#i just have a thing about characters that are afraid and a little selfish and a bit unkind

[lloydfrontera]

love how realistic lloyd's survival instinct is, he doesn't even try to hide how much he really, really wants to live and how very against dying he is, like he really hates the idea of self-sacrifice and he's not shy about it lol. partially because it makes it all the more heartwarming when he goes against that instinct in order to protect the people he loves cause he cares more about them than he cares about his own safety. but also because it gives us lloyd deciding to risk his life to give javier a chance to live bc he just realized javier is his friend and he cares a lot about him,,,, only to come face to face with the bone dragon and then he starts asking himself if having friends is really worth it actually like does he really need them after all?? like he's so real for that lmao

[asidian]

One thing I haven't seen talked about is Crystal's character arc, and specifically the way the timing of it interacts with Charles' arc. They stumble over each other in the worst possible way en route to their respective character growth, and from a narrative perspective, it's absolutely genius.

I'm going to preface all this by saying: none of this is a criticism of Crystal. Part of what makes her such a dynamic, refreshing character is that you don't get to see women in fiction written the way she's been written. You don't get to see women with her flaws that aren't throw-away mean girls or villains. You especially don't get to see women with her traits who learn and grow and become better people. So yeah, I'm going to talk about Crystal's character flaws. No, this isn't Crystal hate. We love our girl in this house. Okay? Okay. Let's start.

Crystal's character arc, at its heart, is all about her learning to be a better person because she has good influences that love and support her for the first time.

When the show starts, Crystal is not a nice person. She's abrasive in a way that's specifically designed to push people away. She's used to getting her own way, and it shows. She's used to having no meaningful connections with anyone, and it shows. She's breathtakingly selfish, in the very literal sense of the definition. She is focused on her self. Her problems are front and center to her; everything is about what she needs, and what she wants, and how she's struggling.

Jenny calls her out very early on. In episode one, Crystal is complaining about the boys, and Jenny, for all her cynicism, strikes right at the heart of the problem. She tells Crystal, "Everybody is always thinking about themselves, all the time." People only care about their own problems. And she says, correctly, that that's what Crystal is doing, too.

This moment is a revelation for Crystal. For the first time, she considers what her behavior looks like from another person's perspective. As she says, she gets mad at herself over it, and that awareness allows her to do something selfless for the first time in the series. She takes a step back and insists that instead of focusing on her problems, they go to help a little girl. It's a big moment for her.

But importantly, she's not done growing as a character here. She's only just getting started.

On my first watch through, I didn't realize how often, over the next few episodes, Crystal redirects things to her problems during conversation, but it's quite a lot. She's still focused on herself – selfish, in that most literal definition of the word. The issues most important to her are her issues. She's starting to learn to think about other people, but she's not there yet. The process is still underway.

Which brings us to Charles.

Charles' arc is a different sort of self-reflection. He's terrified that he's a bad person the way his father was and the way the boys that killed him were.

During the course of the show, he gets systematically stripped of his confidence and made to feel helpless, and just like Crystal needs outside influences to help her reach a more stable place, Charles does, too. He desperately needs reassurance that he isn't everything he's afraid he is.

But my goodness, the timing in their arcs is such a trainwreck when you put them together, and it is brilliant.

Let's start with the Devlin House.

Crystal has some amazing character growth here. She displays genuine concern about Charles, makes an attempt at comforting him, and learns to work with Edwin even though she still doesn't particularly like him at this point.

Charles, meanwhile, is beginning to fall apart. He's just had the worst night of his afterlife. He's been viscerally reminded of how helpless he is. He couldn't stop the Devlins from being killed over and over, just like he couldn't stop his own father's abuse. He messed up his attempted rescue so badly that he was completely out of commission until the case was finished. He managed to help not one single thing. He made no impact at all. He couldn't help those girls any more than he was able to help himself, while he was still alive.

So they get back to the butcher shop, and what do we see? Monty immediately coopts Edwin. Niko doesn't know what's happened because she wasn't there and Charles has been all fake smiles with her. And Crystal goes off with Niko, leaving Charles to flounder on his own in the wake of everything. She's still learning how to support other people. She isn't there yet, and it's extremely on display in this moment.

Then we get the lighthouse episode, and they both get put through the wringer here. Crystal gets her hopes and expectations jerked around by the Night Nurse in the very worst way, and Charles gets hit with a whole pile full of trauma. All that helplessness wells to the forefront again. Combined with being forced to relive some of his worst memories and the desperation to keep Edwin safe from hell, Charles lets himself act on his anger for once.

And what does he get in the aftermath? Horror.

Everyone who cares about him is horrified by what he's done. Edwin goes so far as to call it extreme. They don't know the half of it, of course; they haven't seen what the Night Nurse just put him through. But in this moment Charles is at his absolute lowest, and all he sees is confirmation that he's exactly as terrible as he thinks he is.

That's why Charles shrugs off Edwin's attempt at comfort, here. When he needed to be able to do something to protect Edwin and also himself – when he needed to believe that he could be better than what his father always was – all he sees is the confirmation from the people he cares about most that when push came to shove, he really is a bad guy.

Then comes the aftermath. And this moment is such a brilliant, awful clash of both of their character arcs. It is so delightfully messy.

Because Charles starts to open up to Crystal here. He starts to lay himself bare, the way he ends up doing with Edwin in episode 5. He's on the verge of admitting something that he's been worried about for literal decades. He tells her, "I've been angry for such a long time."

And what does Crystal do? She's still in the midst of her own character growth. She's still struggling to support other people. She's still learning how to. In a lot of ways, though she's made progress already, she's still that selfish girl that Jenny called out in the very first episode.

And she shows it here it with the absolute worst possible timing. No sooner has Charles started to talk about what's bothering him than she cuts in with her own problems. She's tired of riddles and spirits and demons and not knowing who she is. And the look on Charles' face. The moment when he visibly sets aside his own problems, because Crystal doesn't need any more disasters on her plate? It's heartbreaking. You can actually track the subtle change in his expression there. The actor does a phenomenal job.

And then comes the kiss. And what spurs it? Crystal saying she needs something real.

This moment isn't about light-hearted attraction, the way the earlier flirting is. It's Charles setting aside what he needs – comfort and reassurance and a moment to talk through the things that have been tearing him apart – to give her what she says she wants. He can't even feel it. And Crystal isn't far enough along in her character growth here to realize how selfish she's being. Like Jenny said way back in episode one, she's only thinking about herself.

And then comes the absolute unmitigated disaster of episode 5.

Straight out the gate, Charles leans in for a kiss. From his perspective, they have something together; there's affection there. Charles "I think I'd miss kissing" Rowland, who has been starved for meaningful physical contact for thirty years, is not in a hurry to give this up.

But Crystal is fresh out of a nightmare where she conflates Charles with her abusive ex. She withdraws; she calls what they had a distraction. She cuts it off almost as soon as it's started, so focused on her own worries here that she misses how damn fake Charles' smile is, to cover up that he's coming to pieces.

To be clear, she's absolutely not in the wrong here. It is 1000% her prerogative not to jump into a relationship again while she's still struggling to work through what happened with David. But the arc of her narrative is still early enough that she does it all without so much as the awareness that her focus on her own issues has hurt Charles terribly.

And then the episode really kicks off, and both of them are in shambles in very different ways.

Crystal is projecting her issues with David onto Charles. She has a lot of history, and David seems as though he's exactly the right sort of toxic to leave lasting a lasting impact. But Charles hasn't done anything to deserve her assumptions, and he takes the brunt of her temper here and throughout the episode.

Charles is desperately projecting onto the dead jocks. He very badly wants them to be good guys, because he sees himself in them and he needs himself to be a good guy. He snipes back at Crystal for the very first time in this episode, and he does it in the worst way possible, accidentally prodding her where it will do the most damage.

They're both hurting. They both say some truly painful things to one another.

She does not need to hear that she has unsorted hangups about David still plaguing her while she's unable to move past them. He desperately does not need anyone to tell him that he has rage issues while he's still struggling to think of himself as a decent person.

They apologize, in the end. They start to move past it.

But it's telling that Charles doesn't try to open up to Crystal again. He goes to Edwin instead, even though Edwin is the one who called his actions regarding the Night Nurse extreme. He gets the reassurance he needs so badly; he gets the connection he was looking for with Crystal from Edwin, instead. (I have a lot of thoughts on why Charles initially tries to open up to Crystal so quickly, but it is very much an aside, and this is already extremely long, so it will have to wait for another write-up.)

But the important thing here is, Edwin is the one to offer Charles what he needs to overcome the self-doubt eating him alive. Edwin provides the physical affection Charles was seeking in the form of that long-overdue hug. Edwin is the one who's able to reaffirm for him that he's not just a good guy, he's the best person Edwin knows.

And for all intents and purposes, Charles' major character arc ends here.

Charles has a few last little moments to go on the path to rebuilding his own self-image, after this, but for the most part his concerns have been resolved. He saves Crystal in episode 6 and Edwin in episode 7, proving to himself that he's able to make a difference in the face of overwhelming odds. He's not helpless, no matter what the Night Nurse told him; he can be a force for good in the world. By the end of the series, his crisis of self-doubt seems to have been largely overcome.

But it's the conversation with Edwin at the end of episode 5 that really allows him to work through his most pressing issues. Edwin is there to help support him when he stumbles. Edwin provides him the comfort he was looking for while Crystal was too worried about her own problems to notice how badly he needed the help.

Crystal, meanwhile, still has a ways to go after episode 5. The last three episodes are where she does her most important character growth.

In episode 6, she learns some hard lessons about keeping secrets and letting people help and appreciate you even when you can't offer them anything in return. And Charles, importantly, is there for her every step of the way. He consistently offers her physical and emotional support. He models for her, in a very real way, what it looks like to have someone prop you up when you need the help.

And in turn, Crystal steps in to save the boys. She's the big damn hero at the end of this episode.

The breakthrough continues into episode 7. She's so intent on helping to get Edwin out of hell that she literally goes to face her own demons, not for herself for once – not for her own purposes or needs or wants – but because she wants to help someone else.

And episode 8, at long last, brings her to the culmination of her character arc.

Crystal is at her absolute lowest here. Her family, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, didn't even realize she was gone. Her precious memories, that she's spent the entire series trying to regain, have showed her that she's not the person she hoped she would be. She's overwhelmed enough that she means to flee, to cut herself off from her new friends entirely.

Then the boys get kidnapped. And just like that, she makes up her mind.

For the first time since the start of the series, she sets aside her most important issues in order to let what other people need take precedence. She disregards all of her own personal concerns and focuses instead on others. She's finally stepped out of those selfish impulses that Jenny calls her out on, all the way back in the first episode. She's finally learned how to support other people when they need it.

