#anyways... this is VERY true and I could go on about their relationship dynamic if they were dating

[ctrl-alt-deleting-yr-face]

okay to those of you who saw my last rb and care about my stupid guilty gear au. i NEED to rant right now. Massive long winded about bedkari (aka bedman x hikari, my stupid ship that’s part of reverie of rebirth) under the cut. Be warned they’re so toxic yuri

i just realized. The cornered pray analogy exactly how the dynamic between Romeo and Hikari is. The lamb preparing for their slaughter specifically is. Exactly them. But the thing is… The roles are swapped in a way.

Romeo, of course, has sheep elements. Those are a huge part of his design- Even in his canon story as well. He’s a lamb being led by a shepherd. He’s naively being led along by Ariels, she calms him when he rebels or lashes out against her, and she led him all the way to his eventual slaughter. He’s the lamb.

But with Hikari, he gets to be the shepherd.

Hikari is a yokai. She’s powerful. I wrote her to be powerful on purpose. She could be fatally wounded and survive, not even batting an eye due to her lack of pain receptors. Which she does. Right when she first meets Romeo. He tries to kill her, and yet she’s unfazed. She doesn’t care. She didn’t feel anything, and she knows she wants to be near him no matter what. All that’s important is pleasing him.

Basically all Hikari knows is Romeo. When she first met him and emotionally latched onto him, she had only recently awoken and still had all her emotions. All her emotions were developed around Romeo’s guidance and treatment of her, which basically just meant being his little assistant, aiding in his war crimes, and associating joy with his slightly harsh treatment.

All Hikari knows is showing her neck and stomach to Romeo.

When comparing the specific animal motifs of both Romeo and Hikari, it’s really fun to see the contrast. Hikari has the designs element of the predator animal, while Romeo has motifs of the prey. However, those roles are swapped in terms of their behavior. Romeo is abrasive and only begins to show care towards his yokai companion after months in his presence, while said companion innocently follows his commands and accepts anything he throws her way- Naively believing every word he says like it’s gospel. A little cat blindly loving the cruel shepherd. It’s a beautiful parallel that honestly was not intentional.

The sheep bares its teeth and bites into the neck of the two-tailed cat.

[flashdoesahundredyarddash]

some people keep saying that bart being hal and barry's child is a bad idea (I mean I really get the idea cuz hal's always away for space missions and barry would end raising him alone for most of the time + hal's commitment issues)

but idk I still can't help myself like It's really cute I like giving my otp a child

😭😭

I LIKE THIS IDEA. Honestly, I feel that as they first start to date, and a good point with Hal's commitment, Hal doesn't exactly see himself as a father? (<- Also I feel this is exactly him though. And not to mention how much I HATEEEEE that they gave HalCarol a kid because none of them would ever actually want a baby because they're so cooped with work and wanting to make it out for each other rather than always forcing themselves to marry, even with Carol wanting to move progressively with a relationship.)

Back to HAL, I mean he's great with taking care of kids and getting along with them, but I don't think he could want kids. This goes with Barry as well (<- They both are deadly afraid of committing to something that means they could lose someone), he's great with goods but he feels he couldn't be a good dad because of Dawn and Don scolding him from the future. Then again if they both had to take care of a kid (such as Bart, which I think is cute but Max is also the caretaker for him ngl... I think they would be great with Wally TOO because of Brave and The Bold shenanigans. One of my favorites <- Hal calling Wally son when he had the green lantern ring :((( )

BUT YES, I think they would be good as caretakers in a way that makes me emotional. Because they would want to try again with what they lacked during their childhood growing up...

[yamujiburo]

Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs. 

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

[flokali]

Hi!! I am brainrotting and cannot get it out of my mind, so I thought to share. A very simple thought.

Accolyte Zhongli. Very willing to please et cetera. But biting him? Like come on, biting a Dragon? Is it ownership? Is it playful bite? You know, the sudden urge to bite someone (or is it just me?). So biting a very willing Zhongli.

Sobbing. This will haunt me for a while.

Slight NSF_W

Thinking so many thoughts... happy belated valentines day every1 ><

Warnings: NB! Reader, yandere!Zhongli, SAGAU, implied Dom!Reader/Sub!Zhongli, unhealthy relationship dynamics, biting, soft-violence (?), possessive behavior, jealousy, ask to tag!

Dragons in Liyue are known to be loyal, fierce, and elegant; the stories always describe them as powerful beasts who are to be respected, with sincere hearts and wisdom beyond a mere mortal’s understanding.

In a way, such behaviors did translate to your acolyte, Zhongli. He was one of your oldest followers, not just in age but time serving you, over six millenia he has existed and can proudly state he’s worshiped you for most of it. You would think that the years would have mellowed him out, polished up the edges of his devotion, soothe the tempest in his heart into a much milder dribble, and yet – you knew very few of your acolytes who could rival the passion he seemed to hold towards you.

The relationship between you and all of your followers was strange, at least to you — going from a normal person to being worshiped as a God was not an easy process, much less in a world as different from your own as Teyvat was to Earth — however none were perhaps as strange as the relationship between you and Zhongli.

He is always at your side, from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. At first, his insistence on being your attendant had been met with heavy resistance from the others but his stubbornness greatly overpowered their annoyance; no matter what rotation you were in, Zhongli was always by your side.

You knew of his vessel, Morax, the large dragon that he’d used to fake his death, and you knew that “Zhongli” wasn’t his true form – you just hadn’t guessed some traits would have seeped into the other form or maybe it was simply part of his personality.

He was possessive and overprotective over you, it was like an internal struggle between submission and the need to monopolize you was constantly going on in his head, yet he refused to outwardly admit it.

“I am simply concerned for you, Your Grace.” He’d say whenever you’d bring up his overbearing nature, considering that he and the rest viewed you as an all-powerful being, you’d think he’d have more trust in your ability to protect yourself. And yet, whenever he’s allowed, he’ll always attempt to deter you from leaving his side. At some point you realized it was probably for his sake rather than your own, but by then you had grown endeared to the man and decided to allow it anyway.

Even as your most loyal follower who you spent most of your days with, Zhongli had his quirks and habits about him that simply baffled you – no matter how many days you’d spent with the former Archon, there were just things he’d do and say that’d leave you questioning all you knew about him prior.

All you really knew about him before was reduced to what had been revealed in game, from the Traveler’s perspective and the NPC’s who’d speak about him. Meeting him and interacting with him quickly let you know that his personality, at least when directed towards you, was quite different from what you had assumed from your previous observations.

An example of such discrepancies was his obsessive need to please you.

The traditional Liyue clothes you once complimented him on? Most of his wardrobe has changed to include such attires more frequently. The hair accessory you bought him once when you traveled to Fontaine? You don’t think you’ve seen him without it since. That one time you complimented him when he wore warmer tones? It seems his closet has been rid of any other color.

It was unsettling if not a bit cute, who wouldn’t be a little bit flattered to know their opinion held such weight to a man such as Morax; but it was only a matter of time before it all escalated

Somewhere, at some point, your relationship with Zhongli changed – morphing into something more complex than you would have expected. You would soon wonder if he was classified more so as a lover or some sort of concubinus than a mere helper, his role as an attendant seeming more like a guise so he could spend his time with you each day.

Fleeting touches now lasted longer, the feeling of his hot gaze on you burned stronger with every passing moment, it was a natural escalation; kisses now were no longer restrained to the hand, they now landed on your lips, your cheeks, your neck, wandering hands found their home in your waist and the small of your back.

When he told you he loved you, you knew not if he spoke as a devotee or a lover.

It was during a heated make out session that you found out his weakness to being marked and claimed, much to your surprise. He’d been quite insistent on not leaving a single mark on your person, not a hickey or bite, you guessed it must have been a preference but never asked about it either. You decided that, for the time being, you would avoid the topic until it naturally came up - and up did it come.

You had been on top of him, sitting on his lap and caressing his hair as your lips danced with one another’s, his golden eyes were shut tight in pleasure as he let you use his lips and body as you wished. His hands rested on your waist, tightly gripping at your robes and skin as he desperately clung onto your body. Soft whines left his lips periodically, his breathing was quick and you could feel his heart beating where your chests met.

You playfully decided to trail kisses across his face, at first he whined when he felt the loss of your lips on his but he soon fell quiet – other than a few moans and whimpers – as you left open mouthed kisses into his skin and down his neck.

It’s there that, in the heat of the moment, you decide to bite his neck, leaving a small hickey on his flushed skin. His reaction is immediate; his head falls backwards, his whole body heats up and you feel something stiffen below you, his face burns a bright red as a loud moan escapes his lips. His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin to a point you are certain it’ll leave a mark, and his heartbeat quickens; pleasure basically radiates off of his body the minute your teeth nib at his neck.

You stop, teeth sunken into his skin and hand tangled in his hair, his reaction so lewd and surprising you become flustered and stop dead in your tracks.

Zhongli, however, only pulls you tighter into his body, using a hand to press your face deeper into his neck, as if urging you to use more force in your bite – timidly you give in and nibble into his flesh, further deepening the imprint of your teeth in his skin. His whole body feels hot to the touch, his mind feels hazy, your soft bites into his skin send shockwaves through him.

You had no idea what you were doing to him, did you? Or else you wouldn’t have been so careless when picking the spot, but it doesn’t matter, in this moment of intense pleasure, the former Archon decides to give into delusion and believe you knew the meaning behind biting a draconic being such as himself — and in the neck of all places as well.

Old traditions dictate that a bite mark, especially in the jugular or neck, was a sign of ownership. It was often that mates would mark each other in the neck with enough force to leave scars, sinking sharp teeth into one another with ironic tenderness. It showed trust and care for the other, both to be marked and leave a mark, as it required vulnerability and care from both parties. It was a deeply intimate act, one that would be reserved to life-long partners and mates, it was a gesture of possessiveness and devotion tinted with love.

If he were to be honest, Zhongli would have thought himself to be the one to mark you instead of the other way around, it’d been something he’d often fantasized at night before your arrival, and yet, as he felt your — significantly duller teeth — bite into him he could feel his admiration and love for you grow as he became yours; even if you may not have known.

He’d always imagined himself on top of you, your naked form beneath him, as he sunk his canines into your flesh until he tasted your holy blood. He’d imagined himself cradling your pleasure stricken body while you moaned his name, a sinful sound coming from a divine being. Instead, it is himself that lays within your grasp, panting in ecstasy as he holds himself back from coming completely undone and showing a depraved side of himself even he did not know of.

If he was honest, he almost wishes you’d draw blood, sink your teeth so deep into his skin it breaks layers of flesh and leaves a deep scar that could never heal – a sign of your favoritism and ownership, one that he could proudly say was unique to him. If only you weren’t so careful with him, so scared of hurting him; he means no offense, but your current form is significantly weaker than his and he’s survived wars most have not heard of; even if you wanted to sink your nails into his skin and carve your name into his body, he thinks his strength and shear devotion to you alone would prove the pain to be nonexistent.

A gasp of your name leaves his parted lips, it’s erotic - the way his pink lips let a symphony of pleasured sounds - a wave of hormones rushing through his body, sending his brain into overdrive.

You look up at him, not having expected such a lewd reaction, but the sight of his half-lidded eyes as they burn into your own sends a hot-buzz down your spine. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bloodied as he bites them, his bare chest is heaving up and down; the expression on his face is orgasmic. His loose hair sticks to his forehead as sweat runs down his temples, clearly your gesture had taken quite an effect on him.

You slowly remove your lips from their spot, about to question his reaction - wondering if you’d perhaps crossed a line, but he stops you with a crooked smile and warm hands against the back of your head.

“It is okay, Your Grace,” he whispers, tongue darting to wet his drying lips, he guides your head back into his neck, “bite me all you want, my neck is yours for the taking.”

You giggle a bit at his eagerness, feeling his hard-on press against your ass. You playfully adjust yourself in his lap, softly nipping at his neck before biting down in a new spot.

“Ha-ah,” he moans once more, you feel him startle beneath you, “don’t be afraid to draw out blood, either… in fact, please, feel free to do so.”

He can only hope you take on the challenge, eager to flaunt your lovely bites to Neuvillette and any poor soul that even so much as thinks of questioning his position in your life.

[alicewritez]

Gossip - Aaron Hotchner

word count: 1329

summary: you’re a new recruit at the BAU and a firm favourite of Hotch, which has not gone unnoticed by the team. unbeknownst to the team, you and Aaron are in a relationship and are holding another secret; there’s more to what than meets the eye.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

authors note: implied age gap, mentions of student-teacher dynamic, brief mention of pregnancy at the end but nothing too descriptive. it’s just a bit of fun/fluff. feel free to send requests of any criminal minds character you’d like 🩷

You leave Aaron's office after he briefed you on your tasks for the day; still in the probationary period. You're a newly hired profiler and a very clear favourite of Aaron's. You were surprised to hear that everyone thinks of him as a bit of a grump - he's a soft, gentle and kind man underneath the hard and stern exterior.

As you leave his office, everyone turns to look at you and you're flooded with questions. Are you two secretly related? Why does he like you so much? What is going on between the pair of you?

But truthfully, you didn't know yourself, you were just as clueless as the rest of the team. Sure, you could definitely say you harboured a crush for the man, but he had made no attempt to reciprocate those feelings. Not that he really knew about yours anyway.

Derek gives you a gentle nudge, grinning widely as his eyes glisten with mischief and he surprised a laugh. "So, you and Hotch are close?"

You shrug as you sit down at your desk. "I don't know, I suppose so..". Morgan raises an eyebrow at your nonchalant response. "You don't know?"

Penelope chimes in as she weaves her way back through the desks to get to her office. "It's so obvious. You two are clearly close! You're also, like, half his age. How do you know each other?"

You set your files on your desk. "He was one of my teachers back at the FBI Academy."

Both Derek and Penelope's eyes widen at the revelation, not imagining it could have been something as simple as that. David chuckles from his office before moving to stand against the doorframe with his arms folded. "So you're the fresh-faced prodigy we've all been hearing about."

David's smile widens. He knows you're exactly the prodigy the FBI has been boasting about for months. "But it's true, isn't it? You got your Ph.D. at nineteen and you're the youngest person to join the BAU. You were also the youngest to graduate the FBI Academy."

You suck in a breath, "well, you've certainly done your research.. but I only graduated thanks to Hotch..". Derek leans forward, his smile growing wider. "'Hotch', huh? He really is a softie for you, isn't he?"

You furrow your brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we've all noticed that he's much tamer around you." Penelope chimes in again, her voice full of excitement. "Yes! Much softer, too! I've never seen him smile so often until you joined."

"I think you're reading too much into this. He's probably just being nice because I'm new." You wave them off, making a start on the files piled in your desk.

Spencer, the youngest besides you, looks at you skeptically. Sometimes he could be too smart for his own good. "You're not just any new agent, though. You're a brilliant one. You're smart, talented, gifted, and young. And you're a favourite of our unit chief. Who also happens to be a grumpy, intense man who can be hard to impress. I agree with Derek and Penelope, there must be more to the story."

"Well there really isn't." You sigh as you start writing some notes up. Each member look slightly skeptical at your response, but decide to drop the subject for now, seeing how you wanted to just get on with your work. Once you were done with your notes and reports, you excuse yourself to Hotch’s office, knocking gently on the door.

A few seconds pass before you hear his voice call out. “Come in.”

You slowly step inside and close the door behind you, files in hand. Hotch looks up as he hears the door open and close, looking up at you with a small smile. “Finished with your reports already? Impressive, as always.”

“Yeah but,” you pause, “that’s not the reason I’m here.” Hotch raises an eyebrow as he sets down his pen, giving you his full attention. “Then what is it?”

“The team are figuring it out.” You fiddle with the corners of the files in your hand, while Hotch’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Figured it out? Figured what out?”

“Stop playing dumb Aaron… about us..”

