#but i did want to post it on my account nevertheless

[aceredshirt13]

1917: A Movie Review

(I created a Letterboxd account specifically to review WWI movies so you can find the review there if you want, but I had no idea reviews got buried so fast so I figured I'd put it here for safekeeping, too.)

Hot tip: if you, while making a movie about the futility of war, ever had to stop and think to yourself, “Okay, but are Germans, like, actually people, though?” then I can only both recommend you kindly consider not making a war movie, and pray for your speedy recovery in the hospital after I have beaned you with a chair.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The rest, which contains spoilers, is under the cut.

I should preface this by saying that I am not an expert on cinematography by any means, and I also watched this movie on an airplane, which means that I wouldn’t have good opinions on the cinematography even if I were an expert on it. I also had not seen any other World War I movies before this one - the only experience I’d had with WWI prior was in the form of books, half the fourth season of Blackadder, an episode of The Twilight Zone, and the occasional spectacularly dark Jeeves and Wooster fanfic. But I had grown interested in learning about the horrors of the war, and had heard much about 1917 and its portrayals of them - so after finishing Barbie on the same international flight, I decided to do a Great War spin on the Barbenheimer formula and give 1917 a whirl.

In terms of horrors, the movie certainly delivers. I will probably never forget Schofield accidentally plunging his hand in the chest cavity of a rotting corpse, or having to crawl to a riverbank over a row of bloated cadavers. Being forced to relive the memory of these scenes actually made me sick to my stomach just now. It is not as much of a visceral waking nightmare as the 2022 version of All Quiet on the Western Front, but it is, without question, awful to see. Gory imagery, however, does not a good war movie make - for that is the burden that the writing must bear.

It’s a pretty simple story. Two very young British privates are given an insanely dangerous mission to travel over enemy lines and deliver a message to call off an attack that will end in disaster, and because one of them has a brother in danger of dying if they don’t succeed, travel they do. Blake (the one with the brother) is chatty, good-humored, and naive about the realities of war, while Schofield (not the one with the brother) is reserved and cynical, traumatized to the point of amnesia from his service at the Somme. Their friendship is endearing, and is unquestionably the best part of the movie. We then follow them through many quiet, almost video game-like journey sequences across No Man’s Land, occasionally interspersed with conversation, mishaps, and near-death situations they help each other out of. Then, not even halfway into the movie, tragedy strikes, and Schofield must make the rest of the journey alone - through more quiet, video game-like journey sequences that sometimes suffer from pacing problems due to the lack of either interpersonal interaction or enough things going on save for walking to keep the viewer engaged. (I actually began to find myself wishing the latter part of the movie was a video game, so I could at least take the exploration into my own hands.) At the end of it all, he reaches his target a bit tardily, but is ultimately able to convince the captain that the push should come to an end, and Blake’s brother is, for now, spared an untimely death. The film ends with our surviving hero leaning back against a tree, gazing at a letter his mother gave him that reads “Come back to me.” before the screen cuts to black.

Now, I’ve been watching WWI films with a friend of mine who is more well-versed in war media than myself, and they let me know after watching this movie on their own that the “pushing past people in the trenches so that you can give a message to call off an attack” segment is the plot of the final scene of Gallipoli. I do not plan to watch Gallipoli, mainly due to the immense degree of historical inaccuracies fabricated to paint British colonial attitudes in a horrible light (which is something that could have very easily been done without erasing the massive losses of an entire section of the British Army that was supporting the Australians), so if you do, you might want to skip ahead to the next paragraph. But if you don’t, well, my friend also let me know that unlike in 1917, where Schofield is too late to completely stop the attack but not too late to spare the elder Blake’s life, in Gallipoli the attempt fails, and the main character’s friend is killed. So not only does 1917 come off as a touch derivative, but it is actually softer than the predecessor it derives from. The captain’s speech about the futility of Schofield’s efforts in the face of future attack orders rings true, but in the end Schofield fulfilled his promise to his dead friend, completed his mission, and lived to tell the tale. Perhaps it was so audiences wouldn’t be disappointed or dissatisfied, and feel the efforts weren’t all for nothing (the Dawn Patrol movies, though more successful at their message than 1917, are a bit guilty of this), but isn’t the entire point of anti-war cinema that it is always, always all for nothing? Shouldn’t you feel miserable, and angry, and dissatisfied?

Well, I did actually feel miserable, and angry, and dissatisfied at the end of this movie, but not for the right reasons. I would be willing to forgive pacing issues and a slightly-too-bright ending, because there was a lot in the movie to like, particularly in regard to the frightening imagery and the relationship between Schofield and Blake. The most compelling scenes in the movie, in fact, surround the aforementioned tragedy that results in two becoming one - but ay, there’s the rub. 

Because remember how I said that their friendship was the best part of the movie? Yeah, well, the way that friendship ends is the worst.

So Blake and Schofield are walking along, and they find a barn. They happen to find some milk, and are enthusiastically drinking it while a dogfight takes place overhead - and suddenly a German plane comes careening into the barn in flames. The pilot survives, but is on fire and in terrible pain, so the pair pull him free and pat the fire out. Schofield suggests they put the man out of his misery, but Blake protests because the pilot is begging for water, and asks Schofield to get some for him from the pump. And as he does, the injured German pilot - a man who has just been saved from an extremely painful death by two of his enemies who could have killed him on sight or abandoned him to burn - stabs Blake in the stomach.

I could go on about how shocked and devastated I was at Blake’s subsequent slow and painful death from blood loss, and how Schofield is at his side taking care of him until the very end. About how Blake asks him to take the picture of his family out of his pocket, and show it to him, so he can look at them as he dies - about how after he’s dead, Schofield tries to take his body to a field of blossoming trees, because Blake had spoken earlier about how much he loved them, and how his mother taught him how to identify the flowers, but is picked up by another detachment and forced to abandon his friend’s body where it is. That last bit was, to me, the most affecting and sad part of the movie. But beneath it all, I had one thought, and that thought was “this movie had better have some good German representation to make up for that”.

So I waited, patiently, for the movie to let me know that that was just one man - that that did not represent the entire German army. It’s certainly unlikely for the person you save from death to immediately betray you, but not unheard of - perhaps the pilot was particularly nasty, or prideful, or patriotic, motivated by a hatred of the enemy so powerful that he would rather die than be taken prisoner. Certainly a fair share of real-life RFC pilots were possessed of a complete lack of empathy for and a murderous loathing of their German enemies, so it’s just as certain that the inverse was true. All the movie had to do in turn was show that a German soldier could be just as capable of kindness as poor Blake, or show that a British soldier could be just as heartless as the pilot. And when Schofield later runs into a German soldier - one so babyfaced he looks even younger than himself - and spares his life in exchange for keeping his presence a secret, the opportunity to humanize a German soldier by showing him frightened, and grateful, and letting him go, seems like a total given. Easy and inevitable for an anti-war film, right?

Wrong. The guy betrays him and rats him out immediately. And is killed by Schofield for his trouble. Because German soldiers, God forbid, can’t act like the terrified children they were, crying or vomiting or hesitating or begging for their lives like in 2022’s All Quiet - no, the only emotion burning in their breasts is passion for the Fatherland. (I haven’t seen German characterization this bad in my current WWI catalog outside of the Biggles movie. Do you seriously want the bar to be the Biggles movie?) Never mind that Schofield, an already-bitter character who just watched his friend die by sparing a German soldier, is somewhat unlikely to have even done this in the first place. We can’t show the hero doing something cruel - just like we can’t show him being racist toward the Sikh soldier in the van, or ragging on the Germans like the other white soldiers in the same. No, Schofield, the traumatized, cynical soldier surrounded by death - he must stay kind, and faultless, and pure in the face of that nasty Boche horde. Christ alive. I am mad at this movie.

Like, the war’s over, dude. It’s been over for a hundred years. Do you really still think that all Germans are evil? Is that propaganda poster of the gorilla with the Pickelhaube framed above your bed? Sure, yeah, there’s a brief scene where the leads traverse an old German bunker and find a photo of a soldier’s kids, but that’s not exactly enough of a balance to pat yourself on the back for giving your movie some Big Boy Nuance. That gorilla with the Pickelhaube probably had kids, too. Pickelhaube gorilla kids. I’m drifting from the point.

The point here is that showing Germans have kids they love is not enough, because you have shown that while our British heroes are capable of compassion for the other side of the war, the Germans are in possession of no such thing. Not only are they never shown being empathetic to the enemy, but every bit of empathy they receive from the enemy is repaid with violence, betrayal, and hatred. The British? They love everyone! The Germans? They loathe everyone save for their own! Sounds a bit like the creators mixed up their world wars in terms of ideology, eh? Not that that would have even been true of the average foot soldier in Nazi Germany, because of the apparently radical notion that Germans are human, but the application of this to a war that didn’t even have one Nazi in it only makes it even more infuriating and absurd.

On the subject of Nazis, not even the twist of the traitorous spared German is original to this movie. The same exact bullshit happens in Saving Private Ryan, where (spoiler alert) a German soldier in WWII spared from a cruel and unethical death by the compassion of a kindhearted poet “repays” his kindness by murdering his Jewish comrade later in the movie. And what do both of these movies convey as a result? Certainly not an anti-war message, for an anti-war message proves that war is needless and futile. How can your movie show war is needless, when Germans are depicted as ontologically evil - when kindness toward them is depicted as a flaw and a weakness? No amount of gore and sadness will fix that leak, because all you’ve told us now is that war is terrible, but completely necessary. That it’s just the awful burden our Good Righteous HeroesTM must bear to fight off the forces of evil. You know, Kantorek-from-All-Quiet shit. Do you really want to be spouting Kantorek-from-All-Quiet shit? Of course you don’t.

But do you not want to because of his ideology? Or do you just not want to because he’s German?

I wonder.

(P. S. This isn’t directly related to the movie, but it’s mentioned in the reception section on Wikipedia that this movie is historically inaccurate because it features some black British soldiers mixed in with all the rest - a demographic claimed to have been “negligible”. Now, I’m not a historian, but given that there was more than one black officer in the British military during the war (including a known former cricketer and an RFC pilot, among others), I think it’s probable that the section was full of shit. No documentation in the British Army existed on whether or not any given enlisted soldier was black, so there are no exact numbers to prove anything one way or another, but the existing handful of officers suggests the portion of black enlisted men was likely much higher than that. There may not have been a lot of black British soldiers in WWI, but there’s absolutely no way there were none at all. So like, good on 1917 for having black soldiers, at least. Wish they were in a less frustrating film.) (P. P. S. If you want to see a piece of Allied media do in a paragraph what this movie couldn’t do vis-a-vis Germans in a two-hour-plus runtime, I recommend playing the game Over the Top on the Canadian War Museum website. Yes, really. Check it out. It’s free, it’s not that long, and it’s worth it. The Dawn Patrol movies do a good job of humanizing Germans, too, and go out of their way to do so when they didn’t need to to serve the plot - and those were only made two decades or less after the actual war. If they could do it, why couldn’t 1917? Embarrassing.)

Edit: Having now watched Grand Illusion, I am even more mad at 1917. Grand Illusion, aside from the many other ways it humanizes both sides excellently (and doesn't shy away from flaws, either), has a section involving two French escaped prisoners being given shelter by a German war widow and her young daughter, and they spend a brief amount of time getting to be a sort of makeshift family despite it all. It brings to mind the only major plot detail of 1917 that I didn't mention in this review - Schofield encountering a frightened young woman and a baby while traveling through the burned-out shell of what he thought was an abandoned village. Upon seeing her, I remember thinking "Oh, thank God. A hiding German woman. This movie finally remembered Germans are in possession of souls. Perhaps, together, they can share some scrap of kindness, even as the war rages around them."

Nah. She's French. The baby isn't hers, either - she just found the baby and is looking after it. Because you know how the Jerries are - razing villages and endangering innocent women and children! It's just what they do! Never mind that Grand Illusion - which, like the aforementioned Dawn Patrol movies, also came out around twenty years after the First World War and right on the cusp of the Second - could acknowledge mutual humanity. That's just what the Germans want you to think.

Second edit: Apologies to come back to this, but truly the more WWI media I encounter, the more frustrated at 1917 I get. Journey's End, a play written by a WWI veteran that premiered in 1928, has nothing but sympathy for the German soldiers in the same miserable plight as the British ones. The final scene of Paths of Glory shows how the brutality of war has horrific effects on German civilians. Even Lawrence of Arabia, which decidedly does not show the Ottomans in a good light, portrays the real-life mistreatment and slaughter of Ottoman soldiers, prisoners, and civilians out of vengeance as a terrible thing. All of these were written around 50-90 years before 1917, and are capable of understanding that the enemy consists of complex human beings. Yet here comes 1917 in 2019, pushing rhetoric more in line with warmongers than those who suffered it.

[tzuberry]

zerobaseone maknae line as tropes / cliches ૮ • ﻌ - ა

pairing shen quanrui (ricky), kim gyuvin, park gunwook, han yujin + gn reader⠀⠀⠀details fluff, slight angst in ricky’s and gunwook’s, bulletpoint and written

cw getting stood up, mention of lipstick use in ricky’s ⠀⠀⠀wc 738 696 604 802 respectively (2840 in total)⠀⠀⠀reading time 11 min

note title kinda misleading TBH... havent written on tumblr in a while, so this is a new account and my first post! im hoping this doesnt flop :( i loved writing this so much, so if it flops i might just repost it ... idk.. likes and reblogs are appreciated !!! (only if u want to ofc 🤞🏻)

masterlist navigation

ricky 리키

blind date... but you got stood up, and ricky is your best friend

it’s not that you really wanted to go on a date, it’s that your friend assured you this was the perfect guy for you

and your friend swore, cross their heart, that you would not regret letting them set you up

but now you’re sitting at a table alone, with pitiful looks being thrown your way by the restaurant staff and the other groups of people around you and it’s clear to you; you do regret it, and this is the last time you’ll let anyone other than yourself handle your love life

after compulsorily buying a meal for yourself so as to not leave the place empty handed, you slowly chew on your food, wondering where it went wrong

did he see a picture of you and decided that was it? did he hear a story about you that was just unflattering? what was it about you that made them turn around and away from the restaurant—away from you?

in the midst of all this, your phone emits a ding! sound. you’re not doing anything important, so you see it fit to check the notification

ricky 😡🐱: how’s your date going?

terribly. but that’s a little embarrassing to admit, especially to ricky...

yn: good! i’ll text you later

you lay your phone down on the table and pick up your utensils once again to finish your meal, but a shadow casting over your plate interrupts you

“why are you alone, then?”