Crystal has finally figured out how to be there for others, despite having troubles of her own.

It's a lovely arc, and it's beautifully done.

Charles' is just as touching.

And god damn, but it was a brilliant narrative choice to have their character arcs line up in exactly the wrong way.

[sonicssweetheart]

do u do x reader fics / reqs ?

if so,,,, can u do prime characters x reader headcanons (none in specific js curious on your ideas!!)

sonic prime characters x gn!reader || platonic / romantic headcanons

ᝰ.ᐟ disclaimer: i’m simply sticking to the new yoke city + green hill universes since that would take a lot of time to write!

⊱ ─── [ 💌 ] ─── ⊰

— sonic ;

there’s no doubt that sonic needs you around at all times throughout the plot. any universe he goes, he wants you to go with, no excuses. however, this backfires because he never stops to think how something may be affecting you negatively and only thinks the opposite.

“i..i assumed you would want this too after seeing things the way i do.” (ref to THAT scene…)

that being said, sonic can be selfish at times, but of course he always has the best interest at heart. he simply needs to learn how to think before he acts.

he’s very playful and finds it hard to be serious when you need him to be so the most, all because he’s afraid of confrontation and constructive criticism. he can be a little stubborn when it comes to you trying to ease him out of denial, but when he finally lets go, you can tell how anxious he is.

is always reminding you how much you mean to him at random moments. it could be completely out of the blue, when you’re reading a book or doing laundry, he doesn’t see a restriction to remind you of your worth. you will never have to worry about not being enough for him.

— shadow ;

it takes ALOT for shadow to be direct about how he feels about you; it’s all about subtle things for him.

he will show up to your door with a gift and brush it off like it’s a daily thing and has no impact on your relationship, or completes a task for you that he deems as “not worthy enough for you to stress about.”

his compliments come off more as rude rather than genuine and polite. again, he can’t be too direct out of fear of embarrassment — so sugarcoating it with annoyance works for him.

“don’t wear that, what are you, ancient? that piece doesn’t give you any credit.”

“you’re undeniably fatuous. however, you’re not dull, i guess i’ll give you that.

secretly protective as well. he will sneakily follow you around or just keep an eye on you by a nearby tree whenever he has an instinct that something may go wrong. he unquestionably abuses the chaos emerald to get to wherever you are as fast as possible. if he were ever caught, a scoff and a “i’m ensuring you will not cause havoc by acting foolish.” is the most of an explanation you will get.

if you’re travelling the shatterverse, he is very precise in the rules you follow so you don’t get hurt or lost. he would blame it all on himself if that were the case.

— amy ;

in the green hill universe, she adores you like a bee loves a flower. she takes pride in being close with you, and i like to think she always her arm linked with yours. she’s comfortable enough to talk to animals around you, as it comforts her immensely. she loves when you do little things for her like tending to gardens around the terrain, making her little crafts and standing up for her over little disputes between her and whoever.

“you do so much for me, y/n, you are so… ugh, i don’t know! thank you, for everything.”

in the new yolk universe, rusty rose is indifferent about you depending on how you treat her. if you act as if you’re sorry for her and see her mechanical front as a disability, she will refrain from speaking to you. your best bet is to treat her as you would anyone else but still admire the small things about her that makes her her. she doesn’t want anything huge, like big favours or even small things that don’t matter to her, however she LOVES flowers, just like canon verse amy. when you finally confess how you feel about her and offer a rose, the poor girl is so confused, yet secretly beaming inside.

“…i do not comprehend what you are telling me. you… really? i do not believe i was programmed to reciprocate, but… i feel warmth. is that good?”

— rouge ;

in the green hill universe, she is infatuated by you, however she still makes you work for her friendship/love. she likes the reassurance that someone will fight for her, as for i believe she was wronged in her past. help her fight in battle, participate in her favourite activities, compliment her style; you will gain her trust and devotion quickly. rouge likes to tease, knowing that you feel something for her, whether it be just wanting her friendship or more.

“dear, you know if you want something, you can come get it, right? it’s upsetting seeing you so defeated. oh, what’s wrong? did i touch a nerve?~”

in the new yoke universe, she rests similar, however she is very devoted to the friends and acquaintances she already has. she isn’t looking to complicate her life anymore, and would rather look ahead then stay in place and relish in the moment. but, you can twist that fact by helping her out without getting in her way. she will begin to see your respect and appreciation, and might even reward it with a token of gratitude.

“i saw what you did back there. i gotta say, you’re.. something else. don’t, uh, be a stranger.”

— knuckles ; (new yoke —> no place. dread knuckles>>)

in the green hill universe, he’s pretty stern towards you at first, but grows protective fast. as much as he wouldn’t admit it, he shows off in front of you in hopes that you’re impressed by his manly attitude and confident demeanour, and holds pride for weeks on end when you acknowledge it. he’s the type to challenge you to different activities that test strength and skill, and whether you’re successful or not, all he admires is your willingness to try. he loves those who don’t care if they’re good or bad at something and does it anyway because they want to, not because they have to, which sort of makes him think of his younger self and soothes his self destructive behaviour over it.

“not bad, little one. best of five next time? …you’re tired? oh, don’t be indolent. we’re almost done.” (he wants to see you thrive sooo bad)

in the no place universe, he is very upfront. if he wants to hang around you, take you on a date, have a deep talk, or anything along those lines — he’ll let you know. this man knows he’s everyone’s dream to befriend and follow like a God, and he takes pride in that. he’s also very persuasive by convincing you to do things you would never do, whether it be something as simple as trying a new food or swan diving off of mount everest. you give him that rush he craves in life, especially since life can be plain out on the water, but you give him that spark whenever you comply to his challenges. sometimes late at night while you’re both coaxed in the mood on the dock, he’s sloshing whiskey in his tainted cup and muttering to himself you.

“err… without you, this ship’d be soulless for sure. ya’ bring a fire, a flame to this old lassie, and i’d be sure not even hell could melt the ice frozen upon its ol’ heart.

— tails ; [FAMILIAL/PLATONIC ONLY]

in the green hill universe, tails admires you. he looks up to you as his mentor similar to sonic and is always happy to help when you’re in need. since tails didn’t grow up with a parental figure, sometimes he catches himself imagining such with you, and he feels embarrassed. he isn’t used to relying on someone else to fix his problems, and usually he just plain doesn’t like it. but with you — you follow his boundaries perfectly which makes him feel immensely appreciated and seen, something he looks for in a friend. he’ll let you know once in awhile how he appreciates your kindness, but his insecurities slip through every time.

“you know you don’t have to do this, right? i know im a kid, but you don’t have to take care of me… you want to?” (he looks down at whatever he’s doing, where you can see the small smile creep on the corner of his mouth)

in the new yoke universe, he is very apathetic towards you at first. he sees you just as another sonic, trying to change him to be his opposite reality self, but when he’s met with acceptance and loyalty — he begins to change his mind. he would never say it out loud, but he has a small spark of hope that you could be a forever companion he wouldn’t have to worry about betraying it. his ways of showing how he cares differs from letting you watch/help him work, crafting you things you mentioned you needed, letting you ask questions about his past (which takes some time). however, the smallest inconvenience relating to your friendship towards him can trigger him such as mentioning going somewhere without him, wanting to hang out with someone else, or just seeming off throughout the day.

“did you just lie the whole time? is that was this is? a game? original, y/n. i can’t even look at you right now.”

but, of course, when the reassurance and gentle conversation follows quickly afterwards, he reverts to an embarrassed but now angry at himself front.

“… okay. just… you would tell me if you were a traitor, right? sometimes i’m stupid and can’t tell. sorry.”

[agneswarda]

golden girls is so amazing i even made a powerpoint

(I copy-pasted the main text under the cut. unfortunately, I can't find the time for a proper alt text. life is stressful rn)

-Picture it: Miami, late 80s/early 90s. four 60+ women

-living together.

-Sure, they talk a lot about (straight) sex

-but what we see on screen is their dynamic. Their deep friendship. Their love also they often act quite gay with eachother. amazing

-Did i mention they are old. They are old and deal with getting sick and aging. A lot.

-But their life isn‘t over. They might not be related. But they are family, and they are here for each other

-These four women are the Golden Girls.

-You are in for a treat. A 7 seasons 25 episodes long treat

Introducing the girls: Dorothy Zbornak

-not to be a lesbian but omg

-Tall soft butch

-quick-witted

-sarcastic

-her voice *swoons*

-would make numbers on tumblr

-> her idea of a good time is being Alone wiht a book in her room

-> Huge dorky nerd

- Being vulnerable is not her strength but when she is It‘s amazing. Soft. makes me cry

Introducing the girls: Blanche Devereaux

-slutty

-sexy

-selfish

-sensitive

-Sensual

-Did i mention slutty

-And proud of it

-All these things are her strenghts as well as her weaknesses

 -She is actually quite complex

Introducing the girls: Rose Nylund

-Sweet

-Loving

-Kind

-caring

-Everyone says she‘s Dumb

-I think she might just Be neurodivergent?!??!!!! With her special interest

-Being St. Olaf

-The place she comes from

-Has amazing st olaf stories for everything

-Can also be a judgy bitch sometimes

Introducing the girls: Sophia Petrillo

-SHE WOULD MAKE NUMBERS ON TUMBLR

-„You're a funny little gnome, and we feed you too much.”

-This quote describes her perfectly

-It’s Dorothy who says it to her

-Who is incidentally her daughter

-Trickster energy

-Don‘t know if she is gay. But she commits crimes

-It‘s her way of dealing with old age

-And all the limitations it brings

-The show would just be half as funny without her

But op. Is it really this good. It‘s so old

I will admit: not everything aged well. Be also prepared for:

-it‘s v white. If they have characters of color, they sometimes work well. And sometimes it‘s embarassing to watch bc harmful stereotypes (not often but yeah. It happens.)

-Bodyshaming: the girls tease each other about their height, weight etc. and sometimes it can really become a lot/too much.

-Rose is so often the butt of the joke for not understanding situations. I think a lot of neurodivergent folks can relate. And it can hurt to hear the same old mean comments again and again

BUT

-This is a series which was never afraid of complicated topics

-First and foremost: the queer advocacy and topics were and still are amazing. The found family of it all alone.

-Also: death,being sick, being disabled. Getting old. Not performing the gender The way one would like to (anymore) (so. yes. Dysphoria. In a way). The financial aspect of it all. These are important topics which are treated with humor (of course) but also with respect

-it‘s a kind show which has its heart in the right place

-And i mean

-4 old women who are „just“ friends living together, supporting eachother?

