#but every time i try to begin i end up having a fit of panic

[sing-you-fools]

thinking about Good Omens 2. and stories, and the shape of them, and Terry Pratchett and his themes. and something clicked.

Aziraphale is cackling.

it's not just the ball. he spends the entire season trying to force the story into a shape it's not, and everyone suffers for it.

i've seen some less than charitable takes on Crowley's actions and they all ignore how much Crowley did try to talk to Aziraphale, did try to ask Aziraphale questions, did try to help, only to be ignored or brushed off. because his questions, his offers, they didn’t fit with the story Aziraphale was telling himself.

quiet, gentle, and romantic. it was, if you're our favorite Angel - right up until the end, at least. because he decided that's the story he was in. from the very beginning, he's off in la-la land, living out this romcom with a cute little mystery wrapped up in it, completely ignoring what's actually going on around him. i'll set Nina and Maggie up! (completely ignoring that Nina tells him she has a partner, and at that point, he has no reason to think she's anything less than happy.) i'll take ~our~ car to go do investigate this silly little mystery (he's not taking it even a little bit seriously!) while you stay here and run the bookshop and it will be so quaint and domestic! soon we'll dance and confess our feelings that we obviously share because we're already so clearly a couple we just need to finally say it!

Crowley knows the entire time that they're in a horror story but Aziraphale ignores every attempt he makes to point that out because it doesn't fit the story he decided he's in the middle of.

he brushes off Crowley's concerns and questions - his QUESTIONS! - like they're nothing. he doesn't want to see it, so he doesn't. and Crowley should have told him more?

why would he?

when you are CLEARLY in distress and it's being BLATANTLY AND WILLFULLY IGNORED, what the fuck are you supposed to do? "Crowley didn't comminicate" well okay if I were having a panic attack about something and my husband completely ignored it, chattering on about our dinner plans or whatever, that wouldn’t exactly make me want to open up about what was wrong! that would send the very fucking clear signal that he didn't want to know!

words aren't the only way we communicate and Crowley's body language, the entire season, is that of someone who is living in a horror story, knows he's living in a horror story, and is fucking terrified. if Aziraphale were paying any attention to Crowley instead of focusing all his energy trying to set things up just so for the big climax of his love story, he would know something major was wrong.

why would Crowley have told him how cruel Gabriel was about the execution when Aziraphale's already so thoroughly convinced that heaven is pure and good and has shown over and over through the millennia that he's not really open to considering that it can be cruel!

just look at them at the dance. Crowley freaking out because there's a horde of demons out there and Aziraphale giggling as they go to dance. that's the whole season!

you know who Crowley reminds me of this season?

he's watching helplessly and with increasing levels of distress as Aziraphale shoves every plot point into the romcom hole even though it's obviously not remotely romcom shaped! and i'm sick of people saying he was abusive because he raises his voice about it a few times!

[leaentries]

through it all | luke hughes

summary: when the comments start getting to her, luke is there to show his girl he'll be there through it all.

warnings: rude comments, body shaming, fat shaming, angst (w/ a happy ending), swearing

wc: forgot to keep track but a lot

The constant ticking of the clock seemed to mock you, counting away the time wasted reading those insufferable words. You typically veered away from the comment section altogether, but something about the empty apartment weakened your resolve. 

Being away on a roadie, Luke didn’t understand the trouble that plagued your mind. He always made sure to make you feel like the only girl in the world, so why was it that as soon as he leaves, you fall apart? He didn’t understand how the words of others held so much power over you, how they held you hostage. 

You sat, legs tucked under you, holding your phone with shaky hands. Something in you had hoped for better. Maybe people changed their views about you and everything that came with. Maybe you could finally open social media without the constant fear of ridicule. Yet, you were proved wrong once again. The comments hadn’t changed and neither did the way your throat contracted in disgust and embarrassment.

User4562: still can’t believe luke would date someone like her

Fan93: get this whale outta here pls 

Hater365: luke is so much hotter then her?? shes not even pretty??

User67:  this is kinda embarrassing for her tbh

Fan42: girl needs to learn what the gym is asap

Hater6783: pretty sure her thighs are bigger than his…

User3421: comments did not disappoint💀

Hot tears filled your eyes as the negativity swarmed your senses. How could people be so cruel? Deep sobs wracked through your body as you let your phone fall to the couch. You grabbed the nearest pillow, pulling it into your chest.

You felt suffocated. The weight of being in the spotlight and the tense wave of hate was too much. You couldn’t fully understand why people were so bothered by your appearance or the fact that Luke had chosen you.

Though, in all fairness, you couldn’t grasp why Luke chose you, either. He had a roster of beautiful, fit women at his beck and call, yet he was bouncing his way home to you every night. No matter how many times he expressed his love, it was too big for you to comprehend.

So, there you sat, mascara running down your face, sobbing into a throw pillow because random people on the internet decided you weren’t good enough.

❥.

You must have fallen asleep at some point through your cries, because as your swollen eyes managed to peek open, you noticed the sunlight beginning to shine through your living room curtains. For a peaceful moment, you forgot the previous night’s turmoil. You let yourself fully wake up, slowly sitting to adjust to your surroundings.

Confusion plagued you as you realized you were on the couch. Your face fell with gloom as reality hit you like a truck. Swarms of comments flashed in your mind once more, diminishing any energy you had for the day.

Although, as you slumped back into the cushions, you heard the front door unlock.

Shit.

You grabbed your phone to check the time, only to be met with a black screen. Your phone must have died during the night, rendering your alarm to go pick up Luke, pointless. Standing from the couch, you rush to the kitchen to make yourself look busy.

Luke swung the door open, trudging in with all his bags.

“Hey angel, I thought you were picking me up?” He chuckled, “You’re lucky Dawson lives in our complex, or I would have been stranded.”

“Yeah-” You cleared your throat trying to will away the tightness, “Yeah, I’m sorry, Lukey. My phone died last night.”

Luke shook his head at your forgetfulness. He quickly set down his bags by the kitchen table, noticing the state of the living room.

His brows furrowed, “Did you sleep in the living room last night?”

Panic flooded deep in your stomach. You should have known Luke would get suspicious. After all, he knew how picky you were about where you slept.

Scrambling for a lie, you responded with a quick, “I was watching a movie and fell asleep.”

Luke walked over to where you busied yourself by cleaning the leftover dishes. You sucked in a breath, hoping you didn’t appear too disheveled. Ducking your head closer to your chest, you tried to look anywhere else but Luke’s face as he took to the spot next to you.

“Y/n?” Luke’s voice came in a soft whisper.

When he didn’t get a response, he gently reached to grab the faucet handle, turning it till the water trickled to a halt. Grabbing the dish towel nearby, he also helped dry your hands while you sat limply.

In truth, you were too afraid to speak, or move. You were afraid that if you looked into Luke’s sorrowful eyes, you’d crack. You’d finally show the version of yourself that the internet sees, the version that he’d hate.

Luke set down the towel, his eyes seeking your downcast face. “Y/n, baby? Please talk to me.”

You shook your head slightly, pulling away as his hand brushed up your arm.

“D-did I do something?” Luke began to worry, he’s never seen you act like this, “Was I gone too long? I thought we facetimed enough, but I can try to call you more.”

It broke your heart to hear him. The simple fact that he assumed it was himself and wanted to fix it. He was too good for you, the internet saw it, you saw it. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before he did too.

“No,” You let out a deep sigh, “It’s not you, Luke.”

He swallowed thickly, nerves beginning to take over his senses. “Then what is it, angel? Please, I just want to help you.”

Hot tears blurred in your eyes, he finally broke your resolve.

Luke immediately pulled you into his chest, his calloused hands moving to cradle the back of your head as you sobbed. He was at a loss. Not knowing what the correct thing to do was, he held you tighter. Luke was prepared to hold you forever if it meant you’d stop crying. He could swear a piece of his heart dies every time he sees you cry.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed as he stoked your hair, “Angel, it’s okay. I promise, I’m here.”

You gripped his hoodie, scared he’d disappear from under your fingertips.

The both of you remained in each other’s embrace until you found your breath regulating. Pulling away, you swore Luke winced when he saw your bloodshot, puffy eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go to the couch.” He guided you carefully, making sure to help you get comfortable enough to talk to him. Once you had settled into his side, he finally nudged you to start talking.

“If you’re ready, will you tell me what’s wrong, baby?”

Deciding to go against your gut will to hide the truth, you pulled out your phone, now freshly charged. You shakily opened up your social media, hitting into the comment section.

“Here,” You placed the phone into Luke’s hand, “Just scroll.”

Upon beginning to read the first few comments, you could see Luke’s face visibly grow stern and frustrated. He bit the inside of his cheek as angry tears welled in his eyes. Luke felt every muscle in his body tense with hatred and fury towards the lowlifes that would dare to say such vile things about his girlfriend.

He shut the phone off and tossed it away, not being able to handle reading another word of the electric slander on your screen.

It took a moment for Luke to compose himself, taking deep breaths and debating on how to approach the situation.

Now, of course Luke had grown used to people writing heavily opinionated articles and hate comments about him. Hell, he even got used to seeing it about his brothers. But something he never considered was the impact it would have on you.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes shot up at Luke’s apology.

Why is he apologizing?

He had his head down, fingers picking at each other. He looked guilty, as if, somehow, he caused all of this to happen.

“What?”

Luke wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

You shook your head sternly, “No it’s not, Luke. It’s mine” Your voice went quiet.

Luke slowly looked up to see fresh tears cascading in taunting rivers down your cheeks.

“It’s my fault for being not good enough.”

He tried to protest, but was only silenced by your words.

“It’s so hard trying to be perfect all the time. Especially when all I’m getting is ridicule for living my life. It’s not fair that I have to have my head on a constant swivel because some person decided my body wasn’t up to standard. It’s not fair that I have to wake up, everyday, worried you’ll realize you deserve so much more than me.”

Luke’s own tears rolled down his face at your confession. He couldn’t quite get a handle on how long you have felt this way.

His beautiful girl.

His heart shattered, “I- I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Luke.” You interrupted, “It’s just the way it is. People who look like you don’t love people who look like me.”

His face grew grim.

“No, Y/n. What I don’t understand is how you can think like that. I mean, fuck, don’t you realize you’re every thought I have before bed. And every breath of air I breathe when I wake up. I don’t know who these “people” are that you’re referring to, but I’m not one of them.”

Luke took your face in his hands, “You are my girl. And if I have to spend the rest of our lives proving that to you, then I will.”

There wasn’t much you could say through the thickness of emotion. You threw your arms around Luke, his own coming to dig into your plushy hips.

“Thank you, Lukey.” You mumbled into his neck.

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“Always.”

Maybe you were enough for him.

[koemiexists]

Hey! Can I get dom!Lucifer x fem! Reader pretty pls? Like I love him being a sub, but I don't think there's enough smut of him being a dom 🙏🏽

Accidentally Taking Souls

summary: you accidentally sold your soul to lucifer, and he accidentally accepted it. it only happens every one in twelve million five hundred fifty seven thousand souls! which also means, you're the first. tags: PANIC ATTACK, comfort, biting, porn with plot basically, not very good friends, dom!lucifer, drunken confessions, but not DRUNKEN sex, choking (consensual), fingering, breeding kink, surprise at the end word count: 4k a/n: this was already sorta on my to-do list, a lucifer x reader shot, then alastor x reader x lucifer shot, but it also fit your ask so !! apologies for delays :) i'm getting to them (a bit slowly...)

Truthfully, you weren’t religious. Your mother had always been, however. She would drag you to church, and make you pray almost all the time. Once you moved out for college, you never looked back.

When she died, she left nothing to you, but a single slip of paper. ‘Don’t sin.’

You truly didn’t care at that point, you didn’t believe in everything she had spewed, and continued to warn you about, even in death. 

She had always warned you about your friends, telling you that they were demons who had risen from Hell to make you sin. It was truly baffling for her to spout her nonsense, especially in front of your friends themselves.

And yet, those very same friends were on your living room floor, staring at you with various smiles of pure delight.

“You want me to do what?”

“It’s not a want, (Name)... It’s a dare.”

You groaned; you were tired of this. “Why are you daring me to sell my soul? To the devil?”

One of your friends just smirked. “He’s not real, right? You shouldn’t have a problem.”

Blinking, you just took a deep breath, and shrugged your shoulders. “You’re right.” You said simply, and sat down.

One of the girls had unfurled from her position on the floor, digging into her bag. “Here.” She started, beginning to take out various things. “I can help you!”

You furrowed your eyebrows, thoroughly confused. “I don’t just say ‘have my soul devil’?”

“Damn (Name), I didn’t expect you to be that dumb.” She joked, bringing a needle to your hand. “No, it doesn’t go like that. If the deal is accepted, you’ll be in Hell.... maybe. That’s what the occult book told me.” She shrugged, pricking your finger, and dropping blood messily. “I just have to draw some runes...”

After the entire ordeal was over, especially the disastrous game of truth and dare, you retired for the night, concluding that you didn’t want to be up any longer and overthink what just happened.

Your friends had cheerily bid you goodbye, and you had waved them away, telling the group you’ll talk to them in a few days.

The last thing you could remember was the pleasant feeling of your sheets, and the cool squishmallow in your arms.

You awoke slowly, you felt as if you were drifting away... and then you felt someone poke at you. 

Dismissing it, you turned away, until it registered in your head. Someone poked you.

You lived alone.

Jolting up in your bed, you looked around. There was a man towering you, grinning sheepishly. You let out a yell, keeping your plushie close to you as you kicked off the sheets covering you, falling off the bed.

Except that didn’t make sense, because your bed was just a mattress on the floor! It was close to the ground, and yet you dropped a good few inches from the ground.

Fear was coursing through your veins, and you felt an overwhelming sense of dread, followed by a serene calmness- but your adrenaline was still pumping, and your inner voice was screaming at you to get up, run run run run run RUN!

You jolted, trying to maneuver yourself to get up and start running away except when you glanced down you started to scream because of your skin tone-- it was a weird hue, definitely not natural, definitely not yours.

“Hey! Calm down- girl- fuck- bitch, calm down!” You let out a hiccup as your eyes flickered from your hands to the man. He seemed to be fiddling with something, before dropping it and orienting you. 

“Sorry,” He huffed, and you managed to get a good look at him. His skin was milky white, and he had platinum blonde hair that was swooped locks. You looked away again, and he gently put you back on the bed. “Don’t fall off again.”

You sniffled, nodding. “Shit.... I don’t even know how this happened. Usually this is when people sell their souls... but I never...” He paused his pacing and muttering, turning to you.

Your hair was obstructing your face as you stared down at your lap, but when he approached you, you instantly stared at him. “Did you sell your soul... to me?”

“You aren’t the Devil.” You said instantly, before clapping a hand over your mouth. “I-”

The man just laughed. “No, you can call me Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar.” He smirked, his grin wide and toothy as he looked at you with lidded vermillion eyes. “The ruler of Hell.”

You stared, mouth ajar.

And then laughed, boisterous and teetering to purely unsettling.

Lucifer stared at you as you laughed, and laughed... and wait-! No, you were still laughing.

“What’s so funny?” He huffed, a hand on his hip as you still was chuckling, tears in your eyes.

“Okay, I’m having a crazy lucid dream!” You snorted, and searched for a clock, staring at it intensely.

Lucifer cocked his head. “What are you doing?”

“Weird.” You muttered, staring at the clock even more. Why weren't the hands going haywire? Why was it normal? 

You turned your eyes to your hands, studying it. It was... fine. Nothing was abnormal besides the fact your skin was a different color. You felt yourself panicking again, and you closed your eyes, willing for something different to happen.

Your panic began to increase dramatically as you heaved, tearing up as you looked at the clock again. You tried to take in breaths, but it was hard to even register that your lungs were burning.

Hands were gripping your wrists. You felt sick. Your head was pounding, and you knew you had to be yelling, because your throat ached and was scratchy. You could barely see, but you kept thrashing. 

After a while, you felt all your energy zapped from you, you just slumped, sniffling and trying to catch your breath. Blearily, you watched as a muddled version of Lucifer appeared in front of you, looking you over.

“Ok?” He whispered, and you blinked slowly, tilting your head at him slowly. “Is- Did you settle? Uhm. Are you a bit okay now?”

You shrugged, and he wiped your tears, gently gathering you in his arms. His limber figure made his way to what appeared to be a bathroom, and your eyes widened at the sight of a huge bathtub. On the sides were a bunch of rubber ducks.

Lucifer gave you a mischievous look as he placed you down after stripping you down to your underwear, running the water warm. 

“I made them.” He said, placing only certain ones in the water. “Some of these definitely cannot go in.” He moved a light blue one off to the side. “It produces voltage,” Lucifer explained, getting some bubble bath soap, and pouring it over the running water. In an instant, bubbles began to form around you.

You gave him a look. Because, really? Voltage duck?

He pouts a little. “I just... I made them.... Why not? It’s entertaining!”

You don’t know how creating ducks can be entertaining.

Lucifer gave a huge dramatic sigh, pushing his hair back, and bemoaned your inability to see how delightful his ducks were.

“You’re weird,” You uttered, your voice extremely scratchy. Lucifer winced, and quickly whirled his hand, a water bottle appearing. 

“Here,” He said, motioning the water. “It’s cold.” It was cold. “Icy too.” Okay... “Maybe even...” You looked at him, as the water in your mouth began to get colder. “Pure ice.” Your mouth was beginning to get cold, really quickly. “Haha- sorry, bad prank?” Would it even be classified as a prank? More of an inconvenience, especially with how parched you were.

You stared at him silently, drinking more of the cold water that he provided. “So... I’m dead?” You whispered, glancing down at the bubbly surface. 

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect to go to Hell so soon.” You muttered, looking around inconspicuously. It was very grand, fit for a king indeed.

Lucifer furrowed his brows, confused at your statement. “You knew you were going to Hell?”

You smiled gently. “Never listened to my mom. Super religious. Wasn’t my style.”

He hummed in response, and helped you finish cleaning up. You felt tired afterwards, and just wanted to sleep now that everything was done. Lucifer led you to a guest bedroom, sprucing up the surroundings a little. He gently tucked you in, and you gave a small noise of appreciation. 

“I’ll show you around, later.”

You yawned, nodding.

“My daughter...” He had a daughter? “She has a hotel.”

“Mmm.”

Lucifer smiled at your sleepy sounds. “Supposed to redeem sinners.” 

You turned over, groaning. “Go away... I don’t care...” You slurred, sleep clouding your head like a fog. “Ngh... wait.” You blinked rapidly, turning back to Lucifer. “What?”

He smirked. “Redemption of sinners?” He repeated, giving you a teasing look.

“Is it possible?!”

Lucifer inhaled. “I... don’t know. Maybe? I just like to support my daughter’s dreams.” He pauses. “Even if it’s a bit far-fetched, she believes in it.” Another huge pregnant pause. “If it does work, you won’t become a human, you’ll just be an angel.”

You turned away again. “Ugh.” 

He snorted, and fixed your blankets. “Goodnight,” He crooned, placing a small rubber duck on your dresser. “You have to wake up really early tomorrow!”

He cackled when you just groaned.

After a few days of living like this, Lucifer deemed you ready to meet his daughter. When you inquired why before you couldn’t he just muttered about some sinner that would rip you to shreds. You didn’t really understand, but he seemed to hate that one sinner with a passion, so your questioning didn’t continue past that.

He led you to a huge building that had the words Hazbin Hotel in big letters at the top. You glanced at the infrastructure, cringing at some of the design choices. It was surely unique, although you knew it definitely needed some sprucing up.

“It’s pretty,” Was all that came out of your mouth. Lucifer gave you a half-hearted noise of acknowledgement, ringing the bell. You heard light footsteps, and as soon as the door began to open, Lucifer burst past it.

“CHARLIE!”

“Hi dad...”

You shifted from foot to foot, waiting for them to see you. “Oh!” There they go. “Sorry, sorry! Uh- how are you? What’s your name?” Charlie began to babble, leading you inside with gentle hands. “I’m Charlie!”

Lucifer was right by your side again, causing you to stumble. “(Name),” You offered weakly, gaining your balance again as Lucifer began to chuckle lowly next to you. “I...”

“She’s with me,” Lucifer said smoothly, smirking. “I have a favor to ask of you, Char-Char.”

Her attention was instantly on her father, head cocked to the side barely, questioning.

“She... accidentally sold her soul to me.” He started off slowly, and Charlie gave him a weird look. 

“So? She shouldn’t be here unless you accept... Dad!” She yelled out at the end, and Lucifer winced. “How did you accidentally accept a soul??”

He groaned. “By accident, of course! Listen Charlie-”

“That poor girl-”

You looked back and forth tiredly, before clearing your throat. “What’s done is done,” You started, glaring at Lucifer lightly. “Besides, Luci has been helping me get accustomed to my new world. But we were hoping you knew how to redeem sinners so I can be redeemed.”

Charlie began to shift nervously. “Well- we don’t have a set method.”

You stared at her.

“We don’t have one sinner who’s been redeemed... yet.”

“Yet.” You parroted, giving her a blank look. 

She bit her lip lightly. “Yes, yet. I’m sorry (Name), we are only just starting and I know being in Hell was a mistake.”

You felt numb, and can only barely register how Lucifer had lifted you up, pulling you away and whispering apologies against you. “Sorry,” He murmured, and you let out a soft sigh due to his hand on your scalp. “I’m so sorry, I thought she would have found a way already...”

“No need to apologize,” You huffed, blinking away unshed tears as he calmed you down. You still felt extremely upset, but it wasn’t truly anyone's fault.

Lucifer gave you an apologetic look still, before putting you down. You looked around, blinking. “Where are we?”

“Guest room,” Lucifer replied, fixing the sheets as you gained your bearings. The couch was ratty, with small tears on the cushions; the back of it was dingy, yet when you moved, it stayed steady despite the obvious damages.

You got up, and he motioned to the bed, smiling at you gently. “Want to sleep? It’s getting a bit late already.”

Confused, you gave him an inquiring look. He smiled sheepishly, motioning to the clock. “It’s the evening, I think your perception is a bit skewed...”

Right, your outburst. “Sorry,” You said, feeling guilty.

Lucifer just waved you off. “Do you want to sleep?” He asked, and you shook your head, looking at the door.

“Is there a place to get a drink?” You just wanted to get drunk, if you were being honest.

He hummed. “There’s a bartender, apparently.” He replied, taking your hand into his. “Steady,” He spoke lowly, as you stumbled a bit, letting him lead you down the hall. 

You both made it to the bar, where you practically threw yourself at the stool, asking the bartender, apparently named Husk, to make you a strong drink.

He merely grunted in acknowledgment, turning away to start mixing it. Lucifer grinned toothily at you, before he turned around to go be with his daughter.

One drink turned into two, then into three, and before you knew it you were seven drinks in, and you were giggling with Angel, a patron at the hotel. 

“You’re really,” You paused, hiccuping due to how fast you drank your last shot. “Really interesting, Angel.” Your words were slurred, and almost hard to decipher. Angel, however, understood you completely considering he was also tremendously drunk. 

“Thank you, sweet thing.” He smirked, his gold tooth glittering in the light as he moved closer to you. He smelled like artificial fruits, and you wrinkled your nose in distaste, bile swirling right beneath your esophagus. “So, Short king is with ya?”

You nod, still fighting the urge to retch at the stench of his perfume. “Uhn, yeah, he is. I, uhm... made a deal with him, apparently,” You slurred, pausing almost every word you said. “Sorry, your perfume smells gross.”

Angel rolled his eyes, throwing two of his hands up. “Ugh! Val made me wear it for today’s shoot-” 

“Why?” You nearly whined, scooting backwards as Angel began to spray a different perfume. 

He sighed. “I work sex, babe.” When you cocked your head to the side, he began to rephrase his drunken words. “I’m a porn star.”

You flushed at that, and shrugged lightly. “Each to their own I guess...”

Humming, Angel brought another drink to his mouth, downing it in one go. “On the topic of sex,” He slurred, smirking as Lucifer slowly approached you two. “Who would you have sex with here? Based on appearance.” He hiccuped.

“Lucifer is super hot,” You giggled, biting your lip lightly as you stood up, swaying at your spot. “I wouldn’t mind having him fuck me, I need a good pound.” You dissolved into light giggles, finding the idea of fucking the ruler of Hell amusing, getting him worked up by a lowly sinner...

You yelped when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tight. “Don’t squirm,” Lucifer said lightly, raising his hand to stroke your hair. “I’m taking you to bed. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not,”

A laugh came from in front of you, and you glared at Angel as he smiled even wider, smug. “Bye, (Name). Remember to not gag-!”

His voice was cut off as light swarmed your vision. You shut your eyes tight, feeling your stomach roll in pain as your surroundings became the guest room. “Hngh,” You whined, collapsing onto the bed. “Mm, Luci...”

Lucifer stroked your head as you chugged the water he gave, before he ushered you to bed to sleep the liquor off.

Your eyes were shut the instant he had dropped your head back on the pillow.

When you awoke, your head instantly began to pound, before tapering off to a light throbbing. You blinked, and turned to look to the side where the warmth was radiating. “Hi,” Lucifer smiled at you, his expression sleepy as his wings stretched from his back. “You’re awake.”

“And hungover,” You groaned, rubbing at your temples.

You screeched when your wrists were pinned above your head, and Lucifer was on top of you, straddling your hips. In this position, with you staring up at him, he truly did look angelic. His hair was messy, strewed in different directions. The glow from the light on a dresser behind him illuminated certain visible parts of him to you, and it just gave him such an ethereal glow.

You sucked a breath in as he shifted, his wings spreading out from his back, and you could almost imagine that golden halo on top of his head right now.

“Do you want this?” He uttered, voice deep with sleep and slightly gravelly. Arousal bloomed in your abdomen as you nodded quickly. “Words, ducky.” 

“Yes.” You nearly whined, and he grinned, teeth all showing.

He practically pounced after that, ripping your bottoms off, and instantly his claws were at your underwear, shredding it with a flick of his wrist. Lucifer let out a growling noise as he leaned into you, thrusting a single finger into your awaiting cunt.

Slick was dripping down his hand after a few thrusts, messy and almost disgusting as wet slapping sounds quickly reverberated throughout the bedroom. 

“Dripping, all for me?” He teased, beginning to lightly rub your clit with his thumb as he nipped at your neck and chest. “I just need to put my claim on you.”

You moaned, shaking at his ministrations. “Bite me,” You whispered softly before you broke on a high pitch whimper. 

His teeth gleamed as he smirked at you, before surging forward to bite you right between your shoulder and neck, his sharp teeth digging deep into your skin before he pulled away.

You let out a sob at the pain, then a moan as he sped up with his fingers. “Sorry,” He said, guilt filling his voice slightly as he looked at you with lidded eyes. You weakly watch as he gently moves his other hand over the bleeding wound as the pain eased into slight numbing.

“I liked it,” You murmured, kissing him again, and biting his lip as you rolled your hips into his hand. 

He let out an indistinguishable noise, before he thrusted his hand deep in you, watching as you came all over his hand, liquid shooting all over his arm.

“Good?” He asked, kissing you softly, before pulling away, licking at his fingers that were soaked in your release.

You nod, smiling as he beamed lightly at you. Moving slightly, you pulled your legs up, leaving your cunt more exposed for him. “Take me, Luci.” You had whined, cunt fluttering at the thought of his cock in you.

Lucifer flushed, his cheeks becoming a darker ruddy color, as he took off his pants. His thick cock slapped his thigh, and both of you giggled at the noise. “Sorry,” He laughed lightly, but you just shook your head smiling.

“It’s okay to be a bit silly, Luci.” You had said quietly, breath hitching as he entered you.

Lucifer sank deep into your cunt, inhaling sharply as you squeezed him. You had yet to indicate you wanted him to move, inhaling and exhaling lightly as you eased up around him.

You nodded, but he still hadn’t moved. His face was extremely red as he stayed still, his breath labored. You furrowed your eyebrows, moving slightly as your cunt squeezed then relaxed around him. “Luci, are you o-”

Before you could finish your sentence, he pulled almost fully out, his flushed tip just barely stretching your cunt. You looked up at him as he shoved his cock inside again, slamming into you. “Mm- Lucifer-” You tried to speak, but he just kissed you, your tongues entwining as small noises of pleasure emitted from you.

