#i never liked calling them ''lesser'' races

[goldsbitch]

You texted...

Y/N and Lando are going through a rough patch in their relationship. Not really on speaking terms. This bad streak ends when there is a massive spider in her bathroom.

angst, one shot

The moment she spotted that creature sent from hell, everything else went out of the window. The dinner in the oven, the fact she was planning on doing a late night session in the gym, the fact her hair was still wet from the shower. The fact she and her boyfriend Lando were on "not speaking" terms.

Y/N was absolutely terrified of spiders her whole life and was never able to over come the fear by getting rid of them on her own. Lando was the one who always ever so kindly rescued her, he overtook this role her neighbor, who overtook it from her mom, who Y/N had trained to react immediately when she heard a very specific scream.

Now she was standing in her apartment, alone with nowhere to go, since her job was to stay frozen at one spot and stare at the creature, in case it moved, and not really sure who to call for help. Her best friend was the first option. Normally, it would have been her boyfriend, but something was stopping her from doing that.

"Come on, come on, come on," she whispered as she dialed her best friend living close by. "Pick up, dammit."

Finally, the tone she was praying for. "Hey, girl, what's up?"

No time for chit chat. "You have to come over now, immediately."

Her friend noticed the immediate distress and tuned herself in. "What's wrong?" she replied, sounding as she was ready to dial the police.

"There's a spider situation going on in my apartment."

"Uhm, I see," she said, more relaxed now, but still taking it seriously.

"It's huge, with like hairy legs and shit. You have to come over, now. We have a deal, remember?"

Her friend was equally terrified of mosquitoes, so they agreed that Y/N would deal with those while spider duty fell on the other lady. This has happened many many times before. Usually ended up with a nice girls evening. Ever since Lando appeared in Y/N life however, the emergency calls stopped.

"I thought Lando was around this week?" her friend asked curiously. "Not that I'm trying to get out of this, but I'm sort of like an hour away from you, so..."

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh. "Fucking hell...Yeah, we're not exactly speaking at the moment," she admitted.

"Wow, that's a first!?" her friend said, clearly surprised. "Why?"

"Look, I'd love to chat, but are you coming or not? There's no one else and I'm not calling Lando!"

"Yes, yes, I'm getting in the car, just let me say good bye to my friends here, we're having a picnic," she replied and muted voices of disapproval came from the background.

Y/N felt guilty about doing this, but she'd dropped everything she was oing for her friend many times, answered phone calls in the middle of the night even though she was an early bird. They just had this kind of friendship.

"Drive fast, please," she said, still stubborn and not about to call Lando.

//

Y/N sat there staring at the spider for good ten minuted before her friend called again.

"Ok, I'm in the car, you can talk about Lando now, keep me busy. I'm going to pass over the fact you and your boyfriend are fighting and I have no idea," she said unapologetically.

"Figured you'd be mad about that. Yeah, he's been acting like a bit of a dick..."

"But you're not broken up, right?" her friend asked, slightly worried about her favorite couple.

"No, I don't think so. I hope so," she realized, the spider in the corner becoming lesser of her problems.

"And what seems to be the problem? Did he cheat?"

"No, not that I'm aware," she replied without thinking.

"Did you cheat?" her friend asked, ready to support her in anything.

"Jesus, no. It's um...I dunno, we've just grown a bit distant. Lately it feels like I'm like at number 50 of his priorities list. It's always only racing, Quadrant, promo event this and that."

"That's shitty, yeah. Would you like to be included? I know you hate things like promo events and such."

"I do! But honestly, I miss him so much and frankly I'd like to be more included in his life somehow. Especially now that I have more time in my life."

"Does he know that?"

"No?"

Her friend let out a deep sigh. "Hm. You have to untangle that. It would be stupid to break up over that."

"Yeah, I'd hate that," she said, panic setting in.

"Text him to come. To save you from the spider. It's a nice excuse and good test. To see if he cares."

"I'm scared. What if he does not respond?"

Few moments of dramatic silence. "Well, at least you'd know."

"Yeah. Ok. Sending it." Y/N quickly typed something up, trying not to overthink it.

"What did you text?"

"Can you come over asap? I need help with a spider. It's urgent."

"Nice. Now you'll see what he does."

They stayed on the phone together for good half an hour. Catching up and distracting Y/N from the fact there was no text from Lando coming her way.

//

A doorbell rang.

"You're here already?" Y/N asked her friend, surprised by her ability to drive this fast.

"Nope, still very much far away. Did I hear a bell? Do you think it's him?"

"I dunno. I'll mute you and if it's him I'll hang up, ok?"

"Gotcha."

She opened the door with a heavy heart. What if it was not him?

But it was. Flustered Lando stood there without saying hello. The two shared a pain-filled look, neither of them enjoying this no contact streak they had.

"You came..." she said finally, ending the phone call.

"You texted..." he said dryly and in full macho mode entered her apartment without being let it. "Can you point me where?"

"That corner," she simply pointed, flushed with emotions. Happy that he came to rescue her, sad about his loveless tone and scared of what was to come after. She watched him from afar, as he skillfully took the spider and threw it out of the balcony.

"Don't say anything about him knowing his way back, please," he said, hinting on the countless debates they'd had before about Lando not wanting to kill every spider they'd encounter.

The air suddenly went very heavy. Lando casually headed to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water while trying so hard to make eye contact with her. The last time they spoke was few days prior - and it was not a nice conversation. Lots of built up emotions got out, frustrated speeches made and confusing sentences jumping one after another. Ending with Lando slamming the door on his way out.

She had no clue where to start. "So, how have you been?" she asked, not sure she was ready for his answer. He finally looked at her, and then with an annoyed eye-roll went back into staring out of the window.

Y/N threw her hands up in the air as the familiar feeling from few days ago kicked back in. "Ok fine, sorry I asked. Thank you so much for your help, truly appreciated, but if you hate being around me, just say so that we can-"

"We can what?" he cut her off, not having any of that.

"I don't know, you tell me!...I'm getting lost at trying to read you," she admitted, not even trying to hide anything from him at this point.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I don't think I listened to you," he sighed before continuing, "Or more like did not hear what you were saying."

The validation felt rewarding. But she feared what would come next.

"What I heard at that moment was you not respecting my lack of time and the fact that things I'm involved in are important to me."

She took a breath and planned on interrupting him, which he noticed and tried to stop.

"Let me finish, please. But thinking about it, I figured that's not the case, and you were simply pointing out that I've been putting off spending time with you. Which you're absolutely correct. I figured since we've been going to strong lately, this would be fine. But truth is I hate this distance it created. I feel lost, uneasy and unable to focus," he blabbered something, which felt like he might have even rehearsed on the way to her. "What I'm trying to say is - do you still care enough for us to fix it?"

It felt vulnerable, raw and maybe even uncomfortable to have these kinds of talks. But this is ultimately what cements a relationship.

Feeling like he managed to destroy some of the wall they'd put up, she took few steps towards him.

"Lando, of course I do. It's not a rare event that I imagine our future life together, as a couple and one day potentially as a family. Never had this feeling before in my life. Please, let's figure out a way how to prevent the distance from happening. Things have changed now, the relationship has too. We've been together for almost two years. And my love for you has only grown."

He finally smiled, relieved that they seemed to be on the same page.

"I came right from the tennis court, left everyone behind. Would you like to go there with me? Hang out with the Quadrant squad for a bit and then have a nice dinner somewhere? I just want to spend this evening with you."

"And the night hopefully," she teased, trying to ease the mood.

"Always the night, it was absolutely horrible, knowing you're so close to me, yet having to sleep without you."

She closed the distance between them, embracing him into a hug. They bodies were more than familiar with each and it felt right to be that close. Definitely better than each of them standing in a different corner of the room.

"We still have to talk about this. I don't want our love to slip through by our fingers," she said, letting her anxiety out.

"We will. Tonight, we'll come up with a plan. Can you join me on few races later this month?" he asked, hoping for a positive answer.

"Of course, my love. I have to buy new clothes though, the cameras are savage."

He chuckled, relaxed now that he did not have to worry about having lost her. "Yes, they are."

She later call her friend to thank her for dropping everything and driving to save her, even though it was not needed in the end. Her friend was more than happy that she and Lando seemingly found the way back to each other.

She also admitted that she turned back the moment Y/N sent her text to Lando, knowing that this guy would come running anytime his girlfriend asked for help.

[justice4billiam]

I had this little thought.

Billy always calls you pet names and that’s just the norm because he’s a flirt and then there’s you who never calls him a single cute pet name ever. But one particular day you were like talking to the cat or dog or something and call it a cute nickname only to look up at Billy and see him red in the face because he thought you were talking to him for a second. So you go in for the kill with it and it practically does kill him. So now you only call him that nickname when you truly want to see him squirm

Billy Hargrove x Fem!reader

Word count: 4,152

Warnings: Nothing too bad. Just Billy being Billy. Maybe even a little less of himself actually.

Author’s Note: OMG. I am SO sorry about how long it took me to get this out. I'm such a perfectionist, and for some reason, even as I post this, it doesn't feel all that great, but I hope you like it all the same.

Oh Baby

Billy Hargrove made a splash from the start.

He came cruising into the small town straight from the sunny shores of California, his cocky attitude and smirking face challenging anyone who crossed his path.

Everyone knew he was too big for a town like this, attracting stares and whispers as naturally as he breathed.

Billy had quickly become known for his flirty nature with the women of Hawkins, his inventory of pet names given with devilish grins and gazes that lingered just a second too long.

Handing them out like candy on Halloween with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

But you?

You were the exception.

You were the challenge he couldn’t quite figure out.

Oh, how he wanted to.

The one girl who didn’t fall, the mystery that kept his mind racing.

You had always kept Billy at a distance, a boundary he seemed determined to cross. His invitations to hang out were met with polite declines, his attempts at conversation answered with noncommittal hums.

It wasn’t that you disliked him, in fact you were very aware of just how attractive he was; you just weren’t interested in being another name on his list.

But Billy was nothing if not persistent, acting like he didn’t even hear you most of the time, taking your rejections as a challenge.

It was on a day when the sky was a clear blue that opportunity knocked on Billy’s door—or rather, your car broke down.

Your car gave up on your way home from work right when you needed it the most, leaving you stranded with the hood open, staring at the engine.

As spring neared its end, the heat had become unbearable already causing sweat to drip down your face as you stood on the side of the road.

And what a coincidence that Billy would drive by, his Camaro growling like a hungry beast.

His car slowed to a stop in the lane, right beside you. Leaning over, he rolls down the passenger window, and peers out with raised brows.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” he enthusiastically calls out, his voice laced with amusement, clearly savoring the unexpected opportunity before him.

The urge to decline was immediate, yet you found yourself hesitating.

Accepting his help meant opening a door you’d fought to keep closed, and you weren’t sure you could take the consequences of letting him in.

But the sun was unforgiving, and your knowledge on cars was practically nonexistent.

That left you with two other choices: a long, lonely ten mile walk home or risk waiting for a stranger’s help, which, given the obvious, seemed like a stupid option.

Billy’s offer, which seemed honest enough, suddenly felt like the lesser evil here.

You gave an exasperated sigh and nodded your head.

“Alright, fine.” You grumbled under your breath.

The sight of Billy's smug grin made you instantly regret your decision as he pulled over a little distance up, and as usual, he looked like a model; his blonde curls blew in the wind as he got out of his car.

He kept his gaze on you, the same cocky look on his face as he boldly adjusted the front of his jeans before approaching.

"Hi." He greets cutely, stopping right in front of you, a little too close for your comfort.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you meet his gaze with an even look.

“Billy,” you acknowledge, your tone flat.