Hotch pauses for a moment at your use of his first name, then a sigh escapes his lips before he rubs a hand over his forehead. “I suppose they’re all talking about it, then.”

“Talk of the office yeah.” You sit down, dropping the files onto his desk with a small thud. “I suppose they were bound to find out we were together sooner or later but, I didn’t think it would be this quick.”

Hotch chuckles softly, his eyes focusing on you. Seeing your worried expression, he stands and walks around the desk to stand in front of you. He takes your hands, intertwining your fingers together. “They’re just being nosey. They’ll get over it and move onto the next bit of gossip soon.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “I hope so.” He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, the gesture affectionate and soothing. He knows you don’t like being the constant topic of office gossip. “Hey, look at me.” He tilts your head up gently so that you’re looking directly into his eyes.

You look into his eyes, melting under his touch. He gazes into your eyes and over your face, his expression full of affection. He lifts a hand and tenderly strokes your cheek, his touch sending chills down your spine. “No matter what the others think or say, none of it matters. I chose you. I’ll always choose you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you whisper, “I love you.”

He smiles at your soft admission, his heart swelling with love and affection. He pulls you closer, his arms encircling your waist. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You smile giddily, your arms wrapping around his torso. “You’re being very bold doing this in the office.”

He chuckles, his arms holding you close to him. Despite the risk of someone walking in on the two of you at any moment, he’s too lost in the moment to care. “Can you blame me? It’s my way of showing the others who you belong to.”

You smile softly up at him. “I think we should give them something else to gossip about.” He grins gown at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you have in mind, sweetheart?”

You pull away from him, bringing your hands to rest on your stomach. “We tell them about this.” You and Aaron had found out weeks ago, but chose to keep it quiet for now, not wanting too many to be involved just yet. It was nice that just you and Aaron knew.

His smile widens at your words. He follows the movement of your hands, placing a gentle hand over yours on your stomach. “You think it’s time?”

“We can’t hide it forever.. however much we may want to.” You respond, deep down wanting to keep it to you and Aaron for a while longer, but also knowing the team deserved to know.

He nods, his eyes fixed on the spot where his hand is resting on your stomach. He can’t help but smile wider. “You’re right. But are you ready for all the questions and comments we’re going to get?”

“No, but.. it was all going to come out eventually..”

He nods in agreement, his hand gently caressing your stomach after pulling your hands away. “You’re right. You know, you’re the bravest and most brilliant person I know. Nothing can stop us.” He drops his head down and plants a tender kiss on your forehead, then on your cheek before finally capturing your lips in a loving kiss.

Little did either of you know, the team had all been listening in from outside his office door, hearing every word. But they wouldn’t say anything, they’d let you and Aaron go to them first.

[sanguineterrain]

I am FERAL over your knight Jason thought. FERAL!!! Okay check this out: so Jason's ignoring reader because he feels guilty right? Maybe he tried to give them back but the king wouldn't allow it. But maybe the reader misunderstands and thinks they're not doing their "duties" so they make dinner and breakfast and wash his clothes and basically act like a perfect spouse. How would Jason react? 👀

Dear god... I feel another series coming on...

Idkidk, their dynamic is just really interesting to me! it's probably gonna be a bit of a slow burn here. Feel free to send more thoughts about them. I am rotating these two like a rotisserie chicken in my brain.

knight!jason todd x gn!reader. ambiguous time period but just assume it's olden times *gestures vaguely*. tw arranged marriage/forced relationship but it's complicated! jason is full of angst and self-loathing but he's a sweetie as per usual. original post for context.

****

The soldier—Jason—has said four words since you've arrived.

The first was "here," which he said whilst handing you a mug of milk. He didn't look at you as he said it, and that morning, he left for a five-day long station. You only know that because he said, after handing you the milk, "I've been stationed."

You realized it was five days when you heard his horse galloping towards the house... five days later.

You haven't initiated conversation because though you're a commoner, and no one ever had much hope for you to become anything but an old spinster, you know not to challenge knights.

But this is fucking ridiculous.

"Do you like veal?" you ask on your fourteenth day here.

Jason is about to leave, his boots half laced. He freezes at your question and looks up.

You stand tall, chin up. This is a normal question. A question a wife would ask her husband, except you're not a wife, and you're pretty sure this soldier isn't a husband either.

"I like veal," he says carefully, slowly. "Would you like me to fetch some from the market?"

Now, this is where it gets tricky. When the king summoned you, he made it clear that you were expected to care for Jason under his rules. You don't know how to navigate this world. You know what couples in your village do, but you don't know what's expected of you here.

"Actually, I..." Jason looks at you. His eyes are very green. He has a surprisingly sweet face under his helmet. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go. On my own."

"Oh."

You brace yourself for arguing or yelling. True, he hasn't raised his voice once, but he also hasn't said much at all. It's like living with a ghost.

"Yes, of course. Of course you can go." He fishes out a pouch of coins and gives them to you. You take it slowly, waiting for him to realize his mistake. He doesn't.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods and watches you walk.

"Wait."

You stop. Here it comes.

"There's a cargo ship in port today. The guards rotate at noon."

He leaves before you can form a thought. You hold the coins, watching blankly as the door shuts behind him. His horse whinnies, and then he's gone.

The market isn't far from the cottage. It's fantastic to be outside again. No one's noticed your absence, clearly, but that's alright. You've never expected more.

You buy a good cut of veal and potatoes and carrots and apples. Jason gave you more money than any cut of meat would cost, so surely he assumed you would buy other food. Why else would he give you so much?

A ship's horn drones in the distance. You're feeling some oranges when you remember his words. A cargo ship.

The sun is almost at its highest point.

"Oi! Either buy 'em or stop feelin' 'em!" the seller snaps.

You roll your eyes and move on from the orange stand. You can see the horizon of where the sky meets the sea from here. Any moment, the guards will change, and the ship will be...

You stop. Was Jason hinting at your escape?

No, he couldn't have been! That's preposterous. Why would he want you gone? The king took you for a reason.

And where would you go anyway? Once you leave, you'd be a criminal forever. You couldn't make a home on your own. And who knows what could happen in between? Pirates, enemy soldiers, anybody could snatch you up.

This must've been a test. A test to see if you would run. That's why he agreed to you going so easily.

No, your escape can't be planned now. Not when you're so obviously uncomfortable, and Jason knows it.

You ignore the ship and go home with your purchases. You spend the rest of the afternoon preparing veal stew. You warm leftover bread over the fire and set a pot of butter on the table.

Jason comes in louder than he has before, humming quietly. You perk up at the sound, happy for the lack of silence.

You set a bowl of stew at his chair and wait by the fire. As soon as he enters the kitchen, the humming stops.

"Welcome home," you say, wringing your hands. "I made supper."

Jason glances at the table, then back at you.

"You came back," he says.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask, face neutral as you cut the bread into chunks.

"That—did the ship come?"

"Yes."

Jason sits. His face is dirty from training.

"I bought more than veal," you say, and hand him the pouch. "I hope that's alright. We—there were no more potatoes."

He takes the pouch, rubbing the string tied around the top. "You went to the marketplace... and came back."

It's not a question, but it sounds like there might be one behind it.

"Certainly," you say. "I'm loyal to you, Jason. I serve you."

He looks up, blinking rapidly. Then he looks back at his stew.

Oh, right. He's waiting for you to ask permission to sit.

"May I join you?" you ask.

Jason flinches. "You don't... you don't have to ask. I would never stop you from eating."

The words hang in the air. It's like neither one of you can speak right.

You watch him, and he watches you as you serve yourself and sit on the opposite side of the table. Jason takes the first bite, and you eat right after.

"Is the supper satisfactory? Have I done well?" you ask.

Jason stops chewing and sets his spoon down. You're struck by his shift in demeanor. You worry for a moment you've screwed up something as dim-wittingly simple as stew.

His eyes are sad as they fall on you. It's akin to grief, the pain he wears, but you don't know why he's grieving. You silently offer him more bread, pushing it toward him. He takes it.

"Yes," he says quietly and eats another spoonful. "You did. Thank you for supper."

Jason cleans his bowl three times. You have no stew leftover, which pleases you.

But as soon as Jason finishes eating, he gets up, rinses his bowl, and wordlessly leaves.

You don't see him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, you feel lonelier than when you weren't speaking.

[oatmealdoodles]

Apology tour spoilers

I kept putting this off because I pretty much agree with everybody else's takes on this, but I just want to get my opinions out anyways

So right off the bat we get THIS line from Blitzo

wow, gee, i wonder how that must feel like. Oh how i wonder

Anyways Stolas goes on directly to say that he doesn’t want to talk to Blitzo right know.

And you know what, thats vaid. All Stolas is saying in this entire interaction is “It’s too soon and i still mad at you, leave.” And i’m sorry but thats not an unreasonable request, especially after a fight that big. I was actually really impressed with how Stolas voiced his feelings thorough the entire confrontation: “I don't want to do words with you, so how about you respect that” “Seeing you right know is hard” “I don’t want to feel worse than I already do” “Im uncomfortable with how you’re speaking to me” This is textbook definition of healthy language.

And Blitzo for some reason just can’t respect that. Because he’s so dead set on getting things back to the status quo, what’s comfortable and familiar to him: this transactional relationship with no feelings, that he ignore Stolas’s requests blindly.

I saw someone claim that the show was trying to make it seem like Blitzo likes Stolas’s abuse, and I don’t think that’s what’s happening at all. Blitzo loves Stolas, that much is clear. But that doesn’t mean it’s healthy. And sometimes going back to an unhealthy relationship can feel better than without it, because that’s what’s familiar, what’s comfortable. Even if it’s not good for you. Especially for Blitz who already has so many abandonment insecurities. This actually happens a lot in real life and Im glad that HB decided to explore it.

But Stolas doesn’t get off the hook that easily

My dude, WHAT? Listen, Stolas, you are my favorite part of this episode. Nay, this show. But JESUS CHRIST WOULD EVEN AN OUNCE OF SELF AWARENESS KILL YOU???? “Impish little plaything,” “itty itty imp,” “you are so cute when you are serious,” “Blitzy,” none of that ringing a bell? SERIOUSLY??

Ok in all seriousness I think this line really emphasizes that Stolas is completely ignorant to the very prevalent power dynamic between them. He has no idea that all these actions and things he says to Blitzo hurt him. And that doesn’t makes it ok. Listen, Stolas has demonstrated that he’s willing to put in the work to improving himself. Just now I mentioned how his language changed to be more constructive and effective. The Stolas from the pilot and the Stolas in the last few episode are drastically different people. What Stolas needs is his own call-out episode, someone to give him a slap in the face and say “What you did is F’ed up” and for him to APOLOGIZE to Blitzo.

Also my man ate up this entire exchange

I have a bit less to say about the Striker stuff, I honestly don't think t was too relavent to the conversation, it’s just more well-written angst with fantastic animation and expressions. And seeing Blitzo slowly realize he screwed up was great too.

Unrelated but this probably to the biggest laugh out of me this episode

Brandon Rogers and Bryce Pinkham continue to be the best voice acting pair I’ve seen in a long time

and guys we FINALLY got Blitzo airing out his feelings to Stolas, completely dumping everything on the table. And then he just backpedals so violently because he’s scared of letting people see his true self, in fear they might hurt him. Also Stolas’s face be like “that escalated quickly…”

To be honest i could go on and on about all the little charachter detains and mannerisms, the animation, and how BEAUTIFUL the colors are. I want to talk about the section at the party, but this is already long enough. I might make a part two if i find the time, but those were just my thoughts

[bizbat]

Kill for Her - Jason Todd x Reader - 1

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Fem terms used for reader.

~ Mild smut alluded to but nothing explicit.

~ Reader's appearance is not described.

~ Parts one, two, three, and four, as well as my other works, can be found here!

~ Also please lmk how i can improve the masterlist if you do end up checking out my other works!!! (:

~ Thank you so, so much for everyone who requested more crazy jason! ILLYYYY (p.s. thank you for being so patient with this, ik it took forever omg)

~ Wc: 1.4k

~ Tw: (Very) Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics and All that Comes with it, Mentions of Having Children, Jason Todd is Not a Good Person in this, Pet Names, Nausea, Angst, Blood and Violence, Variety in Themes, Cringe maybe (lmk)

"Break up?" You think you can just "break up" with Jason Peter "I've never been in a real relationship bc I died as a teenager and I have serious deep running abandonment issues stemming from my more than troubled childhood" Todd?

Funny.

Real funny.

But yk what he doesn't think he really likes that joke and maybe you should actually never tell it again, okay? ((:

It doesn't matter what way you try to approach the subject. Kind, playing into his delusions about being a real couple? You're overthinking things, but that's fine, he loves you anyways.

Yelling, crying, screaming for him to get the fuck out of your home and go die? You're probably just being dramatic, but that's okay, you're sassy, he's sassy, match made in heaven!

The man is kookoo. He genuinely believes that you're destined to get married to each other and either have or adopt a ton of children and he's gonna be the best dad ever and you'll be a wonderful mom ever and blah blah blah blah.

And I've barely scratched the surface of all his crazy, it runs deep.

~ Drabble Starts Here. ~

He'd kill for you. Without a doubt.

He's always figured, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he might have to go back on his word to Bruce for your sake, that he might have to further stain his own soul and hands to keep yours clean, to protect you, to protect your relationship. It's not something he's too particularly worried about, to him, you might as well be the only living person on the planet anyways. Don't get him wrong, he loves his family, to the moon and back and more (don't tell them that), but if there were two people left on the planet, and one of them was you, and the other was him, he thinks the world might finally be fair. That life might finally be kind to him.

And with reasoning like that, whispered into your hair at night when he thinks you're asleep, how could you be so cruel as to break his heart? How could you when he begs, begs you not to see how evil he thinks he is at night when he's been up too late and his brain starts to tell him cruel things about himself? When he brings you a gift every time he sees you. Granted, they're stolen, and granted, he broke into your home. But they're exemplary of his devotion to you nonetheless. Or at least that's how you see it, that's how you see him.

It's true, Jason has lived a life more than deserving of pity, of kindness and support. That's part of why you feel nauseous right now, your hands, slightly clammy, nervously wring the hem of the shirt you're wearing. It's big on you, hanging down past your thighs. You can't remember if it's his or yours. Your tongue feels too big in your mouth, and your knee is bouncing so much you're sure the muscles in your calf are well defined by now.

The reason you feel so ill as you wait for him at 12:48 AM, your eyes flicking back and forth between the clock on your phone and your TV currently playing reruns, is because tonight is the end of it. The end of Jason breaking into your apartment with a spare key he had made without your knowledge, or your window when you switch your lock for the umpteenth time. The end of you waking up next to him in your bed when you know he wasn't there when you went to sleep. The end of his overly personal nicknames that allude to a relationship you've told him time and time again that you Do. Not. Have.

Tonight you're "breaking up with" Jason Todd. If you weren't on edge you might laugh at the thought. You and Jason have (at least in your adamant opinion) never agreed to date. He never asked you out, he just started, well, acting the way he acts; breaking into your home, stealing random articles of clothing that he has a particular interest in, acting like your boyfriend. But it's been months. You're tired.

"Jason!" You say, surprised at his sudden appearance. You guess you got too caught up in your thoughts. He smells like metal. You're worried about what he might've been getting up to, but that's not your main focus at the moment.

He hears your voice sing his name as he walks into your shared apartment, through the door this time. He knows how much you hate it when he comes in through the window. He's happy to see you, albeit a little surprised, you're usually asleep by this time. You must've stayed up for him, a smile rises to his lips at the thought. "Hiya doll, what're you doing up so late?" He's clearly exhausted, even though he's turning in relatively early, it now being 1:29, he's already had a long, long night. A long, painful, violent night.

