#but it's his responsibility to take control of it and be better

[southlandvamp]

Smoke and Mirrors (Remmick x F!reader)

Warnings: NSFT so MDNI, classic vampirism blood drinking, smoking, shotgunning, begging, mean soft domme reader, male masturbation, voyeurism, pathetic little bratty Remmick)

Author's note: I'm not too happy with the way I've written this, but here you go, nonetheless.

Word Count: 933

The pair sat on the back porch, admiring the landscape painted in the moonlight. She perched on the porch railing as Remmick stood between her legs, teeth sunken into her neck and drinking deeply. After a few pulls, she began to feel lightheaded and pushed him away. He retracted his fangs and smoothed his tongue over the wound. "Didn't take too much, did I?"

"No," Her hands fumbled in the pocket of her skirt, clasping onto her matchbook and pre-rolled cigarettes. "No, you're fine. Just need a breather."

She held the cigarette between her teeth and struck the match, lighting it and turning her head to blow the smoke away from him. He watched her as he wiped the blood from his mouth, entranced by the way her chest rose and fell with each pull of the cigarette. She caught him looking and gave him a smile. "Want some?"

He nodded wordlessly and reached for it, but she held it out of his reach. "Ah-ah. C'mere."

She outstretched her free hand, grabbing Remmick's jaw and pulling him flush against her body. She took a final pull and threw the cigarette to the ground before leaning in to kiss him. She exhaled the smoke into his mouth, and he inhaled greedily as their teeth clashed.

His head buzzed from the nicotine, nerves tingling as the kiss grew deeper and more desperate. He went to grab onto her hips, only to be pushed away abruptly. His brows furrowed and she swore he looked just like a little lost puppy.

"I let you feed and have the last hit of my cigarette; don't you think I've given you enough, Remmick?"

His face fell, breath quickening and eyes going wide. "Tha-that ain't fair darlin'. Can't just rile me up like that then leave me hanging out to dry."

"I don't think I'm responsible for the fact that you get hard whenever the breeze passes by you," she replied. "You'd think a big bad monster like you would have a little self-control."

Her words only made his erection grow harder, straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his jeans. He let out a frustrated groan, stepping back and turning away from her, then whipping back around to face her. "What do you want me to do, sweetheart? Beg?"

"Hmm," she hummed, a devilish smile creeping across her lips. "You know how pretty I think you look when you're cryin'."

"Shit!" He hissed, then gave a dejected sigh. "Fine, okay. You like seeing me beg? Better look close, then, because I'm about to put on a show."

"I'm waiting." She crooned.

He dropped to his knees on the porch in front of her. "Please, sweetheart, love me down and make me feel good. Only you know how to touch me the way that makes me cum. You've got me under your damn spell, and I'd walk into the sunlight if you told me to. Now, please, please make me cum."

"That was a good show you put on for me." She reached down, running her fingers through his dark hair and she could swear that if he could purr, he would. "But my answer's still no. I think I've done enough for you today. If you want to cum so bad, you'll have to get yourself off while I watch."

"You're an evil, evil woman, darlin'," he sobbed out. "You know that?"

"Better start touching yourself for me, before I change my mind."

"Fuck!" He spat through gritted teeth. Still, he did as told and worked to unbutton his pants and free his erection. He went to wrap his hand around himself when she stopped him. "Wait."

His eyes lit up, hoping that she had changed her minds. Instead, she gave him more orders.

"Give me your hand."

When he did, she spat in his palm and pushed him away. "Go ahead now, Remmick. Make yourself cum for me."

Remmick wrapped his hand, slick with her spit, around his cock and hissed at the sensation. He ran his thumb slowly over the tip, teasing himself and making sure to continue putting on a show for her. He moaned, shivering as he pumped himself slowly.

"That's it, darling." She praised. "Doing so well for me."

His hips bucked forward at her praise, and her smiled grew even wider. "You like that, baby? Like when I talk down to you? Want me to talk you through it?"

"Please."

"Well go faster, then. I ain't got all night."

His moans echoed throughout the night air, mingling with the songs of the crickets and cicadas. The sweat beading his skin was illuminated by the porch light and his breathing grew heavy and erratic as he fisted his cock.

"Baby, please, 'm so close."

"Look at this, big bad man like you begging and pleading me to give you permission to cum. Think you've deserved it? Think you've behaved well enough?"

"Yes-" he choked out, tears of blood actually running down his cheeks now. "Please, let me-"

"Okay, then, sweetheart. Cum for me."

He sobbed as his orgasm tore through his body, spilling his seed all over his hand and the planks of the back porch. He was shaking, gasping for air as he attempted to gather his bearings; all the while babbling incoherent thanks to her.

She hopped down from her seat on the porch railing, kneeling beside him and cradling his face in her hands. "Shh, sweetheart, you're shaking. You did so good for me, so good."

"I did?"

"Of course you did." She pressed her lips against his forehead. "You always do."

[writingwithcolor]

Representing a Jewish Historical Figure in Fiction

@aaronthe8thdemon asks:

I'm writing a historical fiction around a real-life event (Chernobyl) and am basing the characters around real people rather than using actual names. During the catastrophe, a Jewish American doctor went to Moscow to provide aid to critically irradiated patients, and… concisely, I may be overthinking this, but I'm concerned about "how Jewish" to make the character. In his memoir he admits his Jewishness is kind of lax but I don't want it to look like I've skipped out on research and got lazy representing him because that's a problem in a lot of media. I'm currently converting to Judaism myself. But, AFAIK, he's still alive in real life and I don't want to be insulting by insinuating that he's "not Jewish enough" by making it too visible/going over the top. I haven't begun writing the pertinent parts of the narrative yet because this dilemma is anxiety-provoking, and I'd appreciate any advice/opinions the Jewish mods might have, even if it's just that I'm overthinking it. PS, thank you for running this blog, I know it's a lot of work and I've learned so much by following you.

If you do research and write a historical figure accurately and someone takes issue with your accurate portrayal because it doesn’t fit their needs for representation, that seems misguided of them. We don’t have the same control over reality and history that we do over fiction, where we get to make all of the choices.

I guess the key is to not make this person’s secular Jewishness/lax Jewishness “loaded”, like stop letting it take up space. You know how I’m half German? I’m also a good portion Polish, on the other side, but I never talk about it or think about it because that half of my family turned their backs on Poland entirely because of antisemitic abuse (if you want to get into why the German side didn’t considering they had even worse reasons, that’s a whole separate topic about German Jewish identity but anyway). But I don’t walk around like “oh I am DISCONNECTED from my POLISHKEIT i am SO LAX at being POLISH” it’s just not… relevant?

Him being secular or whatnot is reality (apparently; I don’t know the guy), but the slant of your writing, the way your writing interprets that secularness, is on you and your tone and your approach. So if you are looking at born-Jews who are whatever about Jewishness a certain way because you’re currently doing all that intense study just to join the tent, that might be a good thing to go back and filter out on an editing pass.

–S

It’s true that I’ve called for more representation of Jewish people who fall outside the false dichotomy of Orthodox/Secular, so I think I have a responsibility to clarify that neither of those are inherently bad representation OR bad ways of being Jewish. No single instance of a Jewish character being shown as either Orthodox or nonpracticing is the problem, and a narrative that frames either as being bad is engaging in antisemitism even if Jewish people are involved in the production. The problem isn’t that both of those extremes gets portrayed but that the majority that exists between them never does. That said, you’re portraying a real person, not inventing a fictional character.

If you choose to erase the complexity of his real-life Jewish decisions--and I hope that in the course of this project you’re doing much more research into the realities for Soviet Jewry than I could handily include in this blog post--then that’s not as much better representation of someone like me than it is an implication that there’s something wrong with being someone like him. It denies the dignity of a nonpracticing Jewish identity, and that feels to me like more harm than an accurate and respectful portrayal of a real-life historical figure who did not, in his lifetime, engage in Jewish ritual practice. 

It’s true that you’re fictionalizing the characters, and if your other characters are notably different than their inspirations it does less harm than if he were the only one fundamentally altered, but even so it feels like saying that ritually observant Jews are more “real” than nonpracticing ones. 

Instead, as you research for this project and your upcoming conversion, I encourage you to look for clues to a Jewish outlook in the words and life of the real-life person. This is a doctor, someone who traveled to try to save lives and give comfort, and I defy the idea that because he did not observe ritual practice those choices were without basis in Jewish values. 

-Meir

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running to You 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve’s beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he’s not at his best.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mike babbles on the floor. You turn on your craft lamp as you stay along the far end of the room. You stare as the phone dials out.

Your hand shakes as you wait for the line to pick up. You don't think it will as it keeps ringing. Then, suddenly, a click.

Steve utters your name in a gritty rasp. "What's going on?"

"Steve," your voice quavers but you try not to betray your fear. "Can you... can you come over?"

"What's wrong?" You hear him moving as his timbre grows clearer. "Are you hurt?"

"N-no," you say as you watch Mike as he squirms. "I'm okay but I don't think he is."

"He--who?"

"Mike. Please. You have to come help him."

"Mike? What's wrong?"

"Please get here," you murmur. "See ya soon."

You hang up as Mike coughs. He's dopey as he lifts his head and his gaze finds you. He smiles and pushes himself up to his knees. 

"Hey, uh, are you okay?" You ask.

"Mm, I'm fine..." he puts his hands on the floor. "Real good."

His eyes look like pits. His face is almost sinister. You don't understand what he's doing.

"Mike, do you need some water or..."

"I need you, baby," he crawls toward you. "You're so... hmmm." 

He puts his hands down heavily as he gets closer. His foot hits a stack and the boxes slide down behind him. You press yourself to the wall.

"Mike, I think you should go back to your place. Um. It's late." You sniff.

"You're so sweet to me. I know you want it."

"Huh? No... Mike, please. You're sick--"

"I'll be gentle," he's right beside your cot as you try to disappear into the wall. "Please, I hurt so bad--"

He grabs your ankle and you yelp. What is he doing? He's nice. He's not supposed to do this.

You try to wiggle him off. He squeezes and his strength frightens you. You jerk your leg and your foot hits his jaw.

Mike sprawls backwards and knocks over the shelf of pots you use for soap making. You hope off the flimsy frame and skitter past him, phone in hand. You trip over the mess he made and hit the corner of the wall. You stagger on into the hallway.

Your phone vibrates. You answer. It's Steve. 

"Where are you?" He snarls. "You hung up. Don't do that. Tell me what's going on."

He sounds as panicked as you feel. That turns your fear to flames. You think this is worse than you know.

"Mike... Mike is not acting... right." You turn as you hear another cough. Mike lumbers into the door frame, leaning on it. "He's..."

Before you can finish, Mike lunges at you. You dodge him but not quick enough. He knocks you into the mall and lands atop you as you crash to the floor.

Your phone flies from your grasp. You can hear Steve's faint voice calling your name. Mike crushes you as your hands are pinned beneath his chest. You push helplessly.

"Baby, I said I'll be nice. I just can't... you know... you're always flirting..."

You gasp and dig your nails into his chest, turning your head this way and that.

"No, I don't--"

"You're so warm," he growls. "I just wanna fuck you. Just once."

You cry out. "Help! HELP!" You snarl as you struggle under him. "Mike, get off! Get off. Get. OFF."

He won't move. Your chest fills with sand and your blood thins. Horror swells to a whistle in your ears and you throw your head forward.

There's a sickening crunch as your head meets Mike's nose. You cringe and wriggle as he grunts and falls off of you. He whines as he cradles his nose and rolls around on his back.

You turn onto your stomach and push yourself up. Your head is throbbing from the impact and your ears are thick and thrumming. You try to shake out the shell shock as you clamour down the hall.

You throw yourself through the stair doors and nearly hit the wall. You turn and grab onto the railing, hurtling downward. You don't dare look back. If Mike is chasing you...

You pull open the door at the bottom, your sense creeping through the panic. Where are you going? Where can you go?

You race through the lobby and out into the night. The thought of your phone a floor up with Mike sends chills through you... what next?

Your name scares you along with the large silhouette marching across the street. Steve steps onto the glow of the streetlight. You nearly collapse.

"Steve," you gasp.

"What's going on? Are you alright?" He looks you over. Your head is pounding still from hitting Mike's.

"Steve, I don't... I don't know. It's Mike. I think he's confused."

"Where is he?" Steve growls as he grips your arms tightly. "What happened? All I heard was a crash."

"It's-- he didn't mean to. I think... I don't know."

"Didn't mean to what?" Steve squeezes. His eyes search you.

You bat your lashes and shake your head. You don't know how to explain it to him. In a way he's scaring you just as much as Mike.

"Where is he?" He asks again.

"Inside..." you utter.

He looks past you and sighs. One hand slides down your arms and clutches yours, the other falls away entirely. He turns you back to the front door and strides up the steps. He holds onto you so that he's ahead of you, shielding you.

He takes you through the door into the silent lobby but is stopped by the interior door.

"I don't have my key--" You begin.

He yanks until you hear a crack. It's nothing to him. He breaks the lock and swings the door open. He stops just inside as his thumb rubs the back of your hand.

"Where?" He turns to you.

"Steve. Just... it's okay. He probably left--"

"Your apartment?" He bristles.

You look away. He exhales and reluctantly lets go of your hand. He grabs your arm and moves you into the corner, right next to the stair door. He glances around.

"Stay right here. Someone comes around bugging you, yell," he says.

"Steve? What are you--"

"You said Mike isn't feeling good, right? I'm going to check on him. I know first aid, okay?" He cradles your face with his large hand, his warmth is comforting. "I'll get him back to his place." He lingers as his thumb strokes your cheekbone. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You swallow. "Yes. I... I just hope Mike's okay. He was on the floor... when I...ran..."

He stares at you in the dingy hue of the overhead light. His skepticism burns. He's weighing your every word and they don't measure up.

"Stay. Take deep breaths," he draws away hesitantly. "I will come back."

"Steve."

"It's alright," he assures as he twists on his heel.

He charges into the staircase and the door drops shut behind him. You flinch at the clang. You hug yourself as you cower in the corner. Your mind is a storm of fear.

Mike breaking your door, following you, tackling you... Then the way Steve so easily broke the front door. How could he do it so easily?

You flinch as a thump comes from above. You hold your breath and wait, listening intently. You don't hear anything else. You wait, just like Steve said. Something about him that night assures you it's best just to do what he says.

The door to the stairs open. You wince. Steve peers out at you.

"Come on," he beckons you to him.

You keep your arms around yourself and shuffle over to him. He looks down at your bare feet. He tuts.

"Be careful," he reaches to touch your arm as you near.

"I'm okay." You promise.

He turns to follow you as you enter the stairwell. "Are you? Why did you call?"

"Steve, I--"

"You're not telling me what he did."

"He didn't... do anything. He just scared me." You sniff.

"Sure. That's why you woke me up."

"I'm sorry, Steve, I didn't--"

"I'm not mad about that. I'm frustrated because-- if you don't tell me everything, how can I help?"

You're silent as you climb step by step. You get to the top and he's quick to reach around you to open the door. You feel smaller with him so close. You go into the hall and look around. Mike is gone.

"Steve, I'm sorry. I should've called the police--"

"You called me. You did the right thing." He snips.

You stop in front of your apartment door, still wide open. You spin to face Steve. "Did you find him?"

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. "I put him back in his apartment. He was unconscious."

"Oh..."

"Breathing. I checked his pulse."

"Right," you chew your lip.

"I know what a struggle looks like. You have to tell me what happened," he insists.

"Steve--"

"You're out in the street, no shoes, pajamas," he looks you up and down and you drop your chin to look at your sleep shorts and shirt. "He wasn't just confused."

"Please, he's sick."

"He's dangerous. Your chain is broken again."

"I can get it fixed."

"Uh huh, and how long until it happens again?" He challenges.

"He won't-- He just needs--"

Steve huffs and rubs his nose. He points through your door. "We need to talk," he interrupts.

You wilt and nod. He's angry. You feel awful. You woke him up and brought him here. His long hair is askew, his beard is messy, and he wears a pair of grey joggers and a plain white tee. He rushed over.

"I... next time--"

"Next time?" He hisses as he trails you into your apartment.

"It won't happen again," you correct yourself.

He hisses and looks around as you face him. His eyes scour your apartment. The lines in his forehead deepen.

"He was in here. He did this?"

"I can clean it up--"

"That's not the point," he argues.

"Mike--"

"Is an addict. That makes him dangerous. Maybe he's nice sometimes but he wasn't tonight, was he?" Steve growls.

"Addict? No, he..." you frown.

"He is. There's needles all over his place. I saw them when I dragged him inside. They don't sell insulin in rocks." Steve snaps.

"He... oh?" You pout. "I..." You turn and look over the clutter knocked across the floor. The scent of Jasmine grows stronger by the second. Something spilled.

"You see the best in people. That's nice and all but it's not safe," he intones.

"He was always nice to me..."

"Until tonight."

Silently you go forward. You pick up boxes one at a time and restack them. You feel him watching you.

"He's... still sick. Even if that's the case."

"Sick and dangerous. He's hopped up--"

"Yeah, I got it." You stand and follow your nose to the overturned shelf. A bottle of essential oil lays in a puddle between two pots. You pick it up and crinkle your nose.

"This place is a fire hazard. That smell alone is going to give you a migraine--"

"I'll open the window--"

"This isn't sustainable."

"Steve, please," you grab a length of paper towel and try to sop up the oil. He's right, it's strong. It's making the pulse in your temple beat even harder.

"You can't stay here."

"Well... I don't have anywhere else so I'll just lock the door and--"

He scoffs. "You're kidding me?"

"Please, it's not anything you need to worry about."

"Yet, you called me." He says.

"I did. Thank you for coming. I... I shouldn't have bothered you with all this."

"Pack a bag. You're coming with me." He growls.

You look up at him. His shoulders are set, his jaw too. He is a dauntingly big man.

"I'm fine--"

"No, you're not." He sneers.

"I am. I will be. I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" He snaps.

You flinch and shake your head. You wrap up the doused bottle with the paper towel. He sighs.

"Look, I'm worried. I'm not trying to make you feel worse but I can't just leave you here--"

"And I can't go with you." You shrug.

"Alright..." he nears and reaches out to tag the bundle of jasmine-soaked paper towel. "So I'll stay."

"Steve--"

"If you won't come, you can't stop me from staying." He insists.

You frown at him. "Just for tonight."

"Until I know you're safe," he counters. "Wash your hands. Get settled."

You let go of the oily wadding. You back away shyly and turn your back to him. 

"Think I passed the garbage chute," he mutters as he marches away.

You go to the sink on the kitchenette and try to wash off the scent. You know it will be there for days. Usually, there's a medley cloying from you.

The faucet is still running as he returns. He clucks and you twist the handle off. You face him as he examines the cot against the wall.

"I've seen better in a barracks," he muses.

"It works," you say as you near and sit on it defensively. A year ago, it was just the floor and a sleeping bag.

He hums. His hands go to his hips as his face lines in thought. He backs up and turns his back to you. He crosses the apartment, walking the maze between all your equipment and products. He shuts the door and locks it. He faces you and leans against the wood. He slides down until he's on the floor.

"You're... going to sleep there?" You ask.

"No one comes in, no one goes out," he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. "I've slept in worse places."

[michanvalentine]

“Astarion did nothing that he needs to be redeemed for.” I’ve read this many times on YouTube, Tumblr, and elsewhere. Many people don’t consider Astarion’s journey—specifically in the spawn ending—to be a redemption arc. I see it differently.

It might be boring and “the same old story” — you’ve been warned. But I think it’s worth clarifying the concept.

Let’s start with the assumption that, in fact, Astarion hasn’t yet committed any crimes or sins for which he is personally accountable. Not yet at least, depending on how his quest ends. (And for everything he may or may not have done during his mortal life, let’s just say he more than atoned for it under Cazador). Everything terrible he did was under a force far greater than himself: his master’s will. You can’t truly hold him responsible for that.

So if we take the concept literally, in its linear, straightforward reading, it’s true that Astarion has nothing to be redeemed for. But let’s go deeper, let’s read between the lines, let’s understand the subtext. By now, we know that when it comes to Baldur’s Gate 3, and Astarion in particular, we can’t stop at the surface—right?

Let’s start with the concept of redemption and explore how this transformation fits within Astarion’s character arc. The word redemption comes from the Latin redemptio, from redimere (“to buy back”), composed of re- (“again”) and emere (“to buy”). Originally, it meant ransoming someone from slavery or debt by paying a price.

Now let’s see how the concept plays out in a religious context. In ancient Judaism, redemption was tied to physical or social liberation—for example, that of slaves, prisoners, or lost lands. It was a concrete act, often bound to family duty. In Christianity, however, redemption assumes a spiritual and universal dimension. Christ is seen as the Redeemer, who sacrifices himself to redeem humanity from sin and eternal damnation. The price paid (pretium) is his blood.

From this, the concept of redemption becomes the forgiveness of sins, the salvation of the soul, and liberation from evil.