-That shit is still revolutionary in the year of our lord 2024

So give it a chance!!!!11!!!!!111

[eelclaw]

the protagonists of the broken code. who's rootspring

i am tbc's number 1 hater! negative thoughts below

shadowsight: other characters sometimes acknowledge that he was manipulated by ashfur, but the narrative puts all of the blame for the ashfur situation on him, neglecting that (a) he did exactly what he was supposed to do as a healer (obey and take messages from a starclan cat), and (b) the codebreaker hysteria was far more a product of clan culture than the actions of a single apprentice. he isn't treated like the victim that he is, and it is frustrating and not cathartic.

bristlefrost: what the hell does she even do. what does her spy arc accomplish or contribute (like mother, like daughter). she finds out that bramblestar isn't bramblestar far too early. she's so perfect and she has no flaws and she's so empty. i want her to be worse. how much more interesting would she be if she was sneaky and selfish? if she was loyal to the imposter because she truly believed in what he was saying? not to mention how she reciprocates rootspring's feelings with literally zero warning, and ceases to have what little character she'd had to begin with. i genuinely don't care that she dies, they did nothing to make her an engaging character. miss bristlefrost, i'm sorry they did you so bad.

rootspring: first rootpaw thinks he's weird because of his father. i hate this because i hate tree. later, rootpaw thinks he's weird because he can see ghosts. so they give him this "i just want to be normal" deal, and the clans suddenly pretend that ghosts are silly and not real. sure, rootspring and tree are the first clan cats with this specific power. and i get that the clans have very rigid beliefs, and they are afraid of anything that contradicts those beliefs, and that's interesting! but ghosts have been appearing to clan cats all the way back to tpb. fireheart tries to kill clawface at one point and he senses spottedleaf's spirit beside him, there to avenge her death. so rootspring's issue is stupid and he's nothingburger to me.

bramblestar: the arc really depends on me giving a shit about what happens to him. which i don't.

i think bramblestar is unintentionally a bad person and a great character. he proves himself by rejecting tigerstar, but he's still deeply insecure. he makes mistake after mistake (conspiring with tigerstar; hesitating to save firestar from the fox trap; forsaking his children after finding out they're not biologically his; using his power over squirrelflight as a warrior, deputy, and leader to control her), and for none of these mistakes is he held accountable (no thunderclan cat except leafpool learns that he plotted with tigerstar; he is allowed to remain deputy; his children think he was the best father ever; in every situation, squirrelflight seems to bear the consequences of his actions).

in other words, bramblestar gets chance after chance to redeem himself, and he keeps fucking it up. again, that's interesting! there is a story here about how difficult childhoods affect adults, and how powerful men are not held responsible for hurting people. except that's not how he's written. he's written as a completely good person, a brave and noble leader, and all of the clans respect him and they need to get him back.

there's a crazy amount of bramblestar worship in this arc. even rootspring, a brand new skyclan apprentice, thinks about how important bramblestar, the thunderclan leader, is, and how all the clans wouldn't be the same without him. i can't take it seriously.

graystripe: graystripe also got a crazy amount of worship. i couldn't stand reading every few paragraphs about how great he is.

side note: shadowsight, bristlefrost, and rootspring all want the same thing. they advocate against killing bramblestar's body. wouldn't it be more interesting if the protagonists had different perspectives and opinions? if they wanted different things? for example, it makes sense that shadowsight wouldn't want bramblestar dead. he feels like the only way to make up for his mistake is to recover bramblestar alive. but bristlefrost could be in favor of killing bramblestar, because the only way to make up for her mistake (supporting the imposter) is to get rid of him. putting our protagonists at odds would generate some interesting conflict.

conclusion: i also have problems with ashfur (why does ashfur try to stir up trouble with codebreaking which will certainly get him caught when he could just take over bramblestar's body and live quietly with squirrelflight), tigerheartstar, mothwing, starclan, the dark forest insta-death water, firestar possessing rootspring, the pacing (oh my god! they were debating whether to kill bramblestar for like three books! and for three more books they were running in circles in the dark forest!), etc. but i've already written a lot and i'm out of steam lol.

let me finish by saying these are kids books, and i'm not expecting them to be the cream of the crop, but there are a lot of writing choices which are incredibly misogynistic and/or completely baffling from a narrative standpoint. i still have a soft spot for this series though. dammit. okay bye

[winwin17]

Are you afraid of Scary Bilbo?

Maybe, but ...

Does it change your view of Bilbo's entire character? Does it make you decide Bilbo is evil and corrupt at heart? Does it cause you to deride Bilbo for greed and selfishness in spite of all his heroic deeds?

No?

Then why do you do that to Boromir?

When Boromir tried to take the Ring from Frodo, it was his equivalent to the "HRRAAGHH!!" Bilbo moment.

Think back to the moment when Bilbo at Rivendell asked Frodo just to see the Ring, and in one fleeting instant Frodo saw, not the Bilbo he knew, but "a little wrinkled creature with a hungry face and bony groping hands." The flash of vision scared Frodo so bad he felt a desire to strike Bilbo. Frodo was terrified.

And then the next moment, Bilbo was himself again. The book itself describes the moment thus: "Bilbo looked quickly at Frodo 's face and passed his hand across his eyes. 'I understand now,' he said. 'Put it away! I am sorry: sorry you have come in for this burden; sorry about everything.'"

My friends, this is not that different from what happened with Boromir. He pressed Frodo to show him the Ring, and then became so intense about it that Frodo was terrified Boromir would take the Ring by force. Just like he'd been terrified of Scary Bilbo. Because, just as that was frighteningly not like the true Bilbo, this action was also not like the true Boromir.

Sadly, Frodo did not get the chance to hear Boromir's repentant apology and weeping once the moment of madness had passed. He got to hear Bilbo say, "I am sorry; sorry about everything!" But he did not get to hear Boromir say, "What have I said? What have I done?" nor his confession to Aragorn, "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I am sorry."

And what did Bilbo want the Ring for at that point in his life anyway? What would he do with its power? Get revenge on his petty relatives? Acquire riches and pipe-weed to last a lifetime? On the other hand, Boromir wanted the Ring as a final desperate hope to save his city, his home, his family, and his people. Being of a noble heart, he viewed the Ring as the only possible way to protect and defend others. It could be said that he was somewhat selfish and desired glory of his own through his efforts, but then again, wouldn't it be called selfishness for Bilbo to get revenge on the Sackville-Baggins, or store up wealth and riches for himself, or hoard all the pipe-weed he could want? Perhaps he would have had loftier thoughts and intentions to use it against Sauron - but then that would simply be a twin vision to Boromir's.

The point is, no one loses confidence in the character of Bilbo or his true-heartedness because of that one scary moment when he is almost overcome by lust for the Ring. And yet Boromir gets villainized for the same thing.

Say it with me, folks: "Boromir was no more of a villain in his temporary madness for the Ring than Scary Bilbo was!"

[xoxoavenger]

Can I request wolverine x reader where both of them were madly in love with each other, but reader was unfortunately by one of the sentanails (mutant killing robots), absolutely wreaking him. Then, he went back in time and when he gets to the mansion, and meets past reader (let’s say she also have longevity like Logan) who doesn’t know him at this point and taken of guard. When he’s trying to convince Charles that he’s from the future and needs his help and Charles is being stubborn and gets a little heated, reader is trying to calm things down and try to get everyone on the same page

so sorry this took literally forever. it was partly bc of how busy I was and partly bc I was afraid to write it, having such a popular dofp fic already (literally my fic with the most notes 😅)

Missing

pairing: Logan x Fem!Reader

word count: 2719

warnings: major character death (in the request but just in case), cannon typical violence and talk of violence

masterlist

Logan should have known this was coming.

His luck is shit. It always has been. For a hundred years now, he's felt like everything he touches goes to shit.

And then met Y/N.

She she wasn't shit. She was kind, smooth where he was rough, fitting him in all the right places. He was scared for awhile, afraid that it was too good to be true - her mutant ability being the projection of light. This power, the power of light, caused her to age slower. Charles had tried to explain it, multiple times in fact, but Logan was so lost every time that he just gave up eventually on trying to understand. All he knew was she aged slowly, just like he did, which means they could be together without him having the ever-present fear of watching her grow old.

He just never expected her to die.

He had known this was always a risk. She knew it too. And he also knew that they could have lived together, pretending like they weren't mutants, hoping from town to town, but she would never allow that. Him? He would have ran to that in a heartbeat, because he was selfish enough to want her to himself. To want to live, for the first time in two hundred years. He tried to fool himself, but how could he ever forget that he would always survive, while she simply didn't age as fast.

And that's how he should have known that everything was about to go downhill.

It happened in slow motion. But even then, it was 'unpreventable', as Charles would say. Logan knew the truth, though. It should have been him. He should have been the one to be hit with the laser. He should have been the one to have the hole inside him.

"No!" He screamed, running to her and sheathing his claws. He slides to catch her before she falls, but she's already dead in his arms. Her eyes are wide open, mouth paused in shock. Her body is limp, neck snapped back. And there's the four inch hole in her stomach, which he can see right through.

But he can't help but scream for her, calling her name. He shakes her, as if she's just asleep. As if he can fix this.

"Y/N," He cries softly, not moving as he's being pulled back. Suddenly he realizes his whole team is around him, trying to move him away from of his love. From his dead love. They're all screaming at him, and he knows that he's putting everyone in danger. But he can't let go of her. He can't bring himself to move. He closes his eyes, and then he lets out a guttural scream.

The next thing he remembers is being in a shelter, back against a wall and knees pulled against his chest. He blinks, realizing that he has no idea what happened after Y/N -

He doesn't want to think about that.

Everyone is under the shelter, talking and bandaging each other up. Logan wishes he couldn't heal, wishes he still had the marks on his body. But instead, he's left with just blood and and an empty chest.

"I can't send someone back that far. It would kill them." Kitty says, and hey, dying sounds exactly like what Logan wants right now.

"Send me." He speaks up, causing everyone to stop talking and turn to him.

"Your healing factor would help. As long as Kitty can keep you in the past that long." Charles says, and Logan remembers that his healing factor will keep him from dying. He thinks maybe he just hasn't tried hard enough to die. He's never wanted to more than he does right now.

"I can try." Kitty says with a nod. They all seem to know that if they don't do this, there is no future. They do this, or the Sentinels kill them all. They're at the end of the line. So they explain the plan, how Logan needs to get Charles and Erik on speaking terms again and stop the government from getting Mystic's blood. They think this will do the trick, that they may not be able to stop the downfall but they can stop the Sentinels. Logan realizes, then, that if he does this and it actually works, Y/N doesn't die. It reinvigorates him, starting his heart again.

