#even if he had not been fat he would have been imposing

[ssailormoonn]

❛ FILLED !! ❜

Uchiha Itachi X Fem!Reader

WC; 1.7k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: x fem reader, piv, penetrative sex, creampie, major breeding, breedng with the intent to get you pregnant, mating press, missionary, prone bone, over stimulation + more,

˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) I know you are busy and have a lot of unfinished writings in your drafts, But, can I request an itachi x reader with a huge breeding kink topic? - ANON

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

Itachi is a respectful man, a gentleman. He will never think about hurting you in any way or form possible as long as the two of you are together, and even if you were to see your separate ways, he would never be a jealous man. 

However, one thing was certain, Itachi is a family man through and through. In public he wasn't the most obvious with physical affection but in private, when it's just the two of you, he's the most romantic man you've met. 

You've always thought that Itachi would make a great househusband. He's an amazing cook, he can clean and do anything you'd ask for. However, that thought isn't the case for him. Itachi wants you to be the one to be out of work at staying at home for him. 

Itachi cums to the thought of you being filled with his seed, your belly swelling with his child. This leads for you to stay at home and be his pretty little housewife catering to his children. 

So, this is where sex leads to again.

Your body folded into a tight mating press under Itachi's body. And, god, you were sobbing, fat tears falling from your eyes from the pleasure and stimulation. Itachi's cock was nuzzled perfectly up against your cervix, resting there and he kept all his cum up in your silky walls.

"'Tachi," you mewl out through sobs. "It's too much."

It's been three rounds already, in the same position, and your poor body getting folded into that position. Your back and knees were beginning to ache, but you loved how his dick trusted so perfectly up into 

Itachi lowers down to your trembling body, peppering soft and gentle kisses all over your face. "You're doing so good for me," he hums agasint your skin, inhaling your naturally sweet scent. "You can take a little more from me, my love, please?" he begs. 

"Feels so full though, Itachi," you sob. "Don't think I can anymore."

He presses his lips to yours, his tongue entangling with your own and you both moan into each other's mouths. You let out a wince when Itachi helped you lower your legs down from the sides of your head, allowing your legs to wrap tightly around his hips, his thick and still erect length still in your cunt.

Itachi drags his length out, a breathless sigh emitting from your mouth into his own, relief crossing your features, thinking that the two of you were done. But then, all of a sudden your head was thrown back in overstimulation, and a moan strung from your mouth as his cock slides right back into your cum filled walls.

"Darling, please, for me," Itachi whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin. "Need to fill you so bad, fill you more."

"'mmmm m'kay, be gentle, 'Tachi," you huff. "So rough before, my love."

"Thank you," he replies, his voice filled with happiness. "I'll be so so gentle with you," he adds, reassuring you.

Itachi slips out of your walls and gently flips your body onto it's stomach, and your eyes were wide with surprise, not expecting a sudden change of position once again. You could feel him lift your hips and place a soft and fluffy pillow under your lower abdomen before letting your body rest fully down on it. 

You then felt Itachi's mass press down against your back and you let out a soft huff at the sudden weight. His abs were flush against your back, hands gripping the backs of your own, pressing them into the bed. Itachi's breath tickled your ear and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation, your core getting wetter, your body trying to squirm away from the imposing hold that he had on you.

Itachi's hands moved slowly, changing his grip so that one of his hands held both of you over your head, being cautious not to get your hair entangled within the movement. A content sigh leaves your mouth when Itachi raises his body ever so slightly, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance, filled with his cum from previous rounds. 

"I'll make you feel so good," he mutters against your ear before taking a nibble at the collagen, you let out a gasp at the sudden action. 

Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't as Itachi knew your body more than you did yourself, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.

You held your breath when Itachi sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A moan left both of your mouths as Itachi's length nudged the deepest spot within you.

"Taking me so well, dear," Itachi moans, relishing in the way your walls clench him, how could he not want to cum inside, you feel so good.

 You sigh in pleasure at the degradative praise, he knew that you loved to be worshipped, you savoured his words, loving how he praised you taking his length, and his children. 

But he didn't move, he wanted to relish in on how you desired to cause friction, desired to move against his touch, but couldn't. Itachi's cock, prodded so deep in your gummy walls that you whimpered in pleasure, but that didn't stop him from not moving. He was still snug inside.

Hot and heavy kisses trail down from your ear down to the dip of your neck to shoulder and a breathless sigh escaped your parted lips before Itachi rolled his hips into yours. A moan slips out of your mouth, his thick length scraping all the sensitive parts of your warm insides.

Itachi's knees spread your legs apart so that any advances from you ensured that they would be shut down, so that you remained situated below him, your pretty body that paled in comparison to his frame. As he expected, you couldn't move from his trapping embrace.

His movements became faster, his cock thrusting into the depths of you needy hole as strained moans and whines left your throat. Itachi was panting in your ear and an occasional deep groan slipped past his lips, the sounds which made your cunt flutter tightly around his length.

Itachi was filling me up to the hilt, his throbbing pink tip hitting that soft, gummy spot in my cunt that caused me to scream out in fulfilment. "I know, my love," He breathed, causing you to let out a moan and sigh, body shaking with pleasure. 

Your body tried to arch away from the pleasure, not being able to take the strong rolls of Itachi's hips, but as you arched your back away, his thrusts only aimed deeper, harder into your G spot. You sobbed out, tears filling your lash line. "B-but... Too much, Itachi. Slow down, too much."

"Oh?" he smirked, his hips moving now at a faster pace, loving how your cunt squeezed his cock even though you wanted him to slow down, "It's alright, my love, you can hold out," he coos.

Repetitive moans left your mouth while he pounded into your tight heat. You suddenly had the instinctive urge to press yourself into his length, but you couldn't, his weight was too heavy for you to move against him, and you were utterly hopeless as his thrusts became faster.

"Please, I wanna come," you cry out mewling. "So big, you feel so big, Itachi."

Your body trembled beneath him and the hold he had on your hands loosened. Your hips were getting held, then, the strength he possessed lifted you onto your knees before a bicep wrapped around your throat, lifting your head. It wasn't a tight grip but the power lifted your head from the futon while you shakily rested your weight on your elbows.

Your back arched heavily, finally being able to sink more into him. Itachi hunched over you, pulling you closer to him and connected your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, grunting into you while he swallowed your moans. "Good girl, taking me so deep," Itachi groaned, pulling away from your mouth and pushing this arch into your back deeper.

He watched your ass ripping again his lower abdomen, watching your cunt with black iris'. Observing how your walks sucked him in, leaving a creamy white rind of arousal around the base of his cock. 

"Making you feel so good, aren't I?" Itachi groaned his head tilted forward, sweat beading on his forehead as we watched your fall apart and tremble from his dick, broken moans slipping past your plump lips.

 "Gonna fill you up," Itachi groans. "You're taking me so deep, deserve to have my cum."

"'Wanna come, please," you beg, wanting to feel the release, desperate as the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. "Want it so bad."

You clench around his length as he increases his pace, instantly accommodating to the speed but your moans escalate. "Such a good girl," He leaned down and mumbled in my ear chased with a deep moan that stirred my insides clenching around his length. 

"Want it so bad!" you whimper, unable to comprehend any thoughts that swelled into your head. 

"C'mon darling," he growled and you spasmed around his length as your high washed over you, your legs shaking as his weight pressed down even more than it was. His thrusts didn't slow causing me to whimper in overstimulation, but Itachi helped it, his hips continuing to rut into mine, helping me ride out my orgasm as he chased his own.

With a groan, his lips planted against mine once again as his hips slammed into mine, hard, his cum spilling inside me causing me to moan into his kiss. And you felt more of his cum spill into your fertile womb, painting your insides white, you could almost feel your stomach bulging from how much you had of your man inside you. 

Itachi slipped his softening length out, and pulled away from the kiss as you slumped to the futon, his eyes chained to the white splotches of silky come that spilled from your gaping cunt, watching with a slight frown as the cum spilled from your cunt. he pushes his fingers in and you immediately lean forward but that doesn't make his fingers leave, he only pushes them deeper in response.

"Itachi!" you moan out. "Please, no more, need a break!"

"'M sorry, love," he apologising placing kisses to your shoulder. "Let me just keep my fingers here for a while, have to make sure I've done my job right."

DO NOT COPY, STEAL, TRANSLATE OR PLAGERISE

m.list | naruto/boruto m.list | uchiha m.list

[starkeyisthelastname]

but does he go to the carnival with her lmfao

he sure does. 😏 this one got real dirty. 💦 remember reader is between nineteen and twenty one while rafe is thirty.

He’s grumpy about it, but he can’t say no to your sugary sweet self, especially when you take a grown man’s cock so well. As annoying your persistent little self was, he had never had someone be so obsessed with him and it boosted his ego a little bit to have a doll like you, wanting to be wrapped around him every day. You had attached yourself to him, because you didn’t know any better, just wanting to live your little princess move fantasy about having a boyfriend.

“Would you quit fuckin’ bouncin around, we ain’t even goin’ for that long.” Rafe grumbled, cigarette hanging from between his lips as he could feel you vibrating in the passenger seat of his beat up pick up. “Like a goddamn bunny rabbit, I swear.” He mumbled to himself, flicking the ash out the rolled down window.

Your pretty eyes were wide and full of excitement as Rafe helped you hop down from the truck. You were trying your best to be patient, waiting for him to finish another cigarette as his blue eyes stared at you underneath the old cap he had on. “C’mere.” He said, voice raspy as he blew out the heavy smoke. You closed the little gap between the two of you, his height imposing over your smaller frame. His free hand grabbed your hip possessively, the sweet scent of baby lotion and vanilla overtaking even the heavy nicotine. “Don’t leave my fuckin’ sight while we’re here. Got that sugar?” He asked, a smirk spreading across his face as he watched you nod eagerly and obediently.

He definitely felt out of his element, and bitched about how expensive shit was even though he wasn’t paying. The only thing that made this place bearable was watching your fat ass and pretty tits bounce around at your excitement. You’d force him to ride the ferris wheel, his massive frame cramped in the small cart as you happily sat next to him. He’d then watch you eat a handful of cotton candy, your eyes lighting up in the Carolina sun as you pointed to a huge stuffed white rabbit on the prize wall of one of the game booths. You’d smack your sticky lips together, tugging at his worn t-shirt to get his attention.

He was feeling a little looser after he coaxed you into letting him get a pint of beer which definitely wasn’t the cheap shit he was use to drinking. He’d take a hefty sip, looking down at you as you gave him those doe eyes and pouty cotton candy covered lips. He’d shake his head, downing the rest of the bitter liquid before tossing the plastic cup into a nearby trash can. He then yanked a few tickets out from your delicate hand, grumbling to himself that he was going to try and win a stupid stuffed animal for a girl nearly a decade younger than him.

And oh were you so happy as the guy pulled it off the shelf, the giant thing nearly the size of you as you tried to hold it up. “Can’t even carry the fuckin’ useless thing, can you babydoll?” He asked with a snort, plucking the toy from you and carrying it with ease in one veiny arm. It was the way you said “thank you” in that sweet sugary voice, clinging onto him like puppy and that gorgeous little body and pouty face that made him want to do bad things to you over and over.

He was wrong for this and he knew it, a bad man that couldn’t help but get off on the fact he had you faced down in your frilly twin bed, the slightly rusted metal frame squeaking as he pounded into your fluttering cunt. Your father was asleep just across the hall of the quaint trailer, that might as well of been a mini mansion compared to his shit hole of a place. His rough hand held you by the back of the neck, pushing you down into your newly stuffed rabbit to keep your cries quiet.

“Shh.. you can take it. Just be real quiet for me sweet baby..” He grunted, watching his thick cock stretch out your creamy little hole as the moonlight shined in through your pink blinds. “Can’t have your daddy finding’ out you are takin’ a grown man’s fat cock in your precious cunt..” His voice drawled out lowly, watching your manicured little hands grip onto the quilt for support. Your poor makeup had already stained your new white bunny, your face hot as he continued to hold your head down to keep your pretty moans muffled.

You took him so well, and he was as a hung motherfucker to be fucking your tight little cunt the way he was. It took every ounce of him not to bust inside you as you squeezed his cock, cumming around him like a good fuck doll. He couldn’t do that shit yet though, he needed to wait before he knocked you up with his little trailer park babies. He continued to pile drive his toned hips into you, his hand on the back of your neck to keep you grounded while his climax approached.

As his nuts tightened, he quickly pulled out and yanked your limp body over to face him. He gripped your hair tightly, aiming himself over your fucked out face as he tried to keep his groans quiet. “Open your fuckin’ mouth and stick that pretty tongue out.” He grunted, watching as you obliged without any question which only made his seed start to spurt across your beautiful face. “That’s my good girl.. takin’ my fuckin’ nut to your face in your daddy’s house.” He said with an amused breathless chuckle.

[flokali]

Hi i just went through your entire blog and now im having intense sagau zhongli brainrot hafjdjhdjexhsn imagine sagau zhongli worshiping fem readers chest for hours *dies*

(lying) I am so normal about boobs and Zhongli… but Anon I Am Thinking So Hard (TT) His hands are so big, his fingers are so long… with only one hand he’s able to cup your boobs (and if not then he does his best, just completely enthralled with the way some of your fat leaks from between his fingers and outside of the confines of his greedy hands) and just… squeezes while he uses his mouth on the other one, licking and kissing you until you’re sensitive from his textured (and forked) tongue… I am so okay and sane about this.

Pairing: Afab! Reader (heavily implied ; no mentions of anything other than boobs (size not specified)) x Zhongli!

Warning: Yandere, Sagau, God-like reader, cult-like behavior, obsessive and possessive thoughts, n//sft (not explicit), groping & kissing & sucking, chest/boob worship, reader is implied to be bedded by multiple characters, implied murderer (or willingness to commit), cocky Morax makes an appearance, forked tongue and cold blooded Zhongli nation rise; ask to tag!

Word Count: 2k

Zhongli’s hands are, unlike most people would be led to believe, slightly colder than the average being’s. Due to his connection to the Geo element and most natural stone’s cold temperatures, it isn’t surprising that beneath his gloves lay hands that felt smooth and chilly to the touch.

It was one of your initial observations when you first felt his un-gloved hand make contact with your own. It had taken a lot of sugary words of affirmation that he would not hurt nor taint you if he touched you with his bare hands, he’d convinced himself that you were as fragile as the carving made of crystals that’d he’d crafted, Zhongli had always feared that he may be still too much of a brute to handle you without breaking.

The feeling sent shivers up your spine, you wouldn’t quite know how to describe it, his touch was light as a feather but as imposing as the Archon’s presence, it was akin to the feeling of marble beneath bare feet, smooth and pleasant yet chilly.

His hands are also, much to no one’s surprise, slightly calloused, but not as much as you’d expect for a being once known as the God of War. The tip of his fingers were slightly thicker, as was the palm of his hand, probably from the way he gripped his weapon and the amount of times he found himself doing so. After millenia of wielding all manners of tools, it was impossible his hands didn’t tell the story as well.

Even so, his hands still managed to feel soft as they traveled across your skin. They glided across your body, up through your arms and across your collarbone; the ethereal touch leaves your skin tingling with desire and anticipation, eyes transfixed with the enchanting smile that graced Zhongli’s handsome features as he allowed his hands to wander across your bare skin, even though you were the one on the receiving end, it truly seemed as if Zhongli were the one enjoying it the most. His body relaxed, shoulders loosen, he looked at peace. His long hair let loose, his clothes replaced by silken robes that hung from his frame lazily, he was the picture of serenity and earthly bliss.

The first time you’d seen him he had been so terribly nervous, a sight completely unlike the one you’d come to know across your screen, his posture was stiff, his words felt rehearsed, and you were certain you heard a relieved sigh once he finished introducing himself; you’d later come to know it was due to a crumbling feeling of anxiety and fear of upsetting you. He may be one of the oldest of your acolytes but it was perhaps that very fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders, he had to be the best, the most knowledgeable, the most befitting servant of a deity such as yourself.

To be completely honest, had you not experienced the absolute madness that it was to be sent into a world you’d once thought fictitious and later been told you were a deity revered by the Gods of this world themselves, the mere thought of a man like Zhongli, a being who’d witnessed millenia pass him, who’d met Gods of times long since gone, nervously reciting a greeting in the mirror in preparation of meeting the likes of you would have been a comedy like no other.

However, many moon cycles had now passed and you’d learned that not only had you unknowingly become a God in a world you’d once played with but that Zhongli, the man in front of you right now, was perhaps one of your biggest devotees.

And prove his devotion he shall.

It’d become a ritual for certain acolytes, the ones of age and who bore a Vision, to engage in more physical forms of worship now that you resided with them in the same physical plane. Not all of them took part in the process, some believing it to be sacrilegious to even so much as think of you in such a lewd manner, but the ones who did fought tooth and nail to be allowed a fraction of your time and grace.

Tonight, as you lay in one of Liyue Harbor’s most exquisite hotels, it was Zhongli’s turn.

Every “worshiping session” he’d dedicate himself to a new part of your body and tonight’s focus was on your chest.

He’d been so careful in peeling off your garments, making sure not to be too rough – as in his excited state he’d sometimes miscalculate his own strength – or too hasty, wanting to savor the moment your breasts finally revealed themselves to his greedy eyes.

Once they finally are free, he lowers his hands to cup one in each, allowing himself to play with them, all while squeezing and pinching at the fat until the skin turns sensitive, he was never rough, never trying to hurt you, but he couldn’t help the thoughts of simply digging his nails a little deeper to leave a more lasting mark for the next “follower” of yours to find. However, the thought of your pained whines managed to reel him in, for now.

While he uses his hands to massage the general area, his thumbs come and lay above your nipples, making sure to circle the areola, allowing your breasts to process the touch and slowly harden your nipples without him touching them directly. He lets the tip of his fingers trace the spot, teasingly hovering them above your perked nipples before going back to knead your breasts.

You’re panting ever so slightly, the feeling of your breasts being used in such a way sends small waves of pleasure straight into your clit, it leaves you trying desperately to create some sort of friction between your legs. The man above you notices and chuckles, finally giving in to your soft movements of desperation and allowing himself to play with your nipples properly. He takes the hardening nub in between his thumb and index, slowly pinching and pulling at the skin, rubbing your other breasts as lewdly gropes the fat.

“Mhmm…” You whine, bucking your chest into his hands in an attempt to incite more. You bring your hands to meet his own and start instructing them into squeezing your chest tighter and faster, switching between tugging and pinching, kneading and softly-scratching.

“Mh’m, like that?” He chuckles, allowing himself to be guided, only applying pressure every once in a while, teasing your desperate behavior.

“Do more,” you mumble between soft pants, he’s teasing you - purposefully setting a slow pace that has you wanting more - so you decide that the only logical way to get him to stop is by teasing him back, in such a way that he has no choice but to give in and finally drop his frustrating game, “I know you’re better than this, Morax.”

“… Oh?” His expression turns into one of shock and later amusement, almost taken off guard at your words; but he knows His Idol, he knows how much you enjoy playing with him, riling him up until he loses his restraint and gives into his more primal desires.

His eyes darken, his eyelids fluttering and eyebrows turning in amusement, a grin – no, smirk – more akin to that of his younger self takes over, while his golden eyes seem to take an unnatural glow. He leans forward, fully engulfing your body with his own, until his head meets your breasts and you can feel his hot breath against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have thought your excellency to be so greedy,” he chuckles, the warmth he lets out makes you shiver, his hands trace the sides of your breasts while he begins to plant open kisses into your flesh, “mhm… ‘so needy, my love, have the others not been serving you as well as me?”

You groan as you feel him begin to suck at your tits, his tongue poking out and leaving glistening trails of his drool across your skin, it’s gentle, his forked-tongue barely touches your flesh but the ghost of its presence is enough to give you goosebumps.

Zhongli’s mouth occupied itself with your right breast as his hands worked on your left, while he playfully bit and kissed you he made sure to keep stimulating you as much as possible, his hands molded your skin, squeezing and caressing every bit of flesh his palm made contact with. His open-mouthed kisses slow down as he approaches your nipples, he takes his time - making sure to softly graze you with his sharp teeth, making sure to tease you as much as possible while never quite stopping.

Your eyes never once left his, it was overwhelming, as most things were with Zhongli, the pleasure paired with his intense gaze as he made sure to commit every expression of yours to memory would have made anybody flustered.

He laughs but it’s not mocking, his eyes glaze over while he makes a show of finally getting around to sucking on your perked up nipple, he stares at you - as if daring you to look away - while his lips finally latch onto that place you so desperately had wanted them, his cheeks are clearly flushed as he begins to flick at the nub with his tongue while sucking the spot.

Instinctively you arch your back but he quickly uses his own body to drag you down, he moves around a bit, as if trying to find the best position to latch onto you, desperately wanting to overtake your body and shield you from everything that wasn’t him.

His hand cups your breast even as he pulls away with a lewd “pop”, never letting your chest be without some form of stimulation, he licks at the areola, making sure to make a spectacle as his tongue travels across one breast to the other. He switches movement, kissing and sucking while still kneading and pulling. He’s never rough, never cruel in his touch, he’s always so delicate, making sure to treat you with the utmost care.

The feeling of his cool digits after having his warm breath on you is jarring but nevertheless pleasurable, you whine as your hands shoot up to cradle his hair, fingers finding their way onto his silky hair as you unconsciously pull him closer to your body.

