and time again that we are, in-fact, not in charge.

The Weather can change us, our food changes us, SUNSHINE CHANGES US...and darkness lets us sleep. We are never ‘In Charge’. We want to be, but wanting something and working for it are two different things.

We want to be creative, but we choose not to create.

We want to sing, but choose not to remember the songs.

We want so many things, but choose...not to choose what to do.

There is a trick.

Listen carefully, or read I suppose, as I explain.

Think of a problem, your problem that no one else can face. Make sure it is reasonable. Conquering the World is not reasonable. Conquering your enemy is.

With your problem in one hand, put in your other hand, a question. Make it direct, and answerable, if even a little vague.

Close your eyes, and holding these two things, call upon your subconscious, and like a child asking a genuine question of curiosity, share your problem and question with it.

In merely a moment, so fast you may miss it, your Subconscious will answer fully for you. It will provide an answer, one you can understand, and more importantly one you can employ in reality. 

Keep going.

Ask more questions and sit, in internal wonderment with a giggly grin on your face that your subconscious has the answers you keep seeking, right inside you.

let me guess...you cant do it...

then the question now is this:

Did you try, or did you choose to believe this would not work?

I don’t lie. But I am not wholly truthful either.

Your Subconscious is the same, you know.

Believe in a you, that believes in your subconscious. It will work, trust me.

Either way, I am tired. My body calls for rest and my mind resides on the border of consciousness, gently drifting in and out of the reality that is my dreams.

Goodnight weary strangers, I hope I could help.

[runawaycatwalker]

Part 8. Coming Apart (Maternal Instinct, part C)

<<First | <Previous | Next>

Description below the cut

Author’s note: This comic page is structured with a left side and a right side that sometimes interact with each other and sometimes does not.  The format of the Image Description will jump around accordingly.

(Image Description starts for the left side of comic)

The akumatized phone continues to emit magical tendrils as it falls through the sky.

Maternal Instinct (akumatized!Nathalie) and Ladybug share a look before they race towards where the phone was last spotted.

The phone faces a reflective surface and it zaps itself away.

Ladybug: Where did it...?

Ladybug kicks against Maternal Instinct's sentimonster (Mothership) and ties the akuma up with her yo-yo with an excessive amount of string.

Maternal Instinct: Mothership—

Ladybug (interrupting): Oh no you don't!

Ladybug ties Maternal Instinct to the gates of the Agreste mansion.

Ladybug: You aren't going anywhere!

Close up of Maternal Instinct as her hands are tied and her mouth is gagged.

Ladybug: You can't follow him!

Ladybug looks off to the side with a close-up of the third spot on her earrings disappearing with a "beep!"

Ladybug (internally): At least... Not until my yo-yo disappears...

Ladybug taps at the earpiece that's still in her ear.

Ladybug: Catwalker?

(Image Description jumps back to the top of the comic, this time following the right side)

An establishing shot of Emilie's stasis pod.

Catwalker: Mother?

A close-up of Catwalker's face in shock.

A close-up of the lower half of Emilie's face.

Emilie's hand touches Catwalker's upper back, bound there with magical tendrils.

Catwalker: You're...

Catwalker tries to move away but he's stuck in the stasis pod and the magical tendrils prevent him from letting her go.

Catwalker: I can't...

Catwalker contorts his hand as his ring charges with power.

Catwalker: Cataclysm!

Emilie's stasis pod crumbles to black dust around an unharmed Emilie and Catwalker.

Catwalker looks away as he starts to scramble away, Emilie being dragged behind him.

Catwalker (internally): Why?

A side-view of Catwalker looking towards the earpiece in his ear.

Ladybug (over comm): Catwalker, are you there?

Catwalker touches his earpiece, his eyes full of relief.

Catwalker: Ladybug?

(Image Description shifts to covering both the left and right sides of the comic)

Ladybug looks forlornly to the sky, holding the ends of her yo-yo's string that is the only thing keeping Maternal Instinct in check.

Ladybug: I've tied up the villain for now, but the akumatized object teleported away and I have no idea where it is... and I still have no idea what's really happened to Adrien, and Chat's still gone, and I lost you too, and your mom now knows who you are, and everything's a disaster--

Catwalker lays on his side next to Emilie, reaching away from her.

Catwalker: You haven't lost me...  My.... my mom hasn't noticed me.  I can't really explain why not.  But my identity is still safe.  It's not a total disaster, Ladybug.  Everything's going to be fine, I promise.  You can still save the day.  You always have.

A close-up of Ladybug looking right next to a close-up of Catwalker looking left.

Ladybug: But how?  The phone could be anywhere by now and I don't have enough time to find it—as soon as I change back, the villain will escape again.  And if I ask the other heroes for help, they'll probably end up zapped to their mothers too.

Catwalker: I may not be beside you right now, but I'm still here for you.  And not just me—compromised or not, you still have a multitude of people who can help you.  You don't have to solve it all by yourself, Ladybug.

Ladybug looks at her lucky charm (a bobbin) in realization.

Ladybug: Or maybe I can... Okay, I've got a plan.  But I'm going to have to go radio silent to pull this off.  You'll be okay without me?

Catwalker forces a smile, touching the back of his neck.

Catwalker: Nothing to worry about!  It'll just be me and my mother here, no one else around, doing absolutely nothing. Good luck!

(Image Description returns to splitting left and right halves, again starting on the left side)

Ladybug wears the Mouse miraculous.

Ladybug: Mullo, Tikki, Unify!

Multibug is wrapped in her jump rope to activate her power.

Multibug: Multitude!

An army of Multimouses charge in every direction.  Multibug (the copy that still has the Ladybug miraculous and therefore the only one with spots) holds the bobbin above her head while a couple Multimouses keep the yo-yo strings secure.

A close-up of a Multimouse.

Multimouse: Multibug, I found the—

The Multimouse falls into the phone's magical tendrils.

Multimouse: Aack!

Cut to Sabine Cheng, startled to have a Multimouse suddenly appear, attached to her arm.

Multimouse: Sorry! Don't worry about little ol' me! Just helping Ladybug!

Multibug converges on the phone, using the bobbin's thread to Lasso!, Yoink!, and Flip! the phone. Two Multimouses throw the yo-yo at the phone with a Crack!, causing the akuma and amok to emerge from it.

Multibug poses as she holds the yo-yo string above her head.

Multibug: Time to de-evilize!

The yo-yo cleanses the akuma and amok.

Multibug throws the bobbin in the air.

Multibug: Miraculous Multibug!

(Image Description jumps back up to the top of the last split, following the right side this time)

Emilie and Catwalker lay on their backs together, with Emilie still on the destroyed stasis pod and Catwalker laying in the grass.

Catwalker: That was Ladybug. She's amazing, Mother.  You would have loved her.

Catwalker: I'm sorry I ran away.  I couldn't think of what else I could do.  My friends are going to believe it's all Father's fault when he didn't do anything. It's just... it's been hard to be his son after you...  But that doesn't mean I don't love him anymore.  He just... misses you.

Catwalker curls up in fetal position facing towards Emilie.

Catwalker: I guess he's the one who left you here... wherever 'here' is.  A garden, I guess?  You would have loved being in a place like this.  I just wish I'd known how to find you.

Catwalker looks down at Emilie's face, his free hand starting to reach towards her.

Catwalker: And now that I've run away, it'll be impossible to ask Father why he hid you here.  So I guess this is the only time I'll be able to tell you that I—

A swarm of magical ladybugs sweep in, restoring Emilie's stasis pod to perfect condition and depositing Catwalker alone outside.

Catwalker: —love you, Mother.

(Image Description resumes covering both left and right halves of the comic)

A shot of Catwalker's feet, with Multibug looking at him from behind as she calls over her earpiece.

Multibug: You're safe! No time for the 'Pound it!' today, but I'm sure you're exhausted.  Go home and get some rest!

Catwalker looks completely burnt out on what has been a strong contender for the worst 24 hours of his life.

Catwalker: Sure.

A shot of the ladder going down from an open manhole.

Catwalker (internally): Home.  Rest.

Catwalker curls up in the same spot in the sewers where he went with Ladybug during Heroes' Day.

Catwalker (internally): That sounds nice.

Below is the same image as above, only without text: 

[yesimwriting]

To Be Alone

VAGUE SPOILER WARNING FOR SHADOW AND BONE BOOK SERIES-- I try hard not to mention why the Darkling/General Kirigan is the bad guy so that I don’t spoil anything,, but the reader finds out that he lies about his identity and that he’s super sketchy/not a good guy (again,, I avoided as many specifics as possible to keep it from being spoiler-y)

Warnings: lowkey manipulation, kissing/makeout, slight fingering

A/n y’all drove me to this lol,, pls be nice!! This is the closest to full on smut I’ve ever written!! Ahh I’m lowkey scared to post

Summary: the reader finds out something about the Darkling/General Kirigan, he finds a way to convince her to stay 

--

No amount of evidence will ever be enough to convince me fully. A part of me will always hold onto unjustifiable doubt because a part of me hopes that if I hold onto the lies tight enough they’ll turn into the truth. But that’s not how the world works. 

General Kirigan. Ravka put its faith in him. I put my faith in him. I did more than that. I pushed aside my reservations and doubt in order to try and comfort him when he spoke of loneliness. Was all that a lie as well? 

No. I can’t afford to think of the emotional side of it all, because if I do I may find myself incapable of moving from this spot. I don’t have time to reflect on it all, to try and unravel hopeful lies and manipulative truths. That can be done when I’m not here. If I stay here, he’ll know I know and he’ll stop me from...what? What am I supposed to do next? I could find someone with some level of power to warn. 

“There you are.” Kirigan. I’m turned towards the window, not facing him, but there is no weariness or malice in his voice. He has no reason to suspect my suspicion. “Are you unwell?” 