When you follow the voice (and the shadow), Ricky is standing next to your table, his phone in hand with the screen open on your text thread. He turns it off with a swift click of the power button, and he takes the space on the other side of the table where your date should have been.

You don’t know how to respond. You’re embarrassed; a second ago, you were alone at a restaurant filled with people, and now, your best friend has caught you lying to him about being at said restaurant alone.

“What happened?” Ricky asks as his arm makes its way across the table to your glass of water. He lifts it to his lips, taking a sip and placing it back down. He looks genuinely concerned, maybe even a little pissed, but all you can focus on is how your lipstick stain is on the rim of the cup, and how he drank from that same spot.

You shake your head. “I, um,” you pause, pursing your lips and trying to find a good enough (fake) reason. “Nothing. I didn’t like him, and he said he had other plans, so I just let him go.”

Ricky furrows his eyebrows at that. It’s a very visible sign of incredulity; he doesn’t believe your lie. Nevertheless, he simply shrugs it off. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Thanks, I guess,” you reply, still dealing with the aftereffects of being stood up. You poke your fork at the food before you; a lost appetite and an expensive meal don’t mix well.

Ricky leans forward, letting his forearms rest on the surface of the table. He’s looking at you so seriously, analyzing your every move. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, attempting to come off as teasing, but he only waves you off. “I just want to look at you.”

You feel yourself practically melt under his gaze, but you ignore it. This is Ricky, your best friend... nothing more. Right. This is Ricky—you should tell him the truth about why you’re alone.

“He didn’t come,” you admit. “I wasn’t super excited about this date, but I thought– I thought I would at least go on a date. This is... nothing. I was here by myself before you got here.”

There’s a pained glint in his eyes. Is he feeling sorry for you? Maybe you do deserve all the pity you’ve gotten today. He gulps, keeping eye contact with you while biting on a small portion of his bottom lip.

After a while, he sighs. “Come on.”

Ricky begins to stand up, stuffing his phone into his pocket before you hold him back by the wrist. “What?” you question.

“We’ll go do something else,” he says with a bob of his head. Your grasp on his wrist somehow turns into your hands being interlocked. “Let me take you on a date. I’ve always wanted to, and I promise I won’t screw it up.”

gyuvin 규빈

boy next door who you’ve always had feelings for, you just never thought of him liking you back

you’ve always liked kim gyuvin

from the moment his family moved in next to your house, with his bedroom parallel to yours

you could see everything through his window; who he was, what his hobbies were, what he admired, and how he acted with his friends

this all made him seem... unattainable. you felt like you were the audience for a show, and gyuvin was the actor

it didn’t help that you went to the same school, and to further that, he was immensely popular

it was obvious. how could you expect that someone like him wouldn’t be? he’s tall, cute, extroverted, funny and kind—the entire package, if you would say so yourself

you weren’t totally unpopular. you had your fair share of friends, a few social circles that you hung out with. but gyuvin seemed too out of reach for you, even if he was your neighbor

the singular interaction you’ve had was when he came over to ask for sugar. it went like this: “hi!” “hi?” “i was baking, and i kind of ran out of brown sugar. do you maybe... uh...” “oh, sugar? wait, i think i do, hold on.”

it was that awkward. so when your mother told you she became new friends with gyuvin’s mom and wanted to have dinner at their house as a family, you freaked

but it’s not like you can say no, so you found yourself at the kims’ door a few days later

“Hi! You must be [Name]. I’ve seen you around, and I’ve heard about you from Gyuvin, but you’re much prettier up close! I know who you get your looks from,” Mrs Kim says, winking at your mother.

“You’re too kind, your son is very polite, and...”

You tune their conversation out—did she say she’s heard about you from Gyuvin? Why would he be talking about you?

Your mom finishes it (whatever she was talking about) off with, “They’d be perfect together, don’t you think?” Mrs Kim nods vigorously, then pats you twice on the shoulder. “[Name], maybe you would want to go spend some time with Gyuvin first? I’m afraid dinner isn’t ready, there’s still a long way... I’ll call you both down when it is. He’s up in his room.”

You bow, excusing yourself and obligingly treading up the stairs. This is the second time you’re about to interact with him—you better not mess up.

On the final step of the staircase, you start to hear talking from one of the bedrooms. From where you stand, it’s not clear where its origin is, and so you try to listen for the voice. It leads you to a slightly open door, and holy shit—this is Gyuvin’s door.

“They’re coming over today, and, ugh, I don’t know,” he rants. Is that about you? It has to be. Who else is coming over? You move closer to the door frame, nearly peeking your head in. “I just– I don’t know how to talk to them! Last time, I went over to ask if they wanted to hang out and...” he trails off, the regret evident in his tone. “I asked for sugar. To bake.” Oh my god. This is about you.

You take another step, risking the possibility of the door creaking. “I don’t even bake! I came home with sugar and my mom asked why and I just said I found some on the street.” He sighs, exasperated. You inch even closer, toying with the chances of him catching you eavesdropping, when... creak. At the same time, Gyuvin’s rant is cut short. “Gunwook, you have to help me, I can’t be an idiot in front of them–”

His head snaps towards the door, where you are, standing and staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. He quickly hangs up, bidding Gunwook a hushed goodbye through the microphone. “How much of that did you hear?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, flattered and shy at the same time. “I think... all of it.”

Gyuvin’s hand raises to cup his nape, and he gives you the most endearing yet bashful smile. “Would you, maybe, um, wanna hang out sometime? With me, of course...”

gunwook 건욱

friends to lovers, and everyone is sure you both like each other but all you do is deny it

you know gunwook like the back of your hand

although you met a little over a year ago, he quickly became a constant in your life, especially because you saw him everyday at school

he would wait outside your class, eat lunch with you, walk you home (and sometimes to school in the mornings), help you with homework even though he’s always busy with all the extracurriculars he participates in, and additionally schedules weekly study sessions together

this led countless people to think you were dating, even though you’re really not

you deny it, making a gesture with your hands indicating the negative. “we’re just friends, he would never be my boyfriend,” you laugh it off. gunwook tenses up, and the corners of his lips suddenly become downturned. “yeah, we’re just friends...” he agrees, sounding somewhat unsure

that’s what happens every single time someone mistakes you for a couple. you’re the first to refuse that assumption, while gunwook just follows your lead

you thought, “hey, maybe he’s just shy around the topic of dating.” and so you don’t push it, or even ask about what he thinks of the rumors surrounding you two

at this week’s study session, which he scheduled at his house, he can’t focus

repeatedly tapping his pen and running his fingers through his hair—doing anything but his homework, really—he doesn’t even spare you a glance

and so you take the responsibility upon yourself to ask. “is something bothering you?”

Gunwook sighs, looking as if he’s internally debating the pros and cons of unloading his baggage onto you. His eyes dart around his room, from the door, to the desk, to the bed, and finally to you, before he swipes his tongue between his lips and lets out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”

You drop your pen. Why does he seem so conflicted?

Readjusting your position on the bed to face him, you lean closer to Gunwook as you shove your school books and other materials out of the way. “You can ask me anything,” you say, determined to comfort your friend.

He visibly hesitates, biting his bottom lip. He’s still not looking at you, and not so much as a second is allotted for one glimpse. “Do you...” he pauses, trying to muster the courage. “Do you really think of me as just a friend?”

The question almost makes your jaw drop to the floor. What does he mean by that? Sure, you did have a short-lived crush on him when you first got acquainted, but it faded instantaneously. You didn’t know you could be anything more—you thought you had no chance with a guy like him, so your feelings were trivial to you.

Tilting your head, you reply, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Gunwook shrugs, also following your actions and pushing all his textbooks away. “I guess– oh my god, this sounds stupid, but,” he groans, “I’ve liked you since last year, since before we even became friends. And whenever someone asks if I’m your boyfriend, you just– you immediately say no.”

He... likes you? You’re dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouth actually agape this time. You’re certain your cheeks are red, judging from the heat you feel rush up to your face.

At your silence, he continues. “I know it’s stupid. I didn’t just become friends with you because I like you, it’s more than that, but everytime you say I could never be your boyfriend or something like that, I hate it.

“I’ve liked you for so long, and please answer me,” he sounds breathless as he speaks, “Can I... can we be anything more?”

yujin 유진

first love / teenage crush

you didn’t know when you started liking yujin, you just did

maybe it was when you would watch him play soccer after school, with him alone on the field practicing and you doing your homework on the bleachers

or maybe it was when he bought you a drink that one time. you were thirsty after running to school because you were on the verge of getting an offense on your permanent record if you were late one more time

clicking a few buttons on the vending machine, the solace provided by strawberry milk was nearly yours—until you open your wallet to find that there’s only a thousand won inside

“maybe next time,” you think, “i don’t need to drink anything right now.”

but before you can leave, someone sneaks their two thousand into the slot for you, and the milk drops down into the small metal box below for you to claim

when you turn around, you’re met with yujin

and then a switch flipped. since then, you’ve noticed han yujin wherever you went

you stumbled onto the soccer field on a hot day when you were assigned cleaning duty, and you found that he was the only one there

deciding to repay the favor, after spectating him practicing for a while, you go to buy a drink for him too when you buy your own

you leave it next to his bag with a note, saying: “you’re really good! i bought this for you, make sure to get some rest ♡”

and so watching him practice while doing your homework became a regular occurrence for you, even if you weren’t 100% watching all the time. it was like background music, and your interest in him (caused by him buying you milk) became a full blown crush

Following the steps of your daily routine, you hurriedly arrange your books in your backpack, ready to go see Yujin—the best part of your day—when your teacher stops you at the door.

“[Name], I’d like to talk to you about tutoring someone,” she says, a soft smile plastered on her face as if she wasn’t actively ruining your day. “You’re one of my best students, and a classmate of yours really needs help.”

As hard as you tried to get away, you got stuck in the classroom for the rest of the afternoon, discussing possible tutoring times and the topic outlines where your “classmate” needed further explanation. Not only were you annoyed you missed some time to see Yujin, but when you got to the field, hoping he would still be practicing late into the night, he was gone.

Although you were displeased at the thought of having to tutor your male classmate every day of the school week, you had no choice. In addition, he was at least paying you, so it wasn’t like your hard work was for nothing—just that now, you would have to sacrifice your time with the boy you like.

You started to tutor him after school, and going to see Yujin became a rare possibility. Your tutoring was yielding good results, however, and your tutee received high marks on almost all tests after being taken under your wing.

He runs up to you, showing you his paper with a big red ninety-eight in the corner; he got an even higher grade than you did. “[Name]! Thank you, look at this! I’ve never gotten a grade this high!” You nod, but everything he’s saying is going in one ear and out the other. Since he technically doesn’t need your help anymore, maybe you could go watch Yujin today.

You cancel your session for the day, with permission from your advising teacher. After two and a half weeks, you’re finally back at the field—but this time, he’s the one who isn’t here. You let out a deep breath, deciding to power through and do your homework like normal.

You’re in the middle of trigonometry when a cool sensation is pressed up against your cheek, water beginning to drip down your skin. Flicking your head towards the perpetrator, you discover it to be Yujin holding a strawberry milk for you. He giggles, handing you the small box and sitting down beside you. “Here. I haven’t, um, seen you in a while. Why’s that?”

You take it from him, detaching the straw from the back of the box and poking it through the designated hole. “Yeah,” you say, sipping on the milk for a few seconds after. “I started to tutor Jiwon, so I couldn’t come the last few weeks.”

“Oh, you must be busy, then. Nevermind,” he mutters, shaking his head. “No, what is it? You can’t just say nevermind.” You scoff, a teasing grin making its way onto your face.

Yujin gulps. “Will you, uh... come to my game this weekend?”

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

You work as an aide in the Presidential Palace. It's not your cup of tea per say, but it's a job. A job with crappy pay, but a job nevertheless.

Your father was so proud of you for getting the job after your fall out with your ex. Yea, after you broke up with Odysseus Odair there was some tension at work, since you worked on the marketing team for his father's luxury cruise line company. So, you quit your job. You had to find a new one and a new place too, since your breakup had turned your life upside down.

Your father offered to let you move back home, but you wanted your independence; turned down his offer. He did help you find a new apartment and pay your deposit along with the first month's rent.

And after scouring the help wanted ads and job posting boards, you received a call for an interview for an office aide position in the Presidential Palace you applied for. You went to the interview and got hired right on the spot.

But, although you work in the Presidential Palace you've never come face to face with President Coriolanus Snow.

Or at least you haven't until the day you're running late.

The line in the coffee shop was ridiculously long. So long, that by the time you get your morning coffee you're a few minutes late for work. And, since you don't have a car, you have to run in heels to the Presidential Palace to prevent yourself from being too late.

As if 10 minutes late isn't bad enough.

But you're afraid of getting fired. You really need your job as an aide. Your savings account isn't very large, so if you lost your job you'd be screwed when it came to paying the rent.

So, you run a few blocks in your black kitten heels- paper coffee cup tightly held in your hand. You feel a sense of relief as you reach the large wrought iron gates and the hedges that surround the palace that you work in. Quickly, you rush thru the open gate and down the long pathway that leads to the large ornate entrance doors of the Presidential Palace.