He pulled away, panting as his hair became more messed up from his movements. “Want me to stop?” He paused, to see what you needed.

You growled lightly, wrapping your legs around his waist and bucking your hips. He let out a small yelp, grasping your hips in a bruising manner. “Okay!” He kissed you, and slammed into you again. “Okay, you want me that badly huh? My pretty baby. All wet and slick for m-”

He paused as he was pulling out when you let out a whimper. “Daddy,” You had said quietly, nearly inaudibly.

“What?”

You flushed this time, looking off to the side as you worried your lip between your teeth. “Sorry, I...”

Lucifer gently wrapped his hand around your neck, and when you snapped your head to look at him, he smirked, gently squeezing, before his grip became lax again. When you nodded, indicating you were okay with it, he grinned. 

“My girl, all wet for her daddy. Such a slut for me, aren’t you? When we fuck, ducky, you look at me. When I kiss you, you think about me. When I impregnate you, you look at me. Understood?”

You wailed in pleasure, cunt gripping his thick cock. “Yes daddy! I understand,” You blabbed, and you took a deep inhale right as Lucifer squeezed your neck.

“Do you even deserve to be fucked by me?” He asked, rubbing your clit lightly. As you began to teeter over the edge, he stopped all movements, looking at you. “I asked you a question.”

You heaved, gripping at his hand. “N-no,” You choked out, and he released his grip, kissing your neck. “Daddy,” You whimpered, watching as Lucifer pulled away to adjust your position. He had your lower half fully bent now, your knees nearly touching the bed as he grasped your waist, shoving his cock back inside you.

Screaming at the new found spot he hit, you began to earnestly moan, loud noises coming from your mouth as every thrust he made hit your sweet spot perfectly. “Ah- ah!” You bit your lip, causing it to bleed. Lucifer leaned in, sucking your lip into his mouth, before he caught your mouth in an open kiss, licking at your tongue.

“Good girl,” He purred, shoving his thick cock deeper and deeper inside you. “I’m going to make you into a mommy, do you want to be a mother? For me?” You felt your orgasm approach as you nodded, whimpering at the idea of your belly becoming swollen with a child.

He kissed you, and you bit his lip as you came, your legs shaking as you inhaled deeply, jerking at the aftershocks as Lucifer continued to thrust, pace off. Jackhammering into you for another moment, he stopped, his cock deep inside you as he groaned, cum coating your walls.

You felt gross, but he merely gently rubbed at the small bulging in your lower abdomen, sighing. “Good?” He inquired, kissing your cheek.

“Good,” You confirmed, beaming tiredly.

A month had passed, and you were chatting idly with Charlie.

“So,” You started, smiling lightly. “I have news.”

She grabbed your hands, eyes bright. “What is it? Oh! Did you find someone to stay at the hotel? Did you find some staff? Is there some news happening in Pentagram City? Wait! Let me guess, did a new restaurant open up-”

You laughed, calming her down as you smiled cheekily. “No, not any of that.” Pausing as Lucifer went up to sit by you. “Me and Luci,” You started, glancing at him. “Are expecting.”

Charlie froze. “Huh? Expecting what? A package?”

Lucifer grinned widely, as his daughter slowly began to understand. “You’re going to be a big sister, Char-Char!”

[princessbrunette]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

woke up thinking about big brother rafe, toddler!wheezie, and babysitter!reader again …

rafe getting jealous when he finds out you babysit other kids. he follows you about the kitchen at tannyhill as you prepare the toddlers lunch, smiling to yourself at his clear jealousy over something so trivial.

“so that’s why you can’t watch wheezie on sunday? who— who’s kid is it? like, who’s the parent?”

“thats confidential information rafe, i’m here every other day this week why does it matter?” you giggle, slicing up baby carrots to fit a toddler sized mouth.

he leans against the countertop, pressing his lips together and lets a silence fall over you for not even a minute. “wheeze is your favourite though right?”

you turn around with an amused smile, holding back your laugh at his pettiness. “what?”

“shes your favourite, right?” he stares at you, dead serious and you lean on one hip.

“of course she is. i’m here the most, aren’t i?”

“right, right… this kid you’re babysitting on sunday, they got any older brothers?”

“rafe, c’mon.” you giggle, a little flustered but you turn back to the counter to continue preparing the food to hide this.

“look, i— i’m just lookin’ out for you, alright? what if you go over there n’there’s some creep waiting for you?” he stresses and you shake your head, warmth blossoming in your chest.

later that day — the three of you head out on rafes boat, and for a little while, out on the open water, rafe drops the big bad bully act and lets his guard down. you watch as he holds his little sister on his hip, steering the boat with the other hand. you can’t hear what he’s saying, but the two of them are giggling. it’s the first time you really see rafe fill the ‘dad’ shoes, and it makes you wonder what it would be like to have your own baby with him. the idea makes your stomach warm and heart flutter.

within the next week or so, you end up at the same party as rafe on one of your free days. it’s the first time you’ve really hung out in a social setting appropriate for people your age, and it feels almost a little weird and awkward at first. as the night goes on and the drinks flow, things get more flirty. he had a super bad day, but with you here — things felt a little better.

rafe steps away to speak to topper for a few minutes, and in that time a total creep comes out of seemingly nowhere and begins to bother you. he talks too close to your face, starts to grab at you, doesn’t take no for an answer— you’re starting to think that you can’t actually escape this, until of course, rafe comes swinging out of nowhere.

but it’s not just a one punch and he’s done, no — rafe beats him bloody, the anger issues and coke and bad day piling up on him as he continuously beats on this guy. maybe he deserves it, sure — but when the guy stops responding and rafe continues to punch and yell, panic settles in your stomach. this guy might just die.

the crowd do nothing to discourage him, drunk and cheering him on as they circle round to watch, one hundred witnesses from every angle. you call his name, but you get ignored. he grips the guys collar, malicious open mouthed grin on his face as he holds him for a moment, looking at his masterpiece.

“rafe you’re gonna kill him!” you shout, trying to be heard over the cheering. he definitely hears, because he glances up at you— the look on his face reading that he just didn’t care. “its not worth it you’ll go to jail!” you feel tears in your eyes at the thought of him not being in the house with you and wheezie anymore. wheezie.

he lifts his fist to strike a final blow, and you holler out once more. “think of wheezie!”

it’s then he freezes, blinks a couple of times — and then just like that he looks around at the scene he’s caused and shoves off onto his feet, walking away. he walks away from the party, infact — he walks all the way home.

maybe he should keep his relationship with you professional, he could have been locked up for life that night. love makes you do crazy things.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

[feeder86]

Law and Orders

Liam had rolled his eyes as he’d had his instructions from the chief to patrol the viewpoint that Saturday night. Three years into his service at this police force and he was still getting all of the tedious tasks that no one else wanted. This one, however, was always particulalrly awkward; knocking on the windows of steamed up cars, usually to find two horned-up teenagers ending their dates with a bit of heavy petting. He’d have to advise them that it was a public area and ask, didn’t they know that this was a form of public indecency? 

Like an actor upon the stage, Liam could recall the same speech each and every time. He’d have to stand there as they squirmed in his presence, or tried not to giggle nervously at having been caught by a police officer. But was it really that much of a big deal? Not so much for Liam. He’d been there, back at the end of high school, dating his first boyfriend and coming up here for some private time, given that there was nowhere else in this small town for them to go to.

Parking up that evening, Liam could see only one car in the parking lot - not surprising, given how he’d procrastinated and delayed coming up here until it was late enough for most of the cars to have dispersed naturally. Still, the steamed-up windows were a giveaway that something was afoot inside the only remaining vehicle. He took a deep breath and quietly approached the passenger window. 

Loud, longing groans were heard from inside, giving Liam the sense that his timing could not have been worse for the passionate pair. Still, he had his duty to perform.

Tap, tap, tap. 

Liam’s knuckles hit the glass; firm and authoritative. The response was always the same. A sudden silence from within, followed by a sense of panic and a delay of at least ten seconds before the window was finally rolled down.

“Officer!” came a cheery and surprisingly upbeat voice from the driver’s seat. “How can I help you?” 

It was a male’s voice, seemingly dripping with amusement from being caught out like this. Then the man reached his hand up to the interior light, illuminating the inside of the vehicle so that the officer could see their faces properly.

There were so many things for Liam to take in once he could see the two people inside the vehicle. Both male, there was a shocking contrast in their size and appearance. Liam recognised the driver straight away: Jesse, the star athlete from the year below him in high school. Liam remembered him smashing almost every sporting record held at the school; including some of the ones Liam had set himself during his time there. Now Jesse’s athletic and muscular body was looking fine in his perfectly fitted shirt; that handsome face still as alluring as ever. However, his date was not looking quite so immaculate; hijacking Liam’s attention as soon as he spotted the sauce stains smeared around the guy’s mouth. 

Liam had had no idea that Jesse dated guys. Understandable, given how quickly this jock was known for going through girls back in high school. Still, it was jarring to see the hunk’s date that evening. A large, heavy guy with a giant, ball-like stomach, equally smeared with food stains as he tried to quickly conceal it with his fumbling hands attempting to button a shirt back up as fast as possible - and failing miserably.

“I take it you gentlemen know this is a public area?” Liam began, trying to begin his usual speech and maintain his composure, despite the confusing scene that he had walked in on.

Jesse responded immediately; a beaming smile plastered across his face as if he was genuinely enjoying seeing his date squirm so much under the scrutiny of a police officer. “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” he chuckled. “It’s just so late and my big fat boy here was so hungry…” he teased.

“Jesse!” the heavyset man from the passenger seat hissed in embarrassment as the jock began stroking the guy’s large, bloated stomach that would not return into the safety of the overly tight shirt.

“Um, well…” Liam fumbled, trying to get back on track with his usual speech. He looked around the inside of the car, noticing the piles of wrappers and fast food containers that made it all so untidy. Then, with a sudden jolt in his groin, Liam recognised immediately what was going on here. This was feedism - it had to be! All the signs seemed to suggest it. Jesse was clearly enjoying watching his date stuffing himself with food to the absolute max, then rubbing that enlarged, strained gut that was giving them both so much pleasure.

“We were just heading back now, officer,” the overweight passenger declared, finally regaining some composure as his gut was at last concealed. “We’re very sorry to have taken up your time, Sir.”

“Heading back?” Jesse smirked, not done teasing his date. “But, honey, you’ve still got all this ice cream to swallow down for me…”

Liam felt his own face flushing with blood just as much as Jesse’s date. He’d always had an interest in this sort of play. He’d seen videos of guys rubbing down mostrously overweight guts and he’d read stories about the pleasure of stuffing and fattening a man to absolute extremes. Whatever he needed to tell these two men, his entire speech had left his brain. He simply stood there, mute. Finally stepping back as the window rolled shut and the car roared into life, cruising out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.

Suddenly forced back into the cold, dark silence, Liam knew that this would be a night he could never forget.

“Have you ever had any run-ins with Jesse Rodans?” Liam asked his chief the next day. 

“Scott Rodan’s lad?” the older man asked with a grimace, having had a vendetta against Jesse’s dad ever since Liam had known him. It was a small town, with old vendettas aplenty if you searched hard enough. “A couple of speeding tickets and a bit of backchat when he’s been questioned about things. But that’s what happens when daddy buys you a sports car at the age of sixteen. A typical spoiled brat. You know the type. Why do you ask?”

“Just… the speeding thing,” Liam lied, thinking on his feet. “Someone was complaining to me yesterday about seeing his car going through the middle of town at quite a pace.”

“Typical!” the chief tutted. “These rich kids are all the same. They think they own everything and that the rules don’t apply to them.”

Liam nodded, his mind still racing from his encounter the night before. Finding out that Jesse was a feeder had stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt so strongly in quite some time. He’d gazed at the body of his chief and wondered what a guy like Jesse would have made of him; almost forty, with large, sagging nipples that rested on a very large ball-shaped gut; not to mention the sheer width of the guy’s backside and the way he waddled slightly whenever he walked. It was fascinating.

“Listen, I think you should keep an eye on this Jesse and try to get to the bottom of these speeding incidents,” the chief continued, seemingly just thinking out loud. “It probably wouldn’t take much for a judge to take his driving licence away from him. And what a shame that would be, huh?” he joked, smirking wickedly as he strolled by, patting Liam on his shoulder as he did so.

Liam swallowed, half wishing that he hadn’t said anything at all.

It didn’t take long for Jesse to fall back into Liam’s orbit; especially when the young officer had waited at a concealed junction for Jesse’s drive home from the gym; just as his chief had advised. He stepped out of his vehicle, having clocked Jesse exceeding the speed limit, quite considerably, and made his way over to the driver’s window.

“Well, well, well… It’s you again,” Jesse smirked from inside his sports car, clearly unfazed from being stopped by the police.

“Do you have any idea of the speed you were just doing, sir?” Liam began.

“You know, there’s just something so sexy about a man in uniform,” Jesse continued, ignoring the question and the serious situation he was in entirely.

“Going by what I saw on Saturday night, I wouldn’t have thought I was your type,” Liam shot back breezily as he wrote out the ticket.

“Oh, don’t you worry; I’d soon fix that…” Jesse smirked, obviously checking out Liam’s tight butt as he still sat inside his own car.

Liam knew he had a job to do: issue the damn ticket and get the hell out of there. But Jesse’s words were so… indescribable to him; so unfathomably alluring and surprising. He found his concentration waning as his arousal began to spike; something that he had never experienced whilst working before.

“After all, cops love doughnuts, don’t they?” Jesse teased, simply waiting for the ticket to be handed to him and knowing that the financial penalty would mean less than nothing to him.

Liam chuckled, trying to seem more laid back than he felt. Inside his brain, every synapse seemed to be sparking with electricity. “You’re right. We do love our doughnuts,” he joked back.

Jesse smiled and didn’t respond straight away. He seemed momentarily surprised that Liam was playing along with his backchat and not just trying to stamp his authority. He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Well then, maybe you should let me take you out for some doughnuts sometime,” he offered, brimming with his own self-confidence.

Liam felt the need to retreat, quickly. “I don’t think that would be entirely appropriate,” he mumbled.

“Neither is your boner,” Jesse retorted quickly, pointing aimlessly towards Liam’s crotch. “But, maybe if you let me take you out sometime, I’ll let it slide,” he laughed. “Here,” he offered, simultaneously taking his speeding ticket and exchanging a contact card for himself into Liam’s own hand. “Call me,” he smirked, starting up his car and racing off once more.

Left in the dust, Liam looked around in shock. What had just happened?

Thankfully, no complaint had been made against Liam the following week. He’d not slept all that well; anxious about the possibility of Jesse making an accusation against him for his conduct during the speeding ticket incident. But then there was the other reason why he hadn’t slept… 

Liam had always had a bit of a fat kink for as long as he could remember; a fascination with the way the blubber spread across a body, jiggling and moving as they walked. He’d often yearned to know what that felt like and became aroused by the idea of the teasing and comments he might get if he ever was to let go in the same way that a guy like his chief had. But he’d had a goal to join the force for many years now, and that had required hard training and dedication. Even at the height of his high school sporting success, he’d never been in the peak physical condition that he was in right now. Yet, the thought of a real feeder wanting to get hold of him… he could hardly describe the arousal that gave him. Not that Liam was ever going to give Jesse a call. Not ever.

It was a late finish one Friday evening when Liam was walking out to the parking lot and saw Jesse sitting on the hood of his sports car, grinning at him. Liam froze instantly, his heart pounding.

“There you are!” Jesse smirked. “I’ve been out here over an hour waiting for your shift to finish.”

“Can I help you with something?” Liam asked, still trying to stay in work-mode and handle this professionally.

“My date tonight fell through, so I thought I’d come and find you instead. I’ve been waiting for you to call me. Guys don’t usually leave me hanging like that,,” he smiled, as if completely in control of the situation.

“Is this about the speeding ticket?” Liam asked, trying to avoid getting turned on by Jesse’s perfectly toned body, or lose himself in the guy’s deep brown eyes.

Jesse simply laughed. “You’re cute. Come on,” he beckoned, already getting himself into his car. “We’ll just grab a bite to eat.”

The lights on the sports car swivelled into life and the deep rumble of the engine rolled through the quiet evening. Still Liam stood there, frozen to the spot. And yet, there were his feet slowly starting to shuffle forwards. Jesse slid the car towards him and reached across to swing open the door. Then, just like that, Liam was sitting inside, roaring down the street with no idea where he was heading.

“I wasn’t sure whether you remembered me from high school,” Liam chuckled after they’d parked up somewhere a few minutes later and the conversation had started to flow. “After all, I was in the year above you.”

“No, I recongnised you right away,” Jesse explained. “I used to date one of your best friends. Not that he’s ever come out of the closet. Even now, after all these years.”

“You did?” Liam asked, surprised. “Who was it?”

“Your buddy, Martin.”

“Martin..? But… no! That can’t be right!” Liam spluttered. “He’s married to a woman.”

“And probably living unhappily ever after,” Jesse simply chuckled without a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Well, I never would have guessed that!” Liam sighed in shock.

“I’m the reason he got kicked off the football team. I put 50lbs of pure fat on him within five months of dating. He was my first success story.”

“That was YOU?” Liam blasted in alarm, thinking back to how much weight Martin had gained in their final few months of high school, and how quietly erotic it had all seemed to his impressionable young mind.

“It’s amazing what a few substitutes in a protein shake can do to a guy,” Jesse sniggered.

“So he didn’t even realise what you were doing?” Liam asked, flabbergasted.

Jesse simply chuckled without regret. “I worked hard for my bad boy reputation,” he nodded proudly. “I was a horny seventeen year old, dating my first boyfriend and had free access to my dad’s credit card. I knew how to spoil a guy with a naturally good appetite, like Martin.”

“He never lost that weight, you know,” Liam continued. “I saw him a couple of months ago. He’s still pretty chubby. Even now.”

Jesse huffed with disapproval. “Yeah, but he should be fatter by now. If he hadn’t dumped me the minute his sister was close to finding out about us, I could have had him up and over 500lbs by now. That boy was an absolute pig!” he laughed nostalgically.

Liam chuckled, briefly assuming that Jesse was joking. By the time he realised he wasn’t, he felt the hardness in his crotch throb even more. He tried to change the conversation onto something more conventional but Jesse was having none of it, staring into his eyes flirtatiously and rubbing his hand across Liam’s thigh in a way that set fireworks off in his head. He leaned in and, even without thinking, Liam’s lips moved to meet his. He felt his hands brushing against Jesse’s athletic chest and his heart racing faster than ever. There was something so inescapably intoxicating about Jesse: the confidence, the swagger, the complete lack of shame. Falling into his trap felt like such a sweet dream.

“Do you want to see me again?” Jesse whispered as they came out of a long spell of passion.

“Yes,” Liam answered immediately, making Jesse smirk.

“Good,” the hunk whispered, remaining calmer and more composed than Liam could. Then he made his move, sliding his hand across Liam’s flat, muscular stomach and grinning with a wicked intention that flared every one of Liam’s senses.

Despite the pathetic speed with which Liam responded to any messages from Jesse in the coming weeks, he couldn’t honest;y say that he was ‘dating’ the man he had issued a speeding ticket to only a few weeks earlier. Jesse simply had an intoxicating, devilish way about him that Liam could never resist. They began fooling around together on a semi-regular basis. Jesse would come over and be his usual, flirtatious self. He’d begin talking about the fat guys he’d dated or fed, then smirk as he saw how Liam couldn’t quite hide his arousal. They’d kiss whilst Jesse explained some more. They’d begin stripping their clothes off as Jesse described in detail how mercilessly he’d stuffed even the very greediest guys and rejoiced in seeing their clothes getting tighter and tighter; from the sprouting of a brand new pot belly to the sagging of a monstrous tank. Those stories and minute details never failed to make Liam climax with more intensity than ever before. 

“So that’s your boss?” Jesse asked, picking Liam up from the station one evening. 

“That’s the chief. Yes,” Liam nodded, already sensing that the feeder was swooning over his boss’ gigantic gut.

“Now I finally understand why some folks have a thing for guys in uniform,” Jesse joked. “There’s no hiding a gut like that under those shirts! My cousin is a lucky gal!”

“Your cousin?” Liam asked.

“It’s a small town. Everyone is related somehow,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “My dad, perhaps unfarily, inherited the entirety of his father’s business. Now the rest of the family want nothing to do with us. Which is quite a shame, considering the eye candy that’s married into it…” he joked, still admiring the fat-bellied man.

The two of them watched as the chief waddled from the station. Then they both laughed as they saw him trotting into the pizza place a couple of doors down and fished out his wallet to order something tasty for himself mid-shift.

“That’s it, Fat Boy!” Jesse whispered as he watched the obese man from the darkness of the car. “Eat up, Piggy. Bust a few more buttons on that shirt for me,” he chuckled.

Liam laughed. He had so much respect for his boss, but hearing Jesse reducing him to nothing more than a greedy glutton was also turning him on in a way that he didn’t realise it would. “I think your cousin is a bit of a feeder,” Liam went on to explain, curious to see where his observations may lead the conversation. “She’s super slim, and yet, she sends him into work with some of the biggest slices of cake I’ve ever seen.”

Jesse laughed wickedly, still eyeing the chief as the man leaned over the counter to order; displaying the full width of his broad, under-exercised butt. “Of course she does!” he nodded.”We’re probably cut from the same cloth; her and me.” Then he turned to Liam and kissed him passionately, full of arousal. “You coming back to my place?” 

Despite being a year older than Jesse and considerably more well rounded in his life experiences and career, Liam had the overwhelming sense that he was being wined and dined by someone much more polished and worldly wise than himself. Jesse lived in an apartment, bought for him by his parents, and had an overpaid position within their family business that was clearly little more than an excuse to get him out of bed in the morning. Yet, whenever Liam saw him, spoke to him, was coaxed into climaxing by him, Jesse would tell one of his well crafted real-life stories about feeding and weight gain. So aroused, Liam felt like he was in the presence of someone much more remarkable than anyone he had ever met in his life. He knew that Jesse’s charm and the affection was all part of the hunk’s toolkit. How better to make him relax than to lavish him with attention and quietly suggest that they head out for some more food…

Liam was panting, having just climaxed rather forcefully for the second time that night, watching a video Jesse had recorded last year. It was one of several videos on Jesse’s cell phone of him feeding and pleasuring guys of varying levels of obesity. Indeed, Jesse was so skilled at coaxing them into overeating, so clever with his well timed name-calling and erotic coaching, so tactile in the way he handled all their fat; it was impossible not to explode everywhere the minute the feeder started swirling his hand over his groin.

“I’m guessing you enjoyed that video?” Jesse smirked, admiring the mess all over Liam’s broad chest and starting to clear it up with a towel.

“You bet I did!” Liam nodded. “You’re so awesome!” he declared, feeling so completely satisfied in that moment. “I can’t believe that I found you, right here in this town; the year below me in high school, no less! You’re the only person I’ve ever met who shares this kink with me. It’s unbelieveable. We’re just… so similar.”

Jesse smirked again; a wry knowing smile. “We’re not similar, Liam,” he chuckled to himself.

“Of course we are,” Liam shot back, snuggling into Jesse. “We both just came watching gainer porn.”

“No, you just came watching gainer porn,” Jesse corrected him, allowing Liam to rest his head on his toned chest. “I came because I was watching you.”

“What’s the difference?” Liam laughed.

Jesse kissed the back of Liam’s head. “You’re so fucking cute, you know that?” he sighed, almost patronisingly.

Liam sat up a little and turned to face Jesse so that he could see his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“You make like you don’t know what’s happening here. When I train you to climax watching all this shit,” Jesse laughed. “I’ve monopolised your time for weeks, not letting you go to the gym or choose what we’re eating.” He paused, with eyes filling with mischief. Then he simply reached his hand out to Liam’s stomach and grabbed a small fold of fat that was starting to smother the guy’s abs. “I came because I was watching my very latest piggy project.”

Liam looked down at the fold of skin between Jesse’s fingers, hardly comprehending its existence. He heard Jesse’s soft moans as his fingers gently pressed against it and he watched with amazement at how fast the guy’s flacid penis filled with blood once more and stood erect.

“Suck it!” Jesse ordered him with a sudden burst of dominance. “Suck my dick, Pig Boy!” he barked, quoting the line from the feeding video that had previously sent Liam over the edge and made him ejaculate.

Liam’s mouth watered and he felt his head drifting into Jesse’s crotch and his lips parting.

“Mmm! That’s it, Fatty!” Jesse moaned, clearly arousing himself with his own words. “Good pigs know how to make their feeders happy.”

Liam felt his arousal spiking hearing the version of Jesse he had watced so many times on the videos he had been shown, suddenly appearing right in front of him: the bossy, hedonistic dominant now ordering him around in real life. Jesse had been right, those videos were so sexy to Liam because he had always imagined himself in the position of the gainers Jesse cajoled into overindulgence. That was the ultimate difference between them both. There weren’t many things that Liam was sure of in those moments, but there was one thing he was certain of: he was going to give Jesse the best blow job of his life.

In the following days, Liam could not remember a time when he had ever been so incredibly horny. Although all talk of his miniscule weight gain had ceased, the way that Jesse was now touching and handling him had altered beyond recognition. The subtle manipulations to stop him heading to the gym or choosing healthier food options were now nothing short of blatant. When Jesse discussed the future, he spoke of Liam’s decline into obesity as if it was an inescapable inevitability; a consequence of how aroused he was by the gainer videos he got off to, or the company he kept in allowing Jesse into his life. He opened his mouth and ate what he was fed during their sexual foreplay. He allowed himself to climax looking at the bloat of his stomach and got more caught up than ever in the tales that Jesse told.

“Does this mean that I’m officially a gainer?” Liam asked, handling an increasing softness that was swallowing his abs. He knew what he wanted Jesse to tell him; to call him a greedy piggy again, or declare that his 10lb gain was just the start of something a lot more serious; to make him ejaculate as yet another fresh doughnut was pushed into his mouth.

“No. Of course you’re not a gainer,” Jesse replied simply, as if the answer had been obvious. 

The response caught Liam by surprise. “Why not?” he asked back, startled by his own disappointment.

“Because you don’t look any different yet,” Jesse shot back. “Sure, I can see a little extra blubber on your stomach, but you’ve got to be realistic here. No one has even noticed. This all just looks like a little muscle bulk with the way you’re filling out your shirts so far.”

“But, this isn’t muscle,” Liam mumbled. “I mean… look at me!”

“Honey!” Jesse laughed, rubbing Liam’s butt. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I might know that you’re a greedy little piggy, but the moment other people start seeing a change, that’s when we’ll know whether you’re a gainer or not.”

Liam looked confused, but the smug look on Jesse’s face made him rethink questioning the logic further. “If you say so,” he sighed. The idea of being a gainer did sound hot, but he was never really going to commit to it long-term.

When Liam looked in the mirror over the coming weeks, he noticed the puffiness of his blossoming cheeks and neck. Whilst his built body did well to hide the emerging swell underneath his clothes, Liam did begin to wonder whether anyone had actually noticed the now over 25lbs he had gained since officially dating Jesse. It didn’t matter that his clothes had grown so tight and needed changing; if no one was actually noticing, what real difference did it make? He was indulging his kinks, having the best time with Jesse, and not having to worry about anything else. It was a win, win!

Liam was in the station when it happened the first time. He was chatting to his colleague, Sandra about the new patisserie that had opened up in a nearby town when he noticed two other colleagues seem to snigger at each other. He looked over and furrowed his eyebrows, assuming that he was imagining it. Then, when he continued talking about the pastries he most enjoyed, he noticed them doing it again, out of the corner of his eye. Now when he looked over, one of the guys elbowed the other, as if to signal that they had been caught, and the pair of them burst into laughter.

“What’s up?” Liam asked them, managing to hide his annoyance.

The pair looked at each other and smirked, as if daring themselves to admit what they had been talking about. In the end, one of them sighed and chuckled, finally turning to face Liam.

“Dude, is food the only thing you talk about these days?” he blurted out.

“Don’t be jerks,” Sandra called out to the pair of them, as if she knew where they were going with this.

“All we’re saying is…” the other guy continued, “...you may want to start laying off all those pastries you’re so obsessed with.” Then, with a very accusatory finger, he pointed directly at Liam’s midsection and chuckled once again.

Liam looked down. He hadn’t noticed the strain and obvious thickness that his shirt was clearly now showing, and he sat up in shock, swallowing hard. His heart was beating fast and he could feel his face flushing. He sucked in his stomach, but that only seemed to make the two guys laugh even more.

“Ignore them. They’re being idiots,” Sandra offered consolingly, her eyes full of sympathy. “It’s not as if they’re not carrying a few extra pounds themselves.”

Liam felt the air catch in his chest and butterflies fill his stomach. Warm blood seemed to be filling his groin and a gentle tingling sensation stimulated the tip of his penis. This was it; the moment Jesse had talked about. People were actually calling him out on dropping the ball with his gym routine, his over-indulgence with food and the not so subtle effect it was having on his once immaculate body. He couldn’t put his finger on how it was making him feel, despite the panic it set in motion in his brain. All he knew was that the semi it gave him wouldn’t go down for the entirety of his shift.

“What were the fake protein shakes you used to make for Martin back in high school?” Liam asked, almost breathless with lust the next time he caught up with Jesse.

Jesse smiled wickedly with the memory. “You don’t want to know,” he chuckled to himself.

Liam kissed the perfect, sexy specimen in front of him as if he had just given the most perfect answer. “You’re right, I don’t want to know. I just want you to feed them to me instead. Every single night.”

Jesse took a step back. “Sure thing,” he nodded, despite the fact that his tone gave away his skepticism at Liam’s sincerity.

“I’m serious,” Liam protested. “I want to get fat for you. Seriously fucking fat!”

“You’d eat or drink anything I gave you? Without question?” Jesse asked, more intrigued.

With a burst of arousal, Liam had to reach down and touch himself as Jesse considered the proposal. In that moment, he realised that this form of surrender to Jesse was the thing that he had most wanted to do since he had first seen him in that parking lot. “Yes,” he nodded. “Without question.”

“You want to be my big, fat piggy?” Jesse asked, grinning now. Excited.

Liam kissed him passionately, the pair of them collapsing onto the couch. “Do it to me!” Liam demanded. “No holding back. Give me all you’ve got. Every last dirty trick in your feeding handbook!”

Behind his calculating eyes, Liam could see Jesse’s mind whirring into life; the firing of synapses and initation of thought processes that would ultimately, and irreversibly, alter Liam’s physique even further. 

Over the coming weeks, Liam learned many new things about Jesse. Firstly, the guy’s ruthless ambitions when it came to transforming Liam’s physique was very apparent. This wasn’t simply a case of growing a little paunh or pot belly: the moobs, the back fat and double chins. Jesse observed every inch of his body, waiting for the changes to occur. Also, despite knowing how smart and shrewd Jesse was, the precision with which the guy planned Liam’s diet was really quite startling. Nothing that went into Liam’s mouth hadn’t been considered and chosen with care. Nothing that was whispered into his ear in those erotic moments hadn’t been tailored with perfection to trigger Liam’s emerging kinks. And when Liam was allowed to climax, there hadn’t been a single second wasted to ensure that every single possible calorie hadn’t been pushed into his saliva-dripping mouth first.

“Hey, Handsome,” Jesse smiled as Liam walked into his place after a long shift. He kissed him and let his hands slide around to feel up the officer’s glutes at the same time. It was one of the moments Liam found most arousing, knowing that this form of inspection was ongoing. He knew that Jesse wasn’t just waiting for his tight rear to simply develop a little softness; he was willing them, forcing them and programming them to swell and widen, losing all manner of shape or athleticism.

Liam first had to explain exactly what he had eaten on his night shift and how much of the shakes Jesse had provided had actually been consumed. Then Jesse nodded, writing it all down and adjusted his measures for the shakes he would prepare today. There wouldn’t be a weigh-in. Those only happened in the mornings when Liam had slept all night and his stomach was emptied. Jesse stated that he had no desire to cloud his data with false measurements; the results of bloating or stuffings that would only be temporary.

“How’re the new pants?” Jesse asked, sitting Liam down and heading to the refrigerator for a shake.

“Better,” Liam nodded, watching his boyfriend preparing things for him as he rested his feet. He hadn’t suffered as much with his pants during his shift as he had in previous days. Still, there was something rather startling about the fact that he now had to wear a 36 inch waist and still not being entirely comfortable. 

He undid his shirt buttons and allowed his increasingly puffy chest begin to appear. Then, with a final tug, he let the newly-developed, squishy fat roll around his stomach plop onto his belt and he sighed with satisfaction, knowing that it looked even better than yesterday.

Jesse’s smirk seemed to agree as he looked over and surveyed the changes. Then, with well-oiled precision, he tipped Liam’s head back, inserted the funnel and began pouring once again. “Good piggy!”

A stark contrast began to develop between Jesse and Liam. It had been the summer when they’d made their relationship official and Jesse later admitted that he’d deliberately chosen to introduce Liam to all his family and friends at pool parties or beach trip; where Liam’s former physique had been well on show. It meant that the looks Liam was now getting were nothing short of rude: the stares, the sly comments. They made Jesse laugh and they triggered the well-trained regions of Liam’s brain so that they gave him the most pathetic of hard-ons that only a true gainer could understand.

“Are you still hungry, honey?” Jesse asked as the pair of them enjoyed a house warming party at one of Jesse’s friends' places.

Liam stifled a burp and shook his head. His new paunch felt as tight as a drum and seemed particularly emphasised by the oddly fitting t-shirt that Jesse had insisted he wore.

Jesse chuckled, never failing to be particularly affectionate with him when there was an audience. “Don’t be silly, baby. I’ll go get you some more cake,” he grinned, sliding off with that wicked smile on his face.

Liam looked up awkwardly at the friends of Jesse all gazed down on him with concern. They’d all long got the measure of Jesse, having witnessed him overfeeding many overweight and swelling boyfriends in the past. But the thing that they coild not be certain of was whether Liam knew any of this. Did he know that all this weight he had amassed in recent months had been far from accidental? That Jesse was clearly getting off on this, that he was probably even boasting about it behind Liam’s back? Yet they all, every last one of them, sat back and looked on with guilt as they allowed Jesse to continue pushing slice after slice of cake on an ever fattening Liam.

“Are you still using your gym subscription?” asked Liam’s aunt one afternoon when he had gone round to help her unclog her gutters.

Liam rolled his eyes whilst on the ladder, knowing that from this angle his aunt had a perfect view of his swollen tummy pushing out from the bottom of his shirt. “Sometimes,” he lied.

“Well…” Liam’s aunt sighed, ready to begin her speech. Mentioning the gym was, as Liam had learned in recent months, the way that a lot of people had quietly begun a conversation about his sudden weight gain and how he needed to get himself back in shape. “It just seems to me that…”

However, before she could get underway, the rumble of Jesse’s sports car filled their ears and Liam’s boyfriend soon rolled into the driveway.

“Martha!” he grinned charmingly, going in for a hug, knowing that all of the women in Liam’s family were smitten with him. “I hear you need some help with these drains.”

“Oh, yes. But, Liam’s got it all under control,” she smiled, failing to keep her eyes from wandering as handsome Jesse removed his shirt to begin the dirty work.

“This guy?” Jesse joked, pointing to his lover and handing him a covert calorie shake, right there in front of his aunt. “You’ll be waiting around all day if you leave it to Liam. You two head inside and I’ll have this all wrapped up in five minutes flat,” he smiled, taking the gloves from Liam and energetically hopping up onto the ladder in his place.

“Well, if you’re sure?” Martha mumbled, looking up awkwardly as Jesse’s muscular physique flexed beautifully in the afternoon light. Her gaze shifted to Liam; bloated, strangely pot-bellied and gulping down a shake as if he had just run a marathon. Then, like most others, she began to wonder just what it was that such a handsome man saw in her now quite noticeably overweight nephew.

“I hear you’re getting married,” Liam’s chief muttered, seeing Liam alone at his desk and quietly gorging himself on a few doughnuts. 

Liam nodded, always feeling a little awkward when the chief tried to talk to him about his private life. Ever since he had learned that the chief’s wife was an estranged cousin of Jesse’s, Liam had felt like he was somehow caught in the middle.

The chief sat himself down, making the desk chair squeak in protest, and the large man sighed as if he had been considering his words carefully for the last few days. “Jesse is a good looking guy, but are you sure he’s who you really want?” he asked tentatively.

Liam nodded again. “Oh yes. Definitely,” he stated with certainty.

The chief smiled and chuckled slightly at the optimism of young love. “You remind me of myself at your age,” he sighed. “I used to be just like you.”

Liam couldn’t help feeling a twinge of arousal at the comparison. His well-trained mind automatically thought of all the times Jesse had told him how monstrously fat he would be in the future, and the idea of somehow ending up just like the chief someday was particularly exciting for him.

“It’s just…” the chief tried once more, rubbing his enormous stomach as if to give him courage. “You know how our families are linked?” he asked, having never mentioned it himself to Liam before now. He then waited for Liam to nod his head before continuing. “I feel like there are quite a few similarities between my wife and your Jessie. I love her dearly, but she’s no angel,” he chuckled affectionately to himself. “She had quite a reputation for being a bad girl around town when she was younger; certainly not a respectable choice for a young officer like myself to be dating back then!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard some of the stories,” Liam smiled back.

“The thing is…” the chief pressed on. “I started putting on a lot of weight when she asked me out.” He paused, taking a moment to look thoughtfully at Liam. “I thought it was just me being greedy. But I very quickly realised that that wasn’t the case. Or, at least, it wasn’t always the case,” he conceded.

Liam rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and found himself instinctively sucking in his stomach. He knew exactly where the chief’s comments were leading and he squirmed inwardly, now unable to make eye contact with him.

“It started fairly slowly; pants not fitting, shirts getting tight. I noticed this little tire around my waist and my appetite was becoming insatiable. I started looking more closely at my diet and I could see my wife… well, she was only my girlfriend back then… I could see that she was massively overfeeding me. On purpose.”

Liam raised his eyebrows, pretending to act surprised. Everyone here pretty much knew that the chief’s wife was a feeder.

“When something like that happens, you’ve got two choices,” the chief continued, looking hard at Liam. “My wife wasn’t going to change, so I could either make a run for it and get myself back in shape, or, I could embrace it.” Then, with a sweeping stroke of his strained, oversized stomach, the chief made clear what his choice had been. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, it looks like history may be repeating itself with you…”

Liam cleared his throat nervously. “You think?” he mumbled, looking away and feeling flushed with embraracement.

“What I’m about to say may shock you, but I believe that you need to hear it. I think your fiance might be a feeder.”

Liam felt the eyes of the chief upon him, searching for a reaction. “Um, wow…” he mumbled in response. “A feeder? You really think so?”

“Trust me, I know the signs,” the chief nodded, pointing directly at the puffed up stomach on Liam.

“Wow… I, uh. I don’t know what to say,” Liam mumbled.

“Now, what you do with this information is up to you,” the chief rambled on, holding his hands up as if his job was now complete; his conscience clean. “But, do you love him?”

The chief’s question caught Liam off-guard and the man repeated it once more, as if the young officer had not heard it the first time.

“Yes,” Liam nodded sincerely. “I do.”

“And this… this thing I told you about won’t change that?”

“No. Never,” Liam stated with absolute certainty.

The chief beamed. “Well then…” he declared, reaching over and stealing one of Liam’s doughnuts. “Do yourself a favour and change that shirt of yours for something bigger. Those buttons have been straining all week. I know how hard it is when you gain a few pounds and how people talk. But if anyone says anything, I want you to come straight to me. Okay?”

Liam nodded; his eyes still wide with shock. 

“However, saying that, if you want people to take you seriously around here, you’ll need to keep your uniform nice and smart and, most importantly, roomy. Always at least one size up. You hear me?”

Liam nodded and smiled. He hadn’t realised how much a simple act of acceptance could make him feel so good, as well as strangely aroused. “Yes, Chief,” he beamed.

After that day, Liam didn’t feel quite so much need to suck his stomach in at work. Jesse noticed a change in him too; the way he didn’t mind slouching in public and holding himself in a way that would obviously be rather conventionally unflattering to his appearance. It was a good thing too, for the small little paunch that had been in development was very quickly taking shape into something much more sizable. Liam rested his hands on top of it, hardly believing that the little shelf of stomach fat was actually his. He turned to his side in the mirror, marvelling at the plush love handles that had swollen from above his hips and he bounced his under-exercised glutes, getting aroused by the sheer weight and softness that had developed within them. 

Jesse, meanwhile, had been training his own body in the complete opposite direction, building his chest and pecs more than ever before; never failing to take his shirt off at any opportunity. “Look at us!” the hunk would order as they both gazed at their naked reflections in the mirror; their increasingly contrasting forms exciting them both more and more each and every time.

“Only three more weeks to go until the wedding,” Jesse reminded his lover as the final calorie shake of the day sat there on the counter, waiting for Liam to be ready for it. 

Liam exhaled, knowing that he would indeed have to find space in his stomach for the shake somewhere. This time of night was always the hardest; the final push before bed. However, it was also the most enoyable time; when his gut was at its tightest and it pushed out in front of him as if he was already another 30lbs heavier. “Just give me another couple of minutes and I’ll be ready,” he smiled lovingly at his finace. Even now, he couldn’t believe his luck, finding someone so sexy and fun, willing to push him to these extremes and watch him grow. “I love you,” he whispered as Jesse moved down to Liam’s crotch, stimulating his appetite by keeping him erect and horny the entire time.

“I love you too, Fat Boy!” Jesse teased back. “And I can’t wait to have you as my husband. All mine at long last!”

Liam sighed in joy. He loved this idea more than anything else; being Jesse’s plaything for the rest of his life; being shaped and moulded, just as the handsome hunk wanted. “Some days, I just can’t believe how lucky I am that you chose me,” Liam smiled; his eyes dripping with lust as Jesse’s mouth slid seductively over his hardness.

“You know exactly why I chose you,” Jesse laughed, “Out of all the fatties I’ve ever played with, none of them ever got as hard as your little dick does when I tell them how fat they’re going to get.”

Liam nodded, knowing that Jesse had indeed told him this many times; that from the first time he had reached down and held Liam’s erection, felt the strength of the muscle, the warmth of all the blood coursing through it, the throbbing with every word Jesse spoke about feeding and fattening others, Liam’s lardy fate had always been clear to him.

“If you think I’m tough on you now, just wait until after the wedding, Piggy,” Jesse grinned, standing up and grabbing Liam’s shake to hand it to him. “You’re going to be swallowing a lot more of these soon,” he laughed, stroking Liam’s double chin until the guy’s head fell back, ready for the calories to be poured in.

Liam returned from his two week honeymoon a very much changed man. It was as if all of his previous athleticism had finally been stripped from him, His chest had at last succumed to the mounting fat that was swelling across his body, and his upper arms, once so muscular and toned, had now begun to shake and jiggle as the softing mass spread underneath the surface of the skin. The photographer had sent the first shots from their wedding day and Jesse had purposefully fed Liam and sucked him off whilst he gazed at the most unflattering of all of them; his puffy cheeks, double chin and rounded gut there for all to see. Already he looked as if he had spent a lifetime with his feeder, yet it had really only just begun. He’d hit 300lbs on their honeymoon through a considerable amount of effort on both their parts. Now, back in work, his natural hunger was hard to satisfy. With help from the chief, he’d applied for, and accepted, a promotion at work, leading to greater responsibilities and more time at his desk; a very much welcome relief. Since dating Jesse, he’d gradually become more estranged from the colleagues he used to hang around with, only making it easier when he became the one to issue orders and instructions to them.

“Hi Joe,” Jesse grinned, strutting into the station and waving at the enormously obese chief, much as he always did. The large man was still so much bigger than Liam and yet, that gap was narrowing every single day. “Where’s my handsome husband got to?”

“In there,” the chief pointed to a little room to the side. “He may still be a while yet. It’s quite a complicated case.”

Jesse slumped in the chair like a spoiled brat denied his plaything. “Has he at least eaten well today?” Jesse asked his cousin’s husband. “I’m trying to get at least six thousand calories down him every day this week.”

“Oh, he’ll have hit that, no problem,” the chief nodded. “I saw him drinking three of your special shakes today and a very big lunch. Plus, I saw him coming back with a tray of doughnuts earlier and there certainly aren’t any left now. I told you those appetite stimulants would be effective in his shakes. He won’t even taste them in there if you keep adding enough syrrup to the recipe.”

Jesse nodded. He definitely had to agree. In fact, his cousin’s enormously oversized husband had been a great source of expertise from the very start.

“Since you’re here, you can look at this,” the chief chuckled, reaching into his desk drawer with a grunt. “I found it the other day; our Police staff Christmas party from four years ago. Just look at how slim and fit Liam was back then! His tiny waist! Who would have guessed he’d turn into such a porker after this?” he laughed.

Jesse laughed as well, seeing the once athletic and naturally handsome man he had since married and fattened beyond recognition; now swollen over 360lbs and fattening more every single day. “Well, you certainly guessed it,” Jesse chuckled back at his cousin’s husband. “I never would have spotted him as a potential fatty without you giving me the heads up and tyring to push us together.”

The chief chuckled to himself and nodded in agreement. “I’m fairly good at spotting guys with the same kinks as me. It was at the party…” he pointed back at the photograph in his hand, “that I spotted him looking across at my fat gut, and I just knew there was a hint of jealousy in there. All he needed was the right feeder to get their hands on him,” he laughed. “Your cousin always said you’d be ruthless once you got your own fatty to play with, and she was right. It was the least I could do, after all the help you gave us when I first got with your cousin. I was so desperate to get fat. My old abs didn’t know what had hit them once you started assisting us,” he smiled, reminising fondly. “A bit like your Liam. You should hear some of the names they call him down here behind his back now!” he grinned, clearly taking pleasure from being a part of it all.

“It looks like they’re finishing up,” Jesse noticed, seeing shadows moving behind the drawn blinds of the room where Liam was in. Then he stepped back from the chief and perched himself on Liam’s desk, waiting innocently.

Liam emerged, his hands on his wide hips and looking tired. He wore his tie long, draping over his large stomach which had started to untuck the ever-shrinking shirt that tried to contain it. “What are you doing here?” he beamed, seeing his muscular husband waiting for him. He strolled over, suddenly noticing the chief not far away and deciding to remain professional in his presence. 

“Special delivery,” Jesse winked, passing over a couple of flasks of calorie shakes, which Liam immediately tried to conceal from the chief’s view. “Just because you need to work late, doesn’t mean I’m letting you slide on your calorie targets today.”

Liam smiled, but shushed Jesse nonetheless in case the chief overheard him and thought they were an even more strange and mismatched pair than he probably already did.

“You will be home soon, won’t you?” Jesse asked, grinning like a man who already knew his charms. “I’ve got something very special in the oven for my Fat Boy!” he teased, discreetly patting his husband’s gut in a way that he knew would excite him.

“I won’t be too much longer, I promise,” Liam smiled back, smitten with love and lust for the man of his dreams. “And then I’ll eat every last bite for you…”

Jesse grinned. “Good boy,” he laughed, giving Liam a quick peck on the lips and walking away, only giving the chief a simple, polite wave, as if they were mere casual acquaintances after all. “I’ll hold you to that, Fatty!”

[fredwkong]

Genie: Pete’s Wishes

Pete was a little 20-year-old nerd who had just started interning for a big securities firm. He didn’t top 5’4”, even the extra-small button-up shirts looked baggy on his skinny body, and he seemed even smaller because of his habitual slouching posture. At his first day at work, his new boss yelled at him, causing him to have a panic attack in the bathroom.

That evening, he walked by a thrift store and decided to go in. He wasn’t making much money as an intern, but he wanted to buy something small to cheer himself up. He spotted a traditional brass lamp on the shelf, the kind that genies sometimes come out of. At $20, it was a bit pricey for a thrift store, but Pete grabbed it anyway. It would make a cool conversation piece, if nothing else.

Once he got home, Pete started trying to clean the lamp, which caused it to begin glowing and convulsing until a cloud of smoke billowed out. As the smoke dissipated, it revealed an absolute muscle man of a genie. He wore tiny daisy dukes on his striated thighs, along with a top cropped just above his big, dark nipples. The genie stroked his finely cropped beard as he looked down at Pete.

“So, babe, here’s the deal,” said the genie. “You make the wishes, and I’ll turn them up to eleven.” He looked over Pete’s tiny body and cringing posture again, and curled his lip. “And girl, let’s make those wishes count. We have a lot of work to do here.”

“Um, uh.” The only thing in Pete’s head was the moment earlier that day when his boss had yelled at him. “I… wish I was more assertive?”

The genie smirked. “Good idea.” With a snap of his fingers, the genie filled the room with purple smoke. As Pete inhaled it, he felt like it shot right up into his brain, filling in spaces he hadn’t known were there. He suddenly realised that the way to get ahead in life was to be decisive and commanding. His posture uncurled, and his gaze became sharper. No one was ever going to overlook him or yell at him again.

The smoke also embedded itself in his throat, and he coughed, letting out a much deeper, more resonant sound than he had been capable of before. He now had a thunderous bass voice, a sound that was impossible for anyone to ignore.

Pete met the genie’s eyes for the first time. “Thanks,” he thundered, his new voice incapable of whispering.

The genie gave him an ironic salute. “Come back tomorrow for another wish, babe.”

The next day, no one was able to ignore Pete. He walked with power in spite of his tiny body, and nobody could ignore him when he spoke up to his boss in a meeting in his booming new voice. However, with his tiny stature and ill-fitting suit, they laughed off his advice. When he got home, Pete summoned the genie again, filled with righteous rage.

“Genie,” he roared, “I wish I had the cash to really show up my coworkers.”

“On it, babe,” said the genie, and snapped his fingers. It seemed for an instant as if nothing had changed. Then Pete got a notification on his phone. “You should check that.”

Pete had received an email from someone who said they were his secretary, informing him that his company had closed a deal to trade stocks for a multibillionaire client. Pete was a high-powered stockbroker. As he saw the number of zeroes on his contract, he felt another rush of knowledge into his mind. He knew exactly how to play the market, buying and selling to make sure that he and his clients ended every day with more money than they started with. He wrote a terse reply to his secretary:

“Understood. See you tomorrow. Peters.”

For a moment, he wondered why he had written that name. His name was… Peters, of course. Just like the exclusive boarding school where he’d first started day trading, he still preferred to go by his surname, but kept it casual by dropping any honourific.

“Enjoy those millions, darling,” said the genie, vanishing back into his lamp.

The next day was an exhausting one for Peters. He had the money, he was the boss, and he had an assertive attitude and booming voice, but he was still a shrimpy kid in his early 20s. Clients raised their eyebrows when a short young guy walked into the boardroom to present, and the secretaries, most of whom were older than him, seemed to resent Peters’ success and advantages.

When he summoned the genie, Peters was ready with the wish he had been thinking about all day. “I wish I was truly impressive.”

The genie grinned wide. “Absolutely, master,” he said, and snapped his fingers again. Another thick cloud of purple smoke emerged from the lamp, and this time it cocooned Peters’ entire body. He felt his clothes dissolve, leaving him naked. As he inhaled the smoke, Peters felt years of experience fill his mind. His already deep and assertive voice dropped a few more steps, gaining an imposing rasp.

As the smoke sank into Peters’ skin, he transformed. His black hair went grey, styling itself into a precise, stylish look. His face aged until he looked like a handsome man in his late 40s, with piercing eyes and a stylish grey beard. His whole body filled out as his height shot past 6 feet, bulked up with perfectly maintained muscle. His little cock thickened and lengthened as his pubes lightened to grey, becoming an impressive third leg with churning balls to match. Finally, the last of the smoke coalesced into a scattering of grey hair over his chest, back, and legs, and an immaculate blue suit.

Mr. Peters, the 49-year-old stockbroker, nodded to the genie. “Good work,” he rumbled, testing out the sound of his new, even more thunderous voice.

“Oh, I’m not done yet, master,” the genie purred, and clapped. The hotel room Mr. Peters had moved to with his newfound millions the previous night was immediately replaced with a huge, well-appointed penthouse. Instinctively, Mr. Peters moved to the humidor he kept next to the genie’s lamp. He expertly trimmed and lit a cigar, enjoying the luxurious flavour.

The genie looked him and the penthouse over one more time, and nodded. “See you tomorrow, sir,” he cooed, and blew a kiss to Mr. Peters as he vanished.

The next day, Mr. Peters was on fire. He closed several deals for his company, making himself and his clients even more money, and got taken out for dinner by the director of a competing corporation attempting to headhunt him. The power got him hard, and he was pent-up with a raging boner by the time he got home to make his wish.

“I don’t have time for any dating,” he told the genie brusquely. “I wish for a husband to fuck right now.”

“Order up,” the genie said, laughing, and snapped his fingers.

On the street outside, Larsen was looking for his friend Pete. They had been good school friends, both being little nerds, but Pete had suddenly stopped answering his messages a few days ago, and then seemed to have been scrubbed from existence. No one else remembered him, and people kept mentioning someone named Mr. Peters instead!

Just as Larsen was about to ask one of the building’s valet parking attendants if she knew a Pete living at this address, he felt a tug, as if someone had grabbed him around his belly, and he was suddenly in a dimly lit room. Outside the window was an exquisite view of the city, while inside of the room was a stern-looking man in a suit alongside a dark-skinned man dressed like a slutty himbo.

As the genie continued his work, Larsen became surrounded by a cloud of pink smoke. His muscles grew, his skin became porcelain smooth, and everything about him became classically handsome, like a perfect statue of a man. He grew to a respectable height, still shorter than Mr. Peters, and his dick swelled up, but not quite as large either. Instead, his ass grew into a pair of fuckable, jiggly globes that would be visible no matter what he wore.

The last of the pink smoke shot up Larsen’s nose and into his brain, rewiring him into a dumb himbo slut. Lars had been a German model until Mr. Peters had approached him after a show and offered to give him a luxurious life as his arm candy husband. They had a good enough relationship, and Mr. Peters—Sir—was a good, dominant Daddy, which Lars liked. What made their marriage really special, though, was that while Sir was at work, Lars went and picked up boys for the two of them to share. It was the only way he could get enough fucking during the day to keep up with his unbelievable sex drive.

“Guten Abend, Daddy,” Lars said, as the genie released him. “The boys are waiting in the second bedroom for us.” He stepped up in front of Mr. Peters and undid his tie and top button before Mr. Peters grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him forcefully. A moment later, Lars led Mr. Peters out of the room and to the designated sex den, his bared dick leading the way.

The genie watched them leave. If he stayed any longer, the former Pete was likely to ask for something boring and unsexy like world domination, so it was probably time for him to put his lamp in the gym bag of one of the horny himbos Lars and Mr. Peters were fucking.

Idea with assistance from a bot of my creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

for the 2k event:

congrats on all the followers!!!!!

Levi and reader are childhood best friends to lover to eventually a married couple. Maybe following their journey through all the seasons and even in no regrets?

Congrats again!!

hello! :3 i'm not sure how to fit this into a drabble, so i did headcanons about how Levi would have reacted to you being pregnant or having a child during these various points in time!

Dadvi Canonverse Headcanons | 2K Follower Event

ACWNR:

➼ Once it turns out that you're pregnant with his child, Levi hauls ass to get the two of you out of the Underground. He picks up shady jobs for the extra money (assassin!levi au anyone?) in the hopes that he can make enough to get you surface residency as soon as possible. ➼ With how uncleanly the Underground was, Levi would be very wary of where you were going. While he was never a fan of dirt and grime and it bugs him to no end to have it around, he was much more concerned about you potentially getting sick and putting further strain on your body that was already hosting a baby. ➼ With him picking up shadier jobs, things got more chaotic and he became more and more worried that he'd take a job he couldn't come back from. As a result, he'd spend every night with you in his arms, his hand over your belly, with him chatting to your unborn child, wanting to savor every moment that he could steal with you. ➼ If he was unfortunate and couldn't make enough money, he'd begin to have to plan on how to raise your kid in a hostile environment in a way that best avoided the type of childhood that the two of you had. ➼ Your pregnancy is one of the reasons why he jumped up so quickly at the opportunity to earn surface residency when he's recruited to assassinate Erwin. He knew he didn't have much of a choice when it came to taking the job, but having you and your unborn child as an extra incentive made him that much more motivated.

Season 1:

➼ Especially with how dangerous expeditions were, he would always go out of his way to visit you and your child regularly after expeditions. He'd be home whenever he could be, just because tomorrow was never guaranteed. ➼ If you're a Scout, he'll try to work with you to get you put on duties that you'd be able to do while pregnant that wouldn't put you or the unborn baby in too much danger. Unfortunately, that meant you weren't going outside the Walls with him anymore. ➼ When he hears that the Wall had been breached, he internally panics. He had promised to keep you in the Walls to keep you safe, yet even the safety of the Walls was compromised. The first thing he does after clearing out the Titans in Trost was to search for you and your child. ➼ Levi's a complete mess when he comes home to you after the Female Titan incident. His entire squad and a significant amount of the Scouts had died on this mission. Being around you and being able to hear you and your child's voice made it just a tad bit more bearable. You were the safe space that he needed to be able to process everything that had happened.

Season 2:

➼ As if to make up for lost time, Levi was able to spend much more time with you because of his leg injury. He hated not being able to do anything to help out with the Survey Corps, but he was also glad to be able to spend time with you and your kid without having to feel pressed for time. ➼ This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, but Levi's the perfect house husband. He's great in caring for you while you were pregnant, especially since he had to be home due to his injury anyway. He's even better with caring for your newborn baby so you could occasionally rest. ➼ When he heard about the Wall getting breached again, he seriously began considering if he could fenagle a way to move you to the Interior. Of course, the idea of hiding didn't sit right with you, but you bet he's annoyed as fuck when you provided resistance. All he wanted to do was to keep you and your child safe, and things looked like they were falling apart left and right.

Season 3:

➼ Levi is writing you letters the entire time when he's on the run from the Interior Police. He couldn't visit you, and even sending you letters was risky. If you were pregnant, he would make sure that there was someone to help you out so you weren't just suddenly left on your own. ➼ Once Historia is crowned as Queen and he's able to return, he immediately goes back home to you, spending much time needed with you and your child since he's been gone for a while. If you were pregnant when he left and gave birth while he was gone, he'd be super harsh on himself about it even though there wasn't anything he could've done with the way that events played out. He'd overcompensate with the acts of service to try to make up for what he missed. ➼ He immediately falls into your arms after he returns from Shiganshina. If your kid was there to see him, he'd pull them in too. He didn't bother hiding it because you both believed in being honest with your kids about emotions and vulnerability. ➼ Once the Titans have been cleared, he takes you and your kid outside the Walls to visit the beach, trying to answer questions as best as he could as your child bombarded him with questions about humanity existing outside the Walls.

Season 4:

➼ After his initial trip to Liberio, he'd take you and your kid to visit, just to explore the wonders of civilization outside the Walls. It was nice to come here as an actual vacation instead of under the pretense of war. ➼ It absolutely breaks his heart when he sees the pained look in your eyes after he tells you that he was to leave you for a while to go into the forest to watch over Zeke. This was the last time you saw him until after the war was over. ➼ Since you're separated, he starts writing you letters again, sometimes sending back a flower or piece of nature that reminded him of you. He took immense comfort in the letters that you'd write back, bringing that subtle hint of your scent. He could almost hear you say the words and it helps him throughout his long days waiting for news that would never come. ➼ When the letters suddenly stop, and the Rumbling began shortly after, you began to panic. If it wasn't for your kid, you'd drop everything to find him, especially with the assumption that he must have died if Zeke was able to escape. ➼ When you see him again at the end of the War, you were both horrified and relieved. You were relieved because he was alive after everyone kept telling you that he was dead, but also horrified when you saw everything that he had gone through.

Post-War:

➼ If you get pregnant post-war, Levi does everything he can to find a good place to live with easy access to care to make sure everything goes smoothly. ➼ He's a little frustrated with himself at first, since he can't help you with the baby or kid in the same capacity that he would have been able to prior to his injuries, but the two of you adjust, and he figures out alternative ways to help. (brb currently crying over imagining Levi bottle feeding your baby from his wheelchair) ➼ Levi really likes going around town with you pushing him in his wheelchair as he's holding onto your toddler. It was good quality time, chatting with you as you walked him, and playing with your toddler that was essentially the split image of him. ➼ You bet that your child is absolutely fascinated with Levi's scars and is constantly asking for stories about the war. Levi was like a hero to them and they were completely enthralled by the fact that he was such an important participant in the war. ➼ He'd occasionally take you and your kid to Paradis Island just to visit and maybe show your kid memorable areas, like where the two of you got married or ran into each other for the first time.

[bokettochild]

Blupee Bait

Been thinking about @sraksha's blupee artworks with Legend and.... well, y'all know me at this point.

If it's cute Legend stuff, I can't say no.

-

“Wild, give it a rest,” 

The champion scowls, but drops his bow for not the third time that day. “I swear I saw something.” 

“Like what?” Legend grumbles, not bothering to glance up at his fellow hero as he follows along behind him, “a squirrel? Kid, we’re in a forest, there’s animals everywhere.” 

“An’ ya don’t need to hunt ‘em all.” Twilight scolds, glancing over his shoulder at the champion. 

Said champion grumbles, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have grounds to. Wild’s been known to shoot down near anything he can in preparation for any time where they have neither time or prey to hunt. It’s a fair practice, on some fronts. As someone who’s seen what the road looks like with an empty belly, empty bag, and no prospects of hunting, Legend can appreciate the champion’s incessant need to restock on his provisions. That said though, he’s not sure they can even store anything else, what with how good hunting has been as of late. Not that Twilight had liked that to begin with, but food is food, and whether or not one knows what it’s like to stand at the other end of the arrow or not, be hunted and chased, he doesn’t see any reason to back the rancher up with his attempts at dissuading the cook from his craft. They are nine men and boys with hearty appetites after all; meat will fill them far faster than anything else, and realistically speaking, takes far less time to gather a fair portion of. 

Even so, Wild’s bow has hardly left his hand since they’d come to his world through the portal, and they’re supposedly coming wthin bounds of one or another of this era’s stables, where monsters aren’t such a threat that that would be needed. The teen's behaviours are setting him ill at ease, and he’s already uncommonly snappish as of late, even for himself. 

He’s not sure why, but there’s some part of him screaming at him every time he isn’t actively trying to keep them all alive and together, and he’s yet to determine what it is because he’s so busy trying to block out it and all other pains and pressing annoyances in favor of focusing on IT. He can’t name what IT might be, but he’s felt the eyes on him for days now. Wild’s drawing and staring at the air only adds to his unease, but as the champion has yet to see or shoot or even strike anything, much less some stalker or enemy, he’s not sure what to make of it. Maybe his mind is really giving out on him after all these years, as Ravio worries. Maybe he really is going insane or becoming paranoid. It could just be birds, just something innocent and harmless. He’s bright red after all, rather eye catching in comparison to his brothers, saving Four, who is of course all the more so and not for the right reasons. 

Heavens above, if Styla could meet the smithy, she’d faint dead away at his jesterly fashion sense. 

Not that anybody in the group fits the princess’ standards, but he’ll digress; he’s not exactly blending in with everything right now. 

Still, even birds look away after long enough. Yet that shiver, the creeping feeling of eyes on him has him glancing back warily despite himself, and only further encouraging Wild’s excessive staring into the trees.  

There is something there, something watching. 

It’s not harmful. He’s not sure how he knows that, but he does. It’s no enemy or monster, although the sense of power that radiates to him from the trees where nothing can be seen would indicate that he really should register it as far more of a threat. Most times it’s consistent, a thrum of magic seeping towards him. Other times though, mostly when Wild is too busy to stare back and draw his bow, there has been Something Else, and It’s magic, when It comes, comes in a surge that will make him stumble, will make his legs feel weak and his mind cloud for a moment that spikes panic even despite the overwhelming sense of peace that seems to call to him from the forest. 

Legend has never been one to stray from the path, but there is some part of him all but demanding he do so now, and only a wavering sense of self control, mixed with an influx of anxious “what ifs” has kept him from bending to that impulse. 

It can only hold so very much longer though. He’s tired. Of fighting, of pain, of the sense of wrongness he feels in his own skin; the urge to claw and tear and hiss at the way it fits over his frame, how it feels, how his clothes feel and his boots and his jewelry. It’s all too much and not enough, and mixed with the aches of battle, the aches caused by cold and the aching in his joints, his hands, his shoulders; it’s altogether exhausting. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll last before his mind crumbles, and he’ll give into whatever impulse promises some sense of relief or release from the wrongness and pain that surrounds and overwhelms him. 

Not that he can express that, but... 

Legend shakes his head, both in hopes of dismissing the thoughts but also to dislodge the feeling of eyes following, watching, waiting. 

-

The small red one is not well. 

They’d noticed when the flare of magic in the air had spiked, drawing the attention of all of them, and even The Lord to come and to see what had caused such an influx in an otherwise magic-drained land. Eight strangers, eight figures with burning souls had been their answer, accompanied by the all too familiar sight of the Boy that wanders this land. 

He’s an odd one, that Boy. The tree folk care for him, fawn over him and welcome him. The Great Tree speaks of him with fondness and warmth. He is blessed by the hands of the fairies whose blossoms lay throughout the land. Magic seeps from him as water from a cracked vessel, yet never does he employ it’s power. He is blessed and beloved by the Wilds and the all that they include, saving of course themselves. 

Despite the Great Tree's assurance that he is harmless, Their Lord bids them be wary, and the arrows that fly at them from the Boy are a reminder to obey such a command. 

Now though, despite the drawing of the bow and the flying of arrows, they follow close by, regardless of orders given. 

They cannot help it; there is a Kit with the Boy. 

He is, by sight, a hylian like the Boy and the others whose souls sing with goddess blessed fire, but his soul, like the Boy, whispers of some Otherness that is not found in the hylian people who wander and live throughout this land. Where in others there is an emptiness, in these nine there is an Other-ness, a sense of something beneath, hiding claws and teeth and snapping jaws, which exists in these that travel through roads, bramble and plains. 

There are wolves here. A dragon. There are teeth and sharpness, danger and power. Yet, in the midst of it all, a kit wanders behind, soul flickering, weak, magic pulsing and screaming for aid, for relief. Where they burn, he flickers, magic burning out, flame low, ready to burn it’s last. 

They cannot have that. 

The Boy and his companions do not see it, must not, for if they could, no doubt they ought to be about fixing it and offering aid, but they do not. No, they are blind and stupid as most of their kind are, seeing only what is before their eyes and not reaching out with their burning souls to sense that about them for what it is beneath its pretty form and face. They do not sense, and will not try, and as such the kit’s soul flickers further. 

It cannot stand. 

So, since the strange ones do not see, will not act, and stand about blind, they will follow. They follow, watching, waiting. There must come a time, they reason, that the Boy will lower his guard, will stop shooting and watching and looking long enough that they can catch the kit’s eye and draw him away. It should only take the smallest effort; him being young, his curiosity will take him before he knows what he does, and they can lead away and to safety. The Lord has no knowledge of their plan, despite his coming the once to see what it is that keeps them from returning to him, but they have little doubt that he will accept the kit. 

Kits are very rare, after all, and such a curious one as this is most uncommon. He is neither their kind nor not. He is magic, but not in the same strain. He is almost kin, but not quite; a distortion of themselves like light caught between a dozen dewdrops to scatter brilliant in colors that otherwise will not make themselves known. 

He is beautiful. 

The Lord will love him, they are sure. They only need make him look and see, rather than turn his many wondrous eyes to these strange anomalies and simply bid them be wary and away. 

Yes, they are disobeying his order, but if this sick and troubled kit is brought to him, he will understand why. He would want them to help, if he knew, and so they will do their all to offer aid. 

They just need the Boy to stop lingering so close and shooting at them. 

It takes days before he does. 

They’re watching when the gathering of strangers settles in the shelter made in Malanya’s image. The Boy’s first actions are to turn his attentions to the pot of fire and start working. The two wolves stray away towards Malanya’s children, the dragon helping the smaller ones settle within the shelter. The kit goes with but strays out not long after. 

His eyes are glassy, weariness seeping from him. The shield of magic that has held in defense around those in his gathering is now dropped, and the flickering flame within seems to burn ever lower now that it is no longer forced to burn at all. His steps are slow, eyes dragging over the land, cute, pointed little ears turning towards them, as though he knows that they are there, but still his eyes and ears do not catch on them. 

Kits are like that; their sense of magic is always stronger than any other they hold. 

They spring out and towards him. 

It takes only a moment to catch his eye. He watches so keenly, startled and staring. His eyes are like a twilight sky, fixed on blue light and glittering gaze as he is leveled with their stare.  

“Holy...” 

Not quite, they muse, but nearly there. 

They step towards him, an action mirrored by the kit, unthinking and impulsive. Amusement darts through them as they stare, cocking their head on one side, waiting for the next straying step (out of bounds, out of watch from the Boy and the wolves). It only takes a second or two before he is straying closer, and when he does, they turn, darting off and away from the shelter of the hylians, and back towards where they belong. 

He calls out, surprised, no doubt, feet stumbling after. When they glance back, stopping, he looks confused, blinking and starting as though unsure why he follows, why he’d called out. They can’t help but thrum with fondness. He’s cute, so clueless and lost.  

He’s also unwell though, magic too weak. Had they the skill, they’d settle beside him now and offer their own to strengthen, but pure as they may be, they will not be enough to offer him what he needs. He will be needing others to aid, and The Lord’s blessing would be most helpful as well. They just need to bring him along, tempt him just far enough to be granted what he needs. 

It’s not long, or far, Little Kit, just follow after. 

He does not, however. He stops, watching them and blinking slowly in confusion, and so they turn back. He starts as they stop before him, stumbles back when they hop close enough to touch, eyes wide and lips parted, gaping down at them as though unsure what it is that he witnesses. Unlike the Boy though, he draws no weapon. Rather, they can feel his magic, weak but curious, reaching out in a question they can’t yet answer, not yet, but if he will follow, he will see. 

They nuzzle gently, rub against booted feet, and then, before hands can reach to touch, they dart back the way they came from, pausing at the top of a knoll, turning back and watching. 

The kit blinks at them. 

-

Legend has absolutely no clue what is happening. He’d stepped out of the stable to avoid the chatter of the strange merchant that half the group seems to recognize, the man’s voice grating on his nerves, and the incessant chattering about insects only further worsening the problem. His intent had been to settle beneath a tree for a moment’s rest, out of sight, out of mind, and away from judgement from the other heroes. 

He did not expect to find himself staring as a blue rabbit appeared out of thin air. 

Naturally, his first thoughts had been one of shock, but in seconds a thousand questions were racing about in his head, curiosity pushing him to cautiously make his way towards the creature. Strangely, the thing made its way towards him as well. 

It didn’t seem to be scared of him, whatever it was. In fact, the magic that poured off of it, strong and other and... strangely familiar, seemed almost welcoming, in a way he’d never quite encountered. 

He couldn’t put a reason to why he’d darted after it when it had started away, or even to why the thing had turned back and hopped along towards him again, brushing gently against his legs before springing back and away, only to pause and look back to him, almost as though waiting. Just the same, he couldn’t put a reason to why he had followed. 

It’s the most curious looking thing he’s seen in a while; the face of an owl, but a body not unlike that his own will become when touched with darkness. Stranger still though: it glows. He’s met precious few things that glow, at least by their own power, and most tend to be something to be avoided, but this... this thing, seems to be harmless in nature.  

Not that that prevents him wondering after where it’s leading him, or even why. That, however, does not stop him following, despite a very weary voice in his mind warning to not, that he doesn’t know this place or this world, that there is no path to follow and he’s alone now, without the others. 

He should at least tell them where he is, right? 

But if he turns back now, he’ll lose the strange creature, and if there’s one thing six adventures have taught him, it’s that finding and following the thing all over again will only wear further on what precious little patience he still has left in him. Not only that, but he can’t even guarantee that he will find such a thing again, or that it will approach him so openly. He’s certainly never seen one before, in this world or any other, and for it to appear now... 

It’s just got to be something important, and he can’t lose it, can’t let whatever this is slip through his fingers, not if it could offer some further step in their newest quest, some promise or item or guidance they may need! So, he follows, darting and running after the little creature that pauses every so often to turn back and make sure he’s still following. He follows it away from the stable and towards what, he doesn’t know, curiosity flooding through him. 

The others will understand why he left, right? 

-

The kit is slow. 

It’s a long process, darting along only to have to stop every few steps and let him catch up. He’s not stumbling over much, but the poor thing lacks their usual speed, and likely as not lacks the magic to simply fade to The Lord’s side.  

Not that they have any intent of forcing the poor thing to try and cross a river and a field, climb a mountain and only then rest. No, they only need regroup with the others, enough that their combined strength will be enough to take him with when they themselves follow the call of their Lord back to where they belong. He will come with, if their magic is shared, as all kits do, and then at last they can show their Lord what they have found and maybe then provide that light that this weakling kit so desperately needs. 

The poor thing starts when another of their kind appears beside them, stumbles when yet another darts up from the ground to spring alongside. He slows altogether when at last there are enough of them, eyes wide and staring as they stand at his feet. 

He’s so cute and clueless, they can’t help but chirp at him, watching those odd little ears flicker about and his strange little nose wiggle with confusion. 

He will understand soon. 

The stop, the others following suit, and thus, so too does the kit. He stands amidst them and stares as they gather around, starts as they turn to him and watch, and only after moments of him standing does he seem to find it in himself to settle down among them, crouching low and reaching out, so curious and clueless and lost. 

He’s too cute, honestly. 

They dart forwards, letting clever fingers touch and thrumming with pride at the little gasp that stutters from the kit at first contact with downy fluff. Doubt seems to fade, worries abate, as the poor thing reaches out, gently lifting them, which thy only welcome as their companions gather closer. Some climb up, darting and flickering, settling on shoulders and legs and all about, covering the little one in their magic, spreading it one to another until, at last, it is strong enough, and then- 

The poor kit starts badly when the world flickers pink, when overhead are blossoms and beneath is water and the dusk that has settled over them in their chase grants light that only pales in comparison to their own. He drops them in his shock, but they hold none of it to him. He is unlikely to know what it is to travel as they do, to flicker from one place to where they ought to be, and it is nothing to them to fall that distance when they are at home and in their own place. 

“Where on earth-” the kit Is blinking again, staring, turning about and looking altogether confused. That is alright though; answers will come shortly. 

They can feel The Lord. He is not with them, not yet, but his power surges about them, and the water trembles all so subtly as they gather at its edges. 

Mayhaps it is that, or maybe the fact that they gather, that has drawn the attention of the kit from his confusion to their pool, but he turns with them, stalking slowly over, cautious but still just as curious as a moment before. No temptation is needed to bring him up alongside of the water only seconds before the Lord emerges. 

It’s clear in a moment their Lord knows there is something changed, some presence not their own, yet also not that of the Boy who likes to come here to try and catch them, or the hylians who come to hunt. The Lord turns in moments to seek, to find, and golden eyes meet with twilight as the kit starts and stares, jaw gaped, eyes wide, soul sparking in wonder not expressed, but felt by them all and earning a surge of delight. 

They can’t help it; the kit’s wonder is a pleasure to witness. 

The Lord like ways seems to think so, cautious in his motion but welcoming as he makes for the kit at the edge of his pool, lowering a great head to stare at eyes that stare back, unblinking. They have done well, he deems, to bring the little one here, and greetings are given as he lets crooked hands rise to touch, solemn and reverent, to bury in his mane. 

Pink head-fur is tousled by their Lord, soft little sounds of surprise erupting from the kit, but the greeting of their lord is all that is needed for them and the others to gather. 

Magic surges, their lord settling, the kit staring and then.... 

He stills. 

-

To say that this moment feels like a dream would be to put it lightly. 

One moment, he’s chasing the strange blue bunny, the next, he’s standing under a cherry tree, water before him and sky all around. The air is cold here, thick too with some oppressive magic, the same as he’s sensed in the woods, following after him; that of the watching thing. 

He has all of a moment to wonder if maybe these strange rabbits were doing the watching, but then his mind is drawn to how they gather at the water’s edge, and so he follows. He’s not expecting the beast that appears in a flicker of light, somehow stranger still than the rabbits; a blue stallion with a mane like a lion and two faces, both that of owls. It glows with ethereal light, magic pouring from it in thick waves that have his legs giving out beneath him. If they hadn’t though, the overwhelming urge to kneel in reverence to this great beast would have brought him to his knees regardless. 

It’s eyes, all four of them, are fixed on him, it's hooves turning his way, gaze fixed, eyes heavy. It’s hard to do anything save meet the gaze, even as warmth floods over him as the thing bows its head to be level with his own, eyes meeting and holding for a precious second before closing. 

Some treacherous part of him dares lift his hand to touch, to feel. His curiosity wins over common sense, but the thing does not stir as he grips its mane. In fact, it holds perfectly still, and it is instead he who is shaken. Magic pours over him like wave, overwhelming yet also... 

Peace. 

Pain, exhaustion, weariness and worry all fade into something drowsy and subdued. The thoughts that spin without end in his mind slow to something quiet, controlled, relaxed even. He finds himself lifting his hands to drag again through long, impossibly soft hair, the great eyes of the thing opening once more as it leans closer, face touching his own in a gesture he feels ought to mean something, ought to be important, ought to strike something in his mind, some familiarity or feeling, but all he can register is peace, eyes fluttering shut as small bodies press close to his own, climbing over him. 

It’s like being drugged, in a peaceful, gentle sort of way. A floating sort of feeling that takes over him and leaves him settling on the shore, unsure when he finds himself lying amidst the odd little creatures, but thoroughly delighted as their furry pelts press to sensitive skin, soothing every sensation with delightful fur he only just resists burying his face in, rubbing against and breathing in. He need not even try though, for they gather around eagerly, and though the great beast, their leader (or perhaps parent? creator?) stands aside, watching, it is a benevolent thing; its presence and magic still settled over, safe and warm and overwhelming to the point of tears. 

The little rabbit creatures chirp and fuss at the dampness, but the relief, sweet, precious, much longed for and now all so tangible, only makes them flow more freely, a smile touching his face as that incessant voice within at last stills, relief in a way he can’t name granting itself to him and leaving him lying on the earth, at peace for what feels like the first time since his adventures started. 

That’s how Wild finds him later. It’s morning by the time that the champion arrives, huffing and frowning, face awash with worry as he rounds some bend in some path that Legend has missed before. It’s all gone though, when the other hero lays eyes on him. 

He’d slept well, although he can’t say when he slept and when he woke. The last hours since coming here are simply a blur of warmth, soft fur, and overwhelming feelings of security and peace. It must show, because Wild’s concern flickers into amusement as the other draws near. 

The beast, whatever it had been, in now gone. Before leaving, it had come to him again, brushing his face with its own in what felt like some semblance of a farewell, or maybe a blessing. There’s a part of him that feels maybe there was something said, probably was, but he can’t name the language or manner, only that there had been something conveyed, and something which he can only explain as having been warmth and compassion and kindness spoken. Despite the beast’s departure, however, the strange glowing rabbits have remained, and still settle over him, warm and impossibly soft, although often shifting and moving, springing about and playing over and about him, but never straying far, and he’s been content to similarly stay amongst them, simply enjoying their presence. 

“There you are,” Wild murmurs, crouching down beside him and smiling a crooked smile, worry fleeing from his gaze to instead be replaced with amusement. “Have a good night?” 

He can only hum his agreement. 

Wild chuckles, eyes creasing with laugher as they glitter, the same unnatural blue as the other-worldly rabbits. “What, did you get kidnapped by the blupees or something? You usually don’t stray from the path, vet.” 

“Blupees?” Somehow, it’s the only thing to make it off his tongue. 

The champion huffs another little laugh, brows raising, “your cuddle partners?” 

“Oh.” 

The smile he’s sent really has no right to be that teasing, but somehow he doesn’t care, only remaining as he is until the champion’s attentions turn to the beasts (blupees) around them. Blue eyes dart over, confusion and wonder in them as he looks from furry critter to dazed hero and back again. There’s a strange sort of hesitation in the way he reaches out, a thing Wild rarely displays, especially towards animals, but the surprise and delight as scarred hands make contact with fur feels important. 

“Huh...” 

He doesn’t have it in him to really ask, save turning and staring until blue eyes turn to him and a half-smile touches the face of his brother. “They never let me touch them normally, never mind get close.” 

“They lured me away and dragged me here.” 

Blond hair blows freely as the champion throws his head back, laughter startling the blupees around them. “Really?” his smile is strangely disbelieving as it falls on the creatures, “who would have thought.” And then, drawing back to himself, those blue eyes turn to Legend, smile playful. “Well, the others are pretty worried. You ready to go?” 

Bliss still settles into his very bones, peace and a fullness he can’t describe setting every sensation at ease. “No.” 

Wild laughs, standing and offering a hand. ”Come on, vet, the others freaked out when we couldn’t find you last night, and they won’t calm down until I bring you back safe.” 

It’s in a begrudging manner that he pushes himself off the ground; not set with moss or anything particularly soft, but somehow better than any bed he’s ever had, and accepts the hand offered to him. The blupees scatter as Wild pulls him to his feet, and that unnamed part of him sighs wistfully, mourning the loss of contact. 

He’s not sure why, but he can’t help but stare after the creatures as the champion guides him down the mountain. 

-

They do not want to see him go. 

He is better now; magic restored, core recharged. The Lord has said his magic was weak from overuse, his soul crying for aid and support they are only too happy to have offered. A night's sleep and their company will have aided him considerably, and his need is no longer great, nor likely existent, now that the day as come, but that does not change that they do not wish for him to go. Still though, the Lord has also warned them, this kit- though it pleased him to have the little one brought to him- cannot stay. He is already belonging with others, and although their kind may be able to meet needs unseen by the anomalies, this kit cannot be taken from what is already his own. 

Watching the Boy come for him stirs up upset within them. Unease makes itself known, worry that he will shoot and strike, but instead all he does is smile, sinking down beneath their kit and offering smiles and laughter in the way of hylians, his teeth not a threat but a kindness as hands not yet clawed offer aid to their kit. It is taken, but they can feel the reluctance, and it makes them preen ever so slightly. They have done well, bringing the kit here. They have done well, bringing him aid. 

He will depart, and does, wandering off and away, the Boy talking at him and murmuring strange things, even as violet eyes linger, twilight skies lit with stars that last night were absent, watching gold as gold in turn watch twilight.  

He will go, but now they know him. 

He will be easy to find again, when they want to. 

And they will most certainly want to!

[laura1633]

okok we heard charles saying he’s not sensitive to bottoming…can you write about the opposite?? maybe a fluffy drabble about either one of them bottoming for the first time or something?

whatever you do it’ll be amazing lol

Aww thank you anon 🥰

Well I posted a short drabble the other day of Max's first time bottoming, it was fluffy so it might fit the ask. If you want to check it out then it is here

As I have already written a little something about Max's first time, here is a random drabble about Charles' first time. As always with these drabbles they are just short little unedited ideas not meant to be fully formed fics or anything.

"We don't have to go any further if you don’t want to” Max mumbles as he works his lips down Charles’ throat, “I can go back to using my fingers” 

“No, I want you” Charles mumbles, he’s not as afraid as he was earlier this evening when he’d taken Max’s hand and disappeared out of the club with the Dutchman. Admitting that this was going to be his first time with a guy hadn’t brought about any laughter or even shock from Max, the Dutchman had just proceeded more gently, more patiently. 

“If you need to slow anything down though” Max smiles, “Just say, I know it can be a little scary the first time” The Dutchman rips open a condom and starts rolling it on himself. Charles watches wide eyed and suddenly feels hyper aware of every single inch of Max, and there are a lot of inches. Nice thick inches that Charles is sure most guys would be overjoyed to see  but he is just a little nervous about how it’s all meant to fit inside him. 

“I think it might be easier if you go on top of me” Max shuffles so he’s sat up against the headboard before gripping his hands around Charles’ waist and lifting the Monegasque up on to his lap. “You can control how much of me you take” 

“I want all of you” Charles pouts despite feeling even more intimidated now he’s perched atop Max’s thighs. He still wants all of the Dutchman though, there’s no other scenario he can even begin to contemplate. He hasn’t come this far not to feel every last inch. 

Max’s hands glide down Charles’ back until the Dutchman is pressing the tips of his fingers back up into Charles’ body. There’s not as much resistance as there was earlier and Charles feels strangely proud at how well he opens up at Max’s touch. It’s like his body knows instinctively what he needs - and he needs Max. 

“Please” Charles’ tone is a little desperate as Max eases his fingers out. The Monegasque whimpers at how strange it suddenly feels to be empty. He’s not sure how long Max had fingered him for but now the pressure is no longer there he feels his muscles twitching helplessly around the emptiness. 

“I just want you to go at your own pace” Max gives Charles a soft reassuring smiles as he presses his cock right against Charles’ ass. The Monegasque nods eagerly but his heart rate continues to soar. Max’s cock feels bigger and heavier now, despite only pushing against Charles’ rim. 

Charles really isn’t one to panic but everything feels new and terrifying and exciting and he is suddenly overcome with emotion knowing that this is happening with Max. His Max. The Max he practically grew up alongside. The Max he hated and then tolerated and then fell in love with him from afar. Not that Max knows that last part yet. For all the Dutchman really knows this could be a casual fuck. Well, as casual as it can be when one of you is losing their anal virginity.. It doesn’t feel particularly casual though, Max is soothing up and down Charles’ back and kissing over his shoulders and cooing soft praises as he tells Charles to take things slowly. 

The Monegasque goes to try and  sink down on Max but hesitates the second he feels the blunt end of the Dutchman’s cock pressing against his rim. It feels impossibly big. Too much. Charles keeps trying to inch himself down but nothing feels like it’s happening and then - 

“Fuck” Charles hisses as the head of Max’s cock pushes inside him. The sudden pressure punches the air out of the Monegasque’s lungs. It’s different to how fingers felt, different to what he imagined. He’s feels spread wide. Full up. Happy and elated and still a little terrified but Max is soothing him and kissing him and touching him in ways that make him thankful that he waited for the Dutchman for his first time 

Charles doesn’t mean to entirely ignore Max’s instructions but he sinks down almost half way in one go and then does the rest in another swift movement until Max is fully inside him. It hurts a little. There’s a slight burn and uncomfortableness but despite that, knowing he has Max’s dick inside him is enough of a turn on all by itself. The Dutchman is breathing heavily, his cheeks a little flush, eyes a little darker. 

“You feel good” Max moans, his voice all raspy and Charles can’t help but smile back, “Taking me so well too” 

Charles feels the heat rising across his face. He’s not always the most confident despite outward appearances, even so he’s not felt this shy in quite sometime. In fact he’d probably have to go back to when he slept with his first girlfriend for the first time to feel anywhere near this way. It still wouldn’t compare though. He feels more vulnerable now because this feels real. The real him opening himself up to someone else for the first time. 

Max’s hand wraps around Charles’ cock as he starts stroking and Charles responds by starting to roll his hips in nice little circles and gets used to how it feels to be stretched open. The Monegasque isn’t really sure what the best technique is but whatever he is doing seems to be working for Max because even the smallest of movements have the Dutchman moaning happily. 

As Max kisses and licks and sucks his way up Charles’ neck the Monegasque lifts himself up so he can feel the heavy drag of Max’s cock against his insides. As he sinks back down again Charles feels both of their bodies shake. Max is patient though, just like he promised he would be. Patient enough for Charles to build up slowly until he’s moving up and down with a nice little rhythm and fucking himself down on to Max’s cock over and over. It’s only then that Max starts bucking his hips up to meet each thrust. 

Charles steadies himself by gripping tight of Max’s shoulders as the movement gets a little more desperate and ragged. Max’s hands are holding on to his waist tightly. It’s better than Charles had imagined it. Hotter. Each moan. Each dip of the bed. Each desperately filthy kiss Max presses against his lips. It’s everything he wanted and so much more. 

It’s not just the feel of Max’s cock splitting him open or the Dutchman’s hand jerking him off in a nice steady rhythm that pushes Charles right over the edge though. It’s getting to hear Max moaning as he spills into the condom, it’s getting to feel the Dutchman’s grip tighten on his waist. It’s getting to feel his body burn at every point it touches Max’s.

But most of all it is Max telling him how much he loves him that sends Charles spiralling and coming hard as he collapses down against Max’s broad body and trusts that the Dutchman is going to catch him and keep him safe.

[heaven4lostgirls]

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

sirius black x insecure!fem!reader

TW: ED, panic attack, breakdown, body images, crying, emotional traumas happy ending tho!!

a/n: this isn’t proofread and this is literally my first fic be kind pls!!

Y/N had always been considered a marauder since she sat with them during their first ride of the Hogwarts Express in their first year however once she was sorted into Hufflepuff they obviously were not able to spend much time around one another

Y/N had also developed a crush on a certain Sirius Black during the course of their fifth year when he had run away from his parents and had openly shown his love for muggle traditions such as nail polish and eyeliner.

Sirius had never noticed her affection mostly because she spent most of her time avoiding him, however every year the 4 marauders including the Hufflepuff girl would meet in Hogsmead for their annual marauders day.

It was a tradition started in first year when they all had gotten their permission slips signed and decided that they knew nothing of Hogsmead and it would be safer for them to travel together in which they soon found themselves wanting to go to the same stores and thus a bond of everlasting love and friendship was born.

Y/N was now however considering cancelling her plans with her friends because her outfit that she had picked out to wear at the beginning of the week had somehow looked tighter than what she had remembered it looked like.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had used these clothes but that didn’t matter because her size had never changed before. Her mother had made sure of that whenever she visited home that she was to be placed on a strict diet because upon arriving her mother had noticed her stomach had looked chubbier than when she left.

Y/N had admitted she was not one to focus on portion control because the good at Hogwarts was amazing and she was used to eating a lot so that she had enough stamina to get through quidditch practice and none of the other boys ever commented on how much she ate because they all ate similar to her.

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and decided that she would try and find another outfit. Y/N tried on countless clothes she had in her wardrobe only to try on a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn since she was 12 that obviously no longer fit her however that was her last straw as she collapsed into the pile of clothes and sobbed.

After cleaning herself up and pushing all her clothes back into the cupboard trying not to look too closely at herself in the mirror stuck inside her wardrobe doors she pulled on a pair of Sirius’ sweatpants and one of James’ old quidditch t-shirts.

She knew there was no way she would be able to make it to Hogsmead now considering she was already late from doing her hair and makeup which was inevitably ruined by her breakdown so she decided to walk to the Gryffindor common room to let the boys know she would have to skip out on todays adventures.

She softly muttered the password to the common room however upon arriving she noticed that Sirius was the only one sitting at the fireplace. She cocked her eyebrow wondering where all the boys were and walked over to him and as he looked up he gave her a confused body glance at her choice of attire.

“What are you wearing? We’re late and the boys are already on their way to the leaky cauldron!” Sirius exclaimed and she smiled forcefully before she looked him in the eyes as she hugged herself in comfort. “I- uh actually can’t make it to Hogsmead today…” she murmured embarrassed that she had made him wait for her only for her to turn him away.

“Are you sick? I mean none of us have missed a single Hogsmead trip together since first year, even when Remus had a full moon the night before we dragged him out of bed just so that we could get-“ Sirius was cut off by a frustrated and pained voice “I know Sirius, I just don’t want to go! Okay?” She exclaimed.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” He looked at her confused. “I just can’t go, you guys should have fun without me and bring me back some sweets from Honeydu-“ however it was her turn to be cut off by Sirius who shook his head “I’m not leaving without you Y/N, it’s a marauders day and if you can’t be there then there’s no point in the day is there?” He smiled and winked at her.

She was confused on why he was making such a big deal out of her going however she just rolled her eyes. “I just don’t think I look good in what I planned to wear and..I didn’t want you guys to be embarrassed…about me” she looked down as her eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

“Hey hey, don’t cry” Sirius cooed softly as he pulled her towards him and stroked her hair as her muttered comforting words into her hair. She felt her tears leave her eyes and she sobbed into his leather jacket. Sirius felt her body shake with each sob that tore through her and he felt his heart break a little with each painful sound leaving her.

“I can’t look at myself in the mirror anymore Sirius, I hate it i hate it i hate it. I hate how I l-look and how when I-I smile I have lines around my mouth, I hate that my t-thighs t-touch and that I c-can’t stop my eyes from getting dark circles and that my t-tummy isn’t flat” She cried hysterically into his shirt.

“I can’t do this anymore, i-it hurts. P-please make it stop P-please Siri make it s-stop” Sirius could feel the tears running down his face as all he could do was hug her tighter as he pulled them towards the marauders dorm and laid on his bed with his arms wrapped around Y/N.

“I know I can’t fight those thoughts for you but I need you to know that I will always find you beautiful, nothing is going to change that for me okay?” He squeezed her tighter as he heard her panicked breathing turn into shallow breaths.

“None of us will ever be embarrassed of you because of how you look okay? Do you remember in fourth year when James walked into the great hall with no eyebrows because he thought he could shave a slit into them?” When he felt her nod as a sign she was listening he continued the story.

“The rest of us were busy laughing but all you did was pull him outside the great hall and you gave him the hair growth potion Slughorn had taught us and hugged him before walking in like nothing had happened. That was when I knew that you were one of the kindest people I had ever met” He felt her snuggle into his chest and sniffle.

“I didn’t know that you saw me do that, I thought you guys were busy laughing. I just wanted James to feel better I would’ve done the same thing if it had been any of you, you know that right?” she spoke into his chest.

“I know love, are you sure you wanna stay behind, I will stay with you but I want you to know that even if you decide to go I know that the boys have been dying to talk to you about our new idea for a prank” he smiled down at her.

Her heart swelled at the idea of the three boys waiting for her with excitement. She nods slowly and gets off of his bed. “I-I think I’d like to go, w-would you mind giving me a minute to change and we can be on our way?” She smiled shyly.

He nods and smiles back and before he knows it Y/N leans forward and pecks his lips and scurries off not before saying “I guess that was your thank you for everything” Sirius stands in shock of what happened before grinning and touching his lips before running after her.

He picks her up with ease before carrying her to the marauders dorm. “Sirius!! Put me down! We have to go meet the boys!!” She shrieks and laughs. “Fuck them, you can’t just do that and think I’m not gonna make you mine” He kisses her neck with a smile before nuzzling her.

Safe to say they were over an hour late and walked into the leaky cauldron with their hands intertwined meeting the gazes of their shocked friends.

[hotchsreader]

For the Rest of My Life

Words: 1.5k

Reader has an anxiety attack at work, and Hotch helps her through it. Very soft Hotch.

You knew today was going to be a hard day. You woke up, hair caked to your forehead and your legs felt like jelly, like you were not meant to be walking on them. As you sat up, your entire room spun around and it took more than a couple minutes to ground yourself. You knew what to do in times like this, you had your useful skills learned over the years tucked away in the folder in your brain, but today it felt like the cabinet holding them was locked.

You walked into the bullpen, eyes foggy and head down. Usually, you greeted everyone with a happy and hopeful smile, but today that felt too hard. The muscles in your face felt like they would snap if you tried even to talk. Derek looked up at you, and over at Emily trying to gauge the problem, but Emily just shook her head no and let you sit at your desk, forget about all that was going on in your brain, and throw yourself into the reports that were due. You sat there for a few hours, with no one bothering you and your focused workspace. It was very easy when everything felt like this to throw yourself into work or a project because it makes the mind stay busy. It’s when you have nothing to do that everything feels like it's going to come crashing down around you. It’s when you have nothing to do that it creeps up to the surface and begins to slip out, mostly without your control.

You were so focused you didn't hear the familiar sound of steps creep up behind you until an arm was placed gently on your shoulder.

“Hey, I know what you’re doing, and I would like to see you in my office ASAP,” Hotch said to you, he leaned down to say it in your ear so no one else could hear. He knew that allowing everyone to hear what he said would make this all worse on your end.

You didn’t think twice, you got up from your workspace, pushed the chair in behind you, and followed closely behind him. You realized as you walked behind him how tall he was, and how well fitted his suits always are. You start to wonder where he buys them before you realize how far your mind has wandered in the minute it takes to get to his office.

“Have a seat, and tell me what's on your mind.” He sits in his chair and motions for you to sit down in the chair across from him. You feel the tears slip out before you even hit the chair. You knew this would happen at some point today, but Hotch actually taking the time to pay attention to you, to realize something was wrong enough to come out of his office and grab you, made the tears sting just a little bit more.

“Oh no, sweetheart what is going on?” He immediately jumped up and rushed around his desk to you the minute he saw the tears falling from your eyes.

“It's just… it's just a hard day for me is all.” You sniffled and tried to wipe your tears but he brushed your hand aside and wiped them for you. He placed his hand on your knee as he bent down beside you, looking up into your eyes.

“Is it your anxiety?” He asked, you could tell his voice was laced with concern. He would do anything to protect you, but it is hard to protect a person from their own mind. No matter how much he had tried to.

Your palms had started to become clammy, and you were shaking. The entire time you were trying to throw yourself into your work you had ignored what was going on inside your brain. In hindsight, that was a bad idea because now every little thing that happened alongside your anxiety was fighting its way out. You started to cry a little harder, your shoulder bobbing up and down as the sobs tormented you.

“What can I do honey? I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Hotch was speaking in a soft, gentle tone. This was not the first time he had helped you through an anxiety attack. The second night you spent with him you realized you had forgotten to submit a report on the case you all had handled that week and started to panic. He calmed you down then by reassuring you that he was in charge of when they were due, and he absolutely believed you that it had been done you had just forgotten to submit it. You have never been one to turn something in late, even at work. The only thing about now, this was the first time you had an anxiety attack at work, and you have no idea why it was happening.

“Just stay with me, hold me.” Hotch grabs you, lifts you up, and takes you over to the couch in his office. He sits you down and runs over to his desk where he grabs tissues. He sits down in front of you on his knees, takes the tissue, wipes your eyes, under your eyes, and gives you a new one to blow your nose with. After you do this, he takes them all to the trashcan, returns to you sits down, and guides you where your head is on his lap and he is stroking your hair. He knows that laying down and having your hair stroked is one way to easily ground you, so you can return back to your normal state and are able to function again.

You clear your throat and ask, “How did you know something was up?”

He lets out a small laugh, “When you walked in. You didn’t look at anyone, you didn’t wave, and you didn’t even lift your head up to check if I was in my office like you always do. I let you have a little while, hoping you’d be able to pull yourself out of the trance you were in, but once I realized you couldn’t, I intervened.”

You shift, rolling yourself over, so you can get a solid look at the man. His forehead is creased, meaning he’s worried about you, and his hand hasn’t moved from your hair. He uses his other hand to rub your cheeks with his thumb and he hums your favorite song.

“Do you know what caused this anxiety attack?” He looks down at you with a half smile as you smile back at him, letting him know everything is getting easier. The pounding in your chest has started to ease up, but you can still feel your heart rate is pretty fast. If you got up now, you’d probably either pass out or your eyes would go blurry for a minute, preventing you from moving.

“Honestly, no. I woke up and felt very groggy and focusing to even get myself out of bed was tough. I haven’t had one of these episodes in a while, so I thought if I just worked through it, I could ignore it enough that it’d go away.” You now, roll your eyes at the thought. You had been dealing with anxiety since you were eleven years old. You had dealt with these types of episodes before, you had to face it head-on or it would just get worse. You learned your lesson this time.

“You could’ve just come to my office. You know I am always here for you. Always. I would have helped you get through this. You didn’t have to let it build up this badly.” He jokingly waved a finger in your face to symbolize you had been bad. This brought a hearty chuckle out of you, which in turn made him smile. Seeing Hotch smile could cure most things for you. He was a great man, a great dad, and a great boyfriend. He would do anything if it meant that you would be okay. You had just thought this one wouldn’t be as bad.

“I know, it’s just embarrassing to have to deal with this. I wish, I just wish I could be normal.” You let out a heavy sigh, as he looks at you.

“Hey, if having anxiety makes you not normal, what does having nightmares related to the things I’ve been through make me? We all have our demons, and we all have things that make us different from the people around us. There is absolutely no such thing as normal. Who you are, and I mean this, and everything about you makes you perfect to me. Anxiety included.” He says, completely serious.

You look up at him, sit yourself up, and place a soft kiss on his lips. He returns it, grabbing the back of your head to emphasize how much he means it.

“I wouldn’t have made it through this without you, Aaron Hotchner.” You smile, your mouth inches from his. He kisses you again, and bites your lower lip. You laugh.

“I wouldn’t have made it through a lot without you, if this is the way I can repay all you’ve done for me, I’ll do it for the rest of my life.”

[nanaminsmoon]

jus noticed that geto has nothing… my man my man my man listen ik this trope has been done but hyperfem spoiled reader & plug geto 🫶🏾 or literally any trope i jus have geto brain rot rn -🪩

omg something must be in the air bc i've been feeling the exact same way i think the edits are getting to me😞

cw: plug!geto x spoiledblackfem!reader, pnv, unprotected sex, oral(m receiving), spit kink, geto calls reader; 'baby', cock warming for a lil bit at the end.

wc: 2674

given the duration of your relationship, geto knew you inside and out. reading your emotions only took a simple look, the easiest expressions to read being the ones you gave him when you wanted something. those were the behaviours he was most well-versed in; due to his laidback and lenient nature, geto gave you anything your pretty little heart desired. and his most regretful gift he had given you was making you aware of your power over him, and his bank account. because once it landed in your hands, you abused it. your tactics of choice were so overused, that they now seemed rehearsed. yet geto would give in every single time, because he enjoyed the ruse as much as you did. perhaps even more. he loved the way you were touchier than usual; the warmth of your skin bleeding into the delicacy of your actions. the fight to not be beguiled by you was futile, so he’d humour you until he physically couldn’t anymore.

like the time you had approached him from behind, taking a deep breath as you walked to where he was sat in the living room—his attention reserved for the weed and scales in front of him. panic about distracting him would be quashed when you’d notice his head looking up to the tv, as he laughed at whatever he was watching. and, well assimilated to your dynamic, you rarely got nervous about asking geto for stuff, but the price of this particular purchase had landed on your lungs harshly, pushing a hefty breath out of them. and you’d make a laughable attempt at calming yourself as you stalked over to him. geto’s ears would perk up at the light sound of footsteps and, eyes still glued to the screen, he’d turn his head. there’d be no need to turn fully because you’d soon be stood behind him, shimmery lips delicately landing on his cheeks a few times. but, after a few moments, he’d turn properly to meet them with his own.

affection wasn’t a rarity in your relationship, so nothing about your actions would be a cause for concern. even as your hands delicately landed on his bare shoulders, thumbs dissolving the tension in his muscles. geto would just shift to click his neck, before an approving groan would leave his lips. a part of you felt bad for using much-needed stress relief to coax your wishes out of him, but you had a girls trip the following week and this one bag completed one of your fits perfectly. so you’d press on,

“you’ve been sat here all day, pa, need me to cook you sumn?”, you’d ask, sweetly kissing his neck and the shell of his ear. geto’s silence would be unbroken as his only response would be a shake of his head, as he placed weed on his scale. it was like knowledge of your intentions was forcing him to be uncooperative. because it was; geto had caught on to the way you’d stopped taking your phone with you everywhere, instead leaving it unlocked in random places with the screen displaying a screenshot of the bag you wanted. he just wanted you to ask him directly, instead of beating around the bush.

and he’d get his straight forward approach, when his shoulders would be stripped of their relaxation and you’d move forward to backhug him instead. despite still being stood behind the sofa, you’d try to get as close as you could, planting slow kisses on his bare skin.

“so~”, you'd begin, tucking stray hairs behind his pierced ears. whatever geto was watching proved to be more interesting than you, because his focus wouldn’t waver. but he would offer you more of a response than before, in the form of a low hum moving past his lips as they held his blunt.

���hm”,

“well~there's this really pretty bag i saw, but it's so expensive.”, you’d mold your lips into the pout that always helped you get your way. yet, when you looked to gauge your boyfriend’s reaction, there seemingly wasn't one. but you wouldn’t let it discourage you,

“can you buy it for me please~?”, you pleaded, to no avail. not until the blunt between geto’s lips would be placed on his ash tray, his lips blowing smoke out his mouth once he did,

“first off, ‘f you wanna ask me for sumn then at least have the fucking decency to do it to my face”, he spat, and his reprimand would be cut short by your legs rushing to sit you on his lap. a faint smile would be sent your way as his hands moved to smooth over your thighs, before he'd ask,

“second, how much is it?”. money was no object to geto, but you’d always neglect to mention the prices of everything you asked for, or bought on his card. it was a purposeful decision, and it was always made to prevent trouble. but when he asked for it directly, you had no choice but to tell him.

“500…”, you'd say quietly, and geto would scoff in disbelief—both at the price, and at your sudden lack of confidence.

“dollars?”, he'd ask, and you'd nod meekly, avoiding eye contact, ”i asked you a question”, he said, and you'd huff dramatically in impatience .

“well yeah, what else would it be?”, you said with a tone far too agitated to be directed towards the man in front of you. immediately, geto's hand would lift to grab your jaw.

“watch that tone.”, he'd chide through gritted teeth.

“sorry”, you'd reply quietly, and geto's strengthened grip on your jaw would have your head moving backwards to look him directly in the eyes.

“how are you so loud when you want sumn, but so quiet when it's time to apologise?”, he'd shake your head, and your voice raised.

“well it ain't my fault your high ass can't fucking hear.”, that retort was far too quick, and you could see the surprise it caused written on geto's face. it was as if your mouth had gotten too comfortable and had forgotten who you were talking to. because, guiltily looking at him now, you could see that you'd fucked up. and geto knew too. that's why he'd smile at you, hand moving from your jaw to your neck before he'd say,

“and now my high ass ain't gettin’ you shit”.

low groans and cuss words would take turns leaving geto’s mouth as he leant back on the couch; one arm outstretched on the top of the cushions, and the other on the back of your head. his head would rest on his shoulder, as he guided you so you could take more of him. geto’s theory was that if your mouth was inadequate in the art of talking right, then he’d train it, to excellency, at another skill.

”you sound so much better—fuck—so much better when you're just gagging on dick”, he'd tease, looking down at the tears brimming in your eyes. they’d implore for him to pull you back, and he’d listen dutifully. he’d lean forward to pull you back up by your hair, maintaining a grip on it that allowed him to make you face him directly.

looking at the briny apologies threatening to roll onto your cheeks almost made his heart lurch, but the hardness between his legs needed tending to, so that almost wouldn't be enough to change his mind. so you'd be back on his dick immediately, and his helping hand wouldn't leave you; moving your hair out your face, stroking your cheek, and even reaching over to grab at the flesh spilling out of your shorts.

“i shoulda known that a girl with an ass like this would bring nothin’ but problems”, he'd sigh, reaching over to his blunt to take another hit. the smoke would pervade the air above you, as your mouth had geto leaning his head on the sofa. the curling of his toes, and growing strength in his hand contractions told him he was close.

“you're gonna take it all ain't you, baby?”, he'd look down at you, and you'd nod around his length, “my greedy girl. always so good f’r me—”, he’d said, pouting, but his taunts would be cut short by the feeling of his balls emptying into your mouth. once he’d come down from his high, geto would lean down to push the leaking nut, back into your mouth, tsking at you as he did so.

“such a messy girl”, he’d shake his head.

geto didn't even have the courtesy to take you to your bed. though well-mannered enough to help you rise to your feet, that’s the furthest his chivalry would extend. because, once he helped stripped you of your pyjamas, you were on all-fours on the couch—gripping onto the arm rests as his large hands pulled you onto his dick. one of them would move to wrap around your 40-inch bundles, reining you in any time you tried to run from the repercussions of your loose mouth. at this point, it seemed like the real punishment was taking him without any prior prep. because geto was blessed with both length and girth, so taking him was a challenge in itself. but it was a challenge that, stomach tightening, pleasure made very easy to accept. adjusting to his size wasn’t the only issue, there was also the fact that his thrusts resembled those of a man who was finally being given an outlet to express his hidden disdain. though they lit a fire inside you, that coursed through your veins, they tightened your hands’ grip on the armrest. this man was fucking you so hard you were convinced you’d break a nail. that'd bring you to a total of three, following the two you had broken while fucking the night before. even still, nothing could distract from the feeling of his hand in your hair,

“baby, my hair”, you moaned out, reaching to place a hand on the large one in your tresses.

“y’think i give a fuck? i paid for it ‘nd i'll do whatever i want to it”, would be geto’s only response, accompanied by his spiteful hand collecting more of your hair to pull you back. his other one would move to wrap around your throat, attaching your back to his chest.

“open.”, he’d instruct curtly, and you’d open you mouth for him to spit in it, before swallowing without further instruction.

“what’d i say about gratitude, baby? say ‘thank you’”, he kissed your neck, biting down on it when he realised that he’d fucked you out of coherent thought.

“th-thank you”, you said, aided by his thrusts knocking the words off your tongue to fill the space around you.

the feeling of your warmth enveloping his dick had stolen geto’s sight of why he was fucking you so harshly in the first place. so, after a little while, your forehead would be greeting a cushion as you keened a mix of geto’s name and pleas for him not to stop, into the fabric underneath you. the once pitiless hand in your hair had softened into a more romantic one—moving the dark brown tresses covering your back, so he could kiss affirmative words onto the expanse of it. geto could never stay mad at you for too long, that’s why you got everything you wanted; because he hated the feeling of anything that didn’t make you happy. that’s why when the feeling of you starting to contract around him would be joined by desperate whines, he’d lean forward to rub at your clit,

“baby, imma m-mess up the c-couch, wait”, your hands would reach to, barely, wrap around his forearm. but all the strength in your body was focused on tightening the knot in your stomach, so your grip would loosen with every movement of geto’s hips.

“you can make a mess, baby, it's okay”, he'd reassure. and his lips, dick, and fingers would work in tandem to feed you stimulation, until you felt your release wash over you. geto would feel it too, so he wouldn’t hush you, nor neglect you to chase his own end. he’d just keep giving you what you needed, and a little extra.

“i know, baby, i know”, geto reassured, as his lips left a trail of wet spots on your back, and shoulders.

geto’s astute eyes would watch the tension from your release simmer to settle, before he’d pull out of you to sit down on the couch. his pupils would be fixated on your face’s every micro-movement, studying you until they deemed you fit enough to take him again. that’s when he’d move you onto his lap, sliding you down onto his dick. seeing how he had fucked you senseless just a few minutes prior, geto wasn’t expecting you to be moving and bouncing on his dick the way you were. and, if he wasn’t so busy writhing underneath you, he would’ve been impressed.

since you were doing all the work, he’d reach over to take another hit from his blunt, making sure to not blow the smoke in your face once he faced you again. the look in your eyes as you kept them on his, pulled his hands from your thighs and hips, to the sides of your face as he kissed you messily.

“jus’ keep movin’ like that, baby, i’m almost there”, he said, against your lips. and, true to his word, you’d bounce on him one more time before his fingertips were digging into you to still you, so he could fill you with his nut. the position he had placed you in meant that the strained fruits of his vocal cords’ labour would be trickling into your ear as he came—vocal as always. the both of you would then sit, chests heaving in sync as you calmed yourselves down.

once calm and, quite frankly, tired as fuck, neither of you would be in any rush to move from your position. lifting off you him didn't seem beneficial to geto at that time, so he'd just keep you there and go about his business. your legs would remain wrapped around his waist as he'd lean to change the tv channel, and continue weighing the drugs on the table. in a weird way, being connected to you like that calmed him; it made him feel more productive in some odd, unexplainable way. and when he went to pick his blunt up for the nth time, a voice in his head would ask him to offer you a hit but, so sure he had heard your light snores as your chin rested on his shoulder, he decided against it. and, looking at you out the corner of his eye, it looked like your eyes were closed too. but the true test would be his following words,

“send me the link”, he said, and he’d almost choke on smoke as a laugh floated up his throat at your sudden alertness.

“for what?”, you said, moving your head back to look at his face.

“the bag, dickhead. you wan’ it or not?”, another chortle would resound when you'd lift yourself off geto, coercing winces and deep breaths from the both of you, to limp your way to your room to retrieve your phone.

©Rights owned by nanaminsmooninc. Do not repost without permission.

[flower-boi16]

Lily Orchard's Takes on "Racism" in The Owl House Are Garbage and Here's Why

Hello. You may know me as the guy who made two whole posts debunking Lily Orchard's takes on Hunter. Although those posts are not perfect and I do think there are some things I could add or change about them, they still hold up as I still stand by every single point I made in them.

But to say that Lily's bad Owl House takes end with Hunter would be a lie. There is this particular narrative about both TOH fandom and the show itself that she tries to paint that really pisses me off, that being the whole "Racism" narrative. I talked about it briefly in my second Hunter post but this narrative has so much objectively wrong with it that it's best to make a whole post refuting it. Here I'm going to go over Lily's takes on three characters that she primarily uses to push this whole racism narrative; Amity, Hunter, and Luz. Without further ado, let's begin...

NOTE: This post is LONG. Like, very very very very long. Its the longest post I've ever made and the longest essay I have ever posted on the internet. If you don't want to read all of that then just skip to section 7 where I have a TLDR for those who don't want to read an 8375-word long post that takes at least almost a full hour to read. So...ya, let's begin.

1. Lily Orchard's Takes on Amity are Garbage and Here's Why

I'll be covering Lily's Video "An Incoherent Discussion About Main Characters" mainly TOH segment as its the video where she talks the most about Amity. This is where the problems with Lily's narrative begin, that being; Lily saying that white characters are popular because of white favoritism rather than the fact that they are actually well written characters.

Oh, you thought Hunter was the only character Lily accused people of being racist for liking, ya, no. In the beginning of the TOH segment, Lily tries to argue that there's no reason for the fandom to love Amity so much because she (supposedly) has little depth as a character....

"At this point, Amity had no depth outside of being the bully, It's only until a month later that that would change. But the fandom latched onto Amity the moment she was introduced and hyped her up incessantly. with only a few clips where her ego is bruised and nothing else. And the thing is, Amity had nothing to her at this point. It's a common complaint from people that the fandom reduces Amity these days to just gay panic and shipping, but as of season 2, that is what she is, love interest, abusive parents, and that's it"

"Amity is a one-note character, and I don't say that as a bad thing characters fit the role that they were made for and there really isn't anything wrong with that. Amity is an obstacle for Luz to overcome and then her love interest and then occasionally gets a few moments of depth."

This is...objectively incorrect. Note I was not in the fandom at the time season 1 was airing (I only got into The Owl House when the show had already ended) however, Lily tries to act as if Amity is a character with little depth and that the fandom has no reason to like her so much. This is likely done so Lily can gaslight you into thinking she has a point so she can paint the TOH fandom as racist. Amity does go through character development throughout the show, as in season 1 she gradually becomes a better person and even makes amens with Willow after cutting her off during childhood.

She has a lot of moments of depth in episode Convention, Lost in Language, Understanding Willow, Escaping Expulsion, Eclipse Lake, and Reaching Out that develop her as a character. These aren't just "a few moments of depth". Amity is a developed character, the fandom has a reason to like her. And maybe people latched onto Amity because they liked the idea of an enemies-to-lovers romance?

Again, I wasn't in the fandom at the time, but Lily doesn't consider any of these reasons that people may like Amity so she could try and paint Amity as a 1-dimensional character when really people like Amity for being a well-developed character and Lily's arguments that she is one note are just objectively incorrect. She's a girl raised in a prestigious and high-class family who has to meet high expectations from her parents and bullies people she can't feel any weakness, and was forced to cut off her childhood best freind because she wasn't strong enough for them.

However, throughout season 1 she becomes a better person thanks to Luz, makes amens with Willow and stands up to her abusive mom in Season 2, and in Season 2 Amity still has episodes developing her with conflict with her parents, she's not just Luz's girlfriend. This is a well-developed and three-dimensional character here, and there's a reason why Amity is a fan favorite in the fandom. But Lily ignores all of that depth and character development in favor of painting Amity as one-dimensional so her racism narrative could look like it holds more water than it actually does.

And for the "abusive parents" stuff Lily says this:

"Amity's relationship to her parents and her perfectionism only ever come out in the third act of any other episode with the exception of Escaping Expulsion and Eclipse Lake. Amity's abusive home life is a plot device more than anything else, something another character pulls on to get the story going, and the solution is almost always insultingly easy, and she's only ever brought into an episode because Luz drags her into it"

Once again...this is objectively incorrect. Amity still has a lot of episodes exploring her character as I already stated so the first sentance is already false. But then Lily says that Amity's abusive home life is a...plot device? Um, no? Its not a plot device, its an aspect of Amity's character that the show is dedicating episodes to exploring. And "the solution is almost always insultingly easy"??? What do you mean by "the solution is almost always insultingly easy"?? Lily doesn't give any examples here, she just says something critical and you're supposed to just accept that.

And now...we get the moment you've all been waiting for:

"So why do people get upset at the idea that Amity is just reduced to love interest when that is literally her role in the plot? Well, (and if this gets posted on The Owl House subreddit then uhh please cover your ears you delicate little flower children) white favortism"

And now we have Lily trying to paint the TOH fandom as racist for liking Amity.

"It's been a common refrain for a while that the show has a white and the fandom makes it worse. Amity was the first instance of that"

Ok so 1. The show doesn't have a "white favoritism" problem, this is something I'll get into more later but the reason why Amity gets focus is because she objectively has more importance than to the plot thank Willow and Gusm being Luz's love interest. And I already talked about the real reasons the fandom likes Amity that don't have anything to do with racism.

"When she first appeared in I Was A Teenage Abomination, the fan base instantly started hyping her up as the greatest thing since Eda the owl lady. They immediantly projected every fucking thing on the sun onto her, and Lumity was birthed from this"

What if people just again, like the idea of an enemies-to-lovers romance between her and Luz? And I don't think I've seen ANY ONE project things onto Amity, again there are clear reasons to like these characters. Then Lily says this:

"That was all it took. It's by sheer fucking luck that Dana was going in this direction with them anyway because there was zero basis for any of this. Amity was a minor antagonist at best, and Willow was the main spotlight of I was a Teenage Abomination"

"Zero basis for any of this"? Again, Lily is acting as if there aren't any reasons to like Amity when as I already explained there clearly is. And if she means no basis for Lumity then...Lily, Lumity was clearly being set up a lot throughout the first season. Its not exactly hard to see that.

"There's no reason for people to go absolutely this crazy over her when Willow was right there. Hell throughout season 1 Willow had more grounds for a romantic relationship then Amity did. But Willow was chubby and Korean and Amity was not and not"

I don't know about you but I'm pretty sure a lot of reasons for people liking Amity more than Willow is because they find Willow and Gus to be less developed than Amity, which is a perfectly fine opinion to have. Once Again Lily ignores reasons people may prefer Amity over Willow in favor of just jumping straight to racism instead. And there also isn't as much of a hyper-fixation on Amity as Lily says there is, yes she's a fan favorite character but characters like Luz are still very popular.

The rest of the segment really is not worth talking about. Basically after this point Lily just keeps on trying to reinforce her objectively wrong narrative of "Amity is liked because of white favoritism", her saying that she thought Eda was the main character instead of Luz, and she also talks about Luz and Hunter here but that'll be covered in their respective sections.

So Lily's whole narrative about Amity being liked because of "white favoritism" is wrong, there are real reasons that people like Amity, Lily simply chooses to ignore that because that would break her narrative. Now that we have that out of the way, let's talk about the next character Lily uses to push this whole racism narrative (and the most obvious).

2. Lily Orchard's Takes on Hunter are Garbage and Here's Why - PART III (...kind of)

Again, I've already made two whole posts debunking Lily Orchard's critiques of Hunter so go read those if you want the full analysis on why Lily's takes on this character are completely wrong, but in the second section of Part II I talked about Lily's whole narrative about Hunter's fans that she tries to paint, that they are racist and only like Hunter for being white. She does basically the same thing she did for Amity; ignore the reasons why people may like a character in favor of painting the fandom as racist, and she also tries to act as if Hunter is only liked because people push headcanon's onto him. I'll just paste this piece of text here since I already refuted it in my second Hunter post;

"In her video talking about Hunter, Lily says that the fandom only likes Hunter in spite of how he's written, which is basically her saying "if you like this character you actually don't like him...or your just racist". Ok so, I don't want to talk about this that much here, however, it's worth noting that Lily constantly calls people who like Hunter racist purely for liking a character she doesn't that also happens to white, which is a major yikes, as there are reasons that Hunter is well-liked in the fandom beyond his race. But Lily's response to that is "If you like Hunter you only like him because you push fanon ideas onto him when he's really a shallow poorly-written character".

Let me tell you why people like Hunter; he's a boy who was indoctrinated and raised his whole life into believing he was doing the right thing and that Belos loves him, and for his whole life he was had to prove his worth to the EC or he's just worthless, and a lot of people also see Hunter's arc as him realizing he was being abused. None of this is stuff that the fandom is making up, these are literally things that are communicated in the show itself, Lily is just choosing to ignore that just so she can paint this narrative that TOH fandom is a bunch of racists because they like Hunter, completely ignoring how people can have different tastes and opinions than each other. Oh ya, and someone did point this out to Lily once in a tumblr ask...Lily responded by saying "no" and then went on another rant about how the fandom is racist for liking Hunter and sidelines Gus and Willow, and says that if Hunter was black, people would ignore him like they do with Gus and Willow...that speaks for itself. I could not find a screenshot where Lily said this, but I do know that she did say that in response to an anon poking a hole into her narrative, which just shows how she reacts to criticism."

Like with Amity, Lily constantly acts as if there aren't any reasons for people to like Hunter, and the reasons people do have are just things that people make up through headcanons, when this is objectievely false. There are clear reasons for people to like Hunter, but Lily ignores that in favor of painting this narrative that Hunter fans are racist. She even calls than misogynistic and homophobic in her video on Hunter without showing any evidence of that. And NONE of the anons she showed say anything like Lily described.

She keeps on reinforcing the narrative that Hunter fans only like him in spite of how he's written rather than the idea that he is written well, which is objectively false because again, there are reasons to like Hunter as a character, and all of Lily's takes on him are just objectively wrong. This is just Lily treating her opinions like they are facts in a very narcissistic and smug way.

But again, I've already refuted this point so let's get into the other point about Hunter that Lily tries to use to push this whole racism narrative; that being that Hunter overshadows and sidelines the non-white characters and gets too much screen time.

"Season 2 only made this worse with the introduction of Hunter, who as a character has an effect on the fanbase comparable to Audo and Ren. Overshadowing every other character and causing white girls to squee about how much of a good boy he is, even though he definitely isn't one"

I already talked about how Hunter doesn't take up as much screen time as Lily likes to think he does in my first Hunter post, but I'll just put some comments that I got from my first Hunter post as they debunk Lily's whole take her pretty well:

"Hunter having dynamics with the rest of the cast is a good thing and while him, it’s not being “stapled” into them, he’s just interacting with them in a fucking episode. He parallels all of the main four teens in some way so it makes sense. Plus, he’s only in half or less of the season 2 episodes and wasn’t in season 1, he didn’t get the luxury of low-stakes filler episodes so he kind of has to make a mark during the episodes he’s in. Which is why he’s usually the focus or at least major in them, that’s understandable and he’s compelling enough to justify it."

"I'll never understand the criticism of a character taking screentime away from others, if this character is considered by the writers to be more important than others, then they have to feel like they really do matter, that's normal."

The reason why Hunter gets a lot of focus isn't because of racism, its because he's an important character and he doesn't even appear in that many episodes so he kinda of needs to make a mark in the ones that he's in, especially in season 2B where the show got cut short so the show needed to try and dedicate as much of its time to developing the character it just introduced in the first half of the season as much as it can while still developing the other characters and progressing the plot.

Also, here's a fun fact; as two comments on my second Hunter post pointed out, Hunter is a character that can ONLY work if he's white, because he is a clone of a 1600s witch Hunter. Just a little tid-bit I thought I'd mention.

Hunter doesn't sideline characters as much as Lily likes to think he does, in Hunting Palisman, Hollow Mind and Thanks to Them he gets paired up with Luz, the main character who is also a black girl who gets an equal amount of screen time with Hunter. This is an extension of the whole "Hunter is stapled onto other characters" criticism Lily has, where she complains about...Hunter being paired up and interacting with other characters. Again, I already covered this stuff in my two Hunter posts, but Lily's whole problem here is simply that Hunter is in an episode, regardless of the reason.

And we all know that Lily is entirely biased to hate Hunter purely for being an "angsty white boy" so I think I'm done here. Again, go check out my two Hunter posts if you want to see go more in-depth on this whole "Hunter takes up too much screen time" criticism.

But in short; Hunter does not take up as much screen time as Lily says he does, and the reason the show focuses on him is that he has more importance to the plot than Willow and Gus, and because he needs to make a mark in each episode he's in, and once again there are reasons for people to like Hunter that are not related to "white favoritism". Again, go check out my posts on Lily's critiques on Hunter if you want me to go more in-depth. But now, let's get into the final character that Lily tries to use to push this whole narrative, and that is...

3. Lily Orchard's Takes on Luz's are Garbage and Here's Why (short version)

Let me just say, Lily's takes on Luz, specifically her trauma...are awful. They are almost as bad as her takes on Hunter, and I'm actually planning on making a whole post refuting Lily's critiques of Luz like I did with Hunter, but for now, let's just talk about the whole narrative she tries to paint with how Luz's trauma is received; this time I'll be covering the Luz segment of her fandom torture video.

But lets cover the Luz part of the Discussion of Main Characters video first before get into that. Don't worry, this will be quick. Here Lily constantly tries to argue that people want to ignore Luz in favor of Amity and Hunter but they can't because she is the main character

"But the thing is, while Amity and Hunter caused Willow and Gus to be completely sidlined, (and even their episodes in season 2 have generally just been them playing second fiddle to one of those two) neither of them have managed to sideline Luz. Amity's entire role in the story is to be a supporting character to Luz everything she does is to help and further Luz's goals and Hunter is an antagonistic force in Luz's story, trying to stop her efforts because they interfere with the goals of emperor Belos."

"Amity is the supporting character and love interest, and Hunter is the villain. And I imagine that is something that probably sticks in the craw of the Amity-Hunter hype train, they fact that they can't just ignore Luz like they clearly want to because the characters they like come with Luz attached as a default."

Not only does Lily not give ANY evidence to support her narrative, she's also just... objectively wrong. Luz is a beloved character in the fandom, there's tons of videos about her that get a shit ton of views, there's a lot of fan art and fan works around Luz, etc etc. People who like Amity and Hunter probably also like Luz a lot too. Just look at the Luz Noceda Tumblr tag and you'll see that it has more followers than either of any of Hunter and Amity's tags do.

Lily does not give any evidence to support her whole narrative and acts as if the TOH fandom really wants to ignore Luz, but as I already said Luz is still a beloved and fan-favorite character within the fandom, its not exactly hard to see that. Just because people like Amity and Hunter doesn't mean they secretly dislike Luz or something, that's just stupid.

I could go on and on about this but you get my point; Lily's entire narrative that she tries to paint that People want to ignore Luz is just straight-up false and she does not support her claim with any evidence whatsoever.

But now, let's get into the real meat of things; the narrative that Lily tries to paint in her Fandom Torture video. Again, Lily's takes on Luz's trauma are just as awful as her takes on Hunter but I'll only focus on the racism narrative she tries to paint, that being that the fandom likes watching 14-year-old black girls suffer I'm not joking. This is the narrative that Lily actually tries to paint;

"But the truth is...ya fandom does love this shit. They love watching characters' angst forever. They love their three thousand-word slow-burn hurt with no comfort fix. They love watching characters suffer especially if they're women, and especially if they're black, and Luz is both."

.......Lily, fuck you. This is a lie, a straight-up lie. Lily is trying to trick you into thinking that the TOH fandom are sadistic monsters who enjoy watching 14-year-old girls who are also black suffer, and not only is that objectively incorrect, it's also just...so unbelievably gross given the real reasons why people like Luz's depression arc.

Do you want to know why this pisses me off so much? The actual reason why people like Luz's trauma arc isn't because they enjoy watching children suffer, its because aside from it being a realistic and believable depression arc, it also resonates with a lot of people. No joke, apparently there are a lot of people who relate to Luz and see themselves through her. Dana created a depression arc for a character that ACTUAL PEOPLE WITH TRUAMA AND SELF-LOATHING ISSUES CAN RELATE TO.

NOT TO MENTION the fact that a lot of people in the fan base actually sympathize with Luz her and her self-loathing issues. Luz's trauma arc is well-received because it was able to resonate with a lot of people, and the fact that Lily chooses to ignore that in favor of painting the TOH fandom as a bunch of racists who enjoy watching black women suffer is just...disgusting. Fuck you Lily, and I mean that very sincerely.

Oh wait, cuz I'm not done with this! Hunter, a character that has gone through just as much trauma as Luz, and whose trauma is also well received by the fandom as well, Lily just ignores. So its bad when Luz gets traumatized and people like it but when the same happens to Hunter it's ok? Oh wait, I forgot, Hunter is a white boy and Luz is a black girl, that's the difference.

Lily, I'm so fucking sick of your double standards. So its bad when a fandom likes a black girl getting traumatized but when it's a white boy you don't complain and don't go and call them racist? That's stupid.

You probably already get my point by now so I'll just end this section here; Lily's whole narrative of the TOH fandom liking Luz being traumatized because they are sadistic monsters who enjoy watching black girls suffer is both flawed and disgusting, so is her narrative about the fandom wanting to ignore Luz in favor of other characters which is also objectively incorrect. But wait, there is one last video of Lily trying to push this narrative that I have not mentioned yet...

... it's the white favoritism video mentioning Hunter

4. The White Favoritism Video is Garbage and Here's Why

So for this post I decided to go ahead and watch Lily's white favoritism video, specifically the Hunter segments. I went into this video with very low expectations, expecting it to just be Lily repeating the same points she already made over and over again. And...holy shit. This video is AWFUL. Like I knew it was going to be bad, but I was not ready for the amount of bullshit Lily was going to spew. I was left completely shocked and speechless by the end of the second segment at what Lily just said in those two segments.

Time for me to tear apart both of these awful segments. Let's start with the first one, and only 16 seconds in after reinforcing her whole "Hunter is only liked because of fandom shit" narrative, Lily already starts talking bullshit:

"Even his rebelling against an abuser in the canon is undercut by the fact that it's basically a preordained destiny because every golden guard has betrayed Belos."

WHAT????! Hunter would have never betrayed Belos in the first place in if the events of Hollow Mind had never happened, hell when Luz and Hunter saw the memories of Belos doing evil things Hunter constantly tried making excuses for Belos and spent most of it being in denial. And we don't even KNOW anything about the golden guards, maybe they could've eventually realized on their own that Belos was evil, that doesn't undercut Hunter breaking from his abuser!

Then Lily says this:

"Furthermore Hunter ended up being the vector for a lot of people to start caring about Willow, Daruis and Camila, insofar so they could be used to bolster Hunter's character with romance and adoption respectively before this point these characters were ignored or in some cases vilified"

I don't really know about Willow but for Darius and Camila this is just wrong, from what I've heard Camila starting getting popular once the episode Yesterday's Lie premiered, and the reason Darius was vilified before Any Sport in a Storm is because...in he was a villain in the show until this episode showed us he may not be. This isn't racism, Darius's last appearance before this has him as an antagonist, that's why he was "vilified" before Any Sport in a Storm. The rest of this segment is not worth talking about, its just Lily reinforcing her broken narrative about Hunter only being liked because of fandom stuff when that's literally not the reason why he's well-liked as I already explained so now let's move onto the second section...

....the second section is actually worse than the first one. The amount of bullshit Lily was speaking during that three minutes gave me a stroke. So Lily actually starts off by acknowledging the accusations she has been that she only hates Hunter for being white and would've liked him if he was black (which is an undisputed fact), since she constantly complains about him being a boring white boy. How does she respond to this? Does she try to refute this in some way?

....No. Instead, what Lily says next left my jaw wide open as I tried to process wtf I just heard. This is what Lily says:

"When I started criticizing Hunter it came around the time I became a lot more vocally invested in non-white characters and some people in a prime example of desperately trying to give me what they think is a taste of my own medicine came up to me and said with whole pussy "If Hunter was black, you'd like him" with a very simple truth, "If Hunter was black, you wouldn't" "

Holy shit. When I heard this I was at a loss of words. Do I even need to explain why this is awful? Not only is Lily once again accusing Hunter fans of being racist to further her narrative, not only does Lily not even TRY to refute the idea that she dislikes Hunter for being a white boy, but she also even says that if Hunter was black, people wouldn't have liked him...even though Luz, a black girl, is a beloved character in the fandom. Lily cannot gaslight me into thinking otherwise.

Lily then continues to push this idea that if Hunter was black, people wouldn't have liked him:

"If Hunter was black the fandom would not have ignored every skleazy thing he does, like his supposedly best episode according to fangirls that established Huntlow as a ship where...he uses the power the state to kidnap several children and force them to join the magic Gestapo. They would not view this action equally if dark-skinned and stop writing that well actually comment you will not convince me that they would. "

Hmm gee Lily I love how you ignore...

The fact that Hunter meant well and didn't know what he was doing was wrong as he thought that he was doing his friends a favor by getting them into the emperor's coven because of his indoctrination so thus he doesn't exactly know any better.

(And most importantly) The fact that Hunter realizes what he did was wrong and not only takes full responsibility of his actions but also goes out of his way to fix his mistake and get his friends out a situation he put them in AND risked his position as the golden guard AND ALSO was willing to take a lethal strike from Darius just so he could fix his mistake, something that is pretty selfless if you ask me (go check out this post if you want a more in-depth rebuttal to this bullshit claim. It's not directed towards Lily but it basically addresses Lily's whole statement)

Ya Lily I love how like all Hunter critics you just completely ignore that. Now Lily is trying to push this whole "racism" narrative even further, not even trying to give a counter argument to the rebuttles Hunter fans give and just calls them racist by saying "If Hunter was black, you wouldn't be defending him". That's not a good counterargument Lily.

THEN LILY SAYS THIS:

"Furthermore the main issue with Hunter is that the story spends a lot of time with him but spends no time developing him outside of making goofy faces for the internet"

hiuodshuviusdhfiudhfiudshfiuhqweqweqwe HUH?!?! The show doesn't develop Hunter as a character?!?! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!?! ARE WE WATCHING THE SAME SHOW!?!? Either Lily's is THAT illiterate of she's deliberately lying. The show DOES clearly spend time developing Hunter, especially in Eclipse Lake, and the very episode that Lily criticized earlier, Any Sport in a Storm where Hunter goes through development and learns to make connections with others and has real friends.

HE GOES THROUGH AN ENTIRE ARC OF BREAKING FROM HIS ABUSER!!!! And no Lily you are not going to gaslight me into thinking that was all just fanon, because its not, its literally communicated within the show, you're just fucking lying. Do I even need to refute this point anymore? Anyone who's watched the show would now this is completely false so lets just move on to the next thing Lily says:

"Making him black wouldn't fix these problems, it would exacerbate them, because now you have a black character you are doing nothing with yet proudly displaying you are doing nothing with him, and that's a problem because its now the third time you've done that"

Shows a picture of Gus and Skara

Ok, so...

The show is clearly doing things with Hunter, I already refuted this stuff in my two Hunter posts

Oh, I'm sorry Lily, didn't you say that Hunter being black would make him more interesting?

Skara is a MINOR CHARACTER that doesn't have any real importance to the plot, yet you want to show to focus on her just because she's black? What???

Also, remember the Skara thing for later btw.

"But all this distracts from the real problem, Hunter is only allowed to get away with being such a nothing burger of a character, despite taking up so much screen time because he's white and male. This is the only element of his character that people like and everything else is fanon that they made up. What little there is to his character is just ideas that were stolen from Luz and Amity and yet Hunter eclipses them both in popularity"

Do I need to explain why this point is garbage? This whole narrative that Lily tries to craft revolves around the idea that Hunter is flat and boring and has nothing to his character and nothing to him and isn't interesting and everything that people like about him is just fanon, and ANYBODY who watched the show would know that this is completely objectively wrong.

Lily, will you please stop trying to fucking gaslight people into agreeing with you? Hunter is an abused boy who was groomed and indoctrinated into believing he's doing the right thing and then breaks from his abuser and ends up finding real friends. This is not fanon, these are things being directly communicated within the show, you can not gaslight me into thinking otherwise Lily. The fact that Lily just straight up says that Hunter is only liked for being a white male reinforces the already broken narrative she has about Hunter fans. And once again Luz and Amity are still incredibly popular characters, I don't think I need to talk about this further. This point sucks, lets move onto the next thing Lily says:

"Ironically The Owl House goes to make Hunter a useless non-character because all of his acts of rebellion end up being underwritten by the fact that every golden guard has turned on Belos in the same way. So Hunter isn't even operating on his own accord its just gut instinct"

Lily, can you go five seconds in this video without saying something extremely stupid? Like I already said Hunter wouldn't have betrayed Belos if the events of Hollow Mind hadn't happened because he wouldn't have a reason to, he wasn't just going to wake up one day and say "I'm going to betray Belos for no reason at all!". Also, I'm sorry Lily, wasn't one of your complaints about Hollow Mind that Hunter was in denial for most of the episode??? HOW TF could you THEN turn around and say "Hunter's acts of rebellion were just gut instinct" like??? Hunter spent most of Hollow Mind IN DENIAL of the idea of Belos being evil, just because the other golden guards betrayed Belos doesn't mean its just "gut instinct", their genetic clones, not reincarnations.

And like I already said, we don't even KNOW anything about the golden guards, maybe they could've eventually realized on their own that Belos was evil, that doesn't undercut Hunter breaking from his abuser. Sigh let's just move on...

Now Lily's talking about Skara yaaaaaaaay

"Meanwhile if you like a character who isn't a white guy just because you vibe with them your expected to answer for it. Hunter stans can freely fawn over a character just because he's pasty and blonde as long as they invent pages upon pages of cope. But If I like a character just because their VA is cool and I vibe with their energy I'm expected to justify that like I'm in fucking court. I quite like Skara because her design is cool Kimberly Brooks is one of my favorite VA's and I like this little quasi-recovery arc she's got going on in the background. But butthurt Hunter stans angry about my criticism of the character and always throw that back in my face because those shallow surface-level traits of the character are things I call them out for focusing on"

So now Lily is addressing the whole Skara allegations except she didn't mention what people like me are accusing her of; liking Skara for being a black girl. Call it uncharitable, but Lily has constantly complained about Hunter being a "boring white guy" and explicitly stated that making him black would make him more interesting, and when asked how to fix Skara she basically said to make him a black girl, and since Skara (a black girl) is a character that Lily heavily hyper-fixates on AND straight up replaced Hunter's name with in the season 2 round up video AND since IN THIS VERY VIDEO Lily complains about Skara not getting enough focus despite the fact the show has no reason to focus on her because she's a side character with little importance to the plot, Lily has not beaten the allegations that she hates Hunter for being a white guy and likes Skara for being a black girl.

I'll admit in my second Hunter post I was a bit too uncharitable towards Lily since she has now at least given actual reasons for liking Skara, however Lily has still not beaten the accusations she's getting over liking Skara for being a black girl. There's so much evidence that points towards that and Lily hasn't refuted it at all. Also remember when Lily complained about Skara being another black character who the show did "nothing with"? Well, now she says this:

"This ignores the fact that Skara is a tertiary character and is therefore allowed to be mostly surface level. Hunter is a main character with the exact same level of depth as a background character."

So you admit that Skara is a tertiary character and thus doesn't have much importance yet earlier you complain about the show not focusing on her more??? What????

"You can argue that this is because the show was canceled but when you spend eight episodes doing nothing to progress a character the problem isn't that didn't have enough time"

I'm sorry EIGHT?! Hunter's arc throughout season 2 spans over the course of five episodes, not eight. And once again Hunter isn't doing nothing here the show is developing him as a character every time he appears, but again I already refuted this in my first Hunter post.

After this point, Lily stops talking about Hunter and goes on about how female and non-white characters are nit-picked and people act like you the weird one for not caring about their nitpicks and continues reinforcing her already broken narrative...and also makes a star wars comparison, so the rest of this segment isn't really worth talking about because it's based on points and arguments that I've already refuted. Besides this section is getting long enough already so I'll just end it here.

Good GOD that video was awful. Like, I already had low-expectations going into it expecting to just be Lily repeating the same shit over and over again...and it was, but it was also Lily making some of the WORST critiques of this show I have ever seen. Lily, how do your takes on Hunter STILL suck? The whole narrative Lily tries to build is based on points that anyone who watched the show and payed even a little bit of attention to it would know is completely objectively false.

Literally every single thing Lily says here has something wrong with it, I was NOT ready for the bullshit this video contained...

But ya, you probably get the gist now; this video is awful, and I've now gone through every single point Lily has made about racism in The Owl House and refuted each of them...

...But I'm still not done. Because there is a certain trend I've been noticing throughout these three videos, especially the first and third one...

5. Gaslighting

These next few sections are probably going to be a lot shorter since this abomination of a post has gone on for long enough already, so sections 5-7 will hopefully be quicker. Anyways, a common tactic I've seen Lily use during these videos is gaslighting. This is a manipulative tactic that she uses to try and make it sound like she has a point but when you really look at it, she doesn't.

We can see this with her insisting that Hunter and Amity have no depth where she boils them down to simple character traits (or just straight-up lies) to make them sound shallow. She especially does this a lot with Hunter with the entire narrative of "Hunter is only well-liked because of fanon stuff" which anyone who watches the show would know is objectively wrong. Then there's the whole "spite-based enjoyment" she tries to paint with him, where Lily says that Hunter fans only like Hunter in spite of how he's written. And in her Hunter video she...says this:

"There are a lot of Reylos in Hunter's fan base who are obscenely racist misogynistic and homophobic. And I sure as fuck am not counting them In who I'm talking to today. Hunter is a magnet for fandom racism and misogony, but today I'm talking past those people to people with a very sincere love for the character. You don't love this character for how he's written. You love him in spite of how he's written. And you should be upset that his potential is routinely squandered in favor of just making more shots about him moping and sulking. You should expect better. Everyone would have BETTER if did not waste time on this character doing fucking NOTHING."

Typing that as I listened to Lily's video pissed me off. This narrative is entirely broken once you factor in how all of Lily's takes about Hunter are complete garbage, but even worse, Lily is trying to gaslight Hunter fans who are going to watch her video by saying "If you like this character, you actually don't like him cuz I said so"

Fuck right off Lily. There are real reasons for people to like Hunter that are not fanon things that are being made up, stop trying to gaslight Hunter fans into agreeing with ffs.

Lily also does this a lot with Amity too, insisting that she's just a one-note character with little to her and there is no reason for people to like her so much, when that is not true at all. There are actual reasons people have to like these characters that are NOT being made up unlike what Lily is trying to gaslight you into believing her. This is an incredibly manipulative and condescending way to frame your arguments, that if YOU like a character you actually don't and you should stop pretending that you do.

Fuck off Lily. The show DOES clearly use Hunter to his fullest potential, anyone who watches the show would know that, stop trying to gaslight people with your terrible arguments. Again, read my posts on Lily's takes on Hunter if you want the full context of why none of her takes on him are good, but needless to say Lily really likes to gaslight people into agreeing with her here and that is a VERY manipulative way to frame your arguments.

Oh wait, I'm still not done...because now its time to talk about...

6. "Dana has a white favoritism problem" & Lily's Hypocrisy

Yes, you read the title of this section correctly. In Lily's TOH season 2 round-up video, she says this:

"I know we're all being very charitable to Dana but I think we all need to address the elephant in the room is that The Owl House fandom has a big white favoritism problem and SO DOES DANA"

"Dana is not doing anything to help if anything she's actively making it worse and I feel somebody probably needs to probably sit her down about that and just be like "hey Dana, stop""

.......there is no other way to look at this. There is no other way to interpret this, Lily is accusing Dana of being racist. Now, complaining about a show focusing on white characters too much despite any other reasons a show may have for focusing on these characters beyond racism is one thing, but to accuse somebody of bigotry for focusing on two white characters, ignoring any reasons the show may have for focusing on them beyond racism is just...

I don't even know how to even say it, it's just gross. Once again, there are reasons why Dana chooses to focus on Amity and Hunter as I've already explained, but Lily ignores those reasons and just casually calls Dana racist. Oh, and I'm sorry Lily, but if Dana supposedly had a white favoritism problem, why tf would she make a black Latina girl the main protagonist??? And also develop st. black latina girl a lot throughout the series making her a three-dimensional and well-developed character that a lot of people love and relate to?

Lily ignores all possible reasons that Dana may have for focusing on Amity and Hunter just calls her racist. Wow, as I couldn't have hated you more Lily. Oh wait, but I'm not done with this section, no no.

Now I'm going to be discussing Lily Orchard's hilarious hypocrisy here. I find it incredibly funny how Lily constantly accuses the TOH fandom and Dana of racial bias when she literally hates a character (Hunter) for being a white male. And when she constantly fetishizes black people and explicitly stated once that Hunter would have been more interesting if he was black. I can guarantee you that if Amity and Hunter were black and Luz, Willow and Gus were all white, Lily wouldn't complain about them taking up too much screen time like she currently does, you can't convince me that she would.

Lily so desperately wants to convince us how racist the TOH fandom and Dana are yet she hates a character for his skin color and gender and constantly complains about him being a "boring white guy". This comment from my first Hunter post sums it up best:

"Lily really just desperately needs a character to channel unjustified negativity into so she can act better than the fans who like that character. She found reasons to hate Amity that way too in season 1. She gets obsessive about how the series "could be better" (i.e. the series should do the specific thing that SHE wants even if it's not the creator's vision) and when things don't turn out that way she gets... weird.

Like she shipped WilLuz and was butthurt that the fandom mainly saw Willow and Luz as just friends and recognized that Dana was emphasizing Amity crushing on Luz ... but Lily was like, "How dare they ship Lumity and not WilLuz! This is the racist fandom hating PoCs!!!" without self-awareness to see that no one was being racist but her for assuming that people only shipped a thing they liked because one character looks Caucasian.

She'd get on her high horse and accuse Dana of "white favoritism" for having Amity be important and making the fandom like her... like, the leaps and bounds Lily will go through to turn herself into "the most noble person" in a fandom is shameless. She also would rip on Amity for being derivative of Malfoy or the spoiled girl from Little Witch Academia... when that character trope is what Amity was subverting by showing that Amity had depth beyond her snobby/type-A first impression since after her first impression she almost immediately started to show layers to her character.

I feel like Lily only stopped being so negative to Amity because even she had qualms against crapping on Amity when a) she realized that complaining about Amity being a bully long after Amity had since stopped and atoned for that behavior was getting really old, and b) shitting on one half of Lumity when it was probably one of the biggest, most wholesome LGBT couples in modern animation would be a hard sell for Lily (who as an LGBT person should be less harsh on earnest representation from an LGBT creator).

Along comes Hunter and Lily can't exist without having a designated hate-sink so she projects all her dislikes into Hunter for merely existing. His design being light-skinned and handsome was enough to repel Lily. Him being a genuinely good person who had a troubled life but still perseveres to protect the relationships he's forged... he's pretty much a perfect addition to the cast that kind of adds a missing quality to the series (like how Toph in Avatar the Last Airbender was kind of the special spice that elevated the series for the better by being added to the cast). But ignore all the good his character brings because he's a caucasian-ish character who used to be tricked into being on the bad-side. I'm also sure Lily was furiously spewing venom when she saw that Willow was paired with Hunter, since Lily wanted Willow to be with Luz."

Lily, if you constantly accuse people of being racist for liking a character you don't and also accuse the creator of being racist as well, but solely hate a character for being a white male, then I'm sorry, but nobody here is being racist except for you. (I could also mention her star wars fic but this post is getting long enough so let's just end it here)

7. Conclusion

TLDR for those who don't want to read this entire post:

There are clear reasons why people may like Amity and Hunter that have nothing to do with racism at all

There are also clear reasons why the show may want to focus on these characters due to them being important to the story

Luz is a beloved fan-favorite character and Lily does not give any good evidence to suggest otherwise.

Lily's take that people like watching black women suffer and that's why Luz's truama arc is well-received is completely false as it is well-received due to being able to resonate with a lot of people.

The white favoritism video is fucking awful

A majority of Lily's arguments are just her trying to gaslight you into agreeing with her

Lily complains about the TOH fandom and Dana having racial biases when she is racially biased herself

Lily Orchard remains my most hated YouTuber. She's a shit critic and an even shittier person, and I sincerely hope that one day, Lily's entire channel gets terminated and wiped off the face of the internet, because people like her do not deserve a platform. She has not improved and I don't think she EVER will. Thanks for reading this entire post, and...bye.

[bookworm-center]

I have a request for a Kaz Brekker au/one shot (whatever u see better fit)

Where the crow club usually as a singer on friday nights but the singer had to cancel last minute so seeing the “panic” on the other crows and crew Y/N steps up and sings even tho nobody knew she could sing and when Kaz hears it and sees her he just gets lost in her voice…

I hope this is a good idea haha

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Unsung Duet

In which Kaz's partner in crime steps up to sing.

Author's Note: Ooh, I love this request! I'm twisting it slightly but not too much; I hope that's okay! I wasn't sure if you wanted a specific song, so I went with "Six of Crows" by Gio Navas. Such a good song that's obviously inspired by the book, you should definitely listen to it. This ended up being shorter than I wanted, but I think it's not bad.

Panic floods the Crow Club in hushed whispers. The usual Friday night singer cancelled? People begin to leave, shoving their way out of the small doorway.

Kaz's panic isn't shown on his features- he's good enough at his job to know panicking is a weakness- but the other Dregs are rushing about. Rotty says something about too many people leaving, but Kaz is too busy working out a plan to respond.

Claps come from the stage, quiet and slow at first, but gradually growing. Then comes the singing.

This is a city of toxic smoke

We trade our lungs for a noose of rope

Under our feet and the tilted ground

Runaways of ashes never found

People turn around, coming back in and filling up all the seats and tables. Kaz looks up from his glass, to the singer that's taken the stage. There stands none other than his partner in crime. Y/n L/n, master of tricks. He had never heard her sing, never even knew she could, despite his reputation for knowing everything. Her eyes are closed at first, like she's trying to lose herself in the music.

Here is where the monsters hide

Only the wicked can survive

With every line, every rise and fall of the melody, every held note, Y/n gains a little more confidence. She taps her feet on the wood of the platform they call a stage.

And just like that, Kaz, along with the patrons in the Club, are swept away by her voice. There's something about the way she sings that's so enchanting and enticing, almost like a pull of unseeable magic. Her and Kaz only make eye contact once, when the song is nearly over.

A boy with a broken soul

Marching through this world alone

He fights among the cursed six of crows

Where is his heart, he may never know, never know

And that's it. The crowd bursts into applause, demanding for an encore as Y/n walks off the stage. Kaz hadn't even noticed she was finished singing, not until the bartender called his name several times.

He knew the last verse was about him. Y/n had been his best friend, his other half, his partner in crime, for so long, that they were nearly one person. She knew nearly everything about him, and he for her.

The last line gets him thinking: where is his heart?

Easy. His heart is set on revenge. It's set on destroying Pekka Rollins, ruining everything he built.

There's another response, further back in his head, in the part of him that was still Kaz Reitveld. His heart was with Y/n.

After all, they were the halves to a whole, the sun and the moon. Together they were perfect clockwork, chiming together to pull off the perfect heist.

His heart was with Y/n, his unsung duet.

[7-wonders]

Apocalypse Now

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XII)

Summary: The end is here, despite your best efforts.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I'm sorry, this is straight angst. Oops?

Mad Love Masterlist

Tuesdays are objectively the worst day of the week. Though Monday is rough, being the first day after the weekend, it can still be spun as a positive—a brand new week, just full of possibilities. Wednesdays, at least, have the “hump day” moniker to give one some hope that the week is half over. Thursdays are alright because that means it’s almost Friday, and Fridays are what it must be like to take every party drug at once.

Tuesdays, though? Tuesdays suck. It’s far enough into the week to feel none of the residual weekend happiness, but the upcoming weekend is still very much out of grasp. Tuesday is hopelessness personified, if one is feeling particularly dramatic.

That’s why it’s fitting that the world ends on a Tuesday.

You’re in class, because where else would you be? Luckily, this is your capstone class, which is just a class for seniors who are, predictably, working on their capstones to be able to bounce ideas off of and support each other. Since you and Kate are both seniors (and because you literally signed up for this class at the same time) you have the class together, thankfully—you keep each other sane by being insane together, and nowhere is that more apparent than when the two of you work on your respective theses.

“You think I can get away with calling Kant a cunt if I do it, like, academically?” Kate whispers into your ear from where she’s sitting next to you. She keeps her eyes on her laptop screen the entire time, making you choke back a laugh at her easy nonchalance.

“Not by using those exact words, but yeah, as long as you cite your sources.” You run the same drill as Kate, refusing to look away and draw suspicion as you both snicker quietly to yourselves. “Do you wanna grab coffee and pretend to keep working after class?”

“God, yes. Then I can tell you about what went down at last night’s Greek Life exec meeting.” She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “It came out that three of the Chi O sisters are dating each other.”

(With hindsight on your side, you’ll look back on this day and think with bitter regret about how utterly, perfectly normal the day the world ended was. The gossiping conversations, the plans being made, the going about your day with all the confidence that you’ll see tomorrow.

You miss that innocence.)

You gasp under your breath at this exciting tidbit. “No way! How did they–”

You’re cut off by the alarm on someone’s phone blaring. No, multiple phones are blaring out an emergency alarm, and those that aren’t are vibrating, yours included. People dig their phones out of pockets and backpacks, and you pick yours up from where it sits on the table next to your computer and flip it around so that you can see the screen.

You wish you didn’t.

“BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND. SEEK SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” the alert on your phone reads.

You look up at Kate as your classmates begin to mutter around you in a mix of nervous laughter and disbelief, only to see the same shock and confusion on her face that must surely be reflected in yours.

“Do you think this is real?” you ask, your heart beginning to hammer in your throat at the implications of such a message.

“It can’t be. It’s–it’s like that time in Hawaii, remember? We’ll get an alert in a few minutes saying that it was all a mistake,” she assures you, always so calm and rational about everything.

You nod and take a couple of deep breaths to calm down. Kate is right, you tell yourself. Somebody accidentally hit a button at a command center when they were trying to conduct a test, and now everybody’s freaking out as a result. They’ve probably already caught the mistake and are preparing to do damage control. The employee will lose their job, unfortunately, but that’s to be expected when accidentally causing mass panic. All in all, this will make a fun story in a couple of years: the time you thought you were about to be caught up in nuclear warfare.

Screaming draws your attention to the large windows to the right of you, and you and others cross the room to see what the commotion is. Outside, people of all ages are running in various directions across campus for—well, for their lives. The way everyone hurries reminds you of watching an ant farm. Someone trips and goes sprawling to their hands and knees, only to have to roll to the grass to prevent almost being trampled. Their belongings, having fallen from their grasp, are kicked and scattered without any care.

The panic from outside leaches through the wall and begins to spread through the classroom like a fast-moving disease. Warning sirens, which you didn’t know were still in operation after the Cold War, begin to wail. Some classmates start trying to reach friends or loved ones on their phones, while others just make a break for the door. At the front of the room, your professor sits, paralyzed, with tears running down his face while he scrolls his social media and tries to find anything to confirm that this is all just a terrible misstep. 

Your stomach drops like you’re lurching down from the top of a very tall roller coaster, and you look back at Kate. “We gotta go.”

“Where?” she asks. You just shake your head, throwing everything into your backpack and zipping it up before grabbing Kate’s hand. You don’t know where it is you need to go, only that you can’t stay here. Taking one last look back at the classroom to make sure you have everything, you and Kate join the flow of people heading down the stairs to try and escape.

Hand in hand so as not to get separated in the crowd, you both run through the campus green. It’s a perfect late-autumn day, really. The sun is high in the blue, cloudless sky and the temperature is warm, but with a bit of a chill from the wind. It’s the type of weather that makes you want to spend all day outside so as not to waste it. The juxtaposition, between the pleasant weather and the chaotic, frightened atmosphere, is not lost on you.

“Wait,” Kate raises her voice to be heard over the panicked din, “we need a plan.”

You wrack your brain, trying to think of anything beyond how scared you are. “Uh…we’ll get in my car, okay? I filled up on gas this morning. And–and we’ll drive as fast as we can, to get as far away as we can before the blast happens. I think we can get out of the major blast zone.”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.” 

She nods at you, and you nod back, both trying to reassure the other. The parking lot appears as you round a corner, and you tear your backpack around to your front so that you can find your keys.

“Wait!” Kate says again. “What about Brennan? And Michael?”

Hearing Michael’s name sends alarm bells flaring in the back of your mind. There’s something about him and this nightmare that are connected, but the primal parts of your brain, the one telling you that flight is the best option for survival right now, is too active for you to have any sort of introspection in this moment.

“Call them,” you answer without hesitation, “we can pick them up on the way out of town.”

Kate grabs her phone, finding Brennan’s number and hitting ‘call’ before holding the device up to her ear. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she mutters, listening closely. “Fuck! I can’t get through.”

“Keep trying. One has to go through eventually. And if they don’t, we at least know where they both are.”

“Do you really think this is going to work? That we’re going to survive?” Kate asks, dialing Brennan once more.

The truth is that you don’t know. You hope it does, that you can at least give yourself a fighting chance to not immediately die when the missiles hit. But there’s just as big a chance that you can’t make it out, that you will die. That’s terrifying, and it makes your throat tighten from terror. The only thing that keeps you from outright freaking out is that, if you do die, at least you’ll have Kate right there next to you.

“I don’t know. But I can promise you that we’re going to try our hardest to survive,” you say.

You can see your car now, only a couple of rows away. Maybe you will actually make it. Maybe this plan will work, and the four of you will end up riding out the end of the world together. Maybe survival can happen; you’re all pretty resourceful, and if you can at least get past the blasts, you can—

An armored vehicle screeches to a halt in front of you, sending you and Kate rearing back as your path is cut off. Two figures dressed in black suits hop out and begin to walk towards you with a purpose. Behind them, military personnel also exit the vehicle. Immediately, your worst fears are confirmed, and you know what this must be. Trying to avoid the inevitable, you begin taking hurried steps back.

One of the men in black says your name. “You need to come with us,” he commands.

“Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere with you!” You try to run to your left, hoping to catch them off-guard and make a break for it, but the other man in black stands in front of you.

“I’m afraid we can’t accept that,” he says, motioning for the military personnel. 

Two of them approach you, their rifles belted to their fronts and serving as a menacing reminder that you have no power here. They each grab one arm and begin to drag you towards the vehicle, paying no mind to you as you start screaming and trying to fight your way out of their grasps. You hold desperately onto Kate’s hand for as long as you can, but it’s only a matter of time before you lose your hold.

“Wait! Where are you taking her?” you hear Kate yell behind you.

“Kate! Kate!” you shriek, high and piercing and terrified. 

You look over your shoulder to see two other soldiers blocking her from reaching you. You’re both sobbing, but there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You’re unceremoniously thrown into the backseat of the armored vehicle, the door slamming shut before you can even think to move. Up front, the driver throws it into gear and peals away from the parking lot. When you scramble to your knees, you’re forced to watch as Kate’s figure rapidly grows smaller and smaller.

“Please go back! You have to take Kate, too! Please!” you beg.

“Shut up!” One of the men shoves you down into your seat, and when you try to get up, he backhands you across the face.

“Hey, be careful with her!” another warns. “You remember what they said. No harm is to come to the boss’s wife.”

The pain of the slap has you reeling, but it also serves to clear your mind enough that the reality of what was just said begins to sink in. You’re apparently the boss’s wife, which means one thing and one thing only.

He’s done it, then? This is all the doing of one Michael Langdon, who for so long swore to you that the world would not end for years, that you would be well aware of when and if his plans were going to be realized? You don’t want to believe it, but, unfortunately, it’s the reality that you seem to be faced with. In response, your tears dry up, and you sit silently and stoically for the rest of the ride.

It’s not a very long journey to wherever you’re being taken to, maybe fifteen minutes or so before the truck is driven into a garage. You look out the back window again to see the garage door closing behind you, the rectangle of light growing smaller and smaller until it finally disappears. Deep down, you know that this was probably your last time seeing the sunlight. You don’t know whether watching it will make you feel better or worse.

The soldiers drag you out of the car just as they dragged you in, marching you through what looks like an underground parking garage towards an elevator and forcing you to stand between them as the men in black join your little group. One of them reaches out a hand, gloved in black leather, so they can stab at the control panel. Even though they press the topmost button, the elevator begins to move down.

The silence begins to stretch on, and you shift uncomfortably. “Is my—” your voice breaks, and you clear your throat. “Is Michael here?”

Predictably, they ignore you, staring straight ahead at their distorted reflections in the chrome doors.

When the doors do finally ding open, they reveal what looks like the living room of an apartment. The walls are bare, but there are all the normal furnishings that one would expect to find: a couch, a TV, a coffee table. There are no windows, you note, the only light available emitting harshly from the fixtures up above. You’re sat down on the couch, and you glare petulantly at your kidnappers.

“Where are we?” you demand. “I deserve answers.”

“You’ll be safe here,” one of them says instead of answering your question. 

Single-file, they move back into the elevator, presumably to return to the surface. As the doors shut once more, you hold eye contact with the soldier that hit you.

He looks at you in fear, his lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly.

The elevator whirs back to life as it begins its travels up, and the sound serves to jolt you out of your stunned state and remind you that you have free will. You jump up from the couch and run to the elevator, hoping for a way out. There’s no call panel on the wall next to it, meaning that the only way it can be accessed is from the inside. Effectively, you’re trapped.

Panic returns in full-force at this revelation, and you frantically start trying to get your fingers into the seam of the door. Maybe if you pull hard enough, you’ll be able to pry them open? You’re not sure what you’ll do after that, but at least then you’ll have options.

Just as you’re starting to delude yourself that you think you can feel a gap widening under your grip, an explosion rocks the world above you. It’s loud, louder than you thought possible for how far below ground you must be, and you scream as you fall to the floor. The shock of the blast reverberates all the way down to what must be the Earth’s core, causing the room to shake around you. The lights flicker and go out before being replaced by an eerie red glow, and an alarm starts to methodically sound.

A sob rips from you, your heart knowing what’s just happened before your brain can come to the same conclusion. A nuclear weapon, dropped right over your head. Death and destruction wreaking havoc on the world in a matter of seconds. Mere circumstance saving you, while those you love are left to perish.

Against your will, you’re forced to imagine the scenarios. Kate was probably still outside, nowhere near any sort of safety. Brennan must have been so worried, trying just as desperately until his last moments to try and reach Kate. Mallory, you know, would have been more worried for her students, for her girls, than herself. Your parents…fuck. You didn’t even get to tell your parents you love them. The grief is overwhelming, and threatens to swallow you whole.

A hand comes to rest under your chin, lifting your face up from where it’s been hanging in despair. Through tears, you see a figure with blue eyes and golden hair crouched in front of you. Their thumb gently presses on your lip, and you inhale sharply at the pain, the source of which must have been the slap.

“Who did this to you? Was it one of the personnel who brought you here?” he asks, fury in his tone.

“Michael,” you cry out, letting him collect you in his embrace. He’s so comforting, so familiar, that you can forget for a moment that he’s the source of your current agony.

“Oh my love, it’s alright. We’re both safe,” he soothes, rubbing a hand on your back as you sob into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t warn you beforehand, but these plans were extremely confidential.”

That reminds you who it is you’re crying on, and you pull yourself up off of his shoulder. Michael’s looking down at you with all the love in the world in his eyes and frowning just slightly in sympathy for your plight.

Rage, hot and incandescent, floods through your veins.

“You did this, then?” you ask.

He smiles proudly. “As I was born to do.”

“And…everybody’s dead?” Your voice comes out strangled, though you try your hardest to school your emotions.

“Not everybody. Those that managed to earn a spot in an Outpost are all alive and well. There will be a good number of people who were far enough away from blast zones to have survived the initial blast. The fallout will take care of them within a couple years, though.” He shakes his head in pity. “Nasty thing, nuclear fallout. If exposed for even a few minutes, cancer and sores can easily develop. Mutations as well.”

That sounds horrifying. However morbid it may be, for the sake of those you love, you hope that the blasts killed them.

The look on your face must match how you’re feeling, because Michael quickly takes your hands in his. “I know, it sounds terrible. But their deaths were necessary! They fulfill a purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?”

“To cleanse the world and remake it in my father’s image, for you and I to rule as we see fit.���

A wave of nausea takes over you, and you have to close your eyes and breathe deeply to keep from becoming sick. You stand, backing away from Michael as quickly as you can. He tries to follow, but you hold your hands out in front of you to stop him from coming any closer.

“You bastard,” you whisper.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

You look up at him, fire in your eyes. “You. Bastard.”

“You don’t really mean that.” You can’t tell if he’s in disbelief or if he’s challenging you to repeat that.

“Yes, I do. You killed them! You killed all of them, for no good reason—”

“You know the reason!” he yells, grabbing onto your upper arms and pulling you to him. Though you try to fight your way out of his grasp, your resistance is futile. “I am doing this for us,” he hisses. “So that we can have the future we’ve dreamed about, the future that we’ve earned with our hard work.”

“This is not the future I dreamed about.” You shove him away, making him glare at you as though you’re his enemy.

Your Michael, the one that you know and love, is nowhere to be seen. Gone is the Michael that would tell you everything. The Michael that researched grad schools as though he was the one that would be attending, the Michael that took a body shot off of you, the Michael that lit up the first time that he saw fireflies, the Michael that loved Valentine’s Day because it meant that he got to shower you in love and there was nothing you could do about it.

Now, there’s a man wearing your husband’s face, who stands before you unrepentant and assured in his actions. This stranger has been completely and utterly corrupted by his father, and in such a short amount of time. As it turns out, all of your hard work only served to send him quicker into the throes of darkness.

  “I don’t know who you are anymore,” you say, tears welling in your eyes for the umpteenth time today.

“This is who I have always been,” he proclaims proudly. “You just haven’t wanted to see it.”

“You’re a fucking monster.” Amidst all of the uncertainty that you’re currently faced with, through all of the horror you’ve been forced to endure in one day, this is what you can be certain of.

Michael smiles patronizingly, as though you’re a mere child who insists that the bogeyman is real and he’s the adult that knows better. “You’ll come to your senses. Just give it some time.”

He grabs your hand against your will, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. 

“Soon, our reign begins.”

//

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[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (47/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 6369

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Arianwyn hides something from her husband and ends up encountering his brother, King Aegon. Aemond wakes alone.

Warnings: mentions of suicide and self-harm, Aegon's sex toys

Series Masterlist

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The Brothers' Lament

Neither Arianwyn nor Aemond said anything for the remainder of the morning. They spoke – some. But they did not truly say anything.

Not as Arianwyn bathed him, again trying to scrub the bloodstains from his hair – still unsuccessfully.

Not as she dried him and dressed his wounds with a poultice Orwyle had left and wrapped them in strips of silk she had soaked in the cooled wine.

Not as she helped him into his dressing gown and braided back his hair so he would not see the stain of his own blood.