Calm. I need to pass as calm. Not turning, I force myself to ignore the endearing hint of concern in his voice. “No.” I can hear his measured footsteps. “Why would you think that?” 

“I haven’t seen you all day,” he’s directly behind me now. If I turn, I’ll practically be against his chest. “And you didn’t come see me last night.” 

Oh. I knew it was a mistake to begin to pull on such a small thread so close to when he expected to see me, but it kept gnawing on me. That doubt. That tiny thing I couldn’t ever let go off. “I fell asleep.” No--I cringe at my impulsive response. He knows how difficult it is for me to fall asleep. “Yesterday was just really...draining.” 

In an easy movement, he places his hand on my shoulder. It’s a silent request for me to turn. Exhaling, I obey. Why? I could lie to myself and say that I’m listening to him in order to kill his suspicions, but the effect he has on me is undeniable. Even before touching each other became a casual thing on his part, my body wanted to react to him. 

He’s quick to cup my face, tilting my chin up slightly so that I can’t avoid his gaze. “What troubles you, little dove?” A nickname for when he’s feeling particularly gentle. Thoughts of the evil he has to be twist my stomach as my face flushes. Kirigan’s thumb brushes over the corner of my bottom lip, stalling as I fight the urge to melt into the contact. I meet his tense gaze cautiously. “You said nothing could make you look at me differently.” No. There’s no way he figured out my change with one look alone. I’ll deny it. I’ll do what I need to do to be convincing, and then I’ll manage to escape. His grip on my shoulder tightens. “Don’t you dare lie to me again.” 

The urge to snap and point out the sick irony of him telling me not to lie at him almost forces me to break. His gaze starts to shift away from me--towards the half packed escape bag I’d been in the middle of constructing. I stretch my arms forward, desperate to keep his gaze on me and away from what I can’t explain. 

Kirigan’s free hand moves to pull my hand off of his cheek, but he pauses, eyes shutting in peaceful contentment. “What do you know?” 

I expected his words to be angry, to border on violent...but he just sounds tired. Please, Saints, let me be wrong. “Is there anything to know?” The only reaction I get is the slightest stall of his breathing. “You said you didn’t want to be alone anymo--” 

“I don’t.” The harshness of his words almost coax a small flinch from me. 

Swallowing back the knot in my stomach, I exhale slowly. “A part of not being alone is being honest.” 

His eyes finally open. I don’t dare move as he moves my hand off of his cheek so that he can brush his lips against my knuckles. I suppress an embarrassing shudder. “You wouldn’t have stayed--if you knew you wouldn’t ha--” 

No denial. I can’t--I can’t do this. “You know what the worst part is?” I can’t believe I’m about to say this. I can’t believe it’s true. “I might have.” Those words break something in me as I force myself away from him. The lack of contact leaves me more frozen than ever. “I might have! I might have been able to bear all the monstrous things you’ve done if you had just--” 

“What?!” He meets my outburst with one of equal power. “You might have stayed regardless?” The way he scoffs leaves me feeling like a wandering child. “You might have still looked at me like I hung the stars in the sky instead of like I’m the darkness they fight against?” I stay silent as he steps forward, quick to hold my chin in place with his long fingers. “I couldn’t risk you on possibility.” Kirigan’s gaze is so intense, a part of me is surprised that shadows don’t come at me--drowning me in darkness and him. “And don’t think me foolish enough to believe that someone like you would understand that I have to do what I’m doing--” 

“Have to?” No--how did I almost let him lure me back in so easily. I pull myself away, approaching my open wardrobe. “That’s not past tense.” He’s still--he’s still actively hurting people. Why had I been so stupidly naive to think that maybe this was all history? “I--I can’t do this.” 

Each step towards the exit of the room chips away at a piece of my soul. “You’re not walking away from me,” his strong grip is on my arm in a sharp instinct, “I won’t--I can’t be alone again.” 

I swallow back the lump of emotion in my throat. “You already are.” 

His eyes are pleading, pools of frightened adoration. “No--no,” he steps towards me, not releasing his grip on my arm, “You’re hurt that I lied, but now I’ll never have to lie to you again.” I push against his grip. Kirigan doesn’t release me. “Y/n,” my name is a lament from his lips, “Please.” 

My eyes round out as my heart leaps into my chest. “I used to think that you were only touched by the darkness, but now I’m not sure you can tell where the darkness ends and you begin.” His grip just barely falters. Maybe it’s acceptance. 

I shift weakly, a softer attempt to escape. His grip tightens even more than before as he tugs me forward. The reminder of his physical strength leaves me frozen in shock. I can’t read his expression, but something about him has darkened. When I don’t pull away again, his thumb brushes up and down my forearm. The silkiness of his touch is warm temptation. I inhale slowly as he moves his other arm in order to touch my shoulder. The contact is almost shy. 

“Kirigan,” my voice betrays me, breaking as his fingers trace down my collar, “What--what are you doing?” 

He tilts his head, taking in the way his touch rids my body of fight. “Nothing, really.” His voice is low, supple in its assuredness. “You’re the only person who has ever seen me--and for you to leave me after that.” 

“No,” I try to step back, but my body freezes as he toys with the collar of my dress, “What I saw--what I found out--that wasn’t you.” 

“It’s who I have to make myself be,” he whispers, “I’m doing what needs to be done.” 

“That logic can earn you a lot,” my words are careful, “But it cannot earn you me.” 

His hand brushes past my neck, finding the root of my hair. Kirigan pulls on it slightly, forcing me to expose my lower jaw and neck. I’m still as he leans forward, warm breath fanning across my skin. I fight against a shiver in vain as his lips brush down my skin, only stopping as he nips the base of my neck. I can’t help the small sound of surprise that escapes me. 

“Are you sure about that?” Blood rushes to my face, motivated by both embarrassment and something else. “Little dove, don’t ruin us.” His touch is warm, but his words leave me with an uncomfortable chill. In an attempt to escape the coldness, I half-press myself into the trail of soft and desperate kisses he’s leaving down my neck.

Kirigan pauses, exhaling slowly, and I feel some mental strength return to me. “There can’t be an us--not like this.” 

“Y/n.” He never uses my name. “You are the only light I know.” His words steal something from me as he pulls away enough to look me in the eyes. “I can’t handle the weight of solitude anymore--it’s worse than the dark.”

 I am unflinching, watching him with a markman’s care. Kirigan takes my silence as a positive. I don’t move as his gaze drops to my lips before he presses his own together. I don’t move as he destroys the distance between us like it’s some type of unbearable weight. His lips meet mine with enough force to bruise my face. The surprise of it gives him the chance to coax my lips into parting as his hands move to either side of my face. My body reacts without my permission, letting him deepen the kiss. Every time I find some kind of free will, Kirigan pushes it away with some kind of tactful lull of his tongue. Keeping his control, Kirigan ends the kiss by grazing sharp teeth against my bottom lip. 

I’m left panting. “You’re--you lied, Kirigan--I--” 

“You told me once you could never see me as a monster.”

“I said that to a version of you that technically doesn’t exist.” 

The grief in my chest and desire in my stomach twist in a nauseating way. Kirigan’s eyes watch me patiently, a pain similar to my own reflected in them. “Who I am when I’m with you is less fictitious than any identity I’ve ever given myself.”

The vulnerability in his voice is as alluring and distracting as the kiss. I find myself thinking of the warmth of his mouth against my skin. He had kissed me like the cure for ancient solitude could come from me. I think he had a point, because now that he’s not touching me in that way I feel the familiar tugs of cold emptiness. 

“I don’t understa--” My words are cut off by his lips brushing against mine. 

His touch is soft, but it’s far from shy as he draws out the kiss. It’s an attempt to keep me on edge, to keep me wanting him enough to push past my doubts. “Y/n,” there’s a reverent quality to his voice, “I--” Kirigan grabs the collar of my dress, pulling me to him sharply. His kiss conveys things that neither of us truly understand. “Don’t go.” 

I don’t want to. The realization is a cruel wave crashing against my chest. “You lie to everyone, you lie to me--you--you hurt and destroy and I--” One of his hands brushes against the hem of my dress. “What are you,” the words are supposed to be sharp, but my resolve melts as his hand presses firmly against my thigh, “Doing?” 

“You know me,” he draws out each word as his fingers graze towards the inside of my thighs. The cool metal of his rings are practically ice against my flushed skin. “Little dove, trust me.” 

My nails dig into my palms as I try to ignore what he’s doing. “I did and you betrayed me.” 

“I couldn’t lose you,” he whispers, thumb inching up my inner thigh.

I press my lips together, fighting against a natural reaction. “You did lose me.” 

Kirigan’s eyes darken as his grip on my thigh tightens. “We’ll move past this.” He’s both pleading and assured. “I think I know how to make it up to you.” He trails his hand up my thigh swiftly, stopping with his hand on my lower hip. Shamelessly, he toys with the hem of my underwear. “The only thing that’s really changed is that now I’m touching you like this.” 

The only thing I can do is gape at him. He’s a villain, his hands are coated in unnecessarily spilled blood, and I am helpless against his slightest touch. I should try pushing him away or at the very least resist his blatant advantages. His fingers brush down my underwear, stopping at a growing wet spot. The knowing look he gives me burns my core. I try to keep my expression hard in a final form of protest, but when he presses his pointer finger against me all the resolve in me is shattered. 

My eyebrows draw together as a small sound escapes me, “Kirigan.” I can’t tell if it’s praise or a warning. 

He pauses, hand retracting slightly at my whining. “Y/n,” his other hand cups my cheek. I lean into the contact without permission from my body. “There is only one name that I have not given myself and only one name I want to hear you breathe like that.” His thumb traces my lips softly. I don’t move as he leans forward, turning his lips towards my ear. 