You could already tell he was going to be insufferable.

Billy’s grin was all charm as he leaned in.

“Having a bit of a day, are we?” he teased, casually flicking away a strand of hair that clung to your sweaty forehead.

The eye roll was involuntary this time, and without a second thought, you swatted his hand away.

“Are you going to help or are you just going to stand there?” you challenged, taking a step back.

Normally, you wouldn’t let anyone get to you so easily, but he was right—you were indeed having a rough day, and Billy had a knack for being an infuriatingly good pest.

He matched your retreat with a step forward, maintaining the intimate distance.

His gaze was unwavering, a hint of amusement revealing his enjoyment of your obvious annoyance.

Billy inched closer, the trace of a grin on his lips.

“Easy there, sugar,” he hummed, his words a soft whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he moved past you, his body grazed yours just enough to leave a faint but unmistakable scent of his cologne—a secret tingle that you tucked away, never to be spoken of.

It was a sensation that you'd have never felt before, one you’d vehemently deny if ever questioned.

“I’ll take a look,” he stated simply, his attention already on the engine.

You paused, taking a deep breath to brace yourself against Billy’s bullshit. You knew he thrived on getting reactions, and you were determined not to give him the satisfaction. Ever.

With a measured step, you leaned in, your gaze fixed over his shoulder. You tried to follow along with his movements but they were a mystery to you.

However, the concern that suddenly showed on Billy’s face was clear.

A sharp breath caught in his throat, his hand freezing mid-motion. It was clear from his expression—whatever he saw, it wasn’t encouraging.

Billy stepped back from the car, and you reached into the backseat, rummaging through the clutter until your fingers found the familiar fabric of an old T-shirt.

“Here,” you offered, holding it out to him. He took it with a nod, wiping the oil from his hands.

“The bad news?” Billy’s started. “Your car’s distributor cap is cracked, and the timing belt’s snapped,” he stated plainly. “It’s not going to start without some work.”

You let out a weary groan, hands instinctively covering your eyes.

Why was the day just getting worse and worse?

This is what you get for leaving work early when they clearly needed you.

Karma really was a bitch.

Billys fingers tried to gently pry yours from your face, but you pulled away, fixing him with a dull glare.

His chuckle was barely there, and the boyish smile that followed was a detail that, despite your better judgment, you found quite charming—even if he was a heartbreaking jerk.

“Look at it this way,” Billy began, a hint of mischief in his voice as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m pretty good with my hands. We’ll take my ride to the closest phone, call for a tow, and get your car sorted out quick.”

Taking a step toward Billy, your suspicion was clear.

“But why?” you asked, eyes narrowed as you frowned in his direction.

You know what he was like.

He’s in your gym class, usually tough on people, and he doesn’t do special favors. Billy isn’t the type to help out without an angle, and you guessed he might be trying to get on your good side.

But you have never been the type to fall for his bullshit and he knew that.

Billy’s irritation was evident.

He exhaled a deep sigh, his eyes briefly darting to the side before locking onto you with a fiery intensity.

 “Do I need a reason?” he challenged, his tone sharp. “You need the help or not? Because I’m not sticking around if you don’t want it.”

With that, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter, and quickly pocketed it again.

You rolled your eyes, a combination of frustration and nerves as you clasped your hands together tightly.

 “Uhm—no—I mean, yes!” The words tumbled out in a hurried stutter.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude. Yes, thank you, I could really use the help,” you said, the genuine gratitude finally surfacing despite the awkward exchange.

The hardness in Billy’s eyes seemed to dissolve, replaced by a hint of warmth as he gazed at you. He took a drag from his cigarette, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders.

“Alright,” he sniffed, a trace of his usual flirtatiousness returning. “I’ll get your car fixed. And who knows? Maybe you’ll owe me a drink after this.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Keep dreaming,” you said, the doubt in your voice barely hidden.

He nonchalantly shrugged, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he pushed the hood down with a clunk.

Frowning, you watched him—it was clear that this was his plan all along. It was almost funny how obvious his intentions were.

But you felt like denying his help was a bad choice.

The thought of walking for miles was not at all appealing, and you were actually thankful for his offer to fix the car, knowing it would save you a significant amount on mechanic fees.

You offered a slight nod to Billy’s when his eyes found yours again.

You then walked over to your car, locking it with a deliberate push that made a sharp clicking sound. After ensuring everything was secure, you turned and hesitantly began to walk towards his car.

Billy strides were confident and unhurried, reaching the passenger door of his Camaro before you.

He opened it with a casual flick, the gesture almost too practiced.

You eyed him, the suspicion in your gaze clear as day, but you held your tongue to avoid sparking another tiff.

Instead, you communicated your question with a simple arch of your eyebrow as you took your seat.

As you settled into the passenger seat, Billy’s voice broke the slightly awkward silence, his tone laced with playful arrogance.

“You know, dreams are just plans waiting to happen,” he quipped, the cigarette bobbing with his words.

He flashed a quick, roguish grin as he shut the door, the sound punctuating his words.

You rolled your eyes so far back, you half-expected them to get stuck.

"You're aware of how annoying you are, right?" You couldn't help but remark as you watched him slide into the driver's seat, your eyes unintentionally diverting to his crotch as he adjusted himself.

Billy’s voice was low, a teasing edge to it. “Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he muttered, and you quickly lifted your gaze to his face, feeling your cheeks warm when you’re greeted by that infuriating smirk of his.

"And sure, I might be annoying," he conceded, smirking as he cupped himself through his jeans.

"But deep down, you're into it," he declared with certainty.

You gasped as the heat in your cheeks grew.

Quickly, you averted your gaze to the windshield, the outside world suddenly way more interesting.

He added, "even if you're not willing to admit that yet," his laugh was a low rumble as he capped off his comment by starting the car, the engine rumbling to life assertively.

He was infuriating, no doubt about it. Each smirk, each nonchalant shrug sent waves of annoyance crashing through you. Yet, there was something else, a whisper of a feeling you refused to examine too closely.

But deep down, you were pretty sure it was all a game to him. He didn’t actually like you; he was just chasing a thrill.

And even if you entertained the idea for a second, it would end as soon as you let him in—literally.

The moment he got what he wanted, the momentary excitement would fizzle out, leaving nothing but the echo of your own doubt and a raw, exposed part of you that you really didn’t want to deal with.

Choosing to ignore his advances was the safest bet, even if there was a small, secret part of you that wanted to knock him down a peg.

_______

Billy had kept his word.

The search for a payphone ended at the nearest gas station.

He stepped up to the phone, dialed the tow service, and with a casual strut, he said, “Yeah, I need a tow for my girl’s car. It’s over at Fifth and Lexington.”

You scoffed, your eyes wide with disbelief. His girl’s car? 

The words striking you bizarrely. 

Since when did you become ‘his girl’?

The thought was foolish, and yet, it unsettled you in a way you—again—didn’t want to explore.

But the fact that he knew your address without asking was even more disconcerting. How does he know where you live? 

That question nagged at you, adding to the mystery that was Billy.

He continued to speak into the phone, giving directions with a knowledge that bordered on intimate.

It was strange, yet there was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel a flicker of… something.

At the auto shop, Billy handled the costs with a casual ease, and you were left with a blend of emotions—surprise, a touch of gratitude, and a stubborn refusal to fully acknowledge either.

“It’s all taken care of,” he said, brushing off your attempts to pay him back.

So, as the tow truck pulled up at your house, you were ready this time.

You caught Billy’s eye, giving him a dull glare that said you knew exactly what he was about to do—and you weren’t having it.

With a swift motion, you handed the cash to the driver before Billy could even reach for his wallet.

His attempt to pay was unsuccessful, and the slight raise of your eyebrow made it clear you were the one calling the shots this time.

As the driver and Billy maneuvered the car into your garage, your gaze softened just a fraction, acknowledging his willingness to help, even if his insistence was irritating.

When the tow truck faded into the distance, you spun around to face Billy.

“I told you I could have helped you push it into the garage,” you said, exasperation seeping your words.

Your brows knitted together in a frown, a clear challenge in your eyes.

Billy’s response was a dismissive shrug, his smile unfazed.

“It’s fine,” he said as he shrugged out of his jean jacket and placed it in his front seat, his grin took on a teasing quality.

“Honestly, we’d still be out there on the side of the road if I waited for your help,” he joked, his voice light but edged with a playful tone.

Your gasp was reflexive, but the giggle that followed was more girlish than you expected, a sound that surprised you as much as the gentle smack you landed on his arm.

“I could’ve managed just fine on my own,” you countered, the roll of your eyes softening into something that felt dangerously close to affection.

He gave you a look that said he didn’t believe a word, but his nod was indulgent.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, his smile broadening in a way that made your heart do an unexpected somersault.

Billy carried his tools from his trunk, his smirk sarcastic.

“Gonna watch me work, cutie?” he quipped, the playful edge in his voice clear. “I sure don’t mind an audience.”

You rolled your eyes, a response that had become all too common throughout the day and trailed after him into the garage.

“You’re insufferable, honestly, Hargrove,” you grumbled, though the annoyance was starting to wear thin.

He tossed a look back, his grin unwavering.

“But you wouldn’t have it any other way,” he teased, setting down his tools with a positive thud that resonated in the quiet garage.

Dragging a crate from the cluttered corner of the garage, you made yourself a makeshift seat. From this new vantage point, slightly off to the side, you watched Billy work.

The day was turning out to be pretty different.

Billy’s usual flirty jokes had a new feel to them, like he was actually trying to connect with you.

And seeing him with his hands in the car’s engine, he seemed to fit right in. It was strange to see him as more than just the guy who’s always either making a rude comment or trying too hard to charm you. Now, he was actually being helpful and knew his stuff. It was nice to see him like this, more real and down-to-earth.

As you kept an eye on him, you felt your annoyance start to slip away, and you began to see him in a fresh way.

It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it was real.

Billy was still Billy, but the good parts were starting to stand out more.

You just hoped that this nicer side of him wasn’t just an act.

With a dramatic sigh, you shoved your thoughts aside and stood up.

Despite your best efforts to avoid it all day, you found yourself heading straight into the very thing you had been trying to dodge.

“You want a drink?” The words came out softer than you intended, as you walked toward the door in the garage that led to the house.

Billy’s grunt drifted up from under the hood, his hands surely doing something important. Timing belt, maybe you mused, though your knowledge of car parts was very much limited to where the gas goes.

Heading into the kitchen, you actually felt thankful for your mom’s hospital shift this time.

It saved you from having to explain the boy in the garage.

The house was quiet, just the way you liked it. You weren’t lonely; you enjoyed your own company.

Sure, you hung out with school friends occasionally, but the calm of being on your own was something you cherished, even with your mom’s frequent work hours.

You took two Cokes from the fridge, their cans chilling your fingers.

As you returned to the garage, you paused to watch Billy.

Without his usual guarded demeanor, he seemed more genuine, almost endearing. 

He’s actually pretty decent like this, you thought, a quiet hum escaped your lips as you turned on the radio, filling the space with soft rock melodies.

Billy’s look caught you off guard, and warmth flooded your cheeks.

“What?” you asked, turning just enough to keep your blush from view.

His smile was soft, uncharacteristic.

“Nothing. You just have a nice voice, doll,” he said, his tone carrying a note of authenticity as he turned back to his work.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, placing his Coke by his tools, and sat down on your crate.

A small smile lingered on your face, enjoying the surprisingly comfortable presence between Billy and you.

You just sat there for a bit, humming along with the radio.

You tried not to make it obvious that you were watching Billy work, but he’s probably caught you staring. 