The grip on your paper coffee cup is like a vice as you scurry inside of the palace. Your heels loudly click against the marble floor as you rush down the huge hallway, heading towards the fork in the road that’ll lead to your closet of an office that's right next to Chief of Staff Festus Creed’s office.

You're speed walking and just turned the corner to your office whenever you smack right into a towering solid wall of a man. You wobble slightly, nearly twisting your ankle due to your heels, and accidentally crush your paper coffee cup against whoever you ran into. The hot latte spilled onto your hand, your white blouse, and the jacket of whomever you accidentally bumped into.

“Watch where you're going, you clumsy, silly girl.” Berated a smooth, but low baritone.

You look up to apologize to the man you accidentally collided with, only to come face to face with the President of Panem himself.

President Coriolanus Snow.

And was he even more handsome in person then he was on tv, posters, and campaign ads. Platinum blonde hair, perfectly slicked back in a coif, striking icy blue eyes, clean cut angular jaw as sharp as a diamond, prominent nose, tall with broad shoulders and a thin waist; one that would be considered sluttty- President Snow was the whole package.

And as your bad luck would have it, you just collided with him and accidentally split your entire flimsy cup of morning coffee on him. Oh, how embarrassing.

To say you're flustered and embarrassed would be an understatement. You wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Feeling like you’re currently under a microscope, you ramble out an apology of, “I'm so sorry, Mister President. I was rushing and didn't see you.”

“Yes, well, you just ruined my sports coat by not paying attention. It's a Tigris design and now I'll be attending a very important luncheon looking like a fool because I can't wear it.” President Snow complained, his voice cold and insulting.

“I'm so sorry; I can always buy you a new one so you won't be embarrassed about having a stained jacket during your luncheon.” You offer, feeling horrible for ruining President Snow’s suit jacket.

“Very well, go buy me a new jacket.” President Snow tells you in an aggravated tone. “Tell Tigris at her boutique that you need a man’s medium sports coat in royal maroon.” He instructs you before walking past you with regal grace.

Great…

Now you have to go out and buy a jacket that'll most likely deplete your savings. All because you accidentally spilled your morning latte on the president; ruined his jacket.

You step into a posh boutique and immediately start to hear your checkbook crying. Oh boy, the atmosphere just reeked of high end couture; of things you'd never be able to buy. But here you are, in a place you can't afford to buy President Snow a replacement jacket.

A tall, slender woman with warm blue eyes and a few black streaks in her otherwise light blonde hair approaches you. Her plum painted lips smiled as she greeted you with, “Hi, are you looking for something in particular? I have a few pieces that would look fabulous with your complexion and hair color.”

“Oh, I'm not here for myself. I'm just here to buy a men's jacket.” You tell the woman, that you assume is Tigris from how her hair’s styled.

“Are you looking for something in particular for your partner?” The fashionista asked while leading you towards the men’s section of the store.

“A royal maroon sports coat in a medium.” You tell Tigris what President Snow told you to in order to get his replacement coat.

She nods as goes to a rack that's against the wall where a bunch of jackets are. You see her go to one of the lower racks where jackets are in various shades of red. Tigris skims thru the jackets, only to pull one out that's a perfect match for the one you accidently ruined.

And when Tigris tells you she'll ring up your purchase you know it's time to walk to the gallows; to accept the syphoning of your savings.

Although you work in the Presidential Palace as an aide you've never been in his office. Yes, you knew exactly where it was, but never had a reason to go into it. Your boss, Festus, was the Chief of Staff so he was the one that went into the office for things.

And you should be knocking on President Snow’s office door, considering you need to give him his new jacket, but you can't do that. You're still embarrassed by the incident this morning and, to be completely honest, the platinum haired president intimidated you with his stoic, cold demeanor. Thankfully, you're friends with President Snow's secretary, Leo Davis.

The man's nice and befriended you in the staff’s break room during lunch shortly after you started working for the Snow administration. He's a family man and gives out good advice.

“Leo, I need you to give this to President Snow.” You tell the lanky man, who's sitting behind a desk a few yards away from the large mahogany door of the president’s office, as you place the boutique bag on his desk.

Looking between you and the bag, Leo asks, “What is it?”

“It's a new maroon jacket for President Snow. I bought it to replace the one I accidentally ruined by spilling coffee on it.” You honestly tell Leo, who just nods.

“I’ll give it to him.” Leo assures you.

“Thanks.” You gratefully tell him before pivoting on your heel and going back to your own wing of the Presidential Palace to work in.

“Coriolanus, here's the replacement jacket that you made Y/N buy you.” Leo tells his boss, the President of Panem, as he walks into the office with the Tigris Boutique bag in his hand raised high up in the air for the most important politician in the country to see.

Coriolanus nods. Gesturing to a sitting chair in the corner, he says, “Please, put it over there.”

“Tigris is your cousin, you should've just called her for a new jacket instead of sending Y/N out to buy you one with her own money.” Leo tells his boss while going over to the corner chair and setting the bag down on it.

“She offered to buy me the jacket to make amends for foolishly colliding into me and ruining my sportscoat with spilt coffee.” The president defended himself against his secretary. Honestly, the cold blonde didn't see the problem in letting you buy him the jacket. You offered, after all.

“Y/N can't afford the fashions in your cousin's store. She's borderline broke despite being the daughter of Colonel Javani Halvir.”

“Colonel Javani Halvir's daughter works here? On my staff?”

“Yes.” Leo nods. “She's an aide for your friend and Chief of Staff, Festus Creed.”

“Send for Festus, I want to know everything about Miss Y/N.” Coriolanus orders Leo, causing the man to just nod and do as he's told.

President Coriolanus Snow found out very little about you from both Leo and Festus. Just surface level stuff, but nothing he truly wanted to know. The president want to know every single thing about you.

Apparently, hearing that you're the daughter of his late father's bestfriend (who had been deployed between a couple of district bases after the war) and stirred a lowkey obsession over you inside of Coriolanus soul. The cold hearted man never thought he'd meet anyone with a link to his past, a link to a time before the war. But then he met you in a whirlwind of colliding bodies and spilt coffee in a hallway.

Coriolanus, having a teeny tiny obsession with you, began to stalk you. He even felt bad about ordering you to buy him a new jacket since you truly couldn't afford it. Your purchase at Tigris' boutique had drained most of your savings.

Yes, he used his closeness with Livia Cardew to scour through bank records until he found your account.

But, although he felt bad about the jacket, the president wasn't going to reimburse you the money. He was too proud to do that. Coriolanus had an image to uphold and admitting he made a mistake in allowing you to spend your own money on that royal maroon sportscoat would destroy his image. President Snow's a cold, callous, and calculated man; nothing can change that.

He won't let it.

But, to make up for the whole jacket incident, Coriolanus does leave a large cup of coffee on your desk on morning. And under your cup’s a napkin with a tiny note scribbled on it in his flawless flourish.

Miss Y/N, please accept this coffee in replacement of the one our collision made you spill on me the other day. Please, come by my office at noon. We need to talk.

Coryo

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @princess-harvey @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[markscherz]

I just wanted to give you some context for the anonymous ask you got about Tumblr CEO being a transphobe. The user who got banned, predstrogen, had been publicly posting about frustration over content moderation and non-sexual posts about her transition getting marked as mature content. Those were valid concerns and should be talked about. Unfortunately, she (predstrogen) also publicly posted a death threat against Matt (the CEO). The death threat was the inciting factor for the account being shut down, not her other posts. Notably, Matt is not involved in content moderation on the site and did not make decisions regarding the moderation of her posts. He only became involved after she posted the death threat.

I do not believe that he has handled this situation as well as it could have been handled. Predstrogen hasn't, either. However, I haven't seen anything in his behavior that comes across to me, a nonbinary trans person, as specifically transphobic. (Obviously that doesn't give me the last word on whether or not somebody is transphobic or whether his behavior may or may not be hurtful to some trans people; I'm just saying that the things he said do not appear to *me*, someone who has often been hurt or offended by transphobic behavior, to be overtly or implicitly transphobic.)

I could go on and on with details, but Curated Tumblr on Reddit has some detailed threads about this situation if you want more information: https://www.reddit.com/r/CuratedTumblr/comments/1avbp78/tumblr_bans_trans_woman_over_looney_toonslevel/

Thank you, Anon. From the reading I did before I posted my answer to that ask, I could also see that there is clearly more subtlety to the specific situation than a simple question of blanket transphobia, or a simple case of violation of TOS/guidelines. I really appreciate your insights and perspective here, and especially you highlighting the importance of a well-informed and carefully considered reading. Also emphasis on the separation of Church and State Moderation and Management at Tumblr; it is an important aspect. That Reddit post you link to really collates the information well, and some of the comments bring critically important context (both specific and broad) to the discussion; thank you for that. As you say, I think it is evident that the situation has been poorly handled by both parties, and consequently has also escalated. It was handled worse than I had thought, before I read that post. There were several audible 'yikes'-es muttered as I read through it.

Nevertheless, I also think it should be said that this is not an isolated incident (neither on tumblr, nor on social media platforms in general), and I felt it is important and timely for me to use my voice here to be explicit in (1) my dislike for disproportionate use of sanctions against users targeting staff relative to their typical handling of threats and other reports made among the community, and (2) my support for the trans community here and elsewhere.

On Twitter it would also often proceed like this, with people finding themselves in holes of their own making digging deeper, rather than realising that the ladder out consisted of listening, reflecting, apologising, committing to and visibly striving for improvement. This is a *hard* thing to realise when you are in the middle of it, and you often see people crash and burn this way.

[actual-changeling]

if god did not want me to over-analyse a two second video clip she would not have given me video editing software, so welcome back to alex's unhinged meta corner with me, alex, as your host.

we're going off the deep end with this one.

let's have a look at a. well, you cannot really call it a scene at this point. more of a collection of frames - aziraphale's face right after crowley leaves but before the bell above the door rings. this has been on my list of metas to write anyway, but someone kindly pointed it out which gave me incentive to make this post.

now, my leading theory is that much like his mouth movement before saying "i forgive you", which looked and sounded a lot like the beginning of "i love you", aziraphale is mouthing a silent "don't". presumably, the complete sentence would have been "don't leave".

first things first, why do i think he would say it? well, if you look back at their breakup in the park in season one, aziraphale calls him back when he says he will leave.

"you can't leave, crowley, there isn't anywhere to go".

then, after the fucking mess that is "nothing lasts forever", aziraphale also calls out. "come back". it is also perfectly in line with his previous behaviour to try and keep crowley from leaving again. especially because he almost tells the metatron he will stay just a few minutes later.

some other important things to keep in mind: aziraphale is shaking and about to cry, and also probably still in shock. so his face is doing a number of things and any words he may or may not mouth are slightly skewed due to that.

the first few frames are him taking a breath, so far so good.

this is the part where it looks like he is about to say something and silently begins to mouth don't. if you pay very close attention to his lips, you can see that they get pushed forward just a little bit as one does when saying "do".

you can try it yourself to confirm, i certainly did several times while rewatching the same two seconds like an absolutely sane person.

the last few frames are him closing his mouth again and breaking off whatever he was going to say, but in my opinion, you can still see the ending of that "don't".

alex, you might ask, how do you know that's what he was trying to say? i don't, although i hope once the strike ends someone will ask michael sheen some much needed questions. however, i wouldn't be a scientist if i didn't have evidence to present nevertheless.

i compared two of the frames from above, one from the "do" part and one from the "nt" part with another instance of michael/aziraphale saying "don't" - "i don't think you understand what i'm offering you".

the mouth shape and the movement of his facial muscles looks very similar even taking the whole sobbing and crying business into account.

interestingly enough, once the bell does ring, signaling that crowley has left the store, he not only closes his mouth but also physically steps back even more. he almost says "don't leave", restrains himself by physically pulling back, and then inches even farther from the door.

that is also when his face shifts from completely openly heartbroken to angry/spiteful and heartbroken.

the camera angle changes a little bit but not enough to explain the discrepancy, so yes, he steps backward before turning away and touching his lips. that pillar is honestly a very helpful point of reference. also completely unrelated but the face he makes at the end cracks me up it is LITERALLY >:(

to summarize: someone get michael sheen on the fucking phone before i lose my mind. also you can pry this meta from my dead, cold hands, he almost said "don't leave" and i will die on this hill.

lastly, said two second clip at half speed if you want to have a look for yourself.

[lavenderslabyrinth]

A Sacrificial Game

King!Dragon x Reader

Masterlist

This is my first post since deciding to kick off this new account. It’s rewritten from an old story I had posted on here long ago once upon a time. I hope you enjoy~

CW: ♢ Mention of Near Drowning ♢ Blood/Injury ♢ Abduction ♢

The coos of morning doves and the gentle brushing of branches against your bedroom window were quickly drowned out by the boisterous laughter and squabbling of your many siblings. Your attempt at trying to drown them out via the trusty quilt-over-head technique was quickly plundered as they burst through your sacred doorway. With energy only children can manage to conjure from the depths of hell at 8 in the morning, they jostled you around roughly, stealing away the comforting warmth you'd had. Surely, you'd thought, this was an act of merciless torture. Your skin prickled with goosebumps and, irritably, you managed to croak out a yip. "Ow! Off!" Your anger did nothing more than make them giggle as they lightly bruised you with their rough play. "Lemme sleep, dammit! Off! Get off!" Taking evident joy out of your misery, the damn gremlins only gave you a round of smug looks. They did relent, however it was truthfully only to avoid your flailing swats at their heads. “Momma said we ain’t eatin’ breakfast till you get up. So get up lazy" A chorus of agreements and more jostling only drew a strong eye roll from you. But, nevertheless, you shooed them off and sat up, groggily rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Normally they'd just eat without you, leaving the leftovers warmed in the oven to be picked at by whoever passed by, but today was a special occasion. It was your birthday. Normally birthdays were happy events full of gifts, smiles, and all things merry-making-- but this one was different. While the younger whelps scurried off to the old wooden table, none the wiser to the fate that you now had to face, a heavy weight hung over the heads of the adults in the house. The thickness of the air palpable as you stepped into the kitchen and saw the grim look on your mother's face.