“Aleksander.” His name is nothing more than a breath, a stolen heartbeat on his lips. 

He presses his fingers against where I’m the weakest again. My hips grind forward instinctually, desperate for more contact as he kisses the top of my jaw. 

“Aleksander.” The name escapes me in the form of a broken moan. Speaking it feels more intimate than the way he’s touching me. 

There’s the slightest pause in his consuming actions. “Again,” he breathes, “Say my name again.” His request is so soft it feels like he’s more at my mercy than I am at his. 

My eyes shut as his teeth graze my neck. “Aleksander.” At the sound of his name, his teeth brush against my skin harder than ever. 

When he starts to pull away, I reach out desperately, grabbing his kefta. “I thought you wanted to leave, little dove.” 

No. No. He is not going to get me to agree to stay by giving me something as intimate as his original name and by denying me his touch. “Please.” 

He reaches for my hand, pulling it off of him cruelly. “Do you want to stay with me?” 

I know which answer will get me what I really want, but I’m not sure which answer is true. Do I want to stay with him? Even after knowing what he’s done? “I don’t want to leave you.” The vulnerability of the statement cracks at my heart. He turns away from me in order to face the wall. I take a tentative step towards. “But I’m not sure what I want matters.” 

In one quick motion, he’s yanking more forward and pressing me into the wall. “Of course desire matters,” his body is pressed against mine almost entirely, “It means something.” He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “It means you could choose me.” 

What could I say to that? I part my lips to speak but he silences me by pressing his lips against my jaw. I offer no protest as he starts touching me the way he did earlier. I’m more desperate now, more needy and okay with that. His fingers slip past my underwear testingly, hesitating before finally entering me slowly. 

“Aleksander,” my voice is so needy I’m not sure it’s my own. 

“I want you to say my name like that again,” he whispers, kissing down my collarbone as he begins to press his fingers in and out of me faster, “And I want you to say my name casually,” his pace doesn’t slow, even when I begin to let out indistinguishable whines, “And I want you to say my name while you’re falling asleep,” his touch becomes more aggressive as his words become more sincere, “And I want you to say my name every other way there is to say it.” 

The bundle of nerves in the pit of my stomach grows until there’s nothing else for me to hold onto. I finish with a sharp gasp. The feeling of euphoria is only intensified as Aleksander begins to kiss up my jaw before finally pressing our lips together. 

I break the kiss first, desperate to breathe. Have my legs been so shaky this entire time? Aleksander lets me recover, resting his head against my forehead. “I’m tired of being alone.” 

I imagine all the foul acts he’s committed and all the bad he wants to bring. I picture all the innocent blood he’s spilled. I see all of it--every horror and dark deed he’s ever committed. But I cannot see me leaving him. Maybe that makes me a monster, maybe that makes me an idiot...but I can’t do it. 

Slowly, I move to drape my arms over his back in a loose hug. “You’re not alone, Aleksander.” I’m not sure what that signifies, but I know it’s true. There has to be good in him. No one capable of such warmth can be pure evil. “I choose you.” 

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[shysneeze]

missed smiles (draco malfoy x reader)

missed smiles (draco malfoy x fem!reader)

request: could you do a Draco imagine where the reader gets injured somehow (like falls down the stairs) after a fight (angst) and then he gets all protective (fluff)? tysm!

Warnings: kind hints towards depression but it’s minor.  half blood prince level draco angst because I'm in one of those moods mentions of war,  family pressures etc, fighting and injury. 

Authors note: I skimped so hard on the fluff this is basically just angst pls forgive me. 

..

The late November snow crunches aggressively underfoot as (Y/N) storms back towards the castle, Draco's footsteps echoing her own not far behind her as he calls after her. She lets out a harsh breath, not daring to look back in case her anger slips into something else and the tightness in her throat gives way to the sob she's been holding back.

"(Y/N), please." He pleads. "Let me explain."

She comes to a stop, breath shaking as it leaves her lips and forming wispy streams of condensation as it meets the cool air. She knows she needs to turn around, but she can't look at him right now, she can't look at him without seeing it again on his arm, the inky mark of the wizarding world's dark past and looming future.

It was revealed after what was a perfect date. She was so happy to see him smiling, that grin that was becoming so rare these days, she was sure it was the start of better things for this school year. Then she saw it, seeping through a wet patch on his shirt when he peeled off his coat to layer on top of her own due to the aftermath of an impromptu snowball fight. Ominous and taunting, the dark mark stared back at her.

Now, she finds herself turning slowly to face him, glad momentarily to find he's covered the incriminating tattoo, that she can't see it directly, with all its cruel implications. However, the knowledge of it has engraved itself in the centre of her thoughts, torturous and vile.

"How do you even begin to explain that, Draco?" She demands through gritted teeth. "How?"

He gulps under her harsh look despite knowing it's a quickly crumbling façade, watching her bottom lip tremble and her eyes well with reluctant tears. Words tumble out so quickly he's not even sure they make sense, a panicked onslaught of barely coherent apologies as he steps closer.

"No, Draco." She whimpers, stepping back. "No."

Her eyes clench shut and forces the escape of reluctant tears that she lifts her shaking hand to hide. The logical bit of her, the bit that tells her he doesn't want this, that knows him well enough to know his hand must have been forced in the matter, is hidden behind the bitterly betrayed part of her conscience.

"I can't do this right now." She exhales shakily.

His jaw slackens in defeat, explanations left hanging on the tip of his tongue while he watches her leave, ascending the steps to the castle. The weight of it all settles once again on his chest as it has all year, heavy on his lungs until he's forced to breathe manually under the pressure. He watches her go, convinced that's it, that his one perfect thing is gone for good.

His eyes cast downwards with shame and he's about to turn to walk away himself, to find somewhere to think everything through when he hears her yelp. He's too late in turning to help, instead staring wide-eyed and her crumbled figure at the bottom of the icy steps.

"(Y/N)!"

.

(Y/N) groans softly as she struggles to open her eyes, frown fixing itself on her face at the her unfamiliar surroundings. She doesn't register herself as being in the hospital wing until she hears the gentle tut of Madam Pomfrey from the foot of her bed.

"Miss (Y/L/N)." She greets. "Finally awake I see."

"Finally?"

Her voice is hoarse and quiet, forcing her to wonder just how long she's been out for. Madam Pomfrey gives her an understanding look and gives her a sympathetic smile. The older woman steps around her bed to (Y/N)'s side and gently pushes her into an upright position in order to manoeuvre the pillows in her aid.

"You had quite a tumble down the stairs, my dear." She informs. "Quite the concussion I'm afraid, so don't worry if it takes a moment to remember- I'm sure Mr Malfoy will be able to help once he wakes up too."

The nurse gesture with a slight smirk towards the head of blonde hair resting face down on the edge of the mattress, just by (Y/N)'s legs. The sight of him is enough to have the memories flooding back, heart aching at the memory.

"I'll be back to check on you in a few." Madam Pomfrey informs.

"Thanks." (Y/N) gulps.

Once the older woman is gone, footsteps placing her well in the distance, (Y/N) turns back to the sleeping boy by her side. He looks small here, curled by her side, so sweet it's hard to believe what he's hiding underneath his cool façade and long sleeves. She finds herself reaching a hand out tiredly for his hair, curling her fingers in it gently and watching him stir.

He wakes as groggily as she did, with the same confused frown. Then, eyes meeting hers, they widen and a sigh of sheer relief escapes his lips. He looks exhausted, with ashy grey circles hanging under his eyes, although she's sure they've been like that for months now.

"Thank goodness you're awake, (Y/N)." He exhales. "God, I was so worried."

"How long?"

"About a day." He informs. "You hit you're head really hard-"

"Not that." She corrects in a whisper. "How long have you had t-the mark?"

The light brought to his face from her recovery dies at the question, eyes dropping instantly. She almost feels bad, but she needs to know, she needs to understand this all before she can allow herself to look at him the same.

"The summer." He admits. "Just before the start of term."

She inhales loudly, sharply as she take it in. She pulls her hand back from where he'd clutched it in relief when he first woke. The betrayal bites bitterly at her heart and tugs her brows into a disbelieving frown.

"I know." He whispers.  

She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs aloud, causing him to shift guiltily. The logical part of her is back, reminding her that she knows him, knows this is not something he would do if given the option not to.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her words throw him off and he stares at her in disbelief. Where he expects the furrowed brows of an angry glare, he finds her expression full of concern. His confusion over her reaction manifest itself as a frown.

"I'm a- a deatheater, (Y/N)."

His voice is hushed, cautious of the fact only the thin layer of the curtain around her bed shields them from the rest of the hospital wing, from listening ears. She lets out a sigh, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head in response.

"No you're not." She sighs, an almost desperate edge to her voice, as if she's trying to convince herself. "You're not, Draco."

"I took the mark, (Y/N)." He corrects. "I'm sorry."

"There's no way you wanted this." She argues. "This has your father written all over it. I know this isn't you-"

"How do you always do that?"

She can see him trying to keep himself together, fists clenched so tightly they shake and his eyes brimming with tears he's begging to stay put. He lets out a sharp sigh, turning away from her to hide how his mask is crumbling, how he's so quickly beginning to come undone.

"What?"

"What do you see that no one else does?"

His voice cracks. Red rimmed eyes meet (Y/N)'s, so full of raw emotion that she finds herself letting out the smallest of sniffles as her fingers reach out for his closed fists, loosening them enough to grasp his hand in hers.

"I see my boyfriend frowning more than he smiles." She begins, voice trembling. "I see him losing all motivation for his hobbies, I see him sneaking off when he thinks I'm not looking and telling me he's fine when he's not."