Over time, this idea evolved—philosophically and secularly—so that redemption also became:

A moral act: the desire to free oneself from guilt or a mistake.

A personal transformation: rebuilding one’s identity after trauma or self-destructive behavior.

A narrative archetype: the redeemed hero is someone who, even after failing or falling to darkness, finds a path to redemption through sacrifice, awareness, or renunciation.

In modern usage, the term is also applied outside of religious contexts to indicate moral recovery (e.g., “a redeemed criminal”) or the reclaiming of dignity, humanity, or purpose after a fall or a dark past.

In short, redemption begins as a legal-social act of ransom, evolves into spiritual salvation, and today encompasses psychological, symbolic, and narrative dimensions. It’s not only about “being forgiven for wrongdoing,” but about transforming, rejecting it, and consciously choosing a different path.

Which is why Astarion’s arc in the good ending is a redemption arc. Because it marks a refusal of everything evil, cruel, and deeply twisted that he internalized over the centuries under Cazador’s ruthless control. It is the rejection and rewriting not just of his fate, but of the mindset that once led him to say: “What Cazador did was wrong because he did it to me.” Or: “We’re not like them. We’re better than them.”

So yes, the vampire spawn ending is a redemption arc—not because Astarion suddenly becomes a saint or because he committed direct, tangible crimes, but because he confronts his past, everything he’s done up until that point, and those he has harmed—albeit indirectly—and chooses to act as a hero, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

He could have chosen power. He could have embraced the very system that dehumanized him, becoming the next tyrant in Cazador’s image. But he doesn’t.

And in that, he stands alongside some of fiction’s most iconic redemptive figures: Like Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender, who learns that true honor lies in rejecting his father’s ideology. Like Boromir in The Lord of the Rings, who dies protecting those he once endangered, reclaiming his dignity through his final act. Astarion doesn’t redeem himself by erasing the past—but by refusing to carry its poison into the future.

And if we dig even deeper into the Catholic concept of redemption, we can look at the Confiteor, a famous part of the Mass. It’s a solemn moment: in the presence of the all-knowing God, both priest and congregation acknowledge their guilt and publicly ask for forgiveness. I won’t recite the full prayer, but here’s the part that captures the essence:

"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti et vobis, fratres, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo, opere, et omissione, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa." ("I confess to Almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned in thought, word, deed, and omission, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.")

The point is: you don’t need to commit a literal crime (a deed) to require redemption. You can sin in thoughts, words, deeds, and omissions.

And we do know that Astarion is selfish, lies, manipulates, and exploits situations when it suits him—especially when it comes to the Ascension. The very fact that he considers sacrificing 7,006 souls for his own gain qualifies him as a sinner.

But beyond the Catholic lens, Astarion’s redemption lies in freeing himself completely from the chains of a merciless world—one built on vampiric hierarchy and cruelty—and from a mindset that taught him to place himself above others and crush them for his own benefit. A mindset that told him it was not only acceptable but even justified to commit a massacre or damn innocent souls to hell simply because, “after years of pure shit, he deserves something better.”

And not only that—what follows in the Ascension is conquest, domination, deliberate killing, and bending the world to his will.

But Astarion doesn’t stay there. He experiences doubt. He refuses ascension. He chooses another path.

This—in both Catholic tradition and many secular or philosophical redemption narratives—is the moment when a character redeems themselves: When they make a moral, free choice that runs counter to their history and the mindset they’ve internalized.

This—choosing the harder path, the one that promises no glory or reward, but peace for others—is the truest act of redemption. He doesn’t do it to be praised. He doesn’t even do it for himself. He does it because he finally understands that liberation—true liberation—comes not from power over others, but from reclaiming his own humanity and identity.

And in that choice, Astarion doesn’t become a saint. He becomes free. Astarion is no longer what he was created to be.

P.S. I’d like to point out that I’m an atheist, lol. But some concepts have deep roots, and it’s important to acknowledge them.

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Hello! I’d like to make a request—could you write a headcanon featuring a Cybertronian reader (gender-neutral) and how Optimus, Bumblebee, and Elita would react if they accidentally hurt the reader?

♡|☆ "OH NO." — The BOTS Accidentally Hurt You! [TFO]

anon, im not sure if this is what you meant cause you didn't mention the continuity or if the relationship between reader and them is platonic or romantic BUT i took a fine middle line :3

including: Optimus Prime, Elita One & Bumblebee

Optimus Prime:

— It was a normal day really, you asked him if he wanted to spar with you and he agreed. Optimus figured it would be a learning experience for the both of you. Not to mention, he did miss spending time with you. Ever since he became Prime he’s always been so busy. But at that moment, he was entirely free. Of course tragedy had to strike when he was just trying to have some quality time with you!

— The two of you were goofing off, cracking a few jokes in between as you traded blows. The Prime was impressed to say the least, you’ve certainly gotten better since the whole… Sentinel incident. Next thing he knew, you missed a step and his energon axe nearly chopped you in half; a gaping tear across your abdomen and there's energon all over. Optimus was quick to react.

— He should’ve been more careful! How could he? Orio- Optimus is not used to his new strength as a Prime in the slightest so he finds it hard to really control it. But that's no excuse! Optimus tells himself as he’s looking at you, blue optics twinkling with concern as he Ratchet patches you up in the medbay. He literally ran into the medbay with you in his servos, he’s never really sparred before; the closest thing he had to sparring were those play fights with… No, he’d rather not think about him.

— Optimus is quick to apologize. Immediately fawning over you with sparkfelt concern, his optics scanning the part on your frame where a gaping tear & burn from his energon axe once was. At least it's fixed now. If his axe had been a bit higher, he would’ve struck you right against your chassis… You could’ve been offlined! Terminated! Done for… And Optimus now knows the capabilities of a Prime frame. Optimus is going to ask you all the important questions and give you necessary emotional support if you’re in a lot of pain. He will be a lot, lot more careful from now onwards. He is not the reckless Orion anymore, he’s a leader.

— And he is your leader, he has a responsibility to you. Optimus sits down, right next to you on your medical berth and honestly, he looks almost ashamed of himself. Please, please tell him you’re okay. He will blame himself and will continue to blame himself for a while until he lets it go. Optimus might even hesitate to spar with you again but will do so after minimal convincing.

— Optimus will visit you regularly to make sure you're recovering well. It'll soothe his spark to know that you're getting better. Please rest well or he is going to worry. He trusts that you will take care of yourself, he wants to do so but he's a Prime now... he doesn't have the luxury of time, something he took for granted back when he was just Orion and the three two of you would just mess around.

Elita One:

— “WATCH OUT-” Too late. Elita is rushing you to the medbay while you keep mumbling assurances about being okay despite her Death Tracker’s blaster having almost made a hole through your side. She’s telling you to shut up in panic as she’s hauling you to the medbay. Don’t lie to her face when she can see you gushing out energon! And from the looks of it, she may have hit a vital line and the thought makes her tanks churn with… something she can’t really explain.

— This isn’t how it was supposed to go. It was just simple shooting practice! Elita thought that you would see the shot coming your way but that was not the case. It seems she overestimated your reaction time. Elita doesn’t tolerate accidents, not in the slightest. She never has and never will. She’s definitely sour about the whole thing but concerned as well, unlike Optimus who’s just fretting over you, concerned and blaming himself.

— Since she was a mining squad leader and has dealt with mining accidents from collapses to literal explosions, she has a quick response time. For this, it was like instinct, her frame automatically went out of its way to take you to the med bay. Even now she follows those protocols like it's muscle memory and because of that you get quick assistance.

— She's going to be pacing around outside the medbay, waiting for First Aid to give the clear so she could enter. In the meantime she has many thoughts swirling through her helm: “I told them to watch out!”, “Were they too slow or was I too fast?”, “Why didn't they dodge?”. Elita won't exactly blame herself for this accident happening. More or so, she's trying to figure out where it went wrong so it never happens again.

— Once First Aid let's her in the medbay, she walks in calmly; composed as ever and just looks down at you as you're laying on the medical berth. Words of comfort aren't her thing. She's going to try and think of something to say, anything and accidentally blurt out something like: “I'll be slower next time.”

— Elita didn't realize it sounded like a taunt until the next day but she isnt sure if she should apologize because would�� Would it make things awkward? She's horrible at comforting. Truly a mess.

— But you’re going to be getting the best care ever imaginable because she's going to be checking up on you at least five times a day, take up your duties for the entirety of the time you need rest. Elita One will even go as far as clean up your quarters for you as you frown as lay in your berth. Basically, Elita One makes up for this mishap with actions because she is not good at words.

— Also, she's going to very aggressively make sure you're staying in your berth to get adequate rest. Blue optics narrowing down at you with her servos folded over her chassis as she sees you standing up instead of laying down like you should be. Elita has a smolder and everything, glaring at you in a way that makes you lay back down on that berth immediately.

— “You're.. better now, right?” She asks, almost quietly but the concern is there in her optics, she's trying her best not to make this awkward. Please spare her, she's just struggles to filter herself and Elita is aware of that. She's trying her best not to say something wrong.

B-127/Bumblebee:

— NONONONONONONONONO. He is FREAKING out. Bumblebee freezes the moment he feels your warm energon on his servos, optics wide as he’s just stuck there in shock.

— He wasn't even sparring with you! Bee just wanted to show off a cool trick he learnt with his laser-knife servos! He just slipped up and nearly chopped off you entire servo off!

— Bee quickly snaps out of his shock and fumbles a bit. “Iamsosososososorry… Uhm uh…” His vents are working overtime, there's just so much energon pooling down and he can see your own distress. He isn't sure what to do in the slightest. “RATCHET!” He shouts out with all the energon running through his fuel lines. Bee runs out to find Ratchet while the medic busy with something at the medbay and drags his aft away from whatever it was he was doing at the moment to where you're writhing in pain.

— Ratchet is shocked and quickly takes you to the medbay. Bee is practically dying to know what your status is and Ratchet has to ask First Aid to get him out of the medbay so he could fix your servos better. He was constantly asking Ratchet questions while the medic was trying to fix your servo.

— This poor mech is being crushed by self-loathing. He's overthinking, a lot more than Optimus and Elita would. He's basically spiralling. Will you hate him? Will you stop talking to him? Will you never look at him ever again? What if you never get to use your servo again? Optimus is with him trying to calm him down as hes rambling out all his thoughts to the Prime, he's asking Bee to calm down as he's jumping up and down from stress and anxiety, he might get spark palpitations at this rate and end up putting himself at the medbay too.

— But once Ratchet gives the clear, Bee basically jumps into the med bay to see you and once he sees that you're alright with a smile on your faceplates, his frame visibly relaxes.

— “Does.. Does it hurt?” He asks, gently poking the welding as you wince and it make Bee practically recoil away from you instantly as regret washes over his features. He's making this so much worse for you, is what he thinks. Of course it hurts! Why is he so stupid?

— Proceeds to get scolded by Ratchet but it isn't unkind or inconsiderate. Ratchet makes sure that Bee will know what to do the next time he's caught up in a situation like this instead of fretting about it.

— He gets surprisingly quiet when you're discharged from the medbay and told to take rest. Bee politely reminds you that you have to take rest and does things for you similar to Elita One but less aggressive about it. He's moving things around and taking things for you, Bee doesn't want you to use your damaged servo until Ratchet’s prescribed resting period is over! He'll look at the weld marks and sulk.

— Only way to relieve him of this is for you to say that you forgive him. He'll smile a bit and be in a better mood then. You can see his plating fluff up a little. But he will get over this quickly. Soon enough, he's back to showing off his knife servos again.

the three of them are still sort of immature in TFO, you can't become a battle hardened commander or professional scout within just a few cycles so i wrote them with that in mind

[deadprince05]

First impression. Blue Lock

The characters' initial reaction to your appearance

Characters: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Reo Mikage, Seishiro Nagi, Rensuke Kunigami, Ryusei Shidou, Michael Kaiser, Hyoma Chigiri, Sae Itoshi, Rin Itoshi

Yoichi Isagi

• You're a good friend to him. He considers you a charismatic person who has great potential.

• He was surprised by your football game. Your train of thought and vision of the game were different from Isagi's in some aspects, so he was interested in you and wanted to devour you.

Meguru Bachira

• You've become Bachira's friend too. He often jokes with you and sometimes teases you.

• Your dribbling may not have been better than Bachira's, but you had good control of the ball and he wanted to play one-on-one with you.

Reo Mikage

• He didn't really like you at first, but he saw how much you cared about your friends and changed his mind about you.

• Although you didn't communicate very well at first, he analyzed your game and developed ways to copy some of your techniques.

Seishiro Nagi

• You get along well with each other. You're too active for him, but you have a common language and something to discuss together.

• He recognizes your football skills, but he doesn't understand why you're trying so hard to outdo yourself.

Rensuke Kunigami

• He thinks you should be tougher, because someone bad might take advantage of your responsiveness.

• Seeing your game, he knew that you could go far. He would like to be on the same team with you in the future.

Michael Kaiser

• At first, he didn't pay attention to you, but your kindness towards him was able to melt the ice in his heart.

• Your style of play, when you actively run around the field with the ball, does not match his, he recognizes the game with you only if you pass the balls to him.

Ryusei Shidou

• You didn't get along very well at first. You liked to annoy each other, but you always knew the line.

• On the field, he liked to take the balls away from you and watch your reaction afterwards.

Hyoma Chigiri

• Chigiri liked your appearance, and you met because he asked you what kind of creams you use for your skin.

• Chigiri admired your speed, but not just your physical speed. He liked how quickly you could come up with a strategy and adjust to the situation.

Rin Itoshi

• Rin didn't pay much attention to you, but it so happened that during training you had a conversation about the past. He saw a kindred spirit in you and you became friends a bit.

• You compete with each other to see who can take the ball from whom. During matches, he has one goal - to score goals, so he gives his best.

Sae Itoshi

• When we first met, he didn't have an opinion about you. He was neutral, but he noticed that you're one of the few people Rin gets along with. It made him look at you from a different angle.

• He was also interested in your unusual style of play, and decided to follow your achievements in blue Lock.

[ladsrlife]

What are you doing step brother???!!!

Caleb x Reader

Where you start living with your step-brother for uni and the relationship starts to take an interesting turn...

tags: slow burn, angst, taboo, obsessive/yandere caleb 😋

Chapter 1💗 Chapter 2💗 Chapter 3💗 Chapter 4💗 Chapter 5💗

Also started posting on ao3 :)

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Chapter 6

On Thursday, your meeting with Zayne goes well.

“It’s normal to be stressed by a change of environment. Especially starting a new chapter in life. For now, I think you’ll feel better if we slightly increase the dosage of your antidepressants.”

As the appointment draws to an end, Zayne types something into his monitor as he explains the reason behind changes in your medication.

“Okay. Thank you.” You reply.

He is an attentive doctor. He listens to what you say, even if it comes out in shambles, patiently and objectively. His logical, nonjudgmental, and detached approach paradoxically makes you open up more. More than you’ve done on the first appointment with any other doctor.

It also makes you blurt out the thing that’s been bothering you the most these past few weeks.

“One last thing…"

You lock eyes with Zayne’s amber, attentive ones. He nods for you to go on.

You swallow and continue. “I feel like I can’t control my desires lately. The type, where, you know. You keep obsessing over a certain someone.”

“Do you feel that this obsession is, excessive? Does it interfere with your daily life?”

“Well, not really. But, it… it’s…”

You search for words. You don’t want Zayne to realize you’re talking about Caleb. What do you say?

Zayne looks at you patiently, but his stare makes you flush and fumble.

“Well, what if that person is married?” You make up the most similar scenario you can think of. “You shouldn’t like them. But you keep thinking about them and you hate yourself for it.”

Zayne follows your question with another, without any hints of judgement. “Are you in close proximity with this person often?”

“…Yes.” You answer. Agreeing shouldn’t reveal much right?

“Then I suggest you either figure out a way to distance yourself from them as much as possible. Or if that’s not possible, try to redirect your desires to another person.” He pauses a moment to see if you’re understanding him. You nod in response. “It’s not your fault you feel desires for someone you shouldn’t. It’s more common than you think. However, while feeling them is fine, acting on them is another problem.”

“…Right.” A pang of guilt washes over you as you remember yourself pressing against Caleb as a desperate act of overflowing desire.

“How about you try to do what I’ve advised you, and tell me how it works out in our next appointment in two weeks. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll go over other alternatives.”

“Yes. That’d be great.” You answer as if he’s offered you a lifeline. “Thank you.”

The appointment ends and you exit the building to find Caleb waiting for you. He’s leaning against his large black Land Rover with his legs crossed. He looks up from his phone and grins when you approach him.

“How was it, pips?”

He reaches to stroke your hair.

After a brief second of letting him touch you, you step away as you pretend to busy yourself opening the passenger door.

“It was great. I feel much better. We decided to temporarily increase my dosage.” You say as you sit down on the passenger seat.

Caleb hums as if you told him something interesting. You hold your breath as he reaches over to fasten the seatbelt for you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body with the close proximity.

“I’m glad it’s helping you.” He says affectionately before jokingly ruffling your hair, closing the door and hopping on the other side. “I wish I could be of that much help to you too, though.” He says as he turns on the engine.

“Well, you already know much of it. Plus I think it’s just the stress of starting university getting to me.”

“Right.” His long fingers tap the steering wheel rhythmically. His eyes roam over the dashboard before meeting yours, his gaze searching for something. “You sure it’s not because something else?”

“Something else…?” You dumbly repeat after him.

“Never mind.” He says with a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Just know I’m here if you want to talk it out.” He says in a sincere voice, while reaching out again.

This time, his eyes follow the movement as his fingers stroke your hair once, slowly, from the back of your head, down past your ear, and along the side of your neck. It’s less a casual gesture and more a tender caress.

You ignore the heat that blooms in your lower belly as you squirm beneath his intense, unreadable lavender gaze.

A small smile plays by his mouth as he returns his gaze back to the front and adjusts the gear. “You want to have dinner out before returning home? There’s a new burger place by the plaza.”

“…I’m a little tired.” You say as you turn your head to stare outside the car window.

“…Alright then.” After a short pause, Caleb replies.

The car starts moving smoothly out of the parking lot.

You lean back in your seat and close your eyes as if to signal to him that you’re done talking.

He takes the hint, and the car ride back home is unprecedentedly quiet.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Friday goes by in a breeze, and by the time you know it, you’re meeting up with Jessica and Ethan to spend the weekend at California Beach Resorts.

“Thanks for picking us up!” Jessica says as she and Ethan enter the car from a pickup place near their dorms on campus.

“We’re the ones getting a free resort night.” Caleb replies to her with a cheeky smile through the rearview mirror, his black sunglasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a black tank top that shows off his broad shoulders and thick biceps, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly as he grips the steering wheel.

“Honestly I’m surprised you even agreed to this. You always backed out of any travelling plans.” Jessica complains from the back seat.

“Probs cus of Y/N.” Ethan flatly says to her, “He acts so amicable now it’s crazy.”

You intercept before Caleb can complain. You turn to the backseat, and meet eyes with Ethan and Jessica who, with their vacation clothes and hats, look buzzing and happy. “What do you mean?”

“He has a knack for playing hard to get-” Jessica starts explaining with Ethan nodding in the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Caleb interrupts and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah pretend all you want, but we’ll show Y/N your true side. Evil side.” Ethan grins menacingly.

“Don’t listen to them.” Caleb shares a glance with you, smirking.

You’re surprised there’s a side to Caleb you haven’t seen, but then again, you’ve been noticing new sides of Caleb ever since you moved in with him.

You wonder what else you’ve yet to see.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The four of you share a condo by the beach. It’s more luxurious and spacious than you expect, with a big living room and kitchen, and two bedrooms. You and Jessica, Caleb and Ethan, each share a room.

“Jessica, can you help me tie this?”

You approach Jessica who’s nervously fixing her turquoise bikini, and ask for help with your white ones.

“Sure.” Jessica answers and turns around, only to openly gawk at your boobs. “Damn.”

“What?” Do they look weird? You try to cover them sheepishly but she can’t take her eyes off of them.

“I’m no better than a man.” She giggles as she moves to stand behind you.

You thank her after she helps you out, and compliment her look. She nervously returns to the mirror, fidgeting with her hair.

The two of you head out to the living room, belongings for the day in one hand.

You greet Caleb and Ethan who’s already waiting by the couch, when you notice Caleb’s face turn red as his eyes wander lower. He quickly stands up, fumbling with his bag as he pulls out a towel, eyes avoiding yours like they’ve seen something he shouldn’t have.

“You’re seriously going out like that?”

You slap away his hands that try to put a towel over your shoulders.

“We’re swimming. What do you expect?”

“Doesn’t mean you have to swim in your birthday suit?” He exaggerates the question.

“What is she, 12?” Ethan scolds Caleb who’s still hovering over you, restless like he has to take a dump. “Stop overreacting.”

Caleb doesn’t listen. You wrestle with him for a moment, and the four of you are finally able to leave the condo after you ‘at least let him’ drape the towel over you.