All he wants right now is to lay beside you, to rest his head on your chest and hear your heartbeat. It's his second favorite sound in the world. The first being those gorgeous noises you make when he's got his head between your thighs and your fingers in his hair-

He's pulled from his thoughts at the sight of your lip tucked between your teeth, the worry on your face more than evident. His smile drops as he hangs up his signature leather jacket on the coat rack beside the door, and slowly makes his way over to you. "You okay, doll? What's wrong?" He asks you with such sincerity, like he really does care. And the worst part is you know he does.

"We . . . we need to talk, Jason." He can hear how nervous you are just by the way your voice quivers as you address him. It always makes his heart hurt when he hears that. You avert your gaze, unable to look at him at this moment. You breathe deeply, trying to calm your heart and quell the bile fighting to come out. You need to do this, and you need to do it now. "I . . ." You barely manage to warble out, clenching your jaw before bracing yourself. "I want to break up with you Jason." You say after taking a deep breath through your nose.

This is it, you did it. You can feel the saline tears rising to your waterline, but you aren't sad at all. You swallow the massive lump in your throat as you wait for his response, your hands furiously gripping your shirt, an unreadable expression on his face. He just . . . stares for a moment. He doesn't blink, he doesn't frown, he doesn't start sobbing, fall to his knees, beg you to change your mind.

He doesn't do anything. The longer his stillness goes on, the more and more your confidence deteriorates. Your shoulders drop from their tense state, your lip quivers, and your ears ring from how dead silent the room seems to be. "Jason . . ." He's barely blinking, his head slightly cocked, his hands limply dangling at his sides. "I said," You clear your throat, not favoring how weak you sound. "I said I want to break up with you. I don't want to date you anymore." You know he heard you, but you repeat yourself nonetheless.

The longer the two of you sit in silence, the harder it is to stomach it. Your hands shake as they grip your shirt, the fabric wrinkles in your tight grasp, your chest feels like all of your ribs have turned into snakes and started squeezing and constricting around your pounding heart. His eyes pierce your soul, the usually deep pits now shallow and glassy. Eventually, the second that he sees a single drop of water fall down your cheek he seems to snap out of it.

The life, the color returns to his face and eyes, as if he was just woken out of a deep trance at the mere sight of your tears. Then, perhaps most disturbingly, he laughs. A cold, icy chuckle that slides off his vocal cords and freezes the room. It sounds almost plastic, rehearsed, like he's practiced it in the mirror hundreds of times in preparation for moments like this. "That . . ." he wheezes between bouts of fake laughter. "That was really funny, babe, you almost had me there."

Jason runs a hand through his hair, disguising the act as if he's trying to gather himself when really, he's resisting the urge to grip on the strands of inky black until they rip from his scalp. He's still pretending to collect himself as he slips past your form, still standing almost perfectly still, into your room. You don't even remember the rest of the night. You don't remember what either of you said, what either of you did, all you remember is following him into the room, being coaxed into bed, and resting your swirling head on his chest as his arms wrapped so, so tightly around your shoulders.

Jason doesn't sleep well that night, even with you safely tucked into his arms. It was a joke, it was a joke, it was a joke. That's what he tells himself. Over and over in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull; it was a joke, it was a joke, it was a joke. It must be, it has to be. His sweet Y/n, who knows what he's been through, who knows he's never had anything, and anything he has ever had was ripped from his hands, his Y/n would never be so cruel.

She'd never leave him. He couldn't let her. Not when he'd die for her, not when he'd kill for her.

[thewertsearch]

We're got a couple of assorted asks about quadrant dynamics here. Since they're all related, I'll answer them as a single post.

@galaxa-13 asked: I personally never saw Feferi being annoyed by Eridan talking about feelings with Karkat because he was only supposed to talk about them with her, but rather because he ONLY talked about them with Karkat. She had to do all the heavy lifting in their relationship by making sure he didn't commit genocide, and then didn't get to unwind with some romantic gossip. If my platonic boyfriend never talked to me, but did with others, I'd question him too. @lilietsblog asked: I never read Feferi as being jealous of Karkat in a violating relationship exclusivity / cheating on her way. I read it as a playful "why aren't you talking about stuff with me? is it because you've already talked it all out?" where Eridan was very much supposed to read between the lines and undersatnd that she just wanted him to tell her about his red crushes (awkward, that…) While I'm sure there are specific rituals trolls /only/ do with their moirails, my overall impression is that trolls normally just… don't form relationships close and trusting enough for emotional support like that. The quadrants help by making it semi-mandatory to find SOMEONE. (Also I'm actually sure that a healthy moirallegiance would be reciprocal with both partners pacifying each other, it's just the hemospectrum version of gender roles)

You may have a point. Eridan was clearly a poor moirail from the start - probably because he never actually wanted to be Feferi's moirail. To him, the quadrant was clearly just a stepping stone to matespritship, so he wasn't invested in its dynamics. Feferi's not really angry about Karkat, here - she's just a little frustrated about how one-sided their moirallegence has turned out to be.

That said, I do still believe that quadrants would work better if they were polyamorous - even if this particular scenario doesn't illustrate my point as well as I thought it did.

@morganwick asked: I mean, some would argue that placing undue emphasis on monogamy beyond what's actually healthy or natural is true of human romance as well. But part of what might be going on here is that on Alternia, it's not a good idea to let knowledge of your fears, doubts, and weaknesses spread too far, lest it mark you for culling. Best to vent to a single person who won't tell another soul. (See also how Vriska is saying things to John she wouldn't tell any other troll.) @bladekindeyewear asked: "At the end of the day, I do think moirallegiance is a good idea. I just don’t think it really works if moirails can’t be poly." What if they CAN be? People with naturally polyamorous inclinations are few and marginalized on present-day Earth, and Alternian society seems set up to STOMP OUT the marginalized. Quadrants certainly exist, but how much of their rigidity and the pervasive troll view that you only have "one true fated partner(s)" for each quadrant might just be cultural?

I think a monogamous system of moirallegence is probably all that Alternia could handle. Sustaining a polyamorous quadrant system would require a level of emotional maturity that the average troll simply isn't going to have - and, like you said, it might be dangerous to widen your circle more than is actually necessary.

I still think the trolls would benefit from such a system, though. On Alternia, it simply wasn't to be - but the Alternian Players now have the chance to build an entirely new culture. Who knows what new dynamics they might discover?

@lilietsblog asked: I don't think Hussie "jumped the gun". I think Hussie was messing around with the very idea of "what romance should be like". Trolls don't care about what gender their partners are, and have a different system of confusing rigid rules that no two people understand quite the same and that don't work out in practice that way anyway, instead. The quadrant system was never intended to be a serious worldbuilding project any more than Troll Will Smith

See, I get what you're saying - but the difference, in my opinion, is that that Troll Will Smith was a one-panel joke, whereas the quadrant system has informed our understanding of troll relationships for the entirety of Act 5. Unlike Will, quadrants have stayed relevant, and they've been critical to understanding many of the Alternians' key character moments.

That's not to say that quadrants aren't partially a joke. Frankly, I don't think any of Homestuck is entirely serious - but I do think quadrants are 'real' in the context of the story, and should be analyzed as a legitimate part of its world.

@bladekindeyewear asked: One last bout moirails-- Andrew in his asks has said that the idea behind each of the Quadrants IS supposed to match up with real human relationship and friend dynamics we already understand, making them relatable but w/ a romantic drive that isn't quite human-analogous. Trolls biologically compelled to enter them before understanding them, a challenge "particularly tortuous for young trolls" (p2393), plus the 600 hour session makes sense of Eq/Nep's relationship's drastic evolution to me.

I've always been a little skeptical about this whole 'biological drive' angle for the quadrants - mostly because there are plenty of human biological drives that are either overstated, misinterpreted, or outright fabricated.

That's not to say that the trolls don't have some sort of compulsion to seek out quadrants. If it does exist, though, I hope it slowly fades, now that the trolls have left their planet and its expectations behind.

[ot3]

sticking under the cut because i am just gawking at a long and deeply perplexing random post i saw in the ace attorney tag

anyway so this post starts out like this

and i was totally prepared to be like. 'okay yeah for sure. phoenix and iris.' because i mean. i try to read most posts in good faith and to me that's the character dynamic you would talk about if you wanted to talk about overlooked heterosexuality in ace attorney. i dont know Why you want to go to bat for Heterosexuality In Fiction so badly but if you were going to go to bat for it in ace attorney i feel like that's the part of the narrative where it has the most weight. especially because OP is directly invoking authorial intent here. so i was really blown away by the post continuing like this:

this just.... is not true. like i'm not even going to bother talking about simon and athena because like hell if i paid enough attention to dual destinies to have a take there. but i just... don't think this is true??? i feel like the world 'culturally normative' is doing an insane amount of heavy lifting here because. well i mean the great ace attorney is set in the meiji era. i don't think the writing being done there is the same 'culturally normative' as whatever 'culturally normative' perspective the hypothetical american moviegoing audience would bring in here.

and also why is the american movie-going public the measuring stick for what the correct/obvious interpretation of a. japanese visual novel series. should be? i don't understand... i don't understand thsi take.... this is just so surreal to me.

yeah i guess age gap pairings are pretty normal and romanticized and when a general hetero audience sees Any Man and Any Woman have a close relationship to each other their interpretation is often a heterosexual one. but also i feel like at least in the trilogy. i feel like aa1-4 do a pretty specific job of establishing phoenix and maya's relationship as distinctly Not romantic. pearl thinking theyre in love just because they care about each other is kind of a running gag. im just so confused here. i dont think there's romantic subtext between phoenix and maya i think they have a close relationship that some people Could choose to view as romantic feelings if they wanted which is just absolutely not the same thing.

like i said earlier the fact that theyre specifically saying 'this is more in line with what the people who ace attorney is written by think' is really whats doing it for me. i dont think thats the case. i simply think if shu takumi had wanted romantic tension between maya and phoenix or ryuunosuke and susato then he would have made very different writing choices than the ones he did

[kcwriter-blog]

Since there has been some discussion about how a young Lavellan might interact with Solas, I thought I would chime in with how an older Lavellan might interact with him.

My Lavellan is in her 30s. She has been a First for some time. That means she has been groomed for a leadership position since her teens. At her age, other clan members will be asking her for advice.

She may not be experienced enough to be considered a haren but she is as knowledgeable as any Keeper about elvish history. She knows herself. She knows her people. She is proud to be Dalish.

So she doesn't give a rat's ass what Solas thinks about the Dalish. At first he's just a weird elf who carries himself like one of the Dalish but doesn't even have a valleslin. She's been taught that non-Dalish elves are to be pitied because they have lost their way. Even as far back as Origins we have a haren telling our Warden that when the elves get another homeland it will be up to the Dalish to teach the city elves how to be true elves. So whether she likes it or not, her first impression will be that he is an elf but not a "true" elf.

So while she asks him his opinion, its not because she thinks he knows more, it's just curiosity. What do non-Dalish elves think about elven culture?

She may say that he "insults her people" but that just drives home the fact that she sees him as different. He isn't one of her people. He isn't Dalish.

What he says is irritating but she can forgive him because he hasn't spent much time with the Dalish and his few experiences weren't positive. He can say what he likes. She's heard worse from the shems.

However, being proud to be Dalish doesn't mean she is going to refuse knowledge just because what she has learned is different from what he is telling her.

Dreamers are important to the Dalish. They are rare but they should be listened to. She's also very, very intelligent. She knows the Dalish don't know everything. If they did, they wouldn't be trying so hard to put together the puzzle pieces that are all that remains of her culture.

She is a confident woman. She is mature. She understands her strengths and weaknesses. She knows it isn't weak to ask for help. She knows leadership is about collaboration. In some ways she is more mature than Solas.

So she listens. She compares what she knows with what he tells her and decides for herself if it makes sense or not. She doesn't believe him just because he is older than she is. She takes in knowledge from many sources including the ruins they visit, the scrolls and books in the library, what other elves say. She analyzes the data and comes up with her own set of beliefs.

She views Solas as someone in need of protection. She tells him she will protect him anyway she has to because she knows the shem could imprison him, make him Tranquil or execute him if they feel like it. She is lucky. She has a seat at the table. She chooses to exercise her power by protecting him.

Solas isn't a mentor to her. Yes, he knows a lot and yes, he gives her good advice but so do Cullen, Josephine and Leliana. He is a colleague. She may trust him more because he is an elf. She may spend more time with him because they share some of the same experiences (as far as she knows) but at the end of the day he is basically someone who can help her do her job. It can even be argued that when she becomes Inquisitor she becomes his boss.

Solas may start out thinking of himself as a mentor or at least a teacher but it is not their dynamic. He gives the information freely. She can take it or not. Does he get frustrated if she doesn't listen to him? Sure. I get frustrated with my friends when they don't listen to me but I can't make them.

I think by the time they get to Skyhold they are on a more equal footing. They respect one another. They may even think their first impressions were wrong. And they may fall in love.

I've always seen their relationship as an equal one with a lot of give and take. As players we know who he is but our Lavellans do not. So there is no real power dynamic at play. He isn't her boss. He knows a lot and gives her advice but that does not put him in a position of power over her. He acknowledges that every time he apologizes or concedes to her.

How will she deal with him 10 years later? She has had a lot of time to reflect. She was in a position of power. She realizes he is right. Sometimes there are only terrible choices left. She had to leave Hawk or Alistair in the Fade. Hell, one of her decisions resulted in the destruction of her clan.

So she understands that Solas once had to make a terrible choice. He regrets it the same way she regrets some of her decisions. She knows there are things she would do differently if she could. She would give anything to change some things.

She understands how being in power erases your identity. She knows that sometimes you can become the person everyone believes you to be even if you don't want that. She knows what he went through. She went through the same thing. She knows the world will decide who you are without ever getting to know the real you. She also knows that you can never really leave all of that behind.

With age sometimes comes wisdom. She understands him better now than she did when they first met.

She has had time to learn more about the Veil. She can see that its presence has caused a lot of suffering. She has come to the conclusion that Thedas would be better off without it. She just wants it done in a way that results in as few lives lost as possible.

She has had time to reflect on their relationship. She was very angry at the time but has let it go. She understands why he broke it off. She understands him well enough to know that he is broken and not capable of having a real relationship until he has dealt with his shit.

Her feelings for him have actually deepened because she understands him better now. So when they meet again she isn't going to be plotting his downfall. She's not going to jump into his arms either. There is a lot of water under that bridge. From her perspective they have a job to do. They can talk about their relationship afterwards.

Whatever happens they will deal with it like the mature adults they have always been.

[katlover14]

I wanna talk-

-about a ship I like very much. It’s Reapermare. Imma call it OctoDeath because it sounds silly. (I’m pretty sure Nightmare’s tentacles are supposed to be tree roots, but idk if that’s true.)

If you don’t want to read this, scroll. No point in leaving hate because I will either:

Ignore you

Report and block you, or

Respond (idk how else to put it)

(Someone on Wattpad told me to KMS, and all I did in response was say “No”. Someone else asked them what was wrong with their head.)

Anyway, I wanna talk about their dynamic and how I think their relationship would work. Most of my ideas (and the one who introduced me to this ship) come from @mildarka’s art of these two. (I dunno if I was supposed to tag u. Sorry if you don’t like being tagged)

So I’m not taking full credit for the ideas of this ship. Now, onto the actual ranting part.

So, these two are, at the same time, different and not different. Nightmare causes chaos, destruction, and death for negativity. Reaper’s literal job is to take souls that don’t want to go (I think).

In my mind, if Reaper has a hard time convincing a soul to go with him, that’s gotta create some negativity, right? Which would catch Nightmare’s attention; not by much, but it would. I’m guessing that the feelings from gods, since they’re pretty rare, are at least 10x stronger than a humans/monsters. At least in my mind, they are (I like making god characters on the side). At the most, a gods feelings could be up to 1,000x stronger, which I think is dependent on how long they’ve gone without emotion. So, with that in mind, it catches Nightmare’s attention to some degree.