She squeezes his hand, begging him to understand, to understand that she's worried, she so worried for him that it hurts. She worried when his smile didn't meet his eyes on the train, and when he asked to stay curled together in his dorm room the day of the first Hogsmeade trip when they would usually go to Honeydukes together. She’s worried all year.

"I was so relieved yesterday to see you smile." She continues. "I miss your smiles so much, Draco."

He lets out an inaudible apology, fixing his tear filled eyes on their joined hands, gasping under the pressure to keep himself together. It's like she's pulled out the last thread, the one that was keeping him in one piece and as if any sudden movement will rip him apart now.

"I know you're a good person." She concludes. "I know you don't want this."

"I don't." He admits through a raspy, quiet sob. "I don't want this but I had to- I had to for my family."

"Your dad?" She asks sadly.

"Father made a mistake, but it's H-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who chose me, to amend my family's names in his eyes." He shakes his head. "It was the only decision that could be made."

"Draco..."

"You know what he did to Cedric Diggory." He explains. "I have to do this to keep us safe."

"You're just a kid, Draco." (Y/N) whimpers. "We're just kid and this isn't supposed to be our battle... I'm so sorry that it's ended up yours"

"Don't apologise to me." He pleads. "Don't., (Y/N)"

"Someone needs to, Draco." She argue. "This isn't fair on you."

Her voice finally cracks and tears rolls down her cheeks. She sighs in frustration when he looks up in concern. She's supposed to the pillar of support right now, hospital bed or not. The tears plough downward regardless though.

"Don't upset yourself." He begs.

"I'm angry, Draco!" She exclaims. "No at you- at this whole thing."

"(Y/N) please, you shouldn't stress yourself after the fall." He gulps. "You'll still have a concussion."

She's almost forgotten where they are, and why they're here in the first place. She lifts her free hand to the newly thumping pain in her head and grimaces. He shuffles closer, lifting a hand to tilt her head for inspection when she swats it away.

"No, I'm the patient so you have to listen to me."

She gives him a stubborn frown that has him sinking back like a scolded child to listen to her. She extends her bandaged arm out and pokes a finger against his chest sternly, his eyes widening at the serious look in her watery eyes.

"We're going to fix this." She states firmly. "We're going to fix this together and you and your family are going to be safe again."

"H-how?"

"I don't know but we will."

She drops her hand to find his once again, squeezing his fingers with a sigh. He stares at her in silence for so long she's worried he's angry, but then his lips twitch into the slightest of smiles and a breathless chuckles falls from his lips.

"Thought I was supposed to be looking after you." He explains softly.

"I only fell, Draco." She assures. "I'm fine."

"(Y/N), you have no idea how terrifying it was so see you on the ground like that." He shakes his head. "Not moving, not waking up, and all I could think was I drove you away and you hurt yourself."

"Draco..." She sighs. "I was surprised, I didn't know what to do when I saw that thing on your arm and  ran when I shouldn't have."

"This isn't your fault."

"It isn't yours either."

He lets out another laugh behind a poorly disguised sob, shaking his head again in surprise, perplexed again by her reactions. Always seeing the good in him, even when everyone is convinced it's not, when he himself has lost hold of it.

"I love you." He exhales.

"I love you too." She smiles sadly. "We're going to work this out, I promise."

He lift's the linked hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles gently. He believes her, something in his heart clinging to the assurance in her voice and the hope in her eyes. She's pulled that last thread, allowed him to fall apart at the seams in order to sew him back together again, gently and patiently, starting with the first stitch.

"I'm going to see that smile again."

.

Authors notes: like to think madam pomfrey is just sat outside the curtains like  👁👄👁 

[antebunny]

April 30: rebirth

(Also called Bargaining–idea is taken from an old Loki fic with the same time travel premise).

When Jiang Yanli dies, Wei Wuxian goes into denial and just runs from Nightless City. He goes back to the Burial Mounds and feverishly works on a time travel array. Within the month he completes it and prepares to travel back in time, but there’s a catch. He first activates the array and then spends the next several hours going through the ritual, while outside the Siege of the Burial Mounds begins. The Wens know what Wei Wuxian is up to so they understand why he’s not bothering to protect them. He completes the ritual just as Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan burst into the cave. They’re both there, at the front, in order to protect Wei Wuxian, but by the time they arrive it’s too late: the array is fading and Wei Wuxian is already dead. He barely sees them in the entrance when he dies, which leads him to (logical) conclusion that they’re there to kill him.

Here’s the catch: Wei Wuxian gets to go back, rewrite time, and change things. He decides to go back to the day before he got kicked out of the Cloud Recesses. But when time finally arrives at the time he activates the array, everyone gets their memories back. Although a lot of people will remember dying, it’s preferable to actually dying. Then Wei Wuxian has to conduct the ritual again, to ensure that this is the future that stays, and seal the deal with his own life. Basically, in order to change the future Wei Wuxian has to die. And obviously because he's Wei Wuxian, he decides that that’s okay so long as everyone gets to live.

So Wei Wuxian comes back to life with a golden core and cries for a solid minute, scaring tf out of Jiang Cheng, before he gets a grip. Then he proceeds to yell at Jin Zixuan, not get kicked out, and live life like everything’s normal. He enjoys the next six months of peace, and then he gets to work. Once the year is over, he goes on a very long night hunting trip, kills the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and sets up the cave for use. A year later and they’re at the archery competition, where Wei Wuxian still places first, meets Wen Ning again, and doesn’t pull off Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon.

Then Wen Ruohan is ~mysteriously~ assassinated and the Wens declare war on all the sects in revenge. When the Wens come for Lotus Pier, there’s no personal vendetta, and Wei Wuxian hides in the shadows and drowns all of them. Then he pretends that he got knocked out and was unconscious somewhere hidden from the main battle where Jiang Cheng finds him. They win the war, and Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are still alive and bickering with each other, the Jiang sect is still strong, etc. etc. Wei Wuxian personally hunts down Wen Zhuliu early in the war, before he can cause any damage. Then he also kills Jin Guangshan, blames it on the Wens (does it make sense? No. does anyone care? No) and Jin Zixuan commits fully to the war. Jin Zixuan learns to appreciate Jiang Yanli during the war, and since they’re already engaged they get married soon afterwards. Jin Guangyao gets taken in as Jin Zixuan’s younger brother, and since Jin Zixuan is a decent person who doesn’t want him to commit crimes but also needs Help, it goes a lot better. Meanwhile Wei Wuxian finds the DafanWen and they move to the Xuanwu cave, which Wei Wuxian has prepared. Also the carcass of the tortoise should scare anyone away.

Wei Wuxian sticks around to see his sister get married, takes Lan Zhan on a tour of Lotus Pier, at the end of which Lan Zhan proposes. Wei Wuxian is confused but figures that Lan Wangji must like this version of him that hasn’t used resentful energy as far as Lan Wangji knows or recused the Wens as far as he knows, or done any of the things that Other Lan Zhan hated him for. The Wens ask him to adopt A-Yuan, which he does after talking about it with Lan Zhan and after they get married. So now Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are married and they have an adopted child. That part was all the fluff and fix-it, cue the angst. The date of Wei Wuxian’s death draws near, and Wei Wuxian starts getting moody and antsy, starts drinking. Yu Ziyuan yells at him, of course, and everyone else worries over him. It is during one of these blackout drunk sessions that Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji that he fully expects Lan Wangji to regret marrying him in the future. Lan Wangji swears up and down that he won’t, and Wei Wuxian kinda critiques himself and calls himself selfish, for marrying Lan Wangji and raising a kid when he knows it’s not going to last.

Basically Wei Wuxian starts getting skittish and disappears for periods of time to the Burial Mounds, where he acquires enough injuries that Lan Wangji suspects that someone is hurting him, which Wei Wuxian vehemently denies, but Lan Wangji is still Onto him. He goes to Jiang Yanli, who says that Wei Wuxian has been acting differently ever since he came back from the Cloud Recesses, seemed to know things that were going to happen before they did, disappears at odd times and incidents that occur when Wei Wuxian is missing, and they get Jiang Cheng, who recalls that one time Wei Wuxian woke up in the middle of the night and just bawled, and after that didn’t lose his temper on Jin Zixuan, pulled back on his most crazy antics.

Still, none of them suspect the exact day, so on that day, Wei Wuxian gets up, tells Lan Wangji he’s going to train the Jiang juniors, and then just…disappears. Night comes and Lan Wangji is already worried, according to the juniors he never showed. Yu Ziyuan accuses him of slacking, but then Lan Wangji barges in crying, holding a note. In it, Wei Wuxian doesn’t tell him about the time travel, but says that Wei Wuxian is going forever, and Lan Wangji will understand why tomorrow. He understands that it’s too much to wish for that Lan Wangji won’t hate him, after how selfish he’s been and what a terrible person he’s been, marrying Lan Wangji and pretending it can last, but he hopes Lan Wangji can still look back and remember him fondly in the future. He apologizes again and tells Lan Wangji again that he didn’t mean to tarnish Lan Wangji’s reputation or saddle him with a child, but A-Yuan is here now and he knows Lan Wangji loves A-Yuan. He leaves a similar cryptic note for Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, apologizing to all of them for things they don’t understand.