The beach is bustling with people who want to enjoy the last minute sun before the weather turns cold. The sunlight shatters into a million particles as it shines on the emerald waves.

The four of you make room under a private parasol by the beach.

As Caleb undresses, you start to understand why he was so adamant on you covering up.

You had vaguely noticed that he was bigger, from the way his everyday clothes hung to when you felt his muscles under your skin.

But actually seeing it for yourself - it was like his body had been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. It was hard not to gawk. And it wasn’t a surprise to see everyone else on the beach think the same.

You fight the urge to shoo every stranger staring in his direction as the four of you enter the water.

“Ah, it’s kinda cold.” Jessica says when the water reaches her ankles, hugging herself.

“Yeah, it might have even been too cold if we came next week.” You agree.

The two of you erupt into a scream as Ethan splashes water all over your direction.

“Ethan!” Jessica complains.

“I’m helping you guys - woah!” Ethan yells as Caleb picks him up like a sack of potatoes and carries him into the sea.

“Our superhero!” Jessica cheers him on from your side.

Ethan’s arms flail around as he tries to get off. As soon as the water is waist height, Caleb motions to plunge Ethan into the sea.

From a distance you hear Ethan’s frantic begging and Caleb’s evil laugh.

“You sure he’s the hero?” You ask Jessica and the both of you snicker.

Soon after, a big splash erupts and Ethan drags Caleb down with him with all his might. The two fight fervently to keep the other under water.

You and Jessica try to avoid them so as to avoid getting splashed, but somehow you end up getting caught up in their fight anyway. One moment you fight off limbs that you aren’t sure are connected to who, and in another you’re being lifted by Caleb who’s about to plunge you into the water, the same way he did to Ethan.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you frantically scream out his name. ”Caleb, Caleb!”

“Not listening-” He playfully sings as he rocks you back and forth, his hands on your waist and legs, as he motions to throw you in.

“Truce?! I said tru-” Salt water enters your mouth mid sentence as he throws you in mercilessly.

Enraged, a thousand scenarios run through your mind and you try to select the one that gives you the highest possibility of beating him.

You decide to act like you fainted. You try to float with your head underwater, but no one comes to save you. As you gasp for air you look up only to find Caleb staring at you like you’re stupid.

“No way I’m falling for that.” Caleb smiles, smug.

Huffing in frustration, you decide to switch it up and act like the salt water is killing you. You cough like an old person in a death bed, and Caleb, who at first scoffs at your blatant acting, starts to seriously worry as you stubbornly keep the act up like you’re about to cough up blood.

“Pips, you okay?”

As he reaches out a worried, unsuspicious hand, you grab it and topple him over into the water.

Grinning in victory, you push his head under, using all your weight to hold him down. His large hands shoot up and grab both your wrists to pry them off, and, in a pathetic attempt to beat the sheer imbalance in strength, you wrap your legs around his torso, clinging to him like a koala. He manages to pull your arms apart, but you hang onto him stubbornly, yelling into the water, to which he lets out a gurgling laugh in response.

You continue to splash and wrestle him above and under the water, until you accidentally end up pressing your chest against his, way harder than you intended to.

A strained sound escapes Caleb’s lips as he clenches his eyes shut and cups your upper back like its life support.

The splashing suddenly stops. Startled, you look up, in which sunlight breaks over Caleb’s face, with water dripping down his clenched jaw. Under water, your chest is still pressed flushed against his, legs wrapped tightly around him.

That’s when you also feel something hard against your ass.

Heat rushes up your spine. You panic and try to get off of him, but he doesn’t let you. His hands clamp tighter around down to your lower back and thigh, not allowing the slightest gap between you and him.

You meet eyes with darkened purple ones, ones you’ve seen too often recently than you’d like to admit, and Caleb’s hand cupping your lower thigh slowly starts to inch upwards.

“Caleb-“

You slam your mouth shut. What you meant to say as warning ends up coming out more like a breathy moan. His grip tightens in response. Flustered and extremely anxious that someone might notice, you grab a fistful of his wet hair and yank it back with every ounce of strength you have.

His winces, neat eyebrows furrowing under his slicked-back hair.

“Ow, pips,” He mutters, releasing you at least. “You trying to make me go bald? Though I don’t mind being manhandled…”

Your face flushes as his voice drops dangerously, and you hurriedly run away from him and make a beeline towards the shore. You hear him laugh and follow you from behind as you join Ethan and Jessica chatting by more shallow waters.

As you wade towards them, you try your best to catch your breath and act normal.

“Having fun?” Jessica greets you as you approach.

Before you can answer, Caleb steps up beside you, a satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. You notice the way Jessica’s body subtly angles toward him.

“You’re both soaked wet” she comments, giving you and him a once-over.

Caleb smirks. “Courtesy of Y/N.”

Caleb flops down beside you in the water, arm brushing against yours casually. You move aside to make some space. He had been excessively touchy lately, but you didn’t know he would act like this even when Ethan and Jessica were around.

“Jesus, Y/N, you okay? your eyes are red.” Ethan asks you, his green eyes looking at yours in concern, then fleeting lower before looking away.

“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks.” you answer, rubbing the residue water off your face. They were a bit sore from the salt water.

“What about me? My eyes are probably red too. Aren’t you worried about me?” Caleb whines beside you.

Ethan gives him the finger. “Y/N, call my name anytime you need a bodyguard.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Caleb splashes him almost immediately.

“Hey!” Ethan, and Jessica who got caught up in the splash, both verbally complain.

You slap Caleb on the arm. “Be nice.” You mutter under your breath.

Caleb grins sheepishly in return. “Yes ma’am.”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The day goes by in a breeze. After some chatting, some snacks, a chaotic swim competition, sun bathing, and some more mindless chatter, the four of you call it a day and return to the condo for dinner.

Later, after a sunset barbecue on the balcony, you gather in the living room - skin sunburnt, hair damp, limbs comfortably heavy, you nestle on the couch as the low hum of a fan buzzes in the background, and someone’s random playlist loops quietly through the bluetooth speaker. Caleb sits next to you, letting his arm rest casually behind the couch where your shoulders are.

This time you don’t complain as Caleb moderates your alcohol intake. You admit you did go a bit overboard last time.

But while you manage to stay relatively sober, Jessica, for some reason, is adamant on getting sloppily drunk - and for some reason, also adamant on taking Ethan down with her.

“Chickening out, like a little pussy?” Jessica roughly provokes Ethan, who, flustered way too easily, ends up drinking right alongside her.

After a lot of concerning shots, Caleb finally calls it a night before anyone starts vomiting and passing out.

“Alright, it’s time to wrap it up.” Caleb says firmly, rising beside you and beginning to confiscate and hide the alcohol.

“Wait! I can handle more!” Jessica slurs as she tries to get up to chase him, only to collapse right back down.

Caleb gently leads a very docile and dazed Ethan, who keeps muttering “Where am I?”, into their shared room.

You glance at Jessica whose head is bobbing up and down from the drowsiness.

“Jessica, you need to get some rest.” You sigh, moving to lift her up by both arms.

“Nuh-uh,” she mutters stubbornly, pressing her weight down like her butt is glued to the floor.

Caleb, who shuts the door behind him as he finishes placing Ethan to rest, swiftly comes over and takes your place, slipping his arms under hers.

“Jessica,” He says in a low, gentle, cooing voice. “how about we call it a night?”

Suddenly she bursts into shy laughter and nods. Unlike before, she cooperatively gets up with Caleb’s help and leans on him as he helps her lie down on the bed.

As she lays on the bed like a sack of laundry, Caleb turns to you.

“I’ll be fine.” You whisper, reassuring him.

He chuckles lightly, strokes your cheek once, and whispers good night in your ear before leaving the room.

You make sure Jessica lays on her side so that she doesn’t choke, and get ready for bed. You listen to her loud, rhythmical breathing while you change, wash, dim the lights, and slide under the covers next to her.

You’re about to drift off to sleep when you hear sudden muffled sobbing.

Startled, you turn to see Jessica’s frame trembling with quiet cries.

“Jessica…?” You call out to her. “You okay?”

She turns toward you, face wet with tears.

“Y/N…” she chokes out between sobs.

You hesitate, unsure what to do, before opening your arms, to which she leaps in like she’s been waiting her whole life. It makes you kind of chuckle.

“Y/N. I don’t know what to do…” She murmurs, the front of your pajamas soaking steadily with her tears.

“What’s the matter?” You ask gently.

“I… I really, really like Caleb.”

You freeze. Your stomach knots instinctively, but you don’t say anything.

“I mean, I’ve liked him ever since the beginning of freshman year. Like, love at first sight. You know? And he’s just so nice, funny, and gentle. He has that quality to him, you know?” She confesses between gasps of air. You can’t help but agree. Yes, Caleb does have a quality that attracts people.

“And we got along well. Me, him, and Ethan. So I thought maybe I had a chance. I mean, look at me. I’m hot! No one’s ever rejected me.” She lets out an exasperated sigh.“But there was always this line. Like, he would block out any effort to get closer. Not just with me, but anyone in general. So I eventually gave up. Figured it was just the way he was. Maybe he even liked men!”

Her voice rises as she speaks more fervently.

“But, but then I saw how he treats you. How he’s so warm, so soft, and so open to someone he actually lets into his heart. And, it’s made me realize how much more I want him. How much I wish he treated me the way he treats you, his little sister.”

You try to ignore the dizzying shame that stirs inside you when she says ‘little sister’. But Jessica continues.

“Y/N… please. Can you help me? Just, just help me get closer to him. Just a little, please?”

You swallow a sigh as you look at her. Her head’s lifted from your chest now, and she’s staring at you with her tear-filled eyes full of hope.

You want to tell her no. You want to confess, right then and there, all the filthy thoughts you’ve had about your step brother, and the strange atmosphere that always thickens between you and him when no one’s watching. The moment from earlier that day flashes in your mind - of his hand brushing your thigh, the hunger in his eyes, and the way your body responded without hesitation.

But all you do, all you can really do, is avoid her gaze, stubbornly stare at a blank point in the wall, and try to swallow the guilt thick in your throat.

Then Zayne’s voice returns to you.

“Try to redirect your desires to another person…”

“…acting on them is another problem.”

You remember what he told you. Maybe this was the universe trying to offer you an escape hatch, from the messy, terrible road you were about to walk down.

Jessica likes Caleb. Ethan likes… you. You’d seen the way he’d stare at you.

Help Jessica, and turn your heart to Ethan. The solution was right in front of your eyes.

You look back at Jessica, who’s still looking at you like you’re her last hope.

You slowly nod.

“Okay.” you whisper. “I’ll help you.”

You say it like someone’s holding you at a gunpoint.

And Jessica’s face lights up like it’s early Christmas.

“Oh Y/N! You’re the best! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

As she keeps thanking you, she huggs you tightly as her left over tears soak into your pajamas once again. You try to hold back your own tears, blinking up at the ceiling, as you tell yourself that this is the way things should play out in a normal world.

A world with a happy ending everyone deserves.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Oh my gosh this chapter took so long to write.

Hope you guys enjoyed this!!!

Will try to update at least once a week :D (I'm actually on vacation now and have tons of time. Maybe I'll just speed through it while I have the chance)

Likes and comments are life <3

tagged readers💕: @noxus123 @plzdonutpercieveme

[agirlandherquill]

writecamp - day 1, june 1st - the kickoff!

welcome to the start of summer campers! this post marks the kickoff of a two month long writing game i absolutely cannot wait to take part in alongside you all!

now, you may be wondering, what are the rules? for those of you that took part in or were familiar with writemas, it's the same thing, but for those of you that are new or just joining the game that's brilliant! I can't wait to spend the summer writing alongside you! the rules are as follows: choose a prompt (or as many of them as you like) from the list, write something and share your creation with the rest of writeblr, and share the game with others, because as we all know writing is a gift and it deserves to be shared! and of course, tag me in your responses because i cannot wait to see them!

and for those of you that don't know or need a reminder how writecamp's going to work, i've got a list of some pointers below:

each day of summer, starting June 1st, i will post the writecamp daily challenge - containing all sorts or prompts to stir the imagination pot

the game is open to all, and if you join late, no problem! just embrace the writery spirit of summer and play along! (you don't have to complete every day's challenge, but whatever you do, always be proud of yourself! because i for one am so proud of all of you)

bonus part (completely optional, but lovely if you choose to do it) - alongside your challenge entries, make sure to find a blog on writeblr, a writer you admire or one you've only just found, and pay them a compliment! (something so small but so, so important <3)

now, that marks the end of all the organisational admin stuff - (ironically im not as organised as i intended to be, i thought i had an extra day to get everything sorted ((whoops!)) so this first post is coming out a few hours later than intended but i promise every other post will be coming out on time, which will be 9am GMT but of course there's no time limit for your entries, pick and choose and play along as you please!)

moving onto the part you (and i) have all been waiting for - the first day of writecamp! (see under the cut!)

The Prompt List

Dialogue Prompts:

"You shouldn't have run from me."

"Take it back. Take it all back."

"You're... Smiling, and I can't quite understand why."

"Let your fears go. they can't control you, only you can control yourself."

"Dawn is on its way. The least we can do is live long enough to meet it."

Setting Prompts:

A mossy castle

A sunbathed meadow

A ring of fire

A crumbling dungeon

A walk at twilight

Narration Prompts:

The wind was neither her friend nor her foe. The wind was a part of her, it lifted her limbs, rendered them wings, and in defiance of her fate she took flight from the precipice of the cliff.

He would not utter a sound to please the whims of his enemies, his silence was the only weapon he could render against the army waiting, watching, willing him to beg for mercy. He would not give. He would entrust his life to silence.

Was there something so wrong with love? What crime against life itself did the heart commit in falling so completely, so impossibly for somebody else? And what punishment must be made in its stead?

Her hope was her saving, as it always had been, but as the danger loomed at her back, as its cruel, unrelenting shadow passed over her shoulder, she abandoned all hope, replaced her clasped hands with the blade sitting in her lap, and turned to meet it.

He had never been a man to cower before someone deemed his better, but for someone he deemed worse, someone he deemed worthy, he dropped to one knee.

Feeling Prompts:

The creaks of a broken body

The warmth of a summer wind

The sting of frozen water

The weariness of time

The gentle sigh of truth

happy kickoff day campers and i can't wait to see what you all come up with!

~ A Girl and Her Quill

~ ~ ~ now for the tags! for writecamp, because i have a feeling there's going to be so many of you, i'm going to do tags a little bit differently and instead tag all you lovely campers in the comments! (to hopefully get around any tag limits/difficulties because we all know there's going to be problems, it's inevitable and i'm going to do my best to avoid any issues in that area)

but of course, if you would like to be tagged in future daily challenges for writecamp, all you've got to do is interact with this post - it'll be monitored throughout the entirety of the challenge to ensure nobody who wants to be tagged misses out!

[namoinmandos]

And Namo barely had the time to react - he could see what was happening so clearly. Had he not been inside Mairon's head, he would have had more reservations, just like the other Valar, looking at the whole scene with a mixture of rage, surprise and horror.

And in all of that Melkor was still smirking, and in all of that Mairon was still shaking like a leaf in the winds - away with all cautiousness, away with all bravery. Namo felt fear. Not for himself, he did not fear the Host or Melkor. He realized it was fear for Mairon. The latter seemed to be relapsing. He tried, he truly tried, but the power of Melkor could be withstood only with a heart that was certain and unwavering.

And in spite of the looks of the entire Host, he stepped in front of Melkor, shielding Mairon. He had promised, after all. And Namo kept all of his promises. And Namo looked at Melkor with an eloquent expression. "Away, you fiend. This is not about you." His voice resonated loud, clear, and unwavering, clearing away the spell Melkor was trying to concoct.

Alas, the clash between the two left them both wounded, a trickle of blood slowly rolling down Namo's hand and Melkor's temple.

But darkness was gone.

And as darkness dispelled, Manwe's voice came out. "Namo, I believe you have heard. We cannot see the goodness you speak of. You heard the servant's words."

And Namo sighed. He knelt beside Mairon, holding his hand and lifting him up. "Healing is never a straight process. There are obstacles, and relapses. We need the chance and the space to demonstrate that we can stand up again."

He made a pause. "When one has been in darkness for such a long time, they do not know better. The forces that kept them in darkness will always want to control them. That is why it is important to never let go of the hand of one that is demonstrating the willingness to heal."

"Then will you take full responsibility, if Morgoth's servant turns against the entire Host? Or when it will happen?"

"Nothing will happen. I have faith in Mairon."

"And does he have faith in you?"

Namo nodded, but it appeared that the Host wanted to hear more from Mairon.

As they stepped in, Namo could hear everyone looking at them - he could feel their expressions at the jarring contrast between him and Mairon. Nevertheless, he elected to ignore them all. They would understand, eventually. He, however, could sense Mairon's uneasiness, certainly due not only to the hearing that was about to take place, but also to the presence of Melkor. Worry not, beloved. He will not hurt you. No one will. He sent this message into Mairon's head.

He respectfully bowed in front of the Host. "As requested, I am here before you." He pointedly ignored once again the expressions that the entire Host had on their faces. The entire room was silent, except perhaps for the noise Angainor was making as it was moved around by Melkor.

The tension was electric and it truly felt like the calm before the storm, or when the tides retreated before crushing onto the shore. In that silence Manwe Sulimo spoke. "Namo, Lord of Mandos, we thank you for finding time to respond to this summon."

Namo knew that pleasantries would not be exchanged. Manwe kept speaking. "Namo, Lord of Mandos, the Host has questions. We can see that you have been spending consideable time with the servant of Morgoth. We fear that this may have clouded your own judgement. What do you have to say?"

And Namo took in a deep breath. "Mairon has made enormous steps towards redemption." And here Namo kept ignoring the vague whispers of 'finding redemption by bedding Mandos' comment. "He is changing for good and I can assure you my judgement has never been clearer."

"Very well. Let us hear then." Manwe rebated. At that point he asked Mairon. "What do you have to say for yourself? Morgoth is here, chained. What shall you do?"

Namo glanced quickly at Mairon, silently praying for Eru to give them both strength.

[lilu787788]

Aleksander is, without a doubt, one of the most misunderstood characters in modern pop culture. And what’s worse, that misunderstanding often comes directly from the people who claim to support or “analyze” him. Too many limit themselves to surface-level narratives, repeating shallow takes without even attempting to engage with the complexity the show gives him. They don’t want to think about what it means to lead in a world built on fear, war, and survival. They want heroes and villains. They want moral simplicity. Aleksander offers none of that, so they either label him the villain or turn him into a fantasy object. Both of these approaches miss the reality of who he is.

Let’s be clear. He is not some romantic lead who got a little corrupted. Nor is he a power-obsessed monster. He is a man who had no choice but to lead, to survive, to make strategic decisions in a world that has always treated his people as disposable. Aleksander is not choosing between good and evil. He is choosing between bad and worse. And he knows it. That’s the difference. He is not naive. He is not driven by idealism. He acts with full awareness that every path he chooses comes with consequences, often including loss of life. That is leadership in a broken system. That is war. But instead of acknowledging that weight, fandom reduces him to a flat symbol.

This is the same fandom that cheers on so-called morally grey characters in other universes, or even in this one. And no, Crows are not morally grey. They are morally safe. But when it comes to Aleksander, that flexibility vanishes. Why? Because he doesn’t offer easy moral commentary. He doesn’t beg for forgiveness. He doesn’t give long dramatic speeches to justify himself. He expects people to think, to grasp context, and to understand what responsibility really looks like. And apparently, that’s too much effort for many.

Then there is the constant reduction of his story to his relationship with Alina. It happens repeatedly, even among fans who claim to care about him and wave the books around like they prove something. They treat him like a side character in her arc. They forget that Darklina exists because of him. But he is not defined by that ship. He has his own motivations, his own trauma, his own legacy. Stripping him of all that and reducing him to a romantic checkpoint is just as shallow as calling him a simple villain.

Worse are the tired, unserious arguments like “he’s thousands of years old” as if that somehow erases his pain, his goals, or his humanity. Yes, today one antis lady who read the books and understands them wrote to me that he is thousands of years old... The show never gives him a godlike or cosmic status. Yes, he is old. Yes, he carries history. But he is not immortal in the way people claim. What we see, thanks to Ben’s performance, is a man who has endured. A man whose age is written in exhaustion, not invincibility. He is tired, and that shows. But he keeps fighting. Even when children scream at him that they know better.

And then there is fanfiction, which more often than not turns him into a sexual caricature. An obsessive, manipulative seducer who thinks of nothing else. This version is just as far removed from canon as the villain stereotype. If you write him like that, you do not understand him. You are not building on the story. You are replacing it with a shallow imitation. And if you do that, you should not be preaching about who is or isn’t interpreting him correctly.

The truth is Aleksander represents difficult choices. He shows uncomfortable truths about power, survival, and control. People don’t like that, so they rewrite him into something easier to hate or easier to digest. But his story was never designed to make you feel good. It was meant to challenge you.