The saying goes that a starving savage is less likely to ravage your home if you give it a single meal-- and such began the gruesome, superstitious tradition... Once a year, one unlucky village that bordered the human kingdom would be chosen to place the names of all it's unmarried, of-age residents into a box and perform a drawing. Whichever sorry soul was picked would be ripped away from their homes by the temple, never to be seen again. The nobility liked to call it one of the "highest of all honors" a commoner could receive. The common people? You call it human sacrifice.

At least, most of your people do. Despite that being so, the vast majority of the population feared the very notion of abandoning the ritual. Why? Because the entire purpose was to "sate the otherfolk's thirst for human blood." One sacrifice, one year free from their wrath.

Your skin crawled at the very idea of it all as you leant down, clumsy hands tying up the laces of your worn leather boots.

As a child, you believed every word that hung off of the elders' tongues down near the pub. The fascination and wonder of another terrifying world outside the kingdom's tall, stone walls ignited your naive little heart. But with age, it grew evident to you that they were no more than simple old widows and drunkards with nothing better to do with their remaining time than talk stories and scare little children with tall tales. How were you supposed to believe beasts, much less entire civilizations of them, would be satisfied by the blood of one person if they truly wanted to attack a meager village, much less an entire country? Who decided they even wanted that blood? It was an argument you’d tried to raise countless times with your village council only to have it shot down with a simple “Well the Chosen never return, do they?” It pissed you off to no end. It didn't even take two wrinkles in the brain to conclude that it was more likely the animals of the woods, the elements-- or worse, other humans that caused the sacrificed to meet their demise; but no point you made would ever change their stone cold hearts.

And as though your age wasn't enough to make this birthday sour, the drawing was to be held this evening. The irony of someone losing their life on the day of your birth was palpable. Taking your usual chair at the kitchen table, you noticed the way two of your brothers squabbled over the last roll. With spiteful retaliation, you plucked it from between them taking a slow, mocking bite right in front of their faces. Maybe next time they'd think twice before ganging up to practically assault you out of bed.

"(y/n)?" Your head snapped up to attention, meeting your father's gaze. "How are you feeling?" You swallowed the fluffy bread quickly shooting a quiet reply. "I'm alright. Would feel a little better if you guys would stop lookin at me like I'm headed to the gallows." The laugh you were awarded from him was dry, but it eased some of the tension in his weathered shoulders nonetheless.

"I suppose it is a bit stuffy in here for a birthday, huh?" Your mother piped up sheepishly, wiping her hands on the dishtowel that hung from a belt on her hip. "Say, why don't you go visit Alikar? Trade some of our tomatoes for a basket of peaches-- bring those back and I'll make a pie we can all have after the drawing, how does that sound?" The little heads in the room visibly perked at the idea of getting their grubby little paws on something sweet. It wasn't often you had the sugar for such things after all.

Dismissing the idea of having to attend the black box event, you gave her a gentle nod. "Sure, I can do that. Need anything else while I'm out?" You inquired, stuffing the rest of the bread into your mouth before your youngest brother could snatch it from your hand. "No, dear. Just finish your breakfast and we'll handle the rest."

After practically beating your siblings off the table with a stick to get your fill, you quickly washed up and plucked the basket from the floor. “I’m off!” You called, getting no discernible acknowledgement as the chaos in the house never ceased. No matter to you-- the pie would be well worth the trip ahead.

Uncle Alikar.

The man was a huge part of the reason you didn’t believe a lick of all that ‘savage otherfolk’ nonsense. As your feet scuffed along the well worn path, old memories bubbled up to the surface like froth from the babbling brook that ran beside you.

You were the eldest of your siblings which, consequently, meant that when you'd been a rumbling little runt there were no older kids to show you the ropes and your parents' first trial run at raising a whole little person. This always resulted in you tumbling headfirst into trouble, but one day it had gone a little too far. Your tiny body approached the ledge of the stream. The same edge you would use every summer to hunt tadpoles. But, unbeknownst to you, the soil that was far too saturated with yesterday's rain to hold your weight. Without warning, it crumbled beneath your little feet sending you hurtling down into the rushing waters below. The merciless current carried you faster downstream than your father could run and just when your little head was wrenched under the raging current, a large beast sprung into the water after you. Before you could even process what had happened, your little lungs were hacking up the water they're inhaled, the coughing doing little for the burn in your lungs.

At first it was all a blur, you could hear your parents shouting as well as another rumbling voice above you responding back to them. Your little legs dangling far above the ground as a muscular arm stayed firmly wrapped around your waist. Someone was... holding you? You blinked away the tears, looking up to be met with a mouth full of razor-like teeth, thick sopping wet fur, and bright, slitted eyes. Misunderstanding what was going on, you began to cry out in fear. You were absolutely terrified you were about to be eaten by the ravenous river monster your mother warned you about countless times in attempt to dissuade you from wandering near the water when they weren't watching you. Only when those large paws handed you off to your mother ever-so-gently did you begin to quiet back down "Are you alright now, sweetpea? Ol' Alikar didn't mean to spook ya. Poor thing." He was some kind of rakshasa or tabaxi, evident by the sopping tail that swayed in the water behind him and round, fluffy ears that tilted back with concern. Speaking of...

Your knuckles rapped against the wooden door, sending warm clunks into the cottage. It was a serene place far from the human village which was always surrounded by the sweet smells of fruit and scents of warm, freshly made bread. Not but a few seconds later the upper half of the door swung open and there, in all his striped glory, was Alikar himself. “There’s the birthday girl!” He greeted you, his smile full of sharp teeth. A sight that originally took some getting used to but was now synonymous with a second home. “Hey Uncle Al. Mama sent me down to get some peaches for a pie.” You raised your basket of tomatoes.

He only chuckled in reply. “Oh, I know, how else was I supposed to give you your gift?” His paw pushed the lower part of the door open, welcoming you inside-- the scent of herbs and butter wafting much stronger from within. Surprised, you could only follow dumbly after him at first, setting the basket down as you took a seat on his kitchen table.

“A gift? Since when do you have the extra funds to get me gifts?! Aren’t you saving for the wedding? What about--”

    “Would you hush, child?” He laughed, taking amusement in your fretting. “You’re still new to the whole womanhood thing, what do you know about adult troubles?” You gave a halfhearted growl at him but had no argument to fire back at him. Even though you'd been considered an adult in human standards for quite a few years, Alikar did have more experience than you in that department.

"You get onto me about my finances but I don't see you moving out of your parents' home yet." He teased, carefully unloading every piece of fruit from the wicker basket with care. "Don't bully me! I'm plenty experienced in other things!" You whined. Snatching one of the many apples he'd left unattended. The crisp sweetness did little to nurse your slightly bruised ego but the coolness of the juice as it dribbled down you chin quenched plenty other, more satisfying needs. "Yeah? And what would your area of foreign expertise be? Apple thieving?"

You glared at his back, cheeks tinting "No! Like conversation! And courting."

"Pah!" He scoffed, soft paws stacking the soft, pink fruit into a neat arrangement. "Much good your 'experience' has gotten you, I am the only one getting married here out of the two of us." Okay. Ouch. "And I converse plenty well, thank you very much!"

The afternoon passed with similar banter as you stuffed yourself with whatever fruits Alikar let you get your hands on. In the end he had given you a carefully carved wooden totem of your favorite animal, peaches, and sent you on your way. Whatever wood the little figure was made from gave a faint, sweet scent when wet with water. A bit ironic considering how you met all those years ago but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You had asked him if he’d have wanted to come and celebrate with you and your family but, regretfully, he had to decline. As charming and kind as he was, the path to your home was far too close to the village for his comfort and the idea of one of your acquaintances or friends coming to celebrate as well and reporting him sent the hairs on the back his neck straight upward. It was no secret the village wasn’t excited about strange, new creatures given the black box tradition, so it was doubtful Alikar would be in the public eye anytime soon, as unfortunate as that was…

   You didn’t realize how much time you’d wasted until the shadows began stretching longer, snuffing out much of whatever light the day had left for you. “Ah shit.” You mumbled. You'd definitely missed the drawing, and at this rate you wouldn't be able to eat sweets till the next morning. Speeding up from a mozy to a quick trot back up the hill was unpleasant to say the least, but damn if those thoughts of peach pie didn't motivated you to haul ass.

However, as you drew closer your eagerness was smothered.

Hunching down, you quickly used the cover of the thorny brush to peer out at the scene below-- The terrified cries of your siblings pierced through your chest.

“Where’s the girl?!” A man demanded, spear to your father’s throat and eyes unwavering as your mother pled, voice breaking with fear as her children clung to her skirts.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ bout.” Your father replied curtly, looking the assailant back in the face with matching fury and anger. “I've only got sons.” The hair on the back of your neck stood up. Only once before, in your entire life, had you heard such a chilling tone come from that man. You'd been no older than 12 when a suitor equal to your mother in age offered to pay a hefty sum for your hand in marriage. The cruel chill in his voice as he sent the man away stuck with you-- but it didn't seem like this scenario would have the same outcome.

“Have it your way.”

A pit knotted itself in your breast as your family’s pleas turned to screaming cries, the spear cutting into you father's shoulder without mercy. Everything seemed to move so slowly after that...

First, you'd prayed he'd give in, relenting your location to the angry mob that surrounded him-- but your father stayed silent. That same fury in his eyes unwavering as he stayed on his feet.

Second, you though, maybe, the crowd would believe they'd truly made a mistake. Maybe a (y/n) didn't live in this village. Perhaps they'd been mistaken-- but that hope was quickly snuffed out as the spear-wielding man reeled the weapon back again, poised to strike.

You hadn't even known what you were doing as you pushed through the thorny brambles. Didn't even register as your fingers curled around a plump peach from your basket. And certainly didn't realize the strength you'd shot through your arm as you slung the fruit straight into the back of the man's head.

The hard impact followed by the splatter of sweet juices dripping down his neck was followed only by a second of silence.

Then two.

Then three.

All heads turning in your direction....

Run.

It was nothing more than instinct as you dropped the precious wicker basket your mother had weaved to the ground-- Alikar's carefully nurtured peaches bruising in the dirt. You shot back through the thorns. Dress skirt shredding, legs practically minced as you rushed through the uncaring wild.

Everything blurred.

Heart racing, the sound of shouting, the thundering of feet right on your tail. It was so much, too much-- too soon. There was no where else you could go. You didn't even know where you were going. Run. Run. RUN.

And run you did, even as your calves burned and blood dripped down your skin, you flew through the woods in a desperate flurry. It was fruitless though. Your wreckless abandon being brought to a halt with a blistering pain that shot through your ribs. The last thing you saw was the sight of the ground coming right at you, and then? Darkness.

I was going to wait till I finished part 2 to post this part but I'm too excited and part 2 is about halfway written anyway :) Stay tuned!

pt. 2

[xomakara]

Tides of Rivalry

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | You and Hongjoong have a rivalry to be the best captain of the High Seas. You constantly bicker with each other but you both hold high respect for each other. You both get stranded on an island and then feelings ensue.

PAIRING | Hongjoong/Reader

GENRE | piratecaptain!Hongjoong, piratecaptain!Reader, smut with no (maybe a little) plot, unprotected sex (wrap it up everyone!), vaginal sex

RATING | Mature, 18+, MDNI

LENGTH | 5076 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | --

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Here's Pirate Captain Hongjoong! My ending could be better hahaha. But I hope you enjoy nevertheless.

“I’m going to kill you, Kim Hongjoong.” You muttered.

“Assuming we get out alive.” Hongjoong teased.

You and Hongjoong stood back to back, arms bound and tied together, standing on a plank about thirty feet above the ground, hanging over the side of a ship. With a huff of annoyance, you tried to kick his back leg.

“Ow! Watch it.” Hongjoong said, wincing at your kick. “We don’t want to fall overboard now do we?”

“It's your goddamn fault we’re in this mess.” You exclaimed. “Whose wonderful idea was it to play cards and then lose? Now look where we are.”

“It wasn’t my idea to bet everything I had on that cursed card game either. It’s all because of you and your shitty luck.” Hongjoong sighed.

You narrowed your eyes, struggling to look at his face. “My luck is better than your shitty, shitty luck.” You challenged, butting the back of his head with yours.

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, sweetheart.” He teased.

“Oi oi oi! Cut that out or I will cut you.” You threatened.

“How can you when we’re both tied up?” Hongjoong laughed. “Hey at least I’ll die with a beautiful woman.”

“Ha ha. Funny joke.” You managed to mumble through laughter. “At least you have a pretty face to die with.”

How you and Hongjoong ended up walking the plank together was beyond ridiculous. They say it happens when two people come together under unusual circumstances. You were playing cards with Hongjoong and some other pirate captains when one captain (Hongjoong) got too cocky and lost his entire fortune to you. But as fate was cruel, you also lost all your money to another captain who seemingly hated yours and Hongjoong’s guts.

You don’t know how it happened. You’re drinking and playing cards with the other captains, bickering with Hongjoong and all of a sudden you’re tied up alongside him, standing on a piece of wood, staring down thirty feet below.

“You and your shitty luck.” You groaned.

“You lost too, sweetheart.” He reminded you.

“Yeah, well so did you!” You retorted.

“And now we’re both stuck here because of our bad luck.” He shrugged. “Life’s a bitch.”

“I can’t believe I might fall to my death with fucking sharks swimming down there with you!” You exclaimed, letting out a groan.

“Awh sweetheart, it’s okay to admit that you like me.” Hongjoong chuckled.

“Oh fuck off.” You mumbled.