Lan Zhan immediately begins searching for him all through the night, and then in the morning everyone blacks out and suddenly has memories of a different past couple of years, for most people starting with Wen Ruohan getting assassinated. People don’t immediately suspect the Yiling Patriarch, because they think he was simply never created in this timeline, and lives as Head Disciple Jiang and Lan Wangji’s husband, but Wei Wuxian’s family know better. They immediately rush to the Burial Mounds, and find it guarded by corpses. Inside the cave, Wei Wuxian begins conducting the ritual, also crying because he really had a happy life this time and he really really doesn’t want to go, but he can’t bear to revert to the original timeline, not when everyone is still alive here, so he continues. Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian find out about the whole yiling patriarch thing and jiang yanli is just like…i don’t care. Jin Guangshan is dead and can’t care, Jin Guangyao doesn’t have a vendetta, Jin Zixuan does what his wife says, and Jiang Yanli is alive so Jiang Cheng has no beef, plus he sees the lengths Wei Wuxian went through to save everyone. He also understands the letter now, then he and Jiang Yanli confront Lan Wangji like…do you no longer love him? Lan Wangji of course reacts poorly to this accusation and denies it. They leave A-Yuan behind and go to the Mounds with the intention of convincing Wei Wuxian that he doesn’t have to run away and they want him back.

They arrive in the cave just as Wei Wuxian is finishing with the ritual. But of course, parallels, Wei Wuxian looks up to see them standing in the entrance of the cave and thinks that they’re there to kill him, but also can see how distressed Lan Wangji looks and attempts to reassure him that he doesn’t have to kill Wei Wuxian! You know, his husband in this timeline! Because Wei Wuxian will do it himself! Wei Wuxian makes them fight some corpses while he rushes to finish the ritual, because they seem keen on stopping him (“i know you disapprove of demonic cultivation but this is the only way to save everyone”). Lan Wangji tackles him away from his ceremonial knife, and Wei Wuxian fights back (still has golden core!) they both fight desperately (“i have to do it myself Lan Zhan, otherwise I would let you do it”) over the knife. Jiang Cheng insists that there must be another solution, bc he doesn’t want Jiang Yanli to die. Then Wen Qing and Wen Ning walk into the cave, and Wen Qing like the genius she is, proposes the Alternate Solution. (What is it? Idk. just a magic solution in which Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to die). Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of fighting Lan Wangji (“i don’t have to die?” he asks while Lan Wangji is busy shattering the knife and then he and Jiang Cheng pin him down so he can stop trying to kill himself in front of them. “Nope,” says Wen Qing, the only person with brains here). So Wei Wuxian sits on the floor of the cave, tied with deity-binding thread (Wei Wuxian: let me go Lan Wangji: not until you promise to go with wen qing’s version of the ritual Jiang Cheng: unless…do you want to leave? Wei Wuxian: no!) (What’s the solution? Maybe all of them sacrifice something important to them, maybe they just…all use their power to BS their way through a solution? Again, I don’t know).

So Lan Wangji unties Wei Wuxian and they hug and kiss and they all head back to Lotus Pier, where they eat a celebratory dinner, and reunite with A-Yuan, and Wei Wuxian celebrates the fact that he can live this happy life and not owe the world anything/need to go through the ritual.

The End!

[itsclydebitches]

Something I notice about the giant Grimm is that they never seem to do anything. The Wyvern in V3 awakens from it's mountain and just sits on Beacon, the Leviathan only wades through the ocean and destroys a bell-tower and Monstro only spews out smaller Grimm. Whatever happened to Team RWBY strategizing to take down a Nevermore? These giant Grimm are just showpieces now.

I honestly think part of the problem remains the show's unwillingness to attach lasting consequences—and responsibility—to the group's choices. Because what does a giant grimm do? Destroy things and kill people, to a (presumably) larger extent than the normal grimm would. The Wyvern I give a total pass to because 1. Beacon was already overrun and being destroyed (a giant grimm was kinda overkill at that point) and 2. Since it's not needed for additional destruction/death, it serves the separate purpose of helping to introduce Ruby's eyes. Which I like. We've got to remember that back in Volume 3, no one in the fanbase knew what silver eye powers were, so having Cinder flinch in pain isn't going to explain what that power actually does—her connection to grimm via the weird bug is both unique and forgettable. So you've gotta include an actual grimm in that scene for Ruby to freeze, introducing the primary mechanic of "Silver eyes are a grimm specific weapon." Making the grimm a giant and presumably powerful Wyvern both explains why the group couldn't team up to take it down normally—which, again, was never that grimm's purpose in the first place. Some grimm exist for cool fights, others for forwarding the plot—and, frankly, it's just more entertaining to get a giant grimm for a Volume finale. Freezing it at the top of the tower likewise explains why the school isn't immediately rebuilt. We answer the, "Why are the characters going on a dangerous quest when they could just go back to school?" question by keeping the Wyvern there. So all in all, I think it functions rather well, demonstrating some of the logic threads RWBY now lacks.

The other two though... that's when we run into problems. Because unlike the Wyvern, they're not serving those specific functions of introducing a new power/explaining why Beacon isn't rebuilt. For them, yeah, we absolutely expect the group to have a cool fight and take them out in some epic, strategic, GIF—worthy manner. This is a fighting show! Problem is, in order to have a cool fight with a giant grimm, you need to include the inevitable consequence that things will be destroyed and, likely, people will be killed. These giant grimm aren't appearing in the middle of a forest like the Nevermore did (or even like the first geist did), they're turning up in populated areas. Fighting them will lead to casualties... and the problem there is that responsibility for these situations goes back to the heroes. Their choice to fight Cordovin brought the Leviathan. Their choice to run with Penny kept everyone in Atlas trapped. So if an epic battle wages and people in Argus die, or Salem's army breaks through and everyone in Atlas—including the Mantle evacuees—are overrun... that tragedy is partially on the group. And, notably, the story doesn't want the group to sit with any major consequences of their choices. So nothing bad happens. And nothing bad happens by virtue of there barely being a fight. Ruby just freezes time and sets off her eyes so they don't have to deal with the Leviathan ever reaching shore where the people are. Ironwood's army holds the line until Oscar saves the day so they don't have to deal with the grimm overrunning half the Kingdom. RWBY introduces very high stakes—here's this mega powerful super big ultra evil monster!!—and then pulls back on the follow through because to do otherwise would introduce consequences the story just doesn't want its heroes to face. Anyone remember during the Volume 7 hiatus how we were saying that Salem should absolutely decimate the Kingdom? Yeah, look at all the ways the story bent over backwards to avoid that. Salem randomly waits around to start the fight, the grimm soup only attacks the shields, the whale only spews smaller grimm, the line is never broken, her subordinates turn on her... the plot (flimsily) goes out of its way to ensure nothing horrific happens, as logic dictates it should, because the heroes were the ones to prevent most of the people from escaping. You can't have the mass murder of a Kingdom after that! So it doesn't happen. Even though it should. And when the horrific, permanent things do occur—the destruction of the Kingdom itself—it's fine now because the heroes chose it.

I 100% believe that in a story where the heroes were allowed to own up to their mistakes and grow from them, the fights would likewise have more room to play with the action in creative ways. If you're willing to really put Argus in danger and have the group own up to the choices that led to that, you can choregraph that epic fight on shore. However, all of this isn't to say that RWBY doesn't also have a problem with abandoning the strategic teamwork we started out with. The Hound is the most recent example of this. There, the story's moral stance isn't hindering the action: the Hound attacks in an empty street and then in the mansion with only three non-combat characters nearby. They heroes also haven't done anything wrong in these situations where having a destructive fight would reflect badly on them. Free rein for action! Yet Team JYR still just stands there while Oscar is captured, or take turns launching single attacks rather than trying to defeat it together (though this gets much better during their chase scene). Weiss comes out to help Blake and Ruby, only to be sent right back inside. Ruby is knocked out and Blake can't defeat the acid grimm alone, but Ruby one-shots it from behind rather than the two of them working together. Then Ruby waltzes up and also one-shots the Hound with her eyes, Whitley and Willow's contribution feeling like it hardly matters. If a suit of armor falling on it is enough to finish the Hound off, any punch from any of the fighters would have done the same job. Ruby's eyes already did all the work. Even when the story has all the space it wants for those cool fights against giant and abnormal grimm... it's holding back.

The fights have really gone downhill in the last couple of Volumes and no, it's not because the current animators aren't as talented with choreography as Monty was. It's because the fights are bending in illogical ways to serve the story, rather than the story evolving naturally out of the fights. Why can't Blake take on this grimm? Because the story wants to emphasize how crucial Ruby is to the team's spirits. Why don't we get cool combos to take out the Hound? Because the story wants to reveal the faunus' silver eyes in a shocking manner. Why was Yang taken out from a single hit by Neo? Because the story wanted to quickly established that the main group would "die" in this finale. Why did JYR just stand there and attack in useless ways? Because the story needed Oscar to get kidnapped. Why wasn't the whale established as something to fight, either with traditional combat techniques or with something the group had to come up with? Because the story wanted to introduce the shocking surprise of Ozpin's cane. Etc. etc. All of these fights fail on one level or another because they're just trying to get the viewer to the next plot point, never-mind whether the fight itself makes sense or is entertaining to watch. It's the same logic as the Wyvern—this serves a purpose other than to be a cool fight for the series—but RWBY is no longer putting in the work to get all these pieces to fit together. The Wyvern keeps to the internal logic of RWBY's world, whereas something like Yang's knock out does not. Doing that with the mega grimm that promise incredible challenges and likely destruction just makes that failure to deliver all the more noticeable.

Since the Volume 4 days, the last fight I can remember really liking—that got me super hyped and eager to re-watch it on Youtube—was Ironwood vs. Watts. Looking back, it doesn't at all surprise me that this fight a) didn't require any teamwork, b) didn't have any grimm involved, c) was between a villain and a soon to be villain in an empty space (eliminating those ethics entirely), and d) existed almost solely to just be a Cool Fight (with the minor, plot forwarding details of capturing Watts and Ironwood losing his arm). Ironwood vs. Watts had the freedom to be one of the old school RWBY fights, unencumbered by the questions that now keep tripping the writers up like, "If Team RWBY won with teamwork, why didn't you animate them working as a team?" or "Why did Ruby use her eyes when we wanted to see action and didn't use her eyes to save her own life against Cinder?" or "Why did you introduce this giant grimm, promising an epic fight, only to give the group a mostly non-combat solution? Oh, because that kind of epic fight is going to introduce a lot of other questions you don't want to tackle... Jinn randomly letting Ruby stop time, it is."