Ben gave us a version of Aleksander that is nuanced, vulnerable, and precise. A version that carries the weight of centuries and still chooses to fight. He is not perfect. He never claimed to be. He doesn’t have to be perfect to matter. He just needs to be understood in context. And if you’re not willing to do that work, maybe you shouldn’t be shaping the discourse around him at all?

[hb-writes]

Voicemail - Part 2

Summary: Maya reluctantly heads into the Pitt for damage control after receiving Robby’s voicemail.

The Pitt Masterlist — Part 1

Maya stopped at the nurses’ station, engaging Princess and Perlah in small talk as long as she could manage, half-hoping that when she finally got around to telling them why she was here, they’d say that Dr. Robby was too busy to see her.

“Hi, sweetie,” Dana said, squeezing Maya in a side hug that hurt in more places than she imagined possible as Dana handed a chart over to Princess. 

“Here to see Robby?” Dana continued, the soft raise of her eyebrows and set of her mouth making it clear that she already knew precisely why Maya was visiting them in the Pitt today. She knew all about the voicemail Robby had left Maya, informing her that he had spoken with Jake and that she was to come straight to the hospital when she got the message. 

Because, of course Dana already knew. That woman seemed to know everything.

Maya hadn’t done as Robby asked. She hadn’t come straight to the Pitt, taking her time with wrapping things up at school before traveling over. Judging by the shortness and the tone employed by Robby in the voicemail, that probably wasn’t the best choice, but Maya would argue that she wasn’t exactly thinking straight. 

She was exhausted and her head felt like it was about to explode. Not to mention that after spending the afternoon out of the house, a certain soreness had seeped into every bit of her body.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Maya answered and she was well-aware that she’d said it too quickly. “Jake’s being dramatic.” 

Dana hummed. “Ok, well. C7 is open.” She nodded toward the exam room in question. “You go get settled and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Maya thought about fighting it. She thought about insisting that an exam room wouldn’t be necessary—she was managing perfectly fine, after all—but she knew Dana was the same kind of tough that Robby was, and when they were determined there was really no use in fighting either one of them. 

“No need. I’m here,” Robby said as he stepped up beside them. He gave some sort of directive to Perlah and she shifted her eyes to the computer long enough to do whatever he had asked. By the time that was done, Robby had turned to Maya, one hand on his hip and the other in a fist under his chin as he leaned his elbow down against the counter. 

The look Robby was fixing Maya with had her thinking that walking over to C7 actually sounded real nice right about now, like a much better option than getting lectured in the middle of the Pitt with everyone watching. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” he asked. 

Maya glanced to the floor, considering her options for responses, though the only thing that came to her mind was, “I’m going to fucking kill Jake.” 

Based on the shift in Robby’s face as Maya muttered it under her breath, it clearly wasn’t the response he was looking forward to. She probably should’ve kept that one as an ‘inside thought’ but there was no taking it back now. 

“Jake did the right thing by telling me—what the hell were you thinking?” 

Maya hesitated, once again considering a handful of responses. She was feeling like saying something that would only make him more angry with her—for some reason that seemed to be the only stuff coming to her mind, but she was also feeling as though this whole interaction was about to become major entertainment for the day shift and a juicy piece of gossip for the night shift, who was due to start arriving in the next half an hour. 

Maya was thinking that this was exactly what she had been trying to avoid by keeping her dad in the dark. 

A big, unnecessary visit to the ER. 

A lengthy lecture.

A whole bunch of doctors telling her what an idiot she was. 

A whole production. 

Robby was still staring at Maya when she looked up, waiting on an answer. She averted her gaze again, just long enough to realize that Perlah and Princess were watching like she and Robby were characters on their favorite primetime drama. And beyond them, Langdon had just come out of an exam room, spotting her right away, confusion and excitement highlighting his features. 

For some reason, she didn’t imagine Frank would be a particularly good addition to the situation considering he liked to stir the pot and because he’d likely be as likely to lecture her as Robby would. 

She thanked the skies that Abbot wasn’t here yet, her chest tightening for a moment as she willed herself to take a deep breath. 

Maya cleared her throat. “Can we maybe talk privately?”

She considered mentioning HIPAA, though that sounded a bit smart-assy even to her so she bit her tongue. “Dana said C7 was open.” 

Robby stared at her a bit longer, something that most people would consider a smile twisting at his lips before he snorted and stood up straight. He held out an arm, allowing Maya to lead the way. She thought briefly of asking Dana to join, but quickly thought better of it. Maya was pretty sure that Dana and Robby were in cahoots. She wouldn’t be on Maya’s side. Maya doubted anyone in the hospital would be. 

She kept her eyes forward as they moved to the exam room, heading straight for the bed and maneuvering herself up onto it without being told. Robby pulled the door closed and headed to the sink to wash his hands, coming back with a wet paper towel. 

“Wipe all that off so I can see the real damage.”

Maya heaved a sigh. “It’s fine,” she said, but even as she said it, she was already moving her hair away from her face, one side at a time, and setting aside the glasses she almost never wore, usually preferring her contact lenses. 

It had taken Maya’s roommate an hour to get the makeup right, but in the end she had done it. The bruising was barely visible. If her makeup had been done when she answered Jake’s facetime, he would’ve been none the wiser about her bruising, but Maya had been half-asleep when he called. She hadn’t even thought to answer on audio only. They always facetimed. 

Maya took the paper towel from Robby’s outstretched hand and began cleaning the layers of concealer and foundation from her face, wincing as she went over the bits that were more badly bruised and sore. She swallowed at a wave of pain, lowering her hand for a moment as she collected herself. Robby took the paper towel from her then to finish up, cupping her chin in his hand as he tilted her head, making his initial observations as he went. 

“It looks worse than it is,” she offered.

“I certainly hope so,” he answered, his voice still gruff, even though Robby knew she was probably right and that was likely to be the case where head injuries were concerned. The ones that looked bad were less likely to actually be bad and Maya looked awful, a slew of bruises covering the right side of her face. 

Robby tossed the paper towel on the bed as he began a more thorough examination, his fingers ghosting over the bones of Maya’s face and head as he checked for further injury. “Jake said you fainted and you hit your head,” he said, as he retrieved the flashlight from his pocket.

“Yes,” she confirmed as she shifted on the bed. There was no point in lying about denying the basic information at this point. “And I’m fine.” 

Robby flashed the light in both eyes. Her pupillary response was a little slower than normal, but he was relieved it wasn’t any worse. 

“Jake was just being dramatic.” 

Robby placed his hands on either side of her. “Enough, Maya. How about we go with the truth from here on out?” 

“I’m not lying. I’m—”

“Alright, so stop me when I name a symptom you haven’t had.” Robby backed away, a step and began counting off on fingers. “Headaches. Nausea. Trouble sleeping. Fatigue. Irritability. Trouble concentrating. Light sensitivity—”

“Alright, Dad. Stop,” she interrupted. He had more than made his point. 

“Did you even have a paper due on Monday or were you just trying to keep this from me?” 

“Yes…” It was technically the truth. She had a paper due on Monday. It wasn’t necessarily why she had canceled their standing Monday night dinner date since she’d turned it in early Monday afternoon, but it was still technically the truth.

Robby stilled, giving her another one of those looks that communicated far more than words ever could. 

“Dad, I—”

“I’m not joking around here, Maya. You better start telling me the whole story here,” he said, searching her eyes for some sort of understanding. “Are you in pain now?” 

“A little,” she answered, because he’d already seen her wince so there was no getting out of that. 

“Anywhere beside your head and face?” 

Maya hesitated long enough that Robby ground out her name.

“Fine,” she groaned, struggling to remove her cardigan with just her left hand. Robby let her struggle, sighing as she finally revealed the bandage wrapped around her clearly swollen elbow. 

Maya kept her eyes on her elbow rather than looking up to Robby. She slowly raised her arm to give him better access even though Robby hadn’t given her a directive, careful to move it as little as possible because she had already learned that moving it too much or too fast hurt like a bitch. 

Maya squeezed her eyes shut, gripping the bed with her other hand as he unwound the bandage, getting a full look at the damage. Robby released another frustrated sigh. 

“How have you been taking care of this?” he asked, as he moved around her side to get a better look.

“Ice and tylenol.” 

Robby nodded though he wasn’t looking at her and Maya took that to mean she had done at least something right. Once he had his initial impressions, Robby gently lowered her arm. 

“Is there anything else I need to know about?” he asked as he moved back to feel around the back of her head and neck. “Any other pain?” 

“No.”

“See now, I don’t even know if I can trust that answer.” Robby paused his search for any bumps on her head and stepped back so he could meet her eyes. “You should have come straight here. You should have called me.” 

Or Dana. Or Abbot. Or Langdon.

Robby was pretty sure Maya had the cell number of just about everyone he worked with saved in her contacts. 

“I didn’t want to worry you over nothing,” she answered. “I was back at school today.” He didn’t need to know that she’d barely made it through class and that she had already emailed her boss to say she wouldn’t be back to work until after the weekend. “I’ve been managing fine at home. I don’t need—” 

“You have a concussion, Maya, and I’m pretty sure that elbow is fractured. You can barely move it.” 

“Fractured?” she said quietly as she glanced down at her elbow. It looked ghastly under the hospital’s overhead fluorescents. “Oh.” 

Robby snorted. “Yeah. Oh. You need a CT and x-rays, and some blood work and an EKG considering we don’t know what made you pass out in the first place. I don’t want to hear any more about how you’re fine. Sit tight while I go put all these orders in—did you eat dinner?” 

She swallowed and shook her head, struggling to get any words out because of the heavy lump in her throat. 

“I’ll get you something,” he said before he moved toward the door, making it just two steps before Maya called out to him.

“Dad?”

Robby was braced for another fight, but Maya’s voice was so small that he was briefly transported back about fifteen or so years, to the first time she’d called him that. Robby wasn’t Maya’s biological dad. He fostered and adopted her after her mom died, but even before that…during the seven months when Robby had dated Maya’s mother, Robby had been her dad in all the ways that counted. And then when Maya’s mom died, he had stepped up when no one else would. She wasn’t his responsibility, and from time to time — more and more now that Maya was twenty-two, she felt guilty when she thought about all this man had sacrificed for her. How much he still regularly sacrificed for her. 

“I’m sorry,” she started. “I screwed up. I should’ve told you.”

Robby frowned, softening a bit as he back-tracked to her side. 

“I was up all night Sunday working on the paper and then I was all messed up in the morning so I skipped breakfast and then things were so busy at work I missed lunch and I was so tired and that’s probably why I fainted. And when it happened, I just thought it was my fault and I didn’t want to make you mad or worried. And now you are mad and I broke your trust and interrupted your day when you have enough going on with work and—”

“Hey, hey, Maya,” Robby said, interrupting her as he set a hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath. It’s alright,” he said. “I’m not mad at you. It’s been a long day and Jake’s call surprised me, that’s all. I don’t like that my kid’s been hurting and I didn’t even know about it. I was frustrated and I took it out on you so that’s my bad. I’m sorry. You’re here now and we’re taking care of it. That’s all that matters.”

Robby ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, searching her eyes for some sort of acknowledgement, nodding slightly when he found it. “Alright. I have to go put these orders in. It might be a bit before we can get you in for tests, so why don’t you get comfortable, okay? Take a nap before Abbot gets in and comes to give you an ear full.”

Maya tried to smile at the joke, but she really wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jack, or Frank, or anyone other than Robby.

“I really am sorry,” she offered. “I fucked up.” 

“You did,” Robby said as he moved to the end of the bed to raise it for her. “And we’ll be having a long conversation about that later, but for now I want you to rest. I’ll have someone bring in dinner and some ice for that arm. I’ll be back to check on you after I do my rounds and pass things over to the night shift, alright?” 

She nodded.

“And Maya?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you, kid. Always. Even when you fuck up. Don’t ever be afraid to call me.” he said, leaning forward to kiss her hairline. 

“I love you, too, Dad,” Maya answered as she latched her left arm around Robby’s neck.

—

The Pitt Masterlist

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running to You 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve’s beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he’s not at his best.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Steve's message comes in as you're nursing your tea. It's not too early but early enough that you haven't decided where to start. He gives you that answer.

'Back in town. Can I swing by?'

You weren't planning on a busy day but you can make time for him. Maybe not space. You worked all day to package all your things for the festival market and now you can barely cross the apartment. You drink your tea over the stove and reply.

'Sure thing. I'll show you the park.'

You pause and turn your hand over. You wiggle your bandaged fingers. The gauze is wrapped from knuckle to tip on your middle and index. A bit of an incident with the soap making. 

'Sure. I'll be there shortly.'

'I'll be downstairs.'

You take the last gulp of tea and your phone flashes again. 'Be safe.'

You send a smiley back. You rinse out your cup and leave it on the drying mat. You have to figure out what to wear. You usually dress down since you're likely to get wax or oil on yourself. Going out isn't something you do without purpose.

You find a brown corduroy skirt with gold buttons up the front. You think it's cute. You found it in a thrift shop with that pair of loafers with the daisy buckles. They go together. You cap it off with a striped yellow tee and a fuzzy tan cardigan. It's not too much, you think.

Purse, phone, keys. You're ready to go. It's nice to have a friend in the city. You had some at your old job but they stopped talking to you when that fell apart. It's too bad. You thought Tamara was cool.

You lock the door behind you and the one next to you opens. You look at Mike as he rubs the bridge of his nose. His eye is swollen and black and he's in nothing more than a pair of boxers and a blood-stained ribbed tank. You gasp.

"Oh gosh, are you okay?" You squeak.

"Huh? Who--" He drops his hand and looks around through his slitted eyelids. He smiles sleepily. "Oh, it's you, sweetie. I thought I was headed to the bathroom."

"Uh... no," you smile sheepishly. "Wrong way."

He chuckles, "late night."

"Looks like. Um, what... what happened?"

He frowns and winces. He touches his eye and hisses. He shrugs.

"Oh, uh, ya know, I got light-headed and fell on the stairs."

"You did? Have you been checking your sugars?" You ask.

He blinks and his brows arch. He shakes his head noncommittally. "You know..." he drawls and covers a yawn with his fist. "You care so much about me, sweetie. You're so nice."

"You have to be careful. You could hurt yourself," you say.

"I know," he rubs the back of his neck. "You too."

You tilt your head.

"That guy... Steve. You know him well?" He asks as he leans on the door frame, scratching behind his ear.

"I... I just met him but... he's nice."

"Oh, I'm sure. Who wouldn't be nice to you?" He rasps and his head lolls before he catches himself and forces his eyes wide. "Whatever I..." he stumbles back and his door bounces back behind him. "Don't say I didn't..." his voice trails off. "Damn I gotta piss."

He slams his door and you grimace. You heard blood sugar can make you a bit forgetful. He's all sorts of flighty. You're wondering if maybe you should call someone. Your phone chirps in your bag. You tuck your keys away and check the message. Of course it's Steve. If it's not him, it's some spam or promo.

'I'm outside. Let me up.'

'Sorry. On my way down.' You type in and hurry down the hall.

You keep your hand on the railing as you rush down and nearly crash into another resident as you push through the front door. You come out into the sunlight and find Steve picking at the dead petals in the standing planters outside. The flowers never stay alive, even when they aren't dumped by the late night stragglers.

"Hey," you greet him as he looks up. His hair is shiny and glints with streaks of gold in the summer sheen. "Sorry, my neighbour Mike was acting weird."

"Toward you?" He asks.

"No... we were chatting. His sugars must be all over. He's a bit... hazy," you come down the steps. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Your gaze falls to his other hand. He has a box balanced against his hip. You try not to let your curiosity cling to it.

"Wasn't waiting long," he assures. "I like that skirt."

You look down and grin. "Oh, really? Thanks. Wasn't sure about the colour."

"Nah, you look good," he insists then sniffs. "Er, well, I know you said you wanted to go to the park. But uh, I got a surprise." He lifts the box. "I'll show you when we get there?"

"A surprise? You didn't have to."

"But I did." He shrugs. "Really, it's nothing."

"So you keep saying," you retort. "That way."

You point down the avenue. He follows the gesture and turns in that direction. You walk along as a car backfires and teens toss a basketball around the street. A driver honks as they come down the street and receives some not so PG hollers from the ballers.

"Hectic place," Steve comments.

"Lots going on," you cheep, trying not to show how nervous the noise can make you. "They're just playing around."

"Uh huh," he clucks as he follows you down the street. He's judging you but he didn't have to come back. Some people just live where they can survive.

"So... how was your work trip?"

"Eh, it was... work," he answers grimly. "Really, nothing you want to hear about. Real boring and all that."

"What do you do? I don't think you said. Or I forgot. I'm sorry," you teethe your lip as he looks at you. You quickly close your mouth to still the nerves.

"I didn't. I work for the government. That's it. Nothing glorious," he replies.

"Well, I'm not exactly changing the world. I just make soaps," you turn through the rusted iron archway of the park. "You know the plaque got broken but this park was built in honour of a New York Regiment. Brooklyn boys."

"Oh really? Interesting. You like history?"

"Well, I don't mind reading about it." You shrug.

"Ah." He sniffs. "Here?"

He nods to a bench between the unbloomed rose bushes. You agree with a sweep of your hand. You sit, distracted by the birds in the grimy old bath across the pathway. He rests the mystery box on his lap.

"Ready for the surprise?" He asks.

You tear your eyes away from the fluttering wings and splashing water. He grips the box. He looks almost nervous.

"I told you..."

"I like surprises," he insists. "Really, nothing special."

"Uh huh," you flick your lashes.

"You like cookies so..." he opens the lid. I went to every bakery in Brooklyn and got their best-selling flavour. We can figure out where the best one in the borough is."

"Holy moley," you glance over the selection. "Wow. That must've taken forever."

"Not if you call ahead," he grins.

"Hmmm, and expensive," you murmur.

"Nothing," he insists. "So, you wanna start the taste test here?"

"Um... well, my place is a bit...packed," you chuckle and rub your cheek, the gauze scratching your skin. "So..."

"What happened to your fingers?" He asks.

"Oh, ha ha, clumsy," you wiggle them and drop them onto your lap. "You know... sometimes there's so much to do at once. Just spilled some hot soap."

He sighs. You wilt. He can be so staunch without even saying a word.

"It's fine. Happens all the time." You shrug.

"Shouldn't, though. That place is too small for all that. With all those scents, it must stink too."

"Steve, you don't have to worry about me."

"I'm a worrier," he retorts. "Especially when people don't even worry about themselves. I got another friend like that. Stubborn as... well."

You pout. "Sorry, Steve."

He winces and the grit leaves his jaw. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just... I can be uptight." He takes a deep breath. "Oh, uh," he keeps one hand on the box of cookies, "I've been using the oil. It's really nice. Like the scent too. Really softened this thing up."

"Oh, good, I'm glad. I never really could test it out..."

"Feel," he leans in.

You stare at the thick hair along his jaw. It does look shinier and you can faintly smell the oil. You reach to pet the hair. To your surprise, he leans into your touch.

"Oh, that's nice," you say.

"Five star review. I even told my friend about it."

"Oh yeah? Is that the stubborn one?" You rescind your hand and rub your fingers together. There's a slight hint of oil on them.

"Yeah..." his eyes crinkle as he smiles. He looks down at the cookies. "I have them all organized in separate wrappers but I'm not going to tell you who's who. I want honest opinions only."

"Jeez, all of them?" You look at the rows of cookies peeking out between brown paper. "I should've worn something stretchy."

"A bite of each," he says and reaches for the first. "You like white macadamia?"

"Love it," you assure him. "But you better have some too."

"Oh, I've been looking forward to something sweet. Don't worry."

~

You ate too much sugar. You told Steve it was too sweet but he barely seemed affected at all. His stomach must be much bigger than yours.

You toss and turn as your stomach churns from the chocolate, raisin, and nutty extravaganza. You're so tired from the sun and walking and the cleaning you did when you got in. The place is always so cluttered.

You roll over on your cot. It's not entirely the best for sleeping either. You tend to get about four or five hours and go from there.

As you try to settle your stomach and your mind, there's a clamour in the hall. Groaning and dragging. You try to ignore it as you roll onto your side. The building is always noisy. You usually keep some music going to drown it out.

You're startled as the clatter gets closer. Right at your apartment door. You flip onto your back, heart skipping, and look over at the light limning the door. You can see a shadow at the bottom.

Your name drones through and you sit up. The manic tapping continues. You get up and slowly cross the apartment, jostling boxes and shelves as you do. You stand on your toes and peer through the peep hole. It's Mike. He looks sick.

His head is drooping as he slouches and rubs his eyes. You wonder if maybe he doesn't have his insulin. You've heard it's getting pretty expensive.

You keep your door on the chain, it's finally fixed, and turn the latch back. You let it open the two inch length of the safehold. Mike groans again and his shoulder collides with the door. He slides against the wood and brings his face to the narrow space.

