#and then maybe just never write again cause this isn't worth it!

[imwritesometimes]

how to overcome your incredible self-loathing, cringe embarrassment, perfectionist tendencies, and finally feel decent abt fic you've written - definitely not written by me cause I'll never figure it out....

[phefics]

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐤 includes: toxic, jealous, peacekeeper!coryo, fem, covey, singer!reader, f!receiving oral, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, reader & coryo are sleeping together but not official

when coryo comes to your show, you spot him in the crowd and your lips curl into a smile. he always find the time to stop by and hear you sing, even after a long day working as a peacekeeper.

sejanus and a few other guys you recognize sit around him at a table, but he isn't paying attention to them. he's watching you, but the look on his face isn't one of affection, or even enjoyment. he looks...pissed.

your smile falters, and you focus back on the rest of your audience, trying to ignore the way his icy eyes pierce your skin. had you done something wrong? maybe he just had a bad day. you could ask him about it once you were done performing.

you played a few more songs, playing off your unsettled feeling well, all smiles and energy throughout the performance.

"thank you, district twelve!" you call, waving out at the cheering crowd before heading off the stage, wiping sweat from your brow.

you catch coryo's eye again, and he finishes his drink in a single swig before standing up to follow you into the back room of the bar. you feel a twinge of anxiety as he approaches. "hi," you say when the door has shut behind him.

"who was that song about?" he asks, skipping the pleasantries.

you blink at him, surprised. "what?"

"the song you were singing when i came in. who was it about?"

oh, so that's why he was so pissed. you can't help it. you giggle. "are you jealous, coryo?" you ask.

he doesn't laugh. "who was the damn song about, y/n?"

"just an old boyfriend! why do you care so much?"

"cause my girl is up on stage singing about a man that isn't me. don't you think that's worth me being mad about? you're up there singing about some guy with brown eyes in front of everyone. it's embarrassing."

you're shocked by his anger over this, the genuine annoyance on his face, something like hurt spilled across his pale, pointed features. you're also weirdly flattered to be the cause of his jealousy, to hear him call you his girl. you didn't realize he felt so strongly about the relationship between you two, but that was because he never showed it.

"well, i didn't realize i was your girl," you reply. "you fuck me but never stay the night. i only write songs about boys who are good to me."

coryo looked you over for a moment, before sinking to his knees. "i can be good to you. i can be good for you."

before you can reply, he's hiking up your skirt, kissing your thigh before yanking your underwear down. you gasp, eyes flitting towards the door. "coryo, we shouldn't—"

"no one's gonna hear us over the music," he says, smirking.

you consider his point, the next musical act already on stage and playing quite loudly. he's right, and you hate that he's right. you sigh, gesturing for him to continue.

he immediately returns his face to your pussy, his tongue licking an eager stripe through your folds and brushing against your clit.

you whimper softly. any irritation you were feeling towards him melts away as he sucks your clit into his mouth. "fuck," you breathe. his hair is too short for you to grab onto, so you clutch his shoulders instead, wrinkling his uniform with your grasp.

as his tongue continues, you feel an orgasm building inside of you, your legs beginning to tremble. he hooks his arms behind your knees to keep you steady, lapping at your cunt.

"coryo!" you cry as you cum, chest heaving.

he comes out from under your skirt, lips shining, lust in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

you want to be furious at the smug look on his face, but you're too turned on, too smitten to give in to your anger. instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him to his feet, kissing him.

he unbuckles his belt, fumbling with the button on his pants. his cock springs free, and he enters you with ease, your cunt already wet and wanting.

"you're my girl, okay?" he says, breathless. "tell me you're mine."

you nod, back pressed against the wall. "i'm your girl, coryo. all yours."

he groans, hiking your leg up for a better angle, his cock hitting that special place inside you and making you whine, extra sensitive from your first orgasm.

it doesn't take long for him to make you cum again, and he follows right after.

the next week, you watch coryo and his friends sit at the back of the bar again, watch his eyes widen in recognition as you sing a new song that mentions icy eyes. sejanus nudges him, grinning, and coryo flushes as you sing a lyric about stolen moments in closets.

[gglitch1dd]

Genuine question and it’s totally ok if you would never make it butttttttt would you ever write about Kane having a girlfriend or going out on a date and him either asking reader how to ask a girl on a date or how to tell a girl he likes them orrrrrrrrr reader and izuku see him on a date with a girl ? Maybe even katsuki finding out and trying to ruin it and they step in. This lowkey been on my mind since you did totally worth it. (Or maybe Kane asking reader and deku if he can bring his girlfriend home to meet them cause they’re such a big part of his life especially reader)

Meet my-

This had me thinking for a good 10 minutes but this is so WONDERFUL! I couldn't resist writing something small for it. Thank you so much for this idea anon.

Izuku and you had promptly shipped the sprouts to their grandmas for the afternoon. Today was a special day, a Kane day, which meant you would spend the afternoon how Kane wanted to and he had asked you and your husband if he could bring a girl over for a lunch.

"It isn't really a big deal, I understand if you say no." He said, really not stressed if it was an inconvenience to the both of you.

You sat wide eyed next to your husband with a broad grin on your face. "Inconvenience? No! Definitely not! We would love it. Wouldn't we, honey?" You asked turning to your husband.

He nodded his head as he turned to look at Kane with a smile on his face. "Definitely. We'll make sure the sprouts are on their best behaviour, even better, we can boot them out, for the afternoon." He told the blond.

You looked to your husband with a bright smile. "That's a great idea."

Kane's eyebrows furrowed as he looked to the both of you surprised. "I think that might be a bit extreme-"

"A Kane day is never an extreme thing." You stated perfectly set on what you had said.

Which was how your husband was setting the table for lunch, while you were just about finishing up. With no little sprouts to embarrass poor Kane and no Toshinori (no matter how hard he begged to stay), this would just be a day for you, Kane and his guest.

"I'm glad he's warmed up enough to ask us to have guests." You stated with a smile as you switched off the stove and took off your apron.

Izuku nodded at that statement, agreeing with you. "Indeed. Kane's a pretty private person but he's adjusted well so far being here." Izuku straightened up, snapping his neck for a second before shaking it out. He pulled up his sleeves revealing thick scarred arms. "But this must be serious if he wants to introduce a girl to ask."

"I didn't know he was seeing someone." You let out quietly. Normally you'd hear all your tea from Toshinori who would randomly find you wherever you tried to hide and just lounge about and start spilling whatever was happening in his life (which you liked more than you let on).

Izuku opened his mouth to speak but the door opened. You both glanced at each other. You quickly scurred over to his side, making sure to wipe your hands clean before standing beside your husband. You both put in your prefect public worthy smiles just as Kane walked into the room, holding the hand of a girl.

Kane looked over to her before motioning to her and looking at the both of you. "This is Zahrah Ahmed." He introduced.

The girl stood with a bright smile on her face. She had a beautiful white hijab on her with a white cardigan and dark long skirt. She bowed her head to the both of you respectfully. "It is an honour to meet you both."

Kane then moved to motion to the both of you with his hand, "Zahrah, these are my-"

"Midoriya Y/N, it's very nice to meet you." You bowed with a smile. "This is my husband Midoriya Izuku."

Izuku smiled with a bow of his own. "It's nice to meet you."

Zahrah gleamed. "Its an honour, ProHero Deku."

Kane sighed but chuckled. He turned to Zahrah and motioned to the both of you again. "These are my parents."

You and your husband both nearly sprained your necks with how fast you both looked to Kane. You were shocked. He had never said that before. He had never referred to the both of you that way either. You tried not to look at your husband as to not give Kane the wrong impression but you felt tears in your eyes as you smiled and leaned against Izuku. Izuku tightened his hold you with a great smile on his face.

"How about we have lunch?

-Glitch1d

[readychilledwine]

Hello. Hope u r feeling good. I was wondering if u could write something again. This one is particularly personal to me. Picture it. Reader is daughter of any one of the bat boys. If cass Or az then single dad. She has been bullied since the day she started school as a child because she has a problem when it comes to studying. As she grows it's her looks. The ic, notices her behavior is starnge. Like, snapping at small things, crying when they correct her or raise their voice. She has never told anyone because she doesn't want them to stress out and the bullies said that she was so worthless because she keeps running to her father for everything. Her dad finds out soon. U can decide the ending.

Oh my love 💜 all three of our boys got you.

Head Held High

Summary - After being born with Feyre's looks, but illyrian wings, Rhysand and Feyre's daughter faces challenges wherever she goes.

Warnings - bullying, signs of low self-worth, anger, inferred adhd or other learning issues, older brother coming in to do the older brother thing while protective dad does the dad thing

You had him wrapped around your finger the second you came into the world.

His beautiful baby girl, wide eyed and filled with curiosity and happiness.

You truly were a stunning little thing, but how couldn't you have been with parents like Rhysand and Feyre? He loved you even more for being the small version of your stunning mother. Her nose, her lips, her hair. The only piece of you that screamed you were his were those star flecked eyes.

Your childhood was filled with love and joy. With you constantly praised for your looks, for your smarts, or your imagination. Rhys and Feyre never thought anything of your wild mind. They loved it. They loved how sporadic you were, how one thing was never enough for you to stay focused on. They loved your random outlook on the world.

To Rhys, Feyre, and your significantly older brother Nyx, you were the world. They sheltered and loved you, thick and thin, protecting you from darkness and meaness at every turn.

It wasn't until you began lessons that you truly saw how unkind fae, especially those your own age could be.

You hated school and struggled to focus during lessons. You were busy, you told yourself in your little mind. Busy day dreaming of far away places, daring sword fights, a knight just like daddy or Uncle Az and Cass, mainly Uncle Az if you were honest with yourself, rescuing you from enemies.

Your grades reflected that. As did how your peers treated you.

"Silly y/n," one girl giggled when she thought you couldn't hear. "It's a good thing she's pretty, 'cause she's dumb."

"Her mommy couldn't read either. Maybe that's why."

In class the jabs were subtle enough that your teacher didn't notice, and when they did, nothing was done.

No one at home noticed either. No one noticed when you began to hide away more, when you stopped playing with your big brother after school. No one noticed when you weren't dreaming about being rescued anymore, but instead dreamed of running away.

Things did not get better when you were sent to Illyria, Uncle Cass and Aunt Nesta in tow, to begin training. You knew comments about your intelligence would be coming. You'd never expected comments about your looks, though.

"Imagine looking like your mom and trying to pass as an Illyrian."

"Her mom isn't even that pretty."

"Never said she was either."

You'd hide behind your wings constantly in public. You'd started eating alone. Stopped talking at home.

Cassian had tried asking what was wrong one night. His large hand running up and down your back as he spoke gently enough to you to shatter your aching heart a little more. "Just leave me alone!" You finally screamed at him. "I just want to be alone."

He wrote it off as homesickness, calling for Rhys and asking the High Lord to come visit you.

Rhys noticed it then.

He noticed the way you tucked behind your wings in shame. He noticed you eating alone. He noticed you never had a training partner.

He noticed your loveliness.

"Darling," a soft knock came at your door. "We need to talk." You curled further into your bed, your father refusing to enter or leave without your permission.

"Little love, please," his voice was pleading with you. "Let me in. Let me help you." You felt the gentle claws on your mind and blocked him out harder.

"Y/n, please. Don't shut me out." You'd never heard his voice break like this. The Crack that indicated he was about to cry. "I know what it's like to feel like you're the outsider here. I know what being this lonely feels like and how it eats away at you."

You heard something soft hit the door. "Babygirl, please. Let me come talk to you. Let me settle any feelings you're having. Let me help you. Please don't make me force myself in."

Shadows appeared in the corner, blue reflecting in them every so often. "I have her, Rhys. I'll come get you in a second." Your father yielded then. Yielded you to the arms of the Shadowsinger. "I've been watching for a little while." He admitted, "we've been worried for a few weeks."

He sat down on the bed next to you. "You stopped writing all of us. I know I violated your privacy and independence, but we all know how being out here can be. We all knew there was a risk of you being targeted the way we all were and the way Nyx was."

Azriel placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. "Your dad is the most worried. He did not want to send you here. He wants to bring you home."

You sniffled hard, finally lifting your body and shifting to sit next to him. "It's not any better there. I'm stupid in Velaris. I'm ugly here."

Azriel's jaw tightened. "Let me go get Rhys." Your uncle stood, walking to the doorway and leaving it open as he spoke softly down the hall.

Your dad was a mess when he entered. His hair was sticking different directions from how frequently he was running his hands through it. His face was tear stained. His shoulder slumped in defeat as he practically dragged his feet.

Azriel motioned for him to sit next to you, shutting the door so the three of you were alone and pulling a chair from across the room to sit in front of you. "Tell him what you just told me, little bat."

Your breath hitched as your hands began to shake. You could feel your eyes watering as you looked down to your unkept nails. "Taking me home won't make a difference."

Your dad pulled you close to him. "It would make all the difference, darling. We'd just send you back to regular-" Azriel shook his head at his brother, silencing him.

"Tell him the rest of what you said, y/n."

"I get made fun of in Velaris for being stupid, I get made fun of here for being ugly. It wouldn't make a difference."

Your father's world shattered then and there. Azriel stood, leaving the room to allow you to time alone now that the truth was out. Silence hung in the room. Interrupted every so often by your soft sniffles.

"How long," your father's voice broke again. "How long have you been getting picked on?"

You shrugged. "Since you started sending me to lessons."

He nodded, looking up. "I'm sorry I didn't notice, darling."

You didn't respond, only holding yourself tighter. He started. "I learned around your age, that holding my head high and not letting others see how much their cruelty hurt me tended to lead to it ending, but There is no merit in either of those statements"

He pulled you close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Are you easily distracted in school? Yes. Uncle Lucien always pushed us to teach you outdoors in a less formal environment with private help. You would have thrived in that setting. That is on me, y/n. I picked a public lesson setting so you could socialize." He paused. His jaw twitching. "You are not stupid in any sense, though, y/n." He motioned to the countless books stacked on your dresser. "Those are all educational texts or intense world building fantasies that you have taken the time to notate in a color system with separate journals filled with notes. That is not the action of someone who is stupid."

He tilted your face to him. "And you are not ugly. There is not a single court or location in this world where you do not meet or exceed their beauty standards. Anyone who says otherwise is either in denial of their attraction to you or blind. I never want to hear you say you are ugly ever again, darling."

A loud slam interrupted the heartfelt talk as your other brother entered the room followed by your cousins. "This is nice and all pops, really it is. Touching." Nyx walked to you, getting on his knees in front of you. "Their names, sis."

Rhys hid his smirk. "I never said your uncles and I weren't also going to do this, Nyx."

The heir rolled his eyes. "You can have their piece of shit fathers. I get the ones my age." Nyx grabbed your chin forcing you to look into his eyes. "Their names, y/n."

You gave them to him without hesitation. "Be nice," you said softly.

Nyx froze in the doorway. "You have mom's heart, y/n. I have dad's. You handle it with kindness and grace, I'm going to handle it with my fists and intimidation."

Your father pulled you close to him again. "Never change anything about you, little love." He stood moving in front of you and tilting your head up by your chin. "Just hold your head high, y/n. Hold your head high, walk away, and let dad and Nyx take care of the rest." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "Now, if you excuse me, I have a camp leader to beat the shit out of."

He paused at the doorway, turning to you. "I'll be right back. I promise. Maybe you could make us some hot chocolate and we can have a cuddle date like we used to?"

Your eyes lit up for the first time in years, making him smile and laugh. "There you are, darling. My beautiful girl."

[genericpuff]

Lore Olympus Episode 265 Betrays the Series' Own Messages of Consent

I've been keeping it on the down low lately with new episodes of LO, both for the sake of my mental health and because LO itself has just become so... pointless and boring. There's only so much to say when nothing is happening, and in that regard, I will preface this with a "congratulations" towards Rachel, because she's finally found a way to best the "haters" - make the comic so boring that there's nothing worth talking about to begin with.