He chokes on a moan, his eyes roll back slightly, if there was one thing Zhongli adored was the feeling of your hands pulling against his hair, it was one of those things he could never get enough of. The truth was that this session was fueled by his own selfish desires of being your most devoted lover, your only lover; if there was one thing in this universe he craved more than you was being the owner of the title of your beloved. He hoped that these special sessions between you two would prove that he truly was the only one worthy of such a title.

For who else could have you breaking so beautifully in their hands from pleasure alone? No one, he was the only being able to lure you into such earthly desires, he was sure of it.

His tongue on your nipple, playing with your beautiful body, his hands desperately gripping at your chest, all while he savored the proximity in which he was able to see you fall apart were blessing given to him and him alone, holy gifts from you to him, your ever so loyal servant, who dedicated his heart, soul, and body to you.

Even if you did not know how deeply the devotion he held for you went, you could tell from his aroused state, his never ending servitude, willing disposition, and obsession with pleasing you that you had, knowingly or not, enthralled a man who was now willing to do anything for you.

Just seeing you fall apart from him playing with your chest was enough to have him coming close to his peak, a ball of pleasure forming as he memorized the look of pleasure and bliss that took over your hazy features.

Your breathing is quick, your body feels hot and bothered, his touch is intoxicating, you want more of it and he wants more of you, you’re not able to even so much as forget who it is you’re with for everything he does is so clearly him; no one devoted themselves to you the same way Zhongli did and if there was such a person, he’d make sure to eliminate them before they became a problem.

[delirious-donna]

Until Now [Roronoa Zoro]

an: this was born from a thought I had whilst talking with a friend about one of her favourite men. For my beloved @angelic-muse

pairing: zoro x female reader

warnings: fluff, one playful smack to the chest (his), tickling, zoro being a little constipated with feelings

Masterlist

Smack!

You eyed the hand that landed against the thick wall of muscle with incredulity. The sound echoed around the empty cabin, cutting across the noise of the playful waters that lapped at the ship. Heat poured into your palm, accompanied by a slight sting from the impact. You hadn’t meant to strike with such force; it was to be a love tap, a playful gesture, but that’s not what had transpired.

One dark eyebrow rose. You didn’t dare move except for your eyes rising to meet with dark irises that sparkled like polished coals. How would he take this? Everything was still so new…

Zoro was unaccustomed to affection. He didn’t know what to do with it at the best of times–and that wasn’t to say he wasn’t grateful–it was simply confusing. That’s where this had started, his inability to understand why you sought to wrap him in a hug the very second he walked through the door. Damn, he couldn’t even set down his swords and haramaki before you barrelled into him like he had been gone for months.

Maybe he shouldn’t have called you a pest, even if it was meant as nothing more than a joke. Perhaps he shouldn’t have clicked his teeth and patted the top of your head like you were some young pup. It was hard to navigate this new relationship at the best of times and after a long day of nothing but working out and bickering with a certain someone, it was more so.

“Is it a fight you’re after?” He asked in a faux stern tone. For once, he was the quicker one on his feet—emotionally speaking—and you were the one caught on the back foot.

“N-no.”

“You sure? Cause it seems like it is.” You squirmed beneath his intense stare, taking a step back when he moved forward all whilst your palm still connected to his chest.

You could feel his heartbeat and marvelled at how steady it was when your own was racing faster and faster. Heat washed over you, the impish tongue in your head dry and unmoving—for once. He was so tall, imposing really, and the fact there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body didn’t escape your notice either. Zoro was a literal wall of strength and he was backing you into a corner.

“Was a joke…” You mumbled shyly, annoyed that he could pull this bashful version of you out.

Zoro huffed out a laugh, amused by the puff of your cheeks and how you couldn’t maintain his eye contact without looking off to the side. Slowly, he removed the swords by his right hip and laid them lovingly on the dresser.

“I don’t know that smacking me like that could be a joke, love. C’mere.”

“Zoro. I am right here,” you wailed, head snapping up to his and only finding a lopsided smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

Sweat glistening on his biceps, the warmth of the now setting sun lingered on his skin as if it wished to cling to him forever and you couldn’t blame it. Your stare wandered freely, perhaps too freely as it left you vulnerable to his intentions. His hands—large and calloused—engulfed most of your waist far too easily.

Oh.”

“Mhm, oh,” he mimicked.

The hand on his chest slid towards his neck whilst you tilted up in expectation of a kiss, lips forming a soft cushion for him but it didn’t come.

Instead, his fingertips moved across your stomach in ticklish sweeps. Higher and higher he moved until he was tickling beneath your arms and caging your writhing body with his and the wall at your back. Unexpected laughter ripped through your throat, torrents of the giggles exploding out of you as he continued his assault with a shit-eating grin.

It was becoming harder to breathe, tears filling your eyes from how relentless he was, and every time you thought you’d managed to wriggle out of his hold it was shutdown.

“Zo-Zoro!! Stop… it!”

He was having far too much fun. If this was what came with a relationship then he could adjust to the other parts that were new to him. After all, he kinda liked that you threw yourself into his arms. Hell if he would admit it, but he adored knowing you zeroed in on his presence the moment you could.

Your laughter was beautiful—a healing balm for the scars not only visible but the ones that he couldn’t even identify. Fuck… maybe he loved you? Ah, that was something to think about another time. Right now, he focused on grasping behind your thighs and lifting you into the air.

Squealing with laughter, you anchored yourself around his neck and gasped for air. Your fingers threaded through the lush green of his hair, gaze softening whilst he walked you towards the bed you shared.

“You win,” you whispered, nose nudging his cheek until he paused.

He won the moment you walked into his life. He wasn’t going to tell you that, not now, but he knew. It was difficult to realise you were missing something until you found it. The swordsman had a goal, a dream and a promise to keep. What he lacked was a reason to stay alive after he fulfilled those dreams and promises—until now.

Zoro nodded. “I always do.”

[billthedrake]

AT THE BATHS

The young dude's eyes were on me, pretty heavy as I sat in the dry sauna. By young I mean about 25, give or take, younger than my 45 years. He was lean and smooth, some might say a twink, or maybe a twunk, I don't know, he just seemed lean and young and fit. Brown hair, blue eyes that were a little slutty. I normally don't like slutty.

I stood up, a chub of a boner tenting my white towel. The young guy's eyes followed me but I didn't give him a nonverbal signal to pursue anything, so he didn't.

The place was picking up, and the clientele was getting noticeable hotter. I'd been nervous since I'd gotten at the baths too early. It was my first time ever at a place like this. I wasn't the kind of guy who went to a sauna. Now I was.

I hung my towel next to the shower and rinsed off to cool down. I wasn't throwing hard, but the man at the shower head across from me was sporting full wood that was contagious. He saw me bone and laughed. I laughed back. He wasn't my normal type. Kind of a muscle bear, older, gray beard, a little gut. Big fat cock and heavy balls. He turned off the shower and sauntered over to where I was doing the same.

"I'd love to fuck that ass of yours," he growled in a whisper. I instinctively knew twink/twunk guy from the sauna would go WILD for that voice and that daddy confidence. But I shook my head. "Sorry, man, I'm total top." It's not a hang up of mine, just how I'm wired.

He winked and patted my ass nonetheless. "Shame." Then he turned to walk out of the shower area as I wrapped up again.

Some men were modest with their towels, a couple showed their junk as they walked down the hall. I didn't know the etiquette, but I wasn't ready to start anything I wasn't fully committed to.

I tried out the steam room, deciding to undo my towel but keep it bunched over my crotch. As I leaned back and relaxed, I thought about why I was here. Ryan and I had dated 7 years, and the break up was cordial and still messy. I knew I was dissatisfied in the bedroom, but my freedom made me realized how I craved to let my more sexual side free.

I was hard now, again. I'd held off a couple of days in anticipation of coming here. I still wasn't sure if I was wiling to commit to random sex but I was enjoying watching it now. Across from me, where the steam cleared I could see a very attractive man being sucked by a muscle dude. It was like a porn film, with the real-life voyeurism.

The show was interrupted by another burst of steam, but just then a man sat on the bench next to me. Not right next to me. Far enough so he wouldn't impose but close enough to let me know he was interested. I was. Late 30s, blond, hunky. The place was filling up with guys out of my league. Blond guy was one. I mean, I have a big dick and that helps, but it's not porn big and there's only so far size will take you.

I nodded. He smiled. Then scooted forward.

I gulped. But fuck it. I moved my towel away, showing the guy my hardon. He really liked it. His hand touched it, stroking it. Then he got down on the bench below and between my legs. I could see at least one other man could watch us through the steam, and now that it was clearing some a couple more. I didn't care, these guy were going to see me get a blow job.

God, that mouth felt great. Blond guy knew what he was doing. Not too fast, not too slow. Just eager and skilled at swallowing my size. Fuck, this was wild. I'd come out last in life, in my early 30s. I'd had my share of fun before my first long term relationship, but I'd never had truly anonymous, random sex like this.

I could have let him suck me to completion. I almost did. But I'd been in a 7 year monogamous relationship with a side. I didn't even know what a side was until Ryan. No knock on his preferences, but I was overdue for fucking.

I pushed the cocksucker off and leaned in. "You up for something more?" I asked in my best whisper. Guys didn't seem to talk in the steam room. He shook his head and started to go back down on me. Only I stopped him.

I felt bad, but I had needs. I gathered my towel and stood up, my hard dick now wet with spit. I gave the guy a pat on the shoulder to thank him then made my way out, wrapping the towel around my waist again.

As I made my way down the hall, I passed some guy who I didn't consider attractive. Who was I to judge? And yet I fucking was. They felt me up some, but I scooted past and made my way.

I passed an open door. The light was dim and red inside. Sometimes you see guys posing to lure you in. With a towel or stroking off. Somehow, it's usually the more mature men. Nothing wrong with that, I guess, those guys were there for the same reason I was.

But this room had a muscle guy on all fours, facing toward the way, more away from the door than toward it. He was shorter than me, though probably my age. Bodybuilder type, slightly roided though nothing crazy. Just a rack of hard big muscle, from the arms and back to a meaty ass.

I stepped in. If he was gonna leave the door open in invitation I was going to get a better look. He looked even bigger close up. He probably wasn't a man I'd go for if I saw him out. And I probably wasn't a man he'd go for.

I felt up his knotted calf. I figured he'd look back and see if I was up to his standards. He didn't look back. Instead, he spread his legs a little wider and hiked his ass back.

Fuck yes. I reached to gently shut the door and dropped my towel. My hard on was fully back. There were no condoms, and I wasn't going to ask for one. Not that I was on PREP now and out to make up for lost time. I didn't use a lot of lube, because I wanted to feel that hole without too much friction.

Not gonna happen, I realized as I nudged into place. I wasn't the first man to seed this muscle bottom. He was real fucking wet inside. I pushed in. He let out a grunt but nodded. He wanted my cock. I held on to his waist and started fucking. Seven years since my last topping experience and three days since my last nut. I wasn't going to last long. But the hole was a little loose and a lot wet, so it was going to take me a minute to work up to a cum. But I pumped harder and deeper. Bodybuilder could take it so I gripped hard and put even more force into my fuck.

And that guy just took it. That more than the feeling of his ass on my dick is what tripped my wired. I started cumming, hard. The room when white a little as I orgasmed.

I held still a second to catch my breath, then pulled out slowly. Even in the dim red light I could see the stream of cum flowing out of his fucked hole. Muscle dude was a whore. I'd have to get over my judgmental side if I was going to come to places like this.

I gave a light slap to his muscle ass, then couldn't resist a harder one. I took one more look at his big body on all fours, wiggling like he couldn't wait for another cock. Then I picked up my towel and walked out. I think at least one man who passed me on the hallway knew what I'd just done.

I showered off and tried the dry sauna again. Not ready to go home. Then the hot tub, which thankfully wasn't too hot. There were two men making out in it, younger 20-something guys. And a muscle bear couple, or maybe two friends, who seemed to have gotten off already and were just chatting like we were on a gay cruise. It was weird.

The make out couple left, wrapping towels around their hardons. I hoped they were going to fuck. I know guys should get off how they want to get off, but I really missed anal. That fuck just now had been just what I'd needed.

The friends/boyfriends got out too. I probably shouldn't sit too much longer, I thought, or I'll prune. But I wasn't ready to go home. I was still horny, almost psychologically craving a second round as much as physically. And relaxing here seemed better than sitting in some TV room.

"OK if I join?" It was the blond dude from the steam sauna earlier. I guess people were chattier in the tub.

"Be my guest," I said.

In the bright light, cocksucker was really fucking cute. Handsome and masculine with a gym body, but also youthful for his age. I watched him settle his now naked body into the water. His dick was on the smaller side, which didn't bother me in the least. But that's the only thing that would keep him from being a 10 out of 10 in most gay guys' eyes.

"You having fun?" he asked. I wondered if he was pissed off that I'd ditched him earlier, but he had a relaxed smile. I got the vibe he'd just gotten off.

"Yeah," I said. "First time here."

"This place specifically?" he asked.

"Any bathhouse," I clarified. "Guess it was never my thing."

"What changed?" he asked.

Hell, I didn't know this guy, though I guess his lips had been wrapped around my cock. "Messy breakup," I replied. "Wanted to sow some oats, I guess."

"And...?"

"The night's young," I winked. "But yeah, it's been a hell of a lot of fun so far."

"Nice," he said.

I wasn't sure of his deal. He didn't seem like he was making the moves on me. But our talk was frank and sexual.

"You get what you came for?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, just waiting for my husband."

That caught me off guard and it showed. Blond guy laughed.

"You don't approve?" he teased.

"To each his own, buddy," I laughed. "My ex would have never gone for that arrangement."

"Where is he now?" blond guy shot back. Then seeing my reaction, he changed his tone. "Sorry that was a bitchy thing to say."

"A little," I admitted. "There's some truth there. But I don't know if I could have done the open thing."

"It's not for everyone," he said.

I nodded. Imagining what it would be like. I still probably couldn't have a relationship like that. Finally, I said, "Sorry I didn't let you finish me earlier. You were good." I felt I should apologize to him for some reason.

He shrugged. "Guys are always looking for the hotter thing. I had fun."

"Cool," I said.

I was enjoying this conversation in a strange way, but I was really starting to prune. I hoisted my body to sit on the edge, letting Blond guy see my meaty but soft cock. "I should take a break," I said.

"Maybe I'll see you around again," he said.

"We'll see," I replied. "But probably."

I made the rounds. It was getting late. Which was good because I'd had time to recharge. But the super hot guys were thinning out. I wasn't getting any eye contact from the ones who were left and wandering around. I decided to walk by the door of the muscle whore, but it was now shut.

Maybe I should cut my losses, I though. Hell I hadn't lost anything. I'd gotten my rocks off and had some fun. But as I went to shower off, I saw another guy in there. Shorter, compact muscle. Not Blond Guy hot, but very attractive and fit. Amazing ass, with round meaty cheeks. He was sudsing them and was very much aware I was watching.

"Hey," he said. His brown eyes meeting mine. I turned to let him see my dick swaying in the shower spray.

"Hey," I said.

"I should probably call it a night," he said. "I just don't feel ready, you know?"

My cock responded. Right there I got a hardon, as he watched. "I guess I don't feel ready either," I laughed.

He stepped under the shower for one last rinse then turned it off. "So..." he asked, as he grabbed his towel to dry his face. "Top... bottom... vers?"

"Top," I said.

"If you're up for a slower session, I got a room."

"Slow's nice," I replied. Turning off my water and following him.

I could have used a hotel room. Softer bed, more space. But the rubbery sheets would have to do as he reclined and pulled me down to join him.

"OK if we kiss?" he asked. "It kind of turns me on."

Indeed as we made out I felt his dick grow rock hard against my belly. I enjoyed taking this fuck slower. The first one had taken the edge off. I kissed along his neck and developed pecs and further down the ripped abs. This was sensual but still tawdry as hell. Me in some dim cabin in a sex club about to fuck a second man I didn't know.

I didn't mind sucking cock. I often enjoyed it, though I preferred to be the one sucked. But by now I was impatient for more. I eased around his hard dick and nudged my face beneath his nuts, as I lifted the bottom of his thighs.

"Um..." he said in a tight whisper. "A couple of guys have done me already."

I looked at his hole. It was shaved smooth and squeaky clean. But the folds of his sphincter were loose from the night's activity. I leaned in and swiped my tongue.

"Fuck!" he hissed.

I licked again. Then deeper this time. It had been even longer since I'd rimmed a man than my pre-Ryan fuck. I missed it more than I realized. And something about this place was bringing out my wild side.

I munched more at his hole until I tasted it and felt the cum on my tongue. I grew light in the head like I'd done some drug. It just spurred me to lick and slurp and accept the dribbling seed into my mouth.

I probably could have gone for more, but I didn't want this guy to think I was a total sex pig. Or maybe I didn't want to become that total sex pig myself. But I gave one more lick and stood up. I lubed up and got in place to enter him.

I wasn't rough like with the bodybuilder guy, but my entry was insistant. We were missionary, eyes locked, and just mating like two sex-starved animals.

He gave me a nod to let me know when I was good to go, then I started thrusting. Holding his legs against me, ankles on my shoulders as I fucked him. Bodybuilder had been porn sex, but this is how I imagined sex with my next boyfriend. Whenever that would be.

I stopped a second and pumped some lube on his hardon. Then resumed. We were both going to get there, not simultaneously, but good enough. I got that thrill when I felt my body respond on a higher plateau and knew I was going to cum soon. His own dick shot out with seed and I felt that ass clamp down, milking my own load out.

I let his legs down and leaned in to claim a kiss.

The endorphins pumped heavy but the sex drive had quickly given way to satisfaction. I dismounted and felt tired. Sleepy even.

Bottom dude got off the bed slowly, stretching his legs out. "THAT's what I needed. Thanks, man." He was friendly but it was clear he didn't want to have more conversation.

"Thank YOU," I said, picking my towel. "You have an incredible ass." I had my key band around my wrist. Time to rinse off, find my locker, get dressed and go home.

I gave his arm a pat then turned to walk out the room, shutting the door behind me.

To this day, I still regret not getting his name.

[aforestescape]

thinking about letting your friend, loser!konig grope you

content includes: idk man, consensual somno, chubby/fat reader, afab reader, gn reader, cunnilingus, p.in.v sex

it was so hard not to make this man a freak😔. i know this man would be stealing panties and huffing them like drugs

it’s dim and cloudy outside, rain batting against the window. the heavy resonance of thunder hitting every minute letting you know the storm won’t be ending anytime soon.

you’d been planning on going out with konig after classes but it looked like the weather had won over. you guys decided to huddle up in your bed, the plush blanket covering you both, most of it over konigs large form, as you watched random youtube videos on your television.

between the lulling sound of the rain and how warm you felt sharing your space with him you could feel drowsiness settling in. your clouded vision moving over to konig between heavy blinks to see his gaze shift from the tv to you. another long blink and you can see his eyes flicker from your face to your chest.

he’s mesmerized by the sight, how soft and plush you look. all cozy and tired. feeling comfortable enough in his presence to fall asleep next to him. it makes him feel guilty as he watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. licking over his chapped, scarred lips as he stares at the roundness of your tits. what he’d give for a chance to touch you, to feel your warm skin against his large and scar littered hands.

he has to fight himself to not touch you. you’re his friend and you definitely aren’t interested in him. it’s a surprise and miracle in itself that you decided to befriend him in the first place. even if people could look past how tall and imposing he was they still saw him as a weirdo, a freak. he was anxious around others he didn’t know well, had interests that were deemed inappropriate and childish.

he felt like you being in his life was a gift for the years of loneliness he’d endured. but he wouldn’t push his luck, no matter how much he wanted to explore your beautiful body.

konig lets out a shaky breath, eyes flicking up to your face to see your eyes already locked on him. a blush creeps up his neck and cheeks. your low eyes, the evident tiredness in them and he hopes you don’t realize he was staring at you with hunger.

he shifts his gaze away and back to the television. your gaze staying on his face for a few seconds, enjoying how adorable and pathetic he looks. it’s not lost on your that your friend has a crush on you. that he’s probably a virgin or at least had very little action. you’ve talked about it before, how much it hurts him to not only have no friends but nobody interested in dating him. nobody has ever seemed to want him, an impossibility in his eyes.

it made you feel bad for him. he was your friend, of course you could find things in him that would appeal to others romantically. it was just that you didn’t date. you didn’t want to and didn’t like to engage in any type of relationships. you were focused on other aspects of your life and more than content with being single. but konig always made you burn inside.

you never would have thought you had an innocence kink until you met him. or was it his submission? how easily and pathetically you knew he’d crumble if you gave him the opportunity to touch you. it made you feel powerful and ignited a fire in your veins. made wetness pool between your thighs.

there didn’t seem like a better time than now. your hand reaching down the bed to grab a hold of his. you idly play with his fingers in your sleepy haze. comparing the difference between the sizes, the difference in texture and complexion. gently running a finger over his palm, trailing down as you trace shapes in his freckles.

your eyes move up to his, keeping them locked on the pretty greenish blue of them as you bring his hand closer to you. pulling it towards your chest and making him cup your breast in his hand. a smirk pulls on your lips as his eyes widen, stuck on your chest. you give a slight squeeze, before holding his hand there.

“do you want me to stop,” you ask him softly, voice laced with drowsiness. he blinks at you, his eyes slightly wild like he can’t believe this is happening. you roll your eyes at his lack of words, tutting at him.

“c’mon i need your consent. yes or no.” konig let’s out another breath, moving his hand on his own, squeezing your tit. you let out a soft gasp, cunt clenching around nothing at his greedy grip.