I think that, at first, Nightmare would hang out near Reaper just to feed off of his powerful negativity. Though it would slowly develop into Reaper trying to bond with Nightmare (cuz this dude’s literally just following him). Nightmare would be apprehensive and cold at first, like how all good tropes go. But, before he knows it, he wants to know more about Reaper than just “he feeds me”.

And, Nightmare being… himself, I feel like he’d be very awkward about it since I imagine he doesn’t have the best communication skills. And this time, he really doesn’t want to mess this up. But once he does start opening up, Reaper ends up doing most of the talking anyway. Somewhere in there, they develop feelings for each other, which brings back the awkwardness, and then an accidental confession happens mid-fight after some miscommunication.

The usual. (Why’s it always the miscommunication, tho? It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you know it wasn’t what it looked like, but the characters are so- ugh!)

‘Nyway, in the end they get together and live happily ever after. The end. Thank you for listening to my TedTalk. (Those things are actually interesting. Had to watch a few for school. Crazy stuff, man)

[tuliptired]

Ello! Hope Im not a bother, but i was hoping to make a one-shot request? I looked around and it looks like you are still taking requests as of the moment, very sorry if I missed something.

Anyways, if its not too much trouble, could you write Egon Spengler x Baker Y/N? I think that would be a fun dynamic!

If thats not to your liking, what about Egon x Shy Y/N?

Love your works, I check the ghostbusters tag daily to see if youve written anything new. Thank you so much, love ya have a great day and night!!!

How Sweet It Is (To be Loved by You)

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Baker!GN!Reader

It's never too much trouble...no idea if I've used this gif before

did yall hear about the SNL biopic btw oh my gahh...

Better formatting on Ao3! (italics)

Your relationship started with a cupcake. As the story goes, told lovingly by your now mutual friends, there was a bust at a retirement home, and one of the caregivers insisted on sending the boys home with a treat in addition to the hefty bill. Demanded, actually, practically shoving a metal tin full of pastry into Egon’s hands as he attempted to discreetly sneak away.

“Jackpot,” Peter leaned over, happily surprised as nimble fingers opened the lid. The smell of sugary sweets wafted through the car, prompting Winston to extend his hand to the backseat, palm soon full of muffin. Egon was patient, letting everyone take something for themselves, before finally deciding on a blue-iced chocolate cupcake, sweet tooth waiting to be satisfied.

“Where’d this come from?” Ray, Peter, and Winston stood in the kitchen, confused at the spread of different colored boxes and containers. Upon further inspection, they were full of even more cupcakes, each the same blue iced chocolate flavor. Egon sat with his hands folded on the countertop, unfazed at their reactions to his display like any true man of science would be.

He made a tick mark on a long list of names, clipboard somewhere in the organized, delicious chaos. “If you must know, I’m testing every bakery in the area to find the one I ate that evening. I’ve yet to find it.”

Ray shrugged, taking note of just how many locations he had procured food from. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve done for a result,” he admitted.

“Good food’ll do that to you,” Winston laughed, Peter reaching over to gauge how mad Egon would get if he tried to take a sample from one of his possible matches.

Egon didn’t look up, flipping to the next page. “Go ahead, those are the rejects. They'd end up in the trash, anyway.”

Peter peeled away the paper, going through the motions of ripping the bottom of the cake and placing it over the top of the frosting. “Rejects.” he parroted plainly. “What’re you gonna do when you find the right store? Stand in the window?”

He glared up at him above his glasses. “No, I’ll buy a half dozen and go on with my day,” he unfolded a wax lined box, “so if you could leave me to my research?” Research being, going down a line of cupcakes. They each exchanged glances, before filing out. Egon could be just as tenacious as everyone else, when he felt like it.

Except, that tenacity wavered in the face of unfamiliarity. The only reason Egon was willing to go in your bakery to begin with is because the others had forced him. “Don’t be a baby,” as Venkman had put it. He finally found the match, in fact he had found it a few days ago. But he took a glance at the bustling establishment on the day in which he set out on his own, and got cold feet. Especially when he accidentally locked eyes with the smiling artisan while he just stood in the window.

His friends had managed to shove him towards the counter without a second thought. The same person he’d seen through the tall window was behind the counter now, greeting them all kindly. The bandana you had used to keep your hair in check must’ve been failing to do its job, evident by the flour near your temple, caught in a few strands. Egon’s fingers twitched.

Peter flicked him on the lower back when he failed to respond like a typical customer, making Egon come-to and clear his throat. “May I get a half dozen chocolate?” he asked robotically.

“You may,” you grinned at his grammar, “but, chocolate what?”

Egon’s ability to speak stopped short at his misstep, unable to let out anything but unintelligible stammers, and Egon never stammers. “Cupcakes, please,” Ray spoke up for him, catching wind.  

You nodded, moving to the display rack to place his order in a smaller, blue box. Peter wasn’t content with how smoothly this interaction was going as he watched on with a bored expression. “Funny story, actually,” he caught your attention through the framework.

You laughed at how it made him look like he was in a horizontal jail cell. “Yeah?”

Peter raised Egon’s stiff arm for him at the elbow. “We walk in one night and catch Egon with at least 20 different cupcakes, trying to find yours ‘cause he missed it so much.” he regaled.

He may have caught you blushing. Were you blushing? He shouldn’t stare at business owners when they were just trying to work. “Well,” you started folding the corners of the parcel, “assuming you liked them- and you guys are pretty important to the city…” You held them out to him with two hands. “Just take them. No charge.”

Egon felt like there was smoke rising from the top of his head, or the espresso machine, as he shuffled out, and you leaned over the counter to call after him: “Come back anytime, for whatever! On the house!” 

The rest happened slowly, but surely, and you enjoyed it thoroughly. On an earlier morning, you and your pubescent employee were handling the typical rush you got around breakfast. Between prepping, a small burn from the oven, packing orders, ringing people up, and a quick trip to the corner-grocery for more milk, you finally had a spare minute to breathe, both hands pressing into the counter.

A blur of beige and a trail of smog put an end to your mini-relaxation, and you hurried over to the door. “Stantz! Spengler!” you beckoned before they could turn the corner.

Like children, they found their way to your storefront, though Egon looked rather apprehensive with a used trap dangling from his gloved fist. “Good morning, guys,” you urged them inside, “did you eat yet?”

“We really should get going.” Egon said after Ray greeted you. Most of the sickly smell from the trap was left outside, and it was too covered up by the scent of sugar and warmth that everyone but you swore clung to the bakery for you to worry about it driving away customers.

You ignored his protests, crossing behind the counter. “Eat in the morning or you’ll crash in the afternoon,” you started pouring two cups of hot coffee.

“There’s no need-” you interrupted with a hand. “We’re fine,” he continued anyway.

Ray’s stomach betrayed his friend’s wishes. “Something small wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Listen to your friend, Egon.” you warned, adding a bit of whipped cream to both cups to literally sweeten the deal. “You need to eat.”

He frowned, but you didn’t care much. “We have a Class lll in our hands, now is hardly the time for-” you cut him off again, stuffing his mouth with a blueberry danish. As he annoyedly chewed, you procured a paper bag from the back, wrapping his hand around the handle.

“Too bad I already packed for everyone,” you patted his knuckles when he acquiesced, catching sight of what was inside with a small smile. “You’re crabby when you’re hungry.”

Egon opened his mouth to respond, but the contraption in his left hand started beeping. Are they supposed to beep? You’d never seen them do so before. It seemed as if the two experts themselves hadn’t either. 

You stood on your toes to give him a parting kiss, Ray grabbing both paper cups in the meantime before you could start shooing them out. “Go, go- don’t let that thing loose in here. And swing by later, okay?”

He followed your lips when you pulled away, but the ominous beeping drove him to the door and down the street. You sighed to yourself, already missing him. None of the regulars in your store seemed to pay any mind to the local celebrities- or the weapons they had strapped to themselves, as Egon floated in and out during different parts of his day at least once a week.

Egon knocked on the glass door, soft light and music slipping through as he got your attention. When you let him in, the distinct whiff of cookies enveloped him like the warm temperature of your little shop. It was his favorite part of visiting you, apart from actually getting to see you. “How was today?” he spoke over the soft jazz that you apologetically turned down.

“Better,” you were about to run a Crisco covered hand through the front of your hair before you stopped yourself, “better.” Egon only then noticed how many cookies you had managed to make for having only closed an hour ago. “I have more in the oven,” you said from the back wall with the smaller front oven while you hurriedly took out a hot tray with a mitt and put a cool one in.

It wasn’t just cookies, but brownies, sweetbreads, and cinnamon rolls. “Are you…restocking?”

You laughed, a quarter manically and another quarter incredulously, and started to peel cooked pastry off of baking sheets. “If anything, we have too much stock.” you paused your fervor, frowning at your display case’s abundance. “I’ll send you home with some- give them to your clients or eat them or something.” 

You were barely done shutting the sliding glass when you popped up, clapping your hands once and frankly startling him. “Pies! I know what I need to make now! I’ll make some pies and maybe a cake and we can head home.” Before you could disappear into the kitchen, he stepped in your way, two soothing hands on your shoulders.

“You’re stress baking.” 

Egon couldn’t hide his amusement at your familiar despondent expression, as if you were coming down from a high. “Was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” he stroked up and down your arm, steering you to the stool you kept tucked away behind the register and pulling up a chair for himself on the other side. “What’s wrong?”

He enjoyed the chairs you had because of their structural variety, and the fact they didn’t make him feel like a giant. 

You slumped your head into your since-dried hands, groaning out of frustration. “It’s just the season, I guess. A ton of people come by, bringing their dumb boyfriends-” you paused, realizing what you said, “no offense.”

“None taken.”

“-And they come looking at our stuff to see if we’re good enough for, like, baby showers and weddings and all that.”

A car passed by on the street, definitely above the city’s speed limit for a business area. “I assume that’s a good thing?”

“It’s great,” you sat up, “we want people to pick us. But it means everything has to look great, and we have to get ready for half a million custom orders.”

That would be a partial reason for the sudden uptick in inventory, combined with the pressure to make a good first impression. But you were working so aimlessly hard that you looked crazed, all by yourself. “Your employees aren’t willing to help?” Egon questioned.

You stood, addressing the heaps of different cookies, the only creation of yours without a home. “They are. But they’re kids- I can’t work them that hard. It’s probably illegal, too. They won’t be around for the next couple of days anyway.”

He could sympathize with your plight- backed into a seasonal corner that business owners just had to get used to. “I’m sorry,” Egon offered, “I’m not as skilled in your trade, but is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

You smiled your first genuine smile since he arrived. “There is, actually,” your tone was excited as you moved to the freezer, “just let me finish these and I’ll fill you in.”

Egon would’ve stopped you from continuing to try to work, but he relaxed when you brought out pre-prepared bags of icing and miscellaneous confectionaries, knowing that decoration was the more relaxing aspect of the art. 

He both sat in comfortable quiet as you put all your focus into icing, piping, and arranging.  It was pleasant, knowing that you had something so ardent that you cared so deeply about, even if it was dismissed as a mere hobby while you were close to collapsing to exhaustion in the bakery you financed on your own. It was a mix of career and craft- one of the many reasons he had grown to give you his utmost respect.

You were eventually done, making the task of embellishing countless treats look effortless. You handed him a cookie, which he gladly took. “I need you to be honest,” you counted on his affinity for sweets. He took a bite, surveying the dessert after the initial pleasure your baking always brought him.

“Raspberry compote,” Egon took a second, “and coffee icing.”

“Good job!” you scribbled something down on a spare slip of paper after springing the register drawer open. “Rating?”

“10/10”

“Honest.”

“That is my honesty. But if you wanted the unweighted scale, 7/10. The two flavors balance each other very well.”

You passed him another, which he promptly ate without being asked to. “On the crumbly side. Is that intentional?”

A nod. “A little less butter than usual. Old ladies tend to like those.”

He put a hand on his chin contemplatively. “6/10- marmalade. A softer version would get a higher placement, it would be a shame to lose interest from those who don’t fit the demographic.”

You copied down what he said, seemingly happy with any sort of feedback. “And here I thought I’d have to help you cross the street.”

The night went on like that for a while, and Egon grinned to himself at the parallels he had only just noticed- another mix of career and craft, now inquiry and indulgence. You looked like a proper scientist- or, a food scientist, scrawling down notes and numbers that he’s sure only you would be able to decode. He felt the corners of his face dimple in a familiar smile while he watched you- something he’d found himself doing much, much more.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his joy.

“Nothing,” Egon excused himself, “you just look incredibly nice.”

 You squeezed the hand that he rested on the counter, silently appreciative. “Thanks- for that, and for helping me out. Let me get you home before you barf.”

He’d learned to live with the indecencies, helping you tidy up the best he could without breaching the system of organization you had. When you returned from the back with your personal things, he let you loop your arm around his for the semi-short journey home.

Egon only let you go so you could lock the door, and he stared at your back for the entire time that you did. “If I were having a baby shower, I’d come here.”

There were practically stars in your eyes. “Really?” 

“Really.” You planted a gratuitous kiss to the side of his face, before setting off towards his apartment.

Over the course of a few days, your boyfriend showed up earlier in order to take you into work, and keep you company as you tried to quell the impending anxiety. When regulars faded out and new faces came in- possible clients, you assured him with a non convincing tone that he had a job, too. If your ego was bigger, you’d be bragging about the compliments and inquiries your store got, not to mention the referrals to friends regarding special upcoming events. But, entrepreneurship had taught you to be humble, so you were resigned to spilling it all over a phone call to the firehouse.

One morning, you forced Egon out before anyone could arrive, asserting that he had a day off and he should find a way to relax. He asserted that this was how he relaxed, but you had a key to the front door and he didn’t, so that solved that. 

Not long after he was gone, you were hastily punching his number in, bouncing on your heels and out of breath.

“Hello?"

“Rich girl- eloping- needs a wedding cake- lots of money,” you forced out like you were out of air, already seeing dollar signs in tandem with the minutes you were losing. “But I have a crazy favor to ask.”

Very soon, “OPEN” was flipped to “CLOSED (sorry)” and you put on your serious business apron. Egon stood behind you, unsure of what to do as you jumped from here to there, double checking that you had absolutely everything you needed.

You only stopped when you realized that he wasn’t in the proper attire. “C’mon, Spengler,” you chastised him while cinching the strings of a smock around his waist.

“Game plan,” you led him to the back where all the industrial sized equipment was, “three tiers, green and pink, white cake. She gave me creative freedom, so I’m kinda flying blind.”

Egon’s eyes were on you as you laid out a few large bowls. “Have you ever…made a wedding cake on such short notice? I assumed they take days.”

“They do! And they’re the one thing I swore to never sell!” He looked disappointed in you, but you weren’t fazed, grabbing both of his hands. “$1,500,” Egon’s eyes widen as you continued, “think of what that could buy.”

He pushed up the bridge of his glasses like a flustered schoolboy. “That’s…a lot of copper wiring.”

“So many new mixers! And without the down payment! That’s why we need to start while we already have the time.”

Realistically, it was more of you starting everything while Egon was subjected to measuring or throwing away eggshells. But, you eventually gave him bigger responsibilities, as there was no way you’d be done in time for the impromptu-wedding if you worked one-by-one. 

You turned from what you were doing after instructing him to mix the batter for the top layer, being met with his bare forearms, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What?” Egon noticed your commotion halting. “Am I overmixing?” 

You didn’t answer, still staring at his toned arms. He should help out more often- your stand mixer cutting out on you must’ve been a blessing in disguise. Your blatant ogling was cut short when he stopped his ministrations, resting the whisk against the lip of the bowl.

“Don’t get distracted.” He tried to sound condemnatory, but it was hard to feel scolded when the scholar had on one of your teenaged employee’s spare pink bibs around his front and he was almost bent over the edge of the counter space in the midst of his focus.