Every now and then, you’d catch him looking your way too. You didn’t say anything about it, though.

It was kind of nice, just being there together without needing to fill the space with chatter.

Your gaze drifted to the street when you felt a gentle pressure against your leg.

Startled at first, you quickly relaxed when you saw it was Pepper, your cat. The door must not have closed all the way behind you.

She rubbed against your leg once more, seeking attention.

“Come here, my baaaby,” you drawled, the word stretching out affectionately.

You picked her up and she immediately began to purr, content in your arms.

Billy’s movements paused, and he looked up, the late afternoon sun highlighting the surprise in his eyes.

The nickname had clearly caught him off guard, and a blush—a deep, rich shade you’d never seen—bloomed across his cheeks.

THE Billy Hargrove, always so sure of himself, now blushing and speechless.

He must have thought you were talking to him.

You couldn’t help but savor the moment, seeing the unshakeable Billy at a rare loss for words, all because of you.

With Pepper cradled in your arms, you rose to your feet, a newfound confidence lifting your stance.

You took a step toward Billy, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“What’s wrong, Baby? Never had a girl talk sweet to you before?”

The nickname now felt like a playful taunt, a subtle shift in power as you watched him grapple with the unexpected role reversal.

Billy’s answer was a fumble, his words tripping over each other in a way you’d never heard before.

“I—uh, that’s not… I mean…” he faltered, his cheeks a deeper shade of red.

Witnessing Billy, always so sure and smug, searching for words was a delight you didn’t know you needed.

The smirk that spread across your face was instinctive, almost predatory.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you cooed, your head nodding slowly in feigned understanding. “I think I get it now.” The words hung in the air, heavy with implication and sweet victory.

Billy shook his head, his smile genuine and a bit surprised.

“Now that’s just not fair, doll,” he finally said, the words tinged with a hint of admiration.

He turned back to the car, his hands resuming their work under the hood.

You leaned in, a playful edge to your voice.

“Now you know how it feels for the rest of the female population.”

The sound of his laughter was unexpected, something you don’t think you’ve ever actually heard before, but you liked the sound of it.

A lot.

Billy’s voice was muffled by the engine.

“Wow, you’re actually fun,” he said, a note of surprise in his tone.

That drew a scoff from you.

“What made you think I wasn’t?” you retorted, setting Pepper inside and ensuring the door was firmly shut this time.

He looked up, giving you a look that was both accusing and playful.

“Well, it’s not like you talk to me, sweetheart. You usually act like I don’t exist,” he shrugged.

He had a point.

“Well—yeah…” you conceded, feeling a bit awkward as you rubbed your arm.

“I’m sorry for that. I just thought you were being nice because… well…” You trailed off, your eyes darting away as you felt your face heat up.

Billy exhaled, a note of understanding in his voice. “That’s fair.”

The casual admission made your eyebrows shoot up.

He continued, wiping his hands on a rag, “But I actually wanted to get to know you. Still do.” His words, simple and unexpected.

You took a moment to process his words. Could he be serious? After today, you found yourself hoping so.

This side of Billy was… different, likable even.

Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, you ventured, “I think I might want that too.”

Then, hastily, you added, “But I’m not sleeping with you!” just to set the record straight.

Billy’s smirk was anything but innocent as he nodded.

You shoved your hands into your back pockets, and for a moment, you both just stood there, silently assessing each other.

Then, his smile grew.

“I’m done here. Wanna try starting it up?” he asked, gesturing to the car.

“Oh! Yeah,” you said, a bit startled by the sudden change of topic.

You fished out your keys and climbed into the driver’s seat.

The key turned, the engine purred to life, and a rush of happiness bubbled up inside you.

You hopped out and, without thinking, wrapped Billy in a spontaneous hug.

“Woo, thank you, baby!” you shouted, the excitement making you bold.

Billy froze for a split second, the nickname catching him off guard, but then he relaxed and returned the hug, a chuckle escaping him.

Your own reaction caught up with you, and you pulled back, a blush coloring your cheeks.

“Oh—Billy—I meant Billy,” you corrected, but the moment had already passed.

Billy’s hands lingered on your waist, his smile soft but playful.

“I don’t know. I think I like ‘baby’ better,” he teased, his eyebrows lifting in a challenge and his eyes twinkling as they swept across your face.

You lowered your head, hiding from his intense stare.

“Oh, whatever,” you muttered, stepping back until his arms fell away.

You sighed, eyeing him again.

“But really, thank you,” you said with a nod. “I was this close to attacking the engine with a bat before you showed up.”

Billy chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ah, it’s no big deal, princess,” he said, trying to act nonchalant. “Plus, I got to spend the day with the prettiest girl around. So, yeah, worth it.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you saw his smile turn a shade more devilish at the sight of your blush.

Billy lingered there for a moment before he picked up his toolbox.

“Well, I should go,” he said, a note of hesitation in his voice.

You nodded, a quiet “Bye” escaping your lips, but as he neared his Camaro, a thought struck you.

“Wait, Billy!” you called out hastily.

He turned, a question in his eyes.

“What about that drink, baby?” you added, the last word emphasized with a mix of challenge and playfulness.

He paused, the blush on his cheeks visible even from a distance, but his smirk was undiminished.

“Eight it is, baby,” he replied, his voice carrying back to you with a hint of laughter.

As he got into his car and drove off, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

Maybe Billy wasn’t so bad after all.

[imaginesmai]

His precious treasure - Eris Vanserra

First time writing for Eris! Let me know what you think

Plot: Beron manages to ask the right questions at the wrong moment, making Eris suspicious of your safety. His hidden treasure in the forest, where he cannot get fast enough.

Warnings: mention of torture, death and blood.

His steps resonated through the long corridor, servants and guards bowing to his presence. They never met his eyes, not even when he was just a young prince who barely reached their waists. He used to fool himself thinking it was out of respect, out of fear. But Eris had learned that it was easier to ignore the problems of their loved court, the abuse, when they didn’t look at him.

Countless times he had walked down those corridors with blood streaming down his face, bloody nose and bruised eyes. Burned flesh and peeled skin. It used to bother him their indifference, but that day, he barely paid them any attention.

All his focus was set in leaving the palace he called home as soon as possible without looking suspicious, without letting anyone know the terror that threatened to paralyze him.

Eris could feel his eye bruising, the burn marks on his back and chest from his father later outburst. He didn’t mind the abuse, could endure it just fine. What was breaking his soul in two were the answers his father looked with that abuse, and that he had managed to hide. But Beron was asking questions he shouldn’t have been formulating.

“Tell me, my son. Why do I keep receiving notices of your disappearances? Why are my guards worried that you might be lacking in your efforts to keep this court standing?” Beron had asked before backhanding Eris in his office. “Should I be worried about your not-so-subtle trips to the forests?”

The excuse had fallen from his mouth naturally, like he had always planned. Testing the borders for possible threats, assuring the outer posts were functioning correctly, searching the ground with his hounds.

Eris had swallowed every hit and humiliation with a tight jaw, only answering when he was spoken to. He had closed you off the bond and hoped to be strong enough for you not to notice. Then, Beron’s had asked him that damned question and his resolution had cracked.

“You look distracted lately, maybe that’s why you keep forgetting to update me about your whereabouts” Beron snarled, as if the sight of the blood spilled by his hand unsettled him. Then, he locked his eyes with Eris and fire danced behind them, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s the recent lack of servants what has your mind busy. Strange and unexplained disappearances, right?”

He was sure Beron had bought his indifference, or he wouldn’t have let him go. But he still raced through the hallways, a bad feeling twisting his gut. Running would catch too much attention, yet he knew leaving after his father’s questions was an answer by itself.

Eris prayed to the Cauldron, to whoever had unanswered his prayers through his life, that he arrived to the cabin with enough time to make things right. If Beron was asking about missing servants, he could only be talking about you. The kind-hearted lesser fae who had the misfortune of being his mate.

Three years ago, Eris had almost burnt down the entire court one of his brothers got a little too handsy with you. As a servant, you were supposed to endure it and be thankful for his attention. But your heart belonged to Eris Vanserra in secret for almost a century, and you had denied his unrespectful advantages. That earned you a beating that had left you unconscious in the middle of the backyard, where Eris’ hounds had found you.

After weeks of healing in secret and convincing him not to slaughter his own court and find death at the hands of his father, only the promise of your safety had kept him still. He had taken you away to his hidden cabin, where you had been staying part of a cozy side-town, where no one recognized you.

Thoughts of the last three years flooded his mind as he jogged the last steps of the castle, quickly hoisting himself up in his horse and riding off into the forest. He pushed his mare to her limits, until the ground and the trees were nothing but blurry colors.

He wouldn’t waste time thinking why his father hadn’t acted yet, why he had been granted those few minutes to try and save you. The answer was clear when he smelt the uncharacteristic trace of blood in the quiet village.

Eris dismounted without stopping, his mare moving restlessly in the familiar cottage. His heart pushed furiously against his chest, blood rushing to his ears when he noticed the door hanging open by an unnatural angle. Male scents and horses’ prints were all over your hidden cabin.

“Y/N!” he screamed your name, not caring about anything but your safety. With everything about to change, he could throw secrecy as the last of his priorities. “My love, where are you?”

No answer came from the outskirts of the house, and Eris all but threw himself inside. The beating he had just endured almost sent him stumbling to the ground.

The insides of the cabin were a mess, just like his soul. Scattered papers and wooden furniture, broken plates, shattered windows. Fire embers started to fill the messy space as his laborious breathing turned panicked. He leaned against the wall where pictures lay now crooked, and tried to think what to do.

Where to look, who to kill, how to survive knowing his worst nightmare had come true. Eris had always feared having a mate, having someone to love and that loved him back, because he knew the world would take it away cruelly.

What he didn’t expect was the stairs creaking under your weight, and your disheveled head poking through the stairwell. Your eyes widened, at his state, his presence, or his blood. But he didn’t consider much apart from the fact that you were still breathing, somehow, and alive enough to be standing.

His body gravitated forward until you collided into his arms, the composure he had kept during the last hour crumbling like paper against water.

“Eris” you whispered against his chest and his breath hitched, your voice so concerned and soft against his worries. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“You’re alive. You’re alive” he repeated, twice, and willed himself to believe it. “I thought – the door was open, and you didn’t answer. Why didn’t you answer? I called. Didn’t you – didn’t –“

“I didn’t know if it was you. It’s been…”

You trailed off, it wasn’t necessary to acknowledge the obvious mess. Eris pressed you tighter against his chest. Just like those nights where nightmares consumed him, where his father’s reign of terror was too much, he hugged you so tight that your bones creaked under the pressure. You didn’t mind when it was the only thing holding him together.

It was silent for no longer than three seconds, the amount of time it took for the first and only tear to roll down his bruised cheek. If he let himself any more time, if he let his guard down, none of you would make it out of there alive.

Eris ignored the rough phantoms hands he could still feel on his body, the feeling of his father’s fingers tugging on his hair and crushing his throat. His touch was soft and careful as he pulled you away and inspected you with bright eyes. Only a gash on your cheek and a light limp on your left foot. Even if your dress was stained, he didn’t find any threatening injury.

He pushed the anger once more down his chest, until he turned it into resolution.

“How many?”

“Three of Beron’s personal guard. Rookie heard them before they came and I could hide” you motioned with your chin to the enormous dog that guarded the back door, on four and alert. “She took care of the first one, and the other two… it was them or me”

“You did well” Eris whispered, cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb under the bleeding wound. “Where are the bodies?”

Those deaths would haunt you for a while. His innocent, kind mate who had been the only one brave enough to risk sending him pain tonics after his father’s beatings. Who took care of his dogs when he couldn’t leave the bed, and stubbornly stayed by his side as he pushed you away.