“y-yes schatz,” he stumbles out. you let out a hum, closing your eyes. you let yourself drift off to sleep while his large hands weigh your tits in them. your actions emboldening him to pull your top down. his fingers running over your soft nipples, rubbing tight circles until they peak under his touch.

you can almost feel his greedy touch as you sleep peacefully. his hands moving to remove your clothes. running over the rolls of fat and stretch marks that cover your body. quiet groans leaving his mouth as he takes his fill of you. finally, finally being able to get his hands on you after months of being in the friend zone.

if this is his only chance he’s going to make it count. his hand dipping between your plush thighs to feel your wetness. his large, hung cock drooling in the confines of his pants. he moves down in your bed, hovering over the lower half of your body. running his hands up and down your thighs, your wetness smearing against your soft skin.

he spreads your thighs apart to finally get a look at your pretty cunt. he almost wants to take his time looking at you. detailing your pretty, glistening cunt to memory. but he delved his head down instead, taking a large huff of your cunt and groaning. the puff of air he lets out against you making you whimper quietly in your sleep.

konig flattens his tongue, licking from your cunt and up to your clit. he moans at the taste of you, licking you again to gather your wetness on his tongue. he’s hardly started and yet he knows he won’t ever get enough of you. licking and suckling on your clit. his thumb pressed against your leaking hole as he eats you out.

he pulls back slightly to spit on your cunt, watching the saliva trail down. leaning back in to lick up the trail it left and sucking your clit as he reaches it. he repeats the movement again and again. your wetness seeping and bursting onto his tongue. making him moan and pant as he moves his head side to side. coating his face in your juices while he takes his fill of you.

the smell of you all around him makes him light headed. the taste of you, the tired little whimpers you let out going to his aching cock. he ruts his hips against the mattress, thrusting against the fabric as he devours your pussy. he doesn’t stop until you let out a burst of wetness and cum on his tongue. lapping it up eagerly, moaning and mumbling praises against your spasming cunt.

konig lets out a groan as he sits back up. a mixture of saliva and your sweet juices on his face as he stares down at your cunt. he has to catch his breath, taking the time to touch you. caressing the fat of your thighs and squeezing them. you’re a breathtaking view to him. konig feels like he’s on autopilot as he reaches one hand up to collect your wetness on his fingers.

the pads of his index and middle finger pressing against your clit to rub tight circles. it’s an addictive sight, watching you tremble in your sleep. the lightning from outside briefly lighting up your prone form. your cunt clenching around nothing with each circle he makes on your bud. he could get used to this.

licking over his lips, with the taste of you on them, he moves to get out of his pants. stumbling out of the fabric and throwing it onto the floor out of sight. settling back between your spread legs. konig hooks your thighs over his as he grips his large, weeping cock in his grasp. ragged breaths leaving his lips as he gives a few desperate tugs. pulling back his foreskin to smear his precum along the shaft.

“du bist perfekt, mein schatz. absolut perfekt.”

konig leans over your body, pressing his shaft against your slippery cunt. shifting his hips to run his length up your pretty cunt slowly and then back down. he moves his hips repeatedly, setting a slow, steady pace as he rubs against you. his hands and muscles trembling as he pushes your thighs back more. blunt nails digging into your plush skin as he picks up speed.

“ah fuck. du fühlst dich so gut an schatz- fuck. so gut.”

you wake back up briefly to konig rutting against you. his head tossed back and pretty eyes squeezed shut as he shifts his hips back and forth. a pool of wetness under you, both of your arousal smeared along your cunt, inner thighs and the fat of your stomach. his spongy head rubbing against your clit repeatedly has you moaning.

not sure how many times you’ve cum at this point as your body quickly succumbs to the building pleasure. toes curling as you reach out to grab the sheets. moaning out konigs name and hearing him whine in pleasure in response. his eyes meet yours, shining with desire as sees you awake.

“ah bitte. fick mein schatz. bitte- please. lass mich ihn reinstecken. ich muss in dir sein. let me in.”

you’re too lost in the feeling as konig stops his thrusts to hold his cock, swiping his leaking head against your clit. you nod your head at him, trying to chase that high feeling inside of you. he lets out a groan, a string up thanks and curses leaving his lips as he replaces his cock with his thumb on your clit.

rubbing it back and forth while lining his large cock with your entrance. pressing against your slick, wet heat and grunting as the head pushes in. you tell him to keep going, bucking your hips so he’ll continue slipping inside of you.

konigs mind is reeling as he feels you around him. your spongy walls wrapping around him is utter bliss. the way you moan and cry under him as he stretches you out spurring him on. as he bottoms out inside of you you’re right on the edge. hands moving to grab onto his forearms as he slowly pulls out of you. nails digging in with with every thrust back into of you.

“fuck schatz. ihr seid so-“

he can’t finish his statement as he feels your walls spasming around him. konigs thrusts growing faster as he watches your body tense up. you’re so gorgeous he can hardly think, hardly breathe as he fucks you. a pathetic whiny noise leaving him as he cums. thrusts growing ragged as konig chases the feeling of filling you up.

you’re shaking under him, legs twitching and he has to hold himself up on his forearms to keep from crushing you under him. his thrusts slow as he tries to catch his breath. you wrap your arms around him to pull him into you, his head resting in the crook of your neck.

your hands running up and down his back as he settles into you. keeping his spent cock inside of you, wanting to keep every last drop of his seed inside of you. he can’t even be ashamed at cuming so fast, it feels like heaven being sunk inside of your cunt.

you offer him gentle pecks on his neck, eyes closed as you start to drift off. the quiet sound of the rain and video, konigs breath against you lulling you to sleep.

this wasn’t supposed to be this long or include sex at first lol. hope you enjoyed it xd

update: forgot to add that i used deepL translate for the german. also there’s so many spelling mistakes omg, i’ve fixed them now though

[megalony]

We Made It

This is an Evan Buckley (Buck) imagine, it's probably my longest one yet I had so much fun with the fluff and angst in this. Thank you all for the 911 requests I'm slowly getting through them all. Any feedback would be great.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway

Masterlist

Summary: Christopher joins the Buckley family out for a day trip to the pier but when a natural disaster hits, they all fight to find each other and stay together.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Eddie, everything okay?" (Y/n) leaned against the door and slung her bag on her shoulder.

A bright smile lit up her face and took Eddie by surprise but it helped to wash away the anxiety he had pooling in his stomach. He hated to turn up unannounced, after all he hadn't messaged or called either her or Buck to let them know he would be dropping by, but it was an emergency.

"Yeah, sorry I know I should have called… I need a favour."

"Sure, what's up?" (Y/n) opened the door more to welcome him in but her smile turned into a lopsided smirk when Eddie moved to the side and revealed the small figure hiding behind him.

Christopher.

A broad smile lit up his cheesy face, his curls were flopping all about his head and he had his backpack on.

"Did you get called in?" (Y/n) kept her voice quiet but Eddie's pursed lips and the small nod of his head told her all she needed to know. Eddie wasn't supposed to be on shift today but he'd been called in and he couldn't refuse. And he didn't want to keep imposing on his Abuela and asking her to have Christopher because even though he was a golden boy and never played up, he was still a handful.

"I get it if you can't have him, I just didn't know who-"

"Hey, he's always welcome here. And it just so happens we're off out on a road trip," (Y/n) leaned down to Chris's level and gave him a smile. "Fancy a day out with the Buckley crew?"

"Yeah!"

(Y/n) loved the way he smiled and adverted his eyes to try and hide just how happy and excited he was. She moved out the way and ushered him inside, letting him hobble his way through to find out where Bella was hiding. He was a great kid to look after and (Y/n) knew Eddie was always happy to take care of Bella if they ever needed or asked him to. The kids got along well together despite Christopher being eight and Bella being only three.

"You're a lifesaver, thank you." Eddie leaned forward to give her a quick hug before he glanced at his watch. He had to run before he was officially late for the first time.

"No problem, text when you want him back."

"Thanks."

He had arrived at just the right time, ten minutes later and he would have missed them. They had decided a little road trip was in need to cheer Buck up while he was still off work, waiting for a date when he could go back. He had been glad of the break which meant he could spend time with his girls.

While his leg had been in a cast, (Y/n) had helped him up and down the stairs, helped him shower and cook but the best part was Bella trying to look after him. Evan had sent thousands of pictures to the team of Bella trying to feed him, give him drinks, rub his head, draw on his cast and then the pictures where she fell asleep on him to 'keep him company'.

His daughter had been his saving grace, spoiling him and doting on him and Evan got through each day because of his two girls.

Now he was back in action, they thought a day trip out might be good for them all and Christopher was going to add to the excitement.

"Evan, babe we have an addition to the trip."

"Who?"

Walking down the stairs with Bella perched on his hip, Evan looked at (Y/n) before he looked around the apartment and a grin lit up his face when he saw a familiar flop of curls sat in front of the tv.

"Did Eddie need to work or something?"

"Yeah, do you mind?"

"Course not, he can go on the big rides with me. Chris, are you ready for the best day out ever?" They had already decided this morning that they would stop by the pier in the afternoon. It was the perfect place to play games, have some fun and food and there were a lot of kiddie rides for Bella. Evan waved his arm out to coax Christopher over to them since they were all ready and packed up to go for their day out. But his eyes turned back to look at Bella who was cuddled up into his chest.

She had her light sandy hair put up in two little pigtails and she was wearing a yellow jumpsuit with a big smiling sunflower in the middle. Both her hands moved to pat Evan's chest lightly and when she looked up at him with those wide eyes, he could feel his heart melting on the spot.

"What 'bout me? Will you go on stuff with me, daddy?"

"You know I will sweetheart." He moved his hand to cup the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss to her temple before he reached down to pat Chris on the back and guide him in front of them.

"Alright, off we go."

***

"Bella, babygirl I do need to breathe, you know?" Evan gruffed but his mixed expression gave away the fondness he was trying to supress. He squinted up at his daughter and rolled his lips together but the slight curve at the corner and the softness in the crease of his eyes showed he wasn't telling her off.

She was stood up on his thighs with both arms tightly bound around his neck and her chin resting on top of his head. It was endearing and Evan loved her cuddling up to him but he still needed to breathe and she was making it hard leaning against him like this and holding his neck with quite a lot of force.

She let out a small whine in response but loosened her arms and kissed his hair repeatedly before she moved her hands to swiftly hold his chin and tilt his head up towards her.

When she puckered her lips, Evan grinned madly and pushed up to give her a small peck, making a loud 'mwuah' sound that always made her giggle.

"Smile, I'm gonna send your dad a picture, show him how much fun you have with us." (Y/n) poked her tongue out between her teeth as she smiled at the three of them sat opposite her at the table. Bella had been sitting patiently with her waiting for the boys to finish the ride they went on but as soon as they came off, she clambered over the table and onto Evan's lap.

Evan tilted his chin up and grinned with one arm around Bella who smiled sweetly and pressed her cheek on top of Evan's head. And with his other arm, Evan reeled Chris into his side who held up the cotton candy he'd just got and started to laugh.

(Y/n) snapped the picture, catching in the food and drink splayed out on the table so show Eddie Chris was having a good time and had had his lunch and a rush of sugar.

"Alright team, what's next?" (Y/n) put her empty drink on the tray of rubbish next to her before she looked at them.

They had driven out and gone to a beach half an hour away, then they came round to the pier. Evan had gone on a lot of rides with Chris, (Y/n) took Bella on the smaller rides and all of them went on the waltzers which made (Y/n) feel sick. But they still had the ferris wheel to do, the water rides on the other side of the pier and all the games and stalls to try out. Dinner was ticked off their list though and after the pier they had the toy shop to head to before they went home.

"We need to win something," Chris stuffed the last of the cotton candy in his mouth and looked between the two people he thought of as family. His dad was always referring to them as uncle Buck and auntie (Y/n).

"Yes we do, what games are you good at?"

(Y/n) strapped her bag over her shoulder and rested a hand on Chris's shoulder when he slipped his hands into his crutches and started to look for a stall with good prizes.

"Come on babygirl, let's go win a load of prizes." Evan held Bella's hands and effortlessly hoisted her up until she was sat on his shoulders. He held onto her waist and she held his lower arms rather loosely considering how tight she had held him previously. But she was used to sitting on his shoulders, Evan preferred to carry her or hold her up like this because he was too worried of her running off and losing her in a crowd.

At least with Chris there was no risk of them losing him here.

For the duration of their walk around the pier, (Y/n) kept her hand looped in Chris's backpack strap to make sure he didn't wander too far or risk bump into people.

"Buck, this one." Chris turned to look back at him with a lopsided grin and squinting eyes, his way of looking sweet and cute to get Buck to agree and play the game of throwing balls at tin cans to try and win a stuffed teddy.

Evan turned his head and nodded but when he went to lift Bella over his head and put her down, she all but screamed and grabbed his forearm but her other hand dug into his short hair. She pulled his hair between her fingers to try and stop him from picking her up. Bella didn't want to move, she wanted to stay right where she was, safe and sound on his shoulders where she didn't have to move and she could be close to her dad.

"Ow that's naughty! No, you're coming down now girlie." Evan winced and grunted while he hoisted her over his shoulders and planted her down on her feet next to (Y/n) who quickly grabbed her hand. But Evan knew he wouldn't be able to stay mad at her because she was already biting her thumb and her eyes were welling up, ready to start crying because she had been told off.

Bella swayed on her feet, still biting her thumb and clenching (Y/n)'s hand in the other while she watched the boys. She would stay silent until Evan smiled at her or said something to her and she knew she wasn't in trouble anymore.

"Buck, I won!" Chris pointed at the enlarged teddybear that was about his size and weight which he couldn't carry all by himself. He watched Buck clap and give praise and move to grab the teddy but when Chris turned around, he noticed Bella was still pouting and looking uncertain. "Bella carry it,"

Evan froze for a moment, glancing between the two kids before his expression softened and he motioned for Bella to come over to him. When she stood in front of him, Evan leaned the teddy over her shoulders but kept hold of it by the arms. Letting her believe she was actually carrying it when really it was more like a hat resting on top of her head.

It was just the thing to make her smile and giggle and add a skip in her wobbly steps until she was prancing like a pony with Evan slowly walking behind her, going a lot slower than he normally would.

They all followed Chris towards the end of the pier until they could sit down on a bench. (Y/n) sat down on the edge next to the teddy bear that they put down on the floor, Bella stood up on the bench next to her wedged between her and Evan. And on the end, Evan picked Chris up and let him stand up and hold the barrier, keeping a tight grip on his shirt to make sure he didn't wobble over the side.

What a phone call that would be to Eddie, having to explain Chris had toppled over the side of the pier and took a swim.

"How you feeling?" Reaching across Bella who was transfixed on watching the tide, (Y/n) leaned over and brushed her fingers against Evan's cheek, trailing her fingertip down his jaw when he smiled and tilted his head to the side to look at her.

"I'm okay, I feel a lot better- oof," Evan closed his eyes and bent his head forward when Bella started to sway from side to side and reached her arm out on top of his head to steady herself on him. The amount of bruises Evan got from Bella was unreal, he could come home from the station unscathed without so much as a water mark and then the next day he would be littered with scratches and bruises from his little monster.

"You'll be able to go back to the station, the blood thinners aren't permanent, babe." (Y/n) continued to brush his cheek and leaned over to peck his lips, smiling against his lips when they could both hear Bella humming to herself. She could see just how far Evan had come these last few months, he had had three surgeries on his leg, did physio and exercises every day and he had followed the doctor's advice to the dot. All the hard work he had put in wasn't going to be for nothing, (Y/n) just knew it.

"How you doin' Chris? What are we gonna do next?" Evan looked over to his right and squinted up at him when the sun beamed down on them. There were still a few games they could play and they all wanted a go on the ferris wheel which Bella was the right height for. But it was up to the kids and since Bella didn't care what they did, it was down to Chris.

"Hook a duck!"

"Alright-"

"Daddy," Bella patted Evan's hair like she was smoothing it down and he turned to look back at her, smiling up at her until he saw her furrowed brows and the way she was bending her knees like she was trying to do some kind of funny dance.

"What, babygirl?"

"Where did water go?"

Both Evan and (Y/n) frowned at one another and quickly moved to turn around and peer over the side of railing the kids were clinging to. What was she talking about? There was a whole sea out there, why did she suddenly think the water had vanished? She had been watching it for the past few minutes, it couldn't have vanished before her eyes?

Something burned down in (Y/n)'s stomach and she could feel her lungs popping and deflating as anxiety broke out in her system.

It wasn't the lack of water at the bottom of the pier that caused her worry, it was the turbulant view of an appending wave that surged her panic. That was larger than the usual surfing wave that occured on this beach. (Y/n) had never lived anywhere where this had happened and she'd never been so close to see one in person.

A tsunami.

Before she knew what she was doing, (Y/n) batted her hand out until she found Evan's bicep and she dug her nails into his skin, clenching her fingers around him like he was somehow going to make this better or turn the wave away and demand it stop where it was. She wasn't sure what she wanted him to do but she couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"Evan…" His name came out nothing more than a broken sound that she could barely hear but she felt the way his muscles tensed and he shot up from the bench without tearing his gaze away from the water.

"Get off the pier," His voice was barely above a whisper but he was getting into action mode already. "Get off the pier! Move back! Get off the fucking pier!"

His voice sounded like a siren to everyone else who had gathered round to see like it was some sort of beautiful spectacle instead of a harrowing omen. They shouldn't be gathering round to watch, couldn't they see how massive that wave was or work out what that implied? They all needed to leave, not rush closer.

Chris gasped but he didn't have time to react or talk when Evan hastily grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder. There was no time for Chris to walk or he wouldn't get far and they needed to be as far away from the shore as possible, they needed to be in-land. Evan kept his arm secured over Chris's back and he pushed away from the bench, reaching his free arm out for (Y/n).

Terror had hold of (Y/n) by her heart and it made each breath and each pulse of blood feel horrid and broken but she had to push through it. With trembling gasps, (Y/n) hoisted Bella into her arms, holding her face against her shoulder and her other arm tightly wrapped around around her small waist. She kept her daughter cocooned to her chest and ran forward as Evan grabbed her elbow so he didn't lose her in the rush that was going to come.

The pair of them bolted back across the wooden pannels, aiming to keep going and going until the inevitable flood overtook them. If they could at least get to the end of the pier then it would be a little better but Evan doubted it.

And when he turned to glance behind him, the water was almost at the bench they had just left.

They were running out of time.

"Here! Down here!" Doubling over, evan placed Chris down behind a vacated shall and as swift as anything, he grabbed (Y/n) by her hips and hoisted her over the side before he jumped across.

(Y/n) snapped her eyes closed and buried her face into Bella's hair who was whimpering against her chest, unsure what was happening and why everyone was suddenly screaming and panicking. She pressed her back up against the wood and felt Evan kneel down beside her and hold his arm around her while his other arm deadlocked around Chris.

They had to stay together.

"Oh God, Evan…" (Y/n) nudged her forehead into his shoulder and felt his arm tighten around her waist until it felt like an iron bar was grafted into her skin but it was comforting. It was the only thing grounding her racing thoughts from making her pass out.

"I won't let go babe! I won't I swear-"

He couldn't breathe. He had underestimated just how powerful the water was going to be when it hit. Wood broke and splintered on impact and each broken pannel hit Evan in the head, the arm, the legs and his back like he was being beaten black and blue.

It didn't matter how tightly Evan kept his arms around his family, he couldn't hold them all or keep them safe at his chest.

When the water hit, Evan got twisted and lifted from the floor and that was it. He could feel his fingers scratching into Chris's shirt but (Y/n) left his arm after maybe five or six seconds at most. The water lifted Evan up instead of dragging him down like he expected and it gave him a chance to gasp for a deep breath before something smacked into his foot and toppled him into a gushing wave. He seemed to spin in a circle and race down towards the floor like a diver reaching for the ocean.

A panel of wood smacked into his forehead right across his eye and that was when his world turned black.

Something akin to a bubbling scream gurgled at the back of Evan's throat and he was sure if he could he would have been sick. Everything was water, his lungs were full of water, his clothes were weighed down by water, the current was holding onto him with deep imbedded claws and dropplets were rolling down his eyes.

A tree branch smacked right into his lower sternum and stomach, knocking the water out of his lungs and letting him take in a strangled gasp and open his eyes. It took a few seconds for his vision to clear but when it did, he started to scream.

Where were they?

Why wasn't he back at the pier? How far had the water dragged him? Evan couldn't tell where he was, the water was at a third story level, covering the road, the landmarks, the signs and the building names and distinctions. All he could see were towering buildings, floating cars, broken glass, bodies and unworthy items floating beside him. Everything from chairs to lamps flew past him at top speed and gave him no direction of where he had turned up. All he knew was he was no longer at the pier.

"C-Christopher! (Y/n)! God, Bella? Bella baby where are you?!" Each word became clearer when he took deep ragged breaths but his voice rose two octaves until it sounded like a teen who hadn't hit puberty yet.

Chris didn't have balance or coordination or enough ability to find something to cling to and stop from floating away into the next state. Evan didn't even know if he could swim. And (Y/n) was somewhere around here, she had to be but if she was injured she couldn't swim and if she could swim, what if she hit something?

What if she didn't have hold of Bella anymore? She was three, she couldn't swim, she could barely tolerate getting a bath. This was far too powerful for her to stay afloat or swim or avoid getting scraped or punctured by something.

Where was his baby girl?

"No, God no," Evan let the tears fall, he let awful, hoarse screams scratch past his salty lips as his eyes burned from the beating he had taken and the tears he was shedding. He couldn't get the picture of his daughter floating past him out of his mind. Her little body floating limply past him, never to be seen again. Evan wouldn't survive if he couldn't see her face again or hear her laugh or her calling his name.