You could breathe a little easier when the timer went off for the tiniest layer’s completion in the biggest oven. You took the searing pan out carefully, and your worry spiked again when you saw how dark the unfrosted dessert was along the top. You went through a list of things that might’ve gone wrong-  was the oven at the right temperature? Setting? You definitely let it bake for the right time. It wasn’t until you saw a pair of little cylinders, tucked away in the havoc, that you put two and two together.

“Which one of these did you use?”

Egon looked like a mix of confused and concerned. “This one, baking soda.”

That’s how he got put out your kitchen for a considerable amount of time, until he knocked at the round window separating you both.

“Are you sorry?”

A pause. “Not anymore than I was 20 minutes ago.”

“I’m locking the door.”

He was allowed back in after a long and rehearsed apology. Soon, all tiers were baked, except for the base, and you were aching all over. The whole cake process never got any less demanding on you.

Egon must’ve seen how you stretched your arm across your chest before you tried to continue on anything. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’ll be fine- just sore.” you answered truthfully, before slightly jumping at the feeling of hands wrapping around your middle.

“Take a break,” he herded you to a folding chair you kept in there- the only chair. You were slotted in between his knees, thoroughly confused. He only got like this every blue moon.

It did feel great to be off your feet for a second, despite your cushy sneakers. “What’re you getting at?” 

His strong hands made work of your tense biceps. “Nothing lascivious. I just think you should save your energy for the important part,” you stifled a noise at his doctoral tone and the way his thumbs kneaded at the space in between your shoulder blades, “and you’ve been working very hard.”

“Baking makes you a freak,” you scoffed, but hedonistically let him continue to dote on you.

Soon it was time to keep moving, attractive masseuse or otherwise. You put Egon in charge of coloring the buttercream while you ran out to the store for the second time in only a few days, making a mental note to use some of the bride-to-be’s payment to keep a consistent supply of the little things.

When you returned, though, it wasn’t as you had expected. You picked up the metal bowl full of neon icing incredulously. “I said green, not snot!”

“I made green,” he didn’t budge, not seeing how gaudy this would look in the middle of a reception hall.

You pushed a finger in between his brows. “You’re such a guy,” you remarked, regardless of your own gender, as you hassled him out of the way. “Watch.” 

With a bit of red, the bright green dulled into a paler color, fit for a wedding. “Can I trust you with pink?” you asked as if he was a child.

Egon’s expression was unreadable. “No promises.”

Half of the green was shoveled into piping bags when he was finished, presenting the baby pink mixture to you like a project would be presented to a teacher. “That’s better,” you started, taking the bowl while he kept the spatula. You’d assumed that Egon was going to wash it or scrape off the excess or something, but your eyes squeezed shut as something cold and tacky hit your nose.

Frosting, pink frosting. His audacity. You took the green spatula, getting him back on the cheek. That led to him getting you back on the forehead, ear, chin, and eventually some strays ended up in the corner of your mouth, which he was more than happy to take care of. Baking really made him a freak, you thought. You probably shouldn’t be kissing over someone’s wedding memorabilia, but you shortly noticed that was the icing for each tier and its decoration. You lost an hour cleaning and starting from scratch on the buttercream, steering clear of each other in a respective corner each.

You had another hour to eat a late dinner while each tier chilled in the freezer, setting the white icing you painstakingly leveled to their surface area. When you returned, it was time for the assembly, the second most dreaded process. “I’m scared,” you confessed, just about to push down the first dowel.

Egon got eye level with the top, squinting. “You’re just about perfect.”

Your nerves got the better of you. “How can you tell?” 

“I calculated.”

He was to keep calculating until all three cakes were secure on each other, bringing on the actually grueling part: decoration. You could design anything easily, after years of practice on your skills and ability to freehand- but a wedding cake was just so intimidating. That was part of the reason you vowed to never try again, how easy failure was staring you down in the form of little white fondant flowers. Egon let you take the reins on this, disappearing from your narrow field of vision. You honed in your knowledge of swirls, mini roses, and the drape style that was still in fashion among traditional couples. You were bent in all sorts of ways to make sure every bit of sugar that left the tip of the plastic bag came out perfect, for a perfect pair of newlyweds. Or newlyweds with perfect pocketbooks.

Time got away from you when the final detail was placed, and you stepped away like it was a bomb. “Is it done? Are we done?” you looked for confirmation. “How does it look?”

Egon’s torso stopped you from running off somewhere. “It looks perfect.”

The giant thing was stowed away to wait until you were scheduled to drop it off the next morning, and a weight was taken off your chest. You let the faucet run over materials, mind somewhere else with the rush of running water.

“It’s so sweet when it’s all done,” you spoke up, scrubbing crusted batter off of a tin, “weddings feel so magical.” 

You thought back to the agreement you made with your boyfriend of a handful of years: nix a big ceremony, celebrate with friends when the time felt right. The time always felt right to you; you’d drag him to the courthouse at the drop of a hat. Perhaps there was an even right-er time out there, written somewhere in your future.

Egon wiped down all the surfaces. “I agree.” he voiced from across the counter, taking a pause. “You’re not…angry with me? For taking as long as I am?”

You laughed at that, drying your hands. You crossed over to him, a hand on his chest. “Not at all. I trust you.” He had ditched the tie at some point after you had to make a new batch of icing. “If you’re offering…”

“Give me some more time to make it special.”

You brushed away some of his hair that had come loose in the heat of your scullery. “How much more time?” your voice was soft.

Egon thought about it for a moment. “What’s 5 more years?” He laughed heartily at the groan you let out, resting his head on yours.

“Really?” your voice broke over the phone. “I’m sorry…I’ve never- I don’t know,” you forced yourself to take a shallow breath, “I’ll work on getting your deposit back.”

You didn’t know what to think or feel when you ended the call, but thoughts of wasted hours, materials, lost profit, all flooded your mind as you attempted to calm yourself. You rested your head underneath where the phone was mounted on the wall, rubbing at your temples to sedate an oncoming headache.

“What happened?” Egon asked at your back, with you again in the early morning as he scored another day off. You didn’t turn to face him, trying your best to blink back embarrassing tears.

“She canceled. We made the cake for nothing- there’s no wedding, I-” 

Egon was on a knee, in the middle of your homely bakery. Your frustration evolved into pure confusion. “What’re you-”

There was a blue, velvet box in his hands with a glinting band inside of it. Before he could get a word out, you were on the floor too, tears free flowing. “You can’t do this now,” you clutched the fabric of his pants when he moved to hold you. “I look horrible.”

His free hand dried your tears, though more would keep on appearing in their wake. “I’m sorry this is so overdue.”

Your hands gently held onto his jaw to know this was real. “When was the right time?” 

“A long, long time ago. I just needed to find a way to make it special.” He looked hesitant before continuing, “I hope you don’t mind having made your own wedding cake.”

You blinked. “You’re the worst!” you joked exasperatedly, falling with him into a hug on the floors you were happy you mopped. “That was all you?”

“Why do you suppose her down payment was a multiple of 18?”

“They didn’t.” 

“Consider it a group gift, I suppose.” Egon smiled underneath you. You sat in the giddy silence of two people, soon to be wed, when he gingerly asked the question

“Will you?”

Your boyfriend- fiancé, went through so much trouble to make the moment one you could look back on happily. Who could refuse?

“I will.”

[itshermocrates]

POISON- Ep. 4 Analysis

I have no idea if someone has already done something like this but these two unfortunate souls have been in my mind since I watched the show TWO WEEKS AGO. So I'm gonna share with you this personal analysis of what we saw during the Poison scene in Ep. 4 of Hazbin Hotel.

Again, I don’t know if anyone has already talked about this (I’m not very active on tumblr), but I think that what we see as Angel sings Poison is made not only to tell us how the relationship Angel has with Valentino is but ALSO how it came to be thanks to everything that's happening on screen while he's singing.

Of course the lyrics are also important so I’ll make some reference to those as well, but I’ll focus mainly on what we see. Since I can only add 30 pics in this post this will be a bit difficult but I will try my best.

SOME CONTENT WARNINGS! I'm not sure if this is even necessary but anyways,,, Pychological abuse, abuse, violence, domestic violence, drugs, addiction, sex work, dubius consent, sexual violence, abusive relationship, unhealthy power dynamics, angst, suicidal ideas (hinted), etc.

Now, without further ado, let's begin!

Before the song, Valentino and Angel have a fight in his dressing room. I want to start here because during that fight Angel gets a black eye and we get to see how the walls of his room are filled, not only by security cameras, but also by a lot of eyes that follow Angel wherever he goes inside the room. We will see more of these eyes soon enough.

After that fight Angel sends Charlie back home and we see a bit more of what we could expect from Valentino with his manipulation tactics. The sweet tone and the praise as he embraces Angel from behind, too close and too intimate considering he will be soon forcing him to go back to work.

These are the tricks every abuser uses to manipulate and control the people around them, and it’s what Valentino uses all the time with Angel.

This is the behavior of an abusive boyfriend, a dynamic they have in the present, but once Poison starts, we are presented with their backstory. Now we will get to see how that dynamic is even possible, how these two ended up together and how their relationship started and evolved.

Valentino sits next to the movie director and everyone starts moving to prepare the scene they are about to film. He is the one in control here, the one calling for action again and deciding who does what and when. And just like that we see how Angel's black eye is concealed by makeup, erasing the marks of what had just happened and metaphorically erasing the violence of the relationship he is in now.

Angel closes his eyes in displeasure, focusing on what Valentino wants from him. When he opens his eyes again, his expression is completely different, this Angel without bruises, is not only a version of him from minutes ago, before the fight with Val, or even prior to the abuse… This is the Angel before Valentino.

He walks backwards, as if he was going back in time, moving easily with the playful shamelessness that characterized him back then. When he sings “I’m not above a love to cash in” he was most likely referring to his past as a sex worker or at least, as someone who didn’t mind to sell his affections to get what he needed/wanted. During this time, he would most likely go clubbing every night, since it offered a good way to earn easy money while he had a great time, partying, drinking, consuming…

Angel probably was the type of person who used those who desired him to get whatever he wanted, a game he knew how to play. Even if it could get risky or inconvenient, he was a free soul, he was still in control of what he did or didn't do with all those people, so at the end of the day, he always won. That’s what he believes as he playfully lays back on the setting’s bed again.

That had always been true after all, or at least it was until he came across someone that beated him at his own game. Someone who would take that freedom and control over his own body away from him.

His expression changes again to one of terror when a shadow looms over his body from outside the frame. That’s the silhouette of the men he was previously filming with, but we can also imagine that this figure suddenly changing the way he moves, reacts and feels, was meant to represent Valentino.

After the other actors surround him, and the scene fades to black, we are shown what could have been Angel's previous workplace. A stripclub where he danced for money and probably engaged in sex work in a somewhat safe and controlled environment. Back then he had become popular enough to be "the star" of his own show, and a performer good enough to get a reputation that would eventually reach the ears of one of the most powerful overlords in that district.

Valentino discovered him maybe by chance, or maybe not. Maybe he had heard of Angel Dust and wanted to see for himself if this dancer was as good and pretty as all those people said. And after watching him perform Valentino was the furthest from disappointed, he had enjoyed the show so much that he decided to take a closer look at this Angel Dust’s skills.

He approaches him, maybe as a client, or maybe just as a guy interested in what he had to offer, and although Angel doesn't trust him at first, he ends up entering his game.

He was just another man who wanted to fuck him, one that had enough money to spoil him all he had ever wanted and more. It was quite the opportunity for someone as low in the food chain as him, and Angel had already played with rich men like Valentino before, he knew what he was doing.

So Angel took the bait, and had sex with Valentino. Probably a blowjob in that same club he danced at that served as a test for Valentino.

Now we have a scene with two Valentinos, one that is about to get head from Angel with a video camera on his hand, and another Val standing behind the cameras and lights of what we now know to be another movie set. The first Val we saw, extending his hand before Angel when he finished his performance, was the Val of his past, the one he sucked off the night they met. That was someone Angel thought to be somewhat honest, or, at the very least a man he heavily underestimated.

It's the playful man that winks seductively at him in the set from afar with those red hot eyes he fell for, the same that quickly turns into a different guy with similar clothes (red jacket and white fur) now recording him on set. Someone who quickly became a stranger to Angel, just as he is for us, since we can’t even see his face.

The second Val it's the real one, the one standing next to the movie director watching everything with calculating eyes and a dangerous smile. That's the man who told Angel all those red hot lies he believed to be true, and the one judging with this first meeting if the spider was a worthy investment or not.

Angel proves to be good enough. Valentino likes him, and after that night he starts to actively pursue Angel but he didn’t do that as a simple client. He can tell Angel isn't a common whore, he has talent, charisma and he's been playing this game for long enough to know all the tricks. One can only become so successful in this world knowing how to play their cards well.

It’s obvious then what he has to do to turn Angel into his next movie star. Valentino needs to make him fall in love with him and make him believe that Valentino can love him just as much. This is exactly what he is going to do.

On screen we see how Valentino's sex pollen (he's a moth guys, it has to be sex pollen) starts to fill the scene, and as it expands it engulfs Angel, making us know just how captivated, how absorbed he will end up being.

Note: I know there’s a theory that says that Valentino’s power comes from his saliva or something like that and I haven’t read it or anything, but I do believe the smoke/fog that surrounds him has the same effect as the “sex pollen” trope. Or at least it’s similar.

The red fog expands all over the frame, emphasizing Valentino’s overpowering skills and charisma. When it clears, we see Angel in a different place while he sings the second line of the lyrics “What’s the worst part of this hell, I can only blame myself”.

His expression is one of pure anguish and regret, and he’s saying this while standing in front of Valentino in his apartment. He's talking about how naive he was for believing all of Valentino's lies, to truly believe that what he felt for Angel was love. He blames himself for buying this love story and falling for him so hard it made him very easy to manipulate. He regrets not having seen it before it was too late.

Because when Valentino’s back appears at the left corner of the frame, with an extended hand and smoke-made chains, it’s Angel the one who finally cuts the distance and accepts the chains Val is offering him.

Angel was too blinded by Valentino’s courting, by his sweet words and lovely gestures, but also by the constant push and pull of their dynamic, the flirting, the teases, the seduction. He loved the attention and he loved the sense of control, of power, he could feel when he was with Valentino, an overlord no less, a demon so rich and powerful he could have anyone he could have ever wanted. But Val had chosen him, him of all people.

This brief initial moment represents the regret he feels when he remembers how it all started, when Angel thinks about the beginning of their relationship, a time when everything seemed fine and their sexual chemistry made him lose all sense of reason. Because with Val everything ended up leading him to his bed.

After this short display of regret, we are presented a sequence made to represent the fantasy Angel indulged himself in, an illusion tinted in pink colors and fun costumes. This is the story Valentino had carefully created for him to make him fall in love with him, a story that made the spider feel so good when he was by his side, he could easily excuse any warning sign in his sight.

Because Angel would obviously want to be with Valentino when all he knew about him was his lover persona, a facade that portrayed him as a passionate lover and playful partner, his (soon to be) poison.

They had fun and even when Valentino showed little fragments of his true intentions and personality, Angel was too blinded to notice that he was starting to lose the very game he had considered himself a master of. Valentino and the relationship Angel had with him was addictive, so it didn't matter what happened, Angel always came back. You can think of this as the result of Valentino’s sex pollen, his charisma or a combination of both, depending on what flavor of angst is your favorite.

What we can know for sure, is that they were both performers in their own ways, both players in the game of love, so Angel could have excused and normalized a lot of things he shouldn't have. Knowing their line of work, of course that they could get a bit too intense every now and then, of course things could get a bit out of hand between them, they were just sooo dramatic.

It was that rollercoaster of emotions, the raw intensity of it all what ended up hooking Angel so much. The playfulness that could get a bit dangerous really fast, even if the Valentino he thought he knew would never really hurt him. Right?