[hiiraya]

loving you had consequences (rewrite)

masterlist

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: ~1,586

warnings: angst, reminiscing

requested: inspired by a text post i saw on here a while back!

a/n: this had no plot, but i was listening to sad music while writing so that's where the angst came from, happy reading! any mistakes are my own (bc i'm too lazy to edit hehe) ♡

It starts with, hey Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?

Then, I promise it'll be quick.

And finally, please?

You wanted to say no. You wanted to turn around and pretend you didn't hear her, hole yourself up in your room until she leaves. Again.

You knew that she knew that you would rather be anywhere else than go with her, but Natasha was watching the two of you like a hawk, so you grit your teeth and nod.

The assassin nodded, content that you weren't going to run away, she gave the younger woman a pointed look before turning to face you once more.

"I'll leave you two be."

You only nod in return, wrapping your arms around your midsection as you finally faced your ex-girlfriend.

You decide to play nice, because she made the effort to corner you while you where with Natasha, knowing fully well that the older woman wouldn't let you leave without hearing her out.

She had tenacity, you had to admit.

“What did you want to talk about, Wanda?”

It seemed like all the bravado Wanda had earlier had disappeared as soon as it was just the two of you left in the room. You tried to meet her eyes, but the younger woman was bent on maintaining eye contact with the floor.

But still, you waited for her to speak up.

“About what happened, I’m--“

“Listen Wanda," You cut her off, tearing your gaze off of her to stare at the door behind her. "If that’s all you wanted to talk about, I’d rather not waste either of our time.”

“Please, Y/N, I just want to make things ri--“

You took pride in the fact that you could keep your emotions in check in a stressful situation. It came in handy whenever you were out on a mission; but right now you'd take a life-or-death situation over taking about the past.

Emotions is what brought you here in the first place.

You let your emotions get the best of you and now you search for her in the places you used to share, knowing damn well that she would never be there with you ever again.

You wouldn't let her break your heart a second time.

“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?”

You cut her off again, the abruptness of your words shocking her enough to lift her head to meet your gaze.

The intensity of her stare almost makes you back down, but you don't allow yourself to waver.

“O-of course I do." She answers, confused at the change in topic, but allowing it anyway. "What does that have to do with anything?”

You run your thumb along your knuckles, the action helping calm down your heart rate (which at this point, was racing like you'd just ran a marathon) a little.

"The first time you kissed me you told me after that you'd wanted to do that for a while."

The room is so quiet around the both of you that you can hear Wanda's breath hitch from where she stands.

You take a moment to pause and watch her, taking in the sight and letting it sink in that she was back from her travels.

This was the girl you fell in love with. The girl you spend so many countless nights with - talking to each other, kissing each other, loving each other - simply because you could.

The girl you were so sure that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

But life had different plans for you, and now the dreams you once shared with her were tucked away in the back of your mind, for you to open on a rainy day when missing her became too much.

"I always wondered if you thought the same thing when you left me.”

You see her face drop when your words sink in, but you've already spent so many nights thinking about how true your words must be since she was so unaffected when she left.

You're already indifferent to it.

-

She knows how much she hurt you when she up and left with Vision - though the only reason she found out was because Clint accidentally let it slip when she had called to let him know where she was.

She thought you were fine.

You didn’t fight her when she told you she’d fallen for the android. You didn't yell, didn't even make a scene.

You didn't ask her why she chose him, why she was so quick to drop you and to things you planned on doing with her.

You just nodded your head, a sad look in your eyes that she never wanted to see in them ever again before giving her a final kiss on the forehead before telling her that you would have your stuff out of her room by the end of the week.

Looking back in hindsight, Wanda didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry that you let her go without putting up a fight.

You loved her didn’t you?

But you were there, standing in an oversized sweatshirt with a smile that didn't reach your eyes, waving goodbye to the new couple goodbye before they left for a holiday they were taking now that the world wasn’t in imminent danger.

It didn't take very long for Wanda to start feeling the threads of regret creeping up to her.

-

You knew something happened when Vision came back alone.

He looked directly at you when he told the team that Wanda decided to travel around on her own for a little longer.

You had your questions but didn’t pry him for more answers.

You could infer.

-

After Vision had gone back home, and she was finally alone, Wanda took the time to see the sights on her own.

The sunsets in Paris  were beautiful, especially when viewed from the Eiffel tower.

The busy streets of London keeping her busy and moving (though she'd never felt more alone while seeing the sights that the city had to offer).

The bright sun in Athens shined down on her, wrapping around her like a hug after a long day.

All the places she’d promise to visit with you.  

But there was no one there to hold her hand, no one to fall asleep next to, no one there to stop and admire the sights the world had to offer.

All these beautiful places, but something- someone was inherently missing from her side.

So, after being away for so many months, she decided to come home.

She wanted to apologise, to make things right and hopefully, get you back.

But you thought she was only here to get closure.

-

"I'm not saying all of this to make you feel guilty," You sighed.

"Because it hurt,  more than I thought it would. But I'm still here, and my world didn't end just because you left me. I learned that I didn't need you to survive, that I could do just fine on my own.

"I needed to learn to love myself and be happy being on my own.”

She knows that you’re having a tough time getting the words out. But she knows that you needed to say them and that she needed to hear them, even thought it was breaking her heart all over again.

You’d learnt to live without her and survive without her.

And she learned that she couldn't live without you.

"Don't get me wrong though, I would choose having you over losing you.” You say with a sad smile. ”But we don't always get what we want."

Wanda doesn’t mean to peak inside your head, but when your thoughts were practically screaming at her, her curiosity won over the logical side of her that told her peaking into your head would only hurt her more.

"Will you still love me in the morning?"

You asked her one night, already slipping into the clutches of unconsciousness, voice just loud enough for Wanda to hear.

She hums as she runs her fingers through your hair, smiling when you nuzzle deeper into her neck.

You were her warmth, someone she wanted by her side until the end of forever. Nothing would ever make her want to leave. She was already where she needed to be.

Of course she would still love you in the morning.

"And every morning after."

Shaking your head, she watches as you clear your throat, blinking away the scene playing in your mind, bringing Wanda back to reality with you.

“I’m just rambling now, it’s fine, it’s over, we’ve both moved on. There's nothing for you to apologise for.”

You look down for a moment, and she figures it's you taking a moment to gather yourself. When you finally lift your head up to look at her, there's a small (but still warm nonetheless) smile on your face.

“Let’s just forget this talk ever happened, okay?”

She wants to say more- she needs to say more to you, because the more you keep on talking, the deeper her heart sinks knowing that you're letting her back into your heart so easily this time. If ever.  

You’re ready to forget everything that’s happened between you two - while she’s just barely even scraped the surface of unpacking all the baggage she left when she left you.

“If there’s anything you need just let me know but other than that,” You exhale.

“Welcome back home, Wanda.”

[jaskierswolf]

Hello, darling. I come bearing requests! May we have a little Geraskier dagger/swordplay? Some light threatening of a weak-kneed witcher, pretty please?

Swordplay... in my inbox?? What a treat!

This is modern AU. Jask is an actor, Geralt is... somethiing? Fight choreographer perhaps?

Warnings: Swordplay, weapons kink, dom/sub vibes, subspace, slightly under negotiated kink but there is explicit consent (they’ll talk more about it after cos boundaries are important y’all), mentions of blow jobs and genitalia  but no sex (sorry), roleplay, horny pre-smut.... there’s a lot of warning in this one... oops. 18+

Jaskier stood panting in the middle of the gym, the sword still raised, sweat dripping down his face. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was sticking to his forehead. By all accounts he should have looked disgusting but Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the actor. He’d bulked up for the role of the dashing young pirate, and thick muscles were visible under the t-shirt that clung to his body.

Jaskier wiped his sweaty fringe off his forehead and huffed. “Phew, I think I did pretty good that time, right, Geralt?”

Geralt watched, entranced as Jaskier draped the sword behind his neck, gripping the blade with his hand. Logically, Geralt knew the sword was blunt, just a prop sword but the sight of Jaskier holding the steel blade so casually, so confidently….

It made his head spin.

He desperately tried to think of something other than the way Jaskier’s fingers curled around the hilt on the sword, the dangerous smirk on his face when he’d held Geralt at sword point, casting Geralt’s sword aside with ease, his onscreen character bleeding through into their training.

Geralt swallowed, his cock filing out in his sweatpants despite his best efforts to keep his cool. He just hoped that Jaskier wouldn’t notice. His crush on the young starlet was embarrassing enough as it was, he didn’t need the man knowing about it, but unfortunately the gods were not on his side.

“Geralt? I said….” Jaskier trailed off. “Oh”

Geralt felt his cheeks heat up. He turned on his heels, he needed to put the training swords away and make sure the props were ready for shooting the next day. He could still escape this but…

“Don’t move,” Jaskier hissed, his voice like ice.

Geralt shivered and closed his eyes, letting Jaskier’s voice wash over him. He felt the point of Jaskier’s sword kiss his neck. His head felt fuzzy, and his heart was racing. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to try and keep himself from falling to his knees in front of the actor. He couldn’t help it, he felt weak, his walls crumbling around him.

“Jaskier,” his voice barely above a whisper “this isn’t a good idea.”

“Turn around.”

Geralt turned around, eyes still shut, he couldn’t bear to see Jaskier’s face, the inevitable disappointment.

“Open your eyes.”

“Jaskier…”

“I said open them,” Jaskier snapped.