“If we were on land, I’d definitely go fuck off. You can join me.” Hongjoong laughed.

“No way.” You snapped.

“Come on. Let’s just admit that we’re attracted to each other.” Hongjoong encouraged.

“What?! Are you crazy?! We are supposed to hate each other!” You yelled.

“Really? Because all those mean things you say to me are making me really think otherwise.” Hongjoong pointed out.

“You would probably try to seduce me if we weren’t on a bloody plank.” You said.

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t?” He asked, cocking his eyebrow.

The crew of the ship that held you and Hongjoong hostage watched your little exchange from afar, with varying degrees of shock, disgust, amusement and disbelief. After a while, they were even trying to figure out what to do with the two of you.

A crewman looked at his captain, gesturing towards you and Hongjoong, and he gave a shrug. “Is that normal, Captain? Most folks would be scared to fall to their death but those two… I swear they almost seem excited.”

His captain shook his head. “Those two are always like that. Rival captains with friendly banter between them. Even after all these years, it’s not going to change anytime soon. I guess they both can’t resist teasing each other no matter what kind of situation they’re in.”

You and Hongjoong didn’t stop talking. Your antics were getting increasingly childish and immature but at least you were distracting yourself from thinking about falling off the ship to your certain death. In fact, every time one of the sailors glanced at the two of you, you'd both yell out ‘The hell you looking at!?’ and scare the shit out of them. The reactions of the crewmen were priceless. They shuddered, took a step backwards and then hurriedly returned to whatever they were doing.

“How sad is it that two pirate captains are stuck in this predicament?” You sighed.

“But hey, at least it’s better than being stuck alone right? At least we have each other.” Hongjoong smiled.

You rolled your eyes. “I would rather have another captain than you.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of pretty ladies who would love to relieve themselves with me, but none of them can compare to you.” Hongjoong jokes. “You’re the only female captain I would die for.”

“That's what you say." You snorted. "Until the next girl comes along and you forget all about me."

"There's no other girl that is a pirate captain. So you'll always be special to me." He argued.

“Nope. Not happening. I’ve had enough flirting for today.” You scoffed. You started to yell, hoping that the captain of this ship would hear you. "Yah! Chan-ah! Are you seriously gonna make Hongjoong and I stand here all day?!"

"What did we do to deserve this, kid?!" Hongjoong yelled out.

Chan, the captain of this ship, rolled his eyes. "Yah, I'm older than you!"

"By a fucking year!" Hongjoong shouted.

"Can't you guys shut up already?" Chan sighed. "If I agree to untie you, will you two shut up?"

"No guarantee!" You yelled back.

"Okay. If you won't shut up, then I'll just have one of my guys push you into the water. Then maybe you'll both shut up." Chan warned.

“Go ahead! Push us into the water! That will teach us both a lesson.” You swore, fighting hard against your bonds. “Do it! Fucking push us both into the ocean.”

“Oooh, scary!” Hongjoong laughed. “So dramatic. Chan, you know Y/N and I don't die easily."

“Then let’s prove it. What do you say, boys? Do you wanna give it a shot?” Chan asked his men.

The men on board raised their weapons. “Ready when you are, sir!”

"Push 'em." Chan ordered. Without any hesitation, one of Chan's men shoved the two of you off the plank, pushing you both over the edge.

"God fucking dammit!" You heard Hongjoon scream.

Your stomach dropped out when you felt your body falling. You closed your eyes tightly, holding your breath as you fell.

"Noooo!" You screamed. "Nooo! God damn it!"

Suddenly you heard a loud splash, followed by cheering. Everyone on board started to laugh and applaud. You couldn't believe what just happened. You and Hongjoong, still tied together, were kicking your feet in the water, fighting desperately to stay afloat. You opened your eyes just in time to see Chan grinning at you, clapping his hands and yelling "Perfect! That's what I wanted!"

"Fuck you!" You yelled as you and Hongjoong watched the ship sail away, leaving you both to fight for survival.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Calm down, Y/N." Hongjoong watched as you burst into anger. "The beach didn't do anything to you."

You and Hongjoong managed to swim to a deserted island nearby despite being tied together. It took a bit of teamwork, lots of yelling and splashing water around but somehow you made it there. As you both landed on shore, Hongjoong managed to find a sharp enough rock to cut your ropes loose. With your wrists free, you immediately stood up on shaky legs and let out a scream.

You continued to scream until you angerly plopped on the ground. You punched the dirt with your fist. You stared angrily at the ocean, cursing everything under the sun.

"I hate the whole world right now." You muttered, voice hoarse from screaming.

Hongjoong sat next to you, giving you a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

"I hate all pirates. And the sea. And the air. And nature. And life. I hate it all." You huffed.

"Stop being dramatic." Hongjoong mumbled. "We should probably find some shelter before it gets dark. There are usually a few caves around here."

"Fine. But you're building the fire. I'm tired of life." You grumbled.

Hongjoong chuckled. "I'll take care of it. You can rest."

You sighed in relief, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. You scanned the horizon, watching the setting sun dip into the ocean. "Let's go find some cave." You said.

"Alright." Hongjoong agreed.

Both of you picked up the pace, running towards the nearest mountains in hopes of finding a cave. Luckily you found a nice sized cave hidden among the rocks, big enough to accommodate the both of you. As soon as you entered the cave, you crawled inside first, laying down on the floor and covering your face with your hands.

"Thank god." You whispered to yourself.

"I think I'll sleep outside tonight." Hongjoong suggested.

"Get in here, Hongjoong." You rolled your eyes. "It's cold outside. Don't be such a baby. I don't need Seonghwa and the rest of your crew jumping down my throat for letting you sleep out there."

"Fine." He conceded as he entered the cave. "I know a better way to stay warm."

"I will punch you if you suggest sleeping together." You threatened.

"I can take you." He joked.

"You must have a death wish." You laughed.

"It's either you or the sharks out there." Hongjoong shrugged as he gathered the items to create the fire. "Now get out of those wet clothes so you don't get sick. Don't want your crew to worry about you."

You sighed. "Why do you always have to be so responsible?"

"Hey, we might be pirates, but I care about all my crew members." He defended himself. "It's the least I could do for people I consider family. You and I might be rival captains but I care about you as well. We started this journey, this rivalry since we left our little village all those years ago. We may fight each other but deep down, we're still friends. You know how I feel about you."

"Yeah, you're right." You admitted. "Sometimes I get caught up in the fighting. Sometimes I forget that we're also good friends because we're also rivals. Yeah, sometimes I need a reminder."

As the fire warmed the cave, you stared at the burning flames, slowly making your way towards sleep. You still shivered because your back was exposed to the cold night air.

Hongjoong noticed your discomfort and opened his arms. "Y/N, come here."

"Hmmph." You refused before slowly inching your way towards him. "Fine. Just this one time."

"Good girl." Hongjoong smiled. "Come here."

Hongjoong wrapped you in his arms and you couldn't help but let out a sigh when your back was finally covered by the warmth of his chest. "Feels better, doesn't it?" He teased.

You let out a small nod, burrowing deeper into his embrace.

"You know, I enjoy our rivalry and bickering but sometimes I miss the days where we would talk about random things like the weather and ask each other about our families." He continued. "We used to do that back home. Back when we were kids."

"Yeah... I miss that too..." You admitted.

"Those days were good." He said softly. "Being together and talking about nonsense, playing with animals... It made us happy. Not that I'm happy now. I love being with my crew but..."

He paused, hesitating to continue. "You know... A part of me wishes we could turn back time. Go back to those times where it was just you and me. Those simple days when we would run through fields chasing butterflies."

"Me too...We're different people now. We're captains of our own crew and ships. We have people that depend on us and the feeling of responsibility weighs heavily on our shoulders." You turn your head to look at him, his eyes soft. "Sometimes I envy you. You're not burdened with anything. Everything you touch turns to gold. The sun rises for you, the moon follows behind. All of your dreams become reality."

"Even though I have shitty, shitty luck?" He laughed lightly.

"You have everything. I mean, you have me and your crew. You've built a legacy and reputation and everything else. You're the better pirate captain between us. I wish I could be half as successful as you are. I wish I could live as peacefully as you do. As far as I know, you haven't lost a single battle. No matter how many ships you take from others, they still admire you."

"Hey, you're a good captain too." He reassured. "Don't compare yourself to me. You've achieved much more than I ever did."

You shrugged. "You're only saying that to make me feel better."

He shook his head. "You're the one who started comparing ourselves to each other in the first place."

You blushed. "You never stop surprising me, you know that? Every time I think I know you well, you throw something new at me."

"Well, it's kind of true." He admitted. "Whenever you see someone you consider your rival succeed, it makes you want to strive even harder. Maybe that's why I do it. To inspire you. To make us better people."

You let out a small laugh, shifting closer to his warmth. "Have you ever thought about what we would be doing if we never became pirates? Where would we be right now?"

"Wherever we end up, we'd still be together. Wouldn't we?" Hongjoong assured. "Whatever happens, we'll be fine. Together, no matter what."

He pulled you close to him and you rested your head on his shoulder. You let out a sigh of contentment as you listened to the steady rhythm of his heart against your ear. You never realized how soothing it was to listen to his heartbeat until now. You curled up tighter in his embrace and tried to sleep, snuggling closer to him as his warm arm wrapped around your waist.

"Hongjoong?"

"Hmm?"

"Even if we had a crappy past few days...I wouldn't want to experience this moment with anyone else but you."

He gave you a sweet smile. "Same here."

And with that, the two of you drifted into slumber.

You and Hongjoong managed to survive the night without incident. In the morning, you woke up to the smell of food cooking and Hongjoong sitting cross legged in front of a small table, cooking something over the fire.

"Where'd you find the food?" You asked as you sat up.

"Fish." Hongjoong explained as he handed you a piece of cooked fish. "I was hungry so I went fishing while you slept."

"Mmmm...thought I would never see the day where Captain Hongjoong would be feeding me fish." You smirked as you chewed on the fish.

Hongjoong let out a laugh. "I can't let the precious Captain Y/N starve."

"So, are we gonna be stuck here for a while?" You asked.

"Probably." Hongjoong replied. "Seonghwa and the guys will probably find us. Your crew is probably on the search as well. They wouldn't give up looking for us."

"Well, it seems like we're going to be living in a cave for a while." You shrugged. "Maybe we should do some exploring of this island. See what we can find. How about we start searching later today?"

"Sounds good to me." Hongjoong agreed.

The two of you spent most of the day exploring the island, finding a lot of herbs, berries and edible plants. By noon, both of you decided to return to the cave.

You and Hongjoong both sat down in front of the fire, staring intently at the red hot embers. Hongjoong looked serious, examining every detail of the fire. He stirred the ashes occasionally, breaking them apart. When the ash cooled off, he added more wood, creating another round of flames. After a few minutes, the logs burnt completely.

"Are you okay?" You asked, sensing that something was bothering him.

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously.

"You seem really focused on the fire." You observed. "Is there something wrong?"

Hongjoong paused. "Just a bit." He answered honestly. "Can't quite put my finger on it."

"That's okay." You smiled. "If you need to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Thanks." He smiled back.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Both of you stared into the fire, reflecting on your memories. Some good, some bad. But they were memories nonetheless.

You couldn't remember how long you stared at the fire. All you knew was that it felt as if the world stopped moving. The fire provided the only light, preventing you from being able to tell time.

All of a sudden, you felt a warm hand resting on your thigh.

"What are you thinking about?" Hongjoong whispered, pulling you closer to him.

"Nothing." You lied.

"Lie." Hongjoong smirked. "I can tell you're lying."

"Okay, fine." You pouted. "I'm thinking about my life."

"I figured as much." Hongjoong chuckled. "Do you regret coming with me? Becoming a pirate? Everything we've been through?"

"Sometimes." You confessed. "But sometimes, I feel like I made the right decision. It's weird because usually, when I think of regrets, it's when I was younger. Whenever I thought of a future without you, it was hard for me to breathe. I guess now that I'm older, I've grown stronger and learned how to deal with life on my own."

"You don't need to prove yourself to me." Hongjoong assured. "I'm already proud of the person you've become. Even though we fight and argue, I'm glad that you chose to follow your dreams and work towards achieving them. Even though we're rivals, I'm proud of you. You're smart, beautiful, ambitious and driven. You're such a great person, Y/N."

You turned to face him. His gaze held so much warmth. It enveloped you and filled you with comfort. "Hongjoong?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you and I will have a future together?" You asked softly. "A future where we aren't always fighting on who has the best crew, the best ship, or who is the better pirate?"

"Why do you ask?" He asked.

"Because I want to spend my life with you." You let out a small laugh. "It just got me thinking that all these squabbles and random bickering might disappear one day. One day, we might just wake up one day and realize that we fell in love with each other and decided to spend the rest of our lives together."

"Y/N." Hongjoong murmured softly.

"What?" You questioned, turning to look at him.

His expression softened and he slowly brought his lips to meet yours. He didn't speak. Instead, he simply placed his hand gently on the side of your cheek and kissed you deeply.

When you finally came up for air, you stared into his eyes. A tiny flutter in your stomach told you that this wasn't the last time you'd be kissing him.

"I knew you liked me." Hongjoong smiled, cupping your chin in his hand.

"Shut up." You laughed lightly.

"Come on." Hongjoong grabbed your hand. "Let's go explore the rest of this island. There's gotta be something here worth our time."

The two of you began walking around the island again. But this time, it was more of an intimate walk, holding hands and sneaking kisses whenever you felt like it. You found it funny how quickly things changed between the two of you. Not that it was a bad thing. Hongjoong certainly didn't seem to mind either way.

After a few hours of exploration, the two of you returned to the cave. The sun was beginning to set and both of you decided to rest.

Hongjoong walked over to the fire pit and lit a fresh batch of embers, creating enough heat to keep you warm during the night. You walked over to sit next to him and he wrapped his arms around you. You settled in his embrace, feeling safe and comfortable.