Eris followed you silently to the first floor, to your bedroom. Where you had spent so many nights tangled together, now three bloodied bodies stood. He could identify which one had been finished by Rookie, their face unrecognizable. His father’s personal guard embroidery stood bright on their uniform, and it threatened to make him vomit.

He fished their bodies for weapons, ignoring the urge to kill them all over again slower a crueler. When he finished gathering what was worthy, he guided you out of the room, his arm around your shoulder.

“Don’t look” he advised you, pressing you tighter when your body trembled. “We’ll be okay”

You had talked about that outcome for three years, and you had spent each borrowed minute like the last one. It wouldn’t be forever, you understood, so you had crafted a plan. An emergency plan that you needed to carry out.

Eris didn’t let you take anything and you didn’t stop to grab your belongings as he lit fire to the cabin behind you. Each step you took made your knees tremble, knowing that Beron had once more managed to drown any hope in your life for your relationship.

Heat scorched both your backs as you exited the cabin, now full ablaze. Eris’ mare was dutifully waiting at the entrance, with the dozens of neighbors that were gathered in a half-circle. They all scattered when Eris walked out, and didn’t get to see how your knees finally gave out. With just one arm, he managed to keep you standing against his chest and grab the reins.

His whole body tensed under the weight of your sobs, that racked your body in sadness. Twice now, he had seen your life crumble because of him, because of who you loved and loved you back. Until Beron was dead, until his body was cold and forgotten, there wouldn’t be a place in Prythian safe from his hands.

And no matter how much it pained, only one was safe enough to last until he killed his father. Or died trying to.

“Y/N” he whispered against your sobs, against your desperation. He held you firmly as you shook your head in denial without looking up from his chest. “It’s time, my love. We don’t have much time”

Maybe his father was stupid enough to think three men were enough to kill you, but they hadn’t returned and Eris had left – and, surely, his father himself would come to end with his son’s happiness and will to live.

Shadows gathered around his feet, but he didn’t look to the owner nor acknowledge the new presences in his court, in his forest. He had long ago granted them access for that day, had supplied them information for his part of the bargain.

Rhysand and his court had kept their promise.

“I don’t want to” you cried, so hard and fearful that his resolve shook. Yet your safety, your life, had always been his one priority.

“It’s for the best. Look at me, Y/N” his voice didn’t harden, he didn’t slip into the mask he wore around them for your sake. “Y/N”

His own voice was broken too, with despair and agony. He too dreamed for a world where he could hold you freely, where he didn’t need his worst’s enemies help to keep his mate alive. But those dreams were not for people like him. Still, he held onto that thread of hope that he would make it through tonight. That, tomorrow, he would comfort you like you deserve, endure your berating about his selflessness and kiss your tears away.

When you finally looked at him, he smiled, ignoring the surprise radiating from his unusual partners. Eris waited until your sobs subsided and you calmed enough to accept the next step.

In silence, he let his eyes tell you everything he didn’t allow himself to say. How grateful he was for your soft hand when no one else dared to help you, for your patience words against his lashings when you helped him. How sorry for each and every scar you carried from his court, his brothers and father, and for not being able to give you the life you deserved.

How much he loved you, witch every fiber of his being, until he was nothing more than embers and ashes, and beyond.

Eris pressed his lips wordlessly against your forehead, his hands holding your head in place. Your own circled his scarred wrists. With the glamour off, everyone could see the scars and marks on his body. You caressed the rough skin and held him tight, until he tore apart.

“I love you. And if I die tonight, know that your love was what has kept me alive for so long” he watched your glossy eyes, your shaky lips. “I only burn for you, my little fox”

“They’re here” Azriel talked, his voice breaking your daydreaming.

A soft spark of proudness lighted in his chest when Azriel tried to gently guide you back and you brushed him off with a stern look. Your eyes, kind and loving for him, were hard and unforgiving for the spymaster. Eris knew they would treat you well, would take care of you, and was sure you would give them hell for him.

You looked at him one last time, sad resolution in your eyes, and kissed the edge of his lips before stepping away. With your torn dress and blood over you, you looked like every inch of mate he adored and cherished.

Azriel finally gripped your wrist with an annoyed frown, and shadows swarmed both your beings just as the first group of soldiers rounded the edge of the town. They wouldn’t be the problem, but the High Lord who rode behind. Eris didn’t allow any of his fears or worries show when he kept eye contact as you disappeared with Azriel.

“Come back for me” you begged him one last time, cracking once more his already broken heart. “Please, my prince. Come back”

“I love you”

He let those words be the last thing you heard from him. Eris was powerful, but his father could crush him like a leave under a boot. Maybe Rhysand would keep to his promise and keep you safe ��� and still loose you against his father’s armies. Eris was just happy knowing he would die knowing what being loved by you felt. How your arms felt around his shoulders, your breath against his neck.

Eris would die happy because you had chosen him when even he hadn’t chosen himself.

The sound of horses and men screaming got more intense when you disappeared, and the prince prepared himself to face one last battle. His fists lighted up with bright fire, his body vibrating with energy.

He expected a wave of angry soldiers from his right.

Not a stony-face Rhysand looking at him with a raised brow.

“You do love” he proclaimed, his voice laced with curiosity and something else. “I was tempted to believe she was just another one of your tricks. One that assured you your climb to the throne”

“I have business to attended, in case you can’t tell” Eris grumbled, letting loose the rage and anger. “So if you would be so kind, please fuck off”

The first round of autumn males broke through the left with raised swords and angry scowls. Some of them had fought by Eris’ side in the last war, some of them had been by his father’s side as he beat him.

Neither of their faces was marked in Eris’ memory, as they all vanished away to a terrible darkness that swept them off. As if they had never existed at all. The prince’s fire died down a bit as he looked at the High Lord, who had taken his hands out of his pocket and whose violet eyes were shinning dangerously.

For all explanation, Rhysand shrugged and gave away no intention of leaving with Azriel and his court.

“I made a bet on you when we made that bargain. A bet on a new high lord that would change things with me” Rhysand stared at him and Eris didn’t break eye contact, too stunned to speak. “Wasn’t certain it was the right bet, but now I am. I hope we both get to withdraw the price”

Without another word, the world was consumed in a wave of darkness, Beron’s power emerging not so far away. Eris let himself become fire in the dark, brighter than ever, and with the memory of your last smile and the possible hope of a world with you, he launched himself into battle.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

[readychilledwine]

Kissed by Fire pt 3

Summary - Amelia Archeron, the oldest of the made sisters, sacrificed more than her sisters would ever understand, and more than she would ever allow them to know. Now, they want her to sacrifice her one chance at happiness, too.

Warnings - Amelia was a prostitute, body insecurities, mentions of abuse, and the author's loose understanding of chess, but using it more as symbolism and foreshadowing

A/n - it's happeniiiiiing. Things are short and sweet to allow me to make a giant scene where Eris and Amelia meet in the next chapter, and we get to hear Eris say my favorite Eris line to her 🫠

Series Masterlist ✨️ Eris Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist

Rhys sat across from Amelia, a chessboard set up between them. 

He was ruining a game he and Azriel had been playing before he left for the Mountain, but he could not think of any other way to explain to Amelia how powerful and valuable she was, and this was a language the oldest sister would understand after years of playing with her father.

“Lower fae with minimal powers,” he grimaced at the term, “would be like the pawn pieces.” He held one obsidian Pawn in his hand. “They're able to move one space toward but can not go back. Lesser fae can sometimes winnow, but if they make it is another conversion entirely, and they will be worn magically from the effort.”

Amelia nodded. She watched as Rhys picked a bishop, “Low fae with more magic singing through them would be like a bishop. Larger winnowing patterns are possible but still limited.”

“Most fae who prefer to call themselves by their race, such as my illyrians, would be similar to a knight. Capable of larger movements and typically able to jump exactly where they want, granted, most would rather just fly, so winnowing is not a skill the Illyrians truly care about.”

“All brawn no brain,” Rhys smiled at her statement.

His hand moved to a rook. “High fae would be similar to the rook. Typically they're able to go wherever they like within reason, but the jump may be difficult and use more magic than expected.”

He ignored the king piece, the least valued piece in chess, and moved to the queen. “You, my dear Amelia, are the queen piece. There is no limit on your movement,” he paused, ensuring she was looking at him. “Through our world or into another if wanted.”

“Lovely. What exactly does that mean?”

Rhys smiled at Amelia, watching as she rotated in her seat to stare at the map of constellations he had charted many years ago. “It means you can lead whole armies into new worlds and territories by just looking at one of those strings that holds the fabrics of our world together. It means the realm, our world, can communicate to you where to go when you ask and you can get there regardless of the distance with less than half the amount of effort it takes for a High Lord to winnow from Spring to the Night Court.”

He paused, looking at the map with her. “It means you could pull one of those strings and open a rift to a new world. If they are out there.”

“And why is this such a useful skill that you all are now fighting about taking me to Hewn City?” Amelia clocked Rhys straighten slightly, eyes glaring.

“You've been listening to conversations not meant for you again.”

Amelia leaned forward, wrapped in that sweater that made Rhysand's skin crawl anytime he saw it. “Perhaps you all should not discuss someone like they aren't sitting in the same home as you. Who is Eris?”

Rhys sighed, leaning forward to meet her at eye level and show her he would not, and would never, be intimated by her. “Eris is Lucien's older brother. He is a heartless, cruel, and selfish asshole.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “I've been around my fair share of bad men, Rhys. 

“Not that were over 500 years old and used words for warfare. Eris likes powerful things. He will see you as an object for collection.”

“Sounds familiar," Rhysand glared at her serpent smile, "You assume I would allow myself to be collected.”

“I assume it would be best to protect you and not risking him charming his way to you.”

“So, he's charming.” Rhys could help but laugh, watching as Amelia smiled too, the air feeling lighter. “I still think you should let me go.” She batted her lashes at him, watching as his chest stilled and smirked.

“You are dangerous as well. Batting those pretty eyes to get your way. Have you always been like this?”

“No,” she replied softly. He watched her mind go back to a simpler time, chasing a young Feyre through the market in fine clothing before going back to the night she sold everything to keep them alive. “I was made dangerous.”

Amelia stared at the scrap of the clothing Feyre was holding up to her. She could have sworn this was Rhysand mocking her, attacking her despite the period of almost friendship they'd had the past week. 

“I'm not wearing that,” Amelia curled into herself, hugging herself tighter. “That isn't even a dress.” The dress, if she caved to Feyre's desires and called it that, was surprisingly white. But it would cover nothing. 

Amelia had worn dresses like it before. Dresses meant to entice and entertain. Dresses meant for seduction. Dresses meant to flaunt. She hated them every time. Her mother and grandmother had beaten modesty into her, and her former line of work had ripped it apart. She had hoped in this new body, this new life, she could go back to the safety fabric offered.

Rhys had promised never again. He promised her safety. This dress wasn't safety. “Ask Rhys if there's something else I can wear.” 

Feyre's smile fell. “I am high lady of this court-”

“Then if it was your idea, I will remind you that you are my sister. My baby sister. Asking me to wear this is so violating, Feyre. I would never ask that of you. Regardless of my status over you." The one you constantly hang over my head was left unspoken. It was resentment on Amelia's end, just annoyance at Feyre's newfound entitlement.

“Do you not want to reclaim your body? Hybern took your human body from you. Don't you want to own what you have now?”

Amelia could hardly believe what she was hearing as she mentally called for Rhys, and he appeared. “I do not have to wear that to reclaim myself.” The High Lord's eyes were wide as he took the dress from Feyre. They were communicating silently between them, the female glaring up at her husband. 