Geralt did as he was told and swallowed, it wasn’t Jaskier standing in front of him any longer. Gone was the loving carefree actor who tripped over his own feet and could barely hold the sword without dropping it… this was the fierce pirate captain that he’d been perfecting over the last few weeks.

“Yes sir,” Geralt mumbled before he could stop himself, but Jaskier smirked and he knew he’d said the right thing.

The actor stepped forward, nudging Geralt’s chin up with the tip of his sword. “Good boy.”

Geralt couldn’t help the moan that fell from his lips. “Jask,”

The coldness faded from Jaskier’s eyes, replaced with the warmth that Geralt had grown to love. The sword dropped to Jaskier’s side and a hand cupped his cheek, pulling him from the haze. “Hey, Geralt? Is this alright? I didn’t mean… I just saw, I didn’t mean to look it’s just… well…”

Geralt cut the actor off with a kiss, pressing their bodies together so that Jaskier could feel how hard he was, groaning as Jaskier’s own erection rubbed against his. “S’good.”

“Stop me,” Jaskier panted “anytime… tell me to stop and I will.”

Geralt hummed against his lips, drunk in the sensation of kissing Jaskier. Jaskier’s free hand threaded through his hair and pulled… hard. He moaned, letting Jaskier pull his head back, baring his neck to the actor.

“Do you understand, Geralt? Yes or no?” Jaskier asked, the coolness starting to slip back into his voice.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

Geralt whined “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Jaskier cooed and then Geralt was pushed backwards, he finally fell to his knees in front of the actor, bowing his head instinctively.

The tip of the sword caressed his cheek, “Oh sweetheart, you pretty thing, you were just begging to be captured weren’t you? Did you even try to fight me, or were you hoping that I’d take you on board my ship?”

Geralt hummed, not finding any words through the haze. He felt so warm, the cold steel almost burning where it touched his skin. Jaskier’s voice was like the sweetest nectar, his pirate captain.

“Well, pretty one, perhaps if you suck my cock well enough, I’ll allow you to stay?”

“Please,” Geralt mumbled, the word feeling heavy on his tongue.

“Go on the, sweetheart, I don’t like to be kept waiting,” his captain breathed, the sword now resting along Geralt’s spine as a hand draped over his shoulder, he nuzzled the captain through his trousers with a hum, mouthing at the bulge through the fabric, he wanted to impress him… he wanted…

“Fuck,” he groaned and scrambled to pull down Jaskier’s trousers, hoping that today was just the beginning of something new.

[the-clari-net]

A Mother’s Intuition

AO3

Maddie Fenton prides herself on being a woman of science. A woman full of reasoning and logic who has spent her entire career working on showing her credibility by proving that ghosts exist; not only that, but to show the dangers that they hold to the living. After so many years of being mocked and belittled she finally got her big break with that ghost portal. Once ghosts started coming into Amity Park, she knew she had something tangible that would shake the foundations of the scientific community that have been perceived as Law. Everyone would know that there exists a space that these laws don’t apply (in more ways than one). She and Jack would finally get their brilliance recognized, and her children could finally look at their parents with pride knowing that they’re the first to discover and pioneer this new branch of science never before studied by mankind.

  With that being said, Maddie was the one who always brought a more realistic approach to the ideas Jack came up with. They made a good team like that, covering each other’s blind spots to the best of their abilities. Maddie was seen as the rational one, less emotionally swayed compared to her jovial and at times overly enthusiastic husband. That’s not a bad thing really, since it keeps Maddie grounded in not becoming too absorbed in observing at a microscopic level and he forces her to step back and relook at her project with new eyes with a wider perspective. This is all to say that Maddie is an observant person. Her profession relies on her ability to analyze and being able to report and reflect on those observations.

All this needs to be mentioned because Maddie has been feeling strange lately. Well, perhaps lately isn’t the right word. This is a feeling that has existed within her for awhile, it’s just become impossible to ignore the longer it stays. This is a blind spot that has grown too large to push aside.

Dread is one way to describe this feeling. Anxiety is another. At its worst peak, paranoia might be more applicable.

Right now Maddie is sitting at her dinner table with her family. It’s a Sunday night, she had ordered pizza earlier in the evening because the radioactive hot dogs are holding yesterday’s leftovers hostage. It’s a normal evening for the Fentons all things considered.

Except for the slightly shaky hands, which is strange for a woman who has skilled precision with a scalpel. Except for the pounding in Maddie’s chest, her pulse has been quickening the longer they’re having dinner, and she’s starting to hear that same pulse pounding behind her ears. Except for the slight chill that never leaves her despite sitting next to her husband who runs so warm he might as well be a personal heater.

There’s the tightening of her chest that leaves her struggling to breathe properly. It feels as if at any moment she may have to start gasping for breath like her sister Alicia used to as a kid before she got an inhaler to treat her asthma.

Ultimately, these are all the signs Maddie feels when she’s scared. It’s been a while since she’s felt true fear that wasn’t outweighed by adrenaline and excitement. She usually can hold her own against any human and she’s smart to never fight a ghost at close range. She can’t remember the last time she had felt helpless enough to fear like this.

As a woman who is a master at martial arts, she’s had a lot of past experience in her training going up against powerful opponents. There were certain opponents (especially in her early years of training) that made her feel like she was prey, that if she lost her focus for a moment, she would be pulverized. This is the same feeling only a thousand times worse.

Maddie has been trying to deny the connections she’s been weaving since the first prick of nervousness first reached her. She was a woman of science, she needed evidence to support her conclusion; correlation does not equal causation. However, her martial arts background has told her to trust your instincts; it’s a survival trait warning of a potential danger. The conflict of these two perspectives have been arguing in her head about the odd common thread with these spikes of anxiety.

These feelings only seem to appear whenever Danny was around.

It was such a silly observation at first, more of an offhand thought. But as time went on, and her nerves were worsening, the thought stayed with her in the back of her mind.

Maddie’s mind tries to be rational about the ordeal, trying to convince herself that these feelings of anxiety could be due to stress, or some effect of the ghost portal. The fact that something primal is screaming at her that her son –the boy who currently has a piece of pepperoni stuck to the side of his lip and is pouting at Jazz—is a threat to her livelihood is what worries her.

Could he be possessed by a ghost? No, that’s ridiculous; his eyes are blue, he can’t be possessed. They look a little brighter than normal. That’s the kitchen lighting, Danny is NOT involved in this.

It feels like it has to be ghost related. This feeling of dread is common with several of the ghosts that have appeared in Amity Park before. She’s noticed that the more powerful ones are more likely to cause this instinctual feeling compared to the little ghost blobs who only cause a shiver to your spine once physical contact is made.

“—right Mom?”, Maddie jumps a bit and looks up to realize that Jazz was looking directly at her. She notices that the pizza box is empty, and the table’s been cleared, except for her own plate. Was she out of it for that long?

“Sorry honey, I didn’t hear what you said. Could you repeat the question?”. She tried to offer a smile, but she could tell looked more like a grimace. Jack was looking at her worriedly, but he knew better than to push her to talk in front of the kids. Jazz looked back with a soft smile, but her brows were furrowed.

Maddie didn’t look in Danny’s direction.

“I was just saying I should have the leftover slice of pizza for tomorrow instead of Danny because I have seniority rights, right?”

Maddie blinked at Jazz for a moment before recollecting herself and standing up from her seat and moving to the sink to wash the dishes, forcefully ignoring the back of her mind screaming at her to run as far away as she can from here and never look back.

“Now you two, there’s no need to fight like that. Why don’t I just give you both some lunch money for tomorrow and we’ll call it even?” She smiled at Jazz, subtly angling herself so her back wasn’t facing towards Danny and kept him in her peripheral vision.

She doesn’t want to think of why she did that.

--

Later that night, Maddie couldn’t sleep. She managed to convince Jack that she was feeling better after dinner, and now she’s wide awake trying to remember why that fear felt so familiar. She recognized the unease that only comes from being in close contact with a ghost. It’s the same feeling that lingered in her system after having a ghost possess her; there’s a specific rolling in her stomach that comes from it. The feelings she got during dinner tonight felt like a specific ghost, something about it felt familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

When she finally went to sleep, she was restless with dreams of sharp bright blue eyes, looming shadows that suffocated her, and sweet awkward smiles that slowly turned into menacing and haunting grins.

--

The rest of the week had been a pretty regular one. Jack and Maddie had spent most of the week building some new weapons that could help capture Phantom once and for all. Because of this, they had been eating in their lab. If Maddie felt relief at using her work as a shield to avoid family dinner, that’s her secret to keep.

The week had been quiet with no battles or major ghost sightings until a massive ghost battle broke out between Phantom and another one of the reoccurring ghosts on Friday. Skulker was the name of the ghost if what she had overheard from her sonar dish on the family RV was correct. It was all the way across town. Jack was behind the wheel, and Maddie was checking over the new prototype they had been working on all week that would hopefully weaken a ghost’s powers. They were hoping that Phantom could be their first test subject.

As they were about halfway to the battle, Maddie suddenly got a prickly feeling in her neck. She was well acquainted with that feeling when nearing ghosts, so she dismissed it as usual. But it got worse the closer they reached their destination. Her body slowly began to tense up, more, her breaths were becoming shallower, and her mouth had suddenly run very dry.

No… it can’t be…

There they were in front of Skulker and Phantom and all Maddie could do was tense up in terror and barely stop herself from letting out a whimper. This feels too familiar, he feels like…

Phantom suddenly crashes on top of their windshield, he groans and begins to lift himself off the hood of the RV when for a brief moment, his eyes meet Maddie’s. He sends a sheepish smile and begins to fly up towards Skulker, immediately striking him down with an ectoblast.