They get into position, Logan laying on the makeshift table with conflicting emotions. He's mourning his lover, but he has some hope at least. He feels Kitty's hands by his head and before he knows it he's screaming, but it's not too long before he's in a bed, the bright sun beating down on him. He's with a girl - not Y/N, he didn't meet her until he met Charles, unfortunately - and he feels a little gross for it.

He gets into a fight immediately, and when his claws come out he realizes he doesn't have the metal that usually protects him. Shit. This stupid mission just keeps getting better and better. He gets shot, always a fun time, then starts the fight, just wanting to get it over with. He forgot how sensitive his stupid regular claws are, and he's tired of it by the time he makes it through the three guys. Now he needs to go to the mansion, which he has no idea what to find there.

~

He knocks on the door, sunglasses still on. It looks different, and not just because of the time, so he waits outside for a couple seconds for someone to answer the door. He can't even hear any kids running around, which is weird. He's so focused on this, he barely realizes someone answering the door.

"Hello, sir. We're closed, unfortunately, but I can give you directions to the nearest gas pump." She says with a smile. She's got a yellow shirt and jeans on, and Logan is pretty sure he doesn't know how to speak.

"Y/N?" He gets out, eyes clouding with tears. She looks taken aback, which shakes him up a little. He forgot that she wouldn't know who he was, of course.

"How do you know my name?" She asks, trying not to sound too skeptical. Her skin is glowing slightly, and Logan pulls his sunglasses off. It's all he can do not to cry,

"You're not gonna believe me." He chuckles, instantly feeling more at ease. How could he have forgotten that she would be here? He's never been more grateful for anything ever.

"Try me." She says, crossing her arms. He smirks and makes his way past her and into the mansion. "Hey! I didn't say you could come in!" She yells, and he looks around and his home, glad to see it standing.

"Where's the professor?" He asks, knowing it'd be easier to speak to Charles, who could read his mind.

"There is no professor. You must have the wrong place." Hank says as he walks down the stairs. Y/N turns and has a panicked look on her face, and Logan knows he needs to smooth this over.

"Listen, if you just let me talk to him, he'll know who I am. You won't believe me if I just tell you." He repeats, and Hank looks at Y/N before looking back at Logan, his face set.

"Like I said, there is no professor here. I think you should leave." Hank walks to be in front of Y/N, who looks conflicted.

"Who are you?" She asks, and Logan's heart skips a beat as he realizes that she's sticking up for him. She always said it was love at first sight, and maybe this is proof.

"I'm Logan." He says, and then he thinks about if he's actually going to tell them the next part. "And I'm from the future."

"Are you, now?" Charles is at the top of the stairs, and Logan startles when he sees that his friend doesn't have a wheelchair.

"Your legs," Logan starts, not sure what to say. He's caught off guard by a lot right now.

"Perceptive." Charlies says with a smirk as he walks down the stairs. Logan turns to Y/N, whose brows are furrowed.

"How did you know my name?" Y/N is still stuck on it, but it's almost like she's looking through him. She knows something is up.

"I'm from the future." He says, and the rest of the mutants in the room just stare at him. He looks at Charles, who is smirking. "You can read my mind. You know I'm telling the truth." At this, Charles' smile drops and his eyes squint.

"You have the wrong guy." His voice is low, and Logan shakes his head.

"No," Logan says, and Y/N tilts her head. It sounds crazy, someone from the future, but why would he lie? "I know who you are, Charles Xavier. So, read my mind, tell everyone I'm telling the truth, and can get on with what I came here to do." The room is silent as Logan and Charles stare at each other.

"I'm not that man anymore." Charles insists. Y/N knows he's not going to help, but she needs to know what this guy's deal is.

"What exactly is it you came here to do?" She asks, drawing his attention. He stares at her for a moment, making her a little concerned, but he looks lost and hurt, so she feels bad for him.

"In the future," Logan starts to get choked up, not able to look at any of them. He clears his throat, then continues. "The government was able to get Raven's blood. Because of you and Erik's feud. And they make these killers, called Sententials. Mutant killers." He can't look at them. Something happened, something bad. Clearly, if they're mutant killers, but this seems to be cutting Logan deep.

"How far in the future?" She asks, and it unsettles Logan. It's almost as if she knows, as if she's asking how long she has. He tries to remind himself that if he succeeds, she'll be okay. But will they still bet together if he changes the future? He has to hope. It's better for her to be alive, even if they aren't together. Everyone will be saved.

"Far." He answers, because he doesn't know how to tell her it's 50 years, doesn't want them to worry if they can't figure this out.

"How is this Erik and I's fault?" Charles asks, starting to get worked up. "If anything, it's solely his. I had nothing to do with this." He starts to leave, and Logan doesn't know what to do.

"You and Erik sent me from the future." Logan answers, causing everyone to pause. "You sent me because you need to work together."

"You're lying." Charles accuses.

"Well if you had your powers, you would know I'm not." Logan is starting to get worked up. This is harder than he thought it would be.

"I think you need to leave." Hank says, stepping forward. Y/N surprises them all by stepping forward as well.

"I think he's telling the truth." Y/N says, her gaze finally moving from Logan to Hank. "I think we should listen to him."

"Raven will die." Logan says, looking at Charles. "She's going to be experimented on and die. You can prevent this." Logan tries, hoping this will work. Charles glares at him, clearly not convinced.

"What about you?" Charles asks, lifting his chin. "What do you lose?"

"Did you miss the whole part about the mutant-killing machines?" Logan scoffs. Unbelievable, this young version of Charles. He'll take the old guy any day.

"No, no, no." Charles walks toward him, vacant look in his eyes somewhat clearing. "I may not be able to read minds anymore, but I know that you're in it for more than that."

"That's my business." Logan resists looking at Y/N, instead staring Charles down.

"And this is mine." Charles huffs. "I asked for your help years ago, and you told me to fuck off. I don't know what happens in the future, if you're telling the truth or not, but I do know that Erik will not be the one to stop it." He turns, and Logan knows he's losing him. He sighs, looking away from the small group.

"I lost Y/N." He says quietly. Somehow, the room goes even more silent as everyone stares at him.

"What?" She asks, barely able to breathe. He looks at her, face full of emotions she doesn't know how to decipher. She just met this man, but clearly he has known her for years.

"I found the school in 2000. You and Charles ran it, and I only stayed because of you. In my timeline, in 2023," He chokes up as the images of her flash through his mind. He wants to erase it, but it's there every time he closes his eyes. "The Sententials kill you. And they're going to kill all of us in the future, if you don't get your head out of your ass and make up with your boyfriend." Logan snaps the last part at Charles, who starts to get angry.

"Listen here-"

"Charles," Y/N starts, hand on his arm to stop him from walking even closer to Logan. She's glowing softly, emitting a calm, soothing light that even Logan can't help but admit makes his pulse slow. "Logan is giving us a chance to change the future. To save Raven."

"You're just saying that because you die." Charles lashes out, and that's how Logan knows he's not okay. He would never do that to her.

"We're all going to die!" Y/N yells. "Are you listening to him? You're probably dying in his timeline as we speak." She looks over to Logan, who is staring like she is the only person in the room.

"This is Erik's fault." Charles says, as if that made a difference.

"And it's going to be your fault if you don't listen to him." She softly speaks, and finally Charles sighs. Logan is grateful for Y/N; who knows how he would have convinced Charles without her.

"What do we have to do?"

~ When Logan wakes up, he's disoriented. The last thing he remembers he was being in the river, a rebar stuck through him and his brain shutting down from lack of oxygen. He can hear people outside his room, but what gets him to actually leave is the laugh that rings out through the hallway.

He sees her as soon as he opens his door, her smiling brighter than the sun. His heart pounds as he wonders if they're together - they didn't exactly get together in 1973, but she had helped him and believed in him when literally no one else had.

"Hey, baby," Y/N says when she catches his eyes, and he can't help the sound that escapes him. Her eyebrows raise as she realizes something is different. "What's going on?" She asks, leaving the group of people - mutants, kids, that had died, but are now here.

"Am I dead?" He asks, head reeling. She tilted her head with a small smile.

"What?" She asks, grabbing onto his arms gently. He doesn't have the same self control, however, and pulls her in. She sighs, and seems to understand. "You just got back."

"I thought I lost you." He admits, pulling back. "I at least thought we weren't going to be together." It's a hard thing for him to say out loud, but she just pulls him in for a kiss.

"James," She whispers as they pull apart, and he feels like no one has called him that in so long. She is the only one who is allowed to, the only one who won't get their throat ripped out for even thinking of uttering his real name. "There is nothing you could do to keep me away." She kisses him softly again, and he tries not to let the tears fall.

"I love you." He tells her, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you too." She responds, giving one last peck before pulling back. "Now, I'm sure a lot has changed, so how about I catch you up on the last fifty years as we take a walk." She grabs his hand, and Logan swears he's never been happier.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler

[teleit]

Sometimes I hate this show, and then I come to my senses and just despise it

I'm a feminist because I'm a woman and deserve all rights and opportunities. But this show, I swear to God, does everything it can to make me feel like a terrible person.

The show's adult Rhaenyra is just…ugh. There were a thousand ways to transfer her personality, actions, and decisions from page to screen, and the writers chose the worst possible one. Somehow, they managed to strip her of her personal qualities while simultaneously filling her to the brim with other people's accomplishments.

Young Rhaenyra was practically perfect, given the changes the writers made to the book plot. She was a young, capricious, selfish girl whose world collapsed in an instant, and she had to find her way on her own. She was unpleasant, nasty, mocking, charismatic, charming, sweet - and very real. Her actions could be condemned or supported, she was interesting to watch, and I loved her. Not everything Rhaenyra did was to my liking, but when she was on screen, I watched her without taking my eyes off.

Adult Rhaenyra is literally Frankenstein's monster, assembled from incomprehensible junk from the attic of Condall and Hess. She does not have a drop of the charm that young Rhaenyra had, as if they were written by completely different people. Every questionable action of hers is whitewashed, 90% of her decisions and achievements are recycled and reused plots of other characters from the books, any actions are extolled to the skies. It's like eating cold unsalted French fries, you feel punished for some unknown sins by tasteless crap.

I want to love Rhaenyra, I really tried the entire half of the first season and whole second to feel at least a little love for this homunculus, but it is simply impossible. Just when I'm starting to sympathize with Rhaenyra grieving so heartbreakingly for her son and wanting justice, and getting involved in show, the writers decide to indulge their nun fetish and have Rhaenyra dress up as a septa and go talk to Alicent about some useless bullshit. One minute she's not afraid to defend her opinion, the next she's playing Mother of Dragons 2.0 (Vermithor scene was indescribable cringe, as was posing with a goofy grin with three dragons while Aemond scampers away with his bloodthirsty granny). Here's Rhaenyra having a great dialogue scene with her son, and here she is kissing a SA victim who just shared her tragic backstory, but don't worry, it's very romantic and everyone is happy.