"You awake, sweetie?" He mumbles.

"Yeah, Mike," you squeak, feeling the tension of his weight against the door. "You doing okay? You look sick."

"Sick... no... tired..." He grips the edge of the door. "Lonely."

"Oh." You don't know what to say to that. "You should go get some sleep."

"Sleep..." He mutters. "Mmm..." He lets go of the door and suddenly his hand shoots toward you. 

He grabs your sleeve and you cry out in surprise. "Mike?! What are you doing?"

"I just wanna see you."

"Mike, it's late."

"I know but... you're so..."

You slip free from his grasp. You whimper. "Please. Your sugars must be--"

He pulls back, his arm disappearing, and suddenly there's a slam against the door. You squeal as it lurches again. Mike throws himself against the door a third time and the bolts on the chain pop. You back away as your neighbour crashes through and lands in a heap on the floor.

You scramble away as he garbles on the floor. He twitches as his eyes roll back. You keep an eye on him and dig your phone out from beneath your pillow. You don't know who to call. The last time you called the police, they didn't show up until morning. You think he needs help. Real help. You do too.

You sniffle and dial out to the only number you've called in the last three months; Steve.

[bluespiritshonour]

okay. i had stopped engaging with this thread of my own accord and i apologise to everyone who's gonna get notifs again because i decided to wake this up. (I'm sorry to you too, swan. I said I was done with this post and I woke this up again. Sorry if you got a notif) now, i get called all sorts of things on twitter that i never feel the need to defend myself against because it's always zutara shippers doing it and i can't take any opinion, no matter how valid, by a ZK shipper seriously enough to warrant engagement. yes, i know it's wrong and just because someone ships ZK doesn't mean they can't have valid takes. but i have been in the fandom long enough not to give ZK shippers the benefit of doubt (i know it's wrong!) i just reserve the right to be a hater. there isn't even any deep reason behind it. ZKs on twitter call me stupid all the time. lmao. ZKs calling anyone stupid, the jokes write themselves.

but! since it's fellow zuko blog that assumed i lack media literacy, i feel the need to defend my honour ( was that a zuko pun? guess we'd never know!)

i am assuming the best intention here: i am not good with words and i was especially angry at avatar studios for their mistreatment of mai when i made the og post--so that meant i was even less eloquent than usual. it doesn't help that zuko is a fan favourite and overall more important so they don't even care to develop him as a better boyfriend (this was before ashes dropped and now i do think given how little zuko appeared, hicks did him much better than yang ever did. i'd never forgive yang for how he massacred my darling boy). so you'd find me using things that even i would argue are ooc against him--in certain cases--because other characters (especially mai) never get the kind of grace he does. yes, he's my fav. but he ain't a girl.

so, if i am not good at explaning something (i know i'm not) that's on me and not on people who might misunderstand. assuming that i didn't convey what i was trying to in that post, i am making this one. this time, with examples!!! yay!!! (i used to get bad grades in essays because i have difficulty putting abstract ideas into words and you know how i worked around it? comparisons and examples. it did help my grades)

list of shows/movies with chosen one/monarch leads (basically people with huge responsibilities to the world/their countries) prioritising their love interest

castlevania: nocturne

“No! You’ll kill her, Sehkmet. You’ll kill Annette. I don’t care about the world. I don’t care if we live in eternal fucking darkness. Leave her alone. Leave Annette alone!”

sekhmet is a goddess who has taken over annette's body to defeat the villain. because she needed a mortal vessel for it. but it was too much for annette's body to control all of her powers. annette was on fire and richter uses his ice magic to hold her and keep her temperature down.

jodhaa/akbar

"to all present and the mughal empire, i say this for the last time: queen jodhaa is a hindu rajput, she is my wife and the empress of india. any act against her is an act against the mughal empire."

this movie isn't hundred percent historically accurate but mughal emperor akbar did marry the hindu princess jodhaa for diplomatic reasons and he also has the reputation of being a tolerant ruler. but speaking of only the movie here: the mughal court was opposed to an inter-religious marriage but akbar stood steadfast in his support of jodhaa.

baahubali: the conclusion

a whole lot of plot here. the hero's evil brother (who wants the throne) manages to wheedle a promise out of their mother that he'd marry the princess the hero loves (the mother did not know of the love story until now) anyways, the hero goes against his mother and everyone in court and is ultimately stripped of his birthright. he chose her over the throne.

and finally, ATLA itself!

Why would I choose cosmic energy over Katara?

i made sure to pick all the heroes. because dracula of castlevania is the ultimate loverboy, but he was very much the villain (a great husband though). i don't want zuko to be dracula. although i think it's a fun little concept to play with in some dark au. that's why we love fanfiction, don't we? zuko would have to stay a villain for that though! which is why i don't blame him for leaving mai in a letter. it's one of the most forgivable things he has done with regards to her given she was a villain until this point and the narrative had the responsibility of supporting the right thing (and not only does mai forgive him immediately, but proceeds to put her life on the line for him). i find his behaviour in the beach deplorable! and of course, him not screaming, crying, throwing up after the boiling rock. which i do think is ooc! no matter how i twist it, it is simply too ooc for zuko, who's fatal flaw is that he cares too much, not to spare mai a single thought after she was willing to die for him. i know it can only be explained away by out-of-universe reasons: they didn't have screentime (could have cut out that useless ember island players ep), the narrative doesn't give a flying fuck about mai blah blah blah. ZKs love to ooh and aah and say he forgot her in prison... don't they realise how bad it makes zuko look? i thought they were supposed to be zuko fans and they can't even tell when something is ooc for him? and given how mai gets so much hate for not being a good girlfriend to zuko--remember how i say a lot of zuko hate tends to be reactionary?--so, think about it: zuko didn't care for the safety of the girl who saved his life. how's that for being an s-tier jerk? (for the nth time: i know it was ooc) but what if zuko wasn't granted so much wiggle room by the fandom?

now let's talk about consequences a little, shall we?

in castlevania: nocturne there aren't any because alucard steps in and tells richter "annette wouldn't want it" and that's what makes him let go of her.

when i watched that the first time i was immediately struck with the idea to draw a comic where zuko tries to jump off the gondola when he sees mai committing treason. it would be incredibly in-character. this guy thinks laws of physics don't apply to him and acting irrationally in stressful situations is kind of his brand. he'd probably have thought he'd bend the heat when he hits the water or something--he'll figure it out, fly by the seat of his pants--very zuko. only for sokka to tackle him and remind him he'd be throwing away mai's sacrifice if he gets caught or killed or both. the former would lead to the later anyways. and that's what would make him acquiesces. respect for mai's sacrifice. but we can't have good things i suppose (i'll draw it someday)

jodhaa/akbar: the religious leader in akbar's court teams up with his brother-in-law to try and overthrow him.

baahubali: he loses the throne, yes. but this event leads to a domino effect that gets him killed. ooops.

aang: much like richter, he lets go of katara for katara's sake. even then he's narratively punished for it. immediately.

this brings me to my point: these were all heroes, they managed to do their duties in the end. they managed to do the right thing. choosing their love interests is something the narrative supports them for doing. richter and aang were loverboy extraordinaire. for akbar and baahubali, they did the right thing too. hence why they were heroes. an alliance between the mughals and rajputs avoided a lot of bloodshed. and baahubali was right: his mother shouldn't have given word about devasena's marriage without her consent. here the forces around them/their duties require them to do something that is wrong (kinda like how what's legal isn't necessarily right).

baahubali's tyrant of a brother becomes king, but he goes and lives among the peasants and protects them. he gave up the throne for his wife but he managed to do his duty to the people in his country.

after the war, something similar could be done for maiko now that mai is not a villain anymore. there isn't going to be any moral quandaries.

showing zuko prioritising mai even though he is a monarch and has the responsibility of an entire country would not only make for good romance writing but also show zuko in a good light.

honestly, i find the "that's what loving a monarch is" argument tired and boring and not at all revolutionary. i find the writing in the above mentioned movies and shows (notice how few of them i was able to find!) so much more refreshing. given that we live in a society where let alone expect men to be good partners, it's actively discouraged! (simp is an insult for fuck's sake) a woman being loved and cherished by her partner above all else is refreshing.

and forget about romance, there's nothing interesting in the "that's what loving a monarch is like" and "mai would always come second" in terms of writing either. managing to balance duty and love both would make for much more interesting writing: aang's whole arc was about that!

even before i shipped maiko hardcore, i always loved atla. and the reason was the message it imparts through aang: he managed to neutralise ozai without sacrificing his air nomad values and/or katara. i still see people complaining that aang didn't sacrifice anything: first of all, he lost his entire people. what more do you want? secondly, there's nothing glorious in sacrifice. no one should have to do it! stop romanticising stuff like that! sacrifices have to be made, yes, respect the people who do that but always remember they shouldn't have had to do it! do not glorify it. systemic failure needs individuals to sacrifice themselves. treat the root of the cause.

kinda like how aang ended the war and ushered in a new era where no one would have to choose between their loved ones and doing the right thing.

that's the message of atla and it's freaking amazing.

i think the "that's what loving a monarch is like" argument is "aang didn't sacrifice anything!!! a hero should have to!!!" in another format. the sentiment behind the two is the same.

it's the kind of sentiment that is also behind the term "collateral damage".

besides, while watching the show i also noticed in the boiling rock, zuko's first instinct isn't to tell mai that it's for a greater cause and that it isn't about her (which he does tell her later, but we'd come to that in a bit) but it is to apologise to her for the hurt he's caused.

when he tells her it isn't about her, he's lashing out (much in the same way that led him to call iroh lazy and jealous of ozai and mai a big blag) when mai objects to it ("thanks, zuko. that makes me feel all better") he immediately goes back to apologising again. and explains to her, without trivialising the hurt he's caused her, why he had to do it. even in a lockup, in a difficult situation, he doesn't invalidate mai's hurt feelings (which much of the fandom does: "it isn't about you, girl! he has greater things to do". but zuko didn't act holier-than-thou with her). the "women don't understand larger obligations" is also a misogynistic pitfall atla managed to avoid with maiko. first with zuko acknowledging that leaving her in a letter was wrong and later by having mai switch sides. she protected him while he fulfilled his larger obligations.

it was clever writing. "that's what loving a monarch is like" is not.

mai does accept she would always come second, i have no doubt. that doesn't mean the audience--or zuko--should stand by that.

i want maiko to be an equal and healthy romance. as of now, zuko has yet to match mai's boiling rock level of devotion from a meta perspective--and i know avatar studios don't care enough to do it.

i can even give evidence that it would be completely in-character for zuko. idk why people have this reading of him that he cares for honour/duty above all else but that's a fundamental misunderstanding of his character.

pay attention to what a character does, not what a character says. zuko yells "honour" and "destiny" quite a lot but he isn't hesitant to throw honour out the window when the situation calls for it.

as for what zuko really cares about: it's people. above missions and duty and honour and causes. zuko cares for people.

he got his face burned for some recruits he had never seen. what's more, he didn't care about battle strategy, he cared about people.

he prioritises his crew's safety over his mission (capturing aang).

he almost got his cover blown when he witnessed bullying in the boiling rock and sokka had to hold him back.

he took lightning for katara (good thing katara was someone who was able to fight azula and heal him too) but i have no doubt he'd have done it for some random bystander too. and then what? he'd have died and azula would've been firelord. or maybe not given ozai was defeated but still. everything was up in the air. zuko wasn't thinking. His instinct is to put people above all else.

zuko cares about people above all else. the narrative supports him for it. it is never implied that it is something he needs to grow out of. zuko as firelord would not stand for "collateral damage." i want him to do something like the bullet points above for mai too.

ashes was good enough that it stopped me from dropping maiko like a hot potato. mai got to breathe outside of zuko and zuko acknowledged that "wouldn't [she] want to make sure other little girls don't go through what she did?" he granted her agency and he has her back. this was something i predicted on twitter months before ashes released btw.

anyways. all this when avatar studios are probably not even thinking about it this way. they only listen to mai-bad-girlfriend complains (which she wasn't, she was a great girlfriend) they are ready to shave down her unconventional personality to appeal to mai haters (it ain't gonna work. bloom @goldenchloris made an amazing post about it here.) (which the og cartoon was careful not to do, aaron ehasz got fanmail about it) but they really don't care to show zuko being a good boyfriend--he's improved in ashes but it's still not close to what mai did for him in tbr. and here i gave myself a cramp typing all that.

bye!

I never took maiko's bad writing seriously because it was so clearly a tertiary sub-plot

When Zuko goes "they let out you of prison?" I was like "wtf" but only for a moment

Because him simply forgetting her was THAT unthinkable for me. He doesn't move like that.

I shipped maiko because I found it interesting that someone gloomy and morose like Mai was paired up with Zuko instead of someone who could stereotypically fix all his problems. I loved seeing the side of him that only comes out when he's with her!

Maiko's a great ship when you love Zuko and don't care for Mai. It was like that for me until I joined the fandom and saw zutara wouldn't leave Mai alone.

Seeing them constantly mock her for the way Zuko treated her made me like her more and go "wow, Zuko's really a jerk huh?"

I started shipping Maiko because I liked Zuko and now I might stop shipping it because I like Mai.

Unless I find it tragically romantic that Mai gives it her all for a man who doesn't even think of her when she's not infront of him and doesn't love her as much as she loves him (which I don't) I can't ship Maiko

I'm pretty sure they'd get back together in Ashes of the Academy but if Zuko doesn't explicitly prove that he's going to value and cherish her going forward, then idc that it's canon, I'm done with this ship.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Control Yourself

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by @0-seareality-0 on Tumblr. Tomura has always liked the feeling of control. Given how he was when his teacher found him, given his quirk, given the fact that this world was not made to even accept him, he always has wanted to exert that control over himself and his surroundings as much as possible. It’s really no surprise those tendencies followed him into the bedroom, even when he’s indulging in his own fantasies as things start to take shape with the new League of Villains. 

Contents: Pre-Relationship, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Edging, Fantasies, Dub-Con Fantasy, Degradation, Humiliation, Praise, Oral Sex, Cum Eating, Premature Ejaculation, Small Penis Humiliation, Feminization, Crossdressing, Lingerie, Dacryphilia, Sex Toys, Multiple Orgasms, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation. Sadism, Masochism, Cock and Ball Torture (light), Intercrural Sex

Word Count: 13,484

"Don't slip." Dabi's voice rings across the bar with a sneer. Tomura picks up the glass that Kurogiri slid across the bar for him in one smooth movement. He doesn't know who the fuck was responsible for raising Dabi, or who let him run around on the streets talking to his betters like that, but he is every tempted to see if he can whip the cup directly at his head. The alcohol dousing his skin would stop him from erupting in flames and the hard glass connecting against his head would be equally as effective in shutting the asshole the fuck up. Tomura would be able to get up from the bar and close the distance from his position then and he could have four fingers around Dabi's throat and force the arsonist to start taking him seriously once he did. He wouldn't even end up tearing open his stitches if he did that. 

"I never slip." Is all he actually says as he lifts the glass, whisky on the rocks, to take a sip as the rest of the new League of villains drink and eat after a long day of physical training. Another hour, maybe less if Toga gets her way, and then she'll be trying to get the others to head with her to go elsewhere, wanting a chance to run around now that she has blood supplied by Ujiko and no real adult supervision without her parents around anymore. After that, Tomura won't have to be social anymore and he's looking forward to the quiet for a bit. He used to go to the mall, to La Vénus, or just walk to the nearest park whenever he wanted to be around more people. Usually, being around lots of people helps him to clear his head. The chatter of so many other lives around him, ironically, does not make him feel more connected to other people. It just makes him more acutely aware of the things that he doesn't like about the people around him, the world at large and how this society treats them, the things that it finds valuable and those it finds worthless. 

Being around this new League makes him all the more aware of the prejudice and suffering that caused the majority of them to be villains. It makes him angry to spend time around them. Magne who has been hurt and turned into a joke because of her identity. Toga who wasn't ever given a chance because of her quirk and who was forced to pretend until it nearly shattered her. Shuichi who wasn't even given the option of trying to hide from the prejudice that he has been faced with since birth. Twice who shouldn't have ever been here, but the government threw him away in the eyes of the callous law and left him so isolated that his path was sealed and with his brain injury and record, there's no hope of ever recovering in the eyes of this world. Mr. Compress hasn't been forthcoming with anything about his identity, but he treats the others well, he seems just as keenly aware of the faults in this world and he doesn't ever flinch from them. 

And then there's Dabi. The arsonist who puts on a dumb dialect to try and act like his constantly half-lidded blue eyes aren't always on all of them and trying his best to analyze everything as if that will give him the leg up on them all if he ever needs it. A jerk who is constantly insubordinate, who never even shows All For One the respect that he deserves, and who seems to revel in the idea of causing problems on purpose and being as mysterious as possible. Tomura half-hopes that the scars all over his body are because he was in some kind of truly traumatic and fucked up interaction with heroes or something, because if Dabi is just  like that because he's a douchebag, then Tomura is going to decay Kurogiri along with Dabi as payback for the nomu stopping him from killing the bastard the first time they met. 

"Yeah, right. Bet the reason you're so uptight and weird is 'cause you dusted your own dick jacking it to your waifus or whatever." 

There isn't enough alcohol in the glass to coat enough of Dabi's skin to keep him from incinerating him if he were to throw it. So Tomura does his best to ignore Dabi and the rest of the League as Toga pesters Magne to take them all to some underground fighting ring that she knows about. 

"Maybe some other time, kid," She tells her. "Don't want to head there already wiped from training. But there is a great place that does ice cream on saltbread a few streets over we could head to instead. We can do a girl's night!" 

That seems to be equally as exciting to Toga as going and watching people beat each other bloody, and she and Magne depart, the two of them heading out signalling to the others that it's probably also about time to start to wind down as well. 

Spinner, Compress, and Twice all have their own apartments as well, only, unfortunately, Dabi and Toga staying here at base with him. But if she's going out with Magne, then the chances they don't end up having a sleepover at her apartment is slim to none. Toga loves her knives and blood, but she adores classically feminine things too and hasn't had any genuine, accepting companionship in her life. She and Magne have absolutely latched onto each other as Toga is so genuinely excited to take part in those things with Magne who soaks them up just as happily after being stuck in a very close-minded and male-dominated field since her transition. So the two of them often go and have 'girl's night' whenever they feel like doing something like that. But the others will just go to their own places, and he clocks Dabi grabbing his coat as well. He doesn't say shit about that. He doesn't want to hear whatever annoying thing Dabi would say if he chose to show any interest in what he's doing outside of this building. As is, his teacher had more than enough spies all around this area that Tomura feels very sure that Dabi can't be working as a double agent outside of here, and thus he doesn't give a shit where he goes so long as he doesn't have to deal with his attitude again until they start training again tomorrow morning. At least, if nothing else, Dabi is very dedicated to their training. 

When all of the others have left, Tomura finishes his drink and gestures for another. He never allows himself to get drunk, or even tipsy, in front of the others. No matter the crude remarks Dabi made about his quirk, Tomura prides himself on how well he's trained to be able to keep himself and the things around him safe so long as he's conscious. But he is already, as his teacher says, 'tactless' and he doesn't know or want to find out what he would actually say to the League, but especially Dabi if he ended up letting his tongue slip in front of them. Given that three of them are only here for Stain and the damned hero killer stabbed him as he turned down his offer, he doesn't want to risk slipping with that information before their debut locks them into the League without a way to disappear from the public eye. 

Kurogiri pours him another finger, but then he sets the bottle on the bar beside his glass and Tomura looks up at him. "If you won't need me tonight--" 

Tomura waves him off. He's sure Kurogiri has dozens of standing orders from his teacher as he continues his treatments. He isn't bothered that the creature has other responsibilities to see to, and a night alone at base could be... an indulgence that he needs. 

"I will return in the morning." Is all Kurogiri says before he disappears. Tomura pours himself a second finger of whisky and then puts the bottle back, heading upstairs to his room. 

He considers getting on his computer or on his handheld to game, but that isn't the kind of indulgence that he's really interested in tonight. No, instead he goes and takes a shower, able to actually have it warm for once without he, Dabi, and Toga all trying to get a share of the hot water. He checks over the stitches on his shoulder and is pleased enough that they seem to be healing well and should be able to come out in the next couple of days. Then he dresses in just his pajama bottoms and heads back to his room. He picks up his drink again on his way over to his bed, making sure that his door is locked, as he also retrieves his phone. He doesn't care much for music, but he doesn't have to curate the selection or pay it any mind when he takes a drink as he unlocks his phone and navigates over to his music app. La Vénus, the premier sex club in Kamino, has a station that pumps the same music as would be playing at the club into his bedroom speakers, though he keeps the volume far lower than it would be at the club. 

The music is a precaution more than anything else, just loud enough that the faint hum of it would be the thing someone would hear if they had their ear to the door over the sound of his hand moving over his cock. He hasn't gotten to go to V since his debut, won't get to go again for a good long while, and can't risk bringing a partner back to base just to satisfy himself. So, despite Dabi's crudeness, he will be letting himself blow off some steam the way that he can. Tomura sets his phone and glass on the nightstand, sheds his pants, and reaches for the bedside drawer. He has a die inside along with a few different toys that he often reaches for first when he can take someone else to bed. Condoms, lube, a stroker, cock ring, bullet vibrator, an anal plug, and a package of wipes to clean his toys and whatever else on his partners' bodies. But it's late and he thinks he just needs something simple tonight, so he just takes out the die and the lube. He rolls the square of plastic against the nightstand and it clatters a few times before stilling. 

Two. 

Tomura doesn't know if this would make anyone else start to warm, but as he settles into his bed, he lets his mind start to wander. He doesn't need to look at porn tonight, his mind is already full of what he wants as he lets his hands, one finger raised, start to move across his skin. 

Dabi is such a brat, but he knows how to tame a brat. He knows that someone who runs their mouth like that just needs to be put into their place. He would glare at him, all of that bright defiance in his eyes, and Tomura wouldn't pause, wouldn't hesitate to put his hand around his throat, one finger hovering away from oblivion, as he hisses, 

"You want to test my control? Alright, why don't I show you just how easily I can have you in my hand?" 

Tomura moves down his body, feeling over the new tender scars that linger on his body from Snipe's bullets as he lets his fantasy start to heat the blood in his veins. Putting Dabi in his place would be so good for his soul, especially if he got to break him as he did it. 

He presses his palm against Dabi's big, stupid belt and hooks three fingers under his waistband, of his pants and whatever he has on beneath them, and then he drops his remaining fingers. Dabi gasps, his skin going hot and a tremble going through him as the fabric and leather turns to dust against him. Tomura races his quirk down his legs so that Dabi is naked from the waist down. 

Does he have scars across his legs too? Tomura wonders as he reaches for his lube and squirts some into his palm, letting it warm as he decides. Yes, he probably would give what the rest of him looks like. But this is his fantasy and he does allow himself a different indulgence. 

"Oh, all that attitude and that's all you have?" The mockery falls off his tongue as easily as he keeps Dabi pinned to the wall, holding him in place with the promise of death if he dares to move.

"Shut up, mop head!" Dabi tries to snarl, his humiliation more than clear as he tries to cover up his soft, small cock from his sight. 

"Hands against the wall, little boy," He teases. "Or I'll tell everyone just how pathetic you really are." 

Tomura's cock starts to harden as he thinks about that. Being a villain already makes him a monster in the eyes of most of the world, but it's different to pretend to be another kind of one in his fantasies where he can't actually hurt anyone. He lets himself reach for his cock. 

He undoes his own pants, keeping his other hand around Dabi's neck as he trembles against the wall. His cheeks are so red with his humiliation as he is left standing half-naked in the bar. Adorable. It would be so nice to see Dabi embarrassed and quiet. Already broken and Tomura has barely started with him yet. He pulls himself out of his pants, his cock much thicker and longer than Dabi's and just the sight of him, half-hard, makes Dabi whimper. He tries not to let that go through him with a thicker pull of arousal as he watches his little cock start to harden too. 

"If you can be a good boy, then I'll help you feel good, Dabi." There is no offer of kindness in the words, only the promise of more violence if he doesn't listen to him and behave the way that he wants him to.

And of course this version of Dabi, just like the real thing, needs to be broken first. "Fuck you." The words are meager, but they give him the excuse that he wants and Shigaraki is not gentle when he takes both of their lengths in his hand and then starts to tighten his grip around Dabi's throat, cutting off his air as he smears the lube over their skin. 

His hand glides easily along himself even though he skipped over that inconsistency in the story he's weaving. Tomura feels the first curls of pleasure starting to go through him as he moves his hand along his cock. He is careful to always keep a finger raised, but it still feels good. It's been, fuck, probably at least a month since he was able to get off and he didn't realize just how badly he would need this, but it feels so good that his toes are already curling as he lets his hand move deliberately over himself. 

He knows how he likes to be touched like this, and it's so satisfying to feel Dabi's small cock getting harder against his own as, despite himself, Dabi also clearly likes these touches too. He bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and he still somehow manages to look angry even as Tomura makes him feel good. 

He keeps going, his mouth moving to nip along Dabi's jaw as he lets the other take thin sips of air through the pressure he puts at his throat. He doesn't know what the texture of his scars would be like, but it's easy to smell the smoke that seems to be constantly sitting on his skin as he moves his hand. It seems to take no time at all before his palm is getting so much wetter and Dabi biting his lip isn't doing what he wants anymore. He can't hide the little whimpers and moans that are coming out of him now, and he can't fight the way that his hips twitch forward to try and get more friction as he starts to feel so good. Tomura feels the burn of pleasure in his veins as well, savoring the way that, with Dabi helpless where he stands, Tomura is the one who is in complete control of how either of them will find their pleasure. He could do this for hours. He just might if it means that he can have Dabi sobbing beneath him, his little prick blushing so badly that his head will be almost as purple as his scars. It would be so satisfying to see him reduced to nothing but an eager receptacle for Tomura's pleasure. He could torture him with the waiting. Dabi doesn't seem like the type who would like that the way that he does. These thoughts swirl through his mind as he takes his hand from around them, a momentary reprieve that helps him keep his own pleasure and arousal in check, before he shifts. 

He intends to give Dabi a firm tap against his sac. He wants to cause him enough pain to stave off his orgasm, maybe to make him cry and beg, but at the last second the idea changes. And as he imagines how hard he would hit the other man, his fingers connect and Dabi lets out a humiliated moan as the pain sparks pleasure brightly enough across his nerves that he cums all over himself and Tomura. His little prick rapidly softens again as Dabi trembles and his eyes go tear-bright with his humiliation as he tries to pull at the hem of his shirt like that will actually hide what a mess he's made. 

Tomura lets himself let out a soft groan as he strokes himself a little tighter, a little faster, as he imagines how easy Dabi might be beneath that big attitude. Such an easy mark for Tomura's sadism if he can humiliate him so easily and can't afford to actually hurt him the ways he likes to in play. With the increase in his rhythm, Tomura feels his own arousal creeping higher, making his balls feel a little tighter and more aware of how good it would feel to have his relief. And that's what makes him pull back. He lightens his strokes, releases his grip completely after two, and then just traces his fingers along his cock. His nerves are all lit up and sensitive, his erection arched up towards his stomach as he feels a drop of pre slip from his head and along himself. His fingers follow it lightly, circling his head and then going back down along his length as he traces the veins that he can see and feel wound around himself. He forces his body to relax as he goes back into his fantasy. 

"Oh, that's absolutely pathetic, baby boy." He says with a cruel laugh. "Tiny little prick and you can't even control yourself? You cum when someone hits you, baby? It's a good thing that I found you first. At least I'll still let you work when I'm not training your pathetic little cock to be better." He says, the cruelty in his tone, in his words doing it. 

Dabi speaks again, but his words and breaths hitch as that attitude finally starts to slip away, as those pretty blue eyes go glassy with his shame and unshed tears. "S-shut up, Duster. Leave me alone." 

"You don't get to tell me what to do, pet." It's so easy to pull him away from the wall, to push him towards the back of the couch and make him bend over it as he lets out a terrified squeak. "You're going to stay right here, you're going to behave and keep your little prick from spilling again, or I'm going to have you on your knees licking your cum out of the upholstery." He leans along his back, shifting so that he can push his slick cock between Dabi's cheeks. He doesn't have much meat there, but it's still satisfying all the same to feel how warm he is, how his arsonist trembles and lets out a thin moan as it happens. "And you know what's worse?" He murmurs the words against the shell of Dabi's ear watching as the tears start to slip down his cheeks as he tries to shake his head to keep Tomura from forcing the words onto him that will recolor everything that he is right now as he's crafted in his mind for his amusement, "You're going to like it. You like it already. You haven't even noticed that I'm not holding onto you anymore." 

Dabi gives a weak sob and tries to shake his head again and the sight of his tears slipping over his cheeks is enough to have Tomura moving a bit harder against his ass, his hands shifting now to make the press of him tighter around his length as pleasure pulses up his spine. "No--" 

"Yes, you do, baby boy. Otherwise you wouldn't be playing with your pathetic little cock trying to get more already." 

Dabi cries harder, but he stops protesting as Tomura points out how his hand has snaked beneath his body so that he can stroke himself and make it feel good. He keeps moving, letting his head prod at Dabi's hole, but not letting himself sink inside. If he did that, then he wouldn't want to keep the same measured pace that he is right now, and hearing how every movement is making Dabi moan and whine like a well-trained whore is half of the fun. He wants the other to--

"Please," the word comes out so thin and watery. It's barely a word with how little breath that Dabi gives him. "Please, Tomura." He begs so softly, so cutely, so differently from the combativeness that he always greets Tomura with, and it puts a satisfaction beneath his veins that only makes Tomura more aroused. 

"If you want to cum again, you can, little boy. But you're going to be cleaning up your mess when you're done. You had better hope the others don't come back before you’re finished, or no one will ever think you're anything more than a desperate little cum slut again." 

Dabi barely lasts to the end of his sentence, moaning so loudly as he streaks his release against the back of the couch. 

The thought has Tomura realizing that he's tightened his hand back around himself and he hisses out a breath through his teeth. Fuck, that feels good. He's aching against his palm and he's already given up his orgasm once, but he rolled a two on the die, and he knows that the release will feel even better if he takes it after another instance of flexing his control over his body. 

So he pulls away from Dabi's body, knotting four fingers in his hair instead and pulling his head back. "Just can't help yourself, can you, baby? That's okay. Always thought being on your knees would be a good look for you. Sure having your mouth full of cock will be a better use for it than all of your vitriol." He pulls the other from the couch, but he doesn't have to make Dabi turn around to face him, doesn't have to push him down so that he gets on his knees. No, his mouthy little arsonist is broken enough, the brat tamed, and he sinks to his knees eagerly, his tears still streaking his flushed cheeks and his eyes glassy. His fingers curl into Tomura's jeans and he doesn't hesitate, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue out over his lower teeth before he waits, looking up at him so pleadingly. "What a good boy." He teases lightly before he steadies himself and feeds his cock into his eager mouth. 

Tomura moves his hand to his head. He knows how big he is, has seen how Dabi's staples strain when he speaks loudly or opens his mouth widely. He wouldn't be able to take him all the way inside, and the hand he has at his tip, he makes sure is the most soaked with his pre and lube, before he starts to flick his thumb teasingly over his head.

Dabi's tongue gives him little kitten licks for a moment, allowing himself to take in his flavor before he actually closes his lips around his glans and begins to suck. He can't take much of him inside, and seeing him struggle only makes Tomura's skin feel hotter and tighter as his little brat finally turns soft and sweet the way that Tomura usually prefers his submissives. He runs his hand through his hair, wondering if it should be stiff with hairspray or gel, but finding it soft instead. He makes sure that Dabi is being good, is licking at him like he adores his taste, and lets himself take his other hand to the base of his cock. 

It's not a rare thing that partners can't get their entire mouths around his length when he has them in his bed, so Tomura is used to stroking nearer to his root as they try to suck him off. It doesn't break the fantasy he weaves for himself to do it there too as he imagines--

Dabi moans so sweetly when he gets a gush of his pre against his tongue as Tomura's orgasm starts to press even more insistently against his veins. He already refused it once, twice, and now his balls feel tight and heavy and every inch of his prick is pulsing hot and heavy with his blood as he hopes to get what he wants soon. 

"That's it, baby boy. You're going to swallow every drop. Going to know that the next time you mouth off to me, I'll put you right back here, where you belong." 

Dabi moans around him and Tomura lets those vibrations feel good as they move along him and then lets himself pretend, lets himself stretch his own imagination, and doesn't tear open Dabi's jaw around the seams as he pushes himself deep into his mouth as he lets his orgasm tear across his nerves. 

Tomura lets out a harsh breath that is immediately eaten up by the heavy pulse of the music in the room. He tightens his grip around himself, stroking as much as he can through the pleasure as it comes for him. And it's so good as it does. He doesn't know how people who have the time to edge, don't bother. Every orgasm that he gets that comes after he's held off for so long makes his pleasure roll through his body more deeply, last longer, and feel more satisfying as the cum stops spilling from his tip and he is left naked on his sheets, panting softly as he does so. There is a dazed kind of bliss that comes in the wake of that and because his sub is only in his mind for now, he is able to let himself close his eyes, slip back into that fantasy as he enjoys his afterglow. 

Some of his cum leaked down Dabi's chin because he couldn't swallow it, but he is beyond caring. He's made another puddle on the floor, just a tiny one from his little cock because that was apparently enough to push him over the edge for a third time. Tomura strokes his hair once and then takes a step back, tucking himself away as he moves to sit on the bar, his drink still there. 

"Look at the mess you made, brat. I think it's time for you to clean it all up." Tomura sits down and picks up the glass, watching with a bone-deep satisfaction as he sees Dabi immediately dip his head to start licking up the little puddle of his cum on the floor.

Tomura waits until his breathing has returned to normal and his body feels heavy with his satisfaction before he reaches to the nightstand and takes out the wipes. He cleans himself up efficiently and then reaches for the glass again. He finishes his drink, turns off his music, and lets himself lay back against his bed. He and sleep have never been good friends or even slightly ameable acquaintances, but he foes feel relaxed enough now, for the first time in weeks, to let himself just try to let himself drift away. 

///

Things are very much back to usual after that. They have a summer camp to sack, forty students to figure out how to handle, along with half a dozen pros. They need support gear, training, planning, and to bring in a handful of additional recruits to plan things and make certain that whatever blindspots that they might have are being watched out for by someone else. It's a lot of work, and Tomura is fine with that. He can work as long and as hard as he needs to if that's what's going to shatter this world of false heroes. 

And as he spends more time with the League doing that, he doesn't necessarily get more fond of them. He already liked the majority of them, though he has some distaste for the three that his teacher finds for them to help fill the gaps that he'd mentioned. He doesn't like that Mustard is such a brat to everyone, thinking that he's the smartest person in the room with the arrogance of youth that thankfully Toga doesn't have. He doesn't like that Muscular doesn't care who or what kind of government system is in control, all of it is just a barrier that he wants to crash through if that means that he can do whatever the fuck he wants. And all he wants to do is hurt people and fight strong opponents. Tomura can't stand someone like him. Moonfish is just as bad. His hunger, his quirk, whatever made him like this shattered his mind. He's not like Twice. Twice still cares about people, he still is desperate to form connections, to become friends with them despite his messed up head. There's nothing left in Moonfish but his hunger and that is only being allowed because it's useful. 

But apart from the new members, he also learns more about the older ones. He sees over the course of their planning, how clever Compress, Magne, and more surprisingly, Dabi are. They are all very good at thinking on their feet and using their quirks in clever ways to help get themselves an edge up on the fight or any training exercise they get put through. And that cleverness extends outside of the combat, the three of them often taking point with him to try and make the plan for tackling the summer camp job. And when things are serious, when they do have to buckle down to work, Dabi's attitude melts away. He focuses in, more so than anyone else in the room, like every decision they make is life or death and needs to be thought about, while understanding that there are things that they simply cannot plan for and accepting that they will have to do a fair share of improvising when things come down to that, and then proving during their training exercises that he can think on his feet and is the best at being able to adapt his abilities to those changes. 

It's a surprise to him when he says, about a month out from the actual job itself, "I'm not going to be going into the field with you for your debut. So when you go in, Dabi will be in charge of the squad. He will have the nomu keyed to his orders, and you'll take your orders and report directly to him." And he sees how that knowledge settles in Dabi's body, sees the flicker of thoughts all behind his eyes as he acknowledges that even though Compress has more experience than him, his stealth is half of their plan in the first place and Magne's quirk is too good to not have her up front and in the mix to try and pin down some of the heroes and the students with the most impressive power quirks. He knows that this is the best course of action, Tomura knows that he'll take the responsibility with the same gravity that he's taken the planning so far, and all Dabi does is shrug as he bums a cig off of Twice and lights up with a fingertip. 

"Whatever. If you fuck up and get lost in the forest, that's not my problem. If you don't stay where I want you, I'll leave you behind." 

The others seem a little put off by that, but it doesn't mess with group cohesion enough for Tomura to regret his choice. He's too busy thinking how cute it is that Dabi perks up like a dog waiting for another treat throughout the rest of the meeting. 

///

The weekend, for some reason, is something that they still mostly abide by at base. And that means that when they're done working on Friday nights, more times than not, the others go out to do something in the seedier parts of the city. Twice, Toga, and Magne, for certain, have active warrants out for their arrests. Spinner hasn't even committed a crime yet in the eyes of the public, while Compress and Dabi are both like ghosts with nothing that he nor his teacher have been able to find out about them since they joined up. That, at least means that they're fifty-fifty on people likely to get picked up by the cops too soon, but the good thing is that Magne and Twice also have years of dodging the cops under their belts and Toga can transform. Given those three are the ones more likely to try and get the others to go out with them, or just head out on their own when they feel like it, Tomura is glad that they have those skills to fall back on. It's rare, but to celebrate Dabi's 'promotion' they seem to bully him into going out with them on Friday while he and Spinner stay in and play a few games together. It's strange to play his games with someone else. It's been something that he's only done for himself for so many years that sharing the experience with another person is... grounding? Unique? Strange. Just strange, but something he wouldn't mind turning mundane. 

They stay up late before Kurogiri opens a portal for him so he can get back to his apartment once the last train has stopped for the night, and Tomura stays up a little later, enjoying the quiet in the bar as the others continue to stay out and galavant to their heart's content. Sleep isn't easy for him to find that night, but he is able to zone out enough that his long waking hours are peaceful enough for it to feel restful.  

He doesn't hear the others come in through the door, which must mean they texted Kurogiri for a portal very early the next morning. He hears the footsteps on the stairs and realizes that it's just one set, not two, and that has him getting out of bed, taking off his gloves in case he needs his quirk against whoever this person is that is making their way into the hall. He opens his door just a crack and after sitting in his room, in the dark for hours, he is able to see the familiar shape of Dabi's body as he walks down the hallway. But he is leaning a little to the side, his breaths sound a little rough and when Tomura opens his door the rest of the way and turns on his light, illuminating a sliver of the hall just as Dabi steps into it, he sees very quickly that even if the others went out and got drunk wherever they were the night before, he isn't swaying because of that. 

"Fuck, Shig. Do you want to blind a guy or give him a heart attack first?" He hisses the words, not really angry, but definitely sounding tired himself. 

"What happened?" He asks as he steps out of his room. Dabi must be hurt, more badly than the splotches of blood on the collar of his shirt that have gone brown from how old they are, and then the fresher patch of it going crimson over his side would make Dabi think he is, because he lets Tomura hook a hand under one of his arms and direct him to the bathroom. It's small, but he throws the lid of the toilet down before Dabi sits on top of it, Tomur turning to take their first-aid kit out of the cabinet beneath the sink. 

"Was a planning week and Toga still wanted to go see the fighting ring. Was fine when we got there, having fun and shit." Dabi says, doing his best to shrug out of his coat with a soft hiss as Tomura sets the plastic box on the counter. "Magne got in the ring and we were putting bets on her. She fucking thrashed everyone in the ring with her and then someone got transphobic after losing. Threw a punch out of the ring and Toga leaped on him like a feral monkey and stabbed him in the kidneys. He went down, knocked over the table taking bets, cash box went flying, and that had everyone scrambling. Pretty sure that douchebag got his skull cracked by people trying to get the money. We tried to get out pretty fast, but I got decked a couple of times since I couldn't use my quirk without lighting up the whole place. Was just glad they didn't break my nose at first, and we all went to crash at Magne's place." He still seems stiff and as he tries to lift his arms to take off his shirt, he lets out a sharper hiss of breath that speaks to the pain that he must be in. "Fuck." 

Tomura reaches for the neckline of his shirt and closes five fingers around it, letting his quirk creep over the surface of the cotton, turning it to dust that flakes away easily from Dabi's skin without requiring him to move. Seeing the little silver barbells through each of his dusky nipples nearly shatters Tomura’s sanity right then and there, but he tries to maintain his composure. 

"Hey--" 

"You have at least four other identical ones, and don't tell me you were actually going to bleach the stains out." 

Dabi huffs and shuts up any other complaints about how he's helping him. He shifts instead to look down at his side, and his skin there is tacky with blood, a large curving scar, the same as the others that Tomura has seen across his skin, moving from just above one hip to over the upper part of his stomach, stopping an inch or so below the bottom of his pecs. On the side that goes higher over is ribs, there is blood sticky and smeared over the dark and light skin alike, a few staples torn free from that section, and others barely sticking into him as he can see that the blow that he took, one that probably would have just been a tender bruise on anyone else, has swollen around that connection point and made the metal piercing his skin worse. 

"Are your organs going to fall out if you don't put those back in immediately?" He asks as he reaches for an anti-bacterial wipe to help clean up some of the blood. 

"No. Main concern is infection now that it reopened." He takes the wipe from Tomura's hand when it's close enough to reach and he cleans up only what he needs to before he carefully unthreads the staples from the swollen sections. They each weep a little more blood, but Dabi's breath gets a little easier as he does it, dropping the staples in the trashcan by the sink. It's only then that he realizes that Dabi's nails are painted with a glittery dark blue nail polish that sparkles on his hands. 

"What happened there?" He asks, because getting into a fight is something he would expect from him, a manicure is not. 

Dabi glances at his hands and snorts, "After that shit show we went and got some food and headed back to Magne's place to eat and drink. Toga begged me and Twos. This was the closest thing she had to black. Thought I would be fine until morning, but it woke me up and I didn't want them to tear out. Didn't have replacements there so I came back early." He shrugs weakly and tries to reach into the first-aid kit. Tomura takes out another wipe for him and then a sterile pack of gauze and some of the waterproof tape to secure it in place. Dabi accepts the help but seems far more embarrassed about that than anything else. "Not fragile. As soon as the swelling goes down, I'll put in some new staples and I'll be fine." 

"Alright. Do you want me to help? It's late." 

Dabi's eyes flick up to his and they seem... hesitant. Like he doesn't believe that Tomura would just offer to help him like that. "Yeah, just don't slip, Duster." 

"I never slip, Dabi." He tells him evenly as he takes over what he can to make this easier on him. 

They clean up the wound, take out the staples they need too, only seven, and then Tomura has Dabi hold the gauze down as he tapes it down. Hopefully this will staunch the bleeding until he's ready to close the wounds back up again. By the time they're finished, the other man looks like he's relaxed a little and he looks like he's exhausted again. It's beyond late, so the last thing Tomura offers is, 

"Do you want an ice pack? It will help the swelling go down faster." 

"'Kay," he sounds sleepy when he says that, blue eyes blinking up at him owlishly from where he's sitting and Tomura isn't prepared for the way that lances heat through his body. He shakes that as quickly as he can and puts back the things they're finished with before grabbing a clean towel from beneath the sink. 

"I'll bring it to your room, go lay down." 

Dabi is tired enough that he doesn't fight Tomura on that, and they both leave the small bathroom together. Tomura goes downstairs and digs in the freezer, knowing that they have at least a couple of ice packs inside for occasions like this. He hesitates when he remembers the hot water bottle that is upstairs underneath the sink with the first-aid kit, knowing that isn't something Dabi needs right now, and isn't something that he should be thinking about. But he quickly fills the electric kettle anyway and sets that to heat as he heads back upstairs with the ice pack. Tomura wraps it in a towel and then pauses, knowing that Dabi has his own pain meds from the few times he's seen him taking them before he heads downstairs to a meeting, but he usually takes those dry. He fills up a glass of water at the sink as well before he brings his offerings to the other man. He barely has to knock before the door is opened again and he finds that Dabi has changed into his pajama bottoms and taken off his boots. The scars under his eyes stop Tomura from seeing any dark circles there, but his eyelids look more heavy than artfully disinterested and just past him, Tomura sees that he's got a set of headphones, possibly the only luxury that Dabi has bought for himself since he joined up, on his bed. 

"Don't melt it too quickly and try taking your medicine with some water before you burn a hole in the back of your throat." He tells the other man easily. 

"Whatever, Duster." He takes both though and before he kicks the door shut, Dabi doesn't meet his eyes, a touch of color creeping up over the edge of his scars along his cheeks. Just seeing that makes Tomura feel like he's a wild, starving animal that has just scented blood. "...Thanks." He shuts the door quickly after that and Tomura forces himself not to stay rooted to the spot as his bad idea becomes a foregone conclusion as he takes that image of Dabi, the quiet one. The one who would take those hits for his companions and then sneak out of the house to patch himself up so that none of them realize how badly he was hurt because of it, the one who would accept his help and care and thank him so sweetly even though it's clear he hasn't had any help or any reason to thank another person in a long time. Tomura takes those new images of Dabi in his mind and he knows he can twist them into something else that might actually exhaust his body enough for him to get some sleep tonight too once he's done. It's the weekend, maybe he'll act like an actual nineteen year old and stay up too late and sleep in too long in the morning. 

He goes back to the bathroom under the guise of cleaning things up, and he takes the hot water bottle from beneath the sink along with another small towel. He brings those downstairs and the kettle is full of steaming water that he pours into the pouch and wraps with a towel before he heads back up to his room. It's a short matter of time before he has his door locked, his music on softly again, hoping that Dabi is actually wearing his own headphones as he settles in to sleep, and stripped out of his clothes as he moves over to his nightstand again. He takes out a bottle of lube, his favorite stroker, and the die and lets it clatter against the nightstand as he tucks the other two items beneath the hot water bottle so that the heat from them starts to leech into the fluid and silicone. If he keeps this fixation on Dabi, he's going to have to get himself a toy that heats itself, he thinks, not certain if he's amused or annoyed with himself as he checks the results. 

Three.

Tomura's skin automatically starts to prickle with his arousal as he sees how many times he'll have to walk himself back from the edge as he settles on his bed and decides that if he's going to be indulging himself for so long tonight, he might as well allow himself a fantasy that he doesn't believe could ever be real while he's at it. He settles onto his bed and closes his eyes, shaping the start of his fantasy as he does so. 

Pretty pink nails. Still short, but neatly polished, feminine on a hand that shouldn't be and that is half gnarled with staples that creep up over the heel of his palm. He traces his eyes up from that hand that's reaching for his shirt and finds Dabi dressed in a short pink dress too. It's a light summery dress with a princess bodice attached with bows around his biceps, the skirt flaring a little out from the waist, but only falling to just above the middle of his thighs. Dabi's legs in pale stockings being held up with a garter belt, his feet in a set of chunky white heels, and a shiny pink gloss on his lips. And those big blue eyes look at him, sleepy and warm, as he says, 

"What are you doing, Duster?" 

His hands are reaching for him. He wants to touch. He wants to hold, to take, to ruin-- but not the way he did before. They're in his bedroom now. No chance of the others walking in, no possibility of someone coming and seeing Dabi like this the way that he can only dress for him. He's the one who gets to decide what Dabi will wear and he'll make certain that his firefly doesn't ever get spoiled by anyone else. He cups Dabi's cheek and he leans into the touch with a soft, fluttery sigh as he does, no trace of fear or hesitation that his hand might hurt him as he reaches out to touch. "Just admiring you, princess." 

Dabi's face goes so hot under his palm, his eyes opening back up, but not glaring at him. They barely meet his eyes before they're flicking back down to his lap, the other man trying to pull at his skirt like that will miraculously turn it back into his usual pants. "Stop it, pervert. I can't believe that you're into this." He mumbles without much heat. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" Tomura tells him, his hand moving down from his cheek to along his neck, over his shoulder, two fingers trailing delicately, and making Dabi shiver as he gets his fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve and traces that soft fabric back to the neckline of his dress. "You're always cute in anything, but seeing you dressed up like this? You look beautiful, baby girl." 

Dabi shivers again at the words, that touch of color going brighter in his cheeks as he does. "Stop it." 

"No, I want to spoil my little girl tonight." He doesn't have to fight with Dabi this time, doesn't have to break him. He can just play with his princess until he's satisfied, even if it takes a little coaxing for his baby girl to understand how good his embarrassment can feel when he's soaked in it the right way. He moves his hands along Dabi's chest, taking the muscle beneath and squeezing at him carefully, his thumbs trying to find the barbells through his nipples that made his mind nearly short-circuit in the bathroom. He can feel that there is more than one layer of fabric beneath his palms, enough of it that there is certainly some padding there too, and he can't help chuckling. "Oh, princess, are you wearing a padded bra? Were you worried that I wouldn't already be impressed with your pretty little tits?" 

Dabi whimpers, his thighs pressing together like he does have an eager cunt that's getting wetter as he starts to get more aroused. "Stop it, Tomura." 

"You don't have to worry, baby girl. I'm always going to think that you're so pretty. Prettiest girl in the world." He teases him further. "Always happy to have you being so sweet and dressed so cute for me." 

"Tomu," his voice is even whinier and that makes Tomura's blood heat more sharply through his veins. Fuck. 

"Absolutely adorable. I'm going to make you feel so good, princess, and by the time that you're begging me to stop again, it's going to be because you don't think you can feel any better without falling apart." His hands squeeze Dabi's chest tighter and the other man lets out a weak moan and then a louder, false protest. 

"Daddy!"  

Tomura's hand pauses as it was moving over his skin, his cock half hard already just from imagining Dabi dressed like that, acting like that, but saying that? Even in his own fantasy it seems taboo. He hasn't acted as a caretaker or a Daddy Dom often, so he hasn't used that honorific very much. But the thought of Dabi slipping, of how red his face would go as he said that, that makes him hotter than he thinks that he's ever been hearing it falling off of someone's lips before. 

"What's wrong, baby girl?" He asks, in front of Dabi once again, taking his hands away from his chest as he sees him squirming again as he tries to pull his skirt lower. It's low enough to be covering him, but it certainly isn't full enough to disguise the bump that is beneath the fabric that wasn't there before. It's a small bump, but Tomura can't help chuckling when he sees it. "Oh, princess. Are you already getting so excited? If you lift up your skirt and let Daddy see, then maybe you'll get a reward." 

Dabi shakes his head weakly. "...You'll see my... underwear." 

Tomura can't help laughing at his little girl as he coaxes him further back on the bed so that he can make Dabi back up against the pillows, still trying to arrange his legs to keep his modesty covered. "Princess, Daddy is going to strip you naked and see every inch of you tonight." He tells him so easily. "It's not going to matter if you're hiding your panties or not. Daddy is going to take them off of you before we're done tonight." 

Tomura reaches for the bottle of lube, now warmed through from the water bottle, and he lets himself slick his hand with it. He may be dragging this out to make his orgasm sweeter, but that doesn't mean that he has to wait to start building his pleasure. He's certain that he has a hundred ways to twist this scene in his mind to keep him going for as long as it takes for him to find and step away from the edge of his orgasm as many times as he wants to. He moves his hand along himself slowly, teasing himself how he can start to work that pleasure higher. 

Dabi is so reluctant, still blushing hotly as he lifts the hem of his skirt. Tomura shifts, kneeling between the legs that he makes him spread open before he shows him the white panties that he's wearing beneath the dress. They're a mix of cotton and lace, that is so fine and delicate over the small but definite bump of Dabi's cock and balls that have been shoved into the fabric, his erection straining it with his arousal. He looks so cute like that, trembling with his embarrassment and so vulnerable and ready to be touched. 

"Adorable, baby girl." The arousal is dripping from his tongue as he says the words, trying to decide how to have him first. But just the words have Dabi whimpering, one hand leaving his skirt so that he can shove his knuckles between his teeth as his whole body shudders. It's something beyond satisfaction, beyond heat that goes through him as just his eyes watching him while he's wearing such a humiliating outfit is enough to send Dabi over the edge. Tomura watches as his back arches a little, his choked-off little moan slipping out of him as he cums hard in his little panties and soaks them through with his cum, making the fabric translucent. 

Fuck. Tomura has been with a fair few partners, but he didn't think that he had such a kink for people who cum too quickly. It's beyond hypocritical of him as he works his hand along his length, thumbing over his head, moving down to stroke his balls as well as he tries to get all of his nerves worked up and hotter so he can make this feel even better. But the idea of Dabi, who has so much attitude, being so inept at the kind of play that Tomura does on his own, for his own enjoyment, and who would be so embarrassed about that and an undersized cock, makes his brain hum with the same pleasure he gets seeing a sub following all of his instructions and rules. 

Dabi trembles for a moment longer on the bed before he barely takes his knuckles from his mouth, his blush hot on his cheeks and his eyes bright with unshed tears. His voice is watery and weak when he says, "I-- I didn't mean to, Daddy." 

Tomura is going to eat him alive. But he doesn't want his baby girl to see it coming, so he smiles at him sweetly as he says instead, "It's okay, princess. You can cum as many times as you want to. Daddy just wants you to feel good." He moves up Dabi's body and makes him take his hand away from in front of his mouth and then presses kisses along the seam of his cheek. He knows what his scars feel like now and he likes the way he imagines the texture will be against his lips as he trails his kisses until he's hovering over his baby girl's mouth. 

Dabi lets out a shaky little breath before he closes the distance and gives Tomura a soft, timid kiss. So cute. So different than the Dabi he knows in their day-to-day. Absolutely adorable. He settles between Dabi's legs, his skirt falling again and sticking to his wet panties as Dabi moans into his mouth and wraps his arms around his neck to hold him there as Tomura imagines how good it would be to kiss him the way he does his subs. Dabi's skin is fire-bright against his hands as he moves them over his body through the dress. He strokes up the outsides of his thighs, his sides, back over his chest, and he takes his mouth and sets bites and kisses into Dabi's skin along his jaw and down his neck, moving back to give him a proper kiss whenever Dabi whimpers, 

"Daddy," and tries to tighten the arms around his neck to get him back up to his lips. Tomura lets him again and again. 

Lets his mind wander in that loop for a while as he focuses on stroking himself, trying to make himself more sensitive, his arousal higher, his nerves aching for the orgasm that he's not going to give himself. He does it until he feels his balls starting to tighten and then forces himself to ease off of his cock as he slips more fully back into his mind. 

"Time to show me your cute panties again, baby." He tells Dabi and in a falsehood, he doesn't have to pull at his own clothes to have himself naked between Dabi's thighs, but he does imagine untying the bows around his biceps. He does think about how cute he was when he removed his shirt before and when he hooks his fingers into the fabric of his dress, it falls away without any scattering of dust over the sheets or his skin. And then Dabi is laying beneath him, his face blushing so hotly as he shows him the strapless, padded white cotton and lace bra, his soiled matching panties, white stockings, and the delicate garter belt with golden chains and heart fastenings that are keeping those in place. "You look so beautiful, baby girl." He tells the other man as he looks down the length of his body. His panties are soaked through with his cum, but that only makes it all the more obvious that his cock is hard again and curving up towards his stomach as he reaches to tease his chest and then brings three fingers down the plane of his stomach, hooking and pulling lightly at the garter belt around his waist, before he brings those fingers to the hem of his panties. "You're already hard again, princess? Are you even going to be able to last at all when Daddy has his hand on your cute little clit?" 

Dabi keens, the word making his whole body tremble and him leak so much pre that it starts to soak through his panties even worse. Tomura sees the beads of fluid dripping across the fabric now that it can't absorb anymore and he shifts down Dabi's body. He moves between his legs, hooking two fingers in each garter to gently coax Dabi to keep his legs spread, and then he brings his mouth to his adorable little cock all messy in the too small panties. 

He doesn't love giving other people oral if they're not restrained. The act itself doesn't bother him, seeing how it makes his partners fall apart is a delight, but when he's got his head between people's legs, they have a much greater ability to move around and endanger themselves if he's not wearing his gloves while he's got his hands on their bodies. But in his mind, he makes Dabi perfect so that he can enjoy the thought of giving his little girl what he wants. 

Dabi moans and quivers on the bed, the muscles in his thighs jumping and his breaths coming in shorter pants as he tries to keep himself from going over the edge as he lays beneath him. He stays so good and still for him overall as Tomura moves his mouth over his soaked panties, taking away streaks of his cum, but leaving behind his own saliva that doesn't help to make them any dryer. He doesn't care. He just loves that he can taste the salty, bitter tang of Dabi's cum and feel the heat of his skin through the soft fabric that is covering him. Tomura savors how he can close his lips around the entirety of Dabi's cock through his panties without stretching his jaw and how Dabi all but wails with his pleasure as he does. Tomura moves his mouth over him, licking and sucking, hooking a finger around the crotch or his panties so that his cute nuts are slipping out from the fabric, and then giving them a soft kiss before he starts to lick and suck on them too, able to fit both in his mouth and feel how they start to get tenser and tenser against his tongue. He keeps doing that as he unhooks Dabi's stockings from his garter belt and takes those straps out of the way before he rests his palm against Dabi's little clit. His princess doesn't need to be told. He starts to hump himself against his palm, moaning and whimpering like the cutest little whore that he could imagine as he does so. 

It barely takes three seconds of the friction for his balls to go so tight and for him to spill all inside his panties again. 

Tomura eases off of his own sac, the movements of his slick hand there and the other along his length making his arousal burn so hotly under his veins that the thought of bringing off his little girl so quickly is making his own need too insistent. He doesn't want to be the one losing control like that. He wants his princess to be able to enjoy everything that he can give him, and he wants to hold out for as long as he can. It will only make it better when he does finally allow himself to let go, the satisfaction of being able to control even his basest desires always managing to work him into a frenzy. He lets himself come away from that edge quickly enough as he decides it's time for what he was so prepared for at the start of this.

He takes the stroker from beneath the water bottle, the silicone a little too warm to the touch, but he knows that's what it would feel like. Dabi is already too hot to the touch and Tomura would chance burning his dick if it meant that he could have the arsonist tangled up in his sheets, back arched, tears streaking down his cheeks as he begs for more. So he gets the inside of the penetrable wet with lube to make sure that it will feel perfect as he sinks back into the fantasy. 

Dabi is a mess already. Soaked with his own cum, smeared with spit, and those glassy eyes have given up their tears, two streaks of them slipping over his cheeks as he tries to catch his breath enough to say something as his second orgasm finishes wracking his body. Tomura presses a kiss to his inner thigh before he dances all five fingers along the rest of his clothing. He has perfect control here, and it's like the clothes are melting away as they leave his firefly naked beneath him. He's only just reaching for Dabi's bra when he mumbles, "What about you, Daddy?" 

"What about me, baby?" He asks, taking his bra away and leaning down to give all of his newly exposed skin some additional kisses. 

Dabi squirms beneath him, his cheeks pink again as he sniffles and tries to make his brain work when Tomura is bound and determined to turn it to mush between his ears. "...I want to make you feel good too, Daddy." 

Tomura coos at him, giving him another kiss against his lips before taking away some of the tears on his cheeks too. "That's so sweet, princess. If you want Daddy to feel good too, why don't you spread your legs a little more. Daddy wants to see your tight, pretty pussy, baby girl." His mouth waters as Dabi whimpers and does as he's told, his little cock all pink still from how sensitive it is, and his hole the same shade even though he hasn't even gotten there yet-- "Your pussy is all red." He says as he reaches between his legs, circling his hole with his slick fingers. 

And the lightest touch has Dabi arching off of the bed, another loud moan tearing out of his chest as he tangles his fingers into the sheets. 

"Are you always so sensitive, or were you being naughty while you were waiting for Daddy to finish his work and come spoil you?" 

Tomura has to take a slower breath. He hasn't even sunk his cock into his toy yet, but the thought of Dabi wanting him as badly as Tomura wants him? Dabi being alone in his room, biting his knuckles or pressing his face against his pillow so that he doesn't make too much noise as he fingers himself open, wishing that it was Tomura's cock pressing inside of him? It's such a good fantasy that Tomura nearly gives up on the one he's currently in to pursue that one. But he sets it aside for later. He has a feeling that for as long as Dabi is in his life, he's going to be fantasizing about ways that he can take him apart.

"I missed you," Dabi whimpers like his loneliness is the biggest horror in the world. Tomura kisses him again, trying to devour that need out from underneath Dabi's skin as he works his fingers inside of his already stretched, already wet hole. He knows he doesn't need to. He could rush and be inside his tight, hot, wet body as quickly as he wants like this, but the entire point of this is not to rush. He is the master of the fire in his blood, not the other way around. And he likes the idea of being the one in control of the fire beneath Dabi's skin in however many ways he can get that. 

He opens him up until Dabi is just letting out sound after sound of his pleasure, until his adorable clit is half hard, but not for lack of trying. He doesn't think that his baby girl can make his clit any harder than that after how many orgasms he must have had today, certain that he got a few as he tried to play with his own tight cunt too. Tomura savors the way that Dabi's body fails him, the way that he can't control himself and needs Tomura to do it for him. To teach him how to enjoy his pleasure all the more the way that Tomura can by having his meticulous control. It's only when he is feeling like he's on the edge of his own pleasure that he wants to test those limits once again and make it harder for himself to do so. Only then that he takes his fingers out of Dabi's dripping cunt and he murmurs, 

"Alright, princess, now you can make Daddy feel good." He doesn't wait until he gets a response from Dabi. He just shifts between his legs and steadies his cock as he pushes it inside of his pliant, eager body. The heat, the texture, the slickness as he sinks in is blindingly good and Tomura feels his balls tighten and start to ache from how he's already denied himself so far. He feels a gush of his own pre slip out of him and has to focus so hard, maintain his control when he refuses to try to pull back and escape the stimulation that is so hot and so good against his length. No, he's going to stay just like this, and he's going to keep his orgasm at bay as he watches his baby twist and moan beneath him as he tries to get more, tries to get closer, tries to get the gratification that Tomura is fighting so hard. His baby girl, his beautiful id that he won't let sway him from his goal.