A few little details I like about this sequence are the way we get to see Valentino’s home in the background and how the colors of his clothes and body are darker than usual but still lighter in comparison to what we will see in the following scenes, indicating how this was still the “nice” version of Valentino.

In the same way, Angel is playing with the chains bounding his wrists together, not his neck (yet), telling us that he’s playing with fire, quite literally dancing with the idea of being owned by Val, but he is still a free soul. In this moment he was falling hard and quick for Valentino’s lies, but he wasn’t his captive yet.

He’s having fun while being manhandled by Valentino, both physically and emotionally, but he still thinks of it as a game, another part of their sex life and how they naturally work as a couple. It’s exciting, it’s new and Angel loves it.

Not knowing that the longer he stays the more power is giving Val over him. Valentino is starting to show his true colors, in these last frames we can see that his figure is getting darker as Angel is slowly discovering the manipulative side of Val, the controlling and abusive nature he had been hiding from the spider since the beginning.

The push and pull continues as we see their silhouettes dancing, even if in reality this is Valentino pulling from his side of the chain to keep Angel close, to keep him with him.

After the shadows sequence, we get back to the playfulness Angel had shown when he took the chains for himself and started to tease Valentino. Only that this time, Val’s colors are darker and his touch more possessive, more aggressive. He’s groping him and even choking him while Angel sings “I made my choice and every night I’m living like there’s no tomorrow” with a grin, showing us how this was still a game for him.

He made his choice staying with Val because he loved him and he thought he was loved in return, when the moth had been only toying with him from the moment they first saw each other. This is Angel’s greatest regret, the fact that he truly believed Val’s lies, that despite all the warning signs he kept choosing him over and over again.

Choosing to stay, to kneel before Val, to obey him with the promise of a new wave of pleasure, a new high. Just as Valentino wanted him to do as we can see the vicious smile he wears during this entire sequence.

I think the next couple of seconds tells us how, for a while, they were together and Angel was still able to keep his job at the club. He was still allowed to see his friends (his coworkers most likely) and spend time with them, while Valentino made sure to feed all his previous bad habits and addictions, giving him gifts (we know Fat Nuggets was a gift from Val), a lot of money he could spend on a whim and eventually, probably the substances to use as well.

The smile on his face, the smugness of it, makes me think he’s telling his friends about this rich guy that pampers him in every way and treats him like a prince. He has found the ultimate Sugar Daddy, a man that has changed his life forever in the best way possible. Now he can have whatever he wants, party for days without having to worry about not having enough money to eat at the end of the month or a place to stay.

Angel would have used drugs before, maybe occasionally, maybe only at parties, maybe to get the worst bits of his job done, maybe he was already a bit of an addict, but it’s now, when he has the means to consume every night that he definitely becomes one.

Valentino made sure of it.

During this time, Valentino would secure the control he had over Angel, weakening his mind and will by worsening his addiction problem while continuing convincing him of how much he loved him. The parties were incredible, the sex was amazing, and Angel felt on top of the world at every moment. He was “living like there’s no tomorrow” without realizing the higher he raised above the ground, the hardest would be his fall.

And maybe this is just me over analyzing a kinky moment, but after this, after Valentino bites Angel causing him a wince of pain and maybe even making him bleed, everything changes.

They are having sex, far from the flashing lights, they are together as Anthony and Val, as the real person who oftenly hides behind his stage persona. The person who is deeply in love with Valentino, who is vulnerable and allows his lover to hurt him however he wants because he trusts that the pleasure that follows will be worth it.

But after that bite, he’s no longer in bed with Val, he's in the same bed from the very beginning of this music video, surrounded by lights, disoriented and confused… As if he was expecting Valentino to be between his legs and not this stranger.

When he finally comes to his senses and sits, we hear for the first time the line “My story’s gonna end with me dead from your poison”. This was the beginning of the end of their honeymoon phase and the point of no return. Valentino had considered Angel weakened enough to take a step further, and a new part of him is finally uncovered when he carefully introduces Angel to the porn industry. He would do so (probably) while Angel was too intoxicated and definitely too blindly in love to know what he was doing.

Valentino becomes this overwhelming shadow that covers Angel’s body, a silhouette he can’t escape from, and when we are shown what Angel sees, we can no longer see the color of Valentino’s clothes. His colorful persona, his facade of playful lover it’s no longer in place, he has stopped pretending and acting as the good boyfriend the spider had always wanted. Now before Angel there’s only the demon that owns thousands of souls, a vicious drooling smile and sharp red eyes. An overlord to fear and be intimidated by.

The background is filled with filming equipment, and even if Valentino’s body language is meant to appear welcoming, Angel feels terrified. This is not the Valentino he knew, and now he is completely trapped. He can’t refuse now, this is a choice he is being forced to make even if his soul still technically belongs to him.

After being pressured, Angel becomes part of this industry, and although he doesn’t really like it, he still trusts Valentino enough to not run away. The overlord can be scary, but he still believes that he’s safe with him, that if Val is by his side nothing wrong could ever happen to him. And after all, he had done sex work before, right? What difference did it make to fuck strangers for money in front of a camera now?

He’s not comfortable, and every day that intimidating side of Valentino that wasn’t really there before grows darker, fiercer and scarier. Angel had seen the ugliness of Valentino before, as a man, as a possessive boyfriend, as a controlling partner, but never as the powerful demon he truly was. So he still obeys Val and features in a few movies of his choice.

We can see these doubts, Angel’s discomfort and even a bit of his trust in Valentino at the beginning of the next sequence, when they appear on the set of a different movie.

Angel was a performer, he had faked his own pleasure before, he could do it again now, and he could do it while earning way more money. He could do so, because he knew Valentino was there, guiding him, helping him, making sure his lover was safe. He always thought that Val was looking out for him, making sure he was getting the right roles in the right movies, the right contracts, and when he was nervous, Valentino was right by his side to comfort him.

But Valentino had never cared about Angel’s safety. And once Angel started to voice his doubts or show his discomfort, he made sure he couldn’t do it for much longer. The comfort Angel sought for was quickly replaced by something chemical, something that eased his nerves but also left him dazed and disoriented.

It was then that Valentino drugged him, tricked him and made him sign the contract that would leave him with only half a soul inside his chest.

Valentino had fed Angel’s addiction for a long time, adding to the mix not only the illusion of a love story, but also his own drug, his sex pollen, something that numbed the spider’s mind enough to go through all the things Valentino wanted him to do in front of the camera. Oftenly Angel was left too intoxicated to respond, too vulnerable and weak. In his last moments of lucidity he always could see Valentino, his lover, the man he thought would always take care of him, turning his back to him and leave him.

Valentino is the last thing he sees before everything fades to black around him, before he disappears. He’s no longer Anthony or Angel Dust, the stage persona, now the lines between those two different identities blurry beyond repair, and the person he becomes is a little more Angel Dust and a lot less Anthony.

I don’t think that it was just a coincidence that they used a BDSM scene to represent the moment Angel definitely lost control of his actions, his body and most likely also his soul. BDSM is all about power dynamics and the control that’s exchanged between consenting partners, only that, in this case, Angel didn’t really have a choice and there was no consent. This lack of control and safety is emphasized precisely by the type of session Angel is forced into.

He’s restrained in every way possible, he’s tied up, a blindfold covers his eyes and a gag is forced onto his mouth, one that would prevent him from closing it no matter how much he tried. He has no way to end the scene, no way to say a safeword, to complain or to stop what other people do with him or to him.

This is meant to represent the moment he signed the contract, and how he felt every time he entered the set of a new movie after he signed it. He stopped being his own person, he had disappeared, and what had been left of him was nothing but a sex toy for Valentino to control in each of his productions.

Now we see the Angel Dust that survived this state of numbness and dissociation, the one that has consumed Anthony just so he could keep himself alive.

While Angel Dust dances, seemingly enjoying the show, performing as he has always done, in the background screens we see what’s left of Anthony, of the boy feeling trapped and used with no single way out of it. This is accompanied by more fragments of that BDSM scene that changed it all, since that was a traumatic event that repeats itself in Angel’s mind every time Valentino forces him into a new role, a new movie, a new lie.

These frames show us not only the stress Angel is feeling, but also how Valentino is always there to exploit his body in the way he deems more profitable. We know this because he appears in between Angel’s anguish, but also because the same eyes that covered his dressing room walls are in the background while someone fucks Angel from behind.

While this happens we hear again “I made my choice”, a reminder of Angel’s regrets, shame and guilt. In addition the line “Every night I’m living like there’s no tomorrow” now has slightly changed, indicating the shift in Angel’s life and condition as no longer a free soul. What we hear now is  “Every night I’m wasted like there’s no tomorrow”.

Where once he was happy, he’s now desperate, begging to get a way out.

We see a bit more of the playful performer, Angel Dust, and the pain of Anthony in the background before Valentino approaches him again like a great imposing figure, putting an end to his show.

The second Angel notices Valentino, distress becomes clear all over his face. He points to the left, outside of what we can see, and when he tries to escape, Valentino grabs him and pulls him closer.

He has finally come face to face with the real Valentino in all his twisted glory and he wants to run away. He knows now that what they had wasn’t love, it had never been, and it’s painful. But he’s afraid of Valentino, he can’t do anything to escape his contract and he now belongs to him (at least while they’re on set).

That last frame with Valentino embracing him, a vicious smile on his face in contrast with Angel’s terrified expression puts an end to their story, to the narration of how they came to be what they are now. After that, we are presented to the aftermath, the Angel that’s no longer intoxicated by his poison and can only dread the many past choices he would like to change.

He is now fully aware that there’s no way out of his hell, that for as long as he is alive he will be Valentino’s toy. He’s destroyed in every way, his mind is a mess too dependent on the drugs Valentino has been feeding him to properly think, and his body has stopped to feel as his own a long time ago.

How could he consider that pile of bones, fur and chemically loosen up muscles as his own? He’s disgusted, drowning in this feeling of helplessness.

And he’s even more grossed out when he notices the remains of Valentino’s poison, his drug, still lingering on his tongue. He’s so lost, he doesn’t even recognize himself. This is not where he was supposed to be, he shouldn’t be in Valentino’s apartment, he doesn’t want to be there anymore.

The substance that once had brought him so much joy, such a delicious bliss, now slips past his lips burning his skin like acid. The itch reminds him of the reason why he’s there, and he can only feel pain. The only cause for most of his problems had always been his addiction. To Val, the sex they had, his poison, the drugs he bought for him…

No matter how hard he tries to get used to this life he has with Val now, he simply can’t do it. It doesn’t matter how many movies he appears in, they are never enough, they will never be enough for the overlord. Because he’s nothing but a tool to make Valentino and the other Vs even richer and more powerful.

That’s Valentino’s business and what initially made him get close to Vox. They complimented each other and together they felt capable of ruling Hell like that was their birthright. A power Angel would never get to know firsthand, because for Valentino he was nothing but another whore to use, exploit and eventually discard.

Angel is sick of it, is tired of living a life he hates, a lonely life full of pain and abuse, all caused by the person he loved the most.

He has spent years trapped in the V Tower, watched by the countless cameras placed in every wall and every corner of his prison. Even when he’s not on set, controlled by Valentino and his team, he feels Vox lenses following all of his movements, and despite the luxury he lives in, every day he goes to sleep wishing to never wake up.

That's all, folks. I hope you liked it, or at least got as sad as I felt while analyzing this. Again this is all what I could understand from that segment of the episode I don't know if y'all already knew this but I did wanted to share it. If you liked this check my bird app account bc there is where I spend most of my online time or my Ao3 profile, although I post mostly Skfs content now <3

[artemis32]

Subjugation II

Yandere Erasermic x reader

Well, here you go, part II as promised :))

I’m going to say this took so long because I’ve never written smut before (that’s true, but I also take months to get things done) but I’m so proud of the fact that I actually attempted to write a sex scene, yay me

Please read the trigger warnings below, they aren’t there for fun, and minors dni, go away

****

word count - 7.5k

tw: abuse (physical and emotional), isolation, hypothermia, noncon / dubcon, threesome, oral sex (both f and m receiving), blowjob, choking, biting, nipple play, creampie, cervix-fucking, threats and violence (against reader), power dynamics (reader is in her early twenties, Erasermic duo are in their mid to late thirties), age-gap relationship

****

Part I

bnha masterlist

****

****

Before your little “attempt at defiance”, you had watched the seasons change day by day through the windows scattered throughout the house. There were many, all of them large.

The two men you lived with weren’t exactly worried about you escaping, not when the three of you were the only hint of civilization for a few hundred kilometers. You could run, you could hide, but they were sure to find you before you managed to get very far.

And so, you found solace in watching as the months went by.

One thing you were grateful for, not that you’d ever admit it, is that the two men chose a gorgeous area for the isolated home. The lack of human interference meant that nature flourished all around you.

The thick canopy of trees that surrounded you often looked like something right out of a postcard.

During the warmer months, the thick expanse of trees and other plants cast a large shadow over the back garden. You spent many hours there, lazing about like a cat. It wasn’t as if there was much else to entertain you anyway. In autumn, many of the leaves fell and decorated the forest floor in varying shades of green and brown. It was beautiful.

And winter. Winter was the season you enjoyed the most.

Winter was when you were allowed to cuddle up under heaps of blankets before a crackling fireplace. Winter was when you constantly had a warm mug cradled in your hands.

You were allowed to keep to yourself - you could spend hours reading or napping, even watching television if it was dreary enough outside.

And your favourite part had to be the snow.

It piled up high most years, coming up past your knees, almost to your hips if you were lucky enough.

The cold air would prickle your lungs, making your skin tingle. But no matter how cold it was outside; you could always come back inside and warm up.

No matter what, you were allowed back into the relative warmth and safety the two men provided.

****

You were cold.

You’d lost the feeling in your hands and feet a while ago. Your face was numb too.

How long had it been? 

Hours? Days? Perhaps it had only been a few minutes.

You weren’t sure.

Time felt sluggish, like you were wading through honey. Even the movement surrounding you felt slow and dull. Each snowflake fell slowly, as if you were watching your surroundings change frame by frame.

You lay curled up in a tight ball, tucking your arms and legs into your belly in a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of warmth. 

The tree you were huddled up against was uncomfortable. Everything was uncomfortable. Bark cut into your back, and you were sure that if you were able to feel anything, you would feel the sting of dozens of splinters in your skin.

Even though a thick layer of snow coated the ground, you still felt the hard ground, covered with pebbles, digging into your butt. The snow beneath you had long since melted, drenching your clothing.

The once warm sweatpants and hoodie now clung to your skin. It made the cold worse, you were sure, but you couldn’t bring yourself to remove it. That would require movement, and the loss of what little warmth remained. It also likely meant that you’d lose whatever sense of pride you’d managed to cling to.

You’d stopped shivering a while ago. Now all you managed to focus on was staying awake. 

Falling asleep scared you. You worried you wouldn’t wake up if you did.

So, you sat there, curled up into yourself, scared and cold.

Waiting. For what, you weren’t sure.

****

When you’d first woken up after the two men had drugged your food, you were quiet, timid, trying your best to melt down into the bed beneath you. Stoking their anger would have made everything worse. 

That’s what you told yourself.

The anxiety made your head spin.

Shota was cruel - making you wait for them, wait for some sort of punishment without any indication of what would happen, he knew it made you sweat.

They’d scared you half to death when they realised you were awake, stripping you of your stolen sleep shorts and shirt.

You had thrashed and cried, almost resorting to begging them. Almost, but not quite.

Pride was a cruel thing.

Hizashi had been the one to quell your fears. He’d always had more empathy for you and your situation than Shota had.

“Calm down, we’re not going to touch you.”

You knew what he meant. You should have felt relieved, but terror had settled deep in your stomach like a boulder, especially with the unspoken words that buzzed between you.

We won’t touch you. Not yet.

You still felt sick.