At first glance I thought this was going to be another one of those episodes. Good job, Rachel, you managed to pad out another episode with pointless fluff to get you closer to that looming end date. Just keep dragging, just keep dragging, just keep dragging-

But the longer I sat on it, and read the comments and posts about it in discussion circles, the more I've realized that this episode in particular has a load of issues that I don't feel good just sitting on and not talking about. Primarily because, over the course of about 90% of this episode's length, we see Lore Olympus - and Rachel - slyly undo everything that ever mattered in its subtext about consent, healthy relationships, and strong communication.

Granted, Lore Olympus has never exactly been the poster child for those things, but it's trying to be, so we're going to dissect it with an equal amount of scrutiny. It wants to be taken seriously, so I'm going to take it seriously and criticize it seriously.

CONTENT WARNING: EPISODE 265 SPOILERS AHEAD, AS WELL AS DISCUSSION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, MENTAL HEALTH, GROOMING, AND SYMPTOMS OF MANIA, PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Episode 265 opens with an attempt at plot progression, returning to Morpheus who, last we checked, had been targeted by Kronos as the cliffhanger for Episode 259 before being shoved aside entirely for multiple episodes worth of Demophoon, pool-fucking, and a vision from Hera.

Honestly, I won't waste my 30 image limit on the episode's opening sequence because it accomplishes absolutely nothing. And by the time it starts to try and state what that goal is, it transitions away, because Rachel has the attention span of a squirrel on meth and having Morpheus state what her plan is would just be too much dedicated writing for her at this point, she needs another week at least to figure it out.

So instead we get exactly what was promised in the FastPass previews - the entire episode is spent, yet again, on Hades and Persephone, with the exact same topics, conclusions, and terrible sex as the pool scene.

Seriously, this might be a nitpick, but I'm so tired of Persephone not being allowed to swear. We've seen other characters swear. We've even had Kronos call her a "dumb fucking bitch". But this "girlboss" character who we're supposed to believe has "agency" can't be allowed to swear even when they're in an ACTUALLY STRESSFUL SITUATION? You know purity culture isn't exclusive to sex, right, Rachel? If you're gonna deconstruct it, maybe don't have the poster child of that deconstruction be relegated to a church girl? She's literally the Queen of the Underworld - adjacent to the ruler of Hell - let her fucking swear LMAO

Anyways, we see very quickly that Persephone is still feeling the ill effects of her anxiety that she was feeling in the last episode. Anxiety that, by the way, caused her to pass out. Please keep that in mind, don't let it escape.

And what is she stressing over? The genocide? The fact that they still don't have an actual solution to the ongoing "plague"?

Nah. The sleep dive. She's stressing over her husband doing the sleep dive again and - like last time - turning into a dad-possessed monster.

As always, the fear and anxiety is in no way linked to the actual devastation happening outside - it's just concern for the main male lead, because that's all Persephone's character and thoughts and opinions and "agency" can revolve around.

But uh. Remember that scene where Hades got possessed by Kronos and literally strangled her? Remember that scene I just asked you to keep in your brain about her panic attacks getting so bad she's been passing out?

Hello? No? Okay. Next.

I hate, I loathe, I detest this dialogue. Not because it's cliche as fuck - it is - but because the whole "I trust you, it's just xyz I don't trust" shit has been overplayed and debunked as a plausible response in relationship communication for years now.

We talked about this back during our discussion of Leuce - how it shouldn't matter if Persephone doesn't trust Leuce because ultimately Leuce can't do anything to her or Hades' relationship if it's built on as much "trust" as she claims it is, trusting Hades is all that should matter full stop - and it repeats itself here, albeit with Hades' dad instead of his canon first wife. This is a copout. Relationships actually built on trust can definitely still be worried about the issues posed by other people, but if you trust your partner, if you truly trust your partner, that's it. That's where the sentence ends. No shit you don't trust Kronos, we've been over this song and dance multiple times before and while he's definitely a bigger real threat than Leuce, your distrust for Kronos has nothing to do with how you're communicating with your partner who knows there's likely no other way and a solution has to be found. Nothing's being accomplished at this point from Persephone moping around and having sex with her husband, and he's showing 10x more initiative in actually finding a solution - even if it means putting his own safety at risk - than Persephone.

I didn't edit any of that, those are the legit real panels. Literally what the fuck is this dialogue, my tinfoil hat theory about LO being written by ChatGPT is becoming more and more plausible and I hate that, my crackpot theories shouldn't actually become reality.

Is there an owl in here?

LO is just spinning its wheels over the exact same conversation and points that have already been made. Nothing is being accomplished here, it's just more moping and going over the same problems - the centre of which being "what about H x P's relationship?? :(((("

All of that repetitive meandering and moping for "okay fine but if anything feels weird, get out" "okay". It, again, accomplishes nothing that couldn't have been accomplished during the pool scene.

And now we get this line. "I experienced greed in that way, and you do not possess it." Don't be alarmed if you were confused, I was confused too, as were many people in the discussion circles. Thanks to the ULO Discord, I realized she was talking about Apollo. She's literally comparing him to Apollo.

"After all this time, I can't comprehend you causing me harm. I've been at the receiving end of harm so I would know" is literally all she's trying to say. And even with it translated... I don't really like the implications of it at all. This has been a problem since S1, but there's always been this subtext in LO that because Hades didn't rape her, that somehow makes him less abusive or a better partner for Persephone than Apollo, that's all the SA has really been trying to achieve.

But Hades is abusive. He's intentionally pursued women who are in a crisis. He's trapped women in financial dependency. He's sabotaged women from having power and status on the same level as him.

And now, we're about to see actual abuse from Hades - the subtle kind that demands co-dependency, but is still abuse, full stop - but it's being framed as "romantic".

"Being an Originals creator was my big chance to prove myself, and I flopped"- wait sorry I misread. We're talking about Persephone failing at being Queen. Yeah, she definitely flopped. And it goes to show her true intentions in wanting to be Queen, now that she's hit rock bottom and isn't putting on a brave PR face - she wanted to become Queen not to make the Underworld a better place, not to be an example of being a better ruler among a gallery of scumbags, but to "prove" that she could belong and be one of the big guys, that she could be more than just a cereal box mascot.

Don't get me wrong, I can absolutely get wanting to rise above the odds and "prove" to everyone that you can be more than people's perceptions of you, but becoming the literal ruler of a realm that you then go on to destroy due to your own hubris, just to whine and cry about it and have your husband and your colleagues and your friends carry the burden of that destruction on your behalf... therapy would have been a better first step to overcoming those insecurities, not taking control over the lives of innocent people.

Especially when Persephone DID have status and power before becoming Queen, it just wasn't the specific kind of status and power she wanted. She was only a trust fund child with a huge net worth, a full-ride scholarship, and everything she could ever need provided to her with little struggle to get it - but she didn't have control over other people so it just wasn't good enough.

This is the perspective and attitude of a 19 year old who never matured. Who never could mature because she transitioned from her mother's control into Hades'. There were far better ways to prove herself, ways that we had seen her try to do, only to drop so she could pursue her co-dependent relationship with Hades - she gave up her schooling, gave up her apartment (which we only see her use maybe 2-3 times), gave up so many of her connections and support so she could be with Hades.

This is the result of 5 years of real-time grooming that we're seeing play out.

No, you are just saying them because she's your wife. You'd be saying it to Minthe, or Leuce, or Hera, or any other woman in Persephone's position because it's not about taking accountability, it's about keeping these women in a position of submissiveness and co-dependency, by giving them reassurance that nothing they ever do is wrong and that he's the only one that can give them that freedom from consequences.

And then we get the reinforcement.

I'm gonna spare you all the cringe of the actual sex scene (and yes, they do straight up go into having onscreen sex and it's... not hot at all), but here's some of the dialogue spoken by Hades during the entire sequence:

Again, let's remember the actual situation that led up to this and the position Persephone is currently in. For the third time Persephone has "accidentally" killed thousands of people. Over the past few episodes we've seen her try to realize how so many of these problems have been her fault and she clearly doesn't know how to make things right (and Rachel has made it obvious how much she doesn't want you to agree with this kind of self-awareness because much of it is being said through the mouthpiece of a rapist). And now we have Hades, reinforcing the thought patterns that would prevent her from growing and learning and changing. In this, a comic that's supposed to be "feminist", a comic that's trying to preach the importance of consent, a comic that's trying to make us believe this is a healthy, consenting relationship with strong communication skills.

These are literally grooming tactics. Hades is reinforcing the same thought patterns that will prevent Persephone from acknowledging her errors and mistakes. People are dying and Hades is telling her that if anyone has anything to say about it, they deserve to die anyways. The same man who literally rewarded her with sex for vandalizing a nymph's home is now telling her that she's not cruel, but kind:

Hades might not be Apollo, but he literally choked her out less than a week ago while possessed by his dad, and for the last SEVERAL episodes he's had the starry skin making him resemble who? Oh yeah, his dad.

Hades is literally holding Persephone in the same position Kronos did, while she's experiencing a literal meltdown that she's trying to stuff deep down - in fact, exhibiting a LOT of symptoms of mania - and initiating sex.

Doesn't this feel a little familiar?

Oh right, but he asks her if she's "still okay" mid sex only AFTER initiating chokehold sex with her without her consent and love-bombing her, so it's fine, clearly.

I remember being 17 years old and reading Fifty Shades of Grey for the first time, and even then understanding fully how toxic their relationship was. I can only hope the teenagers in Rachel's comment section can realize that as well, but judging by the comment section, I'm not holding out hope. This is literally "fifty shades of fucked up" material, and what's worse is that I can't tell if Rachel genuinely thinks this is healthy, or just doesn't realize how unhealthy it's coming across as. Even beyond how "cringe" this sequence is, it enters into the realm of being deeply uncomfortable and unsettling, and it needs to be talked about, Rachel can't be let off the hook for this especially when this is supposed to be, again, a comic that's intending to "deconstruct purity culture" and teach young girls about consent and boundaries.

And that's it, that's the end of the episode. It reads like the manifesto of a villain in the making at the hands of a predator, like Anakin being manipulated by Palpatine - "so long as you're with me, you'll have all the power, all the glory, and everyone else will be crushed underneath your heel."

Is that really the message we really want to come away from LO from? That it's fine for husbands to initiate sex with their wives through trauma-bonding and reinforcement of toxic thought patterns rooted in grooming because... they're married? That being a "girlboss" means sabotaging and abusing anyone who you perceive as a threat?

Is Hades really that much different from Apollo? Because so far, the line between his actions and Apollo's are seriously starting to blur. The parallels between Persephone and his past partners - Minthe and Hera - have always been clear, but they've never been quite so loud as last night's episode.

This is Hades' play, the play of a groomer and an abuser who depends on making their victims dependent on them - taking advantage of women while they're in a crisis.

For Minthe, it was financial - she had lost her job, blamed it on him, and he found a way to "solve her problem" that strategically put her into a position where she had to continue to financially depend on him for what's assumed to at least be a year or longer, through her apartment, her bills, and her job.

For Hera, it was emotional - she had chosen Zeus over him, and instead of addressing her marital concerns within the marriage, she participated in an affair with Hades in an attempt to have what she could have had if she had chosen Hades instead, a man who resembles her own abuser. Not only did this put her into a much more vulnerable position than him - if the affair was found out, Hera would have suffered the consequences far more than Hades - but it's also manifested itself into Persephone, who Hera has been using as a stand-in for herself, even going so far as to manipulate Persephone's image and how she goes about her decision-making, from intentionally pulling the strings to get Persephone a job with Hades so she could get closer to him as a "test" for Hades, to forcing Persephone to wear a wedding dress she wanted her to wear over the one Persephone had actually picked out herself.

And now there's Persephone, the newest addition to the cycle of abuse and untreated trauma, the true culmination of Hades' years trapping and manipulating women - financially dependent on him, emotionally dependent on him, and only where she is because she's made her entire identity revolve around him.

I'm not going to psychoanalyze Rachel in any way, I don't want anyone to think that this is permission to do so because Rachel's personal life is her own and I want to examine the material rather than the person. But so much of LO gives me such a gross impression that Rachel herself never matured past middle school, that she never grew beyond the mindset of being a 13 year old girl who felt like the entire world was against her and that no one could understand her, that she never gained the perspective most adults do by the time they're 25 at minimum after they've entered the "real world" and had the lived experiences that make you realize "wow, that girl I hated in high school for stealing my crush from me probably wasn't as bad as I thought she was and we were all just teenagers trying to navigate the hellscape that is adolescence."

And instead of actually analyzing those thought patterns and mindsets, Rachel is instead reinforcing it in her own audience of 13 year old girls and teenagers who will only hopefully maybe outgrow it and not just repeat the cycle themselves.

And this isn't entirely on Rachel's shoulders. It's on the shoulders of E.L. James, of Stephanie Meyer, of Colleen Hoover, of every "young adult" romance author who's peddled this strictly heteronormative "submission culture but not like the 1950's kind I swear" crap, that women should only aspire to find the richest man they can bag in their pursuit for power and after that everything in the world is owed to them and any problem they have can be solved by riding dick. Trauma? Solved. Genocide? Solved. The very real consequences of your own actions that affect others to such a degree that it will be felt for decades? Solved. Just ride that dick and get that money, girlboss.

Just like 50 Shades of Grey, if Lore Olympus was any other story, it would be a tragedy. It would be a masterclass in understanding and showcasing the signs of emotional abuse, financial abuse, grooming, trauma-bonding, love-bombing, and enforcing co-dependent habits for the sake of trapping people. It would be a precautionary tale to young girls to stay alert and be wary of older men, that men like Hades are depending on girls to fall for their tricks, their praise, their affirmations that they're so mature for their age, that they're not like other girls, that they would just be so set for life if they spent all their time and attention with them, so that they can "have it all".

I can only hope that even a third of the young girls who read LO naturally grow up, gain perspective, and learn that LO isn't the pillar of healthy relationships and consent that it tries to be. It's certainly a common thing to see these days, for people to join the UnpopularLoreOlympus / #antiloreolympus community with sentiments that they started reading it at age 14 and then (thankfully) learned that what LO was preaching wasn't healthy.

But for every other girl who doesn't realize this, it's reinforcement of the same cycles - the cycle of women being only objects for sex, pitting themselves against one another, confusing gender empowerment with abuse towards others, and making their entire identity revolve around a man and justifying it as healthy so long as it makes them rich and powerful.

Even if Rachel some day gets her own head out of her ass and realizes what damage she's causing in her audience, like Persephone committing genocide, no amount of self-awareness will undo the consequences. She'll still have the awards, the money, the accolades, everything she's gained off the backs of Greek myth, feminism, and good faith from an immature audience who doesn't know any better and isn't being given the tools to understand.

Even if she realizes that, that's something she's going to have to live with for the rest of her career.

And it's a fucking tragedy.

[melodygatesauthor]

The Best Kept Secrets - Marc's Story

dbf!Marc Spector X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Masterlist - AO3 Link

Suggested reading order - Marc -> Steven -> Jake -

Steven's Story - Jake's Story

Summary:

You've just graduated college and you find yourself developing feelings for your dad's best friend after your graduation party. Three different versions of the same story all with different boys.

Tags/Warnings (for all three fics):

NSFW, age gap (reader is about 22 - boys are 40), reader is not race-coded, reader graduated college in America but isn't necessarily American, p in v creampie, unprotected sex, dbf trope, oral sex, coercion (sort of on both sides), Jake being Jake, Marc being Marc, Steven being Steven, forbidden relationship, forbidden sex, blowjob, mild bondage, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, car sex, bad puns

Word Count: 9.4k (apparently I can't write anything short anymore)

You got out of the Uber when it stopped in front of your childhood home. Your dad was already waiting for you by the front door, smiling wide. He came over with his arms out, pulling you into a big hug. You grunted from the tight squeeze.

“Hi dad.” You choked out.

“I sweetie.” He let go of you and looked you over. “How was the ride from the airport?” He started taking two of your bags out of the trunk and walking back toward the house with you in tow.

“Long,” you said with a tired laugh.

“Well, hope you’re not too tired cause there’s a few people here to see you.”

He opened the front door and you were greeted by several relatives and family friends in the kitchen. They all shouted, congratulations! at once, holding up an assortment of beer bottles and glasses of wine. Knowing your dad, the drinking had been going on for a couple of hours before you arrived.