“I had a different dress commissioned in case you said no to this one. We do allow choice in this court,” Rhys started slowly, taking Feyre's jaw in his hand. “If your sister likes this one so much, she can wear it herself.”

Amelia couldn't help but smile at the two of them. Despite her and Feyre never being as close as she would have liked, seeing her happy, seeing Feyre smile, brought Amelia joy. “You look beautiful when you're happy, Feyre.” You watched her sister flush and Rhysand smile wide. “Even if your mate is mediocre.” The male's mouth fell open as Feyre began to laugh, eyes sparkling at the sign of life coming back to Amelia. 

“Lia! You can't say that,” her voice was laced with giggles as Rhysand stood there in shock, seemingly too stunned to speak. “I think you broke him.” 

“Good,” Amelia kissed her brother's cheek softly before taking the dress, caving to Feyre's wants for once in her younger sister's life. “He needs to be humbled every so often. I will wear this once. Then, I want things that cover a bit more. We can compromise on design." Feyre sighed as Amelia kissed her temple, that once motherly love healing a small part of her. "I am going to freeze in this."

“What do you want in return?”

“Freedom for the night. No brooding male following my every footstep. No wings hovering in the distance. Just freedom for one night.”

Feyre did not give Rhysand time to fight. “Deal!”

Eris hated Hewn City. He had since he was first brought to the Mother forsaken place as a child, but now it reminded him all too much of that mountain. Of Amarantha. 

He wondered how Rhysand had the strength to be down or if the strength was just another finely crafted mask the male wore. 

His usual room had not changed since he was last here over a hundred years ago. Eris threw himself on the bed, allowing a few moments of rest on the dark sheets and blanket before he would have to get dressed into the fine trousers and jacket he had packed himself. 

He had no worries about Keir. Dealing with that male was easy. If he believed he was benefiting from whatever he was offered, he normally took the bait without question.

He had packed an exquisite outfit, smiling at the amount of his father's money sewn into each thread. He checked it over, ensuring nothing was loose and out of place before getting dressed. He could already hear the music, the laughter, and smirked, knowing he was late and would walk in while Rhysand was already sat on his throne. 

He walked along the palace walls, waiting until the doors opened before entering. Azriel was the first to spot him, immediately going to Rhysand and whispering in his ear. He felt those violet eyes on him studying him, but nothing mattered to Eris as much as what he saw. 

There, on the dance floor, was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. For Eris, nothing else mattered. There was no one else there.

It was just her. 

That beautiful creature, laughing too hard to be deemed appropriate. Smiling larger than she should. Dancing with every male that asked. 

She was an enigma, and Eris was more than ready to dive into every complex piece of her.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects

Kissed by Fire:

@justdreamstars @coralseacourt @kemillyfreitas @impossibelle @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @isa1b2h3 @glaciuswduo

@mybestfriendmademe @st4r-girl-official @fandomarchiveilyd @chasing-autumns-chill @tequilya @skyesayshi @maddybraps @acourtofbatboydreams @homeslices @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @believinghurts @going-through-shit

[pursuitseternal]

“I wanted to hear you whimper…” ✨Update to “Bites in the Night”✨

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3K

Summary: After fighting your way out of the Githyanki Crèche, your vampire has a raging… ego. And you need to check it, to remind him his place… and to hear him whimper.

CW: Subby Astarion, Whimper alert, mild bondage, inappropriate use of grasping vines, begging, brat taming, face sitting, anal fingering, oral sex

Ao3 link | series on ao3 | Masterlist

“Well…” he purrs, that aspirate ‘h’ somewhere in the middle of the word making you bristle with irritation. “I thought they’d never leave…” Astarion grins, spattered in Githyanki blood as he casually licks his blade clean.

He’s the image of cool and collected… as if you all didn’t just fight your way out of the entire Crèche in the Rosymorn Monastery. As if Gale didn’t almost die three times and as if you didn’t get your favorite weapons disarmed from your hands twice. “Leave?” you snap at him. “They’re dead!”

Astarion sheathes his blade and starts to suck the blood clean from under his fingernails. “Seems hardly a difference worth fighting over, darling. Same result.”

“No, it’s a result of your big… fat… mouth,” you snip the words, closing the distance to poke him in the leather armored chest with every word. “And you defaced their painting of Vlakith! You’re lucky your undead guts aren’t being used for training targets.”

Astarion just gives that same conceited, shit-eating grin. “My guts are perfectly fine. Theirs are spread on the ground… and, since you seem in a feisty mood…” he leans in close to purr in your ear, “perhaps you’d like your guts rearranged, dear?”

“Ugh!” you gag in disgust at the suggestion. “You arsehole. You should be apologizing for that smart mouth of yours.”

“Darling, I rarely apologize, and I never do when I’m in the right. Thanks to me, we can leave this mausoleum.” He comments with a flick of his wrist, ignoring your enraged glare and heading for camp.

That’s when something snaps inside you. The other companions are already well up the trail from the Monastery. And, by now, when you and Astarion disappear, they know better than to come looking… and Shadowheart usually has her hands already glowing with Lesser Restoration. A nice treat for after feeling the blood loss on your end of your trysts.

But not this time.

“You’re a proper bastard, aren’t you?” you hiss at him, heart racing with the need to fight.

But he just flashes you that cool, collective seductive smile. “Such a mean spirit, you wouldn’t want me to have to teach you some manners… would you?” His lean frame crowds you, one arm reaching to cage you in against the tree behind you. “I’m feeling rather good right now… all that Githyanki blood has given me quite the raging… affliction. I could use your help…” his eyes flash dangerously seductive as he grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his clothed erection.

Tearing your hand away, you cuss at him. “Fucking arrogant Elf,” you hiss, grabbing him by the top of his flushed and pointed ear. “You’re going to learn manners, not me!”

Astarion crumples between your pinching fingers. Knees buckling, voice cracking, eyes tearing… you’d think you had kicked him in the balls with how pathetically he’s reacting now. “Ow, ow, ow,” he whines as you drag him off the path into the sunny woods of the Mountain Path.

You have to reach high to grab it, that pink tip of his ear, but the ache in your shoulder is worth it for how he instantly cows to you. He’s sputtering curses and calling you names, but it’s hard to take them seriously as his voice breaks with shrill whines.

Like a boy in puberty, every word cracks in his voice.

“Cheeky little… argh!” He squeals as you squeeze harder, making his feet stumble. Just in time. You find what you’re looking for.

Grasping vines, a nice little patch.

“You, my vampire, have been insufferable long enough today. Apologize,” you command.

He scoffs, trying to reach for your punishing fingers on his most tender of spots. “I won’t apologize for killing our enemies in battle. They had it coming, those Gith…”

“Hmmm, guess what, my dear,” you cup his bloodied cheek with your free hand, bringing him in for a kiss. His lips tremble against yours, his ear is still nabbed tightly in your grip, after all. You whisper in delicate and threatening tones against his mouth. “Now you’ve got your own thing coming as a result.”

He gasps, cool breath on your face as you guide him to the ground by his ear. “Hands above your head, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll even let you come.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarls, trying to jerk his ear free as he lies in the grass and dirt, but the pain only makes him hiss and relent as you hold fast.

“Oh I dare, Astarion. I dare because you’re being an obnoxious, unbearable… louse!”

“I think you mean leech,” he tries to giggle, a snap of his fangs beneath you. “I have more in common with leeches.”

Your withering glare gives him just enough pause, those hard lines of his eyes softening, gaze widening as he realizes you aren’t joking.

“Hands above your head, leech,” you give your icy command.

Those elegant hands move in obedience, slender, skilled digits twitching slightly as they extend across the forest floor until…

…with a creaking groan, the grasping vines do their job, locking his wrists and upper arms neatly in place.

“Wretched hells, you have to be joking,” he growls, fighting against the vines as anger flares in those crimson eyes. “You have got to be joking, darling.”

“Serious as death itself,” you smirk down at him. “Now all you can use is your smart mouth, and until you apologize, I’m going to give it something to do.

You pull off your leather armor and underthings slowly. A smile turns your lips as you watch Astarion try to slip his hand from the vines unsuccessfully. A sweat is dotting his brow, eyes roam your exposed skin and follow your hand to where your fingers slide themselves to bury into your own cunt.

His fangs catch in the patches of sunlight through the canopy. Pupils blown wide, he watches your hand, his pink tongue wetting his lips at the sight. It doesn’t take any effort to perceive the prodding, twitching erection in his leathers. “Are you going to apologize for being a proper twat?”

“As I demonstrated today with our Gith friends, I’m not one to back down from a fight… darling….”

Oh, that smug grin on his face, that tongue teasing the corner of his mouth… you want to smack it from his handsome face, you want to… to…

You step over him. Feet framing his chest, you lower yourself to your knees, fingers parting your folds to show his hungry eyes your swollen little clit. “If you insist on being a cunt, you can taste mine…”

He smirks wider, purring and stretching beneath you. Proud of himself. “Oh darling, I…”

The groan that comes from your mouth as you cover him with your folds is so loud, birds startle from the trees. You grind, slow rolls that push his prominent, aquiline nose right against your aching clit. Finally, that tongue that has caused you nothing but trouble today is put to good use as it thrusts in and circles around your channel. His laughter tickles up your spine from your sex, and you can almost feel his self-satisfaction as you positively drench his face.

But this is supposed to be retribution. A lesson to tame his brat behavior. So you grab a fist of his perfect, blood-streaked silver hair and yank. “Mmmph,” he whines loudly into your folds. Desperation and pain. It’s high pitched, pitiful. And you shake him a bit, your breathing ragged from being driven so close to your release already.

“This isn’t for you, Astarion, it’s for me,” you snap, watching the twinkle of mischief flash in those crimson depths. “You’ve been naughty… intolerable. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Oh I quake in my boots,” he thrusts his hips up behind you into the air, miming what pleasures await. “I’m all a-quiver with fear,” he sniggers.

You fist your hand tighter in his hair until he hisses and whines that you’ll ruin it. “Just remember, it’s a good thing you don’t need to breathe.”

Those eyes widen at your implied threat as you sit firmly on his mouth and nose and chin. His skin already slick with your arousal, he works his head and tongue inside your folds for far longer than any mortal would survive. You grind slowly, careful not to let in too much air, savoring all the friction he can give you.

And he… he knows his duty. All fangs and tongue and lips as you roll your clit on his nose. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your pulse thumping in your ears now, no longer from rage but from hot, desperate arousal. “I’m close,” you gasp, and you know he hears you as his pointed ears twitch. “Make me come, and I just might let you, too.” You give a low, threatening laugh, “eventually that is.”

That’s when you feel it on your clit, his face sliding in your folds as he catches your bud in his front, blunted teeth and nips.

You groan, voice breaking in a scream as you come around nothing. Holding yourself up with your fist in his hair, you can’t just let yourself pitch forward or you’ll end up in the vines too. So you shake in your bliss, braced against his face and scalp as your tremors wrack through you.

Raising up, you move to kneel beside him, pulling out a rag from your bag of holding to wipe his face off.

“You just can’t keep your hands off me, even after you’ve come. Isn’t that right, darling?” He gives you that arrogant asshole of a smirk, and you mirror it. Slowly, you pop open the fastening of that blue and burgundy leather armor until his cream undershirt lies damp against his skin. You can feel his belly clenching under your feather light touch, watching it rise and fall with ragged breaths.

As your hand brushes gingerly over the rock hard bulge in his leathers, he hisses, a low giggle of a laugh in his throat. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I? I think I deserve a treat,” he sasses you, another roll of his hips to push his erection against your palm.