Evan screamed all their names again and again until he couldn't do anything but gasp for air and spit the water that flooded his mouth when he tried to push up higher on the tree branch that was currently keeping him afloat.

"Buck! B-Buck!"

"Christopher!" Evan looked around wildly, blinking away the droplets clinging to his lashes but he couldn't see where Chris was. Until he squinted into the distance and noticed a small head and a pair of arms clinging to a telephone pole.

One down, two to go.

"I'm coming! Stay there, hold on bud I'm coming!"

Bringing his legs up, Evan awkwardly shuffled over the branch and dived back into the current that was thankfully heading towards Chris and not away from him. He seemed to be sat right in the middle of the current that flew him down the middle of whatever street he was on.

As soon as he was within reach, Evan stretched out in front of him like someone desperate to find the light in the darkness and when his fingers barely touched Chris's shoulder, Evan grabbed him. He punctured his fingers into Chris's shoulders until he was sure he had bruised him and he pulled him from the pole.

Evan turned onto his back and lifted Chris onto his chest so he could still breathe and stay afloat but his head turned madly to try and find somewhere to move. They couldn't stay floating through the street, it was too dangerous. They had to get somewhere high and safe and wait until the water lowered enough to walk through or help arrived.

Did the fire and rescue come out during a tsunami? It was a natural disaster, surely they had to come out, but how would they get here, a truck couldn't float?

"Truck, truck." Chris waved his arms out beneath the water to stay floating on his back but he tried to splash towards the truck that was elevated and sat on a slant. It was resting on something but he didn't know what.

"Good, good boy! Alright l-let's go there."

Moving yet again, Evan hooked his arm tight around Chris's waist and tilted until they were both trying to stand up in the water so they could kick, bat and shimmy towards the truck.

He wasn't sure where the effort or the energy came from, but they swam like eels through the water until Evan could grab the open window and reel them in.

"Up, up."

When Chris grabbed the rail on top of the truck, Evan moved him up onto his shoulder so he could keep him high above the water and so he could put his feet into the windowsil and lift them both up. Chris let himself go floppy so Evan could push him over the rail and get him safe on top before he flopped on his chest next to Chris, exhausted.

"Are you okay?" Evan crouched on his hands and knees, coughing up the last bit of water and trying to take a second to make sure he could see no injuries on Chris. He couldn't be telling Eddie he had gotten his son hurt during a tsunami and if Chris was badly hurt, Evan wouldn't be able to cope in this situation.

But when Chris smiled and shook his head, Evan merely gasped. How could he be smiling at a time like this? Wasn't he afraid of what just happened? Shouldn't he be crying and screaming and shouting for his dad, demanding help arrive and take them away?

He looked like he had a black eye coming along and there would no doubt be scratches and bruises but he didn't seem like he was badly injured and that was a big weight off Evan's shoulders.

Evan himself felt okay. His head was pounding, blood was starting to dribble down into his left eye along with the water seeping off him. his ribs hurt, his arm was scratched and he was sure a few lower ribs were either fractured or broken. But he was relatively okay, he could run off the adrenaline that was now coursing through his veins. He would be functional until he could find out what happened to the rest of his family.

Tears started to flood Evan's eyes until he could barely see when Chris leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands and gently patted his cheek.

"You're hurt." Chris tried to smear the blood off Evan's forehead and the action made Evan sob.

"I'll be alright, buddy."

"Auntie (Y/n) and Bella, are we gonna find them?" Chris started to brush away the tears falling from Evan's eyes that turned a darker shade of blue and started to twitch.

"God, I hope so."

***

"Daddy!"

"I know you want daddy, baby, I know. We'll find him," (Y/n) could barely keep her voice level but she had to try and sound promising and encouraging. She had cried too much already.

If she cried any longer Bella would realise she was lying. How was (Y/n) going to know if they would find Evan and Christopher unharmed and alright after this? She might find one and not the other. She might have to give Eddie the worst phone call of his life and break his world. She might find Evan too late and shatter her own world entirely.

It had been a miracle that (Y/n) had stayed so close to Bella. After Evan drifted, (Y/n) realised Bella had been sucked out of her arms and carried off further ahead of her. A branch punctured into the bottom of her chest and a chunk of metal smacking into her forehead had done nothing to deter (Y/n) away from chasing her baby through the water. She watched her daughter bob up and down through the stream, gasping and struggling to stay afloat until she got tangled up in a bush that stopped her from going any further downstream.

(Y/n) had managed to grab her and use some nearby rope to tie Bella to her chest so they couldn't separated again.

Leaning forward, (Y/n) folded her arms over the roof of the car Bella was perched on and she pressed her forehead on her arms. If she was going to cry she needed to smother her sounds and not let Bella see so she didn't panic and get upset again too.

"No, daddy!" Bella's tone changed and she started frantically pointing, her sobs now ceasing into nothing.

"What?"

Turning around as much as she could, (Y/n) almost screamed when she saw a familiar figure looming in the distance. How on Earth did Bella know that was Evan? From way over here, he looked like a broad figure standing on top of something. But then again, his hair was always dark and flat when damp and he had wide shoulders, thick arms and a reduced torso. He was distinctive, thank God.

"Evan? Evan, please, please be him!" (Y/n) tried screaming his name but it only made her injured side ache and her lungs burn. She let bella continue to scream at the top of her lungs and wave her arms to direct him over to them.

A fire burned inside (Y/n)'s knotted stomach when she watched him dive into the water. It had to be him, what stranger would answer to his name and head their way? They weren't exactly in distress, they weren't being carried away by the water they had managed to find somewhere to stay safe for the time being.

"Daddy!"

"I'm coming, baby it's me! (Y/n), (Y/n)!" Evan flung a floating shopping trolley to the side and pushed another wooden beam out of his way as he coarsed through the water towards his girls. He could feel Christopher's arms tight around his neck and his weight pressing down on his back, reassuring him that the eight year old was alright and still with him.

He had started to give up hope of finding his girls, it was getting harder and harder to stay positive around Chris until he heard a distant crying. He had been looking round and round for what felt like hours, then when he and Chris moved over to a broken building that had been safe to stand on, he heard the voices get clearer.

There they were. (Y/n) had managed to stay with Bella or at least follow her and find her again and when Evan reached them, they would all be together again.

As soon as Evan was within reach of the dark blue BMW the girls were clinging to, he scrambled onto the boot and manouevred Chris from his shoulders to the top of the car. He helped him shuffle slowly on his stomach until he was safely on the roof and out of harms way.

"Bella!" Chris wrapped an arm around her and started to giggle when she shuffled between his legs and cuddled close to him. She was desperate to jump down into Evan's arms but one look at his stern expression told her to stay where she was. And that meant the closes source of comfort was the person who she thought was her cousin.

"Oh baby! Oh I thought- I…" Evan couldn't repeat what had been rattling through his head, lest he wanted to have a nervous breakdown and sob in front of the kids.

He thought he'd lost her for good.

He gripped the edge of the car and shuffled along until he was close enough to dig one hand into the top of the car and use the other to wrap his arm around (Y/n)'s shoulders. He reeled her into his chest and felt how badly she was shaking when she let out a feeble mewl into his chest. Her face tucked into the middle of his chest near his collar bone and both her arms wrapped around his torso, digging her nails into his flesh to reassure herself he was actually here, safe in her arms.

"Evan…"

"I'm here, I've got you, you're safe."

He couldn't press enough kisses to her wet, matted hair and each peck made her cry harder until she was sobbing and bubbling and whimpering in his arms and all he could do was shush her. If she didn't stop he was going to breakdown.

"Get on the car baby, we need to sit up with the kids until the water goes down enough to walk." Evan let his arm slope lower down until it was firmly around (Y/n)'s waist but his head snapped up to Bella when she spoke.

"Mummy's stuck."

"What? Stuck how?" His head pivoted back down to (Y/n) and he coiled his arm back to his side so he could hold her chin between his fingers and tilt her head up to look at him when she kept her eyes adverted down. He thought it was strange that she had Bella on top of the car but she herself was still half submerged in the water. It didn't dawn on Evan that she might be sitting in the water because she was stuck, he thought she was just trying to test the level of the water or wait and get ready to move again.

"My leg," (Y/n) glanced up at the kids before she lowered her voice, "I- I couldn't swim properly and hold Bella, I tried to get to the car… my foot went through the window, the glass-" She broke off, breaths hitching higher with each word.

Bella had been screaming and choking at the same time and (Y/n) didn't know what to do. The moment she got her unstuck the current took them and a wave submerged them and both of them panicked. When the car came into view (Y/n) knew she had to do anything and everything to reach it and get them both safe but she couldn't let them continue to float away and risk drowning or becoming separated again.

One slippery hand on the roof of the car wasn't enough to ground them to it and (Y/n) was in such a hurry and frightened that in her haste, she tried to put her feet on the car any way she could to grab it and stay secured to it.

Her right foot went straight through the glass window up to her mid-thigh and she could feel every shard of glass imbedded in her leg to the hilt. If she moved an inch either way, a searing hot fire pulsed through her nerves and made spots dance in front of her eyes.

So (Y/n) sat with her left leg floating on the bonnet of the car and her right leg jammed in the window, waiting for help to arrive or for enough courage to filter through her so she could pull herself free and keep moving. She didn't have to wait any longer, the one wish she had been praying for had been answered. Both the boys were here in front of her, they found their way back to her and they were alright.

"Okay, brace yourself on the roof and I'll take a look," Evan pecked her forehead again before he reached down to grab the doorhandle so he had something to ground himself with like an anchor in the sea.

It was hard to see much in the murky seaweed coloured water. Bits of everything floated past him from socks and leaves to paintbrushes and cans of pop. But he didn't have to go far down at all to see the problem. There was a large shard of glass imbedded in the underside of (Y/n)'s thigh, that was why she couldn't move.

He pushed back up to the surface and looked around before he grabbed a floating branch that looked sturdy and thick.

"I'm gonna break the glass to get you free, then I can check the damage properly and patch you up. Deep breaths, this is gonna sting sweetheart," He whispered the last part in her ear before he submerged himself again.

Punching and using force underwater felt pointless when the water took over half his energy and his swing but he had to try. He jammed the branch repeatedly into each area of the glass until finally it started to give way and break off into smaller jagged pieces. And it gave Evan the chance to slowly hold (Y/n)'s upper thigh close to her bum and slowly pull her leg back.

When she was free, Evan rounded her side and scrambled up onto the bonnet before he crouched back down and leaned into the water. His smile was enough to calm (Y/n) down and she held onto his shoulders, letting him grab her under her arms and slowly hoist her up out of the water as both kids cheered.

"Alright, alright baby I'm gonna lay you on your front so I can check the damage, try stay still."

Evan lifted his leg over (Y/n)'s back so she was held between his thighs before he lowered her down until she was laid down on her stomach on the roof. The glass was in the back of her thigh and he had to sort it.

"I'm sorry baby."

"What f-"

Both Chris and Bella coiled back in fright when (Y/n) screamed before she smothered her mouth and nose with her hands and bit down into the palm of her hand.

Evan grimaced, swiping the tears away with his shoulder when he loosened his belt and strapped it as tight as he could around (Y/n)'s upper thigh. He pulled it so hard it sank into her skin like a new layer of flesh and it caused her leg to jerk out. When the pin was secured in the button, Evan kneeled down in front of her and pulled her so her upper half was laid over his knees.

He bent over her, smoothing her hair behind her ears as she sobbed into his muck-ridden jeans. Each sob made her shake and each jagged breath made her leg pulsate and throb and it circled back round to make her cry even worse and all Evan could do was shush her. He hummed into her hair, kissed the back of her head and pressed his fingertips into her skin to try and calm her down.

He couldn't remove the glass from her leg because it was stemming the bleeding and it would make her bleed out if it was removed. But Evan couldn't just leave it there and let the rest of the blood drip around the wound. He had to cut off the blood supply to the wound and the only thing he had that would suffice was the belt keeping his jeans up.

"Shh, it's okay baby, I'm so sorry but I had to. I love you so, so much."

After a few minutes, (Y/n) punctured her teeth into her lower lip to try and stop herself from crying, she had to be brave for the kids.

There was no way she could sit or stand up when the glass was still in her leg so she settled for pulling herself a little higher up on the roof like she was sunbathing and getting a tan on her back. She kept her arms folded and rested her chin on her arms, trying to smile through the tears and the pain that was making her delirious.

"I'm okay," She whispered quietly when Christopher reached a hand out and gently rubbed her shoulder, unsure what else he could do.

"Daddy…" Bella held her arms out towards Evan and shuffled out of Chris's arms. She hadn't seen him or touched him since before the tsunami hit and she was desperate for some comfort. She had been calling out for him for what felt like hours, days, years to the frightened toddler and now he was here, she hadn't even gotten a cuddle yet.

"Come here babygirl,"

That was all the encouragement she needed to scramble forward onto his lap and curl up against his sodden chest. She didn't care about his damp, musky shirt that now smelled horribly of fish, sewage and whatever else was floating in the water. All she cared about was that his broad chest was pressed up against her face and his strong arms were curled around her and when she felt him kiss the top of her head, she mewled quietly like a kitten.

***

"I think we can walk through this now, everyone is heading in that direction, there might be shelter or a hospital somewhere nearby." Evan tiredly looked down at (Y/n), trying to add a little hope to his broken voice.

They had been sat on this car for an hour or more and they couldn't wait much longer. Evan had kept watch of (Y/n)'s leg and her lower chest where he knew she had a puncture wound and both were leaking blood like a slow but steady river that trailed over the side of the car and dribbled down into the dusty caramel coloured water.

He needed to get her to a hospital before she lost too much blood or got an infection or something worse happened. They were safe but isolated here. There had to be a hospital or a make shift hospital nearby.

And (Y/n) agreed, she was growing tired and the longer they stayed here, the less likely she was going to be to move.

"Alright you two, we're going to find some help, wait there for a moment."

Evan sat Bella back down next to Christopher before he shuffled to the edge of the car and slowly slid down into the lapping water, annoyed that he was just starting to dry off and now he was going to be cold and sodden and sticky again.

The water barely reached his knees and it was thinning out by the second.

"Come here bud," Chris smiled and reached out for Evan's arms, letting him pick him up and slide him into the water as gently as he could in case anything sharp was hiding beneath. "Can you walk through this?"

"I think so."

"Good. Sweetheart, you ready?"

A tepid smile mixed with a grimace twisted on (Y/n)'s lips and she shuffled to the edge and looped her arms around Evan's neck. She took a moment to kiss his jaw and bury her face in his neck before she nodded and let him do the work. His hands were tight and secure on her hips and he pulled her closer, leaning her weight on his chest until he could lower her down into the water.

(Y/n) could barely feel her right leg. It was like an awkward sense of pins and needles but it didn't hurt, her leg felt like it was under anaesthetic, it was limp and felt thick and puffy and loose like it was disconnected. She had to lean all of her weight onto her left leg and loop her hands around Evan's bicep to make sure she didn't fall, but she was upright.

She would shuffle and hobble through the water, she had to.

"Baby girl come here so I can get you." Evan wrapped his free arm around Bella and swiftly picked her up from the car but the moment he leaned down to try and put her in the water, she screamed. A horrid, ungodly sound left her lips and rickoted through Evan's ears and make him wince and shriek in response.

"No daddy no! D-don't let me go! DADDY NO!"

Bella started to bash her tiny fists into Evan's chest so much she was starting to hurt him and each scream resonated through his ears until he had to shout her name to get her attention.

He pressed his hand against the back of her head, tangling his fingers into her crimped hair as he pressed his lips against her forehead to shush her.

"Okay baby girl, it's okay. I'll just carry you, shh you're safe I promise. Daddy's got you."

He didn't want to carry her all this way, as much as Evan loved holding carrying and cuddling his little girl, this was different. He had (Y/n) to think about, she could barely stand up and hobbling through this was going to be a big trek for her. Evan had been hoping the kids would walk beside him and he could either carry (Y/n) or at least take her weight and keep lifting her so she didn't have to move as much.

But he couldn't put Bella down, not in this state. God, she was never going to get a bath again.

They didn't know how far they trecked through the water slugging around their ankles. They didn't know how many people they had passed or how many bodies floated in the water nearby. No one could count the amount of cars, trees, electrical items, bikes, cupboards and shoes that had floated past them.

But each of them were getting tired.

Evan couldn't keep walking for much longer, his head and his heart could go on for miles because of the three people who were depending on him, but his body was past its limit.

He had Chris clinging to his left leg, one arm curled around his leg and the other hand was in his pocket so he stayed close and kept himself upright. Bella was asleep in his arm, her legs curled up on his chest and her head lolled on his shoulder. It was a relief she was asleep because neither parent wanted her to witness or remember the violent, horrifying images that were surrounding them.

And then there was (Y/n), both her arms around Evan's neck, her head tucked into his chest and her body stooped over. Her left leg was limp and useless now, she was dragging her foot behind her collecting mud and grime like a hoarder. Evan took half her weight and she hopped on her good leg or dragged her foot and shuffled awkwardly through the sludge.

It seemed like forever until the road actually became visible and the water drained away into a clear, if wrecked, street.

They had been given directions to the nearest hospital and all of them had been praying for some sort of vehicle to pass by and give them a lift but they had no such luck. They had to keep walking until they found what they were looking for.

"Evan… I can't," (Y/n) couldn't even voice what she was feeling or tell him what she wanted or needed. All she could do was stare up at her husband, her firefighter, her saviour, and bite her lip.

She wanted to sleep, she wanted to sit down and have a nap and wake up all better and patched up with this event far behind them in their past with their future ahead of them. But the longer they walked, the less sure (Y/n) was that she would be okay after all of this. She just wanted to stop.

"Bella, baby girl, there's no more water. I need you to walk with us, stay right between my legs if you want and hold onto me, but I have to carry mummy now."

Evan woke her up gently and peppered kisses all over her face to brighten her up and make sure she knew everything was alright. There was no water anywhere in sight to frighten her and make her cling to him in fear of drowning. He didn't care if she walked with Chris, walked between his legs or right behind him holding onto his other leg like Chris. Just as long as she walked so he could carry (Y/n).

Bella began to whimper and squirm but Evan didn't give her chance to panic, he crouched down with (Y/n) doubling over and leaning on him, and placed their daughter on her feet. She stood firmly on the floor, panic and uncertainty in her eyes before Chris reached a free hand down to hold her hand.

"Up you go sweetheart, this will be the safest way for your leg." He crouched and turned his back towards (Y/n), wiggling his brows to make her smile and lighten the mood.

He didn't want to carry her on his chest when he had a feeling Bella would stay in front of him. He couldn't carry her bridal style because it would be too awkward and he could hurt her leg. But a piggy back ride was the next best thing, he could keep her safe and still see where he was going and her leg would just dangle over his hip. He wouldn't be in reach of the glass to knock or disturb it.

With a smile that showed how weak and disorientated she felt, (Y/n) looped her arms around her husband's neck and let his hands hold her thighs. He scooped her up with ease and settled her on his torso before he straightened up and nodded at the kids to start walking.

"Off we go."

Somehow, Evan felt safer, more secure and had a slight boost of energy and adrenaline with (Y/n) on his back. He had her safe in his hold and he didn't have to watch her struggle and hobble, he had been desperate to carry her and now he could, he felt better. Despite the discomfort in his ribs that he was sure were broken and the dizzy feeling clouding his head, he pushed forward.

He had his wife on his back, Chris clinging to his leg and his daughter waddling slowly between his legs, holding Chris's hand for safety and reassurance.

The sun started to set behind the horizon when the four of them slowly shuffled, hobbled and dragged their feet towards the hospital they had been dreaming about for hours.

"We made it," Evan choked through his words and he could feel the tears suddenly spilling down his face like a waterfall. They did it; they got here, it took them all afternoon and a horrid start, but they got to the hospital. Now they just needed to find someone to help them and they could get patched up and finally relax. As soon as everyone was checked over and (Y/n) was taken care of, Evan could calm down.

He would think, breathe, eat, sleep, cry, when his wife was tended to and out of medical danger.

"You did it baby," (Y/n) whispered quietly in his ear and kissed the junction of his neck behind his ear and jaw. She felt him shiver beneath her touch and she nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder. It was hard to fight off the sleep that was fighting to win the battle.

"Cap, it's good to see you," Eddie patted Bobby on the shoulder and managed a bright smile despite the day's work that had unfolded. Staying at the hospital had kept him busy and being a temporary medic was a delightful change for Eddie. He felt a little more useful here than he had back there in the water a few hours earlier.

But whatever Bobby was about to say drowned out into static when Eddie looked just beyond him.

"Oh my God!" Eddie's fingers dug into Bobby's shoulder and he ended up yanking him down a little before he suddenly let go and bolted past the hospital reception that was crammed with people.

He stumbled down the path, his heart beating frantically against his ribs causing the vein in his neck to pulse and make him feel faint.

What had he done?

Why did he drop Christopher off with them this morning? Why did he add such extra pressure on the two most important people to him? He should have found some other childcare for Christopher, he shouldn't have turned up out of the blue and landed them with him. They looked like they had all been through the heart of the storm and then some. Why did he give them the added pressure of Christopher?

If he didn't they might have gone somewhere else on their day trip than wherever they took the kids.

Eddie didn't know what to do when he reached them. He wasn't sure whether to grab his son and hold onto him for dear life, check over Bella, confiscate Buck and wrap him up in a hug or take (Y/n) and carry her through reception. He froze in front of them all, his arms paralysed out in front of him as he couldn't make up his mind on what to do.

"Daddy!" Christopher let go of Bella's hand and stumbled forward, making the decision for him as he threw himself into Eddie's waiting arms.

"Oh, Christopher, are you okay?" He didn't look like he had been through the tsunami, he looked more like he had gone swimming in the sea than through a horrific natural disaster. "Buck, I- hey girlie, oh it's okay." Eddie kept one arm around his son but his free arm looped around Bella when she ran across to him and grabbed his leg.

"Uncle Eddie,"

She couldn't hold her dad properly when he was carrying (Y/n) and she was desperate for comfort. If she couldn't have Evan, she was sure as Hell going to have her uncle Eddie instead. Her little arms stretched up and grabbed at Eddie's neck until he understood and picked her up, holding her against his chest when she began to cry.

"Buck, what happened? Chimney I need help over here!" Bobby bypassed Eddie and stood in front of Evan whose legs were starting to wobble as floods of tears poured down his face.

"Buck, God where were you?" Chimney tried to look him in the eye but he wouldn't look at any of them, all Evan could do was cry, keeping his gaze down to his feet. "Stretcher! (Y/n) I'm gonna check you over real quick then we'll get you inside and patched up, okay?"

"Hm,"

She couldn't open her eyes any longer, her face nuzzled into Buck's neck again and her arms squeezed lightly around his neck. It took all her effort to smooth her fingertips over Evan's chest to let him know that he was okay and they had made it.

Chimney patted his hands all down her back, felt her ribs in case they were broken and observed the puncture wound in her lower chest that wasn't extensive but it would definitely need stitches. But when he looked down at her right leg, his lips rolled together and he eyed Bobby with uncertainty. Her leg was extremely discoloured from the cut off circulation, blood was still dribbling slowly down her leg and the glass could have any number of infections on it that could penetrate her soft tissue and cause damage.

She had to get into theatre now before her leg became unsavable.

"Pulse is good but her breathing is shallow and her leg is in bad shape, that glass needs to come out now and the blood supply needs to be reconnected before the leg is lost." Chimney turned to find two nurses had arrived with a slightly lopsided stretcher but it would do. (Y/n) was now a high priority and she would get first admission to an operating room. "Okay (Y/n) we're going to gently ease you off of Buck and onto your stomach on this stretcher."

"Stay very still Buck, we've got her don't worry." Bobby patted Evan's shoulder before he and Chimney both got hold of (Y/n).

They moved an arm beneath her chest each and carefully held her thighs before they pulled her back. Her head fell back so slow and floppy it looked like she was a ragdoll whose neck had just broken. Her arms were lifeless and useless at her sides and she felt like jelly, one wrong move and she would split forever.

Bobby moved round and leaned backwards so (Y/n) could lay on his chest and Chimney could manouevre her legs and they lifted her up onto the stretcher. He turned her head to the side so she could still breathe properly and they placed her arms on the stretcher tucked up against her chest before Chimney gave a thumbs up for them to take her.

"Buck, buddy let's follow them inside and stay with (Y/n). You and Bella can stay close by and we will get you checked out." Bobby pressed one hand on Buck's back and the other on his chest both to check his breathing and to try and comfort him and steady him when he looked like he would keel over.

He knew Evan and Bella wouldn't want to be separated from (Y/n) and if they went now, they could stay in the closest waiting room to her and get seen by a nurse. Evan's head looked bad and he could have other multiple injuries they didn't know about.

As soon as Buck saw Eddie take the kids inside to follow (Y/n), his knees gave out.

His hands latched around Bobby's arm, his body went down with a harsh thud to the concrete floor on his knees and his breathing turned shallow and limp.

"Wow, wow! Hey, you're okay. You're all here in one piece, you're all gonna be okay. Come here," Bobby spoke with a calm and unusually soft voice like melted butter and he pulled Evan into his chest when he didn't refuse the contact. He let Evan tuck his face into his shoulder, switching between little panting breaths and big gasps before he let out a shrill cry that sounded like his throat had been scratched raw.

"I- I got them all here. They're all safe," Evan started to rock himself back and forth until Bobby and Chimney both did the same, holding onto him and checking his vitals at the same time.

"You did it Buck. You did it."

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 52: The Maestro's Correction

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tw: mind control, body control, burns, hand whump, whipping, blindness, abuse, blood drinking

October 1925

Alexander stood and bowed low as the Maestro entered the music room, trailed by Oliver in eerily perfect synchronization. "Good evening, sire. I hope you are well."

"I also hope I am well. That depends largely on your hospitality, I'm afraid," he said. "Let us begin by examining your new acquisition in more detail."

"Certainly, sire."

No, no, no -- it took all of Oliver's self-control to not fight as the Maestro sat down on the padded bench and forced him into a submissive kneel. The hook and eye on his dress was undone, and Oliver's dread rose. What did he mean by examining in more detail…?

It was somewhat of a relief when those stony eyes focused on the brand on his chest. "Slipshod. The edges are clearly uneven. The symbol will hardly be readable." The Maestro looked up. "It's obviously your work, Alexander. If you had coerced Lily into fulfilling your obligation, as you were no doubt tempted to do, it wouldn't be in such a sorry state."

"Yes, sire."

"Your thrall is permanently marred, the results of your task an abject disappointment, and all you have to say in response is 'yes, sire'," said the Maestro, his tone like a knife pressed against Alexander's neck. "When I attended the ballet, your thrall informed me that you are allowing him a great deal of freedom, as well, are you not?"

"Yes, sire."

Oliver couldn't turn around, but he could hear the despondence in Alexander's voice. This had been his fault, hadn't it? He should have covered for his master. But Alexander had warned him in no uncertain terms to be honest. What was the correct action? Was there even a correct action?

"Because your thrall is otherwise so obedient, I feel inclined to only impose a light punishment this time."

"Thank you, sire."

The Maestro indicated a fat candle sitting on the end table, its flames providing the only cheer and warmth in the room. "Place your hand in the candle's flame until I am satisifed."

"Yes, sire."

"No!" The choked cry came from Oliver's mouth before he could stop himself. He wrenched his head out of the Maestro's grasp just enough to see Alexander's shock, his hand hovering dangerously near the flames.

"Oh?" Oliver's head was snapped back to look in the Maestro's eyes, filled with a cold fury. "You disagree with my judgement?"

"No, no, sir, I don't --"

The Maestro slapped him across the face hard. "You disagree with my judgement and then you lie to compound it," he said, rage in every note of his musical voice. "You do this out of loyalty, no doubt. My misguided children seek companionship among humankind, and value loyalty over obedience. A flaw I have not yet burned out of them."

Oliver trembled as the Maestro took his right hand. The vampire's hands were colder than ice and smooth as porcelain. He ran his finger's down Oliver's palm in a way that might have been tender in other circumstances. "Do you play any instruments, child?"

He was thinking of burning Oliver's hands, wasn't he? Oliver desperately wished he could answer yes to that question, in the hopes that he would be spared, but the blossoming bruise on his cheek warned him otherwise. "No, sir."

"Are you clever with your hands?"

Oliver thought back to the many evenings he'd spent repairing the bindings of antique books and mending his worn clothes. "I believe so, sir."

"I see." The Maestro turned over Oliver's hands in his own. "Human hands can be permanently damaged. A shame, truly. Mutilating your hands before you've been given the opportunity to prove yourself useful would be a waste at this time, as would any corrective action that spills excessive blood."

Oliver wasn't sure if he should be relieved by that. "…Thank you, sir?"

"You have an obedient soul. I'm not wrong about such matters," said the Maestro. "It is your master's lack of discipline that is to blame for your insubordination. Therefore, I will not punish you."

"You won't, sir?" Oliver would have found this mercy difficult to believe even if he didn't notice Alexander tensing.

"You don't want to watch your master's punishment, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Then look into my eyes, child. Deep, deep into my eyes."

He didn't have a choice, as the Maestro's power drew his gaze upwards and locked it there before he fully realized what was happening.

"Deeper. Lose yourself."

There was a disconcerted ticking noise in Oliver's head, as though his ear were pressed to a clock, and he realized in terror that he was being enthralled, the power like chains wrapping around his mind. Despite Alexander's many warnings and his own resolve to be obedient and avoid trouble, Oliver couldn't help the urge to pull against it. It was bad enough to have to give over his body. The idea of this cruel vampire invading his mind was too much to bear.

But it was already too late. Oliver was already trapped in his eyes. As the ticking of the clock gradually slowed like a mechanical toy winding down, his thoughts slowed too, his vision engulfed by the cold oblivion of the Maestro's gaze.

"Close your eyes down. Tight. As tight as they can."

"Yes, sir." Oliver's eyes obediently shut, sparing him the weight of that gaze, but doing nothing to free his mind.

"I am placing lead weights on each one. Weights that are far too heavy to allow you to open your eyes on your own." A cold finger tapped each of Oliver's eyelids. "Only I can move these weights. You will not open your eyes again until I allow it."

"Yes, sir."

"Wake."

That crisp snap sounded next to Oliver's ear, and he felt the chains on his mind lift, but he did not open his eyes. Could not. Oliver couldn't help but be confused. The Maestro had full control of his body. Why go through the trouble just to make him shut his eyes?

There was one obvious, awful possibility: because he did not intend for Oliver to open his eyes ever again.

"Now that that's settled, you may take your punishment, Alexander," the Maestro said.

Oliver was forced back into a kneeling position and the Maestro placed one hand atop his head. He heard several steps across the wood floor, and then absolute silence.

Was his master actually burning his hand in the candle's flame? There was no sound at all, no cries of pain from Alexander, not even the sound of breathing. The only thing tethering Oliver to the world was that hand on top of his head. As much as Oliver would hate to see or hear his master in pain, the deathly silence and darkness and suspense made it so much worse.

And just as Oliver thought he couldn't take it any more, he smelled what he desperately hoped was not the scent of charred flesh. His spirit cried out to do something, anything, to help his master, but blinded and bound as he was, there was nothing he could do.

"Enough," said the Maestro, after what seemed like an eternity. "I grow weary of watching you disappoint me. Alexander, play."

Play? Alexander's sire couldn't possibly expect him to play an instrument with a ruined hand. Yet Oliver could hear Alexander sit down at the piano bench and begin to play a piece which obviously involved a great deal of intricate fingerwork. Perhaps his hand was not that damaged after all -- but the smell in the air said otherwise.

He didn't have long to sit and enjoy the music (as much as he could under the circumstances) because the Maestro stood and pulled Oliver up, leading him in a dance. Oliver couldn't see and didn't know the steps, but he didn't have to, as his body was once again puppeted without his input, gliding across the room with a grace that was not his own, his trembling hand trapped in that cold porcelain grasp.

"One," intoned the Maestro. "Two." Several beats of music. "Three."

Oliver didn't know what it meant. Swirling around the music room with his eyes shut tight, his anxiety was reaching a fever pitch, making it difficult for him to relax enough to allow his body to sink into the control.

"Four. Five."

He was counting the mistakes, Oliver realized. Every moment his concentration broke, his body was fighting just the smallest bit against the unwanted intrusion. Each time that happened, he would slightly miss a step, or pull against the Maestro's grip.

"Eleven. Twelve."

He couldn't focus. He couldn't follow. He couldn't stop his treacherous body from rebelling against being made the plaything of the implacable vampire in front of him. And the number was climbing.

"Twenty-two." The Maestro released his grip on Oliver, who reeled backwards. "You may stop now, Alexander. Do you see now what I was talking about? He has obedience, but lacks discipline."

"Yes, sire." Alexander sounded as dead inside as he was metaphysically.

"Try not to spill blood unnecessarily when you administer the punishment. I finally find myself with an appetite."

"Yes, sire."

Oliver didn't have to wait long to know what the punishment was. Once more, he was kneeling, and he felt a sharp blow from a thin implement sting his back. It was followed by another, and another, and although Oliver was being kept from movement, he couldn't help but cry. The anticipation of each blow was as bad as the pain, and his back felt like it was on fire.

"That's twenty-two, sire."

"Your hand was light," said the Maestro. "No matter. You had three mistakes in your playing."

He heard Alexander kneeling beside him. The blows the Maestro delivered to Alexander's back rang out through the music room, unmistakable.

"Now that that unfortunate business has been taken care of," said the Maestro as casually as though he'd been discussing an unpleasant chore, "I will take my meal."

Oliver felt every muscle in his body tense, despite the control holding him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong for anyone but his master to drink his blood, but everything about this evening had been wrong.

And it was made even worse by the fact that Oliver couldn't see what the Maestro was doing, when the bite was coming for him. All he could feel was a hand on his head and a thick vampiric aura enveloping his mind. It felt strangely empty. Not like desire or hunger or pleasure, like Oliver had always felt with his master. No, the Maestro's aura was purely about control and practicality, freezing him in position so that he could be fed from. Oliver couldn't even tilt his neck as he'd been trained.

At least a feeding wouldn't be so bad, compared to everything that had happened so far, Oliver reasoned. Miss Lily had instilled in him the craving to provide for a vampire, and the feedings he'd experienced so far had been pleasant, even euphoric. He'd been dreading it previously, but now it actually be a relief.

At least, it seemed like a relief until the Maestro's slender fangs sunk into the flesh of his neck.

Oliver gasped in surprise and pain. It hurt, agony radiating from the bite, and the sensation of teeth in his muscles was deeply violating, not to mention the uncomfortable suction of his blood being consumed. His world narrowed down to nothing but the awful, aching wound, his body spasming with the need to escape from the predator, frozen in place by unnatural means.

It hurt, of course it hurt. He should have known better than to think this might be a relief. Alexander always put him under a gentle spell of sleep and submission and pleasure as he fed, a spell that kept Oliver from feeling any of the pain that would naturally accompany his neck being bitten. Of course the Maestro would not do that, would instead relish his suffering.

As his master's sire drank his blood, his thoughts began to overpower Oliver's own, and he found…

Nothingness.

A pitch black sky with no stars or moon or clouds. An empty field devoid of life as far as the eye could see. A bitter chill sapping the strength and cheer from his very marrow.

Order. Solitude. Misery.

The inky sky rushed to meet him, to swallow him in oblivion, and Oliver thought he might be dying.

"Oliver?"

He was floating back up through the darkness, tethered by his master's voice.

"Oliver? Oliver, please wake up."

"I'm awake, sir," he said, trying to open his eyes and finding that he couldn't, the memories of what had transpired rushing back to him. He couldn't open his eyes at all, the imaginary lead weights keeping them firmly shut. He could tell that he was laid out on the padded bench, cradled gently in what he hoped was his master's arms. His back hurt and his cheek stung and the wound on his neck was intensely uncomfortable… but he was alive. "I can't…" he said, panic rising. "I can't open my eyes, sir. Is he still here? Is it over?"

"He's gone. He probably won't trouble us for some time," Alexander said. "You were brilliant, Oliver. A picture perfect thrall. I wish you didn't have to go through any of that, but you handled it all so well."

Praise from his master cut through some of Oliver's fear and pain. "Will I be able to open my eyes again, sir?"

"Yes, you will, I promise. Hypnotic commands usually fade away on their own if they're not reinforced."

"How long will that take, sir?" said Oliver. Despite the welcome reassurance that this wouldn't be forever, his mind was already filling with anxiety over how he would be able to live. How could he find his way around the expansive manor while blinded? How long would he have to go without reading?

"Well… my sire's very powerful, as I'm sure you know, and you're…"

"Weak, sir?"

"I wasn't going to say weak. You take to enthrallment very well, which has nothing to do with mental weakness, believe it or not. And it's a trait I find endearing, but unfortunately in this case it might be a problem. It could last a month, maybe more…"

Oliver's heart clenched at the idea of weeks in the dark. How could he even take care of himself? Would he be able to cook or bathe? Would he need his master to help him do all of those things? Would Alexander help him?

"…but don't worry!" said Alexander hastily, running a hand through Oliver's hair. "I'll take you to see Lily first thing tomorrow night. She can usually undo things like that, especially considering the grip she has on your mind already."

Oliver never thought he'd be so grateful for Miss Lily. "Thank you, sir. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. You endured all of this for me. Helping undo my sire's damage is the least I can do. Speaking of which, I've already bandaged your neck, but I should tend to the wounds on your back and make sure they aren't too serious. I could get some ice from the icebox for your face, as well."

"But what about your hand, sir? Did you actually…"

"Yes. It will heal on its own, and I can clean and bandage it later. You don't need to concern yourself with it. I wish to tend to you."

Blinded and in pain, Oliver couldn't bring himself to argue with that. "Thank you, sir."

"I can't easily undo my sire's work, but I can help ease your pain with my song. Would you like that?"

"Yes, very much, sir."

His master began to sing, and his voice was like a lifeline in the dark, soothing and relaxing him and making him feel like everything would be okay, even if it very much wasn't.

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Thanks for reading. Next week: happier days with Fitz.

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[growingstories]

Fireman

Once upon a time in, the bustling city of Firewood, there lived a handsome very tall and fireman named Eric. With his chiseled jawline, piercing blue eyes, and muscular frame, he had always been the object of admiration for his fellow firefighters and the ladies of Firewood. Eric prided himself on his physical fitness and found solace in his high-intensity workouts.

However, life took an unexpected turn for Eric when he began dating his girlfriend, Sarah. Sarah had a weakness for big men and enjoyed cooking hearty meals. As their relationship progressed, Sarah's portions gradually grew larger, catering to Eric's desire to put on weight. Initially, Eric embraced this change, believing it would enhance his masculine appeal.

In an effort to balance his newfound appetite, Eric increased his workout routines, desperately trying to build muscle while cutting down on the inevitable fat accumulation. But his body seemed to have a different plan, as the stubborn fat refused to dissipate, even with his rigorous exercises.

To make matters worse, Eric's fire department welcomed some new colleagues, bringing along their culinary skills. Unknown to Eric, these new firefighters were renowned for their indulgent cooking. Each shift brought mouthwatering dishes with hearty portions that Eric found irresistible. He couldn't resist the temptation indul andged in these culinary delights.

As the months passed, Eric's weight began skyrocket to. He could barely fit into his fireman uniform, and his peers started noticing his increasing waistline. Frustration consumed him as he struggled to pass the physical fitness tests required for his job. Eric felt trapped, unable to break free from the cycle of overeating and his sedentary office job.

Determined to regain control of his life, Eric reluctantly accepted a desk job at the fire department headquarters. This decision, though necessary, had adverse effects on Eric's physical well-being. The monotonous office routine left him feeling unfulfilled and dissatisfied. Seeking solace, he turned to the comfort of food once again, finding temporary happiness in each bite.

The combination of Sarah's, cooking his colleagues' culinary expertise, and the long office hours led Eric to a point of no return. Every night, Eric and Sarah would curl up on the sofa, with a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and engage in passionate lovemaking. The food and sex became intertwined in a never-ending loop of pleasure and indulgence.

Months went by, and Eric's expanding waistline matched his growing appetite. His once muscular frame was now concealed beneath layers of fat, making it almost impossible for him to find clothing that fit. The fitness tests were a distant memory, as even the simplest physical tasks became insurmountable challenges.

Despite the limitations his weight imposed on him, Eric continued to indulge in food. The frustration of his growing size seemed to be overshadowed by the pleasure he derived from his new office job, combined with the joy of devouring copious amounts of food. His lunch and dinner consisted of supersized portions, followed by a late-night rendezvous with Ben & Jerry's and his girlfriend.

Eric's transformation did not go unnoticed, and he was eventually promoted to safety adviser at the headquarters. His new role only contributed to his sedentary lifestyle, as he spent most of his time sitting behind a desk, basking in the warmth of his office routine.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Eric's weight showed no sign of stopping its relentless climb. His once athletic body had been replaced by an immense, round form that seemed to fill every space he occupied.

But Eric found solace in his seemingly never-ending cycle of indulgence. He reveled in the pleasures that life offered him, finding pleasure in his big lunches, oversized dinners, irresistible ice cream, and the passionate lovemaking that followed. His love for life overshadowed any concerns about his health or appearance.

And so, Eric lived each day, embracing the path he had chosen. In his mind, there was no stopping the pleasure he derived from his newfound routine. The road to self-restraint seemed distant, as he surrendered himself to the pleasures of food, sex, and sleep.

In the end, Eric had created his own world, a world where he found immense happiness in his gluttonous habits. His journey was a testament to the power of indulgence and the allure of a life driven by pleasure.

[fatphobiabusters]

I explained to a fatphobe today the documented fact that has been known for decades of how there is no scientifically-proven way to lose weight long-term and that dieting doesn't work. His response was to tell me that I need to try for "longer than a week."

I did. I tried for years, probably longer than he ever managed to keep a single friend around to listen to his assholery. The only time I ever had any "success" had also been due to me dieting for longer than a week. Two weeks to be exact. Where I lost 20 pounds.

That's over 9 kilograms, if you measure weight that way.

I lost the same amount of weight as a watermelon. A car tire. A lawn mower. An office chair. The weight of an entire patio table.

In two weeks.

If you want more numbers, that was 2 and a half hours of exercising on exercise equipment at levels dangerous for my body. Every day.

14 days of a self-imposed famine. A salad here or there when I couldn't take the pain in my stomach anymore. And then, of course, going right back to starving.

My mom who had helped teach me to hate my body for not being the width of a pencil had even managed to notice how much weight I lost and how fast. She forcibly weighed me, not that weighing me accomplished anything. She didn't know my previous weight.