“Thanks everyone,” you said with a big smile, feeling a little shy having all those eyes on you.

You noticed the black and gold, congrats graduate, banner adorning the wall above the table in the dining area. With the initial excitement over, the crowd dissipated and you watched everyone start mingling once again. Your cousins came up to you and started exchanging quick updates on their lives while everyone else chattered around you throughout the house.

“What do you think, huh?” Your dad asked, coming up behind you while you admired the cake in the center of the dining table. He handed you a mixed drink.

“Dad, this is really great. There’s so many people! I really wasn’t expecting this when you said we were having a graduation barbecue. Thought maybe only a couple people would show up.” You looked to see your aunt talking with one of your dad’s friends in the living room.

“You know me better than that. Not everyday your kid graduates college,” he patted your back proudly, “shit, gotta go check the grill. I’ll be right back.”

While he was gone, you watched your aunt and your dad’s friend finish their conversation. You’d known Marc since you were a kid, but it had been a long time since you’d seen each other. He came over to you and held up his beer as if to say cheers. He still looked so rough around the edges, just how you always remembered him. You looked him up and down, trying not to make it seem too obvious.

Has he been working out?

“Congrats. College…wow.” He took a swig off his beer bottle, “all grown up.”

You gave him a nervous giggle, “yeah, I guess.” You felt inexplicably shy all of a sudden, you tried to make small talk, “How have you been? It’s been so long.”

He shrugged, “been keeping busy, staying out of trouble,” he gulped some of his beer down and then looked at you with those brown eyes that seemed to sparkle when the light hit them just right.

You felt your cheeks getting flush for what felt like, at the time, nothing worth getting flustered over. Marc was handsome, anyone could see that, but you’d never looked at him that way. He’d always just been your dad’s best friend. Then again, he’d never looked at you like that. Were you imagining things? He seemed to be sneaking glances at different parts of your body. His eyes trekked over your neck, down to the crevice of your slightly low cut shirt, beyond your denim jeans and finally onto the floor which is when he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous.

“Still fixing toilets?” You sipped your drink, trying to change the subject quickly.

“Yeah…well…sort of. I do all kinds of handyman stuff, not just toilets. I also do home inspections.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it over to you.

You read the print and huffed out a laugh at the obvious pun.

Marc Spector

The Home In-Spector

“It’s dumb I know.” He rolled his eyes, taking another drink.

You raised an eyebrow, “I think it’s clever. Definitely memorable.” Someone called your name from outside, interrupting the casual conversation. “Oh, I gotta go, see you around, Marc.”

“Yeah…you too.”

After several hours and a few drinks later, you were sitting around the firepit with only your dad, one of your cousins and Marc. You remembered the roaring laughter over a dumb joke that Marc made at your expense. You grumbled and gave him the finger. You weren’t actually upset, and had a hard time keeping yourself from bursting out into laughter as well. Marc flipped you off in return and smiled at you. Marc’s smile was so fucking beautiful. Why hadn’t you noticed before tonight how good looking he was? This feeling you had was so wrong…but you wanted him so badly all of a sudden. It had to be the alcohol, that was the only explanation.

A little while later, you were tipsy and felt your eyelids closing involuntarily, no matter how hard you tried to keep them open.

They closed again, and when you opened them this time, it was only you and Marc left around the fire.

Closed again.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sudden movement stirred you awake. You were being carried by a set of strong arms. Did your dad come back to get you? No. He would’ve woken you up so you could walk to bed. You wrapped your arms around the man’s shoulders and buried your face in his neck. Marc, you thought.

He smelled warm, like he’d been in the sun all day. Your lips brushed the soft skin there, and you felt a strong sense of comfort wash over you. Alcohol had a way of making you forget to filter your emotions, and right now you were hoping Marc would never let go. You didn’t know why you felt that way. None of it made sense. It’s not like he’d made any sort of pass at you during your growing up, and he had certainly been respectful all night.

So why did you feel like you wanted him to fill you up with everything he had?

It had to be the alcohol. You drank too much, and it was making you feel flirty, and foolish, like you didn’t care about the consequences of any bad decisions you might be inclined to make. Marc sat you down on your bed. You didn’t lay down yet, you just sat there, clutching his shirt so he couldn’t walk away. He grabbed your wrist and looked down at you through his own hooded and intoxicated gaze.

“Marc,” you said softly.

He knelt down, eyes level with yours, “what?”

You looked between his eyes. What did you want from him? Did you expect him to throw away a friendship that was older than you’d been on the planet so that you could fulfill this seemingly random and new feeling? If you would just let go of his damn shirt, he could leave and you would go to bed. It was so simple, but you felt an ache between your legs and a burning desire for him that you couldn’t make sense of.

“Don’t go, please.”

He gave you a gentle smirk, “I have to go to bed,” his smile almost killed you, “you gotta let go of my–”

“Take care of me first…don’t you know what you did to me?”

You were both breathing so heavily, and his eyes kept darting to your lips. You weren’t sure who dove in first, but you both started kissing each other hungrily, motions made sloppier from the alcoholic influence you were both under. Marc continued to claim every moan that left your mouth while you guided his hand down to the waist of your pants. He tucked his thick fingers in and felt between your soaking wet folds.

“Holy shit,” he commented in a breathy rasp, “did I really make you that fuckin’ wet? How long have you felt this way about me?”

“A long time,” you lied.

You always had found him attractive. Objectively speaking, Marc was a good looking man. Regarding wanting to let him take you on every surface in your childhood home? That feeling was brand new to you. Something between the drunken fogginess and the sweet way he carried you changed something in your DNA. You needed him…badly.

All too suddenly, Marc gained a conscience. He pulled his hand free from your pants, and backed away from you quickly. He looked you up and down, running a hand through his hair, eyes plagued with guilt. It was all too clear that this fantasy of yours was over. Whatever this moment was that the intoxication had afforded you, ended with some sense of clarity that tore through Marc.

“No, no.”

That was all he could say, not one word more before he left your room in haste. He didn’t need to say anything else. You knew deep down you were dumb for thinking Marc would actually do anything with you. You knew that was a one-time thing, and that he would want to go about as though it never happened. For your father’s sake, you would take an oath of silence, despite the feelings you were keeping buried deep.

----

The next morning at breakfast, Marc had flat out refused to make eye contact with you. Even when you asked him to pass the orange juice, he kept his head down when handing it to you over the turntable. You scowled when you took it from him, but took the bottle without added drama. Of course you understood that things were awkward, but if he kept treating you like you didn’t exist, that was even weirder. If he thought blatantly avoiding you in front of your dad wasn’t suspicious, he was sorely mistaken.

The moment your father went up to use the bathroom, you took the opportunity to talk to Marc who, at that moment, was clenching his jaw and pretending to look at his phone. The man still used a Motorola flip phone. You couldn’t imagine there was anything very interesting on a phone without internet access, unless he was trying to avoid you deliberately.

“Marc, I’m not going to say anything to him or anyone, but you acting like this is more suspicious than if we fucked on the table in front of him so–”

“Can you please watch your mouth. Don’t say things like that.” He said in a harsh whisper, “I just don’t want to think about it, alright?” His thick Chicago accent always came out when he got irritated.

“I’m fine with that, I just mean…you’re not being very subtle. Just pretend nothing happened and treat me like I exist…please.”

When your dad came back downstairs, Marc seemed to make a better effort to act like he always did around you, and it worked. Even you had a couple moments where you almost forgot that there was something awkward between you two. You kept reminding yourself it was only a kiss, and it was only a kiss, but you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want so much more.

----

For two weeks you fought off thoughts about your dad’s best friend. You tried so hard not to think about the way his arms felt carrying you up to bed the other night; so hard not to think about the way he smelled when you had your face buried in his neck; you tried so fucking hard not to think about the way his fingers felt brushing over your clit while he kissed you so passionately.

You were surprised when your father left for work and only a couple of hours later, Marc arrived. You didn’t know he was there, and nearly screamed when you heard him whistling downstairs as you were stepping out of the shower. You peered out the window and saw his truck with his company logo on the side. You let out a sigh of relief, realizing that there wasn’t a burglar in your home, but that initial fear was quickly replaced with an anxiety that you couldn’t shake. The only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted to feel his lips on yours again.

After you changed into your shorts and a tanktop, you decided to make your way downstairs to see why he was there in the first place. Marc was laying under the sink, cabinet doors open on either side of him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his biceps flexed under the tight t-shirt he wore, and the dark trail of hair that disappeared under the waist of his pants on his exposed abdomen.

“Marc.” You said gently, as though hearing your voice any volume higher might send him into a rage.

He froze, letting out an exasperated sigh that split through the room. He clanked some of his tools and grunted as he sat up to look at you. He held a furrowed brow, daring you to say something about the night you shared two weeks ago; daring you to bring the memory of that deep shame back to the forefront of his mind. You found yourself having a hard time speaking all of a sudden.

“Look, your dad asked me to come by and fix a few things, just stay out of my way and–”

“M-my air conditioner isn’t working and I was hoping you could take a look at it.” You spat your words out so fast you weren’t sure if he would even be able to understand you.

There was, of course, nothing wrong with your air conditioner, but you wanted to get Marc in your room, alone again, if only for a second. He stood up, aggravation still apparent in his furrowed brow.

“Your ac is broken?” He crossed his arms over his chest, “what’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know, isn’t that your job? I just need you to look at it.”

He grabbed his toolbelt off the ground and followed you up the stairs with a look that told you he was unimpressed, and hardly believed that you needed him to actually fix something. When you got to your room, he went to the window where your perfectly functioning air conditioner sat, and you silently latched the door behind yourself. You felt it getting harder to breathe.

He turned the air conditioner on to test it, learning immediately that he’d been tricked into going up there. He turned slowly, brow furrowed in frustration. Despite his obvious aggravation, you noticed the quick shift of his eyes taking in your frame before looking back at your face. He crossed his arms tightly, scowling at you.

“The hell are you trying to pull huh?” His accent came out in his peeved tone. He walked up to you, but you stayed firmly in front of the door. “Move.”

You looked up at him, “Marc please, I can’t stop thinking about you since we kissed.”

He grabbed your shoulders roughly and you thought he might slot his lips over yours in a flurry of breathless kisses, but he didn’t. Instead he turned to scolding you as though you were a child, which only served to piss you off.

“It was a drunk mistake that never should’ve happened. I let it go, you should too,” his voice was low and harsh.

It was crushing to hear that he wasn’t even going to entertain the thought, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise. You weren’t sure what you’d expected. Marc was always trying to do what he considered to be the right thing, and now was no different. You were his best friend’s daughter. Of course he wasn’t going to do anything with you. But when you looked over at his flexing biceps on either side of you, and felt the strength in the way his hands held onto your shoulders, you couldn’t help the way you wanted him.

“I can’t. I…I think about you almost every night.”

There was another cold silence, save for the hum of the air conditioner that was still working exceptionally well. You weren’t normally so forward, but it was true. Despite your attempts to not think about him since your encounter, you’d failed. Most nights since then were spent with your fingers two knuckles deep in your soaking wet cunt, thinking about all the ways you wanted Marc to take you under your father’s roof.

“You’re stupid you know that? Just stop, you’re my friend’s kid. He know you act like this? Huh?”

If his tone wasn’t evidence enough that he was through with the conversation, his actions were. Marc moved you aside by force and then made a quick escape from your house. He hadn’t even finished working on the sink downstairs. You wondered if Marc was going to tell your dad about your conversation that day, but when your dad got home that night, he never said a word about it. You tried to move on, despite the ache in your chest.

----

You wondered if Marc would ever come back to your house again, until your dad was on his way out the door for work and told you he was coming back to finish the sink. Your cheeks grew hot immediately when you thought about it. Your dad left, and you rushed around getting ready for Marc to show up. You knew he’d told you to back off, but thoughts of him continued to plague your mind and you couldn’t seem to help yourself.

What the hell am I gonna wear, you asked yourself.

It was foolish to think about what you were going to wear in a silly attempt at seducing your dad’s best friend. You couldn’t even begin to understand why you were attempting to seduce your dad’s best friend. It was obvious that he didn’t want you, he’d pushed you out of the way the other day. That didn’t stop you from wondering what it would feel like to brush your lips over the soft skin of his throat again. It didn’t stop you from thinking about what his thick fingers would feel like stretching out your pussy while you dug your nails into his toned shoulders.

When he finally arrived, you waited to make sure he was working before you went downstairs. You were silent, knowing that alerting him to your presence might make him run off. You’d chosen to wear a short little skirt, a tank-top, and you opted out of your bra and panties. You needed to make it as easy as you could for him to take what he wanted from you. Despite the way he pushed you away, you knew he wanted you.

He was working hard, twisting a wrench around one of the pipes. His arm obstructed his view so he didn’t see you coming. Without a word, and without his knowing, you walked over to him, standing on either side of his thighs. He noticed you when you dropped to your knees, straddling him. He looked at you with that signatured furrowed brow.

“What the…you’re starting to be a real fuckin’ problem, you know that?” His voice was dark and threatening.

“Am I?” You asked in a coy tone, dragging your cunt over his crotch, feeling the brush of the denim against your clit.

He sat up fast, and you thought he might shove you off of him, but he didn’t. Instead, his hand grabbed your hip firmly. You gasped when his face got close to yours, eyes narrowed and wracked with guilt. His nose brushed against yours. You felt your hips involuntarily rock against the growing bulge behind his jeans.

“What’s it gonna take for you to let this go, huh?” He used one hand to push your skirt back while the other slid up your inner thigh. “What’s it gonna take for you to stop this shit?”

You put both of your hands on his shoulders for stability. His fingers found your folds and you felt your entire body surge with desire. Marc’s chest rumbled when he leaned in to steal your moans in a mess of deep kisses. His grasp on your thigh was so tight it left divots in your skin. He pulled you forward, sliding his middle finger deep into your channel.

“Fuck, I get you that worked up?” He said against your lips.

You hummed an affirmative into his mouth. He slid another finger in, and already you felt the delicious stretch of his thick digits testing your hole. It was a tight fit, two that is, and it felt better than you could’ve dreamed. If you’d known it was going to be like this, you might’ve been more persistent when he came up to your room the week before. He curved them, touching that sweet spot that made you whine in response.

“Where are all the boys your age? Why aren’t you going after them, hm? You like pissing me off?”

You didn’t want to answer him, because the truth was stupid. You didn’t care about the “boys your age”. Most of them wouldn’t know their way around a pussy if you had an arrow pointing to all the important parts for them. They also didn’t know you like Marc did. Marc was there to talk to you on the late nights after a family barbecue when you couldn’t sleep and your dad was already in bed. He was there to judge your prom date with a threatening glare if the guy ever tried to hurt you, and he was there when you left for college, making sure you knew how to properly use your pepper spray keychain.

He was there for you now when you were wet and dripping down his wrist while moaning one desperately hungry kiss after another over his lips. The third finger hurt a little, but the ache of the burn became more bearable the more he worked in and out of you. Marc brought his face to your throat, leaving soft kisses there that had your cunt fluttering over his thick fingers.

“M-Marc I’m…I’m so close I–”

“Sh, just shut up. Don’t want to hear it.”

You didn’t know if it was the guilt causing him to act so cruel, but it didn’t matter to you at that moment. You were there, seconds from sweet release, but the beep of a car door locking froze you both to your core. Marc pulled his hand from you, leaving you feeling empty. You stood fast and ran up the stairs quickly, leaving Marc down there to deal with your father. You felt bad, but knew he could handle it.

When you got to your room, you could hear them start talking downstairs.

“Hey Marc!” Your dad said as he walked in, “how’s it coming?”

You heard Marc huff out a laugh, “it’s not.”

----

It would be a lie to say you weren’t thrilled at the prospect of Marc coming by to check on you while your dad was out of town for the week. You wondered if he was excited too, or if he wished that he’d never met your dad now that things had become more complicated between the two of you. Complicated wasn’t even the right word for it, it wasn’t like this was something you did regularly. You hadn’t even seen him since he fingered you by the sink two weeks ago. He seemed to be limiting his time spent at your house those days.