Both of you stared at the burning embers, watching them dance around in the wind.

"You know," You said, causing Hongjoong to turn his attention away from the fire to look down at you. "I'm feeling rather cold here."

"Oh really?" Hongjoong teased. "What do you propose we should do, Captain Y/N?"

You smirked playfully. "Why don't you tell me, Captain Hongjoong."

"Well..." He trailed off.

"I'm waiting." You teased.

"How about I keep you warm tonight?" He offered.

You giggled. "Hmmmm....I think I like the sound of that."

"You won't regret it." Hongjoong grinned.

And with that, he wrapped his arms around you and lowered his lips to meet yours. The kiss was gentle and tender. He ran his fingers through your hair as he continued to kiss you. And before you knew it, you were lost in a passionate haze.

Your hands ran through his hair, fiddling with his soft strands. You pressed your body closer to his, letting your tongue slip into his mouth, tasting his breath.

Before long, the two of you were making out by the fire, losing track of everything except each other. Your legs intertwined with his, your arms entwined with his. Soon, you were straddling him, grinding your hips against his.

In his eagerness to make love to you, Hongjoong slid your shirt off of your shoulders, slipping it over your head and onto the ground. His hands explored your chest, his fingertips grazing across your hardened nipples. Your breathing became ragged as his touch grew more insistent. He sucked your breast into his mouth, making sure not to miss any part of it. You moaned loudly as his tongue circled around your sensitive nipple. You clutched at his hair, pulling him closer to you.

"Hongjoong..." You let out a sigh as you felt his hands gently caressing your sides. "Please..."

He continued playing with your breasts, taking his time and paying special attention to your nipples. He pinched them gently, sucking harder at your breasts. With his tongue still circling around your nipple, he used his teeth to gently bite down, sending chills throughout your entire body.

Your breathing increased. Every touch, every lick, every tug sent tingles throughout your body. You clung to him, desperately trying to control your trembling legs. Hongjoong broke away slightly, tugging his shirt off, before continuing to ravage your breasts. His tongue now plunged into your mouth, leaving a trail of wetness along your neck. You shivered as his warm breath washed over your skin. His hands gently massaged your back as his thumbs grazed down the middle of your spine. Your head fell back and you closed your eyes, letting out a soft moan.

Suddenly, you heard a soft whimper escape from your lips. "Hongjoong...please..."

It took a few minutes for him to remove the rest of his and your clothes, leaving you both naked. Neither of you bothered to hide anything anymore. You just wanted to feel each other. Your hands moved swiftly over his body, touching every inch you could reach.

Hongjoong's hands ran down your body, stopping at your waist. He pulled you down and began to passionately kiss you again. Your hands were buried deep within his hair, his strong hands firmly gripping your hips. His erection pressed into your stomach, forcing your breathing to become even heavier.

Before you knew it, you were sitting up, straddling him and slowly lowering yourself down onto him. He gasped, biting his lip as he felt your tight muscles squeeze around his hardness. You both moaned at the same time.

With your eyes locked onto his, you began riding him, using your hips to grind against his arousal. His hands rested on your hips, gently guiding you up and down. Your breaths became ragged, your heart rate increased rapidly. Every moment seemed to pass too quickly. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, whispering softly in his ear.

"Fuck...you feel amazing." Hongjoong murmured, running his hands up and down your back. "So tight and hot...can't believe you fit me so perfectly."

He kissed you roughly, pushing you back down onto him, moaning into your mouth as you slowly rode him. He gripped the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, plunging his tongue inside of your mouth. He rolled his hips, giving you more friction against him. As you rode him, Hongjoong peppered kisses down your neck, nibbling at your shoulder blades. The moans that escaped your lips caused him to smile.

He leaned back, looking down at you, watching you ride him. "Y/N..." He breathed. "Look at me."

Slowly, you looked up into his dark brown eyes. They had a mix of lust, desire and affection. Your hands moved from his neck, stroking his jawline, tilting his head slightly so that you could kiss him properly. Your tongue slipped into his mouth, mingling with his. His arms encircled your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he bit down gently on your lower lip. You sighed softly as you rocked your hips faster against his arousal.

Hongjoong couldn't help but groan in pleasure. "You're driving me fucking crazy, Y/N." He whispered.

"Me too..." You whispered back, arching your back and meeting his thrusts with your own. Your breasts bounced with every thrust.

As the two of you fucked by the fire, the glittering stars above glittered in their perfection. Hongjoong kept you in his arms as you slowly sank down on him, moaning and groaning in pleasure. He licked his lips as he looked down at you, completely mesmerized by your beauty.

He never imagined falling in love with someone like you. Never thought that anyone would make him feel this way. This wasn't just a simple infatuation. It was something else entirely. Love. You made him feel complete. Complete happiness. Complete satisfaction. Complete trust. Complete adoration.

You laid your head on his shoulder, slowly rocking your hips back and forth. He hummed in pleasure, moving his hands up and down your back, grabbing your ass and lifting you slightly off of him. He let out a soft grunt as you impaled yourself on him once more.

"Don't stop...please..." You begged, raising your head and locking your gaze with his. "Just...don't stop."

He held himself inside of you, rocking gently against you. "I can't...let you go, Y/N." He whispered, panting heavily.

"Don't...please..." You begged. "Hongjoong...fuck..."

"I want to fuck you all night, Y/N." He panted. "All day, all week...all month, all year. I want to spend every second of my life with you. In the good times, in the bad times. The times when you smile, the times when you cry. You're all I want, all I need, Y/N. Do you understand? All I want is you. Forever."

"I love you." You whispered.

"Say it again." He demanded.

"I love you, Hongjoong." You repeated.

"Say it louder." He growled.

"I love you!" You shouted, closing your eyes and grinding your hips against him even faster.

"That's right." He murmured, tightening his grip on your hips. "Love me. Fuck me. Just like this."

His grip tightened on your hips as he pounded into you harder. The sound of your grunts filled the air. His face was flushed and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. His entire body tensed up, as he prepared to release himself inside of you.

"Cum for me, love." He whispered. "Let me hear you cum for me."

"Hongjoong! Fuck!" You cried, burying your face in his shoulder as you screamed out in ecstasy.

As the climax built up within him, he pushed into you one last time, gasping and grunting as he released his seed inside of you. He moaned in bliss as he came hard inside of you.

You sat up in his embrace, kissing him lightly on the lips. Both of you caught your breath, before he chuckled lightly.

"The High Seas can wait another night." He smiled.

"But what about the fact that the sun will rise soon?" You laughed.

"It'll give us plenty of time to make love again." He winked.

"Captain Hongjoong." You purred, before pressing your lips to his again. “You know how to spoil a woman.”

The next morning, you and Hongjoong were strolling along the beach when you heard screaming. You and Hongjoong turned to look at the person, eyes widening in surprise and relief.

"Captain!"

"Captain Y/N!"

You and Hongjoong rushed towards your crews, Hongjoong getting engulfed by his men and you in yours. They all had big smiles on their faces.

"Captain Y/N!" One of your crewmembers exclaimed, throwing his arms around you. "I'm so happy you're still alive! We've been worried sick!"

"Are you guys alright?" You asked, gently patting one of your men on the shoulder.

"Yeah, we're fine. Got some nasty cuts and bruises though." A man replied.

"But..."

"But?" You looked at them.

"The ship...she's wrecked." Another crewmember spoke up. "Everything's gone."

You opened your mouth to speak, but found that no words would come out. Hongjoong placed a gentle hand on your arm, squeezing it reassuringly.

"You and your crew always have a place with us. You're family now." He smiled. "We can find you a new ship to sail on, if you'd like."

"What if I wanted to stay with you forever?" You asked, unable to contain your grin. "Be your co-captain?"

"Of course, Y/N." He grinned back, turning to look at your crew. "You all are welcome to join my crew or leave. You won't be punished either way."

"We'll go wherever our captain goes!" The crew member who had spoken first declared proudly.

"Great." Hongjoong said happily as he pulled you close to him. He kissed your forehead. "Then let's set sail for a new adventure together."

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it. 

[simp-ly-writes]

Just a Small Crush

Ask: is there anyway that I can get a Vox x Reader oneshot (from hazbin hotel ofc) where the reader Alastors sister but has a crush on Vox and secretly still hangs out with him and also gives him information of what’s going on at the hotel.

Pairing: Vox x Alastor Sister!Reader

Warnings: light teasing and brief mentions of death.

A/N: I LOVE THIS IDEA TYSM FOR THE ASK ANON!!!!!!

Masterlist | Taglist | un-edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

↳ You were Alastor's sister, having died a few years after he did you had come to terms with the changing of technology better than he did. Adapting to smart devices and social platforms with relative ease thanks to the help from a certain bright-eyed princess

↳ From this adaptability of yours you soon became the hotels advertisement manager, creating digital ads, short video skits with the guests and posting how-to-make drink recipes with Husk at the bar.

↳ Alastor smiled at this, seeing you so lively and back to your charismatic self that he thought to be forgotten after your sudden death at a young-age. Nevertheless he never became blinded by this happiness of his- often found glaring at the electronic device super-glued to your hands or the keyboard stuck to your fingers. But he would only make side snarky reminders about the time you came from and how you should still uphold your mannerisms

↳ Flashing a quick, bright smile towards your brother you skipped away, phone in hands as you brainstormed a new caption for the radio segment you just filmed together. Your heart races when the video goes green and hundreds of likes come flooding in alongside various comments of varying enthusiasm towards the content

↳ Shutting your phone off, you head to your room for a break, settling in your bed you flick on the newest episode of Late Nights with Vox. Having worked late last night on the editing of your new television advertisement- you had missed the live airing of the show

↳ "Welcome back everyone" Vox leans his head towards the camera hands behind his back as the camera pans backwards and exposes the wooden desk that he is stationed against. You watch as he leans back against the desk, watching as his suit distorts to capture his form as you rapidly scroll through Velvettes Hell-Page, looking for any other pictures of his new suit. "Tonight we some of only hells finest joining us for exclusive interviews alongside the first viewing of our latest Vox-Tech inventions you are sure to love!" A few cheers can be heard just as you clap your hands, immersed in the show and its presenter

↳ Swiping onto your personal account, you flick Velvette over a quick text- sending your praises for Vox's new suit just as you laugh in tune to the TV's cackles in response to Valentino crashing the set and announcing a new production as the show cuts to commercials. A ping of your notifications has you stopping your conversation with Velvette and transitioning over to other Vee as your hands being to sweat.

↳ Vox has texts you, "Hey!- a certain bird tells me you are enjoying the show?" You roll your eyes into a wide smile, he has been picking up on your expressions with all the recent time you had been spending together after-hours from both your jobs.

You: "You do well every night, I don't think you need me to add to your ego..."

Vox: "but you do. "

You: "?"

Vox: "Who else can say that they are friends the radio demons sister?"

You: "you out of all people better not be going around saying that! I do quite like you- wouldn't want my brother to spoil that by spilling your guts out on to the street if we found out."

Vox: "my lips are sealed then."

↳ A few moments pass before Vox texts again, "doing anything tonight?" your face goes red as your eyes flicker over the space, ensuring that you are in fact alone before you respond. "Nope, got all my work done, would you want to come around?"

↳ Your heart races, watching as the message bubbles bounce as you lay there in wait. But just before you can check the message, Vox has travelled through the electrical wires of the buildings sign and is sitting on your windowsill, taping on the glass for you to let him in

↳ A small scream escapes you, falling off your bed as you race over to usher him in. "So..." Vox starts to say, looking around your room before his eyes fall on to you, a smile expanding across his screen as he leans towards you, matching your height as you take a step back, looking for the remote to pause the television show in the background.

↳ "Watching me again?- why need the recording? I can always remake the scenes here for you, give you a synopsis if you will?" He asks, looking at his gloves before casting you a wink. He stands up straight, walking over to your desk before twirling around in your office chair as you sit on the edge of your bed, observing his actions

↳ "I like your suit." You blurt out, eyes going wide as hands cover your mouth in shock that you just admitted that to his face and not Velvette. Vox throws a hand to his knee, repiedidly slapping it with his laughs before he turns to face you once more. He stands, capturing your chin with his hand- ushering your eyes to meet his own. "No need to get embarrassed now, Velvette did a good deal of work on it- whats not to be admired?"