He holds off and when he manages to get his arousal back under his control, he begins to move. The fantasy doesn't change much from there, the penetration always the most mundane part of fucking his subs. It's fantastic, of course, the feeling of being sheathed inside of their bodies intoxicating even when they aren't so soaked with heat the way the Dabi's insides are. But he can only move in so many ways that will make this part of the play unique. His mouth and hands roam as he moves, making sure to swallow as many of Dabi's tears as he does his moans, his fingers playing with his nipples and the pretty barbells through them until his princess's tits are pink and swollen, and then he goes lower to play with his oversensitive clit. That makes his baby girl squeal, barely managing a couple of drops of cum on the next climax he reaches. And Tomura keeps stroking, keeps thrusting, savoring the way that his walls get even tighter around him for a moment as he cums, and then enjoying how Dabi sobs harder with the overstimulation, his words barely choked out between breaths, 

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy--" he wants him to stop. Needs him to be done because his clit and pussy are so sore from how much pleasure that he's already taken. But Tomura doesn't want to stop. He wants to take every inch of his body, every concept he has for what he can handle in bed with another partner, and he wants to make him know that nothing else has ever or will ever match up to what Tomura can do for him. He would fuck him through his first, second, third orgasms and keep going. He would wear Dabi out to the point of the other man being near unconscious before he stopped and let him collapse into the bed so absolutely and completely deliciously used. He can give him all of that because he doesn't stop until he's certain of it. Until he knows that the only other pleasure that Dabi can find is in the knowledge that--

"Please, Daddy," he manages to catch his breath, his arms back around his neck, tears still on his cheeks, but his voice more sure than it was a moment ago. "Please show me I was a good girl for you." 

And the thought of even that amount of Dabi's satisfaction being under his control is what finally allows him to let go of his own. 

Tomura groans softly as he fucks his cock deeper into the toy, squeezing it more firmly with his other hand as he does so that he can feel every inch of texture inside of it as he finally lets his orgasm crash over him. The way his whole body thrums and tingles is so sharp, so good, that he is regretting only waiting three times before he's even halfway through it, his cum spilling hot and thick into the toy. Four, five, even six, and every delay would only have made the final release better. But it's still good enough to leave him sweat-drenched and out of breath on his bed as he finishes. Tomura stays there for a while. It's additional indulgence, but he likes the idea that he might have gotten his baby girl to curl up against his chest and fall asleep there. He hasn't gotten to spend the full night with other partners often. But it would be nice to see if Dabi stays so warm in his sleep. If he would wake up with his cock hard and let Tomura tease him for a few lazy hours before they faced the day. 

It's another nice thought and another one that Tomura will put aside to use at a later date, but for now he has to get up, putting on the clothes he was wearing earlier and picking out his pajamas. He uses them and his towel to hide the hot water bottle and the filthy toy so that he can go and put the former back and the latter can get a good clean. 

The real Dabi sleeps soundly through his late night activities, and when Tomura does finally get to lay back down, he does so and lets his mind imagine the other man laying beside him. What the hell? He's already been indulging himself so much lately.

///

It's a few days later and as far as Tomura knows, Dabi is all healed up and ready to lead the others into the summer camp job as originally planned. That's more than enough for Tomura to be happy as far as work goes, and he's very good about compartmentalizing anything outside of work when it comes to the arsonist. 

So he's fairly surprised when one night, as they are both in the small kitchen, waiting for more hot water to heat up in the kettle for their instant noodles, it well past midnight, but neither of them wanting to stop their work until they've finished what they're doing, Dabi turns to him. 

"Hey," 

And they've been talking for hours, so Tomura waits for Dabi to actually say what he wants to instead of belittling him. 

He doesn't meet his eyes as he takes the kettle off and pours the water into Tomura's cup first. "...Sorry I was such a dick when we first met. Still gross as fuck that you wear dead people hands as a costume, but I guess you're not that bad overall. Shouldn't have been so rude." 

Of the things that he had expected to come out of his mouth, that's not a combination that he'd expected, and Tomura only blinks before he manages to regain his composure. "It's fine, Dabi. I shouldn't have been so irritable either. I'm glad Kurogiri stepped in as my common sense and stopped me from hurting you." He is careful with his words, not wanting to let too much slip as he watches Dabi carefully as he fills their cups and then goes into the fridge to get some extra toppings as the noodles sit. "I had just been recently stabbed and shot, but I shouldn't have taken that out on you." 

"Know about the bullets, you and Stain not hit it off either?" 

And Tomura has been keeping that under wraps, but Dabi doesn't look or sound like he would be surprised or upset if that were the case. "Our goals aren't entirely aligned and our methodology conflicts." 

"Yeah, anyone who's not a fanatic would be able to tell that after being here for less than a week. Good thing you picked up Toga and Spinner instead." 

"What about you?" He asks. 

A blue eye meets his, glancing over at him for just a moment before he goes back to what he's doing. "You're lucky that I have goals that do align with both you and the hero killer and that I don't give a shit about methodology as long as you let me get them done." 

It's far too honest when Tomura tells him, automatically, "I'd let you do anything if it keeps you here and working towards our goals. You're a good player to have in this game, Dabi." And there's no mistaking how that has Dabi's spine straightening a little more, how his cheeks pink a little again with his... pleasure at the compliment. 

"Good. Otherwise I'm gone, Shigaraki." He cuts two softboiled eggs and takes the coverings off the top of their noodles, dropping them inside before he passes Tomura's to him. They both silently open up the additional seasoning packets and put the aromatic oils inside of the cups. Tomura forgoes the spice packet while Dabi dumps his into the noodles, and after a second, he offers him his as well. "Thanks. Don't like spicy food?" 

"Indifferent mostly, but I don't choose it for myself." He shrugs. 

"Weak." 

"I like to actually taste the rest of my meal." 

Dabi snorts. "Whatever, Duster." They start to eat together, standing right there in the kitchen and after a few bites, Dabi asks, "So do you do anything else besides game and brood over All Might-- for fun I mean." 

And there is such a high chance of this going wrong, but Tomura wants to know that now before he keeps steeping himself deeper and deeper into this... crush. It's definitely not just a passing attraction, a way to remove his frustrations when Dabi steps on a nerve. No. He... likes it when he has the opportunity to have conversations like this with him. He enjoys working with him. He thinks he's attractive even though he knows that his looks are certainly not conventional. 

"I used to go to a sex club to blow off steam." He tells him, watching closely for his reaction. 

Dabi nearly chokes on the bite of food in his mouth and when he manages not to, he immediately turns incredulous eyes on him as he looks to see if he's joking. But he doesn't ask if he is, blue eyes searching every inch of his features as Tomura meets that scrutiny with as much genuine openness that he can without words. After another second, Dabi turns back to his food with a soft snort as he pulls up another bite of noodles from his cup. 

"That why you seemed so sure about not slipping?" 

Maybe Dabi thinks the comment is innocuous, but it lights up Tomura's entire mind like he was struck with lightning. It's been a long time since they had that conversation and Dabi had never brought it up in front of him again. But if that comes so readily to his mind, then that means that the other man was thinking about it. 

So it doesn't feel like as much of a risk when Tomura tells him, "Well, if you're so curious about it, you could join me some time. I'm sure you could guess based on the venue, but I'm not shy."

There is definitely a touch more color across his cheeks, but Dabi doesn't explode at him, doesn't call him a pervert, doesn't tell him he's disgusting, and, most importantly, doesn't shoot him down. "Get all of this summer camp bullshit sorted out for us with enough time for us to spare on sex, and maybe I'll take you up on that Duster. It could be... good to blow off some steam." 

And Tomura is a master of control when he knows that waiting will benefit him. So it's very easy for him to say, as nonchalantly as Dabi, "Alright, I'll see what I can do, firefly. I wouldn't want my squad leader to go into his debut fight at less than perfect." 

Dabi lets that stand and the two of them finish their midnight snack. He knows that he's working harder after the break because he would shatter UA right now if it meant he could get Dabi in V. But he supposes that Dabi has some plausible deniability that the time away from the work and the meal are what seem to have rejuvenated him. But he also moves his chair close enough that Tomura can feel the heat pouring off his body, so he's pretty sure that they might finally be on the same page after all. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, consider leaving a comment/ask, I really appreciate them! And if you're interested in getting a commission for 50% off, the summer sale is going on now and you can find out more about it here!

[sometimescherwrites]

Too Long

John Walker x gn!reader

word count: 1.2k

content: smut, just pure smut. mutual masturbation. phone sex. needy john. no specific genitals described for reader but you are wearing boxers in this. hint of praise kink. this was written in one sitting this is your warning.

MDNI yall already know the drill

John’s got better self control than this. He knows he does.

But he’s slipping, everyone can tell. It’s been three weeks since he last saw you, since Val sent him on an assignment that was only supposed to take a few days.

To say he’s frustrated with how it’s going would be an understatement. And that frustration is manifesting in some very inconvenient ways.

But he’s not going to call you. He swears he’s not.

He’s not going to cave when he should be focusing on how to catch these fuckers so he can get home to you. He’s not going to call you.

The ringing of your phone is what wakes you up, John’s ID flashing on the screen. When you answer, John’s voice is low and strained.

“Talk to me. Please.”

Not a request, but a tired demand. The words themselves could be interpreted any sort of way, but the sheer underlying need in his voice tells you exactly what this is about.

He’s already got his pants shoved halfway down his thighs by the time your voice washes over him, a wave of relief he didn’t even know was possible coursing through his veins when he hears you.

“You were only supposed to be gone a few days.” Your voice rings through the phone, sparking a fresh surge of warmth in his gut.

He’s got the device pressed between his ear and his shoulder. You can hear him spit into his hand through the phone. There’s no subtlety, no disguising what he’s doing.

“I know, I know- Jesus-“ He grunts, wrapping his hand around his cock and fisting roughly. You’d be gentler, he knows you would, but he needs this over with fast, “Val didn’t say shit about the fact that I was going to be working with morons. I could’ve done this on my own.”

“If Val needed a group, why didn’t she just send the team with you?”

“I don’t fucking know.” He groans, thumbing at his tip and making a muffled wheezing sound, “I don’t understand what goes on in her goddamn brain sometimes- you’d think even if she doesn’t trust us she’d want- hngggg- want efficiency.”

“And the team she sent you with?”

“Don’t even call them that.” He shakes his head, adjusting the phone when it starts to slip, “They’re not a team, they’re a group of dumbasses who can’t work together for- hnnnnnnghh- for shit, even when their lives are on the line. Even a bunch of- fuck, E-1s would be better than these guys. If you told me they picked a bunch of goddamn civilians off the street and gave them guns, I’d- nghhhhh- I’d believe it.”

“Any of ‘em died yet?”

It’s not an erotic question. Not in the slightest. But John can hear the way your breathing stutters, the way your voice has gotten lower. It’s enough to tell him that he’s not the only one using this call to get off.

The thought is enough to short circuit his brain, his cock practically jumping in his grasp.

“John?”

The way you say his name has him biting back a moan, squeezing his eyes shut.

“John?” You try again, the lack of response causing your concern to spike.

“Tell to me about your day.” He rasps suddenly, head falling back and Adam’s apple bobbing as he touches himself, using his free hand to pinch his inner thigh the way you always do.

You start detailing it to him, but not a damn word is computing in his brain. All he can think about is the coil in his gut, the aching of his cock, the way your voice sounds.

His hands are much too different from yours, he’s realizing with dismay. He hasn’t had to get himself off since he started seeing you, he’d gotten too spoiled. Your touch is always better.

Even his imagination can’t fully replicate it, but he can picture you in his minds eye, and that’s as good as he’s going to get.

“-was pretty boring.” Is all he catches from you.

“Mhmm.” He says, absentmindedly digging his nails into his thigh, “Keep talking.”

Trying to replicate what you make him feel is impossible, he’s realizing with dismay. So instead he focuses on what he thinks you’re doing right now.

He can see it all so clearly. You’re laying in bed, sheets kicked off, probably with a hand down your boxers, playing with yourself while you entertain his greedy, desperate requests for more, more, more.

The coil is tightening the more you talk. The fire burns hotter. He can’t form words anymore, just borderline animalistic grunts as he handles himself.

You’re getting more vocal now too, he doesn’t know when, but you’ve replaced your breathy recanting of the last three weeks with needy sounds and hushed murmurs of praise.

The way you say, “You sound so good, John.” has him rutting into his fist desperately.

He’s singleminded in the way he chases his high. Nothing else matters in that moment aside from the way you sound and the way he needs to feel.

Your face flashes across his brain when he finally cums. The sound of your high filling his ears when it finally happens, his head tossed back with a bitten back, “Fuck!”

Three weeks of build up and intense frustration is finally released in hot, sticky spurts all over his pants and abdomen. And he can’t even bring himself to care.

“Thank you.” He murmurs after a while, “God, I needed that.”

“Never would’ve guessed.”

Your tease goes ignored in favor of how he’s still reeling. The sound of clamoring outside gets his attention.

“I gotta go.” He admits reluctantly, “Think one of ‘em’s about to get someone killed.”

“You should probably go stop that.”

There’s an underlying disappointment in your voice. It’s not aimed at him but it may as well be. He hates disappointing you.

“Night…” He murmurs, already cleaning himself up. Then adds a quiet, “Love you.”

“Love you too. Don’t get yourself killed.”

Beneath the jest, there’s a layer of seriousness. You need him to come back to you. And for the first time since Olivia, he has a reason to.

“I never do.”

“First time for everything.”

“Not for me.” He’s coming back to himself now, the self assured cockiness returning.

“John.”

For such a stubborn man, it takes surprisingly little to get him to cave. In this case, just one word. His name from your lips.

He gives in, “I’ll be careful as I can.”

He doesn’t want to hang up. But he knows you won’t.

“I gotta go handle this. ‘S gonna be a lot of paperwork if one of these guys shoots himself.”

The call ends after that, and he gets up with a groan, buckling his pants back up.

He decides that he is going to kill one of these morons if he has to spend another week with them, and he is going to inform Valentina of this in great detail.

Just another few days until he went home.

A few days too long.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Did the crowd's hatred outmatch Blitzø's?

Christ on a stick indeed, Blitzø.

This question, which our beloved imp had kindly raised himself, has been bothering me since the 'Apology Tour' came out.

I've seen plenty posts speculating on this topic, and it's not going to be a super unique take, I admit, but I would still like to think aloud about what that party really symbolizes.

Is it the true extent of Blitzø's tendencies to hurt anyone who dares to reach too close? Or was it exaggerated by Verosika?

Let's see what evidence we have on hand and make some assumptions about what that could mean.

A quick note of appreciation before be begin: I sincerely admire the amount of work done on detailing the crowd at the Halloween party. Just look at the progress in animation they've made since the 'Queen Bee' episode! From animating three-four people max to drawing almost each character separately, and giving basic movements to many of them.

(tumblr, your 10mb gif restriction sucks ass. I struggled to show just how good these animations are with such a limited size)

Wow, my hat's down, I am in awe.

But okie, let's go.

The avoidance

It would be silly to deny that Blitzø has issues forming meaningful, deep connections. He is afraid of affection, of love. We've seen this with Stolas. We've seen how hurtful, brash, and aggressive he becomes when offered vulnerability and feelings, how deep his distorted view of the world runs. During the Full Moon tryst, he is so terrified that he is completely deaf to what has actually been said, and he lashes out violently, scorching everyting along the way.

We also know Blitzø is extremely horny and finds comfort in sex, while being too scared of emotional attachment and craving it just as much. Given this, is it really surprising to see more people affected by his demeanor?

Take Verosika, for instance. He dumped her by running off after she confessed her love, leaving her to pay for a hotel room, stealing her car, running three Rings to Wrath, and maxing out her credit card on shitty horse riding lessons.

Then there are some people we don’t know who are visibly destroyed by their time with Blitzø. We know nothing about them, but simply observing their distress and Blitzø’s reactions is enough to draw conclusions.

We can endlessly sympathize with Blitzø. We understand what he has been through, why he behaves the way he does, and how much he still suffers. However, this does not give him a carte blanche to ruin the lives of those around him. The show does not glorify him as a poor, misunderstood figure—instead, it poignantly exposes how insensitive he has been to other people's feelings, and shoves it in his face immediately after he damages another relationship that, as we know, he actually held dear.

I mean, from some points of view, even Dennis, who only made out with Blitzø, could justifiably be deeply offended and scarred by his insults...

...

...

...

Wait... fucking DENNIS is here?

The hatred

Okay, something doesn’t add up. This was supposed to be a party for those whose hearts were broken, not for whiny bitches who couldn’t handle one little insult that’s quite common in Hell’s environment!

Ugh, thanks, Dennis. Now we need to untangle the other side of the mess, because it’s clearly not so one-dimensional anymore. But fuck you still, you fucking suck (affectionate <3 you actually slay).

So, what’s going on? Let’s take another look at the crowd.

For starters, Tex, baby, what are you doing here? Didn’t you say her beef ain't yours? Why the fuck are you involved? Did she pay you to be a backup for Stolas and passionately repeat 'motherfucker,' referring to someone who arguably did nothing wrong to you?

And aren’t those succubi and incubi from Verosika’s Spring Break entourage? Lads and lasses, did Blitzø fuck up your bleeding hearts too, or are you just hanging out at the same places as Verosika?

Fucking Wally selling hate merch? Blitzø, look at me—do you remember him in your bed? Or, maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t give two shits and is just capitalizing on a quick profit opportunity?

Blitzø doesn’t remember everyone from that party; he admitted that at the very beginning of our discussion. He recognizes some of them though, but doesn’t act particularly sorry...

As much as I’m willing to believe and admire Blitzø’s stamina to fuck that many people, I don’t think he’s had enough weekends in his adult life to meet, charm, have intercourse with, and dump all of them. The math just isn't adding up.

But he never questions whether the crowd was genuinely hurt by him or if they just came as someone’s friend or to participate in a thrilling experience of hating on someone they might not even know. Hey, those piñatas, darts, and fire pits look quite fun, don’t they? It almost seems like they don’t care about the implications—literally bullying someone and taking joy in it.

So, could Verosika be a little too obsessed with building the image of Blitzø as an irredeemable, ruthless, and atrocious imp, to the point of letting just about anyone in to exaggerate the extent of the real issue? Perhaps even doing it quite intentionally?

What the actual hell?

Before you get lost in my elaborate attempts to make my point, let me draw three conclusions from what we’ve seen.

Conclusion one: Both statements are true.

We’ve learned that not everyone in the crowd was hurt by Blitzø. However, even if we narrow it down to just the confirmed cases—six in total (Stolas, Verosika, two crying demons, and two demons Blitzø acknowledged before insulting them again)—it’s still a significant number. It’s enough to start questioning Blitzø and encourage him to change, as this harmful tendency leads to nothing good. For Stolas's sake and for his own, too.

Conclusion two: Blitzø entirely belongs to this party.

His spiky, insufferable attitude he shows to others is actually, from some point of view, this:

He is so adamant that he doesn’t deserve love that he deems all the affection shown to him as a lie. So he pushes away, snarls, insults, and attacks. Because how dare you love such a monster? This can’t be true; this is wrong!

It is himself whom his hatred is directed toward.

He should be an honorary guest at this party, a fucking star invitee. No one can fucking beat him in the craft of hating on himself.

And the crowd, which he didn’t even attempt to challenge, is just a showcase of what he thinks he is. It represents what he actually isn’t, considering we’ve proven that some of the people there have nothing to do with him. It’s an exaggerated, untrue reflection of his worst ideas about himself.

Conclusion three: Verosika's obsession with bullying Blitzø is unhealthy.

Yes, even considering her good intentions to help those who suffered because of him.

Just as the crowd reveals Blitzø’s extent of self-loathing, it also highlights her inability to move on and the persona she has created for herself. She is wholly engulfed in it.

While we now understand her point of view and where she is coming from, it doesn’t excuse her for organizing the bully party, stalking Blitzø and his partners… Seriously, how invested do you have to be to learn about the breakup after just one night? Or to even know who your ex of 5+ years (allegedly, we don’t know for sure) dated to begin with?

Lady, you need to put away your booze and get yourself together. He acted horribly, no doubt, but the effort you’re putting into trying to prove he’s a motherfucker just isn’t worth it.

This isn’t the solution. People are either still hurt or just enjoy hating on Blitzø, but they are simmering in hatred nonetheless.

They are not healing, and neither is Verosika.

A closing note (yay?)

TL;DR (should be at the beginning, really, but who cares): Everyone in this show needs some fucking therapy. Mental health sucks ass in Hell (wonder why?). And bullying also sucks. Don’t be bullies. Thanks.

Okay, class, put away your notebooks and put down your pencils. The homework will be to find some anti—and... why the excited, shimmery eyes? *gasp* No, don’t bully them. Have you learned nothing from what I've said? Move on. Block them. Because #stolitz will be canon, and nothing will change that, so let them whine somewhere else.

Thanks for your attention! <3