You understood, you weren’t stupid, but at the same time it didn’t change how badly you wanted to see him again. In fact, most days, he was all you thought about. Something about him was intoxicating. Maybe it was the danger of getting caught? Or perhaps it was the thrill of something new? It could also be the fact that he was older, and you had a feeling he knew exactly how to make you come undone like no one ever had before.

When he finally showed up, it was after dinner. You were sitting on the couch watching some crappy movie about five guys taking down a Columbian drug lord. You paused the movie and turned around to see him standing there. He ran his hand over his face and crossed his arms over his chest. You felt your heart rate picking up.

“I’m just here to check in on you, I don’t want any funny business.” He said firmly.

You gulped, and nodded, “okay, yeah that’s…I understand.”

He dropped his hands to his pockets. You watched his entire body relax before your eyes. While you understood that he didn’t want to continue the little thing you two had going on, it didn’t change the fact that you still wanted him, badly. Marc’s face looked irritated, nothing new there, but there was a mild softness to his brow.

“Well, I’m just watching this dumb movie…do you wanna watch with me?” You gestured to the other side of the couch.

Marc sighed before nodding and walking over to sit as far from you as possible on the other side of the couch. You pressed play and sat in silence for some time. Just being in his presence was making your mind buzz. You couldn’t stop replaying him fingering you by the sink on repeat in your head. When you looked over at him, his eyes were trained on the television, not because he was interested, no, it was painfully clear that he was trying to avoid eye contact with you. You couldn’t sit there anymore. The ache between your legs was growing and if you didn’t go take care of it, you were going to do something to upset him.

“I have to use the bathroom, you don’t need to pause, I'll be right back.”

You went upstairs and closed the bathroom door behind yourself. You knew it would be suspicious if you spent too much time in there, but at the very least you needed to clean yourself up. You were soaked, so wet that you probably left a mark on the couch downstairs and you didn’t know what to do. What if he saw it? Surely he’d be upset if he thought you might be thinking about him again.

When you were finished wiping up, you opened the door. You were fully prepared to go down there and tell him to leave, but you didn’t make it that far. He was standing right outside the bathroom door, eyes looking you over like he might devour you.

“Marc I–”

He stole your next words when he slotted his lips over yours. Your mind went blank, focusing only on the way his tongue tasted when it entangled with yours. His hands grabbed your shoulders, sliding down until he found purchase on your hips. A soft moan slipped through your lips while you brought your hands to the waistband of his pants. You weren’t going to beat around the bush this time, you knew exactly what you wanted and you intended to take it. 

You brushed your fingers over his pubic hair, relishing the way it felt against your skin. Marc lifted you by your rear, and you were forced to grab his broad shoulders for stability. He carried you to your room and gently laid you down on the bed, never disconnecting his lips from yours. Marc started grinding his hips against you, the hard prod of his erection apparent through his jeans.

“This what you wanted from me?” He looked at you with a combination of anger, guilt, and lust, “think you can even handle it?”

You whined, “yes, I need it, please Marc.”

In a blur, you and Marc got your clothes off so your bare chests were against each other. His skin was deceptively soft. The feeling of his thick cock gliding over your inner thigh was maddening. You arched your back upward and brought your hands around the base of Marc’s neck. He used both of his hands to pin your wrists down above your head.

“You turned out to be such a fuckin’ brat you know that?” He was almost growling out his words.

“Guess you’ll have to put me in my place-OH SHIT!”

Marc thrust himself into you and buried his face in your neck. You weren’t quiet while he moved at an unforgiving pace. His lips dragged over your throat, leaving soft kisses in their wake. The juxtaposition of between his harsh fucking and tender kissing was making your mind go blank. Everything he did felt so good, better than you could’ve imagined. You still couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“Marc-feels so good fuck-yes!” You shouted through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I bet it does honey, bet it feels really fucking good. You happy now? You glad you got me to fuck you? Hm?!”

Marc was taking his guilty conscience out on you. He picked his head up and looked down at you, grabbing your jaw tightly in his hand. You whimpered at his firm grip, but you were enjoying the way he manhandled you. His lips were pulled together in a thin line while he huffed in tandem with his thrusts. A few stray hairs fell down from their normally slicked back place and into his eyes. Fuck he’s so pretty.

“Yeah, I am,” you taunted, knowing it would only serve to piss him off even more. “Are you really going to act like-oh shit-like it doesn’t feel good? You make me so wet-fuck!”

He was slamming your bed against the wall with how hard he would pull back and then snap his hips forward into you. You were writhing underneath him from the sensations all over your body, but you couldn’t move your arms still. He went back to sucking on your neck, and you were surprised when his hands slid off of your wrists and moved to intertwine your fingers in his.

Marc was being intimate with you.

Just when you thought it couldn’t feel any better, he was starting to nuzzle his nose behind your ear, taking a deep breath and inhaling your scent. His movements slowed to a more even pace, as though he were trying to savor every delicious movement, rather than fuck the guilt away. You turned your head to the side, meeting with Marc’s lusty and hooded gaze. Electricity sparked in your stomach at the sight of him.

“Marc–”

He started kissing you again, as though the sound of your voice was going to cause him harm if he had to hear you speak any longer. You wondered if it reminded him of who he was sleeping with. You didn’t care that he was your dad’s best friend anymore, you hadn’t for a while. Nothing had ever felt so good in every way. His hands squeezed around you tighter, and you heard him start moaning louder into you.

“Gonna fill your little pussy up baby, then we’ll see how mouthy you are.”

You couldn’t speak as your climax approached faster than you’d anticipated. All you could do was let your eyes roll back and your body melt into the bed. You felt your cunt squeezing around his thick cock as he filled you with his hot spend. Fuck he sounds so good. He was moaning deep rasps into your ear while he fucked his cum into you.

When his thrusts finally slowed and you were both a sated and panting mess, he pulled out of you. You mumbled about the towel on your dresser that he used to clean himself off and then toss to you. You wiped yourself up and then slowly stood, starting to change into your clothes.

“You can stay,” you said to Marc, hoping that he wasn’t going to just fuck you and leave, but you knew better.

Marc finished getting dressed and then he looked at you, brows furrowed and guilt etched into every pore on his face. You knew that he was going to say no, so when the words left his lips you weren’t surprised. That didn’t change the disappointment that you took with you downstairs while saying goodbye.

“We can’t do this again,” Marc said coldly in the doorway, “it’s done…alright?”

You nodded sullenly. He nodded in return and left. You were alone again.

You weren’t sure why it made you emotional to hear him say the words ‘it’s done…alright?’, but you felt a pit in your stomach. Was it because he’d been so intimate with you not ten minutes ago? Was it because he made you feel like no one else ever had? Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, you spent the evening finishing that terrible movie with your face buried in a box of tissues, just begging for sleep to take you away from your overwhelming feelings.

----

You didn’t see Marc again for three weeks. So much happened in three weeks and you were determined to act normal when you saw him again after that time had passed. When your dad had told you he was coming over for dinner, you froze. It had been a while since you and Marc had been in the same room, and even longer since you’d been in the same room together with your father present. The pit in your stomach was already forming.

Your phone buzzed on the counter and you picked it up. Joey, the guy you’d met last week at the local coffee shop was asking if you were still on for tomorrow night. You replied, ‘yes’, and then put your phone in your pocket. As hard as it was, going out with someone else was a necessary step in getting things back to normal. What were you holding out for anyway? For Marc to come in and sweep you off your feet? To tell your dad that he’d been sleeping with you and that you were going to be together now? Maybe if you both had a death wish, that would be a perfect plan.

When he walked into the house, burgundy shirt hugging his chest a little too tight for your sanity, you felt your breath hitch in your throat. He was still so handsome. It’s not like you expected that to change, but you’d hoped that maybe you would’ve stopped mentally putting him on a pedestal by now so you could move on. But you didn’t, and you couldn’t.

“Hey, Marc.” You said softly as he made his way to the dining room.

“Hey.” He actually looked at you this time, as if he wasn’t going to burn alive by meeting your gaze.

The heat rose to your cheeks in a rush, making you feel lightheaded. You sat down at the table and both Marc and your father joined. The small talk was just what you needed; your dad asking Marc how business was going and Marc asking you about your job hunt. Marc was making a career out of drinking his wine. If anything was a sign of his nervousness it was that. You were glad that you weren’t the only one feeling the awkward weight in the air.

“So, why don’t you tell Marc about…you know,” your dad gave you a knowing look.

You shifted nervously, “um, well…” you looked into Marc’s dark brown eyes. His brow was knitted together tightly, “I’m going on a date tomorrow with a guy I met at the coffee shop up the road.”

You swigged your own wine down in one gulp. It was quiet except for the ticking clock above the archway to the kitchen. Your silverware clanked on the plate while you poked the lettuce from your salad. You looked back up at Marc.

“You like this guy?” Marc finally asked, never taking his gaze off of you.

“I don’t know,” you tried to sound indifferent, “only talked to him a couple of times.”

Marc paused before responding, “good…it will be good for you to find someone you can spend time with.”

This conversation wasn’t about you and Joey.

“Yes…and someone who isn’t going to just take advantage of me,” you stabbed your fork into your food harshly.

“Oh definitely,” he sounded sarcastic, “and make sure you’re careful with what you wear and how you act, some guys your age might get the wrong idea about the kind of girl you are.”

Asshole.

“He’s right, you know.” Your dad chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the private conversation you and Marc were having right under his nose.

“So are you saying I dress like a slut?” You stared at him, waiting to see how he planned to answer that one.

“Alright now you’re just acting like a brat, I never said–”

“Who wants more wine?” You asked, getting up and going to the kitchen and trying to end the awkward back and forth that you, admittedly, started.

The glasses of wine were filled while you and Marc continued your eternal staredown that your dad seemed oblivious to. You both guzzled down three more glasses each while your father and he entertained more small talk. When dinner concluded, he got up and went outside to start putting together a fire, and your dad asked you to do the dishes and join them when you were finished.

You did the dishes, but you didn’t join them. You told your dad you weren’t feeling well and instead retreated to your room. The last thing you wanted to do was continue the awkwardness that transpired at the dinner table. You thought that would be the end of it, that Marc would’ve had enough of your attitude and never want to speak to you again.

You were wrong.

Your father had gone to bed almost a half hour before you heard Marc working his way upstairs. You thought for sure he would walk right by your room and go to the guest room, but he didn’t. Marc twisted your door handle and walked in, closing the door quickly while he stepped inside. You sat up and looked at him quizzically, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked.

Marc sat down next to you, leaning over so his face was close. You could smell the alcohol on his breath. He reached a hand up to cup your cheek, you felt him pulling you closer.

“You know exactly what I’m doing in here,” he said in a low whisper.

Of course you did. His lips were soft and tasting of liquor when he pressed them to yours. His tongue tasted even more like alcohol, but you didn’t mind. Whether it was the intoxication, or maybe he was just more comfortable with you now, his tongue felt soft while it melted against yours.

“So you have a date? Hm?” Marc looked at you, eyes dark and brow furrowed.

So that’s what this was about.

You nodded, “mhm.”

“He can’t do for you what I can do honey.” He dropped his hand from your cheek and rested it on your waist. He kissed your neck right by your ear and said, “I know just what you like.”

“I can go on a date with him…in public.” A breathy moan escaped your lips as he sucked on your skin more.

He stopped and looked at you again, “that’s not fair.”

“Nope it’s not.”

“I could take you out if–”

“But you can’t so–”

“-so, he can’t make you feel the way–”

“Maybe he can–”

“Shut the hell up.” Marc’s mouth covered yours, rendering you silent save for the moans escaping you.

He slid you forward so you were laying down and then pulled your covers off your body. That’s when he noticed that you were in nothing but a t-shirt and your underwear. His mouth closed over yours, and his hand trekked over your lower abdomen and tucked into the hem of your panties. You felt the pad of his thick middle finger brush against your clit. You could hear the wet sound it made when he started circling there.

“You’re such a little brat, you know that?” He was so breathless.

“I know,” you said just above a whisper. You arched your cunt toward him, chasing the feeling his fingers gave you .”You sound like you’re jealous.”

“I’m not, you can do whatever you want, not gonna stop you.”

“I want you, and you do keep stopping me.”

Marc sounded like an animal the way he grumbled and pulled your panties down to your ankles. You grabbed his pants and worked on getting them off, hearing his belt clank against the floor when he tossed them aside. You writhed under him, feeling the way his fat cock brushed your inner thigh. You could’ve cried it felt so fucking good to just have him touching you. Marc was right…that other guy would never be able to give you what he did. He could never make you feel the way Marc made you feel.

His erection was prodding at your hole, the leaking tip testing to make sure you were ready to take him. You grabbed his hip, pulling forward while arching into him, feeling it go in just a little further. You were feeling needy and impatient.

“Marc please,” you begged, “please.”

He dropped down to his elbows, resting on either side of your head and caging you in. You leaned up and kissed him. One of his large hands cupped your clothed breast as he thrusted full to the hilt inside of you. If not for his mouth covering yours, you would’ve screamed and awoken your father who was sleeping only two doors down in the hall. He pumped slowly, being careful not to make the bed creak.

“Better be quiet, keep your pretty little mouth shut honey.” Marc was whispering harshly while glaring down at you.

The head of his cock dragged against that spot deep inside that you could never quite reach on your own. You choked on the cries that your lungs tried to punch out of you. You wondered if this other guy would make you feel like your guts were being pushed aside every time he plunged his length deep inside of you. You wondered if he would make it hard for you to breathe every time his girth twitched in response to your fluttering walls. Mostly, you wondered if he would act like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen every time his eyes landed on yours.

A gasp fell from your lips.

“You trying to wake up daddy? Hm? Want him to hear his little girl getting railed out of her mind?”

“N-no it just…it feels so good,” you whined. 

“I know baby, oh yes I know,” his voice was low, “no one else can make you feel like I do, right?” His voice was rough and wrecked.

“No one…n-no one, Marc.” You were struggling to keep your voice down so he covered your mouth with a large hand.

“That’s my girl.”

My girl, you thought. He said you were his girl…you wondered if he meant those words or if it was the alcohol talking.

“I’m always going to know what you need. I’m always going to know how to make you cry and squirm and fucking-fuck-baby-squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight-shit.” He started moving faster, you heard the bed creaking and you began to panic.

“Mmmm!” You couldn’t get a word out.

You felt numb, and at some point his hand became slick over your lips with the drool that leaked out beyond your control. Your mind was gone, and all you could focus on was the pleasure rolling through you with every smooth glide of his cock through your channel. Your body trembled beneath him. Your knuckles ached from how hard you grabbed his hips.

“Are you going to be a good and quiet little girl for me when you come? Or are you going to embarrass yourself, hm?” Marc’s grunts were getting louder and you started to feel nervous. “Oh honey, you feel so good. Such a tight little pussy baby-f-fuck.”

You both came at the same time, bodies pressed into each other as tight as you could so you could feel it. You noticed the way his abdomen flexed against your tummy with every pleasured groan that escaped him. You noticed how his lips tightened along with his closed eyelids; you noticed the way his cock pulsated, stretching you out while filling you to the brim with his hot cum as your cunt clenched around him firmly.

God you just wished he could stay. You wished so badly that he could just lay there in your arms when he was done and the two of you could drift off to sleep together. There was hope though. He called you his girl. He would only say that if it meant…

“Marc,” you said finally as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Yeah?” He slid his underwear on over each leg.

“If you’re saying I’m your girl, does that mean we’re…you know?”

He looked at you with a raised brow, “what? Oh…no it’s…it’s not a thing.”

You couldn’t help the heartbreak that fell over you. You weren’t sure what you were honestly expecting. It was dumb to think anything else would’ve come from this. What were you thinking? That Marc really meant he was going to…what…go into your dad’s room and tell him that you were dating now? That he was just going to hold your hand in public and shout to the world that you two were seeing each other despite him being your dad’s best friend?

Of course not. Marc would never. The guilt would eat him alive more than it already had. You were stupid for even suggesting such a thing. He probably wished he’d never slept with you in the first place.

“Oh.”

He sighed and put his hand on the door handle.