I saw my childhood friend for the first time in quite a while after losing the weight of two newborn babies in half a month. The first thing I asked her is if she noticed I was thinner. I had always compared myself to her growing up. She was naturally thin, needed no effort at all to stay barely thicker than her bones. She would only eat a few bites of food, slowly, and only if it was to her taste. For many years as a kid, she was the single person I knew who ate baloney, let alone as one of the handful of foods she was willing to consume. I grew up thinking thin people ate nothing more than a bowl of steamed broccoli for dinner because nothing I did ever made me as small as her.

When she told me she noticed, I smiled. I was proud that I had so severely abused my body, that I had lost an extremely alarming amount of weight in such a short amount of time.

The only time. The one instance I had ever managed to lose a noticeable amount of my body. My fat genetics and PCOS don't really help in that regard.

I'm now nearly double the weight I had starved to as a teenager. My story follows the research studies to a T.

By the end of high school, I had already gained back the whole 20 pounds. And after high school, I gained that "and then some" so many people experience. 95% of people who try to lose weight end up gaining the weight back within 3-5 years, most becoming bigger than the weight they started with. I didn't "willpower enough" into that 5% success rate. Abusing my body those two weeks so I could be an entire shopping cart lighter and then obsessing about my weight throughout my high school years wasn't enough "willpower" it seems.

I gained more weight afterwards due to medicine, mental disability, untreated PCOS, a pandemic, more attempts at starvation, being bedridden in a tent for two years, and my body, like many bodies, wanting to grow into those fat genetics of mine now that I was no longer a teenager.

I did, in fact, try longer than a week. Now it's time to reciprocate and try treating fat people like human beings for a mere seven days. Here's an app for you to log all of the fat people you didn't tell to die, and make sure you use all your willpower. I have a neighbor whose sister's boss managed to not tell fat people to die for two whole years! They're still refraining from doing so today. All her boss needed to do was stop drinking sodas and have the willpower to succeed.

Have you tried that?

-Mod Worthy

[briar-rolfes-research-oubliette]

ON MONDAY, I (FINALLY) MADE IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NEWEST ERAGON BOOK!

MURTAGH

“A Book I Read”

It took three very patient friends of mine to encourage me to finish reading this. I took notes the whole way through, and I am now sharing those in hope of finding loving community with my fellow haters.

Important context:

I loved Eragon, which came out when I was roughly eleven

Christopher Paolini was the first author to ever disappoint me

I used to love epic fantasy, until feminism, coming out, and learning about literary criticism made me just too mean to enjoy it

Since 2015, whenever I’ve had writer’s block, I’ve found inspiration by looking at this screenshot:

Christopher has managed to create a life where his mum has never stopped doing his laundry or his editing for him. He has never worked a job in his life. He has infinite time to work on his craft, and yet, with all of those advantages, he writes the way he does. I don’t hate him, but I do want to destroy him in single combat.

LET US BEGIN.

17 November 2023

I forgot how obsessed this man is with proving he knows rare words. Picking up my phone to google the word “trenchant”.

He really just didn’t want to say the dragon had a sharp sense of humour huh? Oh, no, it’s TRENCHANT. It wasn’t even for dialogue I identified as comedy but Murtagh thought it was TRENCHANT. He and Thorn have been alone in the wilderness for too long

NOT NASUADA BEING DESCRIBED AS HAVING ALMOND EYES

Of course the protagonist has grown a beard. He’s A Man Now.

I have a theory that this book is about coming to terms with marriage. Murtagh is like “our bond… our bond that lasts until death… the oldest magic… only the two of us understand each other. But, we’re also trapped with each other,” and I’m like hm. Fascinating. Say more

Instantly Murt befriends a child, to prove he is good really.

It’s so weird to read a book by a grown man with kids who is like “how did we all start out so innocent and pure…” like have you MET five year olds

This whole fork fight scene makes me feel second hand embarrassment deep in my soul. It’s SO This Guy Is The Best And Coolest

“Fencing with effortless ease” I do not care how well trained he is: you cannot kill four men with long swords by stabbing them with a little fork in “four hard impacts.” It’s just not happening.

I’m really dwelling on the idea of magic as “imposing your will” on something. It’s very.., something. Murtagh cleans his shirt by “imposing his will on the garment” like. Okay, I suppose in a way that is how all laundry is done, but it’s. Hm.

How come he’ll clean a shirt with magic but not shave with magic? Why are these books SO obsessed with beards and shaving and how to do shave and using magic for shaving etc etc, Eragon was also majorly preoccupied with this

Paolini’s got so many complexes on the page. All the “we’re half brothers and your dad killed my dad” stuff is A LOT

The naming stuff… SMH what would Ursula Le Guin say about all this

I’m obsessed with how even as (gasp) an OUTCAST!! Murtagh can’t not be the coolest guy ever for any time at all. It’s like a disease

Giving the child the enchanted killing fork was the worst decision ever made. Murtagh gives her a murder weapon and is then moping like “what’s it like… to live without killing…” literally pages later.

I’m really startled that Murt is delighted to see a tiny flying magical grass boat come down from the sky and circle him instead of being like “wtf, I’m being Watched,” which would be the true act of a man we are told is paranoid

I just got to the bit where Murtagh offhandedly says that magic users who “are the heaviest” always have the most spell reserves.

Like……… what???? Magic eats your fat?? It burns glucose??

You could be a better mage if you just, ate a bunch of raspberry frogs before each fight??????

It’s food powered??? You really want to go there, Paolini????? Wizards in the candy shop, eating sweeties like Mistborns?

GOD, if only Galbatorix had chugged a bottle of red cordial before his last big fight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I return after losing my mind about this to my partner for forty minutes)

If it was “if you’re hungry you can’t FOCUS” I’d get it. But I always assumed it was like, you know how other fantasy does it? Some kind of pool of ADDITIONAL energy that you are accessing and that can be used up (until you go too far and start using life force or whatever). Like, it’s CHANNELLING it that makes you tired, not that it’s literal food energy.

Murtagh is always running or doing his sword forms or whatever and now I’m like “DUDE, NO!!!?!? DON’T BURN YOUR WIZARD CALORIES!!?!?”

I like when magic can’t do EVERYTHING, when it’s consistent or limited in some way, but I do hate the idea that it’s this predictable. Food energy becomes raw magical power. I GUESS.

(A little later)

Screaming at the suggestion Thorn can tell when Murtagh is horny.

I don’t like the euphemisms. It makes it worse

The fact he can’t talk to his dragon whenever they’re “too far apart” (distance never specified) is making me insane. Why did I pick up the dragon riding book if it’s mostly about leaving your dragon locked up at the bike rack

I know Thorn is basically a rescue dog with anxiety, but it bothers me how much he’s left on his own. The narrative just has no idea what to use him for other than speedy transport for the first um… 200 pages, it seems? He’s meant to be his own creature with his own intelligence. He doesn’t go anywhere without Murtagh though. So what is he doing all the time

I think Paolini WANTS his world to be big and mysterious (his introduction literally just keeps saying things in the world of the story are mysterious) but he HAS to keep explaining everything

24 November 2023

I’ve figured out something that annoys me about the world of this book, in terms of just how the worldbuilding is not actually that magical. It has the D&D problem!!! Which is to say that every regular person on earth is Level One and every important character is like, level 12. And part of what makes that even worse is that all women in this world are level zero.

I’ve been watching my friend Chris play the first Alan Wake game and we realised that all the faceless enemies that are possessed by Evil in the game are… working class men. The protagonist is this literate wealthy New York writer who is constantly killing faceless workers—farmers, loggers, coal miners, builders. And that’s not an INTENTIONAL commentary by the game, but it’s very revealing. And This book is the same in that: there is no such thing as a complicated poor person. They’re all either Dirty Evil or Dirty Good. Murtagh is going around, writing poetry in his head and inventing magical computer code, and then every child is an urchin who is like Oi Guvnah, and every dad is gruff, and every woman is worried.

The language used to describe everyone who isn’t a Fighting Man is so demeaning. And even then, we only need to respect the leaders of those men. The leaders are the only ones with depth who might need to be taken seriously.

It’s like Murtagh has a tally in his head where he is going “finally, a guy who is level 6”!

Most people in this world exist to deliver information to the protagonist.

Paolini either thinks his readers are too dumb to understand that his characters exist between scenes, or he doesn’t understand himself that we don’t need to see every time Murtagh enters a city under a new name and how he does it. Or know what he ate for dinner and how he prepared it and where he slept and what he dreamed and, and, and—

It’s weird because Paolini is being self indulgent as fuck but it is NOT fun to read. This dude really just needs to go write a survival story or something… A guy in the woods depending on nothing but his wits and his axe and his beard and his libertarian values

I don’t understand the stakes at play. All the magic scenes with Mind Penetration are so sudden and hard to actually understand as action. And the way it works is about brute force, so the dragon is not going to be at risk of being taken over except by another, even bigger dragon

It would be fun to read the Murtagh city sleuth segments if Thorn was backseat driving a little. I think that their bond should not get thinner over distance. The fact that it does just defeats the point of a magical bond.

Why does the dragon have to stay so far away? Like… it’s established that there’s a spell to conceal a dragon from sight. Dude. You could just go fucking invisible

There’s so many decisions that just are so bonkers to have made. The whole fetch quest for information pissed me off so bad. “You have to join the guard” (40 pages of emotions about uniforms ensue). This guy learned about plots from video games

Paolini had kids apparently, but you can tell he doesn’t really understand kids. “How do they all start out so innocent and pure,” says a man who has never heard a seven year old describe someone being killed by farts before.

The description of Murtagh carrying a cat that doesn’t want to be carried is very funny. I don’t know if Paolini has ever carried a cat before. If you’re carrying a cat that doesn’t want to be carried close to your chest, and you tighten your grip when it squirms… say goodbye to your nipples, my man

It’s strange how much Paolini doesn’t explore the things that seem to be the point. FOR EXAMPLE, the fantasy soul bond trope loves to say “even during sex!??! 👀” because it’s about INTIMACY, and some alien presence always being there. The dragon rider trope is popular because dragons are powerful and wise but also Beasts. Magic is fun to read about because it can do things that can’t be explained.

Paolini’s world is big, but nothing in it has any real substance. Nothing in it has any real consequence, and it makes it impossible to really invest in anything that happens. None of these poor city folks have a life once they leave the scene of delivering Murtagh information… or if they are a woman, delivering him a hot meal. There’s no sense of a world that exists outside Murtagh’s point of view!

25 November 2023

The towns so far don’t feel at all distinctive to me! I was interested in the one with the massive lake, but then it having this massive fish in it was the only point of interest. It would be fun to have been like “oh the fish has ruined our summer festival! It’s ruined the nobility pleasure cruises! It’s also eating fishermen!” Or “Why do all these fishing boats have huge spikes on the prow? Well,”

Again, these guys are all level one in peasant dirt town. They have no capacity for individual thought and no ability to adapt.

It’s like Paolini doesn’t know what makes people and places in fantasy feel distinct, or have culture. It’s so evident in how much he HASN’T thought about. For example, the bonkers amount of restrictive gender norms that he doesn’t seem AT ALL CONSCIOUS OF? Everyone who died in the war was A Man. No women died in the war. But that hasn’t resulted in any social changes. There aren’t more women doing work, for example, like being fishermen

I remember being thirteen or so and reading the bit in the second book where Arya explains to Eragon that she’s better and stronger than a human woman, because she is an elf, so Eragon doesn’t have to worry about her in battle. I was this kid there like “man, that sucks. I assume he’s coming back to that assumption later,” and… he never did. He still hasn’t. And that sucks

The dragon riders were not THAT long ago, in the world of these books. It makes me wonder—were none of them human women? I always assumed that some were human women, but… did dragons only choose elf men, elf women, and human men? If they chose human women, then even being accepted into a paramilitary dragon force didn’t change gender expectations in the rest of the world. What the fuck. He’s really never thought about this.

Women keep showing up as cunning-mysterious, as humble dirtmothers, or as innocent children. Oh my god I’m just describing maiden mother crone. That’s all he’s capable of.

I just got up to where he rescues the werecat baby (innocent girl child) and settles in to hear the stories of elder werecat (cunning-mysterious)

I noticed the Arya Problem with how Nasuada is described in this book, too. Every woman has to be the best, most capable, most powerful woman ever, to be worth the attention of The Boys. Otherwise they can’t respect her. Only two literal queens can be considered worthy of just two average guys who got pet lizards. Even then, they’re not actual equals.

“She still empathised for me.” Yes, don’t worry, Murtagh, I remember that’s what women are for.

I should note that the reason Nasuada is considered so powerful and so much worthy of his love and is her strength as a person. This is proven in the Eragon books because “she still empathised” with Murtagh whilst he was medieval torturing her. He was medieval torturing her for like… most of a book and that’s how they fell in love. Because she could see in his eyes that this guy torturing her… was Complicated. He didn’t really WANT to be medieval torturing her so she actually felt worse for him than he felt about how he was (and I can’t stress this enough) medieval torturing her

I just can’t imagine that THE QUEEN OF A WHOLE CONTINENT would still prefer the guy who sadly tortured her. He’s her top preference. Out of EVERY OTHER MAN IN THE WORLD

I put the book down until the day before I was meant to have finished the book for book club:

10 March 2024: from page 274 onwards

The evil witch is called BACHEL?????!!?!??!? Fucking BACHEL. Pronounced “buh-SHELL”, the guide at the back says. You changed one letter in Rachel, don’t lie to me Paolini

I got so mad being reminded the evil king Galbatorix was defeated by “Eragon forcing empathy upon him” so that he magically exploded himself out of guilt that I had to put the book down and complain to Charlie for five straight minutes

I guess that’s why Galbatorix made Murtagh torture Nasuada for him. He knew that if he’d done it himself she would have empathised with him too hard and he would’ve exploded himself

Murtagh has never met a single person he has respected. Murtagh is the specialest boy in all the land. Eragon had to leave the country because they were both too special to share a continent

Murtagh decided on where to go and he was immediately surrounded by armed guards who took him to where the plot was

Paolini uses the fucking word “admixed” while discussing EATING A PIE. The flavours admixed in his mouth. Just because you know a word… doesn’t mean it’s a word to deploy about eating a pie

I HATE how the only people strong enough to do the strongest magic are Elves Or Human Riders. It’s fucking magic my guy! Why is it checking your goddamn DNA! Also, hey! Wasn’t it supposed to come down to the strongest wizards being the guys who ate the most for lunch?

In a world of Magic how come every wizard battle ultimately comes down to who is a better Professor X?? I came here for fireballs, not Mind Battles. I don’t care about your Mental Wards

Hahaha Murtagh!!! Get trapdoored, bitch!!!!

Dragon panic attacks: conceptually cool but a bit ?? Like ah… the plot literally comes to scoop him up and carry him away. Yet again something outside of Murtagh makes a decision for him about what to do next

Murtagh’s poetry is going to make me explode myself like Galbatorix in book 4

If there’s something I like about this book so far it’s just the bits where he and Thorn are camping. Not flying, because then Murtagh is using the time to think and that’s horrible. The bits where they make campfires or whatever feel like something is actually happening. A guy and his dragon hanging out

Man. The way this novel is plotted really reminds me that it’s not actually that hard to write a book.

Murtagh goes to the evil village (oh yeah there’s an evil village. It is where Bachel lives. She is evil because she does magic without using the magic language). The village is called:

NAL GORGOTH

But I couldn’t remember this so I kept referring to it in my head by another, more familiar, name

Murtagh is so freaked out by finding a village with architecture that he doesn’t recognise. He’s like “My god!!! Nasuada has to be warned!!!” Ok but about what??? New ways of building pillars???? The art deco movement threatens the land??

Kinda fascinated by how much this village represents a threat to CULTURE. The architecture, the people… Everything about it so far is designed to be A Foreign Threat. The inhabitants are Of All Races (except elves they are too cool too pure etc). The humans have A VARIETY OF SKIN COLOURS, which memorably never happens in Alagaesia, a continent once explicitly described in the Eragon books as only having two (2) black people on it at all (then one died) (the other is Nasuada) (the one who died was her dad)

This guy with a goatee isn’t quite human. He is maybe part urgal and he is so uncomfortable to look at! Mainly he has arms that are a bit too long!! Bachel isn’t a human and also isn’t an elf, and that’s also deeply unsettling.

Bachel also fundamentally represents a threat to THE STRUCTURING POWER OF LANGUAGE, huh??

Bachel is so far the most interesting character in the book!

Bachel has: ALMOND EYES and AMBER SKIN

Murtagh is so upset and confused when Bachel calls him “my son” like… I’m cryign. “But she’s not my mother! I know my mother!!” he thinks, in a panic.

If this was a fantasy novel written twenty to thirty years ago, then the sexual tension between Murtagh and Bachel would be absolutely insane. Alas, this is a world of abstinence, and sexuality is only ever meaningful looks between a queen and the guy who tortured her (it is weird how he keeps caressing Nasuada’s face on the gold coins)

It’s very funny that Bachel has specifically fourteen warriors. The prose keeps telling us that there’s fourteen of them. So you get Murtagh stepping forwards and then sentences like “the fourteen warriors attending Bachel shifted”

She seems like a perfectly normal cult leader to me? Why is she automatically a threat to Nasuada! How come the two of them can’t arrange a toxic political marriage that becomes… something more 😉😉😉

Nothing annoys me more in this book than Murtagh being able to identify specific vintages of wine. It keeps happening and it pisses me off

Bachel is a half elf!!! “It had never occurred to him that such a thing might be possible.” This is truly and absolutely unbelievable to me. Nobody in this world ever has sex

How did it take so long to get to such an objectively cool village!!! Like this is just a cool place!!! Sorry that Nar Nar Goon is evil but like FINALLY something has style

Three thoughts at once:

I’m so bored that Paolini’s mind can’t get more interesting than temple virgins, let alone wearing white to represent ritualistic purity. Like… nobody in this world fucks anyway, why does it matter!

Murtagh should also wear white all the time

Lesbianism doesn’t count as a violation of being temple chosen. Alín is wearing lesbianism

Paolini has never once written a woman who is Normal. He just can’t conceive of it. You can feel how he starts sweating.

Murtagh finally realised it was a cult. What sets it apart as a cult is that the followers appear to be “half-wits” to him

I’m going to detransition to break his fucking neck

Paolini has learned nothing since he had a woman deliver the exact same line in like 2008. The fact that another editor just thumbsed this up. The fact that this is in a book published in 2023. Well, now I’m REALLY embarking on an antagonistic reading: that’s right, I am reading women as capable.

Obsessed with Bachel. She is a girlboss and I’m a feminist xxx

Book is constantly weird about how much she is capable of eating and drinking at her feasts and how it makes her appear swollen and bloated etc etc. Murtagh is so weirded out by this because he feels it is unfeminine… as though she is not a witch and we weren’t told earlier that how much magic you have is directly equal to how much you eat. (Meanwhile he is only picking at his food and eating just enough of it ‘to be polite’ as though this is not making a decision to have less magic than her)

She has so much charisma compared to anyone else in the book. If my choices are her or Murtagh then sign me up boys!!!

Okay but much like how this would’ve been a VERY charged relationship 30 years ago, I’m weirdly disappointed Bachel she isn’t not described as megahot? Like the book keeps telling me about this virginal templemaiden or whatever, because Murtagh is only attracted to women he can rescue. But I’m actually just like… I think this woman is hot. Tell me more about her. It’s wild that this book is written by a guy like Paolini, who told me all about Oromis’ pubic hair in 2008, and who barely thinks women are people. Yet he doesn’t want to discuss her tiddies?

This book could, and should! have started when Murtagh landed his dragon in the evil village of Nar Nar Goon. That’s the point that stuff got actually interesting. Everything before this was literally video game fetch quest logic plotting that earned him the right to fly to Nar Nar Goon.

Boar hunt. More like BORED hunt. And then suddenly there are so many pigs, a comical number of them flying everywhere

This motherfucker using the phrase “the boar was lying athwart him” in a sentence in an action scene????

Murtagh is nearly dead and the boar is lying athwart him?

I’m going back in time and bullying the author at school

RIP Murtagh, trambled to death by 30-50 wild hogs

Oh god every time someone knocks Murtagh out he has a vision or a bad dream or a flashback or whatever and it’s so tiring

“EXISTENCE WAS A TOMB WHEREIN THE SINS OF THE PAST LAID INTERRED???” Do you ever read a sentence that sounds so much like the author is jerking it? “All had been lost, and there before him lay the instrument of their destruction” he is furiously jerking it oh my god. “Destroyer of hope, eater of light” oh, god, he’s still going

…This book is. Weird about mothers

Murtagh flies into a rage because Bachel mercy killed a guy who was dying bc of boar trampling because “I COULD HAVE HEALED HIM!!!!!” And the mercy killing is proof it is a cult. Because doing it Bachel’s way meant the guy was too relaxed and at peace when he died

Paolini’s family were in a cult, as I understand. So it’s kind of weird how much he doesn’t really understand how being in a cult works

I don’t really remember how religion works in this world, but I do remember tuning out of a long boring passage in book 2 or 3 where Eragon learned about all the gods and decided he was an atheist. It’s especially weird to be like “holy shit, an EVIL religion??!” In a book where religion has absolutely never come up before now

Oh my god, Alìn was whipped for being ‘too familiar’ with Murtagh!!! That’s because she’s so pure and a helpless victim girl in all white :’((

In my mind Bachel and Alìn COULD be in a fucked up lesbian relationship with bad BDSM etiquette. Of course Paolini can’t imagine a world where women have enough personality or agency to fall in toxic love with each other. Also even though he has people tied up and strapped down and whipped and being tortured etc in every book don’t think he knows that BDSM like. Exists. Boooooo

Murtagh: killing one guy who is dying of a punctured lung is the ultimate evil!

Also Murtagh: I know an invisibility spell, but to sneak out of my room I am going to suffocate seven men to death

Genuinely upsetting to read those men dying. He made it impossible for air to enter or exit their lungs with a word. Veins popping clawing at faces etc. God, what a way to go. So unnecessarily cruel. Yep, there goes the good guy

The main way the village is evil is that there are unsettling carvings everywhere. Paolini read some Lovecraft, but he did not understand what was up with it. Or maybe he did, because this book did get a lot more weird about Racial Purity once Murtagh arrived in Lovecraft Village

11 March 2024

There’s a bloodstain that “filled Murtagh with the apprehension of evil” and it confused me because these books are so gory. Earlier he killed four men with a fork. But like oh yeah I guess it’s because when Murtagh murders people now it’s bloodless. I guess. His murders are good you see

This chapter is called The Bad Sleep-Well you can tell Paolini thought he was a real genius for this one

Okay but why are there bats… roosting… in a cave… at night. And why is Murtagh worried that red light will risk waking them? Animals cannot see red light?? SOME FARM BOY YOU ARE, PAOLINI

Okay I have to stop nitpicking. I have to restrain myself until my Vyvanse kicks in

“Murtagh felt a sense of not just age but antiquity. Whoever had built the stairs had done so long before Alagaesia had been a settled place. What was it Bachel had said? That the cultists had lived in Nal Gorgoth since before elves were elves... He was starting to think she had told the truth.”

Sorry uhhhh, Alagaesia was settled?? When they talk about The Grey Ones, are they talking about a race PRIOR TO COLONISATION?????????

“He continued forward. Deeper into the womb of the earth. Deeper into the black unknown, seeking, seeking, always seeking a farther shore, every sense razor-sharp and razor-scraped, skin all goosefleshed, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck and gathering around his belted waist.”

God it’s so overwrought...

He found the well!!

Oh my god. The well is a natural magic hotspot and that means it “wasn’t the sort of thing that the Draumar ought to have dominion over.” It’s a natural resource???

“Not that he would want Du Vrangr Gata to assume control over such an important location either. This was exactly what the Riders had been created for: to oversee and mediate that which could destabilize the land.”

Murtagh is going to bring democracy to the Middle East

He’s too scared to mentally contact his dragon with Bachel around. If he was a proper horse girl he would find a way

Oh Galbatorix BECAME evil because he met Bachel and she manipulated him. Haha oh dear. No, you can’t just come to the conclusion the dragon rider paramilitary force who controls the resources are bad on your own. Not just because they sent you into the mountains when they knew it was dangerous and wanted to find out if you’d be killed up there! No, a manipulation had to have happened

It’s funny to me that the evil ancient witch queen who lives in seclusion in the mountains uses the new name for the city of Uru’baen. Oh no, she knows it as Ilirea. She’s hundreds and hundreds of years old. You know what that is? Evidence of Find And Replace, to me.

Bachel’s eyes are “glowing with fevered ecstasy.” I could make her feel that way. Also. Because, I know about sex

Always with the fucking passing out at the end of the chapter for Christopher James Paolini

NOW Bachel is being described appropriately as a hottie. FINALLY. GOD! It only took Murtagh being mind controlled in his brain but I. I!!! I could see the glorious light of truth!!

“He followed, dumb and wildered.” Well, not as much as that sentence. (You can be bewildered. But can you ever just be wildered????)

The dedication to making Murtagh the most pitiful little meow meow in existence in the Galbatorix flashbacks I’m… what happened to the joys of a guy who is evil because he was convinced or was tricked, not because he was fully brain abused???

The Urgals are racially… uncomfortable. Yellow eyes and Murtagh just straight up saying “how do you speak English”

The evil guys have masks and they put them on and like channel the animals the masks are of and on one hand it’s an idea I THINK is cool but also combined with the everything it really has this “tribal stuff is threatening” vibe all over it

“What do you want, witch?”

“I want you.”

Obsessed with how he’s shackled to a table and there’s still an incredible lack of sexual energy to this scene. This is like a day at the office for both of them.

… oh, but she is wearing claws and claws DOES equal a threat of penetration. Maybe a little sexual? As a treat??

Him being tortured reminds him of torturing Nasuada. Wow, it was their first date!

It’s just like. It’s fucked up imo. She should never kiss you Murtagh!!!

Is anything more boring than a torture scene.

Also, was he not drugged right before this scene? How is he able to mentally evade her and power his wards etc?

I’m mad that when he’s brought fancy foods by Alìn he doesn’t share his food with Ubek the Urgal

Oh my god Ubek tells him a story where the moral is just him outright saying at the end, “it’s important to stay close to the people we care for, even if we don’t always fit in so easily” lmao. Subtlety of a mallet

Is anything more boring than a torture scene? How about a torture chapter!!!1!1!1!

This chapter is interminable. Oh my god.

Oh, so we did all that and he gives in I guess. I can’t believe how little agency this man has had throughout this book????

Haha oh my god, Bachel is studying his nude and compliant body in front of her court. Telling him to turn around so she can inspect his back (no mention of his ass even though it is out, tragic). Fucking love it. Now that’s bdsm. Pledging my allegiance to her instantly.

I am BORED. I liked when he was at least doing things of his own volition!

He flies his dragon off on Bachel’s orders and we get the line “Never had air smelled so… so… delicious.” Cryign

GASP he’s killed… CHILDREN!!!!!!! I hate how it only becomes horrifying for him to have done these murders once he realises they’re HUMAN children. Urgal children? The implication is that would’ve been a bit tacky but ultimately fine

Prison brothers blood pact. I feel so little about this. Ubek is 5000x more interesting than Murtagh but he’s been slotted into what is unfortunately a sort of magical indigenous person trope but where instead of being a human being, he is an orc. Which makes the whole trope much worse

Murtagh touched Alìn’s face… gasp! She’s been corrupted by the Touch Of A Man!!!!! (I do not care about this.)

(I care a little. For example she didn’t touch HIM. He just reached out and she didn’t pull away. This is the biggest decision about this character’s life, and she isn’t even allowed to be the one who makes it. He decides on her behalf, and she must be okay with it. Because she doesn’t pull away or fight him off.)

(Also Paolini doesn’t seem to be aware that ‘a woman who has been pledged not to be touched by a man’ would um. USUALLY be understood by a reader as euphemistic. Not that her purity could be forever ruined by a man literally just touching her face)

The way Paolini fills Murtagh’s brainwashed dialogue with oops all ellipses makes me want to tear the book apart with my teeth

Worst: how Grieve the guy who is part urgal is perpetually referred to as “heavy-browed.” “the heavy-browed Grieve” I’m sorry but I missed phrenology school, is that bad??

Also if he’s maybe part Urgal but Murtagh is now given a chance to making it clear that some of his best friends are urgals... Why is Grieve so distastefully described? What’s wrong with being half urgal? My suspicion: it’s the bloodlines intermingling

I suspect I can just skip every fucking dream sequence and flashback. Nothing of any value in these

This one guy, Lyreth, who trapdoored Murtagh for 2.5 seconds ages ago in the book, is TWICE referenced as holding/ touching the waists of “village” or “cultist��� women in his dialogue tags. That’s the full extent of it. It’s not that there’s a giggling tavern girl sprawled in his lap while he’s speaking. These faceless women are exclusively sketched into existence by how a named male character’s hand is on their waist. We don’t know anything about how they are responding to his touch, which is extra in-your-face considering that Murtagh just obliterated a woman’s ritual purity by touching her face without asking. And it’s only ever these women’s waist. It’s not their hips or thighs or boobs. He’s not kissing their necks. I’m sure in Paolini’s mind this guy touching women’s waists is meant to read as sexual, which is supposed to reinforce that he’s a scumbag… but it doesn’t work because it’s so impersonal. These women are just… unmoving waists that he is just touching. It serves as a good illustration of how women—and sex and sexuality and bodies—are handled in these books. Men are never ruled by their strong and muscular bodies. Men have minds, and magic, and telepathy battles. Even when Murtagh is on a torture table or when he’s naked in front of a powerful woman who is actively inspecting his body, he doesn’t feel vulnerable. He doesn’t have an ass or a dick. The wind doesn’t make him shiver. He’s just a Mind. But women, well. They only have bodies when men touch them. The course of Alin’s life is defined by Murtagh’s touch, and even Nasuada, a fucking queen, only gets physical description via the coins Murtagh has in his possession and his memory of the cuts and bruises he left on her body. And women also have no minds—unless they’re werecats or elves or half elves, the only kind of woman who are remotely threatening, the only kind of women who are “as good as” the baseline of human men. Nasuada is proven as Murtagh’s equal because she was able to overcome the torture of her body. If he hadn’t tortured her, or if she had broken down, she wouldn’t have proven herself worthy of being his romantic partner.

Eragon’s romantic interest also started out being tortured. Not by him, but “girl who is tortured but is too strong to give up her secrets” was her entire characterisation for a book and a half, until he rescued her. That’s uh. That’s how you find girlfriends who are good enough for your protagonists.

THESE FUCKING BOOKS.

Bachel has put Thorn in a special wrought iron muzzle. Yet again, this is just objectively cool

We learn about who the cult worships: evil dragon underground. He makes fumes come out of the earth and they brainwash people and give them visions. He will come out of the ground and eat the sun unless every living thing worships him.

Really Bachel is not leading a cult she is leading an environmental rescue mission. Quick we gotta get everyone to worship this evil dragon STAT, or he’s going to wipe out all life on earth.

Why does an evil dragon living under the earth with the power to eat the sun (?!??!) actually want or need to be worshipped by “every living thing”. What is his motivation?? And why would that stop him eating the sun?

“The sculptures would have horrified most any artist in Alagaesia, no matter their race.” Mark this down as one of the worst sentences he has written yet!!

I realise now I’ve been misremembering multiple main characters’ names

I like Bachel telling Thorn to stay, like he’s a dog. That’s good to me

Murtagh is learning about the power of friendship to heal himself last minute, I guess

Why is Murtagh pausing to duel fucking Lyreth, the most boring man in the world. Is it because of the waists he touched??? I have never felt this man was worth any time at all

NOT Paolini specifically pointing out that Lyreth “smelled of a cloying peach scented perfume” and that he’s physically weaker than Murtagh as Murtagh overcomes him. Lyreth was too feminine to be strong, in the end

This book is obsessed with the word “youngling.” Murtagh says to Thorn “don’t kill any younglings.” He’s fighting Lyreth but he’s not worried because he himself is “no longer a youngling”. Fucking fuck off! just say youth. Child. Kid. Teenager even!! Come on!!

Murtagh going “this is taking too long” in the duel: me at the whole book thus far

“Is wrong-think to worship Bachel or Azlagur,” says Ubek. This is real dialogue in a book published in real 2023. Oh yeah btw everything he says is written like this

Oh, the urgal’s size and brute strength makes him Murtagh’s equal. I see

Grieve is legitimately yelling “kill the non-believers!!” and calling them desecrators??? Cartoon hours

To start winning the fight, all Murtagh had to do was find his magic sword! It stores all his potency and he inherited it from his father. Freud?? Don’t worry about it

The cultists are bleeding green blood???? Does this mean they’re not human or is it the lighting or what.

Groups of dragons are always being described as a Thunder Of. They’re only ever being described in visions but it’s always being described as “a thunder of dragons”, because Paolini is very proud of inventing his very own collective noun for dragons I guess

Buncha little pasty freaks showing up.

Murtagh’s ultimate challenge: he has to fight one hundred gollums

Paolini inventing new guys for his dungeon at unprecedented rates

Murtagh is legitimately busy trying to think of new names for his sword NOW?? He is just going to stop in the middle of this urgent fight to go find where the bad woman (Bachel) took the good woman (Alìn) to go “my sword has a bad name. It could have a good name.” Did he not have time while he was mouldering in the dungeon to think about this

He’s checking his compendium, like in video games.

Books have never been worse. If Murtagh/Paolini calls this sword Scar I will legitimately never know peace

Oh the sword is called Freedom now. Get it? Like America? It’s the most important value??

“Seeing the armor, Murtagh realized that the leather garb the cultists had donned for the festival of black smoke had been made to resemble Bachel's fantastic suit.”

what a sentence

This is the worst

I hate how her spear has a name and a dramatic history. Like come on

Fucking mind battles again

Alin is just… I’m sorry to her, but she’s not a real person. She’s a cardboard cutout in distress

The final boss fight should not be taking place in the magical world of the mind

Now she’s calling him “infidel?” Okay

The ultimate battle: the structuring power of masculine language versus the primeval chaos of raw women’s emotion!!! Who will win!! Hint: Christopher Paolini wrote this!

“She seemed merely a woman again.”

‘Merely’ is how Paolini always describes women (when he thinks they’re worth describing of course)

Wait… is the only reason Bachel has been intimidating REALLY just because she’s been channelling a tough evil boy dragon? Once the mask is gone and he’s not empowering her… she’s merely…

I’m going to kick Christopher Paolini’s fucking ass

Murtagh feels so emotionally close to Bachel. As he splits her skull. Normal book

For real why were ALL the Riders so afraid of Bachel??? The gas fumes? Face masks not invented?? This seems pretty easy to solve like if they’d just. Sent more than one guy?

He passes out and the chapter ends of course. Then he wakes up in the city

Ah, Alin is blonde and blue eyed. She was a pale skinned virgin who needed rescuing from an evil and also foreign almond eyed amber skinned woman who was whipping her. You know how it goes

I hate how Alìn always calls Murtagh “my lord.” She’s like one of those medieval fighting game banners of a sexy woman. She’s a cartoon.

Isn’t it a shame that when Murtagh hastily gets out of bed to bow to Nasuada he is wearing pants. So much funnier if he wasn’t

I’m so over this book holy shit

Oh, for being the apparently only sole survivor of Murtagh’s obliteration of her cult and everything she’s ever known, Alìn is being promoted to… Nasuada’s maid. That’s not what she asked for. That’s just what she’s being told she’s going to do from now on. Fucking hell.

Nasuada is Jealous of this blonde woman and I was afraid for her because Nasuada is also famously the only black woman on the continent. But of course she has nothing to fear because only the most powerful woman in the land could ever be remotely Murtagh’s equal, which she proved by being stronger at being tortured than him

She asks him to stay and she touches his hand just lightly

The END??

They don’t even kiss?!!!?!! I had to read it twice to be sure. SEXLESS BOOK.

[acaciusbride]

What about a reader x joel fic where reader is insecure of her body but joel doesn't care what her body looks like cause he loves her, and shows her how much he loves her with loads of fluff and maybe smut?

CWs: body image issues / insecurity / mild hints of internalised fatphobia / fatphobic language & insinuation

Notes: I went down the fluff route for this one, Anon, I hope that's okay.

It's not that you don't like how you look. In fact, you've spent a lot of time over the years actively fighting the impulse not to.

You've always been bigger. Curvy. Hell, as an adult, you have no problem labelling yourself as fat, because it's not a dirty word. Sure, there are people who would use it as a slur, but you've long since come to the conclusion that that's their problem, not yours.

You've fought tooth and nail to be comfortable in your own skin, in a world that valued your complete opposite.

It seems like nowadays, most people are on the slim side. That, or they're walls of solid muscle from hard labour. Being stocky is an asset; it means you can survive.

Unfortunately, the tendency towards bitchiness that runs in some people didn't get the memo that the world ended almost twenty two years ago.

You're not blind to the looks some of the people in town give you. The sly suggestion that putting you on kitchen duty was a terrible idea, surely you must be sneaking extra.

You know it's bullshit, know that the words are just hateful remarks from people who have never once lived in your skin - either through luck of genetics, or simply from being young enough to have been born into a world on the constant precipice of hunger.

Still. Sometimes the words sting. Remind you of middle school. Of self imposed small portions and your mother's worried expression as you refused cakes, refused sweet teas, refused anything bigger than a fist sized helping, until your aunt had pointed out all of the happy, beautiful women with your body type on the internet, on TV, in magazines and on Broadway.

It had been the start of a long journey of self acceptance, of riotous body positivity, of wearing t-shirts with slogans proclaiming fat positivity, of punching a boy who called you a slur in the balls and getting suspended for a week. That same aunt had taken you to see a musical while you were suspended, had bought you a journal to write in.

You like to think you're a strong person. You've lived through that, lived through the literal fucking apocalypse. But you're only human, and sometimes words sting.

Leave you standing in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom, poking and jiggling at yourself with a critical eye that you know is distinctly un-feminist, so unlike you.

Your gaze is critical as you inspect stretch marks. On a good day, those are your stripes. You make jokes about being a zebra whenever Joel touches them, never remotely critical himself.

Joel. He was... something else. He'd come into town with his adopted daughter, remained cold and closed off to almost everyone except her and his brother for months, until he'd seen you make Ellie laugh. Until he'd heard her ask you how to make cookies, heard you promise to show her.

Then he'd started, slowly, to come out of his shell. To spend more time with you. Brought you flowers. Now you lived together, with Ellie just down the hallway, because there was no way in hell a sixteen year old was going to live by herself, even in Jackson.

You're confident in yourself enough to know that you're well matched, but when you get like this? Sometimes it's easy to think differently. To worry that maybe he might prefer someone younger, with a more traditionally, socially accepted standard of beauty.

You're just getting lost in that spiral when Joel comes in from the shower, already dressed for the day in jeans, flannel shirt, and jacket over the top.

"What're you doing, darlin'? You'll catch a cold."

He snags a spare shirt from the edge of the bed, comes to wrap it around you. He's broad as hell, so you can wear his shirts without feeling self conscious. Not that you ever would, anyway, stealing his clothes is your favourite pastime.

"Honestly?" You've always prided yourself on being truthful with him. "I'm feeling kind of crappy."

You let him wrap the shirt around you, put your arms into the sleeves and exhale at the scent of him still lingering in the fabric.

"You think you're getting sick?" His hand moves to your forehead, and in spite of yourself, you smile.

"No, it's not that, it's just..." You sigh. "You don't mind how I look, right?"

Joel stares at you as if you've just spoken a foreign language, grown a second head, and told him you're giving up baking, all in one go.

"Of course I don't mind. What's that even s'posed to mean, do I mind?"

"Because I'm fat, Joel. Because there aren't exactly many women who look like me in town, and people talk, and -"

"Don't call yourself fat." Joel means well, and god he loves you, but he's still got that mindset that older people have where fat is a dirty word, even though you've explained the concept of reclaiming a slur to him.

"I mean. You can. But don't... say it to put yourself down."

The fact that he's listened to your rambles about body positivity makes you feel better.

"People still talk..."

"Fuck 'em. Let them talk. See if I give a shit." He says gruffly, wraps his arms around you then squeezes gently. "Don't care that there aren't many girls who look like you. Makes you special."

Another hug, before his hands rub over your stretch marks, over the softness of your tummy, of your thighs.

"You're perfect as you are. Absolutely perfect. I don't want you to change. I love how you're confident in yourself, and I wouldn't change a damn thing. Ellie needs that sort of role model."

You offer him a watery smile. How is it that someone so stoic can be so sweet when he wants to?

"C'mon. Push those bad thoughts away, lets get you dressed before you freeze. Didn't you promise Ellie a baking day?"

You smile again, lean in to kiss him lightly on the cheek before you glance once more at your reflection; the shadow of your earlier mood gone when you look at yourself, wrapped in Joel's arms, safe and loved and perfect, just as you are.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Seven

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

She called him at ten o’clock the next morning, right as he returned from breakfast. She sounded very excited. And scared. They agreed to meet the next afternoon not at the shop, but on a broad street from where they would walk to the Baron’s office. It all had more secrecy than a muggle dabbler merited, but Tom played along.

“Ready?” she asked once they were outside his building, a tall wide limestone white manor.

“As ready as you are,” grinned Tom, his eyes glinting. He was teasing her, and enjoying it far too much.

“Oh dear, I hope not,” she chuckled.

Its doors were as big as city gates, thick old wood with one much smaller door inset on the right. Above it in a shield of stone, a fat snake swirled as it ate a child, legs first. It was a biscione, the Baron’s sigil.

She pushed a button on a metal box beside the door, and a low voice answered on the other side.

“It’s us.”

The door unlocked with a buzz.

The inside was wide and sparse, a naked vault that rose high into the darkness, all cold corridors and decorous marble. There were no carpets, no paintings, not even chairs or tables, only stains and scratches on the stone to tell there ever were any. Golden candleholders clung lightless on the walls, replaced it seemed by fake-crystal fixtures that hummed with electricity.

There was a lift, but they ignored it and went up the stairs instead.

“I’ve been to mausoleums with more life than this,” said Tom.

She giggled. “He’s had to sell a lot of his family assets to renovate the shop. He could probably have them replaced by now, the last few years have been profitable. But I guess he prefers it like this. It’s just his way.”

They climbed the wide and stately stairs up and up and up, going past the first floor, and the second, and the third, and Tom began to wonder if the building was abandoned when a hollow noise came through. A steady murmur. A monologue.

They reached the fourth floor. She opened another door, the only one there between two naked walls, and they stepped into a vestibule.

It was a little livelier and richly decorated. Low red sofas lined the walls on either side, and a tall stove made of ceramic tiles was fixed into the corner. Bookshelves lined the walls, and busts of ladies in black marble were set against the corners.

In the centre, behind a tall imposing desk, sat a woman who nearly dwarfed it with her presence. She was flanked by stacks of papers and a telephone. Although her suit of blue and bronze was feminine in shape, Tom felt a bit emasculated. Her hair was pinned in a harsh style, slinked back and practical.

“Ciao, Berit! Come stai?”

“Bongiorno. Bene.”

“He’s still speaking?”

“Yes. You’re free to enter, silently.”

“I think we’ll wait here. Oh, by the way, this is Tom Riddle. Tom, this is Mrs. Berit Boveri, the Baron’s secretary.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Tom, staying where he was.

The woman was impressive, and he wondered briefly whether this Baron had hired her for security rather than for answering his letters.

“Please,” she said, extending a hand in a quick, precise movement, “sit down.”

She appraised Tom coolly, quickly, before turning her attention back to the newspaper before her. An orange the size of a child’s head was cut open on the desk beside her, filling the room with a fresh scent.

The pair of them sat down, and Tom turned his attention to the sounds coming from the room behind them. A man was speaking in a low and shaky drawl, droning in Italian about what sounded to Tom like the Malleus Maleficarum, a compendium on witchcraft and demonology written by a sadistic German inquisitor in the 15th century. The silence of his audience was heavy and intense, chairs groaning now and then beneath their anxious squirms and ink pens scratching eagerly on paper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered to her after a sudden thought.

“What?” she whispered back.

“About the nero di seppia… I looked a perfect fool all night, didn’t I?”

She giggled. Tom frowned at her.

“I warned you not to order it.”

“Yes, but perhaps next time I’d like an indication as to why.”

She was going to say something else when the doors opened, and the Baron’s audience ambled their way out. The air buzzed with their excited murmurs, some laughing nervously, some crying.

The pair of them got up, ready to greet the Baron. Tom looked over the crowd as they filed out, a mixed group of all sorts of people, from students to the elderly.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“He’s coming over,” she said.

“Where? I can’t —” He was going to say he couldn’t see anyone else, but then he looked down.

The figure that approached them was far from what he had imagined. Although not diminutive in size, the white and wrinkly lump that came took Tom by surprise. He sat, like a deflated balloon, in a stout but polished wheelchair, and was rolling toward them.

“Hello, Baron,” she greeted with a little bow. “Thank you for seeing us today. This is —”

“Come to my office,” said the old man as he rolled right past them.

II

The room was golden-lit with deep and intimate colours, as natural as an autumn forest. There was something to look at everywhere. The walls were dense with paintings and photographs in black and brown of little groups of men. The chairs were wide, majestic things with crimson wings and cushions. The carpet was a floral red, the windows tall and gilded. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, low and opulent and gleaming, and from a cabinet on the side a set of golden spoons with handles like rose stems shone among fine china glasses shaped like gaping koi. It couldn’t be anything further from what Tom was used to.

The Baron’s desk was small and delicate, overburdened with ink wells and notes, a lone lamp hard at work between them.

“So, how are you?” the Baron asked them once they were alone.

“Very well,” she answered, smiling widely. “And you, Baron?”

“Fit as an ox on the field, and twice as strong,” he answered in an imposing voice. “Is this him?”

“Yes,” she said, her nervous gaze flitting to Tom. “Should I —”

“Thank you. You may go.”

She nodded and turned without another word to Tom, her eyes lingering on his for just a moment as if to wish good luck. He watched her as she left like a chastened child, then turned his attention back to the old man.

“Pleased to meet you, Baron,” he said with a light bow. “My name is Tom Riddle. At your service.”

The man rolled his way slowly from behind the table, his face set in a frown — or perhaps the rolls of skin were so heavy that it was his fixed expression. He’d clearly been corpulent once, but old age and disability drained him of his strength. He stopped in front of Tom, the wheels almost atop his shoes, and extended his hand — to shake? to kiss? Tom had never met muggle nobility before… Although he was looking at him from two feet below, the old still managed to look down his nose at him.

Tom squared his shoulders, took a breath, and shook the Baron’s hand.

“Julius Eugenio Victor Agarda,” he introduced himself. His grip was still quite strong. His mouth seemed flimsy beneath a sparse moustache, and he spoke with a slight lisp — unless Tom’s eyes deceived him, he was missing a few teeth — but his eyes, a clear blue, had a steady gleam to them. “How do you do?”

“I’m well, sir, thank you,” said Tom, finally getting his hand back. “I came about the books.”

“So I’ve heard.”

With a flourish, the Baron directed Tom’s attention to the right, where a pair of doors stood closed.

“Help me with those, will you?”

Tom looked at him, feeling a bit puzzled, but he maintained his air of calm. He steadied the messenger bag over his shoulder and bowed.

“Of course, sir,” he smiled.

The doors were delicate and white, with carvings on their edges like a frame. Tom grabbed the brass handles and pushed. Beyond them was a large and sunny room in the same style as the Baron’s office but much wider. Its centre was dominated by a dark brown table and its walls with books. The east of the room was all tall windows framed by a thin balcony, and beyond that was the street and the canals.

“My most precious possession. My private collection.”

Tom rolled the Baron through, but quickly let go of him to stroll along the bookshelves without waiting for an invitation. They held every kind of esoterica, from the Corpus Hermeticum to the Grimoire of Armadel. Archidoxis was there, as was De Umbris Idearum, a book Tom had not seen since his first year at Hogwarts.

Others were more recent books, like a cluster on Bacchanal arts written in the 19th century. There stood among them also a well-worn copy of the Metaphysics of Sex. Tom curled his nose at it and looked over his shoulder with disgust. Some books were held in chains, with locks connected to the bookcase, and others were held safe behind glass panes, bright lights in the darkness.

“Impressed?” asked the Baron from the doorway.

“A remarkable collection,” said Tom as he turned.

The old man rolled forward with a peculiar twist of his heavy brows that Tom suspected to be pride. He went to one shelf in particular and reached as high up as he could, carefully picking out a volume. It was bound in leather so aged it was completely black, its spine capped in silver fastenings.

“Look at this,” the Baron said.

Tom stepped forward and carefully lifted it from his hands.

“Michael Psellus, De Operation Daemonum,” Tom read. “Byzantine books on demonology are hard to come by. It must be worth a fortune.”

“Seventeenth-century edition,” he said, slipping right over Tom’s praises. “One of five copies. They survived hidden among the volumes of Psellus’ Mathematics. Only the most important families of the time had access to them.”

Tom smirked. With the Baron’s toothless mouth and his scraggly sparse hair, he didn’t cut a very noble figure. “I don’t suppose you inherited it.”

The Baron took the book from him and set it on his lap, his fat hands folded over it. “I might have,” he said measuredly. “My family traces its roots to the eleven hundreds.”

A mocking smile played on Tom’s lips. He hid it with a timely bow. He’d rather not tell the old man he could brag of the same through Salazar, and so instead he said, “I’m honoured, then, to be in your presence.” But he didn’t hide as well as he meant to.

“Don’t be obsequious,” said the Baron tersely.

Tom straightened and looked down at him, steadying the strap over his shoulder once again.

“I showed my collection to you to illustrate a point. I have some of the rarest editions in my collection, first. And second, there is nothing that I want that I cannot acquire. Now, you may attempt to barter with me.”

Tom regarded the old man coolly for a moment, then took the messenger bag off his shoulder and placed it on the table. The Baron, after that little speech meant to humble him, had nevertheless given himself away: he may have had a grand collection, but he was still willing to entertain a nobody, a stranger, an unknown, for a chance at something rarer. A small man with a big ego and an insatiable hunger, Tom thought, I am well familiar with his kind.

“Then let me show you what I’ve brought for you today,” he said, “and you’ll tell me if it meets with your approval.”

The Baron went to place the books back on its shelves, and by the time he turned back, Tom had lined them all along the table.

There were six books in total. First was the Liber de Lamiis et Phitonicis Mulieribus, a 15th-century manuscript on witches and demonic possession. Then, the Liber Belial,a medieval grimoire with an unknown author, highly sought after and obscure. He took out The Grimorium Verum, an illuminated copy of The Sworn Book of Honorius, the Codex Palatinus Germanicus, and finally the colourful Le Livre de la Vigne Nostre Seigneur.

The Baron approached, retrieving from his breast pocket a thin-rimmed monocle that he perched upon his nose. He looked down at the books while Tom waited a little to the side, one hand stuffed casually in his pocket.

He picked the first one up, his old hands trembling slightly, and opened it, spine cracking. He threw his eyes over the frontispiece, then peeled away the first few pages.

Tom waited patiently as the Baron looked through the second book, and the third, and not a word was said. He could only hope the illusions he had cast on them would hold. It was difficult to even tell what the old bastard was thinking.

When the Baron was done, he took the monocle off, and slowly rolled to face him.

“Remarkable,” he said, his fat plum lips aquiver. “What vitality in these images… And The Grimorium Verum in particular I have been hunting for years.Where did you find them?”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief and grinned. “I’m afraid that will have to remain one of their mysteries. So, I take it you are interested in a trade?”

“I am,” he grumbled, taking from his pocket the list of books Tom had provided, “but it can not go forward.”

Tom cocked a brow. “And why is that?”

The Baron rolled forward and past him, going back into his office. Tom frowned at him and packed the books again before he joined him. With one last longing look at the vast library, he turned and closed the doors behind him.

The Baron was back behind his desk, stuffing a black pipe with tobacco.

“I wish I could,” said the old man, “but I cannot afford it.”

“I’m sure we could —”

“No,” he said, “I do not mean fiscally. I mean ethically.”

Tom regarded him without blinking for a moment. He searched the Baron’s mind for truth and found only a nest of brambles. Too many ideas, conflicts and confusion, plans that stood to shatter at the lightest touch. How much was going on with his little bookshop? Was it to do with that ‘auction’ he’d heard about?

“I don’t see how ethics come into it.”

“Nor do I,” chuckled the Baron with a puff. “That’s the problem.”

He fixed his steely gaze on Tom, and then he understood. Distrust. The old man didn’t trust him.

“Ah,” Tom smiled, “that is a pity.” He bowed, the books tight by his side. “Thank you, nevertheless, for your time. I shall be in Rome for at least another month. If your ethics should change, I would be honoured to be invited to see you again.”

“Be sure I let those books leave my office with a heavy heart, Mr. Riddle.”

“Oh, I know, Baron,” he grinned. “But you might yet see them again. And me.”

[hey-august]

Congratulations on your milestone, August!!! 🥳🥳 I'm so happy for you 😍 Can I have petal (gardenia) + “You’re gonna make me cry.” Thank you ♥3♥

Thank you, Venus!! 🩷🩷 I really appreciate all your encouragement! It makes me so so happy to see your likes, reblogs, comments, asks etc etc etc 🥰

Prompts: Petal (gardenia), "You’re gonna make me cry." Teaser: "[...] I don’t remember putting in an order for droopy sticks.”" Warnings: SFW, established relationship, brief profanity, it takes a moment for Buggy to show up, but he does! Word count: ~1k

Check out my 250 Follower Prompt Event and see fulfilled prompts here.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The sun hung high, dropping a bright and heavy heat onto the ship. Your shadow clung to the small perimeter it was allowed to occupy as you traveled the deck. Only a few crew members remained working under the cloudless sky, cursing those who had taken refuge in the cool belly of the ship. Your passing presence was overlooked as they fixated on completing the tasks at hand and retreating from the sun’s aggression. 

Your feet picked up the pace, matching the speed of the sweat beading on your forehead. Although your body was trying to cool itself, the layer of saltwater only added to the constricting heat. As much as you’d also like to avoid the oppressive heat, there was something important you needed to do.

A ship this size has a few areas that are visited rarely - usually only by those required and just often enough to ensure there aren’t any problems. In this case, you were headed to such an area due to a self-imposed requirement and because you knew there was a time-sensitive problem.

At the stern of the ship was a small maze of storage. Crates and barrels were stacked and strewn with careless intention. The minimum amount of planning was used to organize the wooden containers in a way that each one could be accessed and checked with relative ease. This left behind a few unused nooks as items graduated from storage to in-use. And in one such nook were a few planters with greenery that was becoming less green with each passing minute.

Crouching low, you looked at the plants you’ve cared for since they were seeds. You didn’t expect they would sprout, but they did. You didn’t know if they’d take to life at sea, but they did. You didn’t think they’d live long enough to bloom, but they were trying.

Your heart ached at the sight of their wilting leaves. You pinched a few, examining how the soft rubbery foliage rolled. There was still hope. 

The plants needed to get out of the hot sun. But you also needed to keep them out of sight, at least until they bloomed. You had been working on this surprise for so long and the swollen buds meant the end was close. If they survived.

You swiped at the sweat on your forehead, which only served to gather the liquid and create fat drops that escaped down your hand and the sides of your face. You would need a drink after this and so would the plants. So not only did you have to find a safe place, but you also need to hydrate them. Without being noticed.

Maybe there was a space nearby that would work, at least temporarily. It would be better to bring the planters inside, but even a shady area would be better than nothing right now. You stood up and turned to assess your options, only to be met with an unexpected audience sitting atop a nearby crate.

Buggy kicked his feet against the wood and waggled his fingers at you in a nonchalant wave. The pirate clown had shed most of his usual attire in favor of a version that was better suited for the heat. The open vest showed his glistening chest and arms, signs that the pirate had been out in the sun nearly as long as you.

“Fuck, Buggy! What are you doing here?” you said indignantly, shuffling to the side to block his view of the plants.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” was his quick retort. “It’s too hot to be skulking around like this.”

“Uh, yeah. You head back inside and I’ll be there in a minute. Actually, I’m thirsty. Why don’t you grab some drinks for us?”

“Them too?” Buggy gestured to what was behind you.

You hesitated. Your captain was exactly who you wanted to keep the plants from and at this rate, you might not be able to convince him to leave long enough for you to help the fading flora. This was a surprise for him, one that could be ruined or saved by his presence. If the plants died, then you’d have nothing.

“Yeah…them too. It’s too hot for them,” you said, walking over to Buggy and standing between his still swinging legs.

“Why are they even here? I don’t remember putting in an order for droopy sticks.” 

You slapped his knee, despite the joking grin that accompanied his quip.

“They’re mine. I’ve been growing them and wanted to keep them a secret until they bloomed. They’re supposed to look beautiful…” You couldn’t hide the apprehension at the end. They had meant so much to you.

“I got seeds from that old guy on the island a few months back. I wanted to… They’re…”

Buggy raised his eyebrows but stayed surprisingly quiet. Probably an attempt to conserve energy while under the boiling sun.

“I was growing them for you. They’re supposed to be gardenias and they reminded me of you. I wanted- They’re supposed to be a thank you for everything.”

“Oh stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” Buggy teased, as he dragged a finger down his cheek from the corner of his eye. The movement only highlighted the truth behind the extra mist in his eyes and the quiver in his lip.

Slapping his knee again, you teased back, “Don’t, you’ll only dehydrate yourself in this heat. You’d probably fall apart into a pile of dust, instead of body parts.”

Buggy convinced you to move the plants into your shared quarters. The room would be cooler and would collect enough light for the blooms.

Together, you scooped up the three containers. Buggy looked at the stakes in each planter, labeling the different varieties: August Beauty, Crown Jewel, and Celestial Star. Buggy rolled his eyes in an attempt to spread out the excess moisture they were collecting. He didn’t know what the flowers would look like, but he knew enough to understand why you picked them as a thank you for him.

“I can’t wait to see the flowers, they’re going to be so flashy,” Buggy proudly announced once the containers were settled in their new home and soaking up water.

His unabashed excitement was contagious. You threw your arms around the pirate, ignoring how you stuck together, and planted kisses all over his face. Although the flowers were supposed to be a way for you to show your appreciation, there were other things you could do in the meantime.

[horizon-verizon]

A Little More on Daemon, Nettles, and Rhaenyra from this last ask

Even though I also have said what I am going to say below many, many times about this thought anon presents, I will bring them up anyway, along with those links jic there are other new people reading from me:

Daemon stayed behind to kill Aemond/Vhagar when he could have run away with Nettle if he loved Nettles so much more than Rhaenyra

how if he wanted to kill her first three boys who aren't his and are before their shared boys in the line f succession, he would have at least tried once and/or he wouldn't have gone out of his way to avenge Lucerys' death through an act that would have always made him "unfit" to be seen as a ruler in his own right to other lords so it could only have been about true love for both Rhaenyra and her first 3 boys...you may argue that this was more out of pride and to hate the enemy, except you'd also have to underestimate Rhaenyra's regard for her own kids and herself as there was at one point where she was angry and kept herself at a distance form Daemon (or seemingly so) after 111 A.C. where he couldn't even be welcomed by her on Dragonstone

how it was Septon Eustace--who hates and twists a lot of shit abt Rhaenyra to make her seem "worse" through stuff and descriptors that are actually not really morally bad but are actually but sexist shit meant to diminish woman (pregnancy weight, throne cut that even Aegon I had atp, Mysaria who Daemon hadn't seen in years and point blank said was a "lying whore" with no demonstration of pretense to the most objective, then-observing maester mentioned in the Dance era, Norren)--who says Rhaenyra "allowed" the "cheating" b/t him and Mysaria...so she never "lost" her beauty or her looks or whatever, Septon Eustace simply said that to diminish her as much as he could...and you yourself, anon, buy into that fatphobic misogyny, so really should anyone trust how you reason things? Relying on misogyny and fatphobia, etc. can indicate low intellectualism or just plain stupidity (fatphobic sexism is closely related to racism as EUs used "fatness" to further impose standards of superiority through their years long processes of colonization but before such, "fatness" or really "thicker" bodies, esp amongst wealthy or nobles, was considered attractive bc it showed how you didn't have to work yourself to the bone to live as luxuriously or have any economic means)

Daemon didn't exist in the first few drafts of F&B/Rhaenyra's story...she was married to Lyonel Strong...Daemon was literally created specifically for Rhaenyra to function as one, if not one of the only, most devoted supporters and family members...yes Daemon and Laena had a good marriage and loved each other, but why exactly does that mean he "hated" the woman he literally died for? Weird.

Then there is this post of an anon who explains to the purposefully illiterate Daemon's reaction to Rhaenyra's letter and how it shows how he def loved her and very likely did not cheat on her. I also mention some of that anon's thoughts abt Daemon and the letter along with others in this post.

These are most of the arguments I and others had for Daemon having truly loved Rhaenyra AND her sons. they have circulated on Twitter and Tumblr for MONTHS now.

It can only be that anon hates Rhaenyra themselves and are projecting, hoping, praying canon!Daemon does as well instead of writing a fanfiction about it.

Even when we're talking about Rhaenyra's treatment of Nettles and how it mirrors Jezebel misogynoir shit--even if we can prove w/o a doubt that this was really Septon Eustace again muddling shit, as he also makes it seem Mysaria "bewitched" Rhaenyra, as he hated Mysaria as well--it'd still be projection. I know some people wish to believe and realize the idea that Daemon didn't love Rhaenyra as a sort of self-comfort and sticking it to the racist/misogynoirist white woman who some might have genuinely experienced in real life (I certainly have), but we really need to call a spade a spade and read with our eyes open.

And the narratively desired man sometimes loves/cares for the woman we hate or judge to be "unworthy" of any sort of love, that's just how it be sometimes.

Daemon loving either Rhaenyra or Nettles does nothing--inherently--to their worth as people. At least it shouldn't...or you'd just be buying into more sexist shit, which I suspect anon is already in as they also try to upset me.

[the-one-true-nobody]

I've been acquainted with Grand Admiral Thrawn ever since I picked up Timothy Zahn's Heir to the Empire from the school library around ninth grade or so. He was such an interesting villain to me at the time, and that impression hasn't lessened with age. Being the key antagonist in one of the old Star Wars expanded universe's first big storylines, he's also kind of a major figure of the whole darn beyond-the-movies canon, in the same way that Darth Revan is. And he kind of filled a void that the Original Trilogy left gaping wide, in the sense that—apart from the fleeting presence of Tarkin in A New Hope, the Imperial military never really had any threatening and competent military leaders at the face of things... just Darth Vader and the Emperor.

I was thrilled to see Thrawn make his live action debut in Ahsoka, and though my first visual impression of the guy was a little underwhelming. The Rebels incarnation in particularly very much had that "a strong body feeds a strong mind" kind of character and a physique to match, along with a Sherlock Holmes hawkishness to his facial features. But as soon as he opened his mouth and I realized how on-point the performance here was coming off the back of his appearances in Rebels, I was sold.

It seems some people really are very skin-deep in what they find "imposing," though, because there are a lot of complaints about how "lame" he looks, because he's "fat," or whatever. It's true, you can see it if you look at his uniform: he's got a bit of a gut going on underneath his just-slightly-frayed-and-aging Grand Admiral dress whites.

I say: "So what?"

The appearance is still solid; discrepancies can be explained by, for example, Thrawn undergoing an extended recovery period from some unspecified injury he sustained when the purrgils warped him and Ezra through hyperspace into another galaxy. If you recall, Thrawn was actually in quite the predicament when that happened:

It might well even be that he hasn't been able to maintain a strong and healthy body in the way he used to, for example. Maybe he had to go through painstaking self-directed physical therapy to even get as far as he has.

More importantly, his performance is absolutely on-point. He has the same presence he did in Rebels, minus the exaggerated CGI-cartoon facial expressions that everyone had in that show. He moves, acts, and speaks in a way that I would absolutely imagine of him in the Thrawn Trilogy novels. And he hasn't really even had time to build tactical momentum yet. It's everything I could have wanted from a Thrawn portrayal.

So yeah, I say "So what?" So what if he's a bit "fat." He's Thrawn. The king has returned to Dark Side Minas Tirith, and it is glorious.

Sidebar: Ezra Bridger's live action return was also glorious, but I don't need to tell y'all that, do I?