And it wouldn't be nearly as bad as it feels if Rhaenyra were like young Rhaenyra, whose flaws were real and not smoothed over by the constant reminder that this woman was the best thing to happen to the world since the invention of latte macchiato. Young Rhaenyra, if she were in the sept with Alicent, would have yelled at the woman, risked getting caught, and wouldn't have been shy about reminding Jace who was in charge and that he had no right to scold her. Would she have been right, or smart in her actions? Still no, but she wouldn't be hailed as fair, peaceful and perfect - she'd be a selfish, confused, grieving woman who'd lost so much and was desperately trying to figure out how to salvage what was left and take back what was taken.

The show does everything it can to make me despise Rhaenyra. She's selfish, self-righteous, smug, arrogant, delusional, self-important, dumb as a rock, spineless, one-dimensional cheap knockoff of Daenerys from the early seasons of Game of Thrones. And the worst part is that all of these qualities would be interesting if the show would just stop holding me by the balls and demanding that I must love and adore her for every little thing because Rhaenyra is always right, the best girl in the world, worthy of all praise, and perfect to the core. Let me decide for myself whether I want to like a character or not, because unlike some people, I have an IQ above room temperature and can empathize with a complex, ambiguous character with adult morals, not just Bloom from Winx in a white wig.

I constantly have to remind myself that it's okay to dislike a female character if she's written terribly, and that doesn't make me a bad person.

Ps. Still not native speaker and dgaf about mistakes, english can suck my imaginary dick; apparently somehow part of text was translate in my native language wtf

[plasticferal]

keeping score | matt & chris sturniolo.

prologue: 'they say love is the sixth sense that destroys all other five senses’

authors notes: 1.9k, explicit language, reader discretion is advised. welcome to my first series, please enjoy the ride.

they both want you. the only way matt and chris can agree to settle who wins is through competition, one where you’re the prize. your own heart is torn between the two brothers. the thing is though, love doesn’t keep score.

they have two very different experiences to offer. two sides of the same coin. a coin you refuse you flip and settle on.

matt is the first to catch your eye in any room. he makes you nervous. butterflies, awkward laughs, stuttering over your words. all of it. you like him. you’re unsure if he feels the same toward you.

however, you also like chris. the compliments he showers you in, the subtle flirting, the way he softens his tone around you, how giving he is, the way he’s so shamelessly himself. the list goes on. he’s different. 

it’s a weird triangle of intrigue and unrequited feelings that lingers and is never acknowledged.

you’re already convinced it’ll never happen. with either of them. you’d be putting too much at risk considering how deeply you value your friendship before anything else. the fear of falling in love, and losing them both. 

which might just be your karma for being into both brothers. 

they occupy the living room. you’re upstairs, using nick’s bed to take a nap while he showers, and he takes long showers. he’s always given you a safe space in the house, to make it feel like home. 

you love to annoy chris and matt by stealing their clothes, blankets, soft drinks out of the fridge, tagging along to every late night drive and fast food pick up. 

they share everything with you, but you designate yourself in nicks’s room as to not stir up any terrible, rash decisions on your accord.

being fast asleep and tangled up in crisp, cold, silk sheets, it’s a deep sleep. completely escaping into your dreams.

you’re left unaware of the chaos that’s about to ensue in the living room between the two brothers who occupy your mind. chaos is the score in which reality is written upon.

“you like y/n, right?” matt asks chris. 

you’ve had a strange feeling for a while now that matt is trying to set you up with his brother. which, as flattering as it is, it’s bittersweet. 

matt is sinking lazily into the lounge while scrolling through his phone, on the furthest left. chris is on the furthest right with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. 

they’re in direct view of each other on the L shaped couch. not in a literal sense, just in proximity. neither brother is actually looking up from a screen of some kind.

“what?” chris snaps his head toward matt, diverting from the television for a moment. 

“just answer the question.” matt huffs.

“of course i like y/n. she’s the closest person in our life besides like, nick” chris shrugs, going to look back at the screen again. 

matt groans in disappointment at his response. 

“you know i don’t mean it like that.” matt sits up slightly, readjusting his position and posture.

“god here we go again.” chris runs a hand down his face, fearing his brother's next words. 

“how do you really feel about her?” matt pries. 

unusual for him. out of character even, chris is usually the one who needs to know everything all the time, and is never afraid to ask the hard hitting questions, as annoying as it may be. but not with this topic of conversation.

the difference is, chris does it because he’s genuinely curious. matt asks questions for his own selfish reason, to chris’s oblivion. 

chris needs reassurance that he’s making the right decision in not pursuing you. matt needs to know if or when he’s going to have to compete. little does he know that time is nearing. 

“man, i don’t know. i just- i like her. can’t we leave it at that?” chris’s tone is anguished. 

“you’re avoiding the question-”

“i answered your question!” chris cuts matt off before he can fully form his sentence, and matt’s jaw tightens. 

“fine, whatever.” matt waves his hands in the air with defeat before diverting back to his phone, leaving chris to linger on his words.

“i’m never gonna make a move. i know how you feel about her, too.” chris huffs, as though he’s annoyed at the response he’s had to give.

“what’d you mean?” matt gives chris a glare, like he’s daring his next words.

“you know exactly what i fuckin’ mean” chris scoffs, shifting in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling the sleeves of his gray hoodie past his knuckles.

matt takes a loud inhale through his nose and exhales through his mouth 

“we can’t just keep pretending that we both don’t want her.” matt drops his phone onto his stomach face down, being slightly slumped. 

“i’ve been fine pretending” chris throws the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to hide his eyes more from matt, a natural reaction to not enjoying the grilling. 

“well if you don’t make a move, i will.” matt’s tone is serious.

“you wouldn’t.” chris deadpans, a sincere tone of disbelief seeping from his lip that he’s now biting the corner of.

“you’ve been saying you’re gonna make a move forever and haven’t done shit."

he knows it’s not nice, but there’s something about the lack of passion from chris despite the obvious crush just makes matt's skin crawl. if someone is going like you and not do anything about it, matt is more than willing to shoot his shot, give you what you deserve. 

“that’s not fair” chris twists his face, glaring at his brother. 

"i think it’s more than fair play at this point, kid.” matt scoffs.

if looks could kill, matt would be dead.

all those times you’ve perceived matt bringing up chris to entice you have just been a ploy to gauge how both of you feel. he knows it’s manipulative, but no harm, no foul.

the worst part is, chris isn’t actually even sure he wants a relationship. he’s infatuated by you, undoubtedly. matt on the other hand would marry you with a paper ring. 

they’re both scared of their own feelings, and the intentions that might come along with them. they don’t ever want to hurt you, but their carnal desire is misleading their moral compass.

“alright then,” chris starts, matt’s words hitting a nerve for him. he slaps his hands onto his thighs and sits up in his spot. 

“how do we settle this? who gets her?” chris continues, staring at his brother intently now.

“i don’t think we get to make that decision.” matt shakes his head, bringing his hand to his mouth as he begins to bite his nails, which muffles his words.

“you’re right, we don’t. but we’re gonna have to compete for it to even be an option.”

“compete” matt repeats chris’s words with a sour huff, a slight arrogance in the sense that he doesn’t view his brother as a threat. 

not when it comes to you, and there might be a small part of that statement that’s correct. you have a sweet spot for matt, which fires up chris even more. he is conscious that he’s the underdog, as much as you try to show an even amount of attention to the both of them.

“what’s wrong? you scared you’ll lose?” chris taunts. 

“that’s the least of my worries.” matt scoffs, his mind traveling down every possible path this terrible idea could go down. 

“fine, then you won’t be afraid of a little competition.” chris says nonchalantly, pushing back with the same energy matt’s been giving, turning the tables.

“what’s your plan here? we just tally up the moments we get with her until someone wins? to boost our own egos?” matt speaks with his hands.

“i do love to have my ego stroked” chris grins to himself, the thought of you crossing his mind as the words leave his mouth. his train of thought tends to wonder easily.

��seriously, chris, how do we plan on settling this?” matt rubs his hands together, like the action you do when you’re trying to stay warm. 

“i think there’s only one answer to that.” chris responds, in a “duh” tone, without explicitly sharing what’s on his mind.

their sixth sense of being able to unpack each other's minds sparks like an electrical fault in the moment. of course, neither of them hate the thought of getting you in bed. they just hate the thought of you being unaware. 

somehow it’s more challenging than falling in love, or securing a relationship. betting to sleep with you is actually the hardest challenge of them all, let alone covering all the bases in order to attain it. 

the intimacy, the intensity of it all. it just seems so unattainable. it requires them, and you, to be completely and utterly vulnerable. 

“that seems kind of, objectifying.” matt shifts his demeanour, ironic considering he sparked the conversation. 

“it wouldn’t be a competition without a challenge.” chris acknowledges, and unfortunately for the both of them, he’s right. 

“this sounds so fucked up” matt says, running his hand through his scruffy hair.

“first brother to five points takes all. all of her.” chris speaks, confidently setting up the challenge. 

essentially their plan is to see who can get the closest to you, and let the other brother suffer in watching it happen. which occurs points. loser has to back off of you completely. unless someone gets to you first, in which case all their hard work flies out the window. they won’t be making it easy for each other.

“points won’t matter when i get her into bed first.” matt’s smug, knowing it’ll make chris go insane. 

“so i take it that you’re up for the challenge?” chris ignores matt’s words with a prompt, because if he doesn’t disregard it, he’ll lash out. 

matt considers it. at least he acts like he does. he knows his answer. if he wants you, if either of them do, they have no choice but to compete. neither of them are sure if it’s love or lust, but they’re about to find out. 

they are certain of one thing though. they like everything about you. the way you look. the way you smell. the way you sound. they know exactly why they want you. it’s the first time ever someone has been able to grab the attention of both brothers. hence the severity of the agreement.

“when do we start keeping score?” matt responds, and that’s all the reassurance chris needs in his brothers answer. 

as if on command, you trudge down the stairs in a sleepy state. their eyes snap toward you simultaneously, and you blink repeatedly to make sure you’re seeing them right. 

you are their favorite part of every day, so it’s not out of the ordinary for them to acknowledge your entrance, but you can feel the intensity of their eyes on you with a different energy. 

with foggy vision still clearing as you rub your heavy, tired eyes, you let a small yawn escape. they both melt at the sight, despite you feeling like you’re in your least desirable state. 

you’re not even paying attention to their back and forth bickering. the sound of their voices muffling through your ears. whatever it is they’re saying, they’re not saying it loud enough for you to hear before you even make it down the stairs.

“now.” chris states, eyes snapping back at his brother as they both raise off the lounge.

all is fair in love and war.

tag list: @luverboychris @floofparker @fake-sturniolos @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @mattsneezing @mattslolita @breeloveschris @rootbeerworshiper @mattstattoo @mxqdii @tay-laaaaa @pettydollie @lacysturniolo @annamcdonalds67 @landrysflannel @goandcomebsck @sleepysturnss @call-me-ninaaa @lustfulslxt @txssvx

[alikesical]

Forever Yours.

❛There's no love lost, but I'll be forever yours❜

Jason Todd x reader

trigger warnings: angst, character death

word count: 2564

Jason didn't know how to exist anymore...

Everything around him was wrong. All that he did, felt mechanical, like a mere muscle memory.

He woke up. He went to the repair shop. He'd go home. He'd lie still on his bed until his body gave away to exhaustion.

He was alone, even when in company, and God knows he had company. Dick and Tim, sometimes even Damian, would drop by and force him out of his room, even for a little while. Trying to take his mind off of you.

It never worked.

Why would it? How could he ever take his mind off of you when you were the one good, beautiful thing in his life. He didn't deserve you. He knew that much, but that never kept him from being selfish. From barging into your life.

"Please tell me you can fix it!" you pleaded with him the moment he got out of the repair truck, tears threatening to escape from your eyes.

Jason chuckled at your panic. Cute, he thought, as he walked towards you car, that had definitely seen better days, "I don't know what's wrong yet," he says and you simply nod, cursing yourself for asking stupid questions.

You struggled to stay quiet as he looked over your engine, not wanting to break his concentration.

"Well-" he opens his mouth to speak, but you're quick to interrupt him before he could even get a word out.

"It's bad isn't it?" you groan, pacing around, hands flailing around, "I dont understand how this could have happened! I haven't missed a single maintenance appointment, I swear! Please, you have to do something, I'll do anything! I really need the car-"

"I was about to say that its an easy fix," he chuckled cutting your rambling short, "But since you already offered to do anything, what about a date?"

You had a lot of these fights in the beginning. While trying to keep you at an arms length, Jason had not treated you the way he was supposed to, often being cold and rude. He thought he kept you safe that way, that you'd see him for who he really was and run for the hills.

He smiles to himself, remembering how flustered you got before agreeing with a shy smile.

Little did he know, you were anything but shy, never afraid to go head to head with him and demand to be treated right, even if he towered over you.

And you did see him. Only you actually did, not the twisted version he had in his mind, but who he was down to his core. You saw how scared he was, how much he needed to be loved. And that's exactly what you did, after sitting him down and ripping him a new one, for acting like a dick.

Jason shakes his head, as he approaches your door. He should not be doing that.

You were gone, he shouldn't be reminiscing, it just hurted him more.

But he can't help it.

Those memories are what remain of you in his mind, he couldn't help but recall them, searching for even a flicker of comfort in them. But that was never the case.

Instead he was reminded about how he'd never see you smile at him like that again, and his already broken heart, would get smash into smithereens all over again.

He didn't know how for long he was standing outside your door, not daring to step in. Afraid of what it would do to him.

He knew it was unhealthy, coming here day after day, but never entering. He should go in and gather your stuff, empty the apartment for someone alive to move in.

So he kept paying your bills three months later, keeping the apartment frozen in time.

But he couldn't bring himself to.

It felt like trying to erase you, move on. Jason didn't want to move on.

He feels his chest tighten at the familiar sight of your living room.

Babs told him that he should go in, at least try to get some closure.

He knows she's right, she usually is. So he takes in a shaky breath, trying to steady his hand as he unlocked the door.

"Jason?" you called as you stepped out your room, trying to put on your earrings, "Why are you not dressed yet?" he heard the click of your heals moving closer to the couch he sat on.

His head immediately turned towards the sound of your voice wanting to answer you, but found him self unable to.

You stood before him looking like a vision in your white dress, hair neatly pulled back. The sun was hitting your face, as you moved towards him, and he could swear heaven was real, because where else could someone like you come from?

You were the first light, to ever grace this world, and he was selfish to keep you away, to call you his. But he couldn't help but keep you close, hold on to your light.

"Jason?" you call again, now standing in front of him, a hand resting on his shoulder. You had this soft expression painted on your face, the same one you always had when you looked at him, the one that made him feel like he was worth something.

He smiles, bringing his hand over yours delicately, as if you'd break if he added any more force, "You are beautiful," he says and curses at himself for not being able to come up with something better. All these romance novels he read going to waste at the sight of you.

"I'm sorry, but an urgent mission came up," his heart breaks at how your smile falls, hating that he was the cause, "I'm really sorry sweetheart."

You chuckle at him, and he could get drunk on the sound, "Thank you love," you go and sit on his lap, throwing your arms around his neck, placing a soft kiss on his lips, palm caressing his cheek.

Cherries. You always wear the same cherry flavoured lipgloss.

After a moment you pull back, tilting your head as you looked at him, "I'd say you clean up well, but you're still in your T-Shirt?" you question, and he lets out a sigh.

You sigh deeply as you stand up, leaving him cold in your absence, "You better make it up to me!" you say pointedly, "This is the third time you had to cancel plans."

He knows. He knows all the times he messed up, even if you don't.

This, however, was not one of them.

He had this whole plan. He'd tell you the Bat called, you'd go out with your sister to have a nice dinner, and then she was gonna ask you to take a walk at the park, where he'd meet you both, under strings of fairy lights.

Jason was excited to get rid of the weight the little box added to his jacket, and sincerely hoped you'd get to bear it on your finger.

But for now he had to appease you.

"I know, I will," he follows your example, tailing you as you head towards the door, to grab your coat, "Give your sister my greetings" he says, holding it up, helping you slide into it.

"I will," you peck his cheek before opening the door, "Love you!"

"Love you, be careful," he calls out, watching your form descend down the hallway.

You turn around and smile at him, "I always am."

You never made it to the park.

There was an attack on the building you were dining on. By the time he got the news, you were lying open on a surgical table.

And by the time the surgery was over, you were gone, and he was left alone, the box in his pocket suddenly weighting a million tons.

He was too late...

He remembers everything about that that day.

He remembers he smell of the hospital, the face of the surgeon when she told him that she's sorry and that you aren't coming back. How the nurse called Bruce to come pick him up, after he spent 2 hours staring at the wall. Bruce's usually stoic face, looking down at him with pity.

He does however remember clearly how he got out of his bed and sneaked out of the manor, determined to avenge your death...

How he couldn't stop crying the whole night, the pain that seeped through his bones without any signs of stopping when he thought of what happened.

The following days however had formed into a mush, and he didn't know when one began and the other ended.

Dick told him that he didn't speak to anyone for days, locking himself in his room. He told him that he could hear him scream your name in the dead of the night.

He couldn't recall that. Or atleast he didn't want to.

He remembers stalking the Iceberg Lounge, waiting for Penguin to come out. He remembers his brother appearing out of thin air, reminding him that you wouldn't want him to go down this path.

He exhales as moves around the house, forcing the memories out of his mind, staring at the framed pictures you had. Some with your friends, some with your family, some with him.

He remembers crying on Dicks shoulder, not able to take it anymore.

He couldn't look at them, you couldn't bear the memories.

Still, his feet seemed to come to a halt where he knew a particular picture hang. He looks at it, trying to hold the tears in desperately.

It was a polaroid picture of him lying on your bed shirtless. He thought it was the ugliest photograph you've ever taken, but still picks it up.

"Why would you even want to take a picture of me?" he asked you not really understanding.

He was ugly. He knew that. All the scars on his body only proved it further. He can't understand why you would waste perfectly good film on him.

"Shush," you motion over him, legs straddling his waist, "Stay still!" you command but he still reaches up to grab the camera, just to be met by your hand pushing him down.

He knew that, practically, he could easily escape this predicament, but something about the position you were both in and your gaze left him unable too.

It was dangerous how much of an effect you had on him.

"Must there be a reason?" you ask, trying to get a good angle, "Can't I just take a picture of my very handsome, very hot boyfriend?" he sees you smirking behind the camera.

He remembers how fast the heat crept up his face, and how he immediately turned his head away from you trying to hide it. That was then you snapped it.

He hated that you had proof of him being flustered, but you always claimed it to be your favourite photograph of him.

He didn't understand still. But he trusted your words.

He quickly puts it back to its place, not wanting to disturb the house. Wanting it to be exactly as you left it. Even though coasters were scattered on the living room table, and the plates you had used to eat lunch, still on the drying rack. Even though the toothpaste didn't have its cup on, and the shampoo you always used was left open.

This way you were still alive. Still living in this house. Still in his life.

A single tear fell on Jason's cheek, and he made no motion to wipe it. You had made him promise, that as long as he was in here, he wouldn't have to hide behind a mask, he wouldn't have to be Red Hood, the tough vigilante, just Jason Todd, your boyfriend.

It feel like he'd been going back on his promise if he wiped it away. So he left the tear dry and headed towards your bedroom.

The moment he stepped in he could immediately smell the perfume you had chosen to wear that day. He didn't know how, but it still seemed to linger. Or maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Not daring to look around, already feeling his throat tighten up, he made a beeline for your bed, immediately letting himself fall down, engulfed by the familiar scent of your bedsheets.

He could hear you scold him for being on the bed with outside clothes on.

"That's disgusting!" you exclaim as he let a sigh of relief when his back hit the mattress, immediately closing his eyes "You'll get grease on the sheets!" you stood in front of him hands on your hips, glaring down at him

He cracks one eye open ,"Ill just change the sheets then" he mumbles, but you had different plans for him.

"Or maybe... go change," you say grabbing his wrist, with every intention to drag him in to the shower and out of your bed.

But he suddenly tugs his arm back, and with a yelp, you go tumbling down on top of him.

"But I'm so comfortable," he sighs, wrapping his arms around you like a blanket, pressing his face into your shoulder with a dramatic groan.

You struggled, trying to get out of his embrace, but he only held you tighter, "It's not funny!" you whined, "Let me go, you're literally covered in sweat and garage funk."

"No can't do, you're a hostage now."

You struggle, trying to wiggle free, but he only tightens his grip with a smirk.

"Resistance is futile," he murmurs.

"I hate you so much," you mumble giving up, knowing this is a war lost.

"I'll love you more," he says, a grin creeping up his face, at the feeling of you smiling against his shirt.

A small sob broke though his lips as a laugh at the memory.

But the one became many, and the sobs became wails as he laid on the bed, facing the ceiling. He couldn't breathe properly, hyperventilating, but still did nothing to stop it, to calm himself.

He just laid there. Crying, remembering all the promises he made to you under the same covers he was staining with his tears, all the dreams he had for you both.

How you would get married in a beautiful chapel, and he'd cry when you'd walk down the isle. How you'd move out to the country, away from Gotham. Away from villains and vigilantes, away from danger. How you'd have kids, and they'd have his eyes and your smile, how you'd make sure they knew they were loved. How you'd invite your families over once a month, and you'd have this huge meal, filled with laughter. How he'd help you clean after, but you would end up getting nothing done, preferring to dance to no music as your kids giggled in the background thinking you couldn't hear them.

How you'd grow old together.

How he'd go first because he couldn't imagine living without you.

But none of that would happen. He was alive, and he had to learn how to live without you. He had to learn how to move on.

You would have wanted that for him. You would have wanted him to be happy, to find someone else. To live his life.

But he couldn't, not when you were not by his side, not when he knew you lied six feet under, in a flower decorated grave.

Everything around him reminded him of you. Of your smile and your laugh, how you'd hold him when the nightmares appeared, how you promised to always be there.

You haunted him, and he didn't want you to stop. He didn't want to recover...

So he just cried until all his tears dried up, and he laid on your bed closing his eyes, pretending he cpuld feel your warmth next to him, until exhaustion took him into it's sweet embrace.

At least that way he'd be able to see you smile at him again. He could feel the weight of your head on his chest, and the caress of your fingers against his scars. Hear your voice telling him you loved him, even if for the last time...

[redsrooftopprincess]

Nightmare

Gn reader x Raphael

Warnings: Injury, Guns, Blood, Suggested Character Death, Nightmare

Part 2

You're not sure why you're awake. You can't put your finger on it, but something about tonight is just unsettling. You are sitting on the couch, staring blankly through infomercials, when the dirge of products made for very specific situations is interrupted. 

BREAKING NEWS: MONSTERS IN MANHATTAN

Your stomach drops.

No...

The news report cuts to a live feed of the construction site where they knew the Foot had *something* going on, but they couldn't figure out what. They had moved out to do just that hours ago. 

Please no...

The news helicopter hovers over a circle of gunmen trained on a large figure. There is a massive, darkening bruise across his left arm and face, and his shell is cracked and seeping red. He'd fallen. From how high up you'd no idea.

Your body stands on it own and steps towards the television. Too injured to stand, he looks up at the humans surrounding him, and he's afraid. You've never seen him afraid of anything. 

You reach out a hand towards the screen as wild eyes dart between barrels, he's trembling. You can't hear him over the roar of the helicopter and the barking of orders, but you see him say, "please... please don't hurt me..." 

One man orders him to raise his hands over his head, another orders him not to move, a third demands he identify the device on his back. They're scared too. You hate them for it. 

A sound, probably nothing more than falling debris, spooks one of the younger men and he opens fire. The rest follow suit, and a scream rips from your throat as your knees buckle. 

You hit the floor and shoot up in bed soaked in sweat and screaming. Through a haze of tears and terror you frantically grasp for your phone on the beside table, sending the call. 

He picks up quickly. 

"Hey." 

"Tell me you're okay." You demand into the phone.

"What?"

"Tell me you're okay. I need to hear you say you're okay." You're near hysterics, still barely conscious, the roar of gunfire ringing in your ears.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay," he reassures quickly, "are *you* okay?" He asks. Now he's worried. You're usually one to keep a cool head in the worst situations.

You lay back and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to slow your heart rate, and ignoring the hot tears of relief that stream from your eyes. "Yeah... Yeah I'm okay..." your voice trembles.

You suddenly feel really stupid. Of course he's okay. "Sorry... I'm sorry," you apologize, embarrassed, "Bad dream. You can go back to work. Sorry. Night." You hang up before he can respond and cover your face with your hands.

He looks down at his phone when the call ends. You certainly didn't seem okay. He's on the other side of town tonight, but things have been pretty quiet, and... well, now he has an excuse. 

A little over an hour later, you're still sitting in bed, having been unable to fall back asleep, and there is a soft landing overhead. 

Damn it. 

Moments later there is a knock at your bedroom door. You don't bother getting out of bed.

"You didn't have to come all the way here," you sigh. 

The door opens, "Seemed important."

He steps into your room and over to the bed. You move over and he sits on the side of the bed next to you. 

He looks you over. You can't bring yourself to look at him, instead choosing to remain focused on the hands in your lap. "Bad dream, huh?"

You nod. 

"'Bout me?"

You nod again.

"I get hurt?" 

You tense and shut your eyes as that first gunshot rings in your ears. 

He nods in understanding, looking you over. There's something like a selfish pride that's touched that the thought of something happening to him seems to affect you so deeply, but it's quickly overruled when you open your eyes and they're brimming with tears.

He sighs and takes one of your hands, squeezing gently, trying to reassure you that he's okay, that he's safe and he's here and he's okay. "Sweetheart..." He says softly before trailing off. He doesn't know what to say. 

"I know why you do what you do," you say softly, as if you're afraid that speaking too loudly might break you, "I understand it, and I agree with it, and you know I would never ask you to stop..." 

You look up at him and his heart breaks when your voice cracks, "... and I hate it." 

He releases the hand in your lap and bring his up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and pressing his hand against your cheek, grateful for any tangible proof that he's here, safe. "I hate waiting for the day when you climb out my window for the last time," you say, unable to stem the tears, "and I hate knowing it's coming." 

You'd grown so close in the last few months. You'd begun to forget what life had been like without him, and you really really didn't want to have to remember. Ever. 

He couldn't bear it. Seeing you like this. He looks at you with an unreadable  expression before picking up you in one motion and pulling you into his lap. You waste no time wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him. You bury your head in his shoulder and cry.

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to tell you that nothing bad is going to happen, that he will always come back to you, that you don't have to worry. But he can't. He can't lie to you. There is a very real possibility that any given night might be the last night. 

So, he does the only thing he can do. He holds you tighter, grateful for this moment, and every single one after, that he has left with you.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

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[crushedsweets]

Which songs would you pick as theme music for each of the Creeps?

i'm picking songs from MY daily playlist, which is mostly indie love songs - so these arent entirely accurate, but i think it forces a unique perspective (and im far too lazy to perfectly curate a song per character)

TIM is fast car by tracy chapman; "maybe together we can get somewhere; any place is better; you and i can both get jobs; and finally see what it means to be living"

BRIAN is 4runner by brenn; "i see you're still doing the same old; hanging out with people like me; you know i'm trying to get a little bolder; so, this town is where i'd rather you be"

TOBY is king for a day by piece the veil; "won't you push me for the last time; you want a martyr? i'll be one; now i dont want to feel a thing anymore; im tired of begging for the things that i want; im over sleeping like a dog on the floor; imagine living like a king someday"

KATE is hammer by hana vu; "are we gonna make it? cause i have to; i don't wanna be here but i do; and i run away cause i ruined mine; and i fall asleep cause i get so tired; and its hard to say what the trouble is; ill run away til its all behind"

NINA is cologne by beabadoobee; "at least leave the scent of your cologne; i'm not done yet; please, kiss my neck; lets go for another round; i hate what this song is about; am i attractive? tell me, am i good enough? lately i've been on an off; i think ive hurt too much; think i'm gong to explode"

CLOCKY is tell me its okay/im not angry anymore by paramore; "maybe its been years since i genuinely smiled; and maybe its been years since i wanted to be apart of anything, but lately i've been good, you know, i've actually been great; man, i even laughed a little today, oh so strange"

JACK is the dead coming talking by roe kapara; "feel the worms eating holes through my mind; light regrets that'll kill me in time; walking backwards is always a guess; distance faces burn holes in my chest"

LAZARI is my mother wants me dead by carolesdaughter; "nobody can say they know me; i know my mother wants me dead; i cant trust you, i know you bleed blue"

BEN is hot rod by dayglow; "my memory is not like the other one; maybe i'm not all that you thought; we don't move like we used to do; maybe you're not such a hot rod"

SALLY is oysters in my pocket by royel otis; "oysters in the pocket; not that we are selfish; we just haven't learnt much; send me on my bicycle; the chain is all rust"

JANE is lucerene by richy mitch & the coal miners; "i fervently want some time alone; no wine, no elixir, no spirits can make me whole; i say it with pain; i don't know if im in the right yet; still some burnt blood remains"

JEFF is scrawny by wallows; "still wear the same shoes i did back then; i dont think theyve ever been untied; dont care to watch the story unfold; hate feeling like im not in control; now tell me im a scrawny mother fucker with a cool hairstyle"

LIU is didya think by arlie; "never thought you'd be the kinda guy to get a day job; never thought you'd be the kinda guy to take a safe route; so why ya sittin around? did ya think it'd be easy?"

DINA is my bodys made of crushed little stars by mitski; "im not doing anything; my bodys made of crushed little stars; would you kill me, jerusalem? i should tell them im not afraid to die"

ANN is baby you're a haunted house by gerard way; "better find another superstition; your heart will stay forever; when your last remains are few; ill be the ghost inside your head when we are through; sometimes you scare me; and i'll find a way to scare you too"

LULU is stella brown by jelani aryeh; "i don't know what to talk about; how has my head just hollowed out? spend my time awaiting, lying; patient inside this racing mind; i'm too precautious and i often doubt"

[eemamminy-art]

Saw your reblog! Could have sworn I sent an ask in a bit ago but I’ll try again just in case. ^^

Hello! I really enjoy a lot of your Penny/Maru art and headcanons. However, recently I saw you were also fond of Jodi/Caroline. I was curious as to what headcanons you had of the two and/or if you had any possible art for the ship? :0

I did see your other ask, and I was hanging onto it because I actually haven't drawn Jodi/Caroline yet but I wanted to for a while, and didn't have time to reply this week until now! I also knew this was gonna take a while to write up haha so thanks for being patient

this is the first time I've drawn them! I put a little bit of how I draw Abigail and Sam into their features c:

Headcanons and stuff below the cut because it's really long

The whole ship for me spawned from like… when I was first playing stardew, I noticed Caroline has so much dialog about how she's frustrated with Pierre for being so consumed with work that he's absent when it comes to his family. She also doesn't seem to like being a homemaker, having lines about getting takeout often, while Pierre seems to value those things, as shown in that Abigail heart event where he wants her to help with the cooking at home 😬 And in Jodi's case, she's really badly overworked and talks repeatedly about regretting having kids so young and not being able to live her life. Though after learning more about Sam's storyline, I'm a little less empathetic toward Jodi as I initially was because she's the type of mom who takes on more work for herself and then complains she's overwhelmed, instead of like, having her kids or husband do chores to ease the burden. And like of course Jodi and Caroline are always talking together in the plaza, or at festivals 👀

So this is the basis: They're both unhappy with their families/husbands, and I could imagine a scenario where they both just throw it all away for each other. If you'd want it to be extra angsty, you could have them be really conflicted and question whether it was the right choice, but they've already come that far so they're afraid that they wouldn't be able to go back even if they wanted to now. I suppose you could also have them just be cheating on their husbands if that's your thing, but I personally hate infidelity and am really choosy about how and when it's used in a story, so I would be happier with them just cutting ties and running off together.