“You have a date tomorrow, you should go on it and enjoy it.” He opened the door, letting the light from the hall pour into your bedroom. “Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea.”

“That’s it then? You’re done with this?”

“Never should’ve started this in the first place. Try to have fun. I’m sorry.”

The door closed, and you just felt empty inside. 

----

You’d never felt so stupid.

There you were, standing in the rain outside of the restaurant where you’d been stood up. Your dad was gone for the weekend on business, and you didn’t know who else to call, that’s why you called him. He’d always be there for you, you knew that. No matter the situation, no matter the time, he would always come to your rescue.

Marc.

He pulled up to you, stopping fast by the sidewalk and getting out of the car. He ran over to you and immediately took off his jacket to put it around your bare arms, but not before muttering about how dumb it was for you to wear something so impractical in the first place. You pulled the coat closer to your body as he opened the passenger’s side door for you and you sat down inside.

You looked like a drowned rat as you observed yourself in the mirror. Your makeup was running down your cheeks and your tight red dress was soaked through. He was right, you were dumb, but not just for your clothing choices. You were dumb for thinking you could avoid him, for thinking you didn’t want him, and for thinking even for a second that you could possibly grow to love anyone besides him…but he didn’t love you. He’d made that abundantly clear.

The ride to your house was silent, awkwardly so. You felt a pang in your chest over the fact that Marc wasn’t talking. It meant, to you, that he was serious about his words the night before.

“Thanks,” you said as he pulled into the driveway.

He put the car in park and turned off the engine, “couldn’t leave you out there in the rain. Your dad woulda killed me.”

“You can come inside if you want. Dad has some extra beers in the fridge.” You opened your door.

“I probably shouldn’t I–”

You paused for a moment and then muttered, “fine.” You took off his coat and shoved it in his lap. “Goodnight, thanks again for the ride.”

You tried to wait until you got inside to start sobbing, feeling vulnerable and rejected, but you failed, feeling the tears coming down along with the rain. You never should’ve made all those moves on him over the course of the last couple months. It was all a huge mistake, and deep down you’d always known that, but now after your failed date, and Marc’s refusal to comfort you, you felt the weight of your stupidity on your shoulders. The rain drowned out his footsteps, so it shocked you when you turned to close the door and he was holding it open, pushing through to follow you inside. That’s when he noticed the fresh tears escaping you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, furrowing his brow, eyes darting rapidly between yours.

“No, Marc, no I’m not okay!” You walked to the living room and stood with your back to him. “Just go,” you said when you heard him coming in behind you.

“Why are you doing this? Huh?” He was raising his voice at you.

You flipped around and looked at him incredulously, “excuse me? Why am I doing this? You are just as guilty as I am! I am sick of you acting like the victim here.”

He stepped closer, “I know I kissed you that first night, alright? I know I shouldn’t have done that but everything else is on you.”

“Oh so I’m the one who made you walk into my bedroom last night? I’m pretty sure I went to bed and avoided you.” You prodded his heaving chest with your index finger, “you’re the one who came into my room to torture me last night.”

“Oh really? You call that torture?” He stepped closer, chest brushing against yours. “Didn’t sound like torture honey, sounded like you were having the time of your fuckin’ life! You know what’s torture? When your best friend’s kid acts like a goddamn tease and he’s expected to keep his hands to himself.”

“Oh poor YOU! Big strong guy getting seduced by a little girl? Fuck you Marc! You didn’t have to do anything and you know it!” You shoved him with your arms, but he stood like a brick wall, “get the hell out of my house.”

“That what you want? You want me to go?”

His face was close, nose brushing against yours. You were mad at him. You had half a mind to slap him and push him away again, but you didn’t. You stupidly kissed him, letting his body melt into yours. You were crying even harder now, and Marc stopped, pulling back to look at you and cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, I don’t ever want you to go, I don’t know what to do but I don’t ever want to be without you.” You said finally, letting your feelings come out.

Marc nodded, breathing heavily while he scooped you up, holding you against him and walking you to the couch with his lips over yours. In under a minute he had his pants around his thighs, and your panties pulled aside so he could plunge his cock into your wet heat once more. You both let out a pleasured cry into the living room.

“Marc please,” you looked at him, not really sure what you were begging for, but you were begging. 

“Please what?” He rolled his hips forward, never taking his eyes off you, “say it honey.”

“Please don’t push me away again, I can’t take it.”

You had more tears trickling down your face. Marc brushed them away with his thumbs. He kissed you softly, moving his hips at a slow, sensual pace. He looked at you with a forlorn expression. He was filled with pain, guilt, and something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“I won’t. I promise.”

He grabbed your hip and started moving faster, pulling you in as he pushed forward. You’d never felt anything like it, the unseen but warm comfort that filled you with his words. You brought your lips to his again, tangling one hand in his hair while the other squeezed the meat of his behind.

His moans made your body feel soft and made you pliant for him. You would’ve given him even more of yourself if it were at all possible. He rested his forehead on yours, eyes boring into you while he continued his smooth glides deep into your cunt. You’d never felt so connected to anyone, you’d never felt so special to anyone.

“Are you ok?” He asked, moving to kiss your cheek.

“Y-yes, mm, yes. Better now.”

“There’s my girl.” He cooed, forcing your stomach to flutter.

“Oh, Marc.” You whined in his ear.

He hummed into your neck, brushing his lips there gently. You felt him thrusting harder, stuffing you and stretching you wider with every forward snap of his hips. His breath was punching out of his lungs right into your skin. You felt an overwhelming swell in your chest, a desire to hold onto him and never let go. You felt him getting harder as he moved. His breathing was heavy and rough against your neck.

“Gonna make you feel good all the time honey, always gonna fill you up,” he started moving faster. “It’s insane how-fuck-how good you feel.”

“Good enough to make a good boy misbehave?” Your giggle was followed by a sharp gasp when Marc nipped the skin on the side of your neck.

He started really fucking you, skipping over the part where he gradually ramped up his speed and moving straight into the skin slapping thrusts you craved. You could tell he was getting close, forcing you so roughly into the couch you thought you might become one with it.

“I think if anyone’s been misbehaving, it’s been you honey, couldn’t just let me be could you? Needed to feel me that bad? You’re always so wet. S-so fucking wet for me.”

“Always so hard for me,” you dug your nails into the flesh of his rear.

“Hear that?” He stopped, sliding back until his cock was about to fall out of you. As he pushed back into you, painstakingly slow, you heard the sound of his cock moving along your slick coated walls until he was flush against you again, “such a wet little girl.”

You were never going to last if he kept talking to you like that. Your pointless contest of who was harder or who was wetter ended with his display. He’d won, and that was fine with you. He was right anyway, you were soaking wet, slick coating your thighs and probably his too. You brought both hands to his cheeks and made him face you, lips pressing to yours while you both approached your climax.

“Are you gonna come for me? Make a mess all over your daddy’s couch?”

“Yes, oh fuck yes!” You kissed him deeper, feeding him your heavy groans while your orgasm overcame you.

You arched into him, feeling his mouth while he kissed through your pleasured cries. He huffed loudly while he came, holding you closely as his cock pulsated hot ropes into you. You felt like, when you were finished, your bodies let out an exhale of relief. All the emotions, feelings and physical desires pent up inside of you both were released with that one moment you shared. You’d come to an agreement, you were going to be together.

“Where do we go from here?” You asked, looking deep into Marc’s eyes while he grew soft inside of you.

He sighed heavily, “we’re going to have to find a way to tell your dad.”

No matter how tough things would be, you knew everything would work out now that you had Marc, and Marc had you.

Moon Knight DBF Masterlist

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[moorishflower]

Dirty Talk (Dreamling, Explicit)

This is because of @landwriter making me realize I don't have much practice writing dirty talk. This is still pretty tame in that regard.

"I don't think you're even capable of talking dirty," is what Hob says, one fine winter evening, comfortable and a bit comfortably tipsy, sat at his regular table in the New Inn with Dream of the Endless sat across from him, and he knows by the way Dream rears back like a cat whose nose has been flicked that he's made a mistake in saying it. It's only been a few months since Dream has come back into his life, since he's gifted Hob with information and explanations and finally, in the trenches of autumn as the leaves had crumpled from the trees in red and gold splendor, the rare sight of his smile and a trembling lower lip, and a soft, My friend, but in those few months Hob's come to the realization that he would do anything, literally anything and everything, to hold Dream's friendship. To make him feel safe. To keep him here.

And maybe mocking his friend's mode of speaking isn't the right way to go about it but, again, he's just pissed enough for it to not seem like a big deal, and Dream doesn't seem upset so much as he seems offended. Mates give each other shit all the time, Hob reassures himself, and it's not like they were talking about something life-changing. Dream had only been complaining about his sibling interfering with his realm, which has apparently caused some sort of imbalance in the Dreaming, and from there had followed a great lot of metaphysical and esoteric explanations that boiled down to 'wet dreams are on the rise' (pun intended). It explains why he's had so many in the past week. It doesn't explain why so many of them have featured dark hair and skin like cloaked starlight and eyes bluer than the Aegean Sea, but that's his albatross to bear, not Dream's.

And then Dream had said something along the lines of how sex dreams had used to have poetry to them, there'd been an intimate back and forth, not just of bodies but of words, a build-up and a climax. One thing had led to another, and Hob had said what he said, and he stands by it. Still stands by it, even as Dream's eyes turn flinty and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk that would shame the devil.

"I am the Prince of Stories," he murmurs. His voice is a laser that cuts through the raucous din of the New Inn. There's a van's worth of footballers a few tables down, either celebrating or commiserating, it's not clear which, and the entire pub is lousy with the noise. Hob doesn't have to lean forward to hear his friend, so tuned is he to that purring baritone, but he does so anyways. It gets him closer to Dream, who also leans in, like he's about to share a secret. "Do you truly believe me incapable of crafting words titillating enough to bring one to completion?"

"I don't think you've ever said the word 'cunt' in your life," Hob says, doubling down like the idiot he is. He's never claimed to be a wise man, and especially not when he's in his cups. Besides, it's the winter hols, he's got nothing to do tomorrow, and if he ends this night with nightmares that make him piss the bed he'll concede that Dream has won this round.

"You would be incorrect."

Hob can't imagine Dream ever speaking in a way that's less than dignified. There's such power to him, all the time, such staid and solemn surety, and there's no room in that sort of denseness for telling your partner how much you'd like to suck their brains out of their prick. More's the pity, because he thinks if he could imagine it, the shape of his stranger's lips around the word 'cock' would surely be a fine feature to add to his repertoire of fantasies.

It's at this point that Hob makes the stupidest decision he's made all night.

"Prove it," he says, and takes a sip of his drink, secure in the knowledge that six centuries of swiving has rendered him immune to embarrassment, even in such a public setting. There is a long pause during which the only sound is the ambient riot of the Inn around them, the clink of glasses and the cheering -- or bemoaning? -- of the footballers, the nearly-incomprehensible drone of the sound system piping Top 40s Modern Rock into the kitchen behind the bar, Marv the bartender swearing as he uncorks a bottle of champagne for a mixer.

Then Hob feels something brush against his foot beneath the table, and the rest of the pub goes silent.

Or rather, not silent, but…muffled. Like someone's draped a great blanket over the both of them, and now it's just him and Dream, as it's always been, as it always will be, facing each other across a worn, wooden table, as much of the original wood as Hob had been able to salvage. He's worked it into the foundations, into the bartop and the tables and the floor, trying to preserve the stories he'd told for his stranger, the history, like it was ale that had soaked into the floorboards. Dream's eyes are focused on him, impossibly blue, and he feels another soft touch, this time higher up his leg. Like a foot stroking up his calf, except no game of footsie has ever left him feeling this breathless before, this yearning.

"Would you have me prove it to you with words of prose, Hob Gadling?" Dream's voice is a thing with texture. It'd be prosaic to compare it to such human stuff as velvet or fox fur, but Hob's limited in his petty human understanding, and to his ears it's plush and warm and welcoming. It's a voice to bury your face into, a voice that drips down the skin like warm honey or candlewax, with just enough bite to be interesting. "Would you have me woo you with poetry? Shall I compare thee, not to a summer's day, but to the wild bounty of the fields? More comely than all of autumn's fruits and grains, thy hair rich as the loam and the fertile earth?"

Fertile is an unfair word for him to use, Hob thinks. His brain's scattered out his ears in an attempt to try and hear better, but he doesn't have a choice, because if he wants to not hear he's going to have to get up and leave. And not listening to this just…isn't an option. Not with how Dream is looking at him, head cocked like a bird and his mouth red as garnets shaping around words, words, words.

"Shall I opine about the shape of your body? How broad and virile your chest? I have seen you at sport, Hob, and I know what you hide beneath sweaters and cardigans. I have seen the daydreams of those who lust after you. They imagine you coming in from your war games, stripping the shirt from your back and drinking the sweat from your body. They imagine what it would be like to sink to their knees and bury their mouths into your most intimate places. Worshiping you with hand and tongue. Would you have me describe these fantasies, Hob?"

Oh, please, he thinks, and wonders if it must show on his face, how dry his mouth's become, how tight his trousers are now, because Dream's little smirk grows wider. His pupils are blown so large they nearly eclipse his irises, and there's only a thin ring of startling blue outlining a sea of infinite void.

"Or would you prefer it in cruder terms?" The light pressure that's been dragging up and down his leg inches higher; it feels like fingers kneading into the soft insides of his thighs, and Hob's legs fall open to give the phantom hands better access. The Inn looks and sounds like it's moving in slow motion, but maybe that's just because he can't look away from Dream.

"Would you like me to describe how beautiful your cock is?" Dream asks, and he says it with the disaffected expression of someone asking about the weather and the deep and growling voice of a jungle cat, and Hob is fairly certain he makes a noise of his own, something undignified and stifled by how quickly he bites his lip. "How the weight of it would fit perfectly in my hand? You are made for pleasure, Hob. Thick. Heavy. Better still, to hold the shape of you in my mouth."

"Oh, fuck," Hob says. He's barely aware that he says it, but Dream's eyes light up with fiendish inner fire. There's no blue anymore. It's just black, and stars, and Hob drifting in them like a rogue comet, burning up.

"Yes. I could describe how you would fuck me. How you would turn me inside out. I would want to ride you first, to see the shape of you inside me. I would want you to fill me with your spend until I could taste it in my throat, and then, when I had found my pleasure, I would want you to bear me down into the bed. I would want you to break me in half, Hob Gadling, because I will accept no less than the most ardent lover, and if I do not finish the night with your cum leaking down my thighs and my arsehole gaping for you, I will not be satisfied."

The ghost-touch that's been drifting higher and higher along his thighs presses firmly against his groin, and Hob makes a strangled, gasping little noise, swallowed up by the thick syrupy slowness of the Inn, and comes in his pants. It's an orgasm so sharp and sweet and high that it feels like the prolonged note of a flute, and leaves his thighs quivering in the aftermath, and his breath coming in heady little rasps. He hadn't even been aware he was that keyed up, but then, he hadn't been aware of anything but Dream, and Dream's voice, and now how Dream is staring at him across the way, eyes glittering like a thousand diamonds set in velvet. Hob watches as he slowly lifts his hand from beneath the table, spreading his fingers. They're covered in cum, little beads and drips of it sliding down to the second knuckle, and Dream holds his gaze like a fist around Hob's heart as he raises his hand to his mouth and begins licking his fingers clean.

There's another noise, an uncomfortable whimper, that Hob doesn't want to think is him but probably is.

"Have I sufficiently proven myself?" Dream asks, popping his fingers free of his mouth with the most obscene, wet sound that Hob has ever heard. He imagines those fingers spearing into him and making that same sound from all the lube dripping out of his arse, and Dream's nostrils flare.

"Dunno," Hob manages to say, when he finally finds his voice. It's a thready, needy voice, but it is there. "Could use some more convincing. Don't suppose…you fancy coming upstairs to continue this conversation?"

There's a gentle stroke along the inside of his thigh, making his poor, spent cock twitch, and Dream smiles at him. "Yes. I believe there is more I could tell you, Hob Gadling."

And there is. A lot more. That night, and into the morning, and the next, and the next. Hob needs a lot of convincing.