They eventually managed to change you after a few minutes of quiet struggling on your part.

The sweatpants were grey and thick with a hoodie to match. It was comfortable, but the fact that they had seen you so exposed and vulnerable almost made tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. The embarrassment made your skin burn.

Hizashi had made you sit up, poking at your back harshly whenever you slouched. He spent nearly an hour patiently combing through your hair, gently massaging your scalp and shoulders.

It made you uncomfortable. It was far too intimate, too peaceful for you to relax.

Shota came in just as Hizashi finished with your hair, placing a loving peck on the crown of your head.

“Drink it.” A tall glass of what appeared to be water is shoved into your hands.

Your hesitance is clear on your face and Shota throws you a death glare.

“All of it.”

You give him a cautious glance, sniffing the contents of the glass before taking a small sip.

Just water.

Never mind the fact that it may have been drugged, just like the food you had so foolishly scarfed down. You didn’t care for the consequences, but more importantly, you didn’t want to anger the two men any more than you already had.

You drank it slowly, sipping in intervals, trying to buy yourself as much time as you could. The anticipation of waiting for the punishment you were certain you’d receive was agony. Honestly, making you wait so anxiously was probably part of your punishment.

It was so unfair.

What had you done to deserve this treatment?

You’d made your desire to leave abundantly clear, so it wasn’t as if your outburst was unexpected. In fact, you thought that they should be grateful you were behaving as well as you were. Of course, the occasional breakdown should be expected, they were insane if they thought otherwise - not that you’d ever tell them that.

Eventually, you couldn’t stall any further. Your glass was empty and there was nothing left to do but await their verdict. 

You felt like a common criminal, as if you committed some unspeakable crime.

Hizashi re-entered the room, making his way towards you. Each step felt like a weight dropped in your stomach, and his serious demeanour only added to your apprehension. Hizashi was hardly ever this serious.

“You done?” He asks, nodding towards the empty glass in your hands.

You nod silently, unable to speak.

“Okay, come on, up you get.”

He helps you off the bed before leading you towards the door, down the stairs, making a beeline straight for the back door.

The garden?

Confusion kicks in in that moment and you falter slightly.

“Hizashi? Where are we going?”

Your voice comes out softer than you’d like, almost cracking. You would berate yourself for sounding so scared, but your uncertainty throws you off.

He looks at you with a dull expression, almost no emotion in his gaze. He looks tired.

“You’ve brought this upon yourself, just remember that. We warned you.”

With that, he grips your forearm and yanks you outside.

It’s freezing. 

In that moment, as he pulls and shoves you towards the large cluster of trees that act as the perimeter of the property, all you can think is that the two men must be crazy.

Not crazy from anger or lack of awareness. 

Downright crazy.

They have to be. You’d freeze to death out here, especially with the clothing you had on – sweats weren’t exactly snow gear.

He didn’t seem to care, shoving you down before grabbing at a leather rope that you hadn’t seen before, buried beneath the snow. The realisation of what he’s about to do sets in slowly, and by the time you think to react, it’s too late.

The thick leather is smooth around your ankle, the metal links clinking loudly as Hizashi locks it in place. He stands and gives you one last glance, sighing heavily before turning and making his way back to the house.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t look back.

You don’t call out to him. You only sit and stare at his retreating figure.

Even though the house was so far away, you were sure you heard the lock snap into place as Hizashi slammed the door.

****

Before you’d been taken in by the two men, you enjoyed your own company. Being comfortable alone was a skill you’d picked up pretty early on in life, and it had never been a problem.

That hadn’t changed when you started attending UA – making friends hadn’t been easy, and you hadn’t gone out of your way to try. You accepted that people weren’t drawn to you in the way that you may have hoped when you were younger.

It had grown easier over time, and consequently, you forgot how to cope when constantly surrounded by others. You didn’t even realise that it was a problem until you’d been forced to spend almost every moment of every day with the two men you grew to despise.

Your frustration and lack of patience for other people is probably what made their forced company feel ten times worse.

After months of what you deemed exposure therapy, you’d grown as used to their constant company as you could, although the ever-lingering sense of unease remained.

You thought things were going better – improving.

Evidently, you were wrong.

And you realise after being locked out for hours that you may have grown more dependent on the two men than you’d originally thought.

That realisation is worse than any other punishment either of them could ever try to inflict on you.

****

You had sat in the snow for a while, nearly forty minutes. All that time was spent wallowing in self-pity, misery settling over your mind like a blanket.

Most of that time had been spent in self-reflection.

Maybe I do deserve this. They wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t deserve it. Then again, they’re insane.

…

What have I done to deserve this? Lashed out? ‘Misbehaved’? Fuck, give me a break.

You dig you nails into your palms. Hard.

The pain of skin breaking is what draws you out of your thoughts. You feel disgusted with yourself – pathetic.

Blaming yourself for their decisions is something you actively tried to avoid. During all the time that you’d been with them, you had never, not once, blamed yourself for their words and actions.

The past few days must have affected you more than you’d realised.

In that moment, you felt trapped. You felt suffocated by Shota and Hizashi. Their words and actions, their ‘punishments’ and disgusting innuendos.

You felt panicked at the thought that you were losing pieces of yourself day by day – that one day, sooner rather than later, you’d break. That something inside of you would crack, something you wouldn’t be able to fix or come back from.

And so, you made a split-second decision – one you knew you would regret if you stopped to properly think it through.

It took roughly twenty minutes to loosen the leather leash around your ankle enough to rip it off. It hurt, bruising and cutting into the thin skin of your ankle. But it was off, and you were free to leave.

The moment the leash hit the ground, you were up and running. Running away from the house and into the dense forest behind you.

You didn’t stop to check if they’d noticed, or to cover up the tracks left in the snow. Your quirk would take care of that, thankfully – at least until you placed enough distance between yourself and your prison.

You didn’t look back – you just ran.

****

You had met Hizashi first.

He had been your homeroom teacher; someone meant to help and guide you through the years while you learnt what it meant to be a hero.

While you had been a somewhat withdrawn student, he seemed eager to get you out of your shell, encouraging you to participate in class and engage with your peers. When that ultimately failed, he took you under his wing.

You would often spend your lunch breaks in his classroom, listening to him ramble on in his usual overeager manner.

Being around him was easy – he filled the silence, talking on your behalf when you couldn’t muster the energy for a conversation. You also never seemed to tire in his presence as you did with so many other people, despite his extremely extraverted nature.

Halfway through your second year, you were introduced to Shota in passing.

You’d been in Hizashi’s classroom, keeping him company while he marked papers, as per his request.

He had been absentmindedly humming while you spoke about your plans for the weekend when Shota had walked in.

You had heard about the stealth hero Eraserhead many times, but you’d never had the opportunity to meet him in person before. He had looked tired, his hair hanging loose over his shoulders, posture slouched and slightly tense.

When he made eye contact with you, he seemed to look through you. His gaze had felt uncomfortable, as if he was dissecting you, picking you apart, peeling back layers to see what lay far beneath your skin.

The atmosphere in the room had changed then. While you weren’t aware of exactly why that was, you could sense that the two men seemed to know something you didn’t.

And so, you quietly introduced yourself before bidding both men a goodbye and leaving.

The time you spent with your homeroom teacher had dwindled down over the remaining year and a half of your studies. Though you’d never admit it, it was mainly because of how uncomfortable you’d felt that day.

Even after everything that had happened, after all those years, you still felt far more comfortable with Hizashi than with Shota. Something about him set your hair on end, made your nerves prickle with anxiety.

Perhaps you should have been equally scared of both them – after all, Hizashi was just as terrifying as Shota, sometimes more so.

But his familiarity often lulled you into a false sense of safety, his presence was so comforting, so amicable. That came with its own set of problems, it led to him being overly intrusive, and he became increasingly bold over the years, pushing the boundaries of what your relationship should have been.

Even after the two men had kidnapped you, Shota never held him back, never told him not to cross the line of becoming overly familiar with you.

You suppose it was Hizashi’s own good conscience that kept him from going too far.

That same conscience had been slipping, and you were fearful of the day that he decided he’d had enough of trying to keep you comfortable and at ease around them.

****

You’d long since lost sight of the house, now all that surrounded you was snow and trees. The forest around you was becoming increasingly dense as you ran.

By now, your clothing got snagged on a branch every few steps, and you constantly tripped over the thick tree roots pushing up the dirt beneath your feet. The sky had darkened significantly since you’d gotten away, and you realised you’d soon be stranded in the dark.

As much as that thought scared you, you refused to turn back. Whatever lay ahead was certainly better than what awaited you if you were to return now.

The snow had begun to pile up high, thickly cushioning the forest floor. It made walking more difficult, slowing you down.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

You were sure that they had noticed you were gone by now, so the best course of action would be to get as far away as you possibly could. Your quirk, while well suited for covering your tracks, would only last so long, and the further away you were, the less control you had over it.

Besides, you’d gotten a good head start, so at least you’d have time to try and hide if they caught up to you.

Your thoughts are optimistic, even as the cold seeps through your clothing, even as night rolls in.

Still, your optimism can only get you so far.

The terrain is unfamiliar and your pace too fast. One ill-placed root, one misstep, that’s all it takes.

One moment you’re jogging along at a swift pace, trying to move quickly while still retaining energy. The next you’re off balance, tumbling down, down, down.

You’re stopped by a tree, your back slamming painfully into the thick trunk.

The cold is mocking, you can actually see the breath that has been knocked out of you.

You lay there, confused and dizzy. You taste blood.

Eventually, minutes or hours later, you come to your senses enough to realise that you should move, but by now the cold has seeped into your very bones.

How long have I been laying here? I should probably get up now, they might catch up soon.

…I’ll get up now, just let me rest for a few more minutes.

…Just five more minutes...

Your head pounds to an awful rhythm and your vision fades in and out.

Shivers wrack your crumpled frame and your hands, stiff from the cold, fumble around as you grab onto the tree trunk to pull yourself up.

You don’t get very far, slumping against the tree once you’re sitting upright. Getting up exhausted you more than it should have, and you feel drowsy, as if you’d been awake for days.

After some time has passed – how much, you aren’t sure – you slouch back. Your clothes are soaked through now, the snow having melted around your body.

You’re sure that if it had been warmer, you could have gotten up and left, but the cold that surrounds you sinks into you, holding you down.

Briefly, you think about the fact that you might die.

It’s entirely possible that they won’t find you before the cold snuffs out your life. That would probably be for the best. Shivers still wrack your body as you lay curled up next to the tree.

You display all of the typical symptoms for hypothermia, you’re aware of that much, and you know that it won’t be much longer before you lose consciousness.

This isn’t such a bad way to die. It’s peaceful at least, quiet. It’s nice. 

Too bad I’m in too much pain to really enjoy it.

Your thoughts trail off as you fade in and out of consciousness.

****

“Shota, punishment aside, she’s going to freeze to death out there if we don’t go and find her. I agree she’s taken it too far this time, but we can discuss that later. Grumbling about her running away doesn’t mean much if she’s dead.”

Aizawa glares at the blond.

He’s right. He knows he’s right.

But the anger he feels makes him shake.

They were prepared to end your punishment early, to bring you inside and be lenient with you. Hell, Hizashi had made soup and drawn a bath for you. Only you decided that now was the time to run away like a child instead of taking the punishment you deserved like an adult.

Suffice to say, Aizawa was livid.

He left to bring you inside and instead finds an empty, abandoned leash. He couldn’t even follow after you immediately because you were smart enough to cover your tracks.

They had never bothered with quirk cancelling cuffs because Shota was always around. And even if he wasn’t, your quirk couldn’t do much damage to either of them, at least not physically.

“Fine, we’ll discuss it later. But don’t get cold feet when it comes time to punish her. None of this would have happen if we’d squashed out this defiant streak when it first popped up.”

Hizashi sighs heavily, closing his eyes for a moment as he seems to contemplate something.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right – our threats have been empty, and she seems to think we won’t make good on our word. I guess there’s no going around it, we’ll have to do this the hard way then.”

With the agreement that they’d be punishing you more harshly than they’d previously planned, the two men set out on their way, rushing to find you before you got too far.

****

Shota panics when he finds you.

The two pro-heroes had been searching for a few hours. Initially, they’d been hurried in their search, believing that you couldn’t have gotten very far. After all, the area was unfamiliar, and you must have been freezing.

But as more time passed, they began to worry. Night was quickly approaching, and they were no closer to finding you now than they were hours earlier.

Hizashi curses himself for dressing you in such light colours. He hadn’t thought that you would run off though, and the fact that your clothing blended in with the surrounding snow wasn’t helping in the slightest as the two men silently searched for you.

Travelling quickly while also remaining as quiet as they possibly could was an added pain. But it was necessary – they couldn’t have you running off or hiding because they’d been too loud and obvious in their approach.

Their concerns of you hearing their approach and running off proved to be unnecessary, as Shota found you ten minutes later, laying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a hill.

Your breathing was shallow, barely appearing as small puffs in the cold air. If he couldn’t see your barely visible exhales, he might have thought you were dead.

Panic clenches at Shota’s throat as he rushes to your side, flipping you onto your back and placing his head on your chest, right above your heart. Your heartbeat, while faint, is still constant.

What worries him more than your weak heartbeat and unsteady breathing is the state of your body.

You’re covered in cuts and bruises, blood dotting at your ankle where the leash once sat. More concerning is your temperature – your lips and fingertips are blue, the blood has almost completely drained from your face, and you shiver slightly as he picks you up, cradling you in his arms.

“Zashi!”

He eventually finds his voice, calling the blond over.

When he appears, a noise of distress clogs up his throat.

“She has hypothermia, we have to get back to the house right now.”

And with that he stands with you in his arms and hurriedly begins making his way back to the house. He doesn’t bother looking back to make sure that Hizashi is following him.

Despite the fact that you’re unconscious and unable to hear him, and despite the panic and fear overwhelming his senses, Shota still reprimands you as he carries you back to the house, as if hoping the words get through to you even as you dream.

"It's high time we put you in your place. I've put it off for far too long and you seem to think I'm not serious about the threats and promises I’ve made. You're not getting away from this again. I could excuse you calling us names and fighting back, but putting yourself in danger so recklessly is something we have to punish properly. I’ll be the bad guy if that’s what it takes."

Perhaps he says it to calm himself, to convince himself that you’d be okay. The shake in his voice betrays him.

When they eventually reach the safety of the house, they make their way to the large bedroom, placing you gently onto the comfortable bed.

They say a prayer of thanks that you’re unconscious, it makes it easier to strip you of your drenched clothing and to slip your limp body beneath the linen covers.

Hizashi spends a long time caring for your injuries, softly running a warm, damp cloth over the nasty scratches and tears on your skin before applying ointment, gently massaging your ankle where the leather leash had cut into your skin. 

Your back is a nasty shade of blue, and even in unconsciousness, you flinch back as he brushes his fingers over the bruised skin.

Shota sits idly, leaving only to turn up the heating in the house, but beneath the surface and his cool façade, he feels impatience and worry boiling, rippling under his skin.

As eager as they were to properly teach you a lesson, finding you the way that they had had scared them both, more than they’d probably ever admit.

For now, they were content in taking care of you, the way that they always wanted to. Had you been conscious, you would hardly have recognised the two men, the care and love in their eyes and actions.

After they’ve cleaned you up, they strip and climb into the bed next to you, pressing themselves to you to try and warm you up, praying that you would be alright.

Hizashi cradles your hands in his own, running his calloused palms over your steadily warming fingers.

Slowly but surely, the two men manage to warm you up. Your breathing and heartrate return to normal and your face flushes with colour – you even start to sweat slightly from the sweltering heat trapped beneath the thick duvet. The relief makes both of them dizzy.

Shota and Hizashi wait patiently for you to wake up. They wait, watching the seconds turn to minutes, and the minutes turn to hours. They wait still cradling you between them, trying to maintain their angry façade from hours earlier.