Meanwhile, Maddie feels all the blood drain from her face and she feels her eyes begin to fill up with tears. Jack is yelling about that darn ghost damaging his RV, but she can barely focus. She recognized the feeling now. The interaction between the two of them didn’t even last a minute, yet it is staying with her all the same.

The smile Phantom gave reminded her of a black-haired boy who would get caught staying up late looking at his telescope. A boy who would give her that same smile whenever he was confronted about skipping class and missing his assignments. She sees that smile every day in her own home.

It looked so odd, having that smile come from a boy with bright white hair, and eyes that glowed toxic green. The smile was sharper, with incisors that were just short of becoming fangs. But it was still recognizable.

She can no longer deny it, Phantom and Danny are connected. Danny even leaves her with the same sense of terror and fear that only a ghost as powerful as Phantom could do. It feels more potent with Phantom; looking him in the eye for that moment almost made her scream bloody murder.

Jack was never as attuned to the emotional effects that ghosts brought on due to his natural bravery and confidence (she has a theory about his family bloodline having adopted some traits that could block out these senses of fear which leads them to being better ghost hunters). However, even Jack had once mentioned that he felt unnerved by Phantom, which says a lot about the power that child ghost must hold. But to think that powerful monster is somehow connected to her son was a situation she never would have considered. Was he possessed?

When did it happen? Was it around the time that Maddie first began feeling unnerved?

How didn’t you notice? The back of her mind whispered to her. You’re his mother, aren’t you?

The weight of her realization begins to set it. The burden of fearing her son with no tangible reason for doing so. Her own neglect and obliviousness about missing this massive part of her son’s life fills her with guilt. Suddenly the weapon in her hand, ready to be used against Phantom (Danny?) makes her nauseous.

She feels her body beginning to shut down and go into autopilot. Maddie dazedly notices that she and her husband are parked in the middle of a street, in easy range to get blasted or crushed, or incinerated or possessed by these ghosts. She is in no condition to fight.

She feels a little hysterical thinking about her own safety when her son (or some possessed version of him) is out there fighting a ghost after literally crashing into an RV with military grade protection.

“Jack, we should go home”, Maddie hoarsely interrupts her husband’s tangent.

He looks like he was about to protest until he saw his wife’s bloodshot eyes, holding back tears and white as a sheet. Without further prompting, he turned the car around and as soon as the stiffening fear had melted away from Maddie’s shoulders did she finally allow the tears to fall.

[sullustangin]

Socrates and the Echoes of Oblivion

After re-playing Echoes of Oblivion, I’m thinking that this part of the patch is a massive Socratic Problem.

Disclaimer:  I think the Flashpoint was under-written (not enough time/money/vocal talent due to COVID) which led to no major new revelations about any of the characters.  If we had found out new stuff, then I think I would be more inclined to say it is what the game says it is: an adventure in Satele’s mind.  But since we didn’t, it wasn’t.  This is me going off on a lark again, so enjoy the theorycrafting.

What is the Socratic Problem?

So, when Socrates was condemned for 'impiety’ and ‘corrupting the young’ -- aka, stirring sedition and civil unrest against a corrupt government - not only was he put to death but all of his works were destroyed as well.  Essentially, all we know today about Socrates and his philosophy come through his students.  Plato is a biggie.  He claims many times throughout his works that a certain opinion was Socrates, and he also used him as the ‘hero’ or main character in his philosophical dialogues - Socrates almost always wins. 

Here’s the Socratic Problem:  is this a true representation of Socrates, as he was?  Or is this the fond memory of a dear student of a lost master?  Is Plato telling the facts, telling the truth, or making  Socrates fan fiction?

....what the hell does that have to do with Echoes of Oblivion?

I think we’re dealing with the same problem here when we supposedly go into Satele’s mind.  I don’t think we do.  I think this is just another exploration of the mind of the player character and their trauma from the last 10 years.

Is Satele sick with a virus?  Yes.  Is the Emperor trying to grow a collective being that he can manifest in?  Yes, preferably Satele-shaped and powered by her students’ life force. 

But the second that the player goes into that trance with Kira and Scourge, everything is only happening in the player’s mind.  Nobody else is in there.  Darth Marr suggests as much.  When the player chooses “You seem very insightful,”  he replies, “I know only what you know.”

It’s like writing your own fan fic -- your characters know what you know, as the author. If they make a mistake about their own biography, it’s because you lacked the knowledge.  In turn, if they are aware of something other characters are not, it’s because of you.  To me, that line says that everything we see happen is the Alliance Commander’s ‘mental fan fic’ about killing the Emperor. 

There is no revelation of information about the characters that the player works with.  We learn nothing new about Scourge, Kira, the Emperor’s family, Revan -- we’ve met all of them, but there’s no ‘secret past’ uncovered....

Not even for Satele... whose mind we’re supposedly in. 

And indeed, the only things the character sees are their own memories.  Remember that little padawan on Tython?  That’s not Satele; Satele re-discovered Tython -- she was never a student there. 

Why do all of the possible player character classes have memories of Tython?  Because of the Tython/Korriban incursions.  (I know mechanically, this is skippable in game, but work with me here.)  The Outlander becomes the Outlander because they caught the eye of the Emperor at Ziost, which only happens because of Yavin 4, which only happens because of Rishi, which only happens because of the conspiracy discovered at Tython and Korriban.

This makes me want to conclude that we’re never in Satele’s head, actually; there is nothing revealed about her that we don’t already know. So who is the padawan?  Maybe the player saw one of the little kids cowering after the incursion -- maybe that stuck in their minds for good or bad.  But historically speaking, that is absolutely not Satele.

And Marr let us in on that secret... but that’s not Marr. That is our memory of Marr.  Marr the realist.  Marr, who confronted the truth that his approach to the Force had been wrong in life -- and admitted it.  Marr, the truth teller.  Marr the Socratic Problem.

In fact, all the people we see in that dream/vision/mind adventure are our Socratic images of people we’ve encountered before. That includes Revan, who the player met during the Yavin 4 op and appears as a Force ghost before they go into a trance. 

...ok.  So what was the whole flashpoint, by that logic?

The flashpoint isn’t Satele’s mind.  It’s the playable character’s mind.  Everything that happens?  Essentially the player’s fan fic about how they really killed the Emperor.  Everything is representative and completely controlled by the memory of the player.  Remember, “My mind, my rules” in the finale of KotET.

That is, until the very end when Satele ‘wakes up’ and reveals that she and her students have been playing dead, essentially; they let the Emperor think he had consumed and dominated them.  They let his arrogance think they had toppled easy, with Satele barely hanging on by a thread.  While she dangled, the Emperor turned his attention to the player character.  The second that the player entered the trance, Satele, the students, and the Emperor all ‘changed instances’ to the player’s mind, not Satele’s mind.  The only things there are things that that the player knew. 

What purpose does the Commander serve? 

Remember that the door swung two ways on the whole Emperor’s occupation of the Outlander’s mind.  Not only could the Outlander not get rid of Valkorion, but Valkorion could not get out. He never does regain the power to use the Outlander as a meat puppet; the Outlander fights too hard for Valkorion to get up off that throne and kill Lana/Theron/Senya/Arcann. 

Basically, Scourge and Kira are using the Commander as a cage.  Remember that the imprint of Tenebrae (the so-called virus) doesn’t know anyone.  Valkorion, Vitiate -- they’re manifestations of a personality that is currently running on a backup file that was made once and not updated.  Valkorion ‘knows’ thanks to Kira’s memories that he lived in the Outlander.  Vitiate ‘knows’ he controlled Kira and the Jedi Knight in the past... but neither of them remember how that worked.  They have the facts, gleaned from sources after the fact, but they have no active memory of doing these things.

That means Valkorion doesn’t necessarily ‘know’ or ‘remember’ how trapped he was in the Outlander’s mind.  He sees this powerful person, he wants that powerful person to control... and can’t remember what happened last time.

The Emperor is all too keen to run into the trap that is the Commander’s head.  Another big powerful creature like Satele Shan he can dominate and control -- and off he went to try to consume the player’s mind.  But he forgot what happened at the end of that story! 

But Satele says it’s her mind and her trap.

And so it is.  I do think Satele was containing the Emperor until Scourge and Kira arrived with the player character.  As I say above, I think there’s a moment where everyone ‘changed instances’ into the player’s mind, which is the cage of Valkorion.  Otherwise, I think we would have seen things and done things that would reveal more about Satele.  We only see and hear things that the player knew before they went into a trance. 

Ultimately, the spirit/essence/soul/whatever of the Emperor is defeated by the Jedi Force plan thing that Scourge and Kira and Satele cooked up. They just use the player as a holding pen, essentially; worked before, so why not now?

Also, the end scene of the the flashpoint (the one with Satele) can be very self-indulgent.  Want to kill Satele?  Oh, if only you could.   You want to confess how you regret your decision regarding exiling/killing Theron?  Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned.  Want your mother-in-law’s approval, if you romanced Theron?  Here you go.  Want a Grand Master to say what a great and powerful Jedi/Sith you are?  You get a compliment, you get a compliment...  It’s whatever the player wants Satele to say to them.  So again, this is all a happy coda to the flashpoint that the player in their own mind dreams up. (Granted, is that not the function of video games?  Us being the hero?  Us getting a little wish fulfillment?)

Can that still be real, if we 'change instances’ back into Satele’s mind once the Emperor is defeated?  Sure. If you believe Dream!Satele is real (and reusing her campground on Odessen), go for it. 

**

As I said at the top, I have a feeling this is more of a product of under-developed writing than a deliberate deep dive in to Socrates.  I wish we did find out more about Satele; Theron indicated he didn’t want to go in because he didn’t want to dig deep into her psyche.  He didn’t know what we would find -- turned out to be nothing, but... there could have been something.