He's grateful Dream seems up to the challenge.

[velvetures]

Can we please have a cute gaz fic where they are pining on each other and everyone on base is naturally done with their shit ;))

Take It Easy

A/N: This isn't exactly... "spicy", because I used a trope that shot myself in the foot. Anyway, I hope you're happy with how this turned out. If not, let me know. I really love writing for Gaz, and I'd like to get more practice in and feel his character out to where it's more accurate. :) HE'S SO DAMN CUTE IN THIS PIC!!!

Summary: You've always had a thing for Gaz... and he's felt the same way. Everyone else knows it, but it takes a little shock for you both to figure it out.

T/W: injury description, some heat but no spice, suggestive content, Price being a mood-killer, not proofread.

Kyle Garrick is well known as a man of few words, but immense power of action. He’s typically not going to have a handful of words on any topic at one time, and if he does, it’s definitely worth listening. Getting his point across isn’t hard though. Between his very expressive face and the far more interesting use of his hands and touch. Gaz very often employs the use of pats, nudges, hugs, and the occasional slap to ensure you’re on the same page with him.

The problem is, that it made your crush on Kyle that much harder to cope with. You spent so much time around him that it was almost impossible to go more than a couple of hours without touching him in some way or another. By it his knee up against yours sitting on a couch, a hand holding to the back of your parachute before a jump, or putting an arm around your waist to yank you out of harm's way. Rationalizing that he did it for nothing other than practical purposes helped take the edge off. Yet a small crack in your heart deepened when you had to remind yourself that he probably didn’t mean anything by it.

From the first week you met him, Gaz instantly had you wrapped around his finger without even trying. Just seeing him smile at one of Soap’s jokes or hearing him laugh practically melted you down into your boots. Even in his less-than-sweet moments, that little voice in the back of your head and the pulse between your thighs got heavier when you saw him coming out of a mission; dirty as fuck and panting, a hardened look in his eyes and sweat dripping off his face. Perfection, in your opinion, fell short when describing Kyle. Unbeknownst to you, there were plenty of reasons for him to be just as nervous around you.

Smart, skilled, and downright sexy… it was a total package for Gaz, and he always felt like attempting to make a hint or ask you out on a date just to see what your reaction would be. Talking wasn’t his best skill though, and when he was around you there wasn’t a single thought in his head that didn’t revolve around a subtle scream of frustration that he couldn’t just get you alone for more than a couple minutes. He loved how affectionate you could be after working in the same footsteps as himself and the other guys. Plenty of reasons and experiences to leave you jaded or downright pissed off with the world. Managing to keep himself from falling into that same trap got a lot easier after you came around. And maybe it was self-serving, but Kyle liked the idea of keeping you for himself so he’d never have to feel that way ever again. Admittedly, he thought about it a lot. Being a lot more than just a partner.

Through a few mistakes on paperwork and simple logistics, you’d been asked to stay behind for a mission. The 141 had not been expecting the loss of a teammate, but you’d been very quick to reassure them that before you’d come along, they managed just fine and this time would be no different. Besides, it wasn’t supposed to be more than a capture and kill of three terrorist organization leaders causing a bit too much trouble and making everyone nervous. All the intel was vetted multiple times, and you’d even been able to sit in on the briefings up until the last minute before they left. So it was a shock when they came back dirty as hell, half of them covered in blood -not their own- and Kyle hardly able to walk on his own two feet with a massive hole in his t-shirt soaked thoroughly in blood -of his own. You couldn’t have been out of your seat any faster, pushing right past Cap and Soap, shouldering Ghost’s massive body out of your way and staring up at Kyle with wide eyes and a worried look.

“What the hell happened to you, Gaz?” Instantly your hand was pressed softly against the hole in his shirt, feeling thick bandages taped up around the area just left of his abs and below his chest.

“Jesus... you got fucking shot?”

Your mind was already spinning, trying to figure out why he wasn’t in the hospital or at least in the medical wing of HQ getting professionally looked at, instead of standing here like a used gun range target. Kyle watched you with a bit of surprise, looking over your head to see the others staring with wide grins and Ghost shaking his head disappointedly. There was no denying that they all knew how he felt about her, but this was a lot more attention than he was used to getting. Not that he didn’t enjoy it. He huffed a little, putting his hand over yours and taking as deep of a breath as he could manage with bruised ribs and internals.

“Nothing awful, small round,” He attempted to soothe you, but apparently hearing what kind of round wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Your face twisted in anger and hurt, and you looked up at him like a kicked little puppy. It made his heart clench, and not because of his injury.

“Easy… my vest stopped the majority, okay?”

With that, he pulled up the hem of his shirt just enough for you to see that there was minimal blood soaking into the gauze and padded patch over him. It made your cheeks heat up, seeing him quite like that right in front of you. But you tried to swallow down your nervous energy and nod. Kyle just smiled, pulling you just a little closer to him with an arm wrapped around your shoulders, burying his face in the crown of your head with a stiff sigh. You were always so damn sweet… worrying about everyone but yourself. But this felt a little different than normal. He didn’t know why, but that feeling alone possessed him to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering there just to make sure you knew exactly what he was doing before pulling back.

“No more missions without me,” You say quietly, hand fisting in his shirt. “I mean it, Kyle.”

You saying his name was new too.

You hardly ever called him that, and when you did there was a damn good reason for it. He’d always found it endearing realizing that you saved his actual name for occasions when a nickname didn’t feel personal or affectionate enough. Although you didn’t have a call sign like the rest of them, he just murmured your name back into your hair, rubbing one hand over your head softly. Gaz understood that even though he’d not meant to, him coming in without warning of what happened actually scared you quite a bit, and it made him feel really guilty for not thinking that it could affect you any more than it did him. Fuck. He was still alive, and walking… There wasn’t much else to be worried about in the grand scheme of things. Yet feeling you cling to his shirt helped him come to see that it might not only be him who had feelings deeper than two regular operators might share.

“I promise, love.” He squeezed you affectionately; Both of you knowing damn well he’d told a lie just to ease your upset. Yet that was exactly what you needed, and Kyle couldn’t think of anything more he wanted to give you. Well… maybe a couple of things crossed his mind. But that could wait for later. At least until he could actually sit down and stand up without his whole torso burning. He kissed the top of your head again, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo and feeling a touch of dampness like you’d not been out of the shower very long ago. It settled in his mind and bones, helping take the edge off of a long day and the remnants of adrenaline still rushing through his blood.

“Hate to interrupt the party,” The Captain’s dry and somewhat flat tone reminded the both of you that you weren’t in a private room. And that everything had been said under Price and Soap’s watchful eyes. Ghost was long gone, already knowing damn well what was going to happen. He’d already seen it long before either of you quite recognized it, and didn’t feel like staying for the re-run. “But if you don’t mind… finish that shit somewhere else. I’d like to drink my whiskey without all the extra… affection. If you don’t mind.”

Gaz stiffened, and you couldn’t help but blush. It’d been nothing short of instinct, seeing him visibly the worst off of the squad. And now that you were sure he was going to be okay, it had made a lot of little questions in the shape of missing pieces suddenly snap right into place. Unfortunately, it appeared everyone but you and Kyle were already more than finished with the topic and were honestly just hoping you’d figure it out. Price definitely didn’t think it would take Garrick getting shot for you two to stop running circles around each other, but now that was taken care of. So he didn’t have to be so subtle anymore. And neither did Soap, who gave a deep whistle and wink before shoving his hands in his pockets and disappearing down the hallways towards his own room.

“Come on,” Kyle nudged you gently. “Got a couple things I want to talk ya about.”

Walking sheepishly past Price, who’d already poured a few fingers of whiskey shot a somewhat dryly amused look in your direction before settling down in a chair with his feet propped up and a cigar pinched between two fingers. You expected Kyle to ease up a little once around the corner, but he was still hot on your heels with a hand lingering on your lower back, silently guiding you in the direction of his quarters. Patiently, he whispered the code to his door in your ear and waited for you to open it, holding it so he could go inside without having to put too much weight on his ribs or upper body.

He apparently, had different ideas though. The moment the door shut, you were up against it, and Kyle’s chest flush with yours.

“Question one,” His breath had gotten a little heavier, fanning against your mouth and a hand sliding down from your waist to the swell of your hip. “How long?” You couldn’t help the sensation of heat that wavered up through your body, knowing exactly what he wanted to know. It would be hard enough to lie and give a respectable answer, but telling the truth could be just as nerve-wracking to admit.

“Day Two,” You answered back quietly, looking up at him a little timid. “When you showed me around the base. Thought you were so damn hot… You were wearing that grey and white three-quarter-length t-shirt and jeans…” The image was fresh in your mind, and damn if you still didn’t get excited when he wore that same outfit. Gaz gave a breathy sigh of amusement, grunting a little when he leaned a little too hard against you.

“Fuck… wanted you since Somalia,” He panted, nose brushing against yours and his breathing getting a little more labored. “Couldn’t stand everyone staring at you walking down the street after the mission. Knew everything they were thinkin’… Cause I’d already thought it. Wanted to take you right then and there, show them you were mine.” His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you flush against him and the other arm putting a deep arch in your back. Needing every inch of your body against his despite the discomfort in his ribs rising. He tried lifting you, but quickly grunted lowly out of frustration, pausing your shared excitement as you held your hands against his sides protectively.

“I’m not going anywhere, Kyle…” You whisper, raising up on your toes to meet his height a little easier. “Let’s just take this slow… alright?”

You pressed your lips to his, smiling happily when he began trying to take over. Pushing, pulling, whining, and desperately wanting to handle you a bit more but is very restricted by his own injuries. It was hard balancing the desire you knew he had and keeping him from hurting himself even more than he already was. It was a tedious process, but one you utterly lavished in, and hoped would never end. He just felt like everything you’d dreamed of and more. Tasted like honey and brown sugar with a voice that got more whiney and soft with each kiss and gentle touch. You didn’t know how long you’d been wrapped up in his arms and exploring every inch of him you could when he finally pulled back with a raspy groan, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip with a rich chuckle and smile.

“M’not gonna be able to handle much more tonight, love,” He rolled from his uninjured side onto his back, pulling you along with him until tucked tightly against his side with your head resting on his shoulder. From this angle, you could see him staring up at the ceiling with a hardened, and somewhat embarrassed expression. No doubt upset that he couldn’t deliver at least a little bit more. But you couldn’t even begin to accept him pushing through any amount of pain for something that could wait even one more day. Carefully you rubbed your fingertips over his chest, tracing outlines of muscle and feeling little patches of hair on his chest and lower stomach. It felt like a fantasy, actually touching Kyle Garrick… You felt a little guilty for not paying more attention and limiting just how much you’d been physical. But for the most part, you’d been the more concerned with his pain tolerance while he just kept nonverbally complaining that everything he’d been wanting to do was being unfairly taken from him in a cruel stroke of bad timing and a lucky shot.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper, kissing his cheek and nuzzling the curve in his neck. “Should’ve stopped you sooner. I don’t want you hurting, Kyle. I care care about you too much.”

Kyle laughs, a little too hard for comfort, and holds his ribs with his free hand. “Love, you couldn’t have stopped me. I’ve waited too fucking long, and I don’t have much patience left. I just can’t even breathe hard… and nothing we could do wouldn’t make me… excited.”

Your cheeks went hot with embarrassment, hearing his voice lower at the thought. You hadn’t the slightest clue of exactly what he had in mind, but it was for sure that you wouldn’t be doing much of anything but getting your fill of Kyle Garrick anytime you could get your hands on him, and attempting to keep him from going back to the doctor again; having to explain how he re-injured himself. You giggled to yourself at the idea, and it caught his attention. His eyebrows raised in question and you bit your lip, trying to decide if it was worth telling him. You figured at this point, there was no use in not.

“I was just trying to imagine what you’d say if you needed to go back to the doctor… you know, if you hurt yourself with me.”

A devilish smirk plasters itself to his lips, and he shifts over just enough to have his lips brushing your ear. “You know I don’t talk much… I’ll let ‘em guess just what I was doing to you. I’m sure it’ll be more fun that way. Besides, you’ll have plenty of proof on you that I didn’t go easy.”

fuck i love gaz <3

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Yayy here we go

Can you please write a goldenheart one-shot where Ballister breaks something which belongs to Ambrosius (the way he broke it damaged Bal's health too, like a cut or something) and is afraid that Ambrosius will get mad at him only to be surprised that all Ambrosius cares about is his safety?? It doesn't have to be angsty in particular, I'm all for it if you do make it angsty lol

Ayo!!!

Alright we're trying to work on drabbles again. Here you go, I hope you like it! (Movieverse)

-

Ballister leaned back against the headboard of the dorm bed, playing video games while his boyfriend studied for the upcoming Institute exam. Ballister, by this point, felt confident. He had been studying. Ambrosius, on the other hand, had not. So, he was taking the evening to relax and play video games on Ambrosius’s computer. It was way nicer than anything he could afford, he just used the one the Institute issued him for classwork.

Ambrosius yawned and rubbed his eyes. “I'm gonna take a coffee break. Want anything?”

Ballister hummed. “I'll just take hot chocolate, the exam is tomorrow, I'll need to get to sleep early.” He failed to hide the smirk at the look his boyfriend gave him, knowing he would be up all night making up for his prior laziness.

Ambrosius left the room, and Ballister reached for his water bottle off the bedside table. While drinking, he accidentally aspirated some of the water and choked, reacting too late to dropping the water bottle onto the laptop. The heavy bottle split the keyboard and water spilled into the mechanism, causing it to smoke and short-circuit.

In his frantic attempt to fix it, Ballister winced as the broken metal sliced his fingertips and lightly burned his hand. “No no no no, shit!”

Ambrosius ran into the room and Ballister wanted to sink into the floor with shame. He could feel tears welling into his eyes. Since he was small, he knew the value of things. Breaking toys at the orphanage was punished harshly, as there was hardly any money to go around to buy new ones. When he was even littler, his mom was never cruel to him, but her frustration when he ruined or broke things in the apartment where they already had so little was apparent. He saw what happened to people on the streets when they stole food. Loaves of bread were worth more than starving people, and an expensive laptop was worth far more than Ballister.

“Ambrosius, I broke it, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I choked on my water and dropped it, I– I'm so sorry–!” He broke down and his vision blurred. “I'll replace it somehow, I promise!”

He felt the laptop removed from his lap and soft hands examine his own. “Never mind that!” Ambrosius said, his voice urgent but soft. “Look at your poor hand, are you okay?”

Ballister sniffled. “What?”

“Bal, you’re all cut up! And the sparks got your fingers. Gloreth knows what those tech companies put in here, you got your tetanus shots, right?”

Ballister nodded softly. “I'm so, so, so sorry. I'll replace it. Or– or I'll fix it! I'll build you a new one!”

Ambrosius waved him off, as if it was nothing. “Don't even worry about that right now! Do you think they need stitches? Maybe I should take you to the med hall.”

“No, no, they're fine, I'll rinse them off and put on some bandages. Ambrosius, won't you listen to me? Didn't you see I broke your laptop?” He hiccupped. Ambrosius met his eyes, his own filled with worry. “Bal, honey, I don't care about that. It was an accident. Besides, this was just my gaming laptop, all my Institute documents are backed up, no harm was done except you being hurt.”

“No harm– your laptop is broken! That thing is worth thousands of dollars!”

“I hate to flex my wealth, Bal, but to my family, that laptop isn't expensive. And even if it was, I don't need it. What I need is for my boyfriend who I love more than anything in the world to be safe and happy.” He kissed Ballister on the nose.

Ballister was too stunned to respond, really. He couldn't imagine the privilege of just disregarding an object so expensive, but he got the impression that Ambrosius wouldn't care about the value either way. How could a few cut up fingers, on him, be worth more? He wasn't the Queen, he wasn't worth fussing over.

Ambrosius, as though he read his mind, nuzzled against his temple and stroked his hair. “You're something money could never buy. I liked my laptop, but I love you.”

Ballister eventually ended up making him a new laptop anyway, despite his insistence it wasn't necessary, but every time he looked at the little scars on his middle and ring fingers, he remembered the first day he'd ever felt truly valued.

[hazzyking]

Take two. I'm getting writers block so I wanna try something fresh. Enjoy a Mihwak x Reader

Either anime or LA is perfect ((like my Buggy~)) but this fic is based off LA Mihwak

If you like this and want a smutty part 2 let me know, and I promise. I will write a part 2.

Just a Guy in a Bar

The sun sunk below the horizon giving the Barite a nice orange glow and that same firey glow to the water. You walked in and took your seat at the bar that wrapped around the mouth of the fish ship. The Barite was a perfect venue to you, a nice bar with plenty of space for dancing and a live band, and it was neutral ground for you and your crew to wind down after a long seven months on the grand line.

Once the sun had been replaced by the moon, the Barite was lit with candle light inside and outside, giving the ship a golden aura to shine off the navy blue water. You sat at the bar twirling your drink in your hand, you felt a slight tickle on your cheek of a feather, confused you turned and realized the back of someone's hat was completely invading your space "uh- scuse me" you said tapping the strangers thick leather jacket. The stranger turned around, revealing his piercing yellow eyes that were focused like a hawk - or, like a really wine-drunk hawk from the looks of it. "Mihwak?" You said surprised."What are you doing here?"

"A warlord isn't allowed to go out for a drink?" He said sitting next to you. "I should be asking you, what are you doing here" Mihwak chuckled holding a wine glass in his hand as he leaned against the bar.

"Okay your clearly drunk and super out of character right now" you chuckled putting your hand up as if to catch him if he toppled over.

"I am not drunk" Mihwak said like a white girl who had too many tequila shots.

"Alright" you said in defeat.

"(Y/N) right? How is your life of pillaging and plundering?" Mihwak said smirking darkly.

"You gave up that life remember Mihwak" you chuckled looking the warlord up and down. "You payed a visit to Shanks didn't you?" You smirked and then realized the warlord become defensive.

"A child has a 30 million bounty" Mihwak said "a child Shanks knows well"

"Yeah. I know that child" you chuckled. "Why are you here getting Wine-Drunk, because Luffy is worth a whopping 30 mil?" You asked curiously.

"Were getting old" Mihwak admitted, which caused your face to soften. "It's only a matter of time till the Luffy's and the Zoro's of the world become better than us old dogs and faze us out. Some day everyone will be a warlord and everyone will be an emperor and none of these silly titles will matter" Mihwak simply put- slurring his words a little. This was a surprise considering he was normally, such a well spoken man.

"I don't think warlords will matter in the future Mihwak- the world government-"

"I know, is the enemy. Shanks told me all about how I betrayed the pirates by giving up my bounty to serve a greater purpose" Mihwak said almost falling into you, you put your hand out to catch him, touching his fair, hot skin.

"Mihwak, let's go somewhere more quite, maybe you could sober up a bit" you chuckled taking his arm and leading him to the back dock of the Barite. The area was quiet but you could still hear the band faintly. You looked over at the water, how the moon made the navy blue ocean twinkle, it was almost magic to you. The magic was slowly interrupted when Mihwak attempted a graceful seat next to you which ended up with him stumbling and spilling wine on himself.

"Fuck" he muttered. You laughed, realizing you've never herd him swear before. "What's so funny Dove?" He said in his proper voice again.

"Shockingly- you" you giggled. "A great and powerful warlord is sitting next to me, soaked in wine... and wine drunk like a middle aged house wife" you laughed looking at his serious face which slowly erupted into laughter as well, you watched as his eyes crinkled and his yellow orbs were just barley visible his laugh was beautiful, and it almost took your breath away.

"I told you- I'm getting old" Mihwak sighed. "Sometimes I wish I was just- some guy in a bar. And not- rewnoned swords man" he sighed looking out at the ocean, your features softened as you leaned back to be on the same level as him, your hand was placed on his leather jacket. Your fingers tapping on his chest.

"Your not old." You simply said. "Your still the same old Charming Mihwak. The only difference is- your not trying to overthrow the government" you giggled watching his lips curl up into a beautiful smile.

"You think I'm charming?" He said his eyes darting between your eyes and lips as he began to lean forward a bit.

"Mihwak-" you put your hand up to his lips "as much as I really want to kiss you right now- I can't take advantage of you" you said, regretting the fact that deep down you cared for the swordsman.

"I'm not drunk" Mihwak said smiling. "It was an act" he chuckled looking at you. You looked at him too stunned for words. "I just wanted to get close to you" Mihwak admitted. You felt heat creep up your neck and onto your face, you knew you were bright red by now. "(Y/N)? You really wanna kiss me?" Mihwak said with a smile.

"Well, when I thought you were drunk and you weren't gonna remember what I said. Uh yeah" you laughed awkwardly.

"Hey- I'm just a guy in a bar" Mihwak said as he gently brushed your hair back with his fingers and cupped your face, his gentle touches sent shivers down your spine as he pulled you into a delicate, passionate kiss.

[cloudwhisper23]

Greg asked him to meet at the Pizzaplex. He acted like it would solve everything. But to Tony, there was no fixing things. There was only the betrayal he'd suffered at the hands of both Ellis and Greg. He'd said yes anyway though. The damage was done, and Tony had learned from his mistake. He could be friends with Greg, but he wouldn't trust him.

Part of him figured it was more Greg than Ellis who had really changed his story. Ellis wasn't dedicated enough to writing to really even care about how the story turned out. He trusted Tony to handle it. Maybe that was part of the reason it stung so much. Ellis hadn't cared that Greg wanted to change things.

Which meant that Greg had more to make up for, and was probably why he was trying to hard to make Tony feel better. But if he really wanted to cheer Tony up, why would he take him to the Pizzaplex again? Bad reminders were not going to help.

Something about it nagged at Tony. The Pizzaplex was GGY's hunting ground, if his suspicions were correct. Entering that territory without the crowds made Tony nervous.

He shoved a pocketknife engraved with his father's initials into his sweatshirt. Just in case. It couldn't hurt, right?

Greg seemed just as nervous as Tony felt when he got to the Pizzaplex. "Hey."

"Hey." Tony nodded to him, fidgeting with the carved wood in his pocket. "What's the plan?"

"Fazerblast." Greg smiled. "You can handle some games, right?"

Tony's mouth twitched, but he said, "Sure. Where's Ellis?"

"Ah, Ellis isn't coming today. I figured we could meet up with my other friends. The more mature ones."

Tony's brow scrunched. He'd had that exact thought before, of Ellis being too immature. But he never voiced it out loud. It wasn't worth the problems it would cause, even if Tony thought it was true. "Do I know any of them?"

"Not really. They like to hang out at Fazerblast."

"You only like it there because Freddy's your favorite," Tony replied as they entered the mall.

Greg scoffed. "I'm not that shallow. Fazerblast is fun. Ellis is the one who has all the fun at the arcade cabinets. I go all over."

"Right." Tony shrugged.

"Hey, come on. We're here to have fun, remember? Loosen up." The scrutiny Greg had given him at school returned.

"Sorry." Tony pointedly didn't look at Greg.

"Tony." Greg grabbed his arm. "Seriously. Are you going to be a buzzkill?"

"Greg." Tony replied flatly. "You ruined my story about the Pizzaplex, and to make up for it, you took me back to the Pizzaplex. Forgive me if I'm a bit upset."

"What do you want to do then?" Greg seemed irritated. What do you want from me? Tony heard instead.

"I don't know."

"So just trust me. You'll have fun, I promise."

Tony didn't respond to that, but he let Greg lead him all the way to Fazerblast.

"Where are your other friends?" Tony asked, but Greg kept moving. "Wait, this isn't-"

"There's a shortcut to skip the line. Trust me."

Tony was getting more and more concerned the more Greg said that. He took them through a creaking door and up a rickety staircase. Tony tentatively put a hand on the railing, peering over. "Greg, we're above Fazerblast."

"Astute observations as always, Tony." Greg tugged his sleeve impatiently. "We're almost there."

Almost where? Greg said they were going to Fazerblast, but they clearly weren't going to play Fazerblast. Instead, they followed the catwalks to a security office. "Gregory-"

"You've gotta trust me, Tony."

No, I really don't. But he still let the other boy lead him through the door. He scanned the room quickly, weary of the fact that someone had clearly been living in the room. The name Vanny was spray-painted on the wall in capital letters. "Who's-"

Something hit him in the back of the head, and Tony curled in a ball. I shouldn't have trusted him, he thought in a daze as he glimpsed the familiar color of Greg's shoes. He also spotted animatronic feet, but the pain ringing in his head reduced his ability to say much on his own.

Scrambling, Tony backed himself up into an arcade cabinet. "Wha-"

"Tony, Tony, Tony." Greg clicked his tongue, forcing Tony's head up to meet his gaze. "You've gotten yourself into quite a bit of trouble. You almost gave me away! And we couldn't have that."

"Who..." Tony blinked, trying to restore his vision. "You're GGY."

"Looks like you can still think." GGY chuckled. "Are you ready to have some fun, Tony?"

"Not if it's anything like what you did to the others," Tony gritted out.

He was grateful that Ellis wasn't mature enough to connect the dots, not mature enough to care about the hyper-realistic nature of his story. He was grateful Ellis was complacent where Tony hadn't been. Otherwise, they'd both be stuck in this situation. I'm so sorry, El. Tony thought, gripping his pocketknife tightly.

He knew he'd have to stab Greg to escape, and despite the regret he felt deep in his heart, Tony had never felt more alive.

GGY stepped back, cursing under his breath as Freddy Fazbear growled angrily and hoisted Tony off the ground by his shirt. The pocketknife was warm in Tony's grip, blood dripping off the blade as he gasped for air.

"So much bite, Tony!" GGY wiped the blood off his neck. "But you do have more than one option here, you know. We can be friends forever! But you have to follow the rules." Carefully, he pulled the pocketknife from Tony's hand and tossed it across the room.

"I'd rather die," Tony spat when Freddy dropped him.

GGY shook his head. "I think we can change your mind. Freddy, let's go."

Tony blinked as Freddy's stomach hatch opened. GGY grinned at Tony. "I wonder how well you'll fit."

"Wait, no. Don't do this!" Tony stumbled back as GGY tried to drag him forward for Freddy to lift him up. "Let go of me!"

His cries ceased as GGY hit him, this time knocking him out.

When he woke, his hands were bound behind his back. Wriggling determined that his ankles were tied as well. Tony scowled at the gross, burnt tiles.

Wait a minute. This wasn't the Pizzaplex. How did-

The sound of someone else moving made Tony freeze.

"Well, look who's awake!" GGY peered into Tony's face. "Can you guess where we are?"

"This isn't the Pizzaplex..." Tony mumbled. He didn't want to play this stupid game. GGY grabbed his chin and shook it. Tony yanked his head free and looked closer at his surroundings.

There was a show stage, similar to the one the Glamrocks performed on. Arcades were littered around the room, and one wall housed a kitchen area. "We're... in an abandoned pizzeria?" he guessed.

"Not just any abandoned pizzeria!" GGY replied cheerfully. "My sponsor's old pizzeria. Or, I guess, his son's pizzeria." GGY wrinkled his nose slightly at that. "This is where the magic happens!"

"Magic?" Tony replied doubtfully.

"Once you agree to let him into your head, you won't stress about anything else for the rest of your sorry, miserable life!" GGY tapped the tip of Tony's nose. "He will give us instructions, and using our natural personality, we fulfill the demands to keep things running smoothly. When I saw what you did with that short story, I just knew we had to recruit you!"

"And if I refuse?" Tony glared. "You'll do what? Kill me?"

"Well..." GGY studied Tony's face. "We don't really want to kill you, but if you don't join us, we'll have no choice. Ellis would be a great alternative if you said no, don't you think? He already knows the lore of GGY, after all. Courtesy of your story."

"Stay away from Ellis." Tony jerked at his bonds, angry that he couldn't strangle the life out of GGY right there.

"You're the one who makes the decisions."

"If I join you," Tony muttered angrily, "you stay away from Ellis."

"Naturally. We want you, Tony. All we're doing is giving you incentive." GGY grinned. "So you agree then?"

"I'll do it."

"Great! I'll get everything all set up."

Tony's shoulders sank. He didn't know what this cult wanted from him, but their goals couldn't be good. Not if it included killing people.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not sure if this was asked before but... how do you get your *passion* back for writing - or any old hobbies at all? Maybe bc of ADHD, but I used to hyperfixate on writing, reading and other things. They were my world. Now, when I actually have time to write... my interest is meh. Mild. Barely exists. But I'm still interested. Just not passionate. My heart doesn't flutter at new OC ideas anymore - or ships. Or family dynamics. I'm bored... what gives?

ADHD: Interested in Writing, But Not Passionate

I really struggled with this. Mainly, because I have a hard time wrapping my head around, "My interest barely exists but I'm still interested." I can't make sense of that.

I've written three different versions of an answer, none of which I liked in the end, because I think the long and the short of it is this: you can be interested in writing generally, but stuck on a WIP or unable to get started generally. And there are all sorts of reasons why you can be stuck on a WIP or unable to get started generally (including executive dysfunction... thanks, ADHD!) However, at the end of the day, if writing was a hyperfixation for you, that may be all it ever was. Even if some part of you is still "interested."

Which brings me to a story from answer attempt #2, which I think is still worth sharing. Years ago, I hyperfixated for weeks on a particular historical topic. I couldn't get enough. I read about it, watched documentaries about it, subscribed to magazines about it, fell down topic-related rabbit holes for hours at a time. My brain needed to understand every single thing there was to know about the topic, which was troublesome because everything about this topic isn't known... even by those who study it.

One day, my attention shifted to something else, but I never really lost the "interest" in this topic. My ears still perk when I hear something about it. I still skim articles about it when they come up on social media. I would probably pause in my channel surfing if I happened on a documentary about it. But my interest isn't the same. It's not enough for me to dive in to the extent that I did when it was a hyperfixation. And this was tested by the fact that not long ago, I visited a museum with a whole wing dedicated to this topic. And I knew it was a big deal that I was there, and that hyperfixated me would have blown a gasket out of sheer joy, but I just wasn't able to engage with the exhibits the way I wanted to or felt I should. I was looking at the artifacts and absorbing the words on the exhibition labels, but I wasn't feeling anything about it. It all fell flat. Which was kind of depressing, to be honest.

So, I'm telling that story because I think there's a very real possibility that may be what's happening for you with writing. It may just be a hyperfixation that still interests you in some way, but which can never really inspire that same level of interest you once had--unless you become hyperfixated on it again, but there's no way to force that. And there's no way to know for sure if that's what's going on except to try some of the things suggested in the links below to see if you can troubleshoot a cause or kick start your motivation. If not, it may just be something you did once and may come back to again eventually. ♥

Guide: Filling Your Creative Well Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write Getting Excited About Your Story Again Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! Feeling Unmotivated with WIP

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[sevlinop]

The most moving moment in Final Fantasy 8

Earlier this month I finished replaying FF8. It had been quite a few years since I last played it, and this was my first time playing the remastered version. It was fun, but one moment in particular really stuck out to me this time through. After defeating the final boss, and everyone's drifting through time, Squall ends up back in front of the orphanage. After he sees Edea chasing his younger self, and Squall amusingly mentions that the little boy won't actually run away, Ultimecia shows up. She's on death's door and no longer a real threat. Edea then willingly takes her powers, knowing how much harder her life will be because of it. She does this to ensure that Ellone, Selphie, and Quistis aren't at risk of inheriting Ultimecia's powers. Edea isn't the only one who makes a huge personal sacrifice in this scene though.

After a brief conversation, and Edea outright stating Squall needs to return to his own time, the moment I'm talking about happens. Squall nearly leaves, but then suddenly decides to tell Edea about SEED. He even stops to ponder telling her for a moment, and then decides almost on impulse to go ahead and explain everything to her. Squall sets in motion the events that will cause himself immense suffering. Ellone having to leave him without explanation, his other friends being adopted and leaving him. As well as the hell of having to grow up as essentially a child soldier, and the hardship that entails. Including memory loss, loneliness, and not knowing why the hell Cid and many of the others even expect so much of him.

I'd never thought much of this scene until this play through. I just took it for granted he did it almost as an afterthought, just Squall being diligent as always. I didn't grasp the implications of him accepting his own destiny as The Legendary SEED. And he obviously doesn't do it for the glory, or even just for his loved ones. He's affirming to himself that his life is worth it, despite the pain.

I think it's the culmination of all of Squall's character development. And as much as I love the moments Squall has with Rinoa and the rest of the party, I like that he completes this last part of his journey without them. Essentially affirming his own life, and saying all the pain and suffering would be worth it. Not just because he'd meet Rinoa and reconnect with the others, but also because he's come to value himself again. Or maybe even for the first time.

I'm sure many people have already written about this, and I'm just slow lol. Still, I thought it was a very moving moment and wanted to write about it. I think it's one of the better uses of a time loop I've seen.

[deathbystero]

'cause we're just kids who grew up way too fast

in which Ponyboy struggles to come to terms with everything. a/n - here's the full chapter y'all. lemme know if it's worth carrying on with and if you have any ideas on what I can do to extend the plot, feel free to request or give me some ideas

It’s only been a few weeks since that night—coming on three, to be exact. I don’t think things will ever go back to how they were; how could they? With Johnny and Dallas gone, everything feels off-kilter in some way. Like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled, ready to fall away and leave nothing but a gaping hole in its place. 

Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Not really—not in the same way it was before. Things are a lot quieter. A lot emptier. I don’t think Darry minds all that much; an empty house is a peaceful house, even under all the unsettling tension. 

The gang feels a lot closer now, too. I suppose that’s one good thing about all of this, but nobody is quite themselves anymore. There isn’t as much energy in the air; there aren’t many laughs around anymore, and nobody smiles as often as they used to. It's like everyone is carrying around a weighty cloud on their shoulders, or maybe they’re just trying to keep their minds busy with something else. But we never talk about those days anymore; no one does. The topic makes us uncomfortable, like a wound that can never be healed. 

Maybe it’s just me who can’t get used to living without them. 

The nightmares still come every once in a while, more now than they used to. Sometimes they’re pretty bad—Johnny and Dallas making frequent appearances, their faces blurred, their voices distorted. Sometimes, I realise that I’m starting to forget the little things about them: the way Johnny would tilt his head a little to the left (or maybe it was to the right) when he was talking; the way Dallas would bite his lip when concentrating hard on something, even if he didn't seem to notice himself doing it. Everything seems to be slipping through my fingers faster than I can grasp, trying desperately to hold onto the memories, begging them not to fade away into the background. 

Maybe that’s why they haunt me so often: because I'm afraid—afraid that someday I won't remember them at all. 

Darry slept on the floor in my bedroom for a little while after that night, too scared to leave me alone after everything. He’s been doing that a lot lately, constantly checking up on me, even when I'm only in the next room over. Sodapop says it's because he's scared I’ll disappear again, which is ridiculous; I’ve got nowhere to run to, and even if I did, I doubt I’d want to anyway. Without Johnny to keep me company, I might as well be right here in Tulsa forever. 

There was never anything in the papers about Johnny and Dallas—at least not anything good. They don’t write editorials for “murderers” and hoodlums. Nobody would read them anyway. It would be a waste of ink, a waste of print, and a waste of paper. It’d just be another story about another couple of kids from the east side who wound up dead. No one would care. No one would even know what happened to them, not until somebody started asking questions, and even then, the truth would be twisted. Nobody knows what happened. Nobody but me. They can try to understand, just like Sodapop, Two-Bit,  Steve, and Darry have tried, but they won’t ever see it the same. Not like I do. 

For a long time after the incident, I tried convincing myself that Johnny wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be; you don’t just lose your closest buddy in one night. That doesn’t just happen. And yet, it had happened to me. 

To be truthful, I still don’t really believe that Johnny is dead. It’s stupid, irrational, and childish, but I can’t help but cling to that notion like my life depends on it. Maybe I'm losing it a bit, growing a little delusional. Darry seems to think so. Not a day goes by where he isn't telling me to “get my damn head out of the clouds” or to “get my act together."

I’m trying, really, I am, but sometimes it gets hard. The truth hurts too much. So I decided it was better to just pretend that it hadn’t happened. Pretend the entire mess never went down. That’s easier than confronting reality, even though I know there are some aspects of Johnny and Dallas’ deaths that are very, very real. Too real to be ignored. And it’s not like I can ignore it, can I? It’s part of me—a piece of me—a piece of my memory that I can never fully forget. I’ll just have to live with it.

That’s easier said than done, though.

[ode-to-spring]

˚⊹₊ ⋆ MISC. BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS ...ꜜ

genshin boys as significant others, what are their little quirks that make loving them all the more worth it?

ੈ♡˳ ayato, diluc, gorou, heizou, itto, thoma, venti, xiao, & zhongli x reader (romantic, separate !) yes they're in alphabetical order cause i'm me

ੈ♡˳ category :: fluff :)

ੈ♡˳ warnings :: n/a, please tell me if i missed any !

ੈ♡˳ a/n :: ouuuu emilia's writing again OUUUU

. . . boyfriend! ayato, who always delivers gifts for you when he's on trips abroad. it's a secret he'll never tell his peers, but he hates going on business trips. not because he dislikes the notion of traveling, or that he isn't willing to fulfil his duties as yashiro commissioner, but he doesn't like how it takes him away from you. thus, even when you're an entire ocean away, he sends you little souvenir and delicacies from wherever he visits to let you know that you're remembered. an embroidered fan from liyue, world class pies from mondstadt, delicious sweets from sumeru... nothing is too lavish for his love, who never leaves his mind no matter where in the world he may be.

. . . boyfriend! diluc, who leaves you little notes at the winery for you to find. sometimes, his duties call earlier than he'd want them to (much to his dismay, if he decides he hasn't spent enough tine with you yet). on those days when he'll have to leave at dawn without being able to give you so much as a goodbye, he takes time to scribble down a message for you before he takes off. messages of love, little reminders, a brief on where he's going and why-- anything he can to show you that he still cares no matter where on teyvat he goes.

. . . boyfriend! gorou, who likes laying on your lap after a long day of training. at first, you teased him for it, saying his dog genes were getting the best of him, but after a while you noticed he genuinely seemed comfortable with you that way. more often than not he'd fall asleep, even. kokomi explains it as him seeing you as his comfort person, that he'd be at ease when he was with you despite how tired he'd be from duties as general. you found this phenomenon quite adorable.

. . . boyfriend! heizou, who claims he can think more clearly and work much better when you're by his side. a childish claim from he who claims to be the best detective in the world, but he couldn't care any less. he always manages to make up an excuse for you to come along on his cases. when investigating, sometimes he asks for stupid things under the guise of asking for your help. holding his hand so he can lead the both of you closer to the answer? undoubtedly logic in his eyes! grabbing you by the waist to keep you near him so you won't get lost? don't see the problem with that! kissing his forehead so his genius brain can work better? ...alright, maybe that will take him a bit too out of commission to focus on the case.

. . . boyfriend! itto, who has the ataraki gang help him to set up your dates. knowing him, he won't allow anything involving you to be simple and sweet, no no, he's all about extravagance! only the best for the love of his life, he says! last minute planning and execution with the arataki gang has become a recurring factor when it's his turn to decide on dates and the nature of them. admittedly, they don't quite always go well... maybe a little fire here from burning food they cooked, or a horrible attempt of a live musical performance going south because of the members sheer lack of skill... but it's the thought and effort that counts! and they certainly have a lot of that ♡

. . . boyfriend! thoma, who always makes you handmade and homemade gifts. whether it's a little origami craft he learned how to make, a pastry he got the recipe of recently, or a flower crown with blossoms he picked himself while out to do errands-- he's willing to give anything he can to you. they aren't just random little trinkets either, not for him at least. each one he makes with the intention of giving it to you first and foremost. love and care are carefully put into the craft, and you always get first look when he tries something new. after all, you deserve nothing but the best in his eyes!

. . . boyfriend! venti, who embarrasses you by singing songs he wrote for you in public. as a bard, he considers it his duty to entertain the people of his city, but does he really need to make it obvious who his songs are for specifically? he sings with such a smile on his face that you know he knows what he's doing, annoying bastard. his excuse? well, he wants to proclaim to the whole world his love for you! songs dedicated to you will reach across the seas of teyvat and be sung till the end of time, he promises. for as long as his music lives and his lyrics never die from peoples memory, memoirs of his love for you will live for ages to come.

. . . boyfriend! xiao, who never fails to make time for you. work as a yaksha is terribly busy-- even when there aren't any demons around liyue to eradicate, he spends a great amount of his days patrolling and protecting the nation however he can. but still, he makes sure that his work doesn't keep him away from you for too long. he isn't quite used to this relationship thing, and frankly might not know his way around making you feel loved, but he tries. even the simple moments of rest he has with you he appreciates, he can only hope you feel the same.

. . . boyfriend! zhongli, who takes you out to gorgeous places in liyue. barely anyone would have discovered otherwise. he has governed this land for a great many centuries, and in turn have seen the rise and fall of many beautiful places due to change in geographical landscapes. but still, he's bound to have a few with beauty preserved throughout the years, and he's more than happy to take you to all of them. on top of tourist worthy spots, he sometimes brings a bit of food, wine,  and flowers to present to you on these dates, as well as a great many stories if where you're visiting to keep you both entertained.

[skylerskyhigh]

Ah screw it. Imma rant about my fic

When I started this fic, I didn't plan to have such an extensive theme. But as time passed and I fleshed out some ideas, I started thinking about the themes and character arcs that I wanted to explore.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to write all of the arcs or finish the story, or maybe even continue with the second book, but I wanted to put these ideas out here just in case. It'll be fun to go back to.

SPOILERS FOR "CUT YOURSELF ON MY GLASS PLATE"

Also TRIGGER WARNING FOR SERIOUS TOPICS LIKE SELF HARM, SUICIDE, ETC

Cale and the cycle of self harm

I'll start with the main character for this story. OG Cale Henituse. Throughout the story, he is going through a rough time. Aside from the trauma of going through a war, the crux of his issues is the fact that he had been abused.

Cale had been hurt by a lot of people. Either through neglect, abandonment, or self hatred, Cale had been through a lot. It cut his self esteem into a simple concept of "If I am alive, then I should be useful to others."

He doesn't care about himself. He constantly puts himself after so many people. His wellbeing is always second to someone else.

After the death of his family, Cale gained his Ancient power. A power that turned his pain into power. It is because of this that he put himself through a lot of shit.

With physical proof that his pain means something, Cale will begin a spiral of self harm that expands bigger and bigger as he loses the people he loves. Not only is he grappling with a lot of issues of survivors guilt, abandonment trauma, self hatred, and PTSD, the driving force behind his actions isn't to live. It's revenge. He wanted to kill the person responsible for his family's deaths. It's not about him. It's about avenging his family.

Not only that, near the end of the war, Cale stopped wanting to live. Life stopped having meaning because he didn't have anyone to life for. Cale never lives for himself. Always for others.

He put himself in an abusive relationship, for the sole purpose of turning himself into a weapon. To make his powers strong enough to cause significant harm to White Star. All of it with the intention of dying right after he was done. He didn't want to live. But he didn't want to make his life worth nothing. People died while he lived, so he should do something to make his life worthwhile. Either he dies in battle, or he dies after hurting White Star.

Cale went through a lot. While most of it isn't his fault, some is the direct result of his actions. His lack of care for himself lead him to seek self harm as some form of redemption or punishment. Time and time again he is hurt. He denies help. He seeks out misery like a drug. Self harm comes in many different forms and Cale explored a lot of it.

For Cale to begin to heal, he needed to stop this behavior. He needed to stop seeking out ways to harm himself. He needed to stop his own cycle of abuse. But its not easy to do that.

His theme is exploring that cycle of self harm. The thoughts while grappling with so many complex emotions. The effects of grief, loss, and low self esteem. The spiral that people go through while being trapped in a perpetual loop of abuse. It's not easy to escape such a cycle. For Cale, it's hard to break free from it when he believed that he needed to redeem himself in some way. Or that his life is worth less than the lives of others. Cale cannot justify living if he doesn't use his life for something useful. Breaking free from that spiral isn't easy. But he won't be alone to do it. Not this time.

Choi Han and the sins of the father

Admittedly, I didn't have plans for him at first. But as the story expanded, so did his character arc.

In the original timeline, Choi Han was a bastard. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. He was an asshole to Cale.

(I don't hate Choi Han but narratively, he was a terrible person in this story in the original timeline.)

As the main abuser in Cale's life, Choi Han played a significant role in harming Cale. Even when he was deceived by Cale, his actions are not justifiable. He was abusive, cruel, and irredeemable. A far cry from the canon of TCF. Blinded by his black and white mentality, Choi Han often physically hurts Cale to the point of death. He treats Cale like a villain, but he doesn't give Cale the freedom of a quick death.

All of this is to preface what the current Choi Han has to face against. The current Choi Han did not abuse Cale. However, he has to face 2 issues.

1) Face the consequences of someone else's actions.

2) Grapple with the reality that he could have- and had- become a terrible person.

Let's start with the first one. The concept of the "sins of the father" is a common trope. Think of Pink Diamond from Steven Universe. Even when Steven wasn't the person who had harmed a lot of people, he still had to grapple with the pain that his mother had left behind. The lies, hurt, and trauma that she had inflicted on others. Steven had to answer for the actions of someone else. That's what Choi Han has to do.

He didn't abuse Cale. But another version of him did and he had to face that problem. There are clear signs of abuse on Cale. The fear in his eyes. The vitriol in Hans' tone. The wariness, pain, and terror he has to deal with. Choi Han did not abuse anyone but the pain is still there. There are invisible yet clear scars on Cale and he has to answer for them. He has to fix them. He has to answer for the crimes that someone else had committed. Choi Han has to redeem himself even when he wasn't the one who had abused Cale.

Sins of the father is such a complex concept. There are a lot of factors in play. Not only are the victims of the person suffering from the actions of the perpetrator, but the blame did not fall on the perpetrator but another person. A completely blameless person at that. Yet due to their connection to the perpetrator, that person has to answer for it all.

For Choi Han, the responsibility of the OG falls on him. He needs to redeem himself even when he didn't do anything. Yet he cannot just ignore it when the victim is affected by the actions of the OG. He has to go through a redemption arc but skipped the reason for his redemption. He's not redeeming himself but fixing someone else's mess.

As for the second point, grappling with the reality that Choi Han was a villain.

Anyone would be messed up if they knew that they could become a terrible person. Choi Han was Cale's villain. His abuser. The reason he flinches every time Choi Han shows signs of anger. That would mess anyone up. Imagine knowing that you could become a terrible person who willingly physically harm another person.

While Choi Han has some murderous tendencies, he isn't a bad person. He clearly wants to be good. He saves people. He help others. He has a strong moral code and a sense of justice.

But he also kills people he deems as villains. His view of the world is different. Due to his isolation in the Forest of Darkness, and the constant struggle in a "kill or be killed" environment, he adopts a very "black and white" mentality. Good people deserve to live. Bad people do not. Subconsciously, he treats bad people with less respect and consideration. He can be very vicious, cold, and sometimes cruel to the people he sees as "bad". There is no grey in the world for him.

So when he was faced with Cale, someone who actively portrays himself as a "bad person", his dark side shows. And as the war progressed, that dark side of him grew.

Now the current Choi Han has to look at himself and do a lot of self reflection. He doesn't want to be the person who had hurt others so cruelly. How could he look at himself when he sees the damage "he" had done? He doesn't want to be the person he hates. He doesn't want to become like the cruel people who willingly harms others.

With hindsight and a glimpse into a possible dark path in front of him, Choi Han needs to reevaluate himself and think about his actions more critically. If he doesn't, he might just follow the same dark path. He is a good person. He doesn't want that to happen. To prevent it, he needs to do a lot of self reflection and improve upon himself.

It's not to say that Choi Han is a bad person. But just like everyone else, he has the potential to become one. He also has the potential to become a good person. It's about consideration of others and a lot of self awareness.

There are others but it's getting late for me so I'll cut it here for now. I might make a part 2 with Hans and Paseton, since their character arcs are more recent.