But you’re not done, and you give his cock a punishing squeeze through his leathers. “Hush,” you snap. You reach into your bag again, pulling out an eagle feather and a bottle of oil. “Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll open your mouth to do one of two things: apologize….” You lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “or beg.”

He laughs, catching you off guard as he bites your lips until you taste blood. “You know by now, I never beg,” he growls, pride dripping from his words.

“First time for everything,” you hiss, pulling your mouth out of his reach and licking your blood from your lips. Reaching for the feather, you tickle it over the sharp, mouthwatering line of his jaw. “We’ll start with something soft, I think…” Just that downy tip traces the lines of his chest, the chiseled muscles underneath flex and constrict as his belly clenches.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his breathing light and rapid. You hear his hands straining against the vines, their growth creaking as he fights for freedom. “Mmhm,” you hear him whine, that feather tracing the line of his waistband as his cock remains twitching.

Untouched.

His eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark as his body undulates under your teasing touch.

“I think I heard you speak, but not to apologize or beg…” you taunt, leaning over him, setting aside the feather in favor of a single finger. Your isolated touch trails the same pattern, those ridges of his abdominals are a map you know by heart now. “So you’ll have to suffer having me touch you like this ‘til you ask nicely…”

Your finger wanders to his hips, just brushing the outline of his cock. He bucks into nothingness, into open air… his breathing rough, his belly rapidly rising and clenching repeatedly. “Eugh,” he whines, your finger tracing that prominent ridge at the base of his cock head.

“Ready to apologize or beg?” you lean down to whisper in his ear, but by the way his fang bites his bottom lip, you can see he’s still clinging too tightly to that insufferable pride.

“Neither,” he says bravely, but the sensation of your hand reaching into his leathers makes an open-mouth whine rip from his mouth. You force your hand into that waistband. It’s snug, especially with how hard he’s gotten. And all you have room to do is squeeze, pulsing your fist around his shaft. You can feel the slow thump of his undead heart in his dick, so hard and so aroused as he is. “Hells… fuck… damn you…” he whines something new with every squeeze you give him.

“Just say ‘sorry,’ or ‘please,’ and all this can go much faster,” you taunt, a singsong in your voice as you release him to unlace his pants. He just gives a pathetic sigh as his cock is freed. You know it aches. All that blood from the Gith, all your teasing has made him flushed and hard and leaking precum profusely. His crimson eyes stare at your lips as you lick them, his whole world narrowed to their wet promise of release and the aching tingle in his cock. It takes a second to shimmy his leathers to the tops of his boots and to uncork the bottle of oil.

A generous amount on your hands and you smile at him. “Come on, you rascal. After all the trouble you caused, don’t you feel the least bit sorry?”

His fangs bite his lower lip tighter again, the sharp lines of his face set, determined to prevail.

Your mouth quirks to one side, hand wandering a single oily finger up his taut thigh, then between those pert ass cheeks of his.

His voice cracks in a whimper, fangs piercing into his own skin as you tease one, single finger around the tight ring of his hole. He tries so hard to snarl, to buck his hips as if he has any control. His cock just juts into the air, twitching and leaking, as you tease inside that ring of muscle just a little more… and more. The oil helps to slide your finger in, just the one digit you thrust in and out. He voices his rapid breathing, quick fire noises that sound so pathetic from his throat, you’re almost tempted to give in and bring him the sweet release you both crave.

“By the hells,” he opens his mouth, whining like a child, “you’re going to really make me pay for just being myself, aren’t you?”

“And just who do you think you are?” You snigger, all those feelings of sympathy evaporate, and suddenly you have two fingers knuckle deep in his ass. Jamming them in slowly, you crook over and over until you find that spot inside him that makes him shudder and writhe. “Ha… huh…” he’s huffing with each stroke you make inside him. “P….p….”

“Is that a ‘p-p-please’ that’s starting to finally form on your irritating tongue?” you chide him, pressing your lips on the spasming plane of his belly even as your fingers fuck him. “And don’t fool yourself, I’m making you pay not because you’re insufferable… or mischievous… or down right maliciously cruel…”

Your fingers continue their torture in his tight walls. Another kiss on his stomach, a flick of your tongue below his navel and more along those deep v cut grooves over his hips, and you hear the most divine noises from his lips. “Just so we’re clear, I’m doing this to show you your place… to remind you, you need to be a member of my party… and just because I want to hear you whimper.” You lower your mouth, his eyes almost black with lust as they stare at you. He watches you lick your lips slowly only to just breathe warm, damp air on his cock. He grunts, fangs and teeth grit as it jerks widely from the promise of contact. “Beg for me, dear…”

You can hear his little swallowed growls in time with your fingers that are still thrusting inside him.

“Beg for me to let you come…”

His breathing comes in rapid succession, hissing between his clenching teeth. Until… finally… he opens them for a single word. “Please…”

But you just laugh, low and rough in your throat. “Louder, you proud, arrogant bastard.”

“Hells, just…. Fuck me… please!” He finally breaks, voice high and breathless as he bucks his hips into the air closer to your face. A desperate attempt at contact. Any contact.

You stick out your tongue, a teasing lick up the underside of his shaft to clean the mess of precum that’s positively dripping in streams. His cock twitches away from your tongue, a mind of its own. And you laugh, letting your lips and throat vibrate as you slowly suckle him down. Your fingers prod just right, and those warm, tight muscles inside him pulse and tighten… until his cum fills your mouth. He erupts with the most pathetic sounds yet… all rapid whines that crack his voice box until he can only grunt in time with his cock spasms. He fills you; the taste is familiar, but his seed is strangely warm on your tongue. Perhaps it’s from positively gorging himself today. Maybe that’s one thing that you could enjoy because of his arrogance. You smile as you swallow, savoring the look on his sweaty face. You pull your oiled fingers free, cleaning you both with a rag.

“Still feeling like a brat?” You taunt him, as you wipe his softening cock.

“I’m hardly ever a brat, darling…”

You scoff, throwing the rag on his face. “Maybe I should leave you like this until the vines decide they’re tired of your attitude too.”

“Gods, no, please,” he adds quickly. And you just smile down at him, naked and triumphant as you say two more words…

“Good boy.”

[hcdragonwrites]

A Tiger on the Mountain (a @semisolidmind Fanfic)

Here it is ! Another one. I made up a creature specifically so I could play out a scenario in my head and lead into another fic after this one. This is not a two parter but it leaves it open for a follow up!

TW: Blood and Violence and allusions to torture at the end. (Not of Peaches SHES fine)

“Get out before you become a new rug for me to wipe my feet upon.” Sun Wukong snarled over the table, his staff in his hands. The Nine Tiger Demon took a step backward at the fury. The expedition to this kingdom of monkeys and flowers had been a fools mission. Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, dipped his head cordially.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The tiger smiled and stepped out of the council room, his great black cape swirling as he exited in a flourish. He had made a jab at the Monkey Kings pride by calling him Lord. He knew that his patience was wearing thin with him. Especially after he had eluded to the weakness of mortal Ally’s.

“It is necessary to procure some of the goods they produce.” Wukong had waved the complaint aside. As if waving a fly. Zari was a lord of a snowy country where resources were few and blood was spilt as common as the snowfall. His kind had been hunted by poachers for their pelts. For the magic quality in their stripped bodies. Bones, blood, tendons, fur, claws… Everything in a tigers body was hunted for medicine, magic and mayhem. To hear that the most feared creature west of his kingdom, the great demonic Monkey King who had challenged Heaven, had made treaties with humans…

Zari had licked his muzzle sensing weakness.

“Why treat when you can take?” The tiger lord had questioned. His attendants beside him fidgeted, their hands straying to the scimitars belted to their sides. A twitch of his tail tip called them off. A tiger was playing with a monkey to see what sort of prey it had between his claws.

“And cause further disharmony around me ? Mortal men are easily placated. It leaves me free to put my resources into more important things.” Here the monkey leaned forward, eyes glowing with the torchlight. “Like seeking new territories in the east.”

The threat was received but Zari didn’t rise to the bait. He was a patient creature. The scars on his stripped hands and body proved how many battles and hunters he had outwitted.

Of course Zari had only come to sieze up the competition in the West. He never had any intentions of swearing allegiance to the ape. To debase himself to an ape? Never. So it only took Wukong a few more verbal jousts to also know the game was at an end. He had dismissed the tiger with a threat. Zari kept his claws velveted. For now.

As he stepped out of the corridor he let the slightest bit of agitation show in his whiskered face. A twitch of a tail brought one of his attendants forward.

“Gather the lower Claw.” Zari whispered. “They need a good hunt.”

“Of course my King.” The lesser demon bowed and raced off, light as a feather in the wind. At least that would humble the foolish ape—

Zari came around the corner and bumped straight into something soft, and pliable. His claws caught it reflexively before the thing fell completely onto his black armor and ruined his perfect complexion. He hissed, about to snap at this new weaker underling of a foolish king when the scent hit the top of his mouth.

Human.

“I’m so sorry!” It was female. The women pulled from the tiger claws. Her eyes remained cast down. Simple peasant clothes. Hair tied up in a messy updo. Flushed cheeks, good proportions. The tigers eyes had been blown wide.

“Are you alright miss?” Zira smoothed the twitching of his whiskers, kept the lashing of his tail to a minimum. But his instincts roared and his mouth pooled. “I did not mean to bump into so harshly.”

A captured peasant girl? A pet of this monkey kings?

“Oh no it was my fault!” The women said. She finally looked up and the tiger demon got a good look at the curve of her throat. The hot pulse just inches from his fangs.

From further down the corridor someone called “PEACHES!” The girl stiffened a bit then smiled sheepishly.

Zira felt as if he was a wolf in the sheep pen.

“I should have been watching where I was going. Carry on!” She bowed and then quickly scuttled off.

“Well well well…”Zira smiled to himself as another monkey ran past and after the fleeing women. He felt his grin widen, the drool threatening to slip. “Look like I have some entertainment myself…”

For Zari, The Nine Tiger Demon- Lord of the Eastern Waste and Terror of the Snowy Steppes, was whispered and feared by mortals across his snowy slice of the world. Legends told of how he would slip in as silent as a ghost. How he would visit families and paint their walls in red crimson and spattered gore. For Zari was a man eater, a enjoyer of mortal flesh. And his favorite prey that he enjoyed devouring most was women.

This conquest just got a bit more interesting.

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

“I Demand compensation.”

The threat would have come off more terrifying from the Monkey King if he had been dressed in his armor. However he was… not. Instead Wukong was at the present moment, begging on Peaches lap beneath a cherry tree. His face was a storm cloud as he lifted Peaches hands up to his head.

“I am afraid you won’t be getting any.” Peaches let her hand fall limply off. The stormy face broke into a beggars crocodile tears.

“PEACHESSSS!”

Macaque would have snickered at his sworn brother begging but he was also not getting any sort of touches from Peaches. He didn’t know why she had decided today of all days to deny both of them.

Why was she withholding scratches from her husbands? Well. For many reasons. For one, one of them startled her awake this morning by swooping her into his arms because he got a little too excited and woke her from her dreams. It also triggered a huge sort of panic because she has had enough of nightmares on being snatched away thank you.

Of course telling the one begging at her knees right now that his over exuberance this morning had been one of the reasons for no pats, would only lead to more exuberance.

A second reason she was including both and not just the one who scooped her ? Well because the day before Macaque thought it would be funny to pop one of his shadows beneath her while she was trying to brush her hair and in the fall the hairbrush - still tucked into her hair- wrenched. It had been painful and she had lost several bits of her own hair in it.

And thirdly? Because these two had, for all intensive purposes of the words, kidnapped her and forced her to live here upon the mountain. Yes she was still bitter about it. No she wouldn’t get over it. At least not today. Too many tricks were tugged and her personal space breached for her to simply let it go. A little bodily autonomy and boundary would be nice. Instead her two lovers would look at her as one would a family cat and go “awwwwwwww!” and scoop her up.

So two very peeved simians sat cross legged staring her down. Wukongs tail was lashing back and forth, his eyes narrowed like a cats. He reached forward and grabbed Peaches hand again. She had learned long ago that giving them the satisfaction of her resistance- how cute! They would say as she practically threw all manner of pellmell closet clutter at them- would only prolong their inevitable smothering of her.

Being impassive was her best weapon.

So she let her hand be limply lifted.

Just as limply it slid off the Monkey Kings head.

“Peaches! Come on!” Wukong groaned. He sounded like a kid begging for sweets. Peaches sniffed. The day was nice at least. She had made her way out of Water Curtain Cave and out onto the mountainside before her attendant could shove and stuff her into royal courtly attire. Not today! Peaches hadn’t wanted to attend court. She hadn’t wanted to be near that council room. Her accidental bump into that demon had been as close as she had gotten. A tiger demon? Now that was something she hadn’t seen yet.

Wukong laid himself over her lap, his face pouting up at her. He looked… adorable. It was almost enough for her to forget about his transgression this morning. It wasn’t enough. She turned her head away.

Only for Macaque to be there. He had somehow snuck up, as was his silent way, and pressed himself to her back. He slipped her into his lap, and Peaches felt a little spark of unease. Macaque was the slower of the two when it came to affection, sneaking it in or trying to tease it from her. Wukong was all action and joyful tugs and play. His was earnest and forward. Macaque was… sly. Teasing. A fox inside the chicken house.

“Sweet peach, come now.” His hands settled around her. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and Peaches fought the blush from rising in her face. Think of rocks and birds. What you will eat tonight. Anything but how his voice and how it feels rumbling against me.

“We just want to have a little comfort.” The dark furred monkey lifted her hand. He entwined his fingers in hers. They were so large. The practically swamped her own. The claws slide along the fingers as he lifted her hand and tugged it into his fur onto his cheek.

“Come on, little plumb.” His smile was as sweet as honey, as soft as downy feathers. If it had been any other day she would have mussed his fur and teased him back. However Macaque made a mistake of touching her hair with a free hand. Reminding Peaches that this little trickster had yanked some of her hair out.

She let her hand remain lax.

“No.”

“Then you leave both of us no choice.”

Macaque leaned back and with a woosh and gasp of air and black- they were back in their room. The pillow pit cushioned their fall, as did Macaque who lay beneath her. Peaches let out an indignant squeak as the demon monkey growled playfully in her ear.

“You have only a few moments before Wukong gets here. Do you want to tell me what’s up?”

“No.” Peaches sniffed. His hand was trailing along her skin, almost walking up her arm.

“Are you mad at him?” Macaque asked.

“Yes”

“Are You mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Is it … a mad kind of day?”

She didn’t respond.

He tutted and tugged her hands free of where she had shoved them beneath her arms. He placed one against the side of his head, eyes gently closing. He kissed her palm, her wrist, her arm.

“Come on my sweet… just indulge us both..”

“No.”

“Little minx.” The purple eyes flashed along with that sharp toothed smile. Peaches felt her face flush. Macaque leaned in and over her now, his free hand twining in the hair on the back of her neck. The demon was angling her from being the one on top, to sliding her into the pillow pit with the dark haired monkey hovering above. He pulled her up and into him, and Peaches had the startling realization that she was so very very small and he was so very very large all of a sudden.

“What sins do I have to whisper into your ears ? What marks should I leave upon your skin to earn your affection again?” His eyes dipped to her lips. Peaches face felt like it was afire. “Should I sing your praises into your skin with my teeth?”

Oh dear.

And then the moment of tension was broken by a furious orange blur bursting into the room and tackling both of them. Peaches cried out while Macaques face looked deadpan at his sworn brother. The moment of tension, of turning Peaches pink as a lychee fruit, was over.

“MACAQUE! THATS NOT FAIR!” The monkey king was entangled with both of them as he grabbed the other hand and shoved it into his fur. Peaches only held onto them now as they jostled her. “HOW MANY HEADSCRATCHES DID YOU GET?”

“None…” His face was exasperated, his tail twitching at the tip.

“None?” Wukong echoed.

“None!” Macaque slammed his head closer to Wukong. Peaches was perfectly sandwiched between her husbands very bare and very exposed chests as the two brothers bristled at each other. She was loosing her own power of wills because … well. Peaches was only human. She could barely stay mad at one Monkey half dressed. Two half dressed and practically pressed cheek to pec against either side of your face ? It was a marvel her body didn’t burn up on the spot from how much she was blushing.

“Why you shouting at me then?!”

“You spoiled my sport before I could tease some out of her.”

“Oh?” Wukongs eyes shot downward. Peaches looked away, feeling like she got caught watching.

Oh no.

The two demons looked down on her. And Peaches felt like she was in danger. Not a you-will-die-and-be-disemboweled way. More of you-will-be-turned-into-a-second-sun-from-how-much-we-will-tease-you kind of way. They loomed over their mortal wife, ears perked forward and grins becoming sharp and feral.

Another burst through the door however saved Peaches from being turned into a puddle beneath the attentions of her husbands.

“Ugh what is it now?” Macaque sighed.

“My King! We are under attack!”

The two warlords changed from flirting devils to stiff and immovable stones as they stood. Macaques ears swished, forward and back, each set twitching as he confirmed it.

Wukong was across the room, his armor back on his body in a flash. His staff was plucked free from his ear, elongating in a flourish.

“Where?” The Sages voice was a silent rumble.

“Off the south slope- a band of panthers by the look of it.” The sentry’s tail was puffed in fear. Wukong nodded and was off in a flash of fur and fury.

Someone was attacking the mountain? They must be crazy. Insane. Or have a death wish.

Macaque set Peaches firmly in the Pillow pit, eyes somber.

“Love don’t move. Don’t leave this room. Understand ?” His face was pinched in worry bordering on fury. He was trying to maintain his composure for her, to hold back the anger that was threatening to bubble upward. Peaches may think of her boys a lot of way. They were selfish when they wanted her attention. They had taken her away reluctantly from her home. She had been forced to live her for the past decade or so. Her husbands were warlords, murderers and Demons.

They also cared for her a great deal, in a way that no mortal could compare. They clothed her in the finest garb but also gave her the option of comfort. They brought her to the Palace and laid laws down among the fellow demonic ally’s that she was to be respected and treated as an extension of Wukong and Macaques power. They brought her gifts from the outside world when they came back from expeditions, made her foods from the finest ingredients, told her stories of their travels. On nights when the past came back to rear it’s head she could find comfort in one or both of their arms.

And at times like this, she felt thankful that, of all the kidnapping creatures in the world, at least it had been these two.

That didn’t sound like a plus at all.

Macaque was waiting for her response. Peaches shook herself free of the cobwebs, of the past and back into the present. The mountain was under fire. Something was trying to earn the ire of the Monkey King and his People. As a very soft once mortal immortal now, Peaches had no sort of power to defend with or help. She was a liability, at least until she began her own cultivation, on the battlefield. So Peaches nodded.

“Yes.”

It was all Macaque needed. He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered “Good girl.”

And he was gone, falling into shadow.

“Hellooooo?”

Peaches started awake at the voice. Disoriented she disentangled herself from the soft fur and pillows she had been wedged between. She must have fallen asleep some time in the day. The light coming from the windows was a burnished gold, sunset settling on the

“Someone help! Help me please…”

The voice was disjointed, the sound echoing from beyond the closed doors. It set her skin to crawling. Shouldn’t there be guards ? Shouldn’t there be someone outside the doors?

“HELP. SOMEONE HELP!”

The voice sounded like a baby! The shrill high note cut through the last hesitation Peaches had. She opened the door and rushing out into the corridor.

The echos of her footfalls bounced back to her from the stone walls. The cry came again, a baby monkey hooting in distress. It came from around corridors, downs passageways. Peaches raced forward until she had burst out of the cavern and into the dying light of the sun.

The grass swayed in the breeze. The shadows danced across the field, like stripes on a great tigers back.

She felt a shiver go up her spine. Something was terribly wrong. It felt off - the world felt off. The mountain was usually brimming with life and sound. Birds would be calling even at this late hour when day turns to night. The cicadas would be sonorously screaming their complaints to the night air. However…

Everything was still. Not a insect nor a bird called out. There were no generals or other monkeys present on the mountain. Usually sentries were littered about the fields and slopes. There was no one here at this moment.

That’s wrong. Completely wrong…

A faint gurgle, a dying cry of a baby monkey from somewhere just ahead.

“Where are You?” Peaches called. The child sounded in pain- and the sooner she got them inside the cave, the better. “You have to tell me where you are so I can help you.”

“Typical mortals.” The voice came from behind and peaches whipped around. A tiger demon, a creature of immense size and with terrifying teeth, toward behind her. Zira held the languid look of a cat with a full belly, tail swaying in the grass and claws meticulously being groomed. The blood from those long claws was the fresh scarlet of new blood.

“Your kind always come when lured by another— I was wondering if I should do a human baby or a mortal imitation but, seeing as you’ve been collared and tamed by monkeys, I thought that would be the easiest way to lure you out.” The tiger lord grinned. Peaches saw that he was fully armored. The black leather of his body was painted in dark splotches of red.

He’s … killed people. Who has he killed?? Where’s the baby ??

Peaches stepped cautiously back into the grass, heart racing. The tiger lords eyes grew round.

“Are you trying to run?” His voice was practically a pur as he stood straighter. “Please do. The chase will be good for me and clear this monstrous smell of ape blood.”

“What do you want?” Peaches needed to stall. To find a way to keep the beast talking. He liked to talk to full the silence. “Why are you here?”

“Those are boring questions dear morsel. Boring indeed. You mortals think all the same- but at least you taste better then your little brains think.” Zira stepped forward and into Peaches bubble- forcing her backward and further away from the cave. “Why am I Here ? Well to play. It’s been so long since I’ve had a chance to play with another demons pet.”

Another slow pace forward. Another hasty retreat from Peaches.

“I can understand. I play rough. It’s hard when you all … scream at the slightest break of bone. At the sudden loss of limb…” the tiger lords body seemed to grow, a secondary face appearing from its left cheek. The new muzzle opened and in horror peaches heard people crying, of mortal women begging for their children. The voices of men pleaded for wives and sons and daughters. Anguished cries, cries of pain. Voices from the past.

Dead voices.

“They never last long.” The tiger smirked, that new face along his left side turning upward as well.

“So when I came to see this terrifying demon lord who has challenged heaven I expected him to have a show of strength. What I didn’t expect was a pet like you.” Those eyes flashed.

“Why? Wukong is the strongest Why—“

“Why did I not expect you?” Zira snorted. “Because demons forget themselves when they stop consuming lesser beasts and start befriending them.”

Peaches looked about her. She wouldn’t be able to make a dash back to the caves. This tiger was driving her further and further from safety. She had been a fool to try and help, a damned fool. The next best thing she could do was to try and stay alive long enough. Long enough for her to call out. Wukong or Macaque would hear her. She had no doubt on that. There was also the willow tree just ten feet behind her. If she could get to it and climb she may be able to stall out this demon.

“Now dear. How would you like to die?” The tiger was closer now as Peaches kept stepping back. She was almost back pedaling, trying to stay out of the range of those claws. Of those red teeth. “I could kill you by fang or claw. Or maybe a sword would be better. But then… where’s the fun in it for me if you die so quickly ?”

Peaches spun on her heel and ran.

“HELP!” Her lungs filled with more air, to shout to the Heavens above. The grasses bent beneath her flight. She had almost made it to the tree, almost got enough air to scream again when something slammed into her shoulder. Bright hot pain bloomed and she fell to the dirt. Her hands reached up and came away with sticky blood.

“Calling for help is useless.” Zira licked the fresh blood clean from his claws, enjoying the taste of terror on his tongue. “My men have them busy against the farthest side of the mountain.”

Peaches rolled, to get up to get away she did not know. Her movement was stopped by a booted heel to her shoulder. The new pain elicited a scream to peak from her lips. It rang eerily off the mountain that was so still. So awfully still.

“The pain will only be temporary.” Zira knelt. The tiger reached down with his clawed hands. He cupped her face as she fought him. He smiled and opened his jaws wide to close over her throat.

The suns last dying ray cast a shadow as black as night over the grassy floor. It pooled beneath the mortal women and then, with a slip and tug, Ziras prey was swallowed by the black. The tiger snarled claws raking the soil in a vain attempt to dig her back out.

“So it was you.”

Zira turned.

There, leaning against his staff was the Monkey King. His clawed hands and golden armor were covered in black blood. Zira felt a worm of unease creep into his calm and cocky smile. Those warriors had been the best of his Claw- the best in the Snowy Steppes. There was no way they had failed—

“Ah King Wukong!” The tiger Lord began. If he could stall him out, lead him into a false sense of security, then that would be better. It would buy him time to get closer, to steal into range and pounce. “So nice to see you agai—-“

The tiger lord didn’t even see the moment. On second the orange monkey was standing before him and the next he felt a blooming pain cut along his secondary face. He roared in confusion as the sight from those eyes was lost in a shower of blood. The tiger had no time to reorient himself however. The neck blow was to one of his hands. Sun Wukong clasped one in hand and with a terrible crunch, shattered all the bones within.

Panic came traipsing up the tigers spine. This was not good. The monkey was moving incredibly fast - too fast- for him to counter. He reached for his Scimitar- the blade of Nine Tigers- to end the fight. This blade could cut mountain in half- it could cleave souls from bodies and leave the flesh whole.

“You come to my mountain…”

The staff slammed into the side of his head, casting several of the tigers teeth from his jaws. He was unbalanced but determined. He just had to grab his sword —

“You attack my home…”

Another blow to his middle sent him slamming into the willow tree. The force of it snapped the bark and collapsed the Willow behind him. Zira felt stars float in his vision, tasted his own blood. He had a hand on his sword now though. He drew the blade, cutting it across the insolent ape that towered over him. Wukongs soul would be cleaved, his body left behind for the flies to lay eggs in. He would be dead. The blade sliced —

And snapped in half.

“You tried to devour my wife…” Fear is not something a tiger experienced often. It raced over his stripes, twitched his crushed whiskers, and made his eyes widen. That had been his wife ? That common little dustmote ? Zira had miscalculated. A pet was one thing. But a wife —

“You took… a mortal… as a wife? Pa—“ Zira tried for bravado, tried to spit into the monkey lords face. The tiger was desperately clinging to what remained of his pride. He had chased a rabbit into a ravine and found wolves.

Zira opened his jaws to cast his last disrespect. Only for the claws of Wukong to cut along his jaw and crush it closed before he could finish.

“I will break every bone in your body before I let you die. You will wish you were dead before I’m done with you.”

The shadows swallowed Peaches and arms wrapped around her but she was still flailing. She grabbed at fur and skin and battered her fists and nails against it.

“Ow - PEACHES - PEACHES ITS ME!” Macaque voice cut over the adrenaline that floated high and fast in her blood. She blinked at him. They were back in their room, back inside Water Curtain Cave. Peaches hand was still curled in a fist, still raised up to beat along her captors face. Only. This wasn’t the tiger anymore. It was Macaque.

“It’s just me.”

“I’m not dead am I?” What stupid words to say but it was the first thing her numb mind could think on.

“What? No.” Macaques face was a sea of worry lines as he gently turned her shoulder to him. The blood was sopping beneath the cloth of her shirt. He gave it a sniff and murmured in soothing tones. Mostly to himself. “But I’m concerned for your shoulder. Let’s get that looked at alright ?”

Peaches nodded. Macaque used his claws to rip free the ruined cloth of the shirt and gain better access to the claw marks.

“It’s an ugly scratch but nothing deep.” She felt his hands, paper soft press along the skin. She hissed at the fiery pain as damaged nerves and sore skin protested. “Peaches you will have to be brave for me and let me stich it closed ok?”

She nodded. Her mind was still processing the events just moments ago. Of tiger teeth flashing to bite her throat. Of claws cutting her skin. Macaque returned to her and tugged her into him. She didn’t protest. Didn’t stop as he pulled her hand up to his face. She twined her fingers into the fur, needing the grounding almost, if not more, then he did. Macaque made soothing chirps and soft noises as he worked, pulling needle through flesh and closing it up.

It was only after a time, when Peaches own fear began to fall away, that he asked her.

“Why did you leave the room Peaches ?”

“I heard … it sounded like one of the babies Mac.” One of the little monkey babies all alone and crying for help. The haunting sound echoing off the stone and always just out of reach. “One of the littles in pain and hurt. I didn’t think. I just … acted.”

“Mmm.” Another stich pressed into her skin and she flinched. “You know this means you will have to have a day guard now yes?”

“Are you putting more restrictions on me after I almost got devoured ?” It was a bad attempt at humor but Peaches tried anyway. Whenever something happened to her - if it was an imagined insult from a courtier, a threat to her life because she tried something new and it didn’t agree with her- the boys would set new limits, new conditions. Macaque scowled at her and she bit her tongue from adding to the humor.

“Precautions. If I hadn’t heard you—“ His voice chocked at the end. Peaches looked back. Macaques ears were all low, dropping like flower petals. For all their faults, for their transgressions in taking her choices from her, they loved her. Peaches could see that love in Macs eyes as he imagined the possible outcomes that could have happened. She twirled her fingers around s patch of his fur, soothing him and herself with the confirmation that this was the reality now and not those flashing teeth.

“We can’t loose you Love. I — we — we were so afraid.” When Macaque had heard the strangled help in the heat of battle he had stopped. He had felt his heart give a lurch and Wukong had been of like mind. That battle was practically won. Between the two sworn brothers, nothing much could stand in their fury. But hearing Peaches— Peaches who they left back safe in their room, in the palace, calling for help—

“I was too.”

“When I tell you to stay inside - stay inside. Understand?”Anger laced Macaques words as he pinned her with a look.

“Yes.” It wasn’t good enough though. Not for him. It wouldn’t be for Wukong. The next time the mountain was under attack—if there was a next time— Macaque would lock the doors and the windows. He would shudder the room in shadow if he had to. But. A yes for now was the best he would get from her.

“Good. That’s all the chewing out I’ll give you because when Wukong gets here he’s going to have some very harsh words with you.” Peaches shoulders flinched a little.

“He’s mad at me?” There was genuine hurt and dismay in her voice. Wukong and Peaches had the toughest days when it came to their relationship. Some days she could forget he had taken her without her consent from all she knew- had wiped her village clear off the map. Other days she only saw the blood soaked Warlord in all his fury. On those days arguments ensued and the kings mood was ever sour.

“Never mad at You.” Macaque reassured. Wukong never was genuinely upset at their peach. How could he be when he was enamored with her so? Macaque couldn’t even keep his own anger at her negligence of self after todays events. All she had to do was look at him with that puppy dog look and he was wanting to tease and soothe her into smiles and comfort. “Never. Afraid for your life ? Absolutely. He has half a mind to keep you indoors from now on.”

“He said that ?”

“As we were racing to come get you yes.” Macaque finished the stitches with a pull and tug. The cord came free in his claws. He set about binding cotton gauze around the area to protect the stitches. In the morning he would let them breathe.

“But I think if you let him coddle you for a few days and you agree to a guard, he won’t take your outside privileges away.” Macaque teased and gave advice. Wukong could get a bit … territorial when it came to their Peach. He understood how important it was to give some sort of semblance of freedom to her. Peaches was like a flower- she needed light and air to thrive. If Wukong took that away, he wouldn’t like how she would wilt. Even though Macaque himself had half a mind to keep her inside forever. Especially after today.

Peaches head brushed beneath his chin suddenly and the monkey was jarred from his thoughts. She was nodding off, fighting sleep. Macaque gathered her up easily and set her into the bed they shared. He took care to arrange the pillows, to settle her into her most favorite blankets and soft things. It was a distraction from the rage that now was bubbling upward. For though Macaque had the calmest demeanor- he was just as bloody and furious as his brotherly counterpart.

“Go to sleep.” He commanded. Peaches yawned, catching the trailing end of his tail.

“You won’t leave me … will you?”

“I will be right here till Wukong gets back.”

It was hours later when Macaque heard his brother step into their rooms. Wukong had bathed and cleaned himself elsewhere from the smell of the water and floral oils coming off of him. They both knew how Peaches had an aversion to the scent of blood. The monkey king was across the room and hovering over the pillow pit where she slept.

“How is she?” Wukong asked. All the rage had gone from him. Only worry remained. His tiny little wife… he could still see the Tiger hovering above her, his jaws parted wide over her throat to devour. It made Wukong wish to break his muzzle again.

“Worn out. The cuts are superficial at best. I stitched them up.” The sheen of white medical gauze and cotton took over one lovely shoulder of Peaches back. Wukong felt his teeth beginning to grit in a threatening smile.

“Why would she go outside?! Peaches isn’t a fool.”

“And she wasn’t one.” Macaque soothed. He was standing now that Wukong was here, making his way to the door slowly. “She went outside because she heard the bastard imitate a baby cry.”

“A baby?”

“She thought it was one of the babies.” Wukongs heart gave a shudder. Of course she would throw caution to the wind. His Peaches loved the children of the mountain almost as much as he himself did. “Peaches said she went out to look and that’s when he leapt at her.”

Wukong felt a bit of his anger ebb. He was never angry at Peaches. He could never be. But anger around how she acted ? … yes. That was a possibility. Hearing how she didn’t go out until she thought it was a baby- well. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“The sentries are dead.” Wukong had come across their bodies after restraining the tiger demon. Seeing his peoples cut throats and crumpled bodies had not soothed his anger. He hoped the tiger healed quickly enough so he could repay them for each of his peoples lives. “The tiger killed them. He thought he could kill me by swinging his fancy sword. Too bad it snapped on the first try.”

“Did you leave him alive?” Macaque was at the door now, his fists uncurled.

“He’s somewhere beneath us in a wet cave. I broke all the bones in his body. But … I Left the tail for you.”

“Good.” The door opened and his brother was gone.

Wukong stared at Peaches as she slept for a moment. He had almost lost her today. He half wanted to wake her up and shake her and the other half just wanted to keep her tucked away and safe inside the mountain. Wukong would pull promises and such from her tomorrow. In fact, he may have to teach her some basic self defense. She would never be able to stop a full demonic beast. It would ease his mind however - it would sooth him and settle the fur that kept rising along his back- if she at least had an understanding of what tricks and traits demons used to tempt food out of hiding.

Wukong slid into the nest, settling himself so he didn’t jostle her awake. Tomorrow he could sit her down and tell her the new precautions he would have to merit out. A new guard, lessons in defense, maybe even a copy of him nearby or in the shape of some common item… Wukong could gift her a hairpin each morning and do her hair with a copy of himself. