#i need to stop talking before i actually become compelled to write this

[lgbtlunaverse]

Thinking about this post about how too many yanli lives AUs don't really change anything about canon and in general seem to be more about giving wwx his shijie back than actually exploring yanli's character and the radical impact her being alive would have on other characters. And this post about how, if you're gonna make yanli gay, you should go all the way and ship her with the female character she is canonically the closest to... her mother in law madam jin. And a truly truly cursed AU is taking shape inside my mind.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I wanted to write out the character dynamics between Lucky and the Straw Hats because I have fallen deep into the Little Lucky AU. At first it was just gonna be a series of one shots with little to no plot for funsies but now I’ve gone and fleshed it out into its own fully developed AU and I feel compelled to share my thoughts on it.

Since I have this happening right after Arlong Park, I realized that at most, they’ve known her for like a week and some change with Sanji only knowing her for a couple of days. I think that this would make adjusting to her becoming a child much easier because ultimately, none of them really knew her. Hell, with her amnesia Lucky barely knew herself. 

It would take about a week for everyone to accept that this is how it is now. The devil fruit user tried to warn them that the effects were permanent (meaning that she’s not going to suddenly switch back, not that she’s permanently 4 she is still going to age normally), but they thought this person was bluffing in order to get mercy or something. As time passes and Lucky is showing no signs of turning back, everyone begins to feel some regret about punting the user into the sea, but now it’s too late.

In Lucky Break, she doesn’t come clean about the truth of where she came from until after Enel is defeated in Skypeia, but in this AU she would tell them the truth during the Alabasta arc. After Drum Island when Nami is recovered because she felt bad for keeping it a secret when Nami was sick.

Luffy’s relationship with Lucky has by far been my favorite to develop, I find it super interesting. Despite not knowing the adult Lucky for very long, Luffy’s emotional intelligence being sky high helped him to understand her better than she probably even understood herself. There was something off about her, and he knew it within their first conversation. The way she had a tendency to shrink in on herself and physically close herself off, and the fact that her smile never once reaches her eyes told him a lot. He doesn’t know where she came from or what it’s like, but he can’t imagine it’s all that great if this is how she acts. He still wants to go there, but now it’s because he needs to throw hands with whoever made her that way. After she’s turned into a child, he immediately notices that she now has that spark that was missing from her eyes before, and he’s bound and determined to fan that spark into a flame so that he doesn’t see that same look when she becomes an adult again.

Having a small child on board does ever so slightly mature him. At first he’s like “Oh there’s a little kid here now? Fun!” but then it evolves into “Hang on I’m responsible for her”. He realizes that this little kid is going to depend on him for everything. Sure, he has his other crewmates to help, but as captain he feels the weight on his shoulder more.

After the Enel situation happens he becomes more noticeably mature and goes out of his way to hover around her more and make her happy. He’s more prone to involving himself in the actual childcare aspects of her life instead of just being ‘the fun best friend’ to her. He sits in on her appointments with Chopper and helps as much as Chopper will allow, both because he wants to help and also as a way for him to see what she had to go through in the moment that he wasn’t there to protect her. He also tries to give advice, mostly about following her dreams and understanding how valuable the freedom to do so is. He’s still her best friend at the end of the day, but there is an air of seriousness to it now.

Lucky idolizes Luffy intensely, he is her Shanks pretty much. Between him being her best friend and saving her, she wants to be just like him when she grows up. He’s the best person ever in her book and she will fight anyone who tries to trash talk him (much to the horror of everyone else who is rushing to stop her).

Zoro naively thought he would be escaping Lucky fussing over him now that she’s a little kid, but he was very wrong. She’s still trailing behind and yelling at him to sit down so she can “make it better”, but now she’s just got a box of colorful kid band-aids instead of actual bandages. Zoro is covered in a rainbow of band-aids at any given moment and he can’t even take them off because she’ll put more on there while scolding him. 

There’s a post where I talk about their interactions a little bit here. With the part about sword fighting, he is very serious about it, but if you look closely you can see small smiles here and there as she makes more progress. He is very proud. He wishes Kuina could have met her, he thinks she would have liked Lucky. Tries to shield her from the idea that she will only be able to go so far because of being a woman, he doesn’t want that stupid mentality weighing her down.

If someone asks him what his relationship to her is, he would state that he’s her teacher. If you asked Lucky, she would say he’s her big brother. Zoro feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest but keeps a straight face and says “that’s fine too”. Lucky looks up to him too, but she also lowkey likes to bully him in true sibling fashion. Like telling him to put his boobs away, running off with his sake, pulling pranks on him when he’s trying to nap, that kind of stuff.

Right after Arlong Park, Nami was feeling very attached to Lucky (tbh she’s the first to start showing yandere tendencies in Lucky Break), so she was honestly a little disappointed at first when they realized Lucky wasn’t turning back into an adult. She would never admit this out loud, but she did feel that way. She snaps out of it pretty quick though and declares herself ‘big sister Nami’. She gets very into it, and likes being the big sister for a change.

As far as she’s concerned, she’s the only responsible adult on board (until Robin comes in). As such, she’s constantly trying to keep Lucky attached to her hip because she’s worried that the others are going to hurt her by doing something stupid. This doesn’t work all that well because there are other people on the ship that are more fun and goofy than she is, so Nami spends most of her day running after Lucky. Lucky is the only person that she doesn’t have a tab for. She’s a little kid, and as adults, it’s everyone’s job on board to take care of her and that includes buying her stuff like clothes/toys/etc. Nami does teach her the value of money and how to be responsible with it for when she’s old enough to have some money of her own, but Lucky isn’t indebted to her or anything.

Lucky finds it a little odd at first when some woman she barely knows insists that she’s her big sister, but she goes with it. Nami can be a little bit of a stick in the mud, but Lucky knows that she can go to her when she needs help. Since they sleep in the same room (sometimes at least, there are lots of sleepovers in the guys’ room), Nami is usually the person she goes to when she has a nightmare.

Usopp is great with kids, and that includes Lucky. He found adult Lucky a little intimidating (for reasons we will get to soon enough), so he honestly gets along with child Lucky more. He loves having a gullible little kid around that he can tell his tall tales to, given that she’s too young to be able to immediately call bullshit. However, he doesn’t anticipate how many questions she’s going to ask about the story. He wasn’t ready for the constant flow of why’s, how come’s, and what’s that’s that get thrown his way. On the bright side, his improvisational skills skyrocket from this.

His job in regards to Lucky is to grab her in a dangerous situation and run away as fast as he can, a role he chose for himself. He does fall victim to being roasted by a tot over this because she will call him a big baby for screaming and crying (lessens post Enel). As a sniper, he is supposed to be further from the battle than others, so he typically is the best choice for her to be with. Like Zoro, he wants to teach her how to use his own weapon of choice and even makes her a tiny slingshot. This backfires because now she’s terrorizing him and Zoro with it (and also takes cracks at marines sometimes).

Usopp is her friend. He doesn’t have the title of best friend or big brother which hurts a bit, but he learns to cope. Lucky does spend a lot of time with him since she thinks he’s funny and fun to play with. He only helped her prank Zoro once because she immediately played innocent and threw him under the bus. That being said, only she can bully him, Franky better sleep with one eye open for beating him up!

Sanji is her dad now, and no one can rob him of that, he will kill for this title. He held off for a week tops after she was turned to make sure that she wasn’t just going to go back to normal, but after that he took a page out of Zeff’s book and adopted her. He wants to go back to the Baratie long enough to let Zeff know he’s a grandpa, but for now will have to wait. He’s always trying to get her to call him “papa” to varying levels of success. She doesn’t cooperate at first because she really doesn’t know him, but she’ll warm up eventually and start calling him that. Though she does sometimes switch back to using Sanji just to mess with him.

Lucky is his entire world basically. You thought he was obsessed with women? That pales in comparison to his devotion to his little princess! His wallet has more pictures of her in it than it has actual money. What money isn’t spent on getting food gets spent on her. If she looks at something for too long, she’s getting it. Nami gets on him frequently about spoiling her too much, even though he says there’s no such thing. Ironically, he has better luck with women now because he’s more toned down around them and it’s just cute to see a doting dad, but he is completely oblivious to it. He genuinely believes that the women are only approaching him because they think Lucky is cute and doesn’t even pick up on them flirting with him because he’s too busy showing off the pictures in his wallet. Nami thinks this is hysterical and won’t point it out.

He wants to cook with her so much, he’s always trying to involve her in the kitchen (with age appropriate things of course). There are limits to what she can safely do, but he’s happy just to have her in the kitchen as a taste tester if that’s all she can do. She doesn’t need to become a chef or anything, but he wants her to know the basics at the very least. If she wants to have a tea party, he’ll get her to help make the little treats to go with it and show her how to perfectly steep the tea. No imaginary tea parties on his watch. The one thing he’s strict on is her eating habits, she needs to stay healthy and that’s not up for debate. If she just genuinely doesn’t like something, that’s understandable, but she can’t just feed Luffy under the table to get dessert faster.

Lucky’s actual father was very emotionally and physically distant, so it takes very little time for her to latch onto Sanji as her new dad. When she does, she basically becomes a daddy’s girl overnight. Sanji gets pulled into playtime whenever he isn’t in the kitchen, whether it be including him in the tea parties, “styling” his hair with dozens of colorful barrettes, or simply making him get in on the games she was playing with the others. With how god awful his childhood was, it’s honestly a little healing for him. He’s happy that he can give someone else the childhood he didn’t get to have. 

Chopper doesn’t get to be the baby of the crew anymore. Lucky would probably be the first to be able to really get close to him on Drum Island, because even Chopper isn’t going to be scared of a four year old. Wary, but not scared. However, after seeing that she isn’t afraid of him and is genuinely trying to befriend him, he comes around. It’s shocking to him to learn that she’s part of a pirate crew, but also inspiring. If someone so young can do it, he can too! They’re fast friends and become thick as thieves. 

Lucky thinks all of his doctor stuff is super interesting and likes to watch when he’s making medicine. She asks lots of questions and also gives out compliments easily. Chopper even shows her how to do some very basic first aid since that’s a good thing to know in emergencies. He also goes over what plants are poisonous and to not eat anything she doesn’t know for a fact is safe. Besides the medical stuff, Lucky enjoys hanging out with him lots because she thinks he’s around her age (and does not believe him when he insists that he’s 15). 

Lucky keeps referring to him as her little brother and it’s driving him insane. No amount of “I told you I’m 15!” will stop her. She thinks he’s lying because they’re both the same height give or take so obviously that means they must be the same age. He can’t even grow into a bigger form because she’ll just say that it doesn’t count since it’s not permanent. Like Luffy, being responsible for the safety of a child does make Chopper slightly more mature. Don’t get me wrong, he will still run away if Lucky is already safe, but if she isn’t then he will square up. Maybe if she sees him protect her, she’ll start calling him big brother! She doesn’t.

Robin feels so conflicted when they first meet. It’s one thing to be taking on grown adults that knew what they were getting into by taking on Baroque Works, it’s another to see a small child being dragged into by association. She intentionally leaves Lucky out of reports to Crocodile. She keeps hoping that Lucky will be dropped off somewhere else and be off the radar, and feels sicker and sicker as they keep getting closer to Alabasta. She’s just a little kid and doesn’t deserve to be dragged into something like this.

After joining the Straw Hats, she finds herself drawn to Lucky, and even uses her name. She does some mental gymnastics to justify this by telling herself that technically it’s a nickname so she’s in the clear. She’s totally not getting attached, she tells herself as she tucks Lucky into bed and reads her a bedtime story. It doesn’t help that Lucky follows her around like a duckling because she finds her very mysterious and cool. Having Lucky think that her devil fruit and all her knowledge is awesome really warms her heart.

It takes a while for her to be called it (post Enies Lobby), but she becomes the mom of the group. Unlike with Sanji, Lucky came to call her this entirely on her own. Robin needs a minute after she gets called that for the first time. That being said, she fills the role well. She’s got that calm and caring vibe to her, while also being a total mama bear. If anyone looks at Lucky the wrong way, she’s eliminating the threat on the spot. Her baby is not about to be punished for existing with what the government deems to be “bad people”. She’s harsh towards anyone she sees as a threat, but especially with marines/government agents. 

Franky is definitely surprised to see a little kid with the Straw Hats, but it also earns some respect from him. He appreciates seeing pirates that don’t just abandon their children, thank you very much. Franky has an energy to him that kids love, and Lucky isn’t immune to it. Granted, at first she just wants to fight him and he can expect to be pelted with pebbles from her slingshot until she’s forgiven him for the Usopp incident. He doesn’t take this personally. In fact, he encourages it. Hell yeah kid! You stick up for your friends! Show me who’s boss! His attitude makes it very hard for her to stay mad for long, especially with Usopp telling her that it’s okay they already made up.

His goofball personality and eccentric behavior make him a lot of fun to be around. On top of that, Lucky likes to sometimes watch him work. He’s very quick to engage her in it, too. He’ll explain what he’s doing and why in great detail, and is happy to answer any questions she has. He’ll even let her hold a flashlight for him even though he has his own built in. Very supportive if she wants to learn more from him, but won’t push it either.

After Lucky comes around on him, she calls him uncle Franky. He’s just got those fun uncle vibes to her. He truly loves the title and is proud of it. He gets a bit cocky and asks if he’s her favorite uncle only to get humbled by her saying no with zero hesitation. Sorry, Franky, you’re no competition for uncle Ace. Despite the devastating blow to his ego, he is a very fun uncle and is insanely protective. 

[evilwickedme]

Tell me more about the significance of Good Guy™ Superman.

Ok I'm typing this all up a second time, a couple of days later, because the first time I typed it all I did it perfectly but it was on my laptop and the hellsite fuckin goofed and it's all gone now so that made me sad. I can't promise to hit all the points I wanted to hit but I'll do my best

We gotta start by clarifying that in the tags that triggered this ask I did specifically say that clark/kal-el/superman being a Good Boy is important to me. I note this because while I have very good justifications for why it's important to me that he's a Good Person™, I acknowledge that this is one of those cases where the facts may back me up, but it genuinely just comes down to matters of individual taste.

So, like, big picture here: superman is Moses. I've talked about this before, you've read about this before, this is more fact than opinion. The parallels are obvious, and loud, and obnoxiously repeated in online spaces just as much as in books such as up, up and oy vey (this is not a recommendation, just pointing out that it's universally acknowledged pretty much everywhere). I'm not going to waste my breath trying to convince you of this fact. Superman is Moses. Moses is, in Judaism, possibly the holiest man to ever live. The first in the prophets. As many of you may recall, in my lecture on Jewish superheros, I argued that Jewish ideas of prophecy found their way into the modern Jewish stories being told by the comic book authors creating the very first superheroes - the very first superhero, of course, being superman.

One noteworthy thing about prophecy as described by Maimonides? The most basic component of prophecy isn't actually talking to god or receiving holy visions, it's actually just... Doing good. Good™. Good as an action, good as an innate need, good for the people around you and the people of the whole world. Moses showed this tendency as a young man - privileged, raised in the house of the pharaoh, he couldn't stand seeing any man get beaten, even if he was a slave. He loses his home over this, the family who raised him. He sees a man getting unjustly punished, and he kills the oppressor over it. And when he goes out again the next day and sees two Hebrews fighting, he tries to stop this as well (Exodus 2). Moses is our holiest prophet; before he ever even acknowledges God's existence, he feels the need to do good and prevent evil; superman is Moses; superman must follow a similar path of goodness as an innate need followed by action.

That's all big picture stuff, though. There's the smaller stuff, too. Not my bigger analysis of comic book heroes and the ideas of prophecy in Maimonides' writing, because honestly that's just... A lot. When it comes down to it, it is so much more satisfying to me that Superman is a person.

He's the first superhero, right? And he's got this insane level of power not really often seen since. Any person who attempts to defeat him needs to use a mix of his one singular weakness and genuine cunning, because there's really no brute forcing your way passed fucking superman. So yeah, you could tell a story like that of the Boys (although I didn't make it past episode 3 of that, my apologies). You could tell a cynical story where terrible people do terrible things and it all gets waved away. But the boys isn't really a story about people who happen to get powers - it's a story about people who have power, positions of authority, government officials and the like, not just superpowers.

That's not Clark Kent's story. Clark Kent is an illegal immigrant who was raised by good people in secrecy. He's handed superpowers, yes, but very rarely power - he's a journalist with farmboy training, and his greatest nemesis is a billionaire who becomes the fucking president of the united states. He fought Hitler in WWII, did you know that? He represents good because it makes for a compelling story. The underdog who's secretly not an underdog at all, choosing every day to fight evil and represent truth (being a reporter is vital to both of these, in case you're wondering). Yeah, he's a bit of a shit dad to Connor, but him not being a perfect person doesn't make him not a good one, especially since - again - in my definition of good, goodness is an action, and one you constantly have to perform and perfect and adapt to changing times.

Going back to Judaism - in Jewish tradition, we all have the force of evil and the force of good inside of us (yetzer hara and yetzer hatov). The word yetzer comes from the same root as the word for creation - we are capable of creating evil and creating good. Superman represents hope and justice because he chooses every day to create good.

And that, in a nutshell, is why it is so important to me that Kal El-Clark Kent-Superman is a Good Guy. Because he can be.

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 Before Terzo leaves on another tour, he has a gift for you and a night for you to remember.

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 Cross.

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬) Terzo x Female!Reader

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 Smut (18+ only, MINORS DNI or I'll appear in your room and become your sleep paralysis demon), unprotected PiV (use protection y'all please I'm begging you don't be irresponsible), talk about tits, riding, tiny bit of fluff at the end.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1915 words.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 Listen I know that this barely uses the prompt and just wanted an excuse to write Terzo smut but can I really be faulted for that? (Spoiler alert, yes I can). Also the community tagging system on here is so weird, so I will be putting a community label on this once I know people have seen it bc tumblr sure likes to hide writers' work and make them wanna leave the site. Am I bitter? Maybe. Who can say! Did I actually proofread this fic for once? Who knows!

Terzo was leaving you again.

It wouldn’t be for long, of course. Your time apart was never for too long but that didn’t stop you longing for him as much as you did in his absence. You craved his love and his touch almost as much as you needed air to breathe, addicted to the way he made you feel boneless and spent after each rendezvous. Many mornings had been spent searching for and covering up the hickeys and bruises he left behind, much to his displeasure. However, you always made sure to show them off when the two of you were alone again, fingers trailing slowly over each mark when you touched yourself for him. And then there were the pictures you’d send him. Plenty of nights when you couldn’t be together had been spent sending him photographs of just how much you appreciated him marking you up, always resulting in him calling you as you fucked yourselves over the phone with sinful words and sounds slipping from your lips.

Now, as you stood bare before him the eve prior to his departure, you felt a sense of pride at the way he groaned just at the sight of you. Nobody else got to see or hear him like this. Not since you stumbled into his life and stole him away from the other siblings that he used for quick, meaningless fucks. You were the only one who get to feel his eyes on them like this.

“I have something I would like you to wear for tonight, tesoro,” he purred, his hands on your hips pulling you flush against him. Even through his clothes you could feel his cock straining to be released. “Can you do that for me? Be a good girl?”

You felt yourself grow wetter at his words. “I’m always a good girl for you, Papa. I’ll wear whatever you want.”

His lips brushed against yours for just a moment before he moved away from you and over to his desk. You heard the drawer open and close before he returned to you, a silver chain poking through his fingers.

“Close your eyes for me.” Terzo’s voice was firm, compelling you to do as he ordered. The moment your eyes were shut you felt him turn you around and something cold touch your skin between your breasts.

After a few seconds, you felt what you assumed to be the chain drop against the base of your neck and your eyes fluttered open once more, gasping at the sight of you in his mirror.

“What do you think?” he asked, smirking at you through the mirror as his fingers ghosted along your sides. “Do you like it, mia amata?”

Your fingers pick up the silver cross dangling from your neck. The gift would have confused you if you didn’t know Terzo. In the time that you’d been together – romantically and sexually – you’d come to learn that he had a thing for desecrating crosses. On more than one occasion you’d both had sex beneath the grucifix at the altar downstairs, him bending you over and making you stare at the holy symbol as he fucked into you from behind and pulled your hair.

You turned around to face him with a smile. “I love it, although I don’t think it would be wise for me to wear it around the ministry. Sister Imperator would have a heart attack and I’m sure your father would have a stroke.”

“And if I tell you that I want you to never take it off while I’m away?”

You felt your face heat up, speechless. Terzo was a romantic at heart, even if sex was constantly on his mind. He’d told you on more than one occasion how deeply he cared for you, but this was the first time he’d given you something material to show you how important you were to him.

“Then I’ll do what you ask and wear it beneath my habit.”

He hummed in approval. “Good girl. Even if I’m far away, I hope this little gift will remind you that I am always thinking of you. I want you to treasure it and think of me every time you see it dangling behind those gorgeous tits of yours.”

You let out a laugh at that. “You and tits. Sometimes I’m sure you only keep me around because you like them so much.”

You yelped giggled when he lightly smacked your ass. “Then perhaps I had better remind cuore mio just how much I like the rest of her body too, si?”

Terzo stepped away from you and began to strip, doing so slowly and putting on a show. Your eyes were immediately drawn to his hardened cock once it was free from his pants, twitching as if begging for your attention. The piercing at the end of it had you biting your lip, which didn’t go unnoticed by your lover.

“I would ask if you like what you see, but I already know that my girl loves every inch standing right in front of her.” He reached out for your hand, pulling you into his lap so you were straddling his thighs once he was sat against the headboard. His palms caressed the tops of your legs, his thumbs dipping close to where you wanted him to touch you the most but never making contact.

You leaned forward and kissed him, his paint smearing over your lips as you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. You made sure to push your breasts up against his chest, relishing the almost inaudible moan that left his lips when your tongue pushed into his mouth. His hands came to rest on your ass, massaging your cheeks and rocking you against him so that there was just that little bit of friction between both of you. Your head tilted to the side and he did the same, moving his in the opposite direction so you both had better access to one another’s mouths. He tasted faintly of sour cherries, the flavour lingering on your tongues as you kissed.

Fingers traced teasingly over your folds, eliciting a sigh from you as the two of you parted. Terzo gathered your slick with two of his digits and you watched as he brought them up to his lips and licked them clean, maintaining eye contact as he did so. He parted his fingers and licked between them lewdly.

“You taste divine, tesoro. But I think you would taste even better with my cum leaking out of you, ah?” He sucked his fingers into his mouth briefly then pulled them out with a soft popping noise.

You reached out and lightly stroked him, smirking at his satisfied grunt when your thumb ran over the head of his cock. “Then maybe you should hurry and fill me up so you can find out, Papa.”

Your lover growled and smacked your hand away from his dick, grabbing your hips and moving you so that his tip was brushing against your entrance. He slid it through your slit a couple of times, gathering your arousal on his head, and tapped it against your clit as he leaked precum.

“Well,” he said in a low voice, “you’d better ask nicely then, hm? I’m sure a good girl like you knows how to ask for what she wants.”

Pouting, you batted your eyelashes at him. “Please put it in me, Papa. I need your cock inside me so badly. Wanna feel your piercing rubbing inside me.”

Terzo hissed out a curse and bit his lip as he gently guided you down onto him. You both sighed as you took more and more of him, the feeling of his piercing scraping against your walls blissful as you fully sheathed him. You waited a moment, allowing yourself to get used to the stretch, then slowly rose before sliding back down again. Terzo threw his head back with a gasp and his fingers gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“You take me so well, tesoro. Fuck, such a perfect pussy all for me.”

He set your pace for you as you began to bounce. You could feel his piercing grazing against your insides, clamping down on him when he started rubbing your clit in time with your movements. You whined when his teeth dragged over the pulse point on your neck. He sucked the skin, biting down to mark you once again. You didn’t care if it was somewhere more difficult to conceal – you’d wear it with pride just like the beautiful cross he gave you.

“Mm, you feel so good. Squeezing me just right,” he groaned, lifting his hips off the mattress to thrust deeper into you. The quiet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin mixing with the wet sounds of your arousal made you speed up a little, pulling his hair and committing the high-pitched moan to memory. He loved it when you yanked the strands, and you loved hearing him react to it. It made you clench around him again, a familiar warmth pooling in your abdomen.

You took hold of his wrist and sped up his fingers on your clit, mewling at how good it felt. “Want you to cum, Papa. Wanna cum with you.”

“Shit, yes. Whatever you want. Do anything to feel you cum on my cock.” Terzo planted his feet on the mattress and thrusted up into you harder, the slight change in angle making him hit that spot inside you that had your toes curling.

“Satanas, right there!” you cried out, clinging onto him now that he knew the speed you wanted him to touch your bundle of nerves. Your climax was quickly approaching, and his name spilled from your lips over and over in a litany of praise. He took hold of the cross necklace that bounced between your tips and pulled on it to bring your lips crashing down against his as you started to cum, your walls fluttering around him and milking him. He came not long after you did, his warm seed filling you as his hips stuttered and his finger stopped moving.

When the feeling of him inside you started to feel too much, you gently stopped his thrusting and lifted yourself off him. He purred as he watched his spend start to leak out of you and swiped his fingers between your folds, making you gasp at the brief overstimulation before he stuck those fingers in his mouth and sucked.

“Mm, just as I suspected,” he murmured as he pulled you into an embrace. “You taste even better with my cum dripping out of you. I will have to remember that for next time.”

You giggled as you nestled yourself against his side, your arm draped lazily over his stomach as he held you. “I’ll look forward to it, mio amato.”

A purr rumbled through Terzo’s chest. “I love you, tesoro. Much more than you could ever fathom. Please do not ever think that I only want you for your body. You are much more than that to me.”

Warmth flooded through your chest at his words. You lifted your head and gave him a chaste kiss, caressing the now messy paint on his cheek.

“I know, Terzo. I love you too, with all that I have and could ever hope to be.”

The two of you fell asleep like that, holding one another in post coital bliss.

[daydream-cement]

Hello Kaley!

I was thinking about a prompt for Larissa x Fern.

Happening a week after Fern resuscitation, how did the staff react? Did she not tell her fam? What did Larissa and Fern do? Besides sexy stuff 😂 you can write the smut for that bit but not 100% necessary in my part. I’m entrigued by the students and staff finding out that she was alive ‘cause they all seemed to love her. 💗

If you are planning on something for the fic along this lines do ignore me 🌝

Thanks!

-Ana

You’re Alive?

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Authors Note: “besides sexy stuff” you are hilarious

Larissa was adamant that you visit the doctor before she let you begin working again as botany professor. You passed all the physical exams and Larissa seemed a little disappointed a doctor didn’t say that you should stay in bed for her to dote after you. You were ready the following Monday. Part of you wished you had taken a picture to always remember the look on your students’ faces that morning when they strolled into class.k

The mixture of confusion and awe was high when you walked from the greenhouse into the main classroom. It was surprising to hear the voice that spoke up first. Wednesday Addams spoke up with a real smile on her face, you had never seen her smile before, “You’re alive?”

You only smile, giving the students an opportunity to adapt to your presence and ask questions. Wednesday persisted, seeming all too interested in your death and life experience, “You cheated death?”

“It seems like I did.” You offer, ready to field the next question.

“But we buried you. Are you a zombie?” Ajax looked a little nervous, looking around at his classmates to see if everyone else was seeing the same thing.

“I am not a zombie.” You didn’t feel quite comfortable telling the students about your extensive relationship with the surrounding forest.

“What brought you back? WAS IT THE POWER OF LOVE? Because you love Principal Weems?” Enid stood from her chair and leaned over the top of her desk, waiting adamantly for your reply.

“Yes. It was the power of love.” You response was a little sarcastic, but these students didn’t need to know the extent in which the forest watched everything. You saw some of the class go doe-eyed at how cute your response was while the other class looked like they could be sick, “You should have seen Principal Weems though. She had a sword fight with Crackstone and won.”

The advanced botany students went wide eyed. Most of them had been face to face with the pilgrim and they were shocked to hear your statement.

“I don’t believe that.” You hear Bianca’s skepticism.

“Well let me tell you what really happened to cause my death and then you’ll see how I was saved by the power of love.” You went over the story in basic details but really embellished the achievements of Larissa and Rowan. They were the real hero’s of the story. You just benefited from their heroism by coming back to life. The story seemed to satisfy them and even become enamored with Principal Weems.

Wednesday stopped you after class, her words in her typical monotone cadence, “You are my hero. Cheating death is the ultimate victory.”

You were going to brag to Larissa about that one to tonight.

Later that day, you felt the eyes of fellow staff members staring at you. Rowan put on her best ‘scary dog’ face and glared at them if they looked at you too long.

They knew more than the students did about the whole incident as it was a threat to the entire school. Rowan, being the blabbermouth that she was, had shared many of the other details of Larissa bringing you back to life. It seemed like the power of love was the most compelling reason to why you came back to life. Yet none of the other teachers actually stopped you to talk to you about the situation.

You really didn’t care. After everything that happened, you were happy to have Larissa, Rowan, and a engaged classroom of students.

That night you made sure to brag to Larissa about being Wednesday’s hero to which she replied, “She doesn’t need another bad influence.”

“You wound me.” You turn and lay your body across Larissa’s lap. You both had been enjoying time on the sofa together when you remembered the conversation from class this morning, “The students believe I was saved by the healing powers of love.”

“Hm, the healing powers of love…” Larissa chucked and placed a hand on your cheek. She was on her phone, playing a game to unwind.

Your students weren’t exactly wrong. You had been healed by love. Larissa’s love to plant the tree. Larissa’s love to try to save you. Rowan and Larissa’s love for you and Nevermore. Ultimately you had told the students the truth in a way, and now students believed you and Larissa were two of the coolest people at Nevermore.

[sleepy-seal]

[It's an beeping noise. Fate update. ]

Hello, gale. I probably think you hate me..along with that person..., but that's ok, I've gotten over it. It's the least of my concern right now.

I quit my job. Meaning, I am free of most of the chains preventing me to give privy to tell you everything, right now.

.... Truth is, I can't control anything. I'm a researcher who has no control over any of the variables. But, you already know that. I have the feeling you do.

... I don't know why I'm doing this. But, there's one way to stop this loop for good.

Number 1- revive moth, and burn the book ryder gave to moth immediately. It'll cause nothing but issues.

Number 2- whoever bothers you, stop them at all costs. Except acher. And now.

Number 3- get acher a new motivation outside of killing the person they need to kill. Give them more purpose, somehow. I don't know how, but it is possible. The steps are there. It's something only you people can do.

.. As for me and ryder and Andrew, our story is pretty much done, I think. I don't know what I can do from here.

... I'm sorry I had to tell it to you like this. And... I'm sorry to that person, if you see them, that i couldn't do anything about it. I was too weak to do anything. I'm sorry.

-the one known as drew. This isn't a fake, just in case. Nobody else can write fate, except for me.

[Gale was curled up on a couch when Fate began to beep.]

Oh, it's...

[Gale picks the book up carefully, looking at the cover apprehensively.]

I haven't seen you in a while.

[Gale opens the book, finally reading through the latest entry. The more they read, the more they felt guilt seep into every fiber of his being.

Once shell read all the way through, he felt compelled to grab a pen.]

I don't know if.... this'll work. But I think Acher did the same and it worked fine so.

[Ocean searched for a writing utensil and found something, then returning to the book.]

"Hello, Drew. I'm sorry if this isn't how I'm supposed to contact you, but I don't really know any other way.

I'd.... like to apologize for how I acted before with you. I was angry and frustrated for being trapped and I directed my fury at you. You didn't deserve to be yelled at by me. You were... you were doing what you could. I wish I could do more than just apologize to a book.

I think I've just become so... angry. I don't know why, but it's just been something I've felt so frequently lately. I don't want to keep doing that.

...Thank you for the advice. It's pretty good. The first one, I will be sure to remind Moth about it.

The second one, I'm assuming you're talking about Maiden in White. I don't know how to stop her yet, but maybe I'll tell you when I get the chance. Hopefully it doesn't become drastic.

I'm working on the third one. Acher and I watched a movie together and we talked about starting a band. It's pretty silly but... I actually want to go through with it. She seems to be a fan of music. Not in a euphemism way, surprisingly.

Congrats on quitting your job by the way. I think it's for the best. You were pretty stressed before.

Thank you, again. And I'm really sorry for everything."

[mikomikono]

hi miko! im here with a fic writing question… i was thinking about how to make smut good bc recently i feel like whenever i get to the smut part of the fic im writing i get super bored, like im just rehashing whatever ive been writing in every smut scene ive done for years. you and endles came to mind bc i always find your guys nsfw scenes really compelling, and great, and unique. while also being hot and fun (very important w smut!!) so i wanted to ask if you had any tips for keeping things exciting or fresh when you are tackling those scenes! especially because you guys have experience writing the same characters many times over and manage to be so creative and distinct with every scene ive read from you. so, i guess, penny for your thoughts, if you feel like it! (sorry for sending this only to you and asking for both your opinions, it was the simplest 😭. if u want to answer yourself only thats fine haha)

❤️

Heyyyy oh my god I never expected to become someone ppl would come to for writing advice, what an honour 💖 also, I hope you don't mind me answering publicly, bc I feel like this is something a lit of writers struggle with! I will put it under a cut tho, bc I ended up writing quite a bit oops

So. Smut. It's kinda funny you should ask me about that, bc the first proper sex scene I ever wrote was last year for Steamship Sexcapades (bc I am not counting that one feeble attempt at 19 that was so cringe that I hid it away and didn't even think about trying again for like 8 yrs) but I suppose after writing *checks The Canon word count* a lot since then means something :DD

Here's the thing: I also feel like I'm rehashing things. Constantly. There's only so many ways you can say "cock in hole ➡️ thrust" before you're gonna have to repeat some phrases. And honestly, I feel like I repeat phrases remarkably often! But in a way that's all writing! (or that's how I stop myself from getting too depressed about it lol) The readers don't notice! Usually. And as long as you don't use the exact same wording every single time.

Ok, so here's a few tips on what I, personally, think you need to make a good sex scene:

Don't be afraid of the words. Y'know, the first time I wrote "half-hard cock" I (allegedly) had to take a 10min break and texted a friend that I was not going to be able to do this. But after a while you sort of get used to it and the words that seemed embarrassing stop being that, and become just... Words. And you also shouldn't shy away from more "cringe" words! Sometimes its fun to be a little cringe!

Related, you should try to love the words. But that's just good general writing advice, I feel.

Describe the emotions. Most people feel... something towards those they are intimate with, and that should be true in erotica too. It should be especially true in erotica, I think! Even if it's a one night stand, strangers who met in the club 5mins ago, whatever... You want the characters to feel.

Don't forget the physical. This is a thing that might seem a bit... weird. Like, you're writing sex, how could it not be physical? But what I mean is that you shouldn't forget to describe how it feels to the people involved, most notably your POV character. It's very easy to get lost in describing what they're doing and completely forget to get into the actual feeling. You're not writing a sex manual! And I have read fics where half way through I realise that's what it sounds like.

It's never just about the sex. Even if you think it is, it's not. It's about the connection, the narrative, the characterisation... It's about showing something that you can only show through the kind of vulnerable intimacy that sex scenes provide. Even if it's a oneshot pwp, it still has something to say. Maybe that something is wanting to get your rocks off, but also we're talking about fanfiction... We don't read and write that just to get off. It's always about the characters.

Rehashing is fine, actually. As I said, there's only so many ways to describe certain things, and so many ways you can have sex. Except that's not really true, because the secret to keeping it fresh is mixing it up! You can change positions, you can change who's the top/bottom, you can add foreplay (you should) and then change what kind of foreplay you wanna have! You can look into kinks! You can change locations! (I know we've done that a lot) You can add or remove any number of things to make each individual encounter different! And that's the key: repetition is fine, so long as you don't use the exact same everything every time. Case in point, there is a tumblr post which I would link except I'm on mobile, that is titled sth like "list of vocal sounds for smut", which has a list of, well, sounds/verbs (moan, groan, hiss, whimper, whisper etc) and adjectives that could be paired with them (hoarse, needy, quiet, throaty, desperate, wanton etc). The point is, that the best way to keep from sounding repetitive is to mix and match the words so that even if you say "groan" five times in 5k words, it's a different kind of groan every time. The same applies to sex acts! Do you have any idea how much cock Ryunosuke has sucked during The Canon? A lot. But it doesn't feel repetitive (hopefully) because everything else around it is switched up.

And perhaps most importantly: you gotta be at least a little horny for it yourself. I get it, man, writing smut is weird. You sit in front of your computer, staring at the monitor like "hmm is it better to use the word cock or dick or member?" And like... That's not very sexy. But! But!!! At the end of the day you gotta write something that makes you excited! Otherwise what's the point? Why are you writing if it doesn't fulfill you on some level??

Anyway, that's just my thoughts on the matter. If you want more specific help with writing, you can always DM me, I don't mind~

Also, endles says she is too mentally exhausted to properly answer, but she seconds everything I said, especially the point about loving the words. Actually she really wants to say sth about that, so I'm paraphrasing her for the rest of this:

You, as a writer, should love language. You should love the neat little things that language can do and seek out new things to try every time. It's a journey of discovery! Just like sex is always a new journey, even if it's the same characters and the same sex acts, every individual time is a chance to find something new. Let yourself have fun! Write something really stupid and work from that. The way I create scenes by writing jokes, even for serious scenes, because sex at the core is kinda funny. You're standing naked (at least partially) in front of this other naked person and it makes you feel a bit funny.

Also concrete advice: pick a list of 5-10 words you want to use. They can be anything, verbs, nouns, adjectives, as long as you really, really vibe with them, because they make you happy, as long as they're not words you already use a lot. They can also all relate to the same theme if you want! And then find a way to put all those words in.

[its-a-me-lia]

Darling, Why are you crying Darling?

LA!BuggyXfem!OC

I wanted to try my hand at writing again. I know I said in my last short fic that I probably wouldn't write again, but I figured to give it another go.

MDNI

Rated M for Mature.

WARNINGS: Female pronouns, Domestic Violence, Anger.

Part1| Part 2| Part 3| Part4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7

This will NOT be Y/N or Reader. Its based on a character I have been saving up in my noodle. Criticism is welcomed.

Now without further adieu.... The Fic

🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼

Ever since she was a little girl, Ava loved adventure. She craved adventure. When she was old enough, she thought the world was hers, that she could make it hers. Life had other plans.

On a cold fall night, Ava didn't imagine sitting at the grave of her parents. Taken from her too soon. She was only 16. Left without a family, and a home. She was pushed into living on the streets. She had become a thief just to make ends meet. Trying and failing miserably not to get caught. And get caught is exactly what she did.

She had met him by accident, thought she could pick pocket a rich man. He looked around her age, didn't have a spec of dust on him. He had clean hair and a beautiful smile. The way he talked and the way he moved. She thought twice, and couldn't go with it.

She left him alone.

She had left the building and she though 'Did I really get caught by a beautiful smile and clean hair?' The answer to that was simple. Yes, yes she did.

A day or two go by, Ava was walking on the streets, she had managed to steal nicer looking clothing, and yet her hair stayed a mess. That wasn't the case for Jeremy.

Jeremy was the son of a rich, shipyard owner. He was to be the heir when his father passes. He hoped not too soon. He had recognized the scraggly girl in too posh clothing for her posture. The way she held herself, he could tell she didn't come from money. But he had recognized her from the other night, he saw her sneaking in. He was intrigued.

"Hello." He said as he approached her. "I think we may have met before, do I know you?"

Ava startled in his voice, she turned around and was greeted by his nice hair and beautiful smile. Dammit.

"N-no, we never met." She cleared her throat. "I *ahem* I'm not from here."

He studied her body language. "Clearly, I'm Jeremy Hirsch."

"Hirsch." She knew that name, her father did business with them, they were close to closing a deal, then...well.

"Yeah, of the Hirsch Shipyard. Sure you heard of it." He said in a matter of fact tone. Ava, had a bad feeling of that. "Let me buy you some food. You look like you need it."

If he could smell the way she smelled, he was generous.

Ava had to admit, lunch was amazing. She hadn't had a nice meal in awhile. God knows how long, she actually sat at a restaurant and ate a decent meal.

The two of them got to talking and she really enjoyed his company. He was very, compelling.

"Sorry to cut this chat short, but I got to go. I have to meet with my parents." She had gotten up and his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. A little too tight. "Jeremy."

"Sorry, I just got a little nervous." He spoke and let go of her wrist. "You should stay, just a little while longer."

Very compelling.

That little while longer turned into a fling, that fling turned into Jeremy sneaking her into his home. The two of them flirting, the kissing, the sex.

That fling turned into dating, then to an engagement, Wedding.

The wedding never happened thought.

Ava hid the bruises very well. She hid the tears too. She pretended to welcome ever blow Jeremy had laid on her. He held her as they slept in the same bed, she was too tired to have sex. But that didn't stop him. She laid there, he did what he wanted to her. How did her life come to this? Where did she go wrong? Some nights, he would go out and get drunk, come home with a woman on his arms.

He was make her watch. Slap her. "Keep your eyes open princess." He said in her ear, as he said drunkenly. Giving her a kiss on the mark he had just made.

The day of the wedding, Ava ran, in her wedding dress. She didn't want this life. She didn't want to be his wife. His bride to do his biding.

She had no idea where she was going but she ran. Let her feet guide her. The further away she got the freer she felt.

Finally, finally she finally felt herself sinking into the sand. She had made it to the shoreline. She took in deep heavy breaths, each one stung as she had been running for awhile.

She sobbed, screamed and ripped the gown that was adorn her small body. She clawed at the skin that was once touched by a man she didn't want to remember.

Ava heard footsteps approaching her. God she hoped it wasn't him, she begged whatever being that was above, that she was spared.

"Darling, why are you crying darling?" The voice was softer, a mans voice. A bit raspy and almost calming. The waves of the ocean. She looked up and her brown eyes met the soft sea foam green eyes. She didn't even notice the red nose at the moment. Then, she realized she was in the presence of the notorious sea Captain.

Buggy the Clown.

She froze, she knew of his reputation, why was he here. Was he going to the the town? She hoped so, she didn't to be alive anymore.

"I-" She didn't have words to say. Her throat and voice her.

"You know, I could hear you from a mile away. You were like a sirens call. You lured me right to you." He spoke carefully. "Now judging from the state of your clothing, and the sobbing mess you are. I'm guessing your partner is the reason behind this."

"He's the reason for everything." She sounded so broken, Buggy did not like that. A pretty thing like herself didn't deserve to be in this much pain.

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." Smooth talker he was.

She eyed him cautiously. "Last time I talked about my scars, I got trapped into what I thought was the greatest time of my life."

"I'm different."

"He said the same thing." She looked at her hands. "Aren't you going to kill me?"

"Why would I do that?" Now she had his attention.

She laughed humorlessly. "You're a pirate. Pirates kill people. Raid towns."

"Let's just say, I had a change of heart." The blue haired man then sat next to her in the sand. "So?"

"What interest does a Sea Captain have in a street rat like me?"

He drew in the sand with his finger. "Why would you say you're a street rat?"

"Because that's what I am, and always will be." She had looked up and watched the Horizon. The way the waves crashed, in time with her heart beat.

"I don't see a street rat. I see a broken soul who was damned at a young age. Is that, what happened to you? Were you damned at a young age?" He spoke from experience, his voice showing sympathy.

She was skeptical, she had right to be. She said nothing and Buggy took that as a yes. They sat in silence for what felt like hours. She saw the sun set and the horizon disappear into darkness.

"I can't go home." Ava finally spoke. "I can never return home."

"it's a good thing I have a big ship." Buggy said. "You don't have to go home. You don't have to say a word to me, but I can take you far away from this place. When the time is right, and only when the time is right. You can tell me about your scars. For now, would you like to go on an adventure?" He stood up and held her hand out to him.

Adventure.

Ava had always dreamed of adventure. Is this where her journey is to begin? Life aboard a pirate ship? Going with him could spell out a lot of dangerous courses. Of course, she lived a life of danger all ready.

"Yes"

Just a simple answer is all she needed to say. Grabbing Buggy's hand. This was the start of something new. Something she had always dreamed about.

🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼🌸🌼

Please let me know what you think. I have been working really hard on this. Thinking to make this multiple parts.

Love yas! ~Lia 🌼

[amazing-spiderling]

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

🍭why did you start writing?

💞

I played a little process of elimination here. Could I read (and even enjoy?) a story with less than ideal plot, worldbuilding, grammar, and language? Yes, I think so- even though those all enhance the experience for me. I can think of specific times I've had to stop reading and just *sit* with a perfect and unique metaphor- when an author described something and I realize that if I had a hundred years to come up with a million different ways to describe the same thing, I never would have imagined it the same way they did. And there are times I've read fanfic and thought the plot was so engaging, the worldbuilding so rich that even if it wasn't about a fandom I was in, I would still enjoy it. (Sometimes I throw those recommendations to my friends, just as a sample of excellent writing.)

But the characters. Oh. I am very sensitive to what the kids call, "he would not fucking say that" syndrome. Even in actual mainstream media- I will suffer through absolute *dreck* if there is even one character I really like, who is written very well. I need those characters that ping for me to become invested in a story. After that- everything else is just fruit, frosting and sprinkles. Welcome, for sure. But I'm here for the cake.

🤍

hrghhhh ummmm... I'm not even particularly proud of it, but I'm also not really one to delete fics, but after Infinity War came out, I (along with most MCU fans at the time) was sitting there going, "wait, now what?" I remember watching (and rewatching) that movie and trying to piece together where the story might go from there- and all the fan theories flying around, some of which were much more interesting (and grounded in the established universe?) than what we got. At the time there was a lot of talk about all the "snapped" people possibly ending up in a pocket universe (which were the fashion at the time lol) perhaps in the soul stone or similar. I didn't want to delve into that too deeply, but I took a little bit of that idea along with the (eventually walked back) reveal that May Parker didn't get snapped and tried to write a little fic about Tony and May having a conversation as the, ah... "dust settled", so to speak.

I picked apart Peter's famous parting words, the "I don't want to go" part specifically, and had Tony realize that the "going" was more literal than he realized, with all the vanished going to the soul gem realm etc. He then realized that was the problem he needed to tackle, with May's stone faced encouragement.

It's not the most compelling thing I ever wrote, and obviously it's not canon-adherent, but I think it just kinda flailed around and flopped (as I imagined) because it was short, gen, and maybe a little too vague in the language. But, meh. I got it out there and out of my system.

🍭

I'm trying to think back to my first (non-schoolwork) attempts at writing. There were silly little comics, of course, and these sort of... hybrid story/art/joke notebooks. I think high school is the first time I really remember sitting down and writing actual fanfiction of any kind. The thing that all of those experiences (and much of my writing these days) have in common is a communal aspect. I drew comics on notecards to share back and forth with my friends. We swapped the notebooks, each contributing to different pages as we tried to make each other laugh. In high school, we wrote about series and movies we'd seen, working in inside jokes and discussing what people now call "headcanons" before putting them in a story.

"Back in my day" fandom specific forums were still a thing, so when I tried my hand at writing X-Men and Sailor Moon fanfic, there were forums to share things on, and even if there wasn't a built in comment system, there was still the feeling of community and sharing.

This is all to say that for me, writing (and all forms of creating) have always been about sharing and connecting with other people. Whether they were my classmates, best frieends, or people I happened to meet online- writing is another way to express myself, share my thoughts and develop ideas in the hopes of building something, whether it's giggles at the lunch table or an online community. It's not just why i started writing, but the reason I still do. :)

[lastontheboatfics]

hello, if you're still doing director's commentary posts, could i get one on the spirit is willing (the flesh is weak) please? thank you! 🌿

OK SO

The first scene was the first thing I wrote once I gave in to the terribly compelling idea of Bill/Ginny fuck or die.

I remember noodling about the concept with @fluxweeed and saying something like "but what's the scenario? What forces them together?" Because I had the vibes, but I need Believable Motivation for my sibling incest stories, apparently. And as soon as the idea of a curse breaking misadventure and a sex spirit was proposed, my mind ran with it.

When I get excited about a story idea, it usually starts with a strong emotional inspiration. There's a moment that I can sort of see the shape of, and I want to get that feeling right. In this case, it was that moment of Bill trying to protect Ginny by giving in to the spirit's desires, and both of them thinking they need to hide what it means to them.

I have a superstition that if I write this scene before it's had a chance to marinate in my brain then I'll lose some essential, intangible element. What this means is that I start writing significantly earlier in the story, in order to help establish the baseline relationship and character arc starting points and all those other important things that will help reveal its true shape. It's a very "no dessert before your vegetables" attitude to writing. It's very frustrating!

However! Rather than feeling like a slog, starting with the opening scene energized me. It's the third time I've written a sex scene that's interrupted, and I love what it told me about Ginny in this fic—she's horny, adrift, and a bit messy. It made me want to figure out what Bill thought of her, beneath his laid back, amused outer shell.

I jumped around quite a bit after I finished that scene, working on whichever part I was interested in at any given moment. The whole plot element about the binding knives happened by accident—I was fumbling around, trying to figure out how to make the concept of "bill and ginny walk into a tomb" more interesting, when I remembered that I had made Bill toss a backpack onto Ginny in the opening scene. That made me wonder: what was in the backpack? Ginny was my proxy; I had no idea what she would find when she rooted through it.

In the bonus episode for The Bolthole, GallaPlacidia talks about how her plots emerge organically the more specific her writing becomes, because she just starts noticing patterns and connections and themes in the semi-random elements that she's introduced. That's what happened to me—I added a knife to the bag on a whim, because why not? Later, I realized that if Ginny had a knife, then Bill surely did too. Also, his knife could fail, which raised the stakes a bit. I now needed a reason that Ginny's knife wouldn't fail, which led me to the offerings and the stasis spell, and also provided a plausible motivation for Bill to get close to Ginny later when she's naked and vulnerable so he could slip her the knife (hurr hurr). All of that because I wanted something in the backpack that would take Ginny by surprise!

I do think the main setting suffers from Big Empty Room Syndrome. Like, it's this big hill they're inside, with a long tunnel entrance, and it's just... there's an altar? And offerings? And a plaque on the wall? One day I'll figure out how to actually describe environments in ways that make them sound interesting and believable.

The last thing that sticks out to me from the writing process is the scene where the spirit is torturing Ginny. My biggest difficulty there was my fear that I would undermine the mood for subsequent taboo sex. I don't find torture or pain particularly sexy (your mileage may vary), so choosing to tell a story where Bill is forced to take unthinkable action to stop Ginny from getting hurt was ambitious. I liked that she was exposing her desires to try and keep the spirit from hurting him, though; the symmetry makes my math brain happy.

I think that's it for the director's commentary! I am very fond of this fic, and it's the first one that I've recorded that I also wrote. Go ahead and give it a spin!

the spirit is willing (the flesh is weak)

Bill/Ginny, E, 15k

Read it :: Listen to it

[theculturedmarxist]

I’ve largely avoided writing anything too topical about the conflict in and around Ukraine, because I dislike polemic, and anyway I don’t have enough technical knowledge to write about day-to-day military issues. Nonetheless, I can’t help being struck by the sense of disorientation and intellectual befuddlement that a lot of western writing about the fighting displays. In turn, this comes, I suggest, from a fundamental western unwillingness to do the hard work of learning about strategy and the political uses of military force, and to raise one’s eyes from the exciting bangs and booms, advances and retreats on the battlefield, and to look at the big picture.

So here, I’m going to try to take a step or three back, and talk about the biggest of the big pictures, and try to show how various  political and economic factors have to be taken into account in understanding what I think the Russians are trying to do. Whatever your views on the conflict, it’s very hard to say anything useful about it (I’m looking at you, Josep Borrell, for example) unless you make an effort to understand the importance of these factors.

Fortunately, others have been this way before in writing about strategy, and nobody more fruitfully than the great Prussian soldier and military theorist, Carl von Clausewitz. Now one reason Clausewitz is important is that he is part of a very select group of theorists and historians, including Machiavelli and Thucydides, who were practically involved in the things they wrote about. Like them, he is referred to much more than he is read, and misunderstood even when he is read. But Clausewitz was the first important theorist to get away from detailed writing about tactics, and ask (and indeed answer) the question, what is war actually for? And why do states resort to military force? His answer was simple: war is “an act of force to compel our enemy to do our will.” We want our enemy to do something, or stop doing something, and so, says Clausewitz, we must put our enemy in a “situation that is even more unpleasant than the sacrifice you call on him to make.” In addition, he adds, this situation cannot be a transient one, where the enemy can simply wait for things to improve, but one where the enemy is effectively defenceless, or likely to become so.

But Clausewitz insists on the need to situate war in the context of state policy generally (not “politics” as politik is often wrongly translated here). Wars start, he says, because of some “political situation, and the occasion is always due to some political object.” Thus, “war is not merely an act of policy but a true political instrument, a continuation of political intercourse, carried on with other means … The political object is the goal, war is the means of reaching it, and the means can never be considered in isolation from their purpose” (my italics).  Although On War is a forbidding text, these citations (in the standard Howard and Paret translation) are all taken from Book I, and you can download an older public domain translation of that Book and read it in an hour. (Maybe Mr Borell’s office should consider doing that.)

After doing so, things become immediately much clearer, and a number of the questions not asked by western media and politicians become obvious. What, for example, are the larger Russian political objectives? How significant is the current fighting in Ukraine, and indeed how significant are individual battles? What parallel activities are going on, politically and economically, all tending in the same direction? And what vision do the Russians have of the situation they want to bring about—what Clausewitz calls the “end-state”?

But why are these questions not being asked on a systematic fashion by the West? After all, if it wants to frustrate Russian plans, it might make sense to try to deduce what those plans are, and how the Russians expect to bring their end-state about.

The answer, I think, comes from a mixture of two factors. First, much of the policy impetus on Ukraine comes from Anglo-Saxon countries, whose history of warfare, and thinking about warfare, is essentially expeditionary and limited. Apart from very brief periods in 1916-18 and 1944-45, the British and Americans never had to consider the use of large land and air forces, and develop a doctrine for their employment. Historically, military expeditions were small, with limited objectives, far away from the motherland. The Falklands War of 1982, for all that it was a remarkable military achievement, fits very much into this tradition, of small-unit tactics, individual leadership and battlefield improvisation.

The type of military operations that Europeans have actually conducted since 1945, and especially since 1989, have tended to follow this model. Although generations of NATO officers planned and exercised for apocalyptic confrontations with the Warsaw Pact, those countries that actually carried out real-life operations became involved in much lower-level counter-insurgency or peacekeeping missions. And when Europeans, still a little dizzy from the fall of the Berlin Wall, started to think about what tasks their militaries might perform in the future, their best guess was more of the same: peace missions,  military-assisted evacuations, crisis-management deployments, and so on. And so national service and large armies were abandoned, high-intensity large-scale warfare stopped being studied except as history, and careers were made from leading small groups of soldiers on missions far way.

The second factor is simply that in general the West’s wars have been limited liability ones, where there have been few casualties at home. True, the wars in Algeria, Angola and, arguably, Vietnam, produced political convulsions and brought down governments, but the actual death and destruction almost all took place somewhere else.

For the Russians, geography mandated a different set of criteria. Always a massive country with a relatively large population and long borders, the nation has suffered foreign military invasions repeatedly in its history. It is used to being obliged to fight on its own territory, and in World War II alone, suffered nearly thirty million dead, a large proportion of them civilians. Thus, national defence is literally a life and death issue, and thinking about, and planning for, war, takes place at a massively higher and more complex strategic level. It’s also worth pointing out that the formidable edifice of Marxist-Leninist Military Science has not lost its influence, and Marxism was above all a doctrine based on the predominance of tangible material forces.

This Russian experience inevitably produces a way of looking at conflict which is radically different from western one, with the proviso that the West itself has had to painfully learn similar lessons during two World Wars, only to promptly forget them each time. War is seen in a total sense: as a political, economic and military struggle combined. Sheer numbers, political discipline, massive reserves of manpower and equipment, total mobilisation capability and long-range and ambitious strategic planning are inevitable features of such an approach, so if we want to see what the Russians are after, it would be as well to include these factors. The end-state is, by definition, not military, and thus the military may contribute to that end-state in a wide variety of ways. Victory on the battlefield may not be the overwhelming priority, if other factors are operating in your favour, and the employment of large forces over a wide area will itself impose a higher-level way of thinking.  For example, giving battle, even if you think you will win, may be a bad idea if it uses up units and equipment which are going to be badly needed elsewhere. Better to withdraw. Conversely, inviting an enemy attack on your positions, even if it is tactically disadvantageous, can be a good idea if you inflict heavy casualties that your enemy cannot replace.

The Soviet and Russian militaries have a long tradition of studying the terrible past wars of their country, and there are a number obvious conclusions from any such analysis. One is the importance of sheer numbers, of personnel, of equipment and ammunition. In a long war, which the Russians, unlike the West, have always expected to fight, these things matter a great deal.  In the Cold War, the Red Army planned to win by a tactic known as echeloning. Essentially, you send your best forces in first, and they are mostly destroyed, but destroy the enemy’s best forces as well. Then you send in your second echelon, and mop up the enemy’s remaining forces, even if you lose most of yours. Your third echelon has effectively no opposition, and you win. (This would not have surprised Clausewitz, who argued that it was important to be “strong everywhere, especially at the decisive point.”) Likewise with ammunition stocks. If you have two million rounds of ammunition and your enemy has half a million, your enemy is going to run out before you do, after which you will have dominance. The West has opted, since the late 1940s, to have fewer weapons and less manpower, hoping that quality will trump quantity. During the Cold War, it also planned to use tactical nuclear weapons early, since it could not accept the economic burden of maintaining massive conventional forces as the Soviet Union did.  Whether all that would have worked in the Cold War we will, thankfully, never know, but clearly it is the very opposite of the policy the Russians have been pursuing recently.

If this sounds like industrial-scale warfare, that is exactly what it is: and literally so, in that the importance of war production was another lesson from 1941-45, where the Soviet Union out-produced the Germans in military equipment even after moving its factories East of the Urals.  Moreover, Soviet and later Russian equipment was designed to be operated by conscripts, and therefore was kept relatively simple, so that it could be employed in very large numbers. We are seeing the results now in Ukraine, where T-62 tanks, kept in reserve for many years, are being sent to the Donbas to be operated by local militias and recalled reservists with lower standards of training. The West has opted for platforms which might individually perform better in combat (so far, nobody knows) but are much more complex and difficult to operate and maintain. Among other things, any attempt to greatly expand western forces in the future would require a complete rethink of concepts like ease of use, training time and maintenance of equipment.

The West has an intrinsic difficulty with this kind of approach. Notably, its tradition of military history and theory is focused much more on battles than campaigns, much more on leaders than on forces, much more on stories of individual weapons systems than on war production. Even historians writing about the Eastern Front in WW2 still tend to write about individual battles (notably Kursk), whereas the best accounts (by Chris Bellamy for example) correctly focus on the campaign level. Indeed, it’s been persuasively argued that individual battles in that terrible conflict largely only affected the precise timetable, and that underlying factors dictated the result from the start. Notably, the catastrophic German underestimation of the size and fighting power of the Red Army, and the Wehrmacht’s inability to finish the campaign by the beginning of the Autumn, have been argued to be much more important limitations than victory or defeat in any single battle. That’s as may be, but it’s clear that even that sort of approach  is completely foreign to the intellectual framework of those western commentators following every video, every rumour, every twist and turn of the bloody game that’s being played in Ukraine. It’s hard to find an appropriate metaphor: perhaps music critics arguing over the costume of the prima donna in an opera, without mentioning whether the production was finally greeted by flowers and a a standing ovations, or by the cast being pelted with rotten eggs.

Finally, the Russians are operating, to repeat, in a Clausewitzian tradition, which sees military force only as useful when it is clearly tied to a political purpose. (And a purpose is not just an aspiration.) The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, for example, included a clear political strategy for building support for the new regime among the professional middle class, reforming the state and the political system and creating effective security forces. In the end it didn’t work, at least not after the fall of the Soviet Union, but it was at least a strategy. By contrast, the kind of plans for Afghan reconstruction that that I remember seeing circulating in the West in the 2000s, were just a series of loosely-connected aspirations, where it was assumed that the arrows on Powerpoint slides actually represented some kind of causal relationship. Much the same was true at the time of the Iraq War (although the US State Department had done its best). In Washington, the future of Iraq was seen in terms of a series of concordant and sequential fantasies, with no idea how they were to be brought about. Mostly, this was because Liberalism always assumes that certain political elements exist universally, and that once the Bad Guys are removed from power, nations will develop automatically and ineluctably towards a liberal democratic model. This is still very much the view today. If you have anything to do with ideas trading as Post-Conflict Reconstruction or Peace-building, especially as marketed by organisations like the UN and the EU, you’ll be presented with a series of sequential steps towards a hypothetical utopia, but with nothing holding them together. So for example a Ceasefire is shown as leading to Demobilisation, then to Restarting the Political Process, then to Elections, then to Stability.  But if you ask precisely how a ceasefire will lead to restarting the political process (or indeed why it should do so) you’ll be greeted with an embarrassed silence. And of course in real life it generally doesn’t: it’s odd that it’s Liberalism, rather than Marxism, that seems to believe in historical inevitability.

So if that’s the tradition the Russians are coming from, and that’s why the West has difficulty understanding what it’s seeing in Ukraine, then what does that tell us about the type of wider and longer-term plan the Russians are likely to have, and how they will go about it? Two qualifications need to added though, before we start.

First we should avoid the temptation to assume “masterplans” everywhere. It’s easy to fall into conspiracy theories about the Illuminati, the Bilderberg group, the “Anglo-Zionist cabal,” or some plot to destroy Europe’s economy masterminded from Washington. But that’s the stuff of airport bestsellers, not real life. Second, and partly as a consequence, we’re not talking here about some complex and detailed plan over generations, but rather a series of relatively straightforward objectives at different levels, consistent with Russian statements so far, and with a sensible unbiased look at what their security objectives obviously are. As good students of Clausewitz, we would expect the Russians to consider war at all its levels, so let’s lean on him again as our guide.

Consider first what Clausewitz said about the need for victory to be complete, and definitive, to avoid the enemy being able to restart the war. And here we recall that, in 1945 the Red Army did not stop at the Russian border, but went all the way to Berlin, where it occupied half the country and installed a puppet regime. This kind of conclusion to a war is actually not unusual: in 1814, Russian troops actually occupied Paris after the final defeat of Napoleon. It is only in recent decades that fully inclusive peace settlements dealing with underlying causes of conflict, with the participation of vulnerable groups, and complex peace-building regimes after detailed negotiations and all-embracing peace-treaties, has become the norm. The latter will certainly not happen this time, which is why we need to be very careful how we employ the word “negotiation”, but neither is it likely that the Russians will want to physically occupy any more of Ukraine than they have to. So what would complete victory mean, in this sense?

Following Clausewitz, the first variable would be that of time. For the Russians, Ukraine must be left in a situation where it is incapable of posing a threat in any reasonable length of time. It’s hard to be precise, but twenty-five years sounds about right. Now, even if the Russians do nothing more, the best guess is that it would take a good ten years to reconstitute the Ukrainian forces to something like their February 2022 level of effectiveness. But note that this implies the availability of massive funds (which Ukraine does not have) or massive, organised and sustained aid from abroad, including either substantial diversions of new armaments from the already-depleted US and European militaries, or substantial investments in new production facilities especially for Ukraine. Neither seems very likely. In addition, a new generation of officers would have to be recruited and trained, military infrastructure repaired or newly constructed, and a wholesale process of conversion from ex-Soviet to western military equipment, together with the associated operational doctrine, would have to be developed. And of course the basic infrastructure of the country would have to be repaired in order for the military to function at all. The chances of achieving that at all, let alone in as short a period as a decade, are not great.

So the problem may solve itself. However, it’s probably not in Russia’s interest to have Ukraine completely disarmed, because that would lead to potential instability, which could spill over into Russia itself. Whatever government succeeds the current regime in Kiev will have to be able to control its own territory. So the Russians may force a peace treaty on Ukraine which, for example, includes the creation of a professional gendarmerie, allowed to operate light armoured vehicles and helicopters, but no more. Attempts to develop or acquire more powerful systems would be impossible to hide, and easy to squash. This is a much more elegant and much cheaper solution than attempts to construct massive fortifications or occupy non-Russian speaking territories.

However, it’s been obvious for a long time that Ukraine is only the visible part of the strategic iceberg, for both sides. The West wants, roughly, a return to the 1990s, and the end of an ideological and strategic competitor. Russian aims obviously include frustrating that, but almost certainly go much farther. Unlike many people I have no idea what’s in the collective heads of the Russian government, but it’s possible to make some broad deductions from the draft treaties the Russians circulated in December last year. These are treaty texts, and drafts at that, so it’s unlikely that they constitute anything more than a wish-list of objectives that in reality would probably have to be adjusted downwards. But we can make some reasonable inferences.

The principal Russian objective in Europe is to be the local military superpower, in a Europe which is militarily weak, partly dependent economically on Russia, and does not pose a military threat. So far as Western Europe itself is concerned, we are not far from that now: only Ukraine could have been said to have posed a military threat, and that is no longer the case. The idea would then be to convert the ring of countries around the borders of Russia, Ukraine and Belarus (in practice, the Baltics, Rumania and Poland) into effective neutral states, without foreign troops stationed there. This would not necessarily mean these countries leaving NATO, because US troops, for example, are stationed in non-NATO countries anyway. Rather, there would be an unspoken agreement (as with Finland during the Cold War) that these states would behave themselves with respect to Russia. One component of this solution would be the withdrawal of the relatively small numbers of US troops still in Europe. This is likely to be part of the parallel aim of effectively destroying NATO as an alliance, by showing that, in practice, it has no military utility, and by extension that what is generally called the American “security guarantee” is worthless. Note that this does not mean that NATO cannot survive in some dormant and vestigial form: it’s unlikely the Russians would object to that.

In all of this, we need to bear in mind one other concept of Clausewitz: the Centre of Gravity. Clausewitz wrote a lot about this in different parts of On War, but the easiest way to conceive of it, is as the most important target of the war,  on which everything else depends. It is “the ultimate substance of enemy strength” on which the greatest possible effort should be concentrated. Clausewitz notes that this may be, but does not have to be, the enemy’s military forces. At the end of the book, he mounts a strong defence of Napoleon’s decision to enter Moscow in 1812, rather than to pursue the defeated Russian Army. No conceivable military victory, he argues, could have knocked a country the size of Russia out of the war, while taking and holding the enemy capital could have done so. In the end, he accepts the plan failed, but only the capture of Moscow was actually worth trying. Had the Tsar and the aristocracy been as shaken by the loss of the city as Napoleon hoped, the war would have been over. That was the Centre of Gravity.

Clausewitz also notes that the Centre of Gravity may be the delivery of a blow against a more powerful ally. So in the case of operations in Ukraine itself, this means the willingness of the West to continue supporting the regime in Kiev militarily, politically and economically, because if that stops, so will effective Ukrainian resistance, and that will open the way to other strategic objectives. In a war where both Russia and the West are careful not to strike each other directly, this willingness will have to be attacked indirectly, effectively by persuading the West to give up, because success is impossible. There are precedents for this, although they may seem surprising. The NVA/VietCong forces fighting the US and the South Vietnamese forces were well aware that they could not win a conventional military victory. What they could so was to bring the Americans to the point where they realised the struggle was hopeless, just by continuing the war, and inflicting political and economic damage on the US itself. This they duly did. The situation was quite similar with the French in Algeria and the Portuguese in Angola: both were militarily dominant, but each war ended with political and economic exhaustion and a change of government. Afghanistan is a more recent example of much the same approach. So here, the Russian objective is probably the political and economic exhaustion of the West to the point where further support of Ukraine seems useless, or even impossible. And whilst it may not have been part of the original plans, it’s hard to believe that the Russians would regret the West continuing, for at least a while, to weaken itself militarily and economically in a hopeless cause.

So at that level, the Russians are presumably seeking to make the West give up any hope of a solution favourable to them. This means they have no incentive to compromise, or to agree to peace talks. In effect, they only seek to dictate peace terms, perhaps along the lines sketched out above. If the West does not give up, operations in Ukraine will continue as long as necessary. At a higher strategic level, the Russians probably also intend for the War to go on long enough to make NATO’s weakness, and the impotence of the US, transparently clear, such that it can more easily accomplish the kind of wider objectives I have just outlined, as well as weakening western economies.

Now,  I have no idea whether this is actually what the Russians are intending to do: I can only say that it seems entirely possible to me. This is, after all, a society that takes Clausewitz more seriously than Harry Potter, and Tolstoy as a better guide to war than Twitter. And I have no idea whether it will succeed. But more importantly, if the above analysis is even remotely correct, then the West is intellectually and politically badly equipped to understand what the Russians are doing, let alone react effectively to it.

[peonyblossom]

If you have time, and feel like it, would you write the conversation between E&S about what she got up to in Vegas and/or the exclusive talk? Sounds like it would be juicy 🤭

What She Did In Vegas...

Book: Open Heart 2 (post-Vegas) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Sadie Oakley) Other Characters: Jackie Varma, Bryce Lahela (mention) Words: 1253 Category: Angsty fluff Rating: Mature Warnings: No actual NSFW actions, but some NSFW conversation Summary: As soon as Sadie gets home from her trip to Las Vegas with the roomies, she feels compelled to ask Ethan about their relationship becoming exclusive. AO3 link here A/N: I am so sorry it took me so long to answer this! I hope you're still here and able to enjoy this fic🫶

I didn’t cheat. I did not cheat. Right? We never said we were exclusive. And besides, what happens in Vegas… is not going to stay in Vegas. I need to tell Ethan. 

Sadie’s leg bounced up and down as she sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her phone to turn on. She had stupidly allowed it to die on the plane home and was finally able to charge it. As soon as it turned on she rushed to unlock it and opened her text messages.

Hey! I’m back in Boston, can we talk?

Sadie put her phone down and rubbed her hands down her face. She stood up and paced around the small room, biting her thumbnail. Oh God, what is he going to say? Is he going to know something is up? What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if he does and– Somehow, Sadie heard her phone buzz over her thoughts. She stopped pacing and stared at her phone from a distance for a bit before working up the courage to read the message.

I coincidentally have the day off. Do you want to come over?

Sadie took a shaky deep breath before sending her response.

Yeah, sounds great! See you soon 😘

Was that too flirty? I mean, we are dating, but is it going to stay that way after this conversation? No, I need to stop thinking about it and just get ready.

Trying to physically dissolve her anxiety, Sadie shook her head, before touching up her makeup and putting on her shoes and coat. 

“Where are you going?” Jackie asked from the kitchen as Sadie was walking to the door.

“Ethan’s.”

“I should’ve guessed.” Jackie smirked.

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” 

The cool air whipped itself against Sadie’s skin as she opted to walk to Ethan’s instead of taking the bus or an Uber, hoping the fresh air would calm her. It… kind of worked. Unfortunately, it also left her with more time to pour over the anxious thoughts in her brain. God, I hope he’s not mad at me. We never said we were exclusive. I was in Vegas. Shit happens in Vegas. Surely, he’ll understand that. Right? Why did I do it though? I want to be exclusive with Ethan. I don’t need anybody but him. I mean, Jackie and Bryce were fun, but definitely a ‘what happens in Vegas’ kind of moment. I don’t need to do that again. I don’t even really want to. I just want Ethan.

Upon entering the lobby of Ethan’s apartment building, Sadie used the doorbell to get buzzed in. She took another deep breath as she entered the elevator. It’s going to be fine. He’s going to understand. He won’t be mad. Fuck. She knocked on the door, just hard enough for Ethan to hear. He came to the door quickly, smiling when he saw Sadie.

“Welcome back.” He kissed Sadie’s lips chastely, before she entered the apartment. She gently kicked her shoes off and sat on the couch next to Ethan. “Is there something specific you want to talk about or you were just wanting to see me?”

“Are we exclusive?” Sadie blurted.

“What?” Ethan asked, taken aback.

“Sorry, I just, um, do you want to be exclusive?” Sadie tried instead.

“I… do, but I didn’t want to push you too fast after.. anyway, why do you ask?” Ethan gently placed his hand on Sadie’s leg, encouraging her.

She took a deep breath before answering. Just tell him. “I… hooked up with… a couple people in Vegas.”

“A couple?” Ethan questioned nonjudgmentally.

“It was… Jackie and Bryce. But please don’t tell them that I told you! At least not that I told you it was them.”

“At the… same time?”

“Yes.” Sadie looked at the ground as Ethan struggled to find a response. “Are you upset?”

Ethan quickly responded, “No! No, I’m not upset. I understand.” Sadie’s anxiety lessened immensely as soon as she heard his reassurance. “We weren’t exclusive yet and you were in Vegas. I’m really not surprised you had a hook up. The fact that one of the people was Bryce, on the other hand…”

“Okay, hey!”

“I’m just saying I didn’t think he was your type.” Ethan shrugged. “I know you and Jackie have a history, but Bryce is a bit of a surprise.”

“Okay, fine, fair enough.” Sadie sighed. She felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest and she could finally breathe easily again. “Thank you for understanding. Mostly.”

“You’re welcome.” Ethan wraps his arms around Sadie, pulling her into a hug and placing a kiss to her forehead. Sadie instinctively snuggled into his chest more. 

“So, we’re exclusive now?” Sadie smiled into Ethan’s chest. God, I’ve wanted this for so long.

“Yes, honey.” Ethan smiled as well.

“Yay. I’m glad we had this conversation.” 

“Me too. But I think we should have another conversation now.”

Sadie stiffened as her anxiety returned and her heart started racing. Fuck, what does he want to talk about now? “What… conversation?” She asked slowly, breaking herself out of Ethan’s hold. Did I do something wrong?

“You had a threesome. Is that something you want to do again?” 

“Um, I’d be… open to it, but it’s not something I’d… actively seek out, I think.” Sadie looked at Ethan. “Why? Is it something you want to do? Is it something you have done?” 

Ethan laughed as he pulled Sadie’s legs over his own. “I… have. A long time ago. I think it’s something I’d need to think about more before deciding if it’s something I’d like to do again.” 

“Okay. That makes sense. Just let me know if you want to, then, ’kay?”

“Okay, baby.” Ethan leaned over and kissed Sadie’s mouth. “That is definitely something I can do.” Ethan placed his forehead against Sadie’s. “Thank you for telling me about your… activities in Vegas.”

“Of course,” Sadie said before Ethan could finish.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me about the trip?” Ethan quipped.

“No, nothing like that at least.” Sadie shook her head. There was definitely more to tell him, but not right now.

“Nothing about Panacea?”

“Oh. You heard about that.” Guess she was telling him now.

“A lot of people heard about that, sweetheart.” Ethan took Sadie’s hands in his to comfort her.

“No, I know, I just…” Sadie sighed. “It really wasn’t my idea or even really about me. I just – we all just – wanted to support Jackie. They really screwed her over, you know?”

“I understand. I think you did a really great thing and I’m proud of you. But you could’ve asked me to help, you know.”

“I know and if it was my problem I would have. But, like I said, it was more about Jackie, so I didn’t want to overstep her boundaries or anything.”

“Okay. I’m happy that you would feel comfortable coming to me for help if it was you.” 

“Of course I would. I know you have my best interests in mind.” Sadie smiled sweetly while looking Ethan in the eye. “Now, if we’re done with the mushy stuff I think we should celebrate our becoming exclusive.” She smirked.

“Oh? And what did you have in mind?” Ethan raised his eyebrows as Sadie stood up from the couch.

“Well, it’s not threesome, but I think we can still come up with something fun.” Sadie winked and walked to the bedroom, leaving her boyfriend to follow.

[spirit-animal-sisters-official]

Well, if it's not hate, it sure seems like a ton of animosity is directed at him and the comic, something I just don't understand. So, he, for the sake of argument, doesn't write the characters or write the stories the way you and others want him to. I can see how that could be frustrating, but at the same time this sounds miserable and not particularly very fun.

Some critics here on tumblr come across as very vitriolic, obnoxious, and unhinged. Check out this exchange for example: https://kellodrawsalot.tumblr.com/post/688674541689536512/you-know-as-much-as-i-really-dislike-sonics

The OP even stated they didn't like Sonic's characterization, but that wasn't enough for them because OP dared criticize their behavior. I remember when I was aggressively attacked by a very prominent anti-IDW tumblr user simply for expressing how I didn't think Tails cowering in Sonic Forces was really all that bad, being completely understandable given the context. And before you bring up the actions of bad IDW fans, I don't condone those either.

Frankly, I don't see how saying it's just entertainment and if one doesn't like it, they should stop engaging with it makes me a "clown". By the way, completely uncalled for and not putting yourself in a good light. It's a perfectly valid argument, especially with how obsessed some on here act about it, instigating and perpetuating toxic drama. Moreover, some folks seem to make complaining about the comics and Flynn their entire personalities and circlejerk about it near-constantly.

As for "stanning" Ian Flynn, I have no doubt some do that, but those people aren't worth engaging with. The vast majority of fans I've ever interacted with admit the man isn't perfect by any means and is not above criticism.

Here's a post from the TrekBBS forums that I feel fits the situation:

"I agree with you. Sometimes they just don't know when to quit. It gets old. I was going through a rough patch in life at the time DSC premiered, I was glad to have Trek back, and I thought it was the best Trek in a long time. For me, it was something to take my mind off the Hell my life had become at the time...

... and some people here don't realize the other point of view. What's trash to them is treasure to someone else. Or they don't care. I think criticism is one thing. But to deliberately go out of your way to rain on someone's parade on purpose is something else. Especially once you know you're pissing people off and do it anyway. I never did that in the VOY or ENT Forums when those shows were going. My belief was, and still is: "Let the people enjoy their shows."

I think there's a distinction between coming on to talk about a show and coming on to just bully people. I think there's a distinction between offering constructive criticism and offering nothing but hatred and bile. And if someone is still hating a show five years after it premiered, that's five years of dedication to hatred. That's not normal. That's not healthy. I wish they'd stop turning DSC into a punching bag and face whatever it is that's making them use it as one."

One more from the TrekBBS forum:

"There's actually so much great TV these days. I find it better to spend time watching shows I like rather than stomping around online shitting on stuff. Latest example for me is the Halo show. I watched 2 episodes, had enough of that and done. Others are enjoying it and good for them. I watched Yellowjackets instead and loved it.

I really do need to give Discovery Season 4 another shot. I watched the first 2 or 3 and then just didn't feel compelled to go back, but it might have been due to my mood at the time as opposed to the quality of it.

To me, TV is not something sufficiently important to be angry about. It's all just entertainment."

@randomthefox you wanna take this? This is a lot to unpack.

[vamphrt]

sigh

You love Luka Modric.

You grew up loving football, Real Madrid especially. You can remember the first time you watched a match, you can remember the exact moment you truly fell in love with the sport.

What are the chances that you’d come across him when walking home from school? You bombed the interaction abysmally, acting like a typical fangirl. He didn’t seem to mind, it was quite cute to him. He cursed himself for actually finding you adorable.

You had practically begged him to sign your shirt, a white crop-top that your mom had bickered was too revealing. He obliged, writing LUKA MODRIC on your back, right near the hem of your shirt. One hand rested on your bare lower back as he printed his signature. You vividly remember the butterflies that formed in your stomach because of his touch.

You were shaking by the end of the interaction. Quite embarrassing, really. He handled it well, like he’s dealt with it many times before. You okay, doll? He had asked. The nickname sent a jolt coursing through you.

F-fine. You could hardly muster up the brainpower to properly answer him. He just gazed on at you with a small smile. You felt that the interaction was over, he was slipping away right before your eyes. U-uhm. Lu- Modric? My 18th birthday was actually a few days ago. Do you think I could get a selfie as well? As like a b-birthday gift. It’s fine, if not-

He still can’t recall what compelled him to do what he did next. Sure, we can take a pic. Only if you promise to send it to me. You can take my number down, right? It was written in the stars, then.

You’re still so enamored by the memory.

The two of you shared many conversations in the days after. He rambled to you about football, his loneliness after his divorce, his kids, growing old. He couldn’t predict that it would blossom into what it is now: Something straight out of a fairytale. In the early stages, he concluded that you were just some ditzy fan with a fleeting interest, that nothing much would come of it.

God, how he was wrong.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reconnect physically.

—

Luka was your first.

You had been talking for months. Sneaking out at night to meet him had become apart of your nightly routine.

You begged him to take your virginity. He had refused at first, because although he had those thoughts about you, acting on it would make it all very real.

He warned you that nothing would be the same after, you told him you didn’t care. You never really were the most mature girl in a crowd. Your age tends to show if you’re talked to for long enough. He didn’t feel like you were ready. Wanted you to keep hold of your innocence for a little while longer.

His resolve weakened over time. He gave in eventually, because like most men, he has needs. Needs that could really only be satisfied by you. Needs that could no longer be tamed and calmed by his hand and his whirring imagination.

You remember the night as if it were a dream. Sitting by the lake, a spot that you two claimed as your own. It was late, and the both of you were gazing at the stars. You couldn’t view him in all of his glory, the moonlight wasn’t strong enough. You made sure to feel him, instead. You felt his length. Your fingers traced over his abs. You toyed with his beard.

You can remember being engulfed by his scent. Traces of honeysuckle and agastache. You remember how he sounded, so sweet and vulnerable. He had showed a part of himself that night, one young and free.

You remember it hurting. Your eyes had welled up with tears, and he halted immediately at the sight of them. You had to convince him how badly you wanted it, because he wouldn’t continue if he thought you couldn’t take it.

Is it hurting? He had stopped to ask. No, it’s fine. You lied, because the pain could not change how much you wanted this. You’re about to cry, love. The expression he had offered you was full of sorrow, and you would do anything to will that away. Just first time jitters, I guess.

The pain soon turned into pleasure.

His hands found yours, pinning you on the blanket that he had laid out to protect the both of you from the prickly grass. You nipped at his chin as he slowly became one with you. He tasted so sweet, like a foreign flower of some kind. He bloomed like a flower that night, too. Showing you a side that was so beautiful and encompassing. You felt all-knowing, then.

He was so gentle, too. It wasn’t just sex to him, but an honor. An oath he had to fulfill and handle with care. You had allowed him to take something from you, to claim an important part of your womanhood. He swore that he wouldn’t make you regret it. Promised to himself that whoever came after him would not live up to his legacy.

He released in you. He didn’t even think twice about it. It was just something he’s used to. Something he does without fail. An act that makes him feel whole. You were fearful at first, pregnancy has never been something you sought after. Not at your age. Not yet. He said it would be fine, that if anything were to come of it then he’d be right by your side through it.

The two of you sat stunned in silence for a while. The reality of it set in with him. This was what he chose. He chose this. He allowed you into his life. It was scary to think about, really. How he found himself at the edge of a lake, filling a newly legal teen up with his cum. How little he cares about anything else. How much his heart yearns for you.

Now, sex and intimacy are no longer a foreign subject to the both of you. You’re able to welcome him between your legs with pride, and he’s able to take you in with a smile on his face.

—

You were nearly caught once. He became too lenient, too loving, too careless. Your parents had went away for the weekend, leaving you with the house all to yourself. Of course, you took this as an opportunity to welcome Luka into your home. To welcome him into your bed.

The whole endeavor was innocent, in your eyes. He cooked for you, a Croatian dish that you weren’t the biggest fan of, but you devoured it all the same. He allowed you in, offered up pieces of his culture, pieces of him. You were thankful for that. You welcomed him into your bedroom, allowed him into the place where you become your most vulnerable.

He practically worshipped you. He showed love to parts of you that you thought no one would ever appreciate. It was weird, at first, the way he was so willing to devote himself to your everything.

He had tasted you for the first time, then. It was frightening at first. You were relunctant, but he insisted. He begged, really, for you to allow him between your legs. He asked, and you delivered, because you cannot deny Luka Modric of what he wants.

You did not regret your decision.

The sensation of his tongue against your clit was foreign, but heavenly. You could not keep still at first, it was all too overwhelming. You bucked your hips, but he continued to lap at you, like everything depended on it. You buried your hand in his hair, unable to keep yourself quiet. You were loud that night, more than you had ever been. He adored it, how vocal you were, how much he was able to pleasure you. He worshipped you as if you were everything, as if you were his savior.

He fucked you sweetly, plowed you into your bed, made you feel as if nothing else mattered. He loved you, showed you so much love that night. All you knew was his touch, his scent, his voice, his being. You were surrounded by him, and only him.

Until you weren’t.

You cannot even remember how it happened.

I just came in you, doll. Gotta clean you up. He said, whilst you carelessly pulled your shirt over your head. There’s no time. I’ll do it when you leave. He rushed to pull on his jeans, nearly losing his balance as he jumped into them. I’m really sorry, they said they’d be gone until Sunday.

He sighed at that, frustration evident on his countenance. He knew it all was a bad idea. Getting close to you, fucking you, viewing your most important parts. You’re only just a kid, really. A kid in a big world you haven’t explored. A kid in a world dominated by men like him. The odds were against you from the beginning, and he aided them. For that, he felt ashamed.

You shooed him out the back door, whilst your parents were entering through the front. He ran into the night, disappearing behind a neighboring house. It was a close call, too close. The thought of getting caught sent chills down his spine.

When you greeted your parents, you could still feel his release dripping down your leg. He was less willing after that. Less willing to do things, less willing to see you, less willing to love you.

He grew cold. The two of you interacted less. You would no longer sneak texts to him during class. You would no longer slip out late at night to go visit him at the lake. You felt hopeless. He tried to ignore the void that formed in his heart. Things were over for a while.

It did not take long for him to warm up to you, though. He cannot hold a grudge for long. He cannot be without your touch for long. He had to justify it all in his head. It isn’t wrong, right? It can’t be wrong. You’re of age. A woman, able to make your own decisions. That is what he told himself. It’s chilling, really. How little it took for him to convince himself that he’s not a villain. He’s the good guy in this all, isn’t he?

—

It is the start of the La Liga season. You know his time will be occupied now, but he will make room for you. He always does.

You hate that you have to be kept a secret, but he always reassures you by reminding you that you’re his favorite secret to keep.

He has arranged a motel for the two of you. Usually, the location is much more grand, but this is last minute. This is urgent.

It is the same as all the other times, but he is reminded of how much he loves you. He’s reminded of how much he needs you, how much his body aches for yours. And how much you ache for him in return. You are a practically a mold for him, now. His body connects with yours, like two pieces of a puzzle. You are one with him, and nothing without.

He thinks that you will most certainly be the death of him.

You plant kisses close to his manhood. He hisses, because he knows you are teasing him. He will not allow you to force a reaction out of him. He is patient, unlike you.

His cock pulses at the feeling of your tongue dragging up the expanse of his chest. You swirl your tongue around his nipple, coining a soft sigh from his supple lips. He intertwines his hands with yours. Holds onto you so tight that his knuckles nearly turn white. It is almost as if he’s afraid that you will dissipate right before his eyes. He needs to have you, before that happens. He needs to have you forever.

You pull at his shorts, eager to reveal the hardened member that is concealed beneath them. He lets you, because he knows you do not want to wait. He knows you cannot maintain your patience for long when it comes to this. It is such a beautiful sight to see: You, excited and ready to take him. You reveal his cock from under his shorts, the tip is already wet with precum.

You become insatiable at the sight of it.

You’re ready to bring him to his release in your hand, right then and there. You’re sure he can read your mind, because he grumbles a “Don’t.” under his breath. You know the rules. How he only wants to feel your warmth around him whenever he releases. How obsessed he is with filling you up with his being.

You lay down on your back, the rough texture of the motel blanket pressing into your back. You do not mind it, nothing matters to you in this moment besides Luka. He is all you know. He pushes his hips forward, the head of his dick dipping into your entrance. Although you’ve been in this position many times before, the feeling overwhelms you every time. He groans, feeling how wet you are for him, feeling how reactive your body is to his presence. It is almost enough to make him come undone right then and there. He pushes more. And more. Until his being fills you completely.

He feels you clench around him, that is enough to get him to utter a simple Fuck under his breath. His thrusts start off slow, he is a patient man. The slow drag of it all, your warm skin, your quiet moans, it all surrounds him.

“Yes, please, Luka—” The words fall from your lips like a lullaby. A melody crafted only for his ears to hear. It is not in him to hold back anymore, he loves you too much. He needs you too much.

“Come,” He commands, breathlessly, stopping his movements. He pulls out of you, you groan at the action. “Want you on top of me. Wanna fuck you full of my cum.” He explains, his words sending jolts through you. He lifts you up off your back, guiding your legs around his waist.

You’re straddling him, now. Your legs tangled around his waist. Your fingernails tracing lines up and down his back. God, how you love his back. Your skin is scorching in the places he leaves his touch. He grips your waist, aligning himself with your entrance. He allows you to take in all of his length, slowly. He is in no rush, after all, he’d like to enjoy every second.

He’s muttering under his breath, now. Things like oh, God and that’s it. It is comforting to know that he is as much of a mess as you are, that the feelings you have for him are mutual. Not that you’d ever doubt it for a second, anyways.

You press down onto him, riding him at your pace now. The gasps that fall from his lips only make the knot in your core grow larger. He grips your hips, stopping you from chasing your orgasm. “Slower, my love. What have I told you about patience?” You groan at that, because you’re tired of waiting.

“You will get what you want in due time, love. I will fill you up soon enough.” This you know is true. He never leaves you dissatisfied. You are always left full. Full of his release, full of his love, full of him and only him.

He pushes in and out of you at his pace. It is just enough for you, but you're left wanting more, wanting everything. You wish to become one with him, to ration out pieces of yourself so that you can belong to him in some way.

He fills you up completely, lifting your hips, so that he can push into you deeply. It is all so overwhelming for you. The sight of him, his touch, his scent. His everything. He is encompassing. His presence is inescapable. As he’s inside you now, you realize that. That you will never be without him.

You come undone around him, he loses himself in the sensation. All he knows is you. You surround him. You overwhelm him. You make him feel complete.

He feels whole now, as you fall apart around him. He feels whole now, as you moan out his name. He feels whole now, as he fills you up with his cum.

There's a wave of calm that settles in the air. He pulls out of you, his dick pressing against your stomach. You think that he's finished, but he looks at you with a wanting gleam in his eyes. You feel like his presence is swallowing you whole in this moment.

He doesn’t hesitate to coat his fingers in his own release, whilst pumping his digits in and out of you. He looks down to admire the site of his release between your folds. “You take me so well, love. It’s almost like you want me to get you pregnant. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes!” You sputter out, your mind barely there, unable to process what he’s truly asking you. Your mouth falls open against his. He adds another finger, providing you with more relief. And you chase it, that high.

You’re riding on his fingers now, nails tracing rough scratches up and down his back. God, does he make you feel good. You arch your back, bucking your hips, whilst chasing that sweet release.

Your orgasm hits you like a wave, an overwhelming tide that sucks you into a sea of pleasure. Heavenly, almost.

The sound of your hurried breaths fills the ear. You gaze on at him, admiring his body. You wipe at the beads of sweat that have formed on his chest. He wraps his hand around your smaller one, offering you a smile. His smile is infatuating. You admire the lines that form around the corners of his lips whenever he laughs. You admire the crinkles that reveal themselves around his eyes whenever he finds something you say amusing. You admire everything about him. Sometimes you wish you could just devour him whole. You wonder if he would allow you to.

“Luka.”

“Hm?”

“Again.”

“Again?” He says breathlessly, because you drain the life out of him.

He doesn’t mind filling you up again.

You don’t mind milking him of everything he’s got.

—

“Luka?”

“Hm?” You watch as his toned chest rises and falls with every breath he takes. It is easy to become mesmerized by the way he moves. It is easy to get lost in the patterns of his being. You are enamored by him, everything about him. “What is it, my love?”

“Will I ever be able to be with you? For real?”

Silence fills the space between the two of you, and you think he’s fallen between the cracks for a second. It is scary, really. How much you’re counting on this to work out. How badly you need this to be your forever.

“Yes.” He finally says, but it’s a lie. As much as he loves you, this cannot be a forever thing. No amount of time will ever close the gap between you and him. He knows that, he’s mature enough to recognize that.

“When?” You ask, because the hiding is almost becoming too much to bear. You wish to love him wholly and freely.

“Patience, doll.” He clicks his tongue, coining a small sigh from you. “Why must everything be rushed?”

“I am not rushing anything!” It is so frustrating when he gets like this, absent and unwilling. “Is it wrong for me to ask when I can finally publicly proclaim my love for you? Is it really wrong for me to want to know when you will truly be mine?”

“You’re still just a kid.” He is yours, he thinks. May it be in public or in private, he is yours all the same. Nothing will change that. Not your age. Not your immaturity. Nothing.

“You don’t treat me like a kid.”

“Yes, I do.” He’s never been one to tell you that you’re mature for your age, you’ve noticed that. He doesn’t ask you for much, either. Knows that you cannot provide him with what a woman his age can, but maybe that is the thrill of it all. Maybe that is what bonds him to you. What magnetizes the two of you together.

“So, you have sex with kids is what you’re saying?” You quip, because it’s annoying how often he treats you like you’re just a little girl. How he can go from pumping all of his length into you, to implying you’re a naive child who needs saving. After all, you’re an adult— In the eyes of the law, at least.

“Real mature. Ha-ha.” He expected you to say something of the sort. He rolls over, gracing you with the sight of his toned back. You trace your fingertips up and down the expanse of his back, his body like a forbidden temple you yearn to explore.

“I love you, Luka.”

He cannot find the words to express how he feels for you. His love for you is unfathomable. If only he could string parts of himself together to become whole again. If only he had wanted less, if only he could love you the way you’re meant to be loved.

You love him. You love him wholly. And he loves you back.

He loves you back, forever.

[dykeyote]

This might be more specific of an ask than you are looking for, so if it is, feel free to talk about just Seddie in general, but one thing I’d love to hear someone else’s thoughts on is how Sydney and Jedediah’s history will affect their romantic relationship. Like, they both have so so much trauma, and so so many issues (please, put these kids in therapy) and while that stands as a testament to all that they’ve been through together, I think it could also have a pretty negative repercussion on their relationship. I mean, heck, it already has in the first season! I feel their situation is just vastly different from the typical romances written in media. Personally, I actually really love that and am glad this kind of dynamic is being explored, but what do you think? Do you have predictions, thoughts, or opinions on “Toxic Cecil and Carlos” or Blue’s decision to write a relationship like theirs?

OH MY GOD NO I LOVE SPECIFIC QUESTIONS THIS IS SO GREAT im probably gonna have this be the last one i reply to before i go to bed bc i just think its such a fun question ...... will talk abt the rest tmr ........ BUT i absolutely think its going to affect their relationship no for certain . mainly because i think they havent worked out their issues at All before diving into dating each other and i think thats really gonna come back to bite them, how can you go from years of ignoring someone to dating them straight away? and we already kinda see that this isnt gonna go well, seeing as adams apparently a couples therapist - i wouldnt be surprised if we see them either break up or almost break up at some point, i Really think things are gonna be rough for them. mainly i think itll be difficult for jedidiah to be able to provide sydney with the attention and love that a growing relationship needs due to his Completely unresolved guilt and trauma surrounding sydney's reanimation, and i think sydney will have a difficult time trusting him and being comfortable around him with the fear we know he has for him. not to mention jedidiahs feelings of undue responsibility and his underlying ableism that seems to still be incredibly unresolved - i really think theres a Lot of issues theyre gonna need to work through and i think things will probably get worse before they get better. and you know what? i think thats AMAZING. i love that their relationship is so complex!! normally im not a huge fan of couples getting together early in shows because i feel like their dynamic becomes less interesting the moment after they get together. but they still have so much to work through!! theres gonna be so many problems!! im honestly unsure if theyre going to remain together in the end and while obviously as a sydidiah enjoyer to the grave thats sad 4 me . but its so good narratively because it means theres still uncertainty!! sydney and jedidiah dating does not mean that theyve stopped being flawed and interesting characters and i actually think its going to exacerbate things!! i hope theyre able to work through it and be able to be together healthily obviously but the fact that i Have to hope is really good narratively because it means that their dynamic hasnt lost what was so compelling and tragic in the first season. also from a representation standpoint i think its great because i think gay people need the messy rep that straight people get that doesnt take "messy" and turn it into "homophobic" or "queerbaiting". and thats what they are!!!! delightful!!!!!! i want to study these freaks in a lab

(also every time theyre called toxic cecilos it makes me giggle because it just makes me think of 70a bc kevin and carlos r the closest thing to toxic cecilos in the show which i find funny bc there the avoidant scientist is the one in the right but i digress . i like wtnv and calling them that makes me laugh)

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."