Since I've started writing my fic, and thus had them in it as side characters, I've started writing their husbands as all being more attentive than in the canon (Demetrius to Robin especially-- I know we're not talking about them currently but I'm such a ride or die for Demetrius I feel the need to say 😂) so I haven't thought as much about this ship as I did right when I very first got into stardew valley. But I think the potential is there!!

Maybe it starts as like.. they're having these green tea afternoons together and Caroline feels so good being appreciated and listened to for once, and Jodi feels so at peace being able to relax even just for a few minutes, that they're like oh god… I kind of want this forever. This, and nothing else. It's a selfish choice but it's also something understandable, given how unhappy they are and how much they've put their families before themselves. What if for once, they put themselves first and just absolutely salt the earth on their way out? 👀

I think also that Caroline gives off the vibes that she's adventurous? It's kinda implied in some of her dialog (I think especially if you romance Abigail?) that she was a wild young woman who never saw herself settling down even though she ultimately did. In Jodi's case, she had Sam so young she never got to properly enjoy her youth. So I think they would have a blast together living out the wild 20's they never got to experience now that they're women in their 40's :3 and they kiss of course that's the most important part 😂

[slowpokegamer]

I really hate when people use the argument of Book/Game Dandelion is misogynistic and sexist to dislike him and prefer Netflix Jaskier over him.

It's genuinely fine to have preferences, not saying it's not okay /gen However, a lot of the time the arguments being made literally just sound like a character having flaws and being a bad person is the most horrible sin in the world, and the only way we can consume characters and media is when they have no flaws and are perfect little blorbos with nothing negative about them.

It's fine to dislike a character when they're doing bad things and have bad views, that's a-okay! It's not okay to act like a character having realistic flaws and being a bad person in their media is the worst crime known to humanity. The Witcher isn't and has never been an escapist fantasy; it's dark and realistic in how it portrays war, people, and human nature. The characters within this world are going to reflect that realism.

As much as I love Joey Batey, I do think that wiping some of that selfishness from Jaskier's character, taking away some of these flaws that he has within the books and games has done harm to the character. Dandelion... Jaskier, is selfish. That is an active part of his personality and his arc throughout the series, and we shouldn't be afraid to see characters exhibiting negative traits and navigating those types of stories.

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

The Silco Saga, Part Two*: Vander and Silco haunt the narrative (and are kinda gay for each other)

*This is the second (well, actually third) post in a series I’ve lovingly dubbed “The Silco Saga, a retrospective after Season 2”. It’s halfway between flow of conscience, meta, headcanon and review, spawned from my Arcane brainrot (and recent S1 rewatch) and vaguely aimed at trying to reevaluate the entirety of Arcane with a focus on my Main Man™ Silco. Here is Part 1 (on how S2 handled Silco and Jinx’s relationship) and Part 1.5 (miscellaneous thoughts regarding timeline issues and Silco’s actions towards the kids in S1ep3).

Please feel free to comment! I love hearing different perspectives on this show.

Also, quick disclaimer (just in case it wasn’t clear from the title of this post): I ship them. Don’t like, don’t read. And I swear to God, if I hear anyone say “but they’re brothers!!!1!”, know that I’m going to curse your entire genome until the thermal death of the Universe. Bye.

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Vander’s original sin

The portrayal of Vander that emerges from S1 and S2 is that of a man who is trying to do good by his people, but is plagued by guilt and shame due to the horrific acts of violence he committed in the past. S2 clearly shows us that the events of the Day of Ash and the subsequent attempted murder of his best friend/comrade/homoerotic situationship (I’m looking at you, Brokeback Mountain jackets) were intensely traumatic not just for Silco, but for Vander as well. I’ll admit I didn’t much care for him in S1 (mostly because of his goody-two-shoes aura which most of the fandom seemed to latch on to), but I think the elements S2 added to his backstory turned him into a wonderfully complex and contradictory character. It cements something I already kind of sensed about him in S1: that there’s a distinct layer of hypocrisy in Vander’s strict adherence to pacifism (to the point of inaction), which is not really a byproduct of a deeply held personal belief about the ethics of non-violence, but instead a way to cope with his guilt about Silco and the other victims of the Day of Ash revolt. Vander chooses to “atone” for his sins by suppressing all forms of violence, both internal and external, thus generating a safe but stifling environment in which the Lanes survive, but arguably cannot thrive long-term. And in line with Arcane’s tragic narrative, he gets ultimately punished for it: he’s forced to loose all that he holds dear (Silco, the kids and his peaceful little world) and to ultimately embody what he hates and fears most about himself (being a violent monster only capable of destruction).

During my first watch of S2 I couldn’t really figure out whether I liked or not the fact that Felicia’s death was the reason for Vander’s “betrayal” of Silco (it felt a bit contrived and love-triangle-y), but after giving it much thought I have decided that, in fact, I quite like it. It plays heavily into the theme of guilt being central to Vander’s character, and how this guilt really ends up snowballing into something completely unmanageable. Guilt about Felicia (and probably many others that died on that day) leads him to turn on Silco; and later, guilt about Silco ultimately makes him give up all violent means of revolution because he’s too afraid to harm the people he loves. Guilt also becomes a motivating factor for his adoption of Vi and Powder, since we now know he’s not just selflessly picking up two strays, but acting on a promise done to a dear friend who’s just died because of him. The fact that the details of his “betrayal” of Silco are kept pretty much a secret also reeks of guilt and shame. There’s this layer of selfishness and cowardice to his actions that I find very refreshing for a character that’s introduced to us as the closest thing to a paragon of virtue in all of Arcane.

It’s deeply tragic how his inability to properly deal with his past impacts the rest of the narrative; perhaps, had he told Vi the real reason for his unwillingness to rise against Piltover, and not the wishy-washy “violence bad, be responsible” speech, she would have been less rash and black-and-white in her thinking.

I wish S2 spend more time on the two sisters reflecting on Vander and Silco’s relationship. While it’s natural for us to draw parallels between the dyads Vi-Jinx and Vander-Silco, in reality their situations are quite different. There was no ‘betrayal’ between Vi and Jinx, just two grief-stricken children unable to handle an immensely tragic situation; but, due to the ‘lessons’ imparted to them from their ‘parents’ (lessons which themselves were distorted due to their own inability to deal with their past), they are led to believe their situation is as hopelessly unsolvable as it was for Vander and Silco.

The letter

I still haven’t decided on whether the letter would have worked on Silco or not. I think timing plays a big factor. The Silco we meet in arc 1 of S1 probably wouldn’t have been swayed; he’s already too set in his “rebirth” mentality, and the new man he has become doesn’t care about Vander’s sentimental platitudes. A younger Silco, with less time to crystallize into his new identity… maybe. I think the Best Timeline of S2ep7 (yes, that’s what I’m calling it) sort of implies that Silco got the letter almost immediately, given the state of his wound (and the absence of Shimmer).

I wonder if we are also meant to implicitly understand that his use of Shimmer in the Worst Timeline (a.k.a. Arcane, the Netflix show) had some kind of negative influence on his psyche. After all, Shimmer does seem to impact the emotions of its users; if it did influence Silco’s radicalization, it would make his story doubly tragic. I’ve always found his use of Shimmer an interesting tidbit in S1, and the fact that the show doesn’t explain it very much beyond using it to show the amount of trust between him and Jinx has always been very intriguing to me.

Anyway. I think that, in any case, the letter would have been only the first step in Silco and Vander’s trajectory towards reconciliation. They both have a lot of issues to unpack; I love the headcanon going around that one of Silco’s prerequisites to their “peace treaty” is for Vander to rejoin the political fight for Zaun. It sounds just so… in character for Silco to demand something like that; it acts as both a justification and a shield, preventing him to expose himself too much at the beginning, while ensuring that he and Vander remain close.

I think it was already clear in S1 that they both secretly craved to be close again, especially Silco, given how hard he still tried to convince Vander to work with him in S1ep3. (Which is kind of insane of him, if you think about it, but I guess working closely with the man who tried to murder you — and almost succeeded — kinda fits into his whole “almost dying turned me into an Übermensch” philosophy?) Now, with Vander’s letter in S2, we know for a fact the feeling was mutual. Which is, again, horribly tragic for them both, because they’re both so set in their respective ways that actual reconciliation is made impossible.

And they were miners (oh my God they were miners)

Since we’re already kind of on the topic of whether or not Zaundads is real (or just the fruit of our collective hallucination), let’s give to Caesar wha belongs to Caesar: I don’t think the writers meant for them to turn out that way. Their dialogue doesn’t particularly strike me as hinting to anything beyond a very close friendship.

… The animators, however? Those French fucks (affectionate) knew what they were doing. The imagery of the jackets stored one inside the other cannot be a coincidence. There’s really no other cinematic parallel I can think of that doesn’t ultimately lead back to Brokeback Mountain. They were insane for that, and I’m deeply thankful to their perverted French minds (extremely affectionate) that they had the balls to just… put it there. No further comment. Just a glaring nod to the gayest movie ever.

(Also, Brokeback Mountain’s most iconic quote — “I wish I knew how to quit you” — perfectly applies to Vander and Silco. They just can’t seem to let each other go. Silco is still harping on about Vander years after he died. Vander can’t even bear to mention Silco in S1, and the moment they meet again the first thing he blurts out is “I’m sorry”, right after Silco murdered his friend — RIP king Benzo, you didn’t deserve it — in front of him. They match each other’s freak so well, I tell you.)

And then Silco’s scene in the Best Timeline. Just… the touching. The tenderness. The affection. Benzo going “ack!” at them while they gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. It’s just… chef’s kiss. No further comment. Is it, perhaps, self indulgent? Yes. Is Silco’s line about forgiveness cheesy and a bit out of left field? Yes. Do I wish Ekko had more time to ask him what he meant by that, and get in on their backstory (since it would have been deeply meaningful for him too, given how much he idolizes Vander)? Yes.

(Someone please write me fanfiction of this scene. I beg you. I would do it myself but I lack the talent.)

Would I also watch 10 seasons of them being gay married and doing the most irrelevant domestic nonsense? Shamelessly. My poor blorbos deserve it.