Not as she led him through their bedchamber to the solar, where servants had laid the table with plenty of simple but hearty foods – plain porridge, mashed apples, light crusty bread, and a large, steaming pot of chicken soup.

Not as they ate –a bowl of porridge mixed with the mashed apple and an obscene amount of brown sugar for Arianwyn, while Aemond had only half a bowl of soup, scooped up with torn pieces of bread instead of a spoon.

Not as they finally crawled back into bed, and Aemond pulled her into his chest, one arm around her waist and the other cradling her head against his neck.

Neither of them said anything. Not until Arianwyn had again fallen asleep, exhausted from the stress of the day and her fitful sleep the night before. Only then did Aemond kiss his wife’s forehead, stroke her wild hair, and whisper, “I don’t know if I believe I can be forgiven. If atonement is possible. But for you, ñuha jorrāeliarza raqnon, I will try.” My dearest love.

-

Arianwyn woke first, silently throwing every curse she knew at the sun for having the audacity to rise. She had slept fitfully again, waking up nearly a dozen times in a state of panic. Calming down required her to thoroughly examine Aemond to ensure he was still breathing, his heart was still beating, and his wounds hadn’t reopened.

He only woke once and was quickly soothed back to sleep by Arianwyn humming an old Valyrian lullaby while she drew Runes on his chest.

Runes of peace. Runes of protection. Runes of love.

Now, she had already checked that Aemond was well. So well, in fact, that he was snoring slightly. That made her smile, if only a little. Yet despite the tiredness that ached through to her very bones, she was entirely, tragically, awake.

She tried to be grateful that it gave her the chance to make sure the servants had cleaned everything and delivered the food for their morning meal. Perhaps even take a bath of her own – it had been nearly three days since she’d last bathed, and she was beginning to feel as though a thin film of dirt covered her entire body. But it didn’t quite soothe the sting of waking too early.

So, she left Aemond to his rest and went to the solar. After nibbling on an apple while she considered her options, she turned to the door to find a servant to run her a bath. The moment she did, she dropped the apple, sending it tumbling across the floor.

The belongings they had taken with them on their journeys had been retrieved from their dragons, and now sat neatly stacked near the door to the apartments. On the very top, still in its ancient sheath, was Lamentation, the sword of the Lord of Runestone.

Aemond could not see it, Arianwyn knew that immediately.

In the state he was in, Aemond would not feel honored that Gerold had entrusted it to him. No, he would only see in it a symbol of what he thought he had lost – a reminder that he no longer felt he deserved such an honor or the trust that came with it, at least in his mind.

She had to get rid of it.

But not here. Aemond knew every inch of these rooms. He would know instantly if something was amiss.

So, without even changing out of her nightgown, Arianwyn grabbed the sword and raced into the corridor. There were still two guards at the door – Adrew and Rody – but she was too frantic to say anything to them other than that she was fine, and they should remain at their posts.

Where to hide it?

Perhaps in the library? No, that was too public, and Lamentation was too precious to leave somewhere unprotected.

Alicent would likely let her store it in her chambers, or Helaena’s. They would –

“Aria?”

She stumbled, then turned to find Aegon behind her, just emerging from his rooms.

He looked almost as tired as she felt. The circles under his eyes had grown and deepened, and his clothes – too fine to be something he had chosen for himself – were rumpled. While he did not wear his crown, there was a crease in his hair that suggested it had weighed on him quite recently. Had the Small Council kept him up all night?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps toward her, his eyes flicking down to the massive sword she clutched to her chest. Worry crumpled his features. “Is Aemond well?”

“Of course, he’s not well!” Arianwyn snapped. “How could he possibly be well?”

Aegon stumbled back at the venom with which she spoke, a flash of hurt in his reddened eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a stupid question.”

It was, and years ago she would have mocked him for it. But she was exhausted, and Aegon did not prompt as much instinctive anger in her as he once did. Not when he had apologized for his behavior and been forgiven by Aemond. And not after their conversation at the coronation feast, when she realized that not only was he no longer the mean-spirited and spoiled prince he once was, but that they were more similar than she ever would have guessed.

So, she stepped closer to him, lowering Lamentation from where it had been clutched tightly to her breast. “No, I’m sorry. I have not slept much these past two nights, and I think it’s beginning to take its toll.”

“Is Aemond…” Aegon reached out to touch her arm, then pulled back and instead ran a hand through his hair – somehow more tangled than hers, “is he sleeping?”

“He is,” she answered. “Now, actually. He has done little else since I’ve returned.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

“Because…” Arianwyn had to stop and swallow to stop herself from weeping in the middle of the corridor. “Because I am afraid if I do, he will not be there when I wake. That either he will do something drastic, or his wounds will have claimed him, or that my father and Rhaenyra will have somehow taken him from me in retaliation for… for what happened.”

Aegon nodded solemnly and gestured to Lamentation. “And that is why you are wandering the castle in your nightgown carrying a sword that’s as tall as you?”

“No,” she sighed, looking down at herself. She hadn’t considered what a ridiculous picture she made. Surely rumors about a mad princess would soon fill the servants’ hall. “This is Lamentation, the ancestral sword of House Royce.”

“Very nice,” he said with one of his impressed grins that had always reminded Arianwyn of a frog. “I like the hilt, it’s pretty. But that still doesn’t explain…?” He gestured vaguely to her and the sword.

“My Uncle Gerold gave it to me when I was at the Eyrie,” she explained, beginning to get nervous that Aemond would wake and come looking for her. Looking over her shoulder briefly, she continued, “He gave it to me so that I could give it to Aemond, since he is now the Lord of Runestone. But…”

“You don’t trust him with it?”

The look of anger that Arianwyn leveled at her King at that suggestion that she feared her husband would have been considered treason by many.

Fortunately, Aegon was not one of them. He simply raised in hands in apology and surrender, and remained there, waiting for her to speak.

She lowered the blade until its tip rested on the floor. “There is no one in the world I would trust so much with this – no one. However, right now, he does not trust himself, or think himself worthy of anything but disdain. So I… I need to hide it from him.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed in concern as he took a step toward her. “He can’t even see it? Why?”

“He’s just… he’s not making sense right now.” Arianwyn looked down and shook her head to try and banish the so recent and yet so awful memories of her husband – how scared he had been when she first found him, how he wept until he had fallen asleep, and how hopeless he’d looked when he admitted he had tried to end his life. “I think knowing that my uncle would trust Runestone – our family and legacy – to him would drive him further into his despair.”

The King simply stood there, speechless, his gaze fixed on the ancient sword that now belonged to his brother. Then, he took a half-step away and indicated the door behind him with a nod of his head.

“Hide it in my room,” he said. “Aemond’ll never look in there. Trust me.”

She looked at the door, then back to Aegon. In one of his letters, Aemond had called his brother’s room a ‘squalid, festering nest of degeneracy.’ Arianwyn’s stomach turned at what she might find in it, but she could not deny that it was certainly not a place her husband would enter willingly.

“Please, put it in my room,” Aegon spoke quickly and confidently, with a surety he usually only had when he was mocking someone. But his eyes were clear, and there wasn’t a trace of a smile on his lips as he held out a hand to his good sister. “Besides, there’s… I’d like to talk to you about something – something important – if you can spare the time.”

Arianwyn looked over her shoulder again, as though she could see around the corner and down the hall where Aemond lay. What would he do if he woke to find her gone?

It was still early, she told herself, and he had been so tired. He would likely not wake for several hours yet, giving her more than enough time to hide Lamentation, hear whatever Aegon had to say, and return in time to be there when Aemond awoke.

She followed Aegon.

His rooms weren’t quite as horrific as Aemond had described but were most certainly not a place she would choose to spend her time. Next to the wardrobe, there was a pile of clothes so tall it came up to Aegon’s chest. At least two empty wine goblets sat on every available surface, and a few had been discarded on the floor. There was very little décor, but what was present confused her. Especially the table at the end of the bed which held several skulls, candles, and oblong objects made of various materials – wood, leather, stone, and more which Arianwyn could not identify.

When she reached forward to examine one of them, Aegon jumped forward, pushing her away from the tables. His eyes were wide and his cheeks more flushed than she had ever seen. “Don’t… just don’t touch those, please.”

Arianwyn nodded, trying to hide her confusion. She looked down at Lamentation and extended it slightly towards Aegon. “Where should I…?”

“I can hide it,” Aegon mumbled as he took the sword and turned away, tucking it in a tall wardrobe.

Arianwyn wondered what else was in the wardrobe, as it seemed to her all his clothing was in that small mountain. What was in his dressing room? She might have asked about it, but when he turned back to her, his face had become grave.

The longer they stood there, unspeaking, the more anxious Arianwyn became that Aemond would wake to find her gone.

Then, another thought struck her, and she tilted her head. “You have not been moved to the King’s chambers?”

Aegon sighed and curled a lip. “Not yet, they’re still ‘preparing’ them. I technically could sleep there, as they have at least replaced the bed he died in, but…” He blinked rapidly, his brow furrowing in thought.

“There’s still too much of Viserys there,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable in there. It smells like death and all those rancid herbs the Maesters used, not to mention that fucking model taking up the whole sitting room.”

“It’s still there?” Arianwyn asked, even the mention of it causing her anger to rise.

He scoffed, “It is. There’s quite a debate about what’s to be done with it. I’d like to smash it to pieces, I think.”

At that, Arianwyn almost felt like laughing. “If you do, invite Aemond to join you.”

“I will…” he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Aria, but I have to ask. What the fuck happened at Storm’s End?”

Suddenly, Arianwyn felt unable to look Aegon in the eye. He wasn’t just her cousin anymore – he was her king. Where should her loyalties lie with this – with her husband or her king?

He shut the wardrobe door and leaned against it. “I won’t force you to tell me anything you don’t want to, Aria. But at least tell me if Aemond…” he swallowed, looking like he might be ill. “I know he is not well, but is he hurt? Is he injured?”

“Yes, he is.” The memory of those wounds, of Aemond’s pain, would never leave her. “But he will recover.”

Aegon grimaced. “So, Luke hurt him, then? He was provoked?”

“It is not my story to tell, Aegon. I won’t – ”

“I know,” he interrupted. He sniffed and looked down at the floor, then trudged over to his bed and sat atop the rumpled furs and blankets. He gestured for Arianwyn to join him, but she shook her head. She didn’t know when the last time the bedding had been cleaned, and she knew if she sat, she would likely stay longer than she intended.

Aegon thought for a moment, frowning as he picked absentmindedly at the skin around his nails. “I’ve been thinking… ever since we got word of Luke’s death. About the time we spent together when we were younger, but I probably don’t think about that as much as I should. I spend more time thinking about what will happen next, or about Aemond, or of my own children.”

He looked up at Arianwyn, his eyes wide and wet. “Jaehaera. She’s not exactly like Aemond – she has both eyes, and her egg hatched. But… she’s different, still. Very shy. And she doesn’t talk. Ever.”

Arianwyn started slightly, unsure why he was making this comparison. But, she realized, he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Yes, I noticed that when I read to them a few nights ago.”

“She isn’t stupid, I know she understands what other people say. I actually think she’s quite clever, especially for her age.”

“When your mother invited me to her chambers to read them all a story, I had the same impression.”

“But still, she doesn’t speak.” Aegon laughed breathlessly. “Hardly makes any sound at all, even when she was a babe. Otto is very concerned about it. He wants to send her to Oldtown to have the Maesters… I don’t know. Experiment on her? I won’t allow it. I think…”

He broke off, looking down and squeezing his eyes shut as she swallowed what was either another laugh or a sob. He was so pitiful, the boy who was now the king, that Arianwyn stepped forward and sat beside him, prying his hands apart to stop his nervous picking, then holding them in her own.

“Sorry, that’s not what we’re here to talk about,” he whispered.

Arianwyn shrugged slightly, telling him that she did not mind. She was desperate to know what, exactly, he was talking about. And why she had to be the one to hear it.

Aegon shook their joined hands, steadying himself to continue. “My point is, Jaehaera is different, like Aemond was. Perhaps more so. But her brother…” He paused for a long while, fighting with all his strength to hold back his tears.

He failed, and his voice became thick and wavering. “Jaehaerys protects her. Not just against other children, though they’re rarely around them. From everything. He protects her from adults who look at her with curiosity and disdain, from nursemaids who are too strict with her, and from anything that may hurt her. I even saw him yell at one of the hounds’ pups once, when it wouldn’t stop licking her and she started crying.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped him, a brief moment of joy amidst his lamentation. Arianwyn smiled at him, encouraging him. Seeing Aegon so unsettled was discomfiting. In all her years, she had never seen him in anything but a drunken stupor, a morose brooding, or in what she now understood to not true confidence and apathy, but rather a mask he wore to seem so.

She pitied him, but she did not know how to comfort him.

“I…” he started, breaking off for a moment, his cheeks flushing as he tried to hold back his sobs. “I should have done that for Aemond. And Helaena. And even Daeron, before he went to Oldtown.”

Aegon laughed, though his crying never stopped. It made for a haunting, worrisome sound. “My son is barely six years old, and already he is a better man than me.”

“Why are you telling me this, Aegon?” Arianwyn asked after a prolonged moment of silence.

He yelled wordlessly as he ripped his hands away from hers and began prowling around the room. “Because it’s my fault! What happened on Driftmark – what happened to Aemond. The pain he’s lived with for so long. And what he just did to Luke. It’s all my fault! Because I didn’t protect him when I should have. Seven Hells, I was the one he needed protection from!”

He seized the nearest wine glass and threw it against the wall, sending shards of amber glass flying. He did not flinch when one cut his cheek.

Wiping away both his tears and his blood, he slumped, exhausted, onto the bed again. He looked at Arianwyn with pleading eyes, begging for something she did not think she alone could grant. “All the blood that has been spilled – and all that will be in whatever fighting there is to come – is on my hands.”

For a long time, Arianwyn just stared at him, remembering.

Remembering the times Aemond had met her in the library, sullen and silent because of Aegon, Jace, and Luke’s teasing.

Remembering the first time she had seen Aemond cry, after his first attempt to claim one of the fully grown dragons had left him with red, blistered burns.

Remembering the look on Aemond’s face after they brought him that pig.

Remembering the blood that poured over her fingers as she pressed her fingers to Aemond’s bleeding face.

Remembering finding Aemond cowering in the corner of their bedchamber, drunk, bloody, and broken.

The memories repeated over and over in her mind, and she felt them as clearly as if they had occurred only moments before. By the time she came back to herself, she had nearly forgotten what Aegon had said.

He still stared at her, desperate.

It’s my fault.

Aemond.

The blood that has been spilled.

And all that will be.

“You want me to forgive you,” she said quietly.

He blinked more tears away and nodded, murmuring a plea too quietly for her to understand.

Arianwyn let her eyes become unfocused as she considered his plea. He seemed sincere in his guilt and regret. But what was done could not be undone. Apologies could be made, but not reparations.

Aemond would always be scarred, and Luke would always be dead.

“From now, we shall be friends and allies. You are my good brother, after all. But still, I cannot forgive the past, Aegon. I’m sorry.”

The King looked utterly shattered, but he nodded and bowed his head. “I understand.”

-

Aemond woke to the terrifying realization that Arianwyn was gone.

Her side of the bed was empty, the pillow still creased, and the sheets rumpled. But when he laid a hand on them, they were cold. She’d been gone some time.

Was she simply doing something about the castle while he slept, or had something more sinister happened?

It was early – later than he usually awoke, but before Arianwyn liked to rise. And after the last two days, wouldn’t she be tired?

Two days. It had been two days since Lucerys was killed. Since Aemond returned home shattered in body and soul.

It was long enough for his half-sister and her vile husband to learn what happened.

Enough time for them to enact their revenge, if they acted quickly.

Daemon knew the Red Keep intimately. The whole city. He had snuck out of the castle undetected countless times, and once even stole an egg from the Dragonpit without the theft being discovered until the following morning.

He could easily sneak into the city, make his way to the castle, and slip into the hidden passages undetected. He could even do it with a small group of his loyal soldiers.

He could have stolen Arianwyn from their bed – from Aemond’s arms – and taken his revenge by killing her. Daemon wanted her dead, anyway. It would be quite convenient.

He and his soldiers could be waiting in the solar, muffling her cries while they waited for him to come looking for her entirely unawares.

That could not happen.

Aemond rose from the bed and stepped carefully and quietly to the corner where he had either drunkenly, or angrily, or both, shed his weapons when he first arrived back and retrieved his dagger.

The same dagger he had thrown across the Round Hall to Lucerys.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, blocking out the memories of that day, trying instead to remember the good memories attached to the blade.

The day Ser Criston had first given it to him.

The practice fight he had won armed only with the dagger after his opponent knocked away his sword.

The dagger held between Arianwyn’s teeth as he worshipped her with his tongue. He could still feel the indentations she had made in the leather and gold.

Finally, his heart began to slow, his mind calming. This was not the dagger with which he damned his nephew and his soul, but that with which he would save his wife.

He positioned himself against the wall by the door, his back pressed flat to the stone, dagger held at the ready. After a quick prayer and a last deep breath, he reached out a hand and flung the door open, ducking slightly away to avoid any arrows that may come flying.

None came.

Nor any voices.

Beyond the crackling of the fire, there was not a single sound.

Even worse, there was no Arianwyn. Not by the fire, or by the window, or at the dining table. Though the fire was lit, the window was open, and the table was set. One apple had fallen to the floor, and there were several small, nibbling bites taken out of it…

Renewing his grip on the dagger, his eye wide open, Aemond made his way to the study – she wasn’t there. Neither was she in the spare room or the dressing room.

As he walked back into the bedchamber, he let the dagger fall back to the floor.

“Idiot,” he murmured to himself. Even addled as he was, there was not a chance he would have slept through Arianwyn being taken as a hostage. At the very least, he would have heard her dagger clattering against stone when she tried and failed to strike at her kidnappers. That is if she was carrying it.

When she returned, he would have to ask her to keep it with her always.

When she returned.

Because she would. She promised she would, and Aemond trusted that she would do everything in her power to keep that promise.

Faint memories of him begging for her when she left the bathing room flashed through his vision. Gods, had he really been that pathetic?

The bathing room. Perhaps that was where she was. She didn’t get to bathe yesterday, as far as he knew. It was possible she could have slipped out of bed without his knowing. As she had apparently already done that morning.

Yes, she was probably in the bath right now. Her hair floating across the water, silver eyes closed as she relished the heat. She may even be humming a song, like she had done to help him back to sleep, too softly for him to hear.

Aemond took a moment to comb through his hair with his fingers – it had come loose of the braid Arianwyn had done at some point in the night – and walked through the bathing room door.

She was not there, either.

Panic began to rise in his chest like a roiling volcano. He felt his fingers begin to chill and numb, and his scar began to burn. His heart raced faster and faster, entirely out of his control.

She left. He was alone.

She left. She left. She left. She –

“No,” he hissed, begging his mind to hear his words – to listen. Arianwyn was not here to talk sense into his broken mind, so he had to do it himself. “She did not leave. She will come back. Aria always comes back. She always comes back.”

He had to repeat the mantra over and over, until his throat went dry, and his voice cracked. He was not well, but he was calm – relatively. He was not panicking. He was not crying or screaming. He did not erupt.

She is not hurt, he assured himself. She just needed to go somewhere. The Sept, or maybe the Weirwood tree. Grandsire might have called her to tell him… no, she would not do that without me. She’s probably talking to Mother. Or with Helaena, reading to the children. She is in the Keep. She will be safe. As will I.

Aemond looked down at his hands, balling them into tight fists until he could feel his nails biting into the skin. If he could feel, he was calm. His mind was present and under his control.

If he didn’t know where Arianwyn was, he could not know when she’d be back. He could always ask the guards that he had no doubt were still stationed outside their door. But he didn’t know who it would be. Ser Criston had more important duties, and he had already let too many of the Runestone guards see him at his weakest…

He would simply ensure he was ready whenever she returned – show her that he was better, or at least beginning to be so.

That would start with fixing his braid, as it had come almost completely undone. His wrappings held most of it in place, but the ends were left out, and the feeling of it grazing over his bare skin like a thousand crawling spiders was beginning to drive him mad.

He did not let himself think too long about what he had done to the bedroom mirror, and why he had done it. Instead, he simply walked to the bathing room.

The moment he saw himself, he was very happy that Arianwyn was not here – he looked truly frightening.

The wounds on his face were still mostly covered by the cloths she had wrapped him in. But a few had spots of blood coming through, and beneath the wrappings that had loosened or fallen off, the half-scabbed scratches were visible.

The longer he looked at them, the more they seemed to hurt.

It was most definitely time for new dressings, and since Orwyle had seemingly moved half his stores into their bathing room, Aemond decided that would be the best way to spend his time as he waited for his wife to return. Better than thinking about what happened and what would happen in the future.

Arianwyn had not wrapped his head particularly well, or at least, not in the same way that Orwyle had done. It therefore took him some time, even with the aid of the mirror, to remove it all.

When it was off, and his hair fell into place once more, Aemond was nearly sick. And he had his answer for why Arianwyn spent so much time scrubbing his hair.

It was stained with his own blood.

In truth, it was only pinkish, but it felt like it was bright red, still wet and dripping onto the floor. And though he knew it was his blood, it didn’t feel like it was.

It felt like Lucerys’ blood.

There was no stopping this panic.

He needed it out, out, out. It needed to be gone, erased. Now.

Aemond grabbed the first bar of soap he saw and began scrubbing so furiously that several strands of hair were ripped out with every motion.

Water, it would work better with water.

He dunked the soap furiously in the basin of water that had been set on the table and renewed his scrubbing.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, the soap removed nothing. The stain was still there.

It wasn’t working.

Why wasn’t it working?

It had to work.

The stain needed to be gone.

He couldn’t live with the stain.

He couldn’t live with the blood.

He couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t forget.

He wanted to forget.

Aemond had no memory of it, but suddenly he was no longer standing before the mirror. He had crossed the room and now held a pair of shears in his hands.

Shears.

Shears were dangerous.

It had been a pair of shears, with handles shaped like Velaryon seahorses, that had made the final cut to remove his ruined eye from his skull.

Shears had nearly gotten Brynna killed. It had made Aria cry. It was Daemon’s fault.

Aria had stabbed Daemon with shears. He was so proud of her for that.

These were Orwyle’s shears.

Used for cutting strips of silk to bind wounds. Aemond had watched him do so many times while he lived in the Rookery Tower during his recovery.

So much silk had been wrapped around him. By Orwyle and the other Maesters. Now by Aria.

These shears were for healing, and Aemond desperately needed healing.

The shears would help him.

Heal him.

Erase the evidence of his sins.

Aemond raised the shears.

Then, he cut.

-

When Arianwyn walked into her and Aemond’s solar, she immediately knew something was wrong. None of the food had been touched. Even her half-eaten apple remained exactly where she had dropped it when she saw Lamentation.

But Aemond wasn’t asleep – the door to their bedchamber was open, and the bed was empty. And as she crept closer to the bedchamber door, she spied something on the floor, shining brightly as it caught the rays of the mid-morning sun.

Aemond’s dagger.

She immediately ran forward and picked it up. There was no blood – not on the blade, the floor, or the bed. Though there was great comfort in that fact, it did not entirely calm her racing heart. Not as she once again stood in their seemingly empty chambers and, just as she and only two nights before, called out to her husband.

“Aemond?”

A long pause. In which her heart hammered a brutal rhythm against her chest that echoed in her ears. Then…

“I’m here, Aria.”

Her feet were carrying her toward the bathing room before Aemond had even finished speaking. She pushed the door open with such force that it slammed against the stone wall, its wood audibly cracking.

Aemond was sitting on the floor, his back against the bath and his knees pulled to his chest. He had removed the wrappings from his face, but not his legs. Arianwyn thanked all the gods that it seemed none of the wounds had reopened.

He turned to face her, not flinching at the sound of the door crashing into the wall, and never lowering his hands – held tightly against the sides of his head, keeping his hair from his face. “Aria… I woke up, and you were gone.”

The helplessness in his voice nearly cracked her chest open as she sat beside him. “I am so, so sorry, my love. I didn’t think I would be gone for so long, but then Aegon wanted to speak to me – ”

“Did you tell him what I did?” he asked hastily, his eye filling with tears of fear.

Arianwyn sighed and reached out to cup the unhurt side of his face in her palm. With his hands already there, she could only stroke the back of her fingers down his cheek. “I promise I did not. That is your tale to tell. But he knows what happened, though he knows no details. Nor does he make any judgments; he won’t until he hears the story from you.”

He nodded and spread his lips in a flat smile as he turned his head back to the floor. He did not say anything more, and Arianwyn watched as his eye unfocused. Something was wrong. Not just his wounds or the weight of Luke’s death, but something else. Something new.

“Aemond?” she said gently as she lowered herself onto the floor opposite him. “Did something happen while I was gone? Did someone come in, or – ”

“No,” he shook his head and gripped it so tight his knuckles went white. “I just… I did something very foolish.”

He did not give Arianwyn the chance to ask what he’d done, he simply lowered his hands and let her see.

The blood stains were gone, but so was most of the hair around his left ear. What remained was barely longer than his ring finger. The cuts had been quick and imprecise, leaving it looking like the hair was ripped off rather than cut by someone who usually had more finesse with a blade.

Arianwyn came closer to him and ran her hand through the short hair. “I was going to ask Elsie if she knew how to remove the stains. It was my hope you would never see it.”

“Well, I did. I was removing the wrappings and… I panicked, and I didn’t think about it,” his voice sounded hollow. “I just did it.”

“We all do that sometimes, my love.”

“I regretted it as soon as I did it, but I can’t take it back.”

Arianwyn knew he was no longer speaking only of his hair.

“I know,” she said gently, stroking his cheek. “But we cannot dwell on what we cannot change.”

Aemond shook his head and slumped into her, his face buried in her chest. “I’m the villain, Aria.”

“You are not,” she insisted. “You have made mistakes, but you are good.”

She felt him shake his head against her shoulder. “That is not the story that will be told. I killed my nephew. I’m a kinslayer. No kinslayer is ever remembered as being ‘good.’ Nor will I.”

Arianwyn gripped him tighter, searching for the words to soothe him. “Has any kinslayer tried to atone for what he did? Have any regretted it?”

Aemond went limp against her. His voice was muffled in her nightgown as he replied, “None that I know of, no.”

“Then you shall be the first. And that will be your story. The noble prince who rose from darkness and despair to become better – to become a great man. It will be a wonderful story, and one that will never be forgotten.” She hoped the words would be true, that they were sent to her by some prophetic force, and not simply the result of her desperately hoping to make him feel better.

The cloth of her nightgown dampened, and she heard the tears in Aemond’s voice. “How?”

She sighed, petting his head as she prayed for the gods – or perhaps her Royce ancestors – to grant her wisdom beyond her years.

“I don’t know, Aemond,” she began when no new miraculous revelations came to her, “But I think we must start by going to the Small Council tomorrow and telling them what happened. Your mother, your grandfather, and your brother’s advisors… they will know better than I do.”

His hands tightened slightly around her waist, but he did not argue, or even look up at her.

“As for this,” she said, running her fingers through the shorn scraps of his hair. It was still soft, even after everything. “Kiran will be able to help, I am sure.”

Aemond froze, then pulled away so he could look her in the eyes. “Kiran? I don’t understand, he must have left. After I…”

“No,” Arianwyn answered simply with an encouraging smile. “He is still here. When I arrived, he was waiting outside the door to see if you were well.”

“But surely he must hate me,”

“He is upset at what happened, but he holds no ill will toward you. Nor is he angry. He knows you never intended to harm him.”

He shook his head. “I do not deserve his faith in me.”

“But you do, my love.” Arianwyn brought her hand to his cheek, stroking what little unwounded skin she could find. “He told me how you first met. After what you did for him, I cannot imagine you could do anything to earn his ire. He will be with you as long as you allow it – perhaps longer. I honestly don’t believe he’d obey you if you dismissed him!”

Aemond almost smiled, but then his face crumpled with tearful relief as he again buried himself in his wife’s shoulder. “If I am to be redeemed, it will not be by my own will. It will be because of you, ñuhon vōska raqiarzy.” My holy love.

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