****

You wake up sweating and stark naked.

The silence in the room is loud, so loud that it feels as if your ears are ringing. You feel confused, unable to remember what had happened or where you were. The overwhelming heat increases with each passing moment, and you’re sure you’ll pass out soon if you don’t cool down.

As if you’d projected your thoughts outward, the thick duvet you’re cocooned in is thrown off and your skin prickles from the sudden chill in the room, goosebumps rippling over your arms and legs.

It’s then that you notice the two men on either side of you.

Hizashi is behind you, his body curled against yours, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, face tucked into the crook of your neck.

Shota is in front of you and your face rests on his chest. His arms are folded behind his head, his posture relaxed.

Both men are awake.

And naked.

You try to sit up, but Hizashi holds you in place, restraining you.

Rather than trying to fight against him, you curl into yourself.

Evidently, they wouldn’t let you have even that small semblance of comfort.

Shota pulls you up towards him, making you crane your neck to face him as he grabs the back of your neck harshly. His eyes flash red for a moment, threatening you.

“You’re in so much trouble.”

That’s all the warning they give you before you’re yanked forward, your lips meeting Shota’s in a forceful kiss.

Maybe kiss is the wrong word. It’s bruising, all teeth and tongue. There’s nothing passionate or loving about it. His fingers splay around the base of your skull as you try to pull away.

You’re so distracted by Shota’s ministrations that you barely notice as Hizashi moves downwards, shifting so that he lays between your now open legs.

What you do notice is the first gentle lap of his tongue against your cunt.

You jerk away from both of them in shock, tears forming on your waterline.

Pride be damned, you were ready to beg them, to plead with them. Anything but that. Anything.

They don’t give you a chance to protest, manhandling you back to the position you’d been in moments before.

Shota slams his lips against yours, his movements assertive and swift. You push against his chest until he gives you some space, barely a few millimetres between the two of you. The second you open your mouth to say something, he surges forward and shoves his tongue past your lips, into your mouth, and down your throat, or as far as he can manage.

Between your legs, Hizashi seems to lose the hold he’d managed to keep on his self-restraint for months.

His tongue works diligently, flattening against your cunt, making long, slow swipes from your slit to your sensitive clit and back. Your thighs tighten around his head, trying to shove him away.

It’s too much, too soon. 

There are so many questions buzzing around your head. You’re still so out of sorts. Waking up so abruptly and being shoved into such a confusing situation with no warning sends you into a panic.

I don’t want this, you want to say.

You manage to slip your hands down and tangle your fingers through his soft blond locks, yanking his mouth away from you. You receive a swift stinging slap to the thigh and Shota grasps your wrists in a harsh grip.

The delicate bones in your wrists groan and you shift in discomfort.

Hizashi’s rough palms smooth themselves up and down the soft expanse of your thighs. His touch feels almost loving.

The picture-perfect moment is ruined as he grasps your inner thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise.

A small whimper of pain slips out between your lips, swallowed up by Shota whose fingers move down your throat to fondle your breasts, tweaking and pulling at your sensitive nipples. 

It makes you uncomfortable - they’re too casual with their touches, their presence is suffocating.

Shota is cruel, nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, which he promptly licks up before moving his attention downwards, towards your neck.

Soft kisses turn into harsh suckling and painful bites.

You try not to think about the bruises you’ll be faced with the following day.

Hizashi eats you like a man starved, suffocating himself between your legs.

You’re drenched now, slick and spit dripping from your cunt as he sucks and slurps at your clit, slipping two fingers into your pussy.

The stretch is slightly uncomfortable, but Shota’s teeth grazing the juncture between your neck and shoulder distracts you. His teeth sink into the soft skin and a sharp pain radiates down your arm and up your neck.

He marked you – like an animal.

Pleasure blooms in your stomach, diverting your attention. As much as you try to hold it off, you feel the beginnings of an orgasm approaching.

Both men can sense it too, from your heavy breathing and muffled moans to the way your hips slightly grind against Hizashi’s face.

It builds up steadily and your body feels warm. You no longer try to cover up your satisfied moans, lifting your hips off of the bed as Hizashi adds a third finger.

You’re on the precipice, you’re so close.

And they stop.

Soft whimpers escape before you can stop them and you try to grind your hips against Hizashi’s fingers, but he pulls them out, leaving you feeling empty and frustrated.

Shota’s hand moves from under your breasts, sliding up your chest to rest on your throat. He looks deep into your eyes before tightening his grip until you can barely breathe.

Your hands shoot up to yank on his wrists, but his grip is steady, and you can do nothing more than rest your hands on his as he stares at you, through you.

His moves forward, until the two of you are nose to nose, sharing the same air.

“If you ever try to pull a stunt like that again, I’ll break both of your legs. We won’t have to worry about you getting away if you can’t walk. Do you understand me?”

His words bring tears to your eyes, which you try to hold back, blinking furiously. You remain silent, one last show of defiance.

It doesn’t mean anything; you know it won’t amount to anything. But you do it anyway, so that you can convince yourself that you at least tried to fight back in some small way.

Shota’s grip tightens, his fingers cutting off your oxygen, and you give up, frantically nodding, slapping at his hand in an attempt to wordlessly communicate.

He hums then, deep and contemplative, before letting go of your throat and kissing you once again, more deeply than before. His hand slides back down your chest, coming to rest in the valley between your breasts. It feels as though he’s pinning you down, though there’s no pressure behind his touch.

Hizashi mutters something under his breath before returning to work with gusto.

Within minutes, you’re nearing your peak once more.

You’ve given up on fighting them, but you don’t engage with them either.

They take what they want, and one harsh suckle on your clit and a well-timed prod with Hizashi’s fingers deep inside you have you slipping over the edge, body shaking as you let out unrestrained moans. Shota had pulled away the moment he realised you were about to cum, letting your moans echo throughout the room as Hizashi continued to help you ride out your orgasm.

Your breathing is heavy and uneven, and you stare up at the ceiling in shame.

These men were bad people. They’d done horrible things to you. They’d hurt you, physically and mentally. 

Why had you enjoyed that?

Shota stands and makes his way to the opposite end of the room. You don’t have a chance to see exactly what he’s doing because Hizashi sits up and shifts your body to the side, turning you until your head lays near the side of the bed.

He crawls up your body, coming to rest on his knees between your legs. His hands still softly massage your thighs, sliding up your hips and coming to rest on the curve of your waist.

You know what’s coming next.

As much as you’d like to deny it, believe otherwise, or fight back, you know what’s coming.

Hizashi pulls you towards him, slotting himself between your legs before lifting your thighs to rest them on his hips. His fingers stroke the skin of your waist, perhaps in what he believes to be a comforting motion. He must see the worry on your face.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, you’ll enjoy this.”

His hips glide forwards, his cock slipping between your folds and coating itself in a mixture of his spit and your slick. His cock head catches on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

As he pushes the thick head of his cock to your entrance, Shota reappears, stopping next to your head.

You’re babbling out nonsense now. You think you might be begging them. You’re not sure.

His heavy cock slides into your pussy with an uncomfortable pop and you cry out. He doesn’t stop though, doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He pushes forward, his cock shoving through the tight rings of muscle.

Your cries and pleas are muffled when Shota taps the bulbous head of his dick on to your lips, a silent demand for you to open your mouth.

The protest lies on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to make the situation any worse than it already is.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you open your mouth and Shota surges forward, shoving his thick length down your throat. He isn’t as gentle as Hizashi.

Eventually, both men bottom out, and thankfully pause for a moment, letting you adjust. The tip of Hizashi’s cock lays snuggly against your cervix, kissing the entrance painfully.

Where Hizashi is slightly longer, Shota is thicker. His dick fills your mouth, your throat, and you struggle to breath. Your jaw aches from the stretch. Both men are uncomfortably large, both long and thick, and you can’t stop a few tears from escaping.

Hizashi rubs slow, gentle eight-figures into your clit, trying to get you to relax. Shota wipes away the few tears you managed to shed.

Their patience wanes and they move in sync, both men pulling back and snapping their hips forward sharply at the same time.

The movement knocks the air out of your lungs, and you’re almost certain that you feel them tearing you in half, touching in the middle of you. Hizashi pounds painfully against your cervix.

All self-restraint leaves the room as they feel you clench around them, and they set a harsh, bruising pace.

They continue on, oblivious to your discomfort.

The only sounds filling the room are their harsh pants, the slap of skin on skin, and the wet squelch of your pussy. Occasionally, the sound of you gagging echoes out as well, particularly when the head of Shota’s dick hits the back of your throat.

There’s a brief pause, one in which you hope that they’ve decided you’ve been punished enough. You’re not that lucky though, and they pull out only to flip you over and onto your stomach. Hizashi pulls your hips back and up, shoving his cock back into your dripping pussy and returning to his hammering pace almost immediately.

Shota is slower, threading his fingers through your hair, gathering it up into a makeshift ponytail before gently stroking your cheek, the look in his eyes almost loving. It leaves as quickly as it appeared, and he’s back to shoving his length down your throat, cock head tapping the back of your throat harshly, your nose touching his pelvic bone and the patch of dark hair around the base of his dick.

Hizashi’s grip on your waist is painful, fingers imprinting into the soft flesh despite how gentle he was earlier. Shota is the opposite, tenderly petting your hair, acting as if he wasn’t currently suffocating you, bruising your oesophagus.

You gag and try desperately to breathe through your nose, tears and spit covering your face. Your hands grip Shota's thighs, trying to steady yourself, nails digging into the firm muscles that lay beneath his skin.

Despite the uncomfortable position and the brutal pace the two men have taken up, you feel a second orgasm begin to stir deep in your lower belly. Hizashi seems to sense it too, leaning forward to lay his upper body over your own, one hand shifting to in between your legs to harshly rub at your clit, the other wrapping around your waist possessively.

Shota is the first to cum, his head tipped back as he lets out a deep groan, one that rumbles in his chest, his hips stuttering as cum floods to the back of your throat. You choke and splutter as he stills his hips, staying still as the last spurts of cum drain from his cock.

Hizashi’s breath is warm on your neck, tickling you as he lays soft, fleeting kisses on the back of your neck.

“Swallow it,” he whispers in your ear, gently nibbling at the shell of your ear.

When you don’t follow his order, he cruelly tweaks your clit, making you cry out with Shota’s cock still deep down your throat.

“I said, swallow it.”

You do.

It’s salty and thick, and you cough harshly as Shota slowly pulls out of your mouth, patting your head with a satisfied smile.

“Open, let’s see.”

Your mouth drops open, tongue lolling out as you stare up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

Shota appreciates the sight, shoving his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue. At the same moment, Hizashi hits a soft, spongy spot deep inside you and you moan out, eyes rolling back in your head.

Both men groan deeply, Hizashi letting out a low fuck under his breath.

He shifts his position, sitting upright and pulling you towards him, sitting you upright on his lap before slamming his hips up against your own, increasing the tight circles he rubs onto your oversensitive clit.

What sends you over the edge is Shota leaning forward and taking your breasts into his calloused hands, fingers swiping over your sensitive nipples, tweaking, and twisting them. He seems to contemplate something for a moment before sucking a nipple into his mouth, teeth gently nipping and rolling it around. The sting is soothed by his tongue as it flattens over the hardened bud, swiping in an upwards motion.

A well-timed thrust from Hizashi and a cruel tug at your clit sees you falling over the edge, crying out as you tangle your hands in Shota’s hair, holding him close to your chest and you grind down onto Hizashi’s hardened cock still pounding into you, prolonging your orgasm.

Hizashi follows soon after you do, your spasming walls milking every last drop of thick, creamy cum out of his twitching cock. He pulls out with a wet plop after a moment, breathing heavily onto the back of your neck, laying a sloppy, wet kiss there before releasing his bruising grip from your hips.

Shota moves away from your chest then too, with one last twist of an over-sensitive nipple.

Without the support of the two men keeping you upright, you flop forward as if your bones are made of jelly. Shota laughs lightly, hand still petting your hair. Hizashi stands and makes his way to the ensuite bathroom as Shota shifts you so that you’re laying comfortably with your head on a pillow.

Hizashi returns moments later holding a damp wash cloth, handing it to Shota before grabbing a few bottles of water from the minifridge near his side of the large bed.

Shota sits on the bed between your legs, opening them to gently wipe at your still sensitive cunt. Your legs twitch and shake despite how careful he is, and it makes the two men laugh. Hizashi props you up slightly, handing you an open bottle of water, encouraging you to drink.

The water is ice cold, and it feels as if it flows over your organs as you swallow. The vast difference in temperature calms your shaking hands.

When Shota finishes cleaning you and himself up, he joins you and Hizashi on the bed – Hizashi on your right, Shota on your left.

The two men cuddle you between them, and the silence that has settled over the room is crushing. You feel their stares boring into you.

You wonder how long they’ll make you wait until they speak up. They seem content for the moment, staring down at you, holding you close to them.

“You did well – you handled your punishment better than I thought you would have, I’m proud of you.”

Shota’s words bring you little comfort, especially with his grip tightening around your waist when he continues speaking.

“That being said, your punishment is far from over. It wouldn’t have gotten to this point if you had just accepted being locked outside for a few hours yesterday, but the fact that you decided to try to run away – in the middle of a punishment no less – that shows that you clearly don’t understand why you’re being punished in the first place.”

It’s silent for a moment, then he continues.

“The fact that you put yourself in danger like that is the biggest problem, and you will be disciplined for it once you recover.”

On your other side, Hizashi speaks up, sharing his thoughts as well, his hold on you tensing.

“Yeah, we’re plenty mad about that - running off in the snow like that was stupid. But even though you made your punishment worse yesterday, you did well today. Sho and I, we’re both so happy that you finally decided to accept us. It may not seem like it right now, but we’ve just made a lot of progress. Like Sho just said, we’re proud of you.”

He places a gentle, loving kiss on your lips.

You remain silent. Despite their words, you don’t feel content.

Deep down, you know that you’ve just given up a part of yourself, something that you will never be able to get back.

The love-filled kisses you receive from the two men shatter whatever hope you had left.

Something inside of you breaks, and it’s crushed to dust.

Because you know that they’re right.

And that hurts more than anything they could have done, any punishment they could have imposed upon you.

[obscurecurse]

KP rewatch continues... I am always very fascinated by the first lines that a character says and/or the first lines two characters say in the presence of each other - especially on a rewatch, when you can view the plot holistically. I want to talk about the first thing Kim says in the presence of Chay, and mind you this is the first thing he says as WIK. My first thought was that Kim is literally (like immediately, hit the audience over the head with it,) revealing his nature (as Kim) to Porchay:

It's kind of the thesis of Kim's arc, though he paints it here as a rhetorical question. Kim has had to make sacrifices and lose things all his life to get to the place where he is now. He goes on from here to pursue a romantic relationship with Chay on some pretty selfish and dishonest grounds - in the name of reconnaissance on his own family's organized crime - and once Chay figures it out, Kim loses Chay as a result. (Not convinced the immediate consequences of all that were "worth it," based on the way he ends up alone in his apartment looking forlornly at those polaroids of Chay.)

Anyway, god, the way the camera changes to Porchay when Kim says, "But if we love something so much with all our hearts..."

And this is like the conclusion to that thesis. I always wonder if I miss subtleties through translation, of course. But I think this is written to be a double-meaning about their relationship. My interpretation being: what they lose along the way is the pretenses of their relationship. Chay approaches Kim with this built up unrealistic ideal of who WIK/Kim is, which Kim could not possibly do a better job of ripping apart. Meanwhile Kim only understands Chay in a one-dimensional way - which is why he so greatly miscalculates their dynamic - but this too is dissolved once he faces his own feelings. The evolution they each go through to arrive at true mutual understanding is an incredibly painful one, but it also frees them to love each other honestly if Chay ever unblocks Kim post-canon.