↳ Now scoffing and turning your head away with his ego flaring up once again. He drops his hand from your face as you let out a breath and listen up to what he has to say next, "Anything new to report on here?" You shake your head, unlocking your phone to show him the recent cocktail you and Husk invented, "Thats about it other than Charlie getting that meeting with Adam I told you about last week..." you trail off, breath hitching as you see footsteps from underneath the door

↳ You reach upwards, smacking a head over Vox's mouth. Failing to see as his screen flickers blue for a split second at the sudden touch. You sigh out in relief as the footsteps carry down the hall after a moment, dropping your hand and turning back to watch as Vox raises an eyebrow, "If you want me to shut up, just tell me or else I will think you just don't like me anymore" He states with a teasing smile, enjoying the way your face fires up as you flip him the finger

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @amarokofficial

[muniimyg]

kimi's comfort fics (2023)

note: these fics are pretty "old" since most of the writers are no longer active or the fics have been posted years ago.. BUT !!! some are recent with active writers so i would 100% recommend u check out their other works nd send them love !!! that being said, i did not link the stories but i did link the writers 🫡 this way u can check out their other works nd blog in general 💅🏼✨

nevertheless, they are all masterpieces that have heavily inspire my work nd personal life because i am delulu 24/7 <3 this list consists of my core comfort fics like... y’all don’t even fcking know how much i love them

‼️ for the most part, all of these fics imply mature content !!! minors dni ‼️

smau recs

@firebettercallnct

color of your shirt (kth)

cuffed (knj)

stay and cook (jjk)

stole your shirt (jjk)

went through your phone (jjk)

these fics were the ones that made me absolutely fall in love with smaus. smt abt the style nd way the plot seamlessly depict a beautiful and lighthearted aura... ugh, it jus gets me every mfking time </3 

@kimnjss

be my baby (myg)

cyberslut (myg)

kinda hot (kth)

cherry pickers (jjk)

plot twist (knj) 

i think kez is a mastermind nd i’ve always admired her constant updates nd organization! have u seen her taglist? BRUH i could never :’) these fics rlly made me feel BUTTERFLIES i don’t know how else to describe the way kez makes these works so fcking interesting every time

headcanons

@jungshookz

stuck with you (kth)

suit & tie (myg)

hellish (myg)

basketball!captain (myg)

baby, you can drive my car (myg)

beauty & the bookworm (knj)

these headcanons literally give the serotonin boost i need. they hit so mfking good nd the energy is jus 10/10

fic recs

series and drabbles by @noteguk

bad influence: collection (jjk)

any way you want (kth)

house rules (jhs)

for science (jhs)

let me tell u... these fics were a CULTURAL RESET. god bless them nd tHE WAY NALA IS BACK??? hello. i love u so much. thank u for creating such breath-taking stories with ur incredible writing... u’re insanely talented nd i look forward to more of ur work… like fuck,, i’m so shy rn 👉🏽👈🏽

series and drabbles by @yoonpobs

with you (ksj)

back-burner (myg)

ice skating and holding hands (myg)

cold (pjm)

i absolutely went ✨ I N S A N E ✨ for back-burner yoongi. i was literally taking an accounting class (which i failed nd i have never failed anything in my life) nd thursday aka back-burner update day would literally be my motivation to mfking LIVE. i love the underlying nostalgia in these works.. i literally don’t know who i would be without these fics (i’m downplaying how much i love them arghh)

series and drabbles by @1kook

skirt chasers (jjk)

netflix & chill (jjk)

dreamy (pjm)

absolute icons. literally so well written, it’s unforgettable !!!

series and drabbles by @h0neypjm

confident (jjk)

for practice (kth)

homie hopper till i die (pjm/kth)

these are the ones that... make me feel some type of way... like… 🦋⚡️❤️‍🔥 way… yk?

series by @floralseokjin

the devil wears armani (ksj)

crystallised saga (ksj)

please be naked (myg)

i think these fics stabbed me in the heart nd the wound never healed. that’s the best way i can put it... i love anything jordan writes but these... these are litereally the bane of my existance. crystallised has so much depth in it nd i honestly feel like i’m in the story with the characters.. i’ve never experienced desperation until i read the devil wears armani because wHAT THE FUCK... pbn is... yeah. let’s just stop here..... 😪

series by @btssmutgalore

nude (kth)

bicker (kth)

benefits (pjm)

🫶🏻 ok. we need to have a conversation about nude. NUDE HAS RUINED MY LIFE. yk why? because the same way it grasps my heart,, it breaks nd makes it new. literally. like mfker rlly said “whatever u say goes” bITCHJFKJSLS IM CRYING IN THE CLUBBBBBB 🫣

series by @personasintro

mutual help (jjk)

my tiny secret

i read mh while it was jus starting.. to see how much it progressed nd how many ppl read it now is mindblowing! my tiny secret was the first ever bts fanfic i ever read... so.... YESSSS

series by @gukslut

rattled (jjk)

oh my god. this has to be my ultimate comfort fic. i’ve never read something so original nd heartbreakingly beautiful. the gradual build nd the way each character experiences nd works thru their issues... chefs kiss... i read this fic at least once a month to remember what love feels like 🥹👊🏽

drabbles by @jeonqkooks

just friends (jjk)

angel baby (jjk)

the moon, and all the stars (jjk)

this is how you fall in love (jjk)

i always see jen sharing her thoughts on my work... but bro... let me mfking tell u... her work speaks for itself. i’m so in love......

drabble by @jungkxook

let’s play: dirty (jjk)

THIS ONE IS SUCH A FUN READ. i need it injected into me tbfh. i always reread it when i’m feeling down

drabble by @angelgukks

pu$$y fairy (jjk)

can not be beat. mfking love this drabble fr

copyright © 2023, muniimyg on tumblr.  

[callioclops]

Going through Tumblr's Community Guidelines to find out which one all the transfems are apparently breaking

So let's just be clear, we all know that transfem blogs are being taken down for criticising Tumblr staff. I wouldn't be surprised if mine goes down for making this. But I think it would be good if we just go through what is and isn't allowed and find where they might be trying to find a loophole if they even bother to give a reason.

The only way I could see this ever being relevant to the transfem ban wave is if they made pro-Palestine posts which Staff chose to unfavourable misinterpret as pro-Hamas, which I wouldn't be surpised by but it's a separate point I think

Ironically, transfems are getting banned for doing the exact thing it suggests here. We're addressing our concerns directly with staff. We're speaking up, we're raising awareness, and yet we're banned for explicitly following the advice given in the Community Guidelines. Nevertheless I expect a few of them have been banned on this exact point. Now, if any of the critiques had been levelled at the staff specifically based on any of the qualities listed then yes, that would be valid, but I've yet to see that, and even if I did see that I have no doubt that they'd be banned faster than the 50 TERFs and Nazis that commited the exact same violation against them for weeks on end.

I'm including this one for the sake of completion but I don't think I need to talk about it. Obviously no one is violating this for critiquing staff and I think it would be absurd for them to try and claim it.

A similar thing here, although more likely than the former if a "KYS" gets thrown in out of an understandable amount of anger or frustration. Again however, I haven't personally seen this from any criticisms.

We know transfems have been banned on this point. It's been explicitly stated and the evidence given has been none, or tenuous at best. They can and will book you on this point for any reason it seems. We shouldn't have to be scared to share our photos to highlight our experiences as trans women. There is no reason why our faces should be considered inappropriate.

To my knowledge the only time this has come up is Hammer Car, and we all know how absurd that is. To be banned over a looney tunes threat shows the person pulling the trigger has been waiting for a reason.

The following is a long string of completely irrelevant guidelines that I'm including to make sure I haven't missed anything, feel free to skip over these.

And now we're back to one last thing that has a chance of being levied agaisnt us:

Staff, I want to make this perfectly clear to you: Critique is not harassment. Protest is not harassment. Your job is to run a website that is welcoming to people of all gender identities, races, ages (within your own limit of when people can make an account of course), etc. When you're getting so many complaints about this, that should be an indicator for you to consider whether something is being done wrong. And it may not be you that's doing it, but when the company you work for is allowing this rampant prejudice to be carried out, you have a duty to do something about it. Make a statement denouncing the actions of the company. If you're in a position to do so, strike. Protest. If you agree with us that what's happening is wrong, then stand with us. And if you don't see anything wrong with the silencing of disparaging opinions from an oppressed minority, keep at it I suppose. You won't get all of us.

And finally a couple more completely irrelevant guidelines for this topic.

[writing-in-the-impala]

Secret Smokes (Part 3)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, teacher-student relationship (but like it’s all legal chill), SLOWburn we’re in for a long ride

Word Count: 2038

A/N: Once again thank you for all the love this is a side blog so I can't reply from this account to you all below the post but I read every word I promise. You guys are the best ! Some people have asked about being tagged, yes I can tag you! So if you want to be added leave me a reply below and I'll tag you in the future parts and if you decide you want to be untagged just message me and I'll remove you it's okay I won't judge.

 | SERIES MASTER LIST (All chapters) |

Previous Chapter, Part 3, Next Chapter

Over the next few weeks you committed to showing up to lessons more often, you spent time with the Weasley's but you avoided getting into trouble. People started noticing the sudden change in your behaviour and dedication to your studies, Percy was very proud of your change in attitude and believed his talk with you helped you get there, you let him believe it but really it was all profesor Lupins doing. Unfortunately his class was the one you got the worst grades in, it was okay when you didn't attend and got bad grades but even with attendance they didn't grow it was your weakest subject.

Your evening smokes continued some days Lupin was there some he wasn't but he was there often some days he wouldn't smoke he would just be there to talk with you, your conversations turned deeper than they used to be as you got to know each other and you looked forward to them, you saw him as someone you truly connected with, yes the girly attraction was still there but what girl didn't find him attractive he had girls flirting with him constantly. It did make you feel uncomfortable watching the girls put bright lipstick on before entering his class and staying behind to ask him questions or for extra lessons, but he seemed to not mind and act profesional giving the girls extra lessons and paying no attention to their advances.

You had DADA last on Fridays which normally would've meant a lot of people not paying attention and aching to leave but profesor Lupin kept the class entertaining and engaging. It was a practical lesson, the ones your dread because with lack of practice you genuinely sucked at practical lessons. But you got through it and you were excited for the weekend to start, before you left the class Lupin asked you to stay behind. So you said bye to Percy and a few others telling them you'll join them later, you weren't worried that you'll get told off like with most teachers when they ask you to stay behind it was Lupin so you patiently waited for the last few girls to say "bye profesor" while walking out and then went over to his desk where he had sat down.

"What's up?" You asked as you approached his desk.

"Please, sit down Y/N." He said quite formally gesturing to the seat in front of him, now you were getting worried. "I'd like to speak with you about your grades." He paused and saw your face drop before continuing. "Now please don't think of this as a telling off, your attendance is better this year than any year before and I've heard great things from your other teachers about the progress you've been doing." He said but you still looked worried so he added. "You should be very proud of yourself Y/N." Which made you relax into the chair a bit more. "Nevertheless, I am worried about your grades in my subject as you're doing well in the theory side however it's using the spells in practice that you seem to struggle with. I know you've had a few hard years with the rotation of teacher, some worse than others, so it's not your fault you are in this position." He said all of this formally. "Although notoriously skipping classes for the last sexi years probably didn't help." He said with a small laugh as a friend rather than a teacher. "I want to help you, I've been speaking with your head of house about how we can improve your grades and we believe you need extra lessons, practical magic like this can't be learnt through studying alone in your dorm you need real practice. So I'm happy to offer you tutoring twice a week on Mondays and Wednesdays, to help you catch up." You sat silent still. "You don't have to do this, but profesor McGonagall and I do believe it is in your best interest." He added you just looked down embarrassed that you skipping classes has lead to this. "Okay Y/N I'm dying here please say something." He said casually addressing your silence.

"Thank you profesor." You said.

"How do you feel about my suggestion?" He asked.

"Embarrassed." You stated. "How so?" He asked I'm a caring tone. "I wouldn't be in this situation if I listened to everyone when they told me not to skip so many lessons."

"You're not the only student who will be receiving extra lessons, I have a small group of girls that have asked for extra time that I teach on Tuesdays. If you want you can join them so it's not just one-on-one if that's more comfortable for you?" He offered.

"But I'm the only one who actually needs tutoring. They only asked for it because they have a crush on you." You blurted out in your annoyance.

"Trust me crush or not some of those girls need extra lessons. Still after weeks of receiving them." He said honestly. "They're too busy staring at your lips to learn I guess." You said laughing to yourself, he gave you a gentle smile. "Y/N, you're a quick learner. You know the theory, with a little practice you'll be caught up by Christmas."

"Okay. As long as these lessons are done by 9pm." You said with a hint of humour.

"I would never let education get in the way of your nicotine addiction, I'm not a monster." He replied jokingly. "We have a deal." You say.

"Perfect, now enjoy your weekend." He said and you took that as a queue to leave. "And Y/N, don't let this overshadow all the effort you've been putting into your studies, you're doing amazing." He said whole heartedly.

"Thank you professor." You said leaving the classroom. You looked him as a teacher so if you needed anyone to give you extra lessons you were glad it was him.

You went straight to the great hall for dinner after your conversation with Lupin, Fred and George had a space saved for you next to them. "What took you so long?" Fred asked.

"Lupin is making me take extra lessons." You said solemn.

"Bullshit, you've been studying harder than ever."  Fred expressed.  "I know but I'm still behind, plus it's only two days a week and he said it'll only be until Christmas." You explained.

"I think it's a conspiracy." George stated. "Now why's that?" You ask amused. "They're obviously trying to keep you away from us so we don't pull any pranks." He expresses. "This has old minnie all over it." Fred adds sniffing the air comedically.

"Now that you mention it..." you say looking over at the teachers table watching Lupin and McGonagall speaking. "...Lupin did mention this being her idea."

"See! Merlin, Y/N we need to pull a prank now." George states. "Show them we can't be stopped so easily." Fred adds. "I don't know guys, I've been enjoying not sitting in detention."

"George, she's getting all soft." Fred states. "Now that's not okay." George replies and they both have a cheeky smile before they stand up and suddenly pick you up while you protest taking you out the great hall while you laugh and tell them to stop, you hadn't even had time to eat before the kidnapping and the whole school watched this happen but the boys didn't care. They carried you straight to the dorm room plopping you down on the sofa. "Y/N it's time to plan our first big prank of the year." George begins. "Perfect timing as well as we can go to Hogsmeade over the weekend to get any supplies we need."  You laugh and agree to the plotting, you plan a prank. It was to happen in the library, the plan was to hex every book, the books about animals would bite you, the books about history would disintegrate in your hands, the books about plants would be filled with soil and so on. You would obviously need to take all the real books and hide them but that wasn't a problem using the marauders map. You were looking at the map when you noticed Lupin was already standing on the bridge, you checked your watch and it was after 9pm already, he was just standing there you felt like you were missing out on seeing him plus you were scared he'd think you're ignoring him after your conversation earlier. "Boys I need to go, it was a pleasure scheming with you as always. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that you took the map, put it in your pocket and headed for the bridge. When you were around the corner you saw Lupin walking down the corridor in your direction, he must've finished smoking you thought. "Good evening professor." You said with a smile and me looked up at you with a grin. "Evening, Y/N. Evening stroll?" He questioned as if to ask why you didn't go to the bridge tonight.

"Just going to destress." You said showing him your pack of cigarettes.

"I forgot mine in my office I was just going to go get them." He explained, odd because he had been standing on the bridge for a while you think to yourself.

"You can borrow one of mine." You state.

"I'll give you two tomorrow." He replies turning around to walk with you. "I hope I wasn't too harsh on you today." He says as you walk after a moment of silence.

"You weren't harsh at all." You say with a hint of confusion.

"I didn't think you would come here today in all honesty, after the way you looked at me after class and during dinner." He said with a soft smile but you could tell there was some hurt behind there. "How did I look at you?" You ask.

"Differently." He simply stated, maybe because usually you look with admiration and a bit of lust while now you were looking at him like at a teacher for the first time.

"Well you are about to ruin two evenings a week for me by making me study." You remark.

"Is that how you see spending time with me? Am I ruining your evening right now?" He teased.

"You know what I mean, this Lupin isn't the same as profesor Lupin." You say adding emphasis to professor.

"I am the same person Y/N. If you're afraid that I'm going to be making you write essays and do homework you're mistaken, I promise I'll make the evenings fun." He says in his teacher tone. Maybe it was the mischievous energy from planning a prank that allowed you to say what followed maybe it was purely forgetting he's not your friend but you replied with. "Fun evenings? What does that mean?" You watched him swallow getting a bit uncomfortable and not knowing how to answer. "I mean don't treat it like a punishment. I'm just trying to help." Your brain went straight to replying with something inappropriate about getting punished but you held your tongue as you didn't want to push it too far.

"I hope you don't think I hate you, I really enjoy our talks." You say. I really only came here to talk to you, I feel like smoking on a empty stomach will make me feel worse." You we're over sharing now but he didn't seem to mind.

"I watched you get carried out by the Weasley twins before dinner, the whole school did." Lupin remarked unamused making your face go red.

"Yeah they were messing around and wanted to go talk as they said I've been too busy with lessons this year."

"They sound like a bad influence," He said sternly before pausing and thinking. " keep them around sometimes you need friends like that." He added.

"Profesor you're great at encouraging bad behaviour." You say laughing.

"Friendships like that are sometimes very important, if only you knew what I got up to when I was your age." He said with a soft reminding smile.

"And what would that be?"

"I can't say, I'm your teacher after all." He added a wink at the end which you didn't know the meaning of, but all you did know was you wouldn't find out anything more about his past.

NEXT CHAPTER | More stuff I wrote

Tags (leave a reply and I’ll add you or PM me to get removed):

@thesoundresoundsecho @ahoyyharrington

[yridenergyridenergy]

On the eve of the seven-year mark for this account, let's address the biggest hate point about me: how I insist that people either ask before, come and say thanks, simply link to or credit this page when they share/repost the content.

Even if I manage to convince a handful of peopIe, I will continually have to argue and work with people on this because it's not inherent. For example, I come from an online community where, decades ago, we were shocked when we learned that Japanese artists were mad that some people had simply copied and pasted their fanart. It's obvious when you stop to put yourself in their shoes, but for a lot of people, it takes some personal effort to accept the realization that: "Oh okay, I see where you're coming from." In no way am I comparing fanart with most of my content, as artists deserve a ton more praise, but the concept of being grateful for where you got stuff and not simply saving and reposting stuff is the same. And guess what? People outside of that aforementioned community, and even probably newcomers to that community, are still sharing uncredited fanart. It's not inherent, I get it.

For almost seven years, I have posted twice daily, at least, and this requires quite a lot of budget, time, innovation and effort. And absolutely, the content comes from the band themselves, I'm not the photographer(s), the live show recorders, the interviewers, etc. However, you also wouldn't have that GIF, JPG, etc. if it wasn't for me. I do it to share the love, the passion. If I don't mention the source in my post, then it's either directly cited on the picture or the band has not mentioned the source either, like for memocas.

Also, each perpetrator thinks of themselves individually, but imagine my perspective too: it's not just one, but dozens of people who keep reposting my content to their own crowd of followers without any context. When you don't mention a source and just display new content out of nowhere, you are indeed claiming it as if you were the benefactor.

So, am I fighting for the "clout" or whatever? Well, maybe in the same capacity as those people are clearly attracted to. Whether we are or not, it's just about the principle behind the whole situation that reposting is not the proper way to show that you are grateful about something. Unless it came from a robot or some big corporation without feelings or humanity. If you don't wish to interact and ask permission or say thanks at all, let alone like or reblog on Tumblr, then the least you can do is to mention where you found stuff. To whom you owe the pleasure of having seen that content and being able to share it.

And it's so stupid because on Twitter, for example, you benefit from 280 characters now, plus a link gives a preview of the images that are on the landing site. There is zero excuse for not mentioning your source right there in the post where you repost an image (or screenshots of a translated interview, mindblowingly enough), in addition to whatever small comment you want to make regarding the content, instead of in a subsequent reply that nobody will bother to check.

A lot of people will still disagree on this and hate me, and that's fine. If you don't like me, then don't engage with what I share, because that's just hypocritical. This really shouldn't be that controversial, it's just that your feathers are temporarily ruffled. People added watermarks on their GIFs and scans etc. way before I did.

And the descent from "Please credit if you repost" to "Do not repost" came because people didn't do even that anyway. But if someone comes to ask me if they can nevertheless, I'm super likely to say 'yes'.

At the end of the day, I want to keep this blog positive, I want to foster a good environment to lift people's mood day by day. We have enough bullshit in our lives. I've heard of the Dir en grey community being toxic at probably more than one stage of its existence, but hopefully we can keep avoiding that.

As for me, I am eternally grateful to those who keep up with my apparently insufferable self.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Next

I.

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

 There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less. 

 A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays. 

 The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories. 

 After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape. 

 But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus. 

---------------------------------------------------

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

 It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning. 

 To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing. 

 “Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically. 

 He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid. 

 When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status. 

 In retrospect, he should not have read it. 

 In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood. 

 Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

[spacerockfloater]

Hi.

It's so disheartening to see how a big chunk of TG turned on Aemond and Alicent and only support Aegon now. I deeply dislike most of the writing decisions this season, but people seem to forget that these decisions didn't harm only Aegon's character, but also Aemond, Alicent and Criston's, I would say even more than Aegon's. Nevertheless, after the last week episode I've seen a lot of TG hate directed towards Alicent and Aemond that reminded me of TB discourse and it's just sad.

I would love to hear your opinion on this. Thanks in advance.

Hello there friend! Thank you so much for sending me this ask!

Sigh. This is such a complicated issue. As a fellow TG supporter said recently in one of my posts, us turning against the Targtowers and hating them was exactly what Ryan Condal wanted.

They accidentally made them too sympathetic and righteous in the first season, so they had to ruin them to remind the public of whom they are supposed to hate. It’s sickening.

Alicent’s whole journey was about understanding that she needs to be more fierce and demanding to help her family survive. The first season ended with her being ruthless and ready to sacrifice everything for her children. But now she has regressed back to herself from the first half of S1, a scared little girl that doesn’t have the guts to do what must be done and loses all hope the moment the first tragedy comes her way.

Aegon’s whole journey was him overcoming his bullying tendencies and genuinely supporting his brother and his family. He may have initiated the pink dread incident but when his mother told him to cut the bullshit and stop acting like his nephews are his friends, he had no problem knocking Jace to the floor during practice. He stood tall when his brother was disabled and refused to name his mother as the one who spread the rumour(!) of Nyra’s children being bastards. He spoke his truth with his whole chest. Years later, the moment Aemond rose to answer to Lucerys’s mockery, he was right beside him, toasting with him and smashing Luc’s head on the table. And finally, when everyone turned on Aemond for taking his revenge, it was Aegon who demanded Aemond remain in his council, because that was his brother, his best sword and he wanted him there, even if their mother could not bare to look at him. Aegon rose to the occasion and was ready to become a better person, he seemed to genuinely want to serve his subjects. He loved nothing more in the world than his son and his death tore him apart. But suddenly, next episode he has forgotten all about it and is back at bullying Aemond again? That’s just none-sense. All that character development for nothing.

I did feel like Aemond burning his brother alive went from 0 to 100 real quick. He already got his lick back when he made a fool of Aegon in front of his own council. Aemond is a calculating person. He would know that talking Aegon out of the way would cause more harm than good.

Their relationship has been destroyed. Every TG member hates the others. Ultimately, I think we just have to accept this is bad writing and let go of the show because yikes.

However, if we want to discuss show canon, we should keep the characters accountable for their actions and unfortunately, I am displeased with all of them except from Criston. I’ll keep supporting Aegon, Aemond and Alicent but I must also criticise them for the things that they do if I want to be fair.

That being said, I can see why Alicent is horrified by Aemond’s actions. I can see why people think Aemond went too damn far. At the same time, I can see that Aemond would never just sit down and accept being abused. Add to that his not so secret desire to be king, and you can see why he wouldn’t think twice about turning his brother to ashes.

All in all, I think that every opinion is justified and that we must wait for the new episode to air (Aemond’s interactions with Aegon and Alicent are essential) for some additional insight on the incident of Rook’s Rest.

[wordsandrobots]

So I've never seen anyone badmouth Gaelio as often as you, besides the ones that rightfully complain that he shouldn't have come back. Not that I wholly disagree, but what are your reasons?

Oh, anon. No, no, no. No, you have to understand, I *adore* Gaelio. He's perfect, vengeance arc and all. He is my absolute favourite chew toy. I wouldn't have spent so long writing fanfic focused on what happens to him, mentally speaking, post-canon if I didn't love the obnoxious lavender-tousled prick to death.

Gaelio Bauduin is a man fucked over by his social position, a sweet kid scarred by having been born into an aristocracy, who nevertheless retains enough of a moral compass to change for the better. He learns. He grows. He cares for those closest to him with an earnestness that belies his snobbish, flippant attitude. He genuinely, uncomplicatedly commits to justice and loyalty in ways his upbringing ought by rights to have beaten out of him.

He is additionally the single biggest reason the story ends as badly as it does, on account of being the most hideously self-absorbed dipstick on the face of the solar system.

(Second most hideously self-absorbed, we do have to factor in Iok.)

In another story, Gaelio's gradual dawning realisation that the attitudes he was taught are bullshit would be a process of redemption. His experiences with Ein, his compassion towards Carta, his vitriolic semi-mentor/semi-friend relationship with Julieta, his apology to Mikazuki -- these are the markers of someone learning to be a better person. In another story, he'd be learning to be a hero.

But in this story, his slow personal journey isn't what's important. What matters is how it interacts with a world too cynical to run on heroic narratives. Elion uses him as a political wedge. Tekkadan do not give a rat's arse about what he thinks. McGillis allows no room for an epiphany concerning their friendship until it is far, far too late. In imagining the scales had fallen from his eyes, he railroaded himself into the biggest screw-up of his life.

It's not completely his fault. As I said, he's used and rejected by others, and McGillis did have a damn good go at murdering him. But if he had been slightly more open-minded, slightly more willing to put his money where his mouth was when it came to his disapproval of Gjallarhorn's actions, and slightly less prone to making everything about his feelings -- well maybe he wouldn't have ended a broken, wistful shell of his former self, voluntarily disabling himself and regretting everything he didn't understand.

It's *beautiful*. Seriously. The tenor of your question leads me to believe I should restate my opinion that Iron-Blooded Orphans is a near-perfectly executed tragedy. When I say Gaelio is 'Always Wrong (TM)', I mean that is the part he plays in the tale. The man who makes every possible mistake he could in the course of getting exactly what he thought he wanted. It's a narrative role and he is a fantastic way of filling it because unlike Iok (who exists entirely as a hate-sink), Gaelio *does* have redeeming characteristics. He's loyal and principled. Passionate and determined. Able to adjust his world-view based on his experiences. Ultimately capable of swallowing his pride and admitting he was wrong.

And it doesn't matter one single jot. Things still end in flames, not just in spite of his attempts to do right by those he accidentally doomed but because of those actions.

Also he's a melodramatic brat who canonically used to flirt using Norse mythology, repeatedly injured people on his own side by mistake, got his arse handed to him by children (again, repeatedly), adopted the most on-theme moniker he could while wearing a doofy mask for months on end, and spent Season 1 with a crush on the world's least-hinged cop-brained class-traitor. I denigrate his character in precise proportion to which it is presented as lamentable.

Anyway, to lay off the verbosity for a minute, please also understand that if my opinion on a character is negative in the sense of 'I think the writers fucked this up', I'm unlikely to spend much time creatively cussing them out. For instance, to pick another Gundam example, I don't enjoy Shinn from SEED:Destiny. I get what the writing is going for with him and I think it's a neat plot concept, but I find the actual result grating. It's the same for a lot of the cast. Overall, I just don't rate that show very highly. So I don't talk about it, and I don't expend effort to dig into narrative roles, how characters come across, what that means for other parts of the story, etc. To put it bluntly, it's not worth my time, especially when there are people who *do* like SEED and don't need me raining on their parade.

But I enjoy watching Gaelio and that's exactly why I bad-mouth him. It's more than a passing joke; it's part and parcel of what I love about how Gaelio is implemented, that he's that much of an aristocratic nitwit, and that even when he's making moves towards the broadly 'good' end of the moral spectrum, he's still got a deeply hierarchical attitude. This is a man who, in the middle of quite understandably wanting to get back at somebody who tried to assassinate him, reflects on enjoying being in the heat of battle again after having just beaten-up/killed a bunch of workers trying to break free of colonial rule. There is a *lot* you can dig into about what (and who) Gaelio sees as important and how his attitudes are a perpetual work-in-progress, constrained both by his assumptions and by the alliances he has to make in order to pursue his revenge.

It's well executed, as I said, and I happen to find it extremely compelling. Certainly more so than if he hadn't been resurrected because the show-runners liked his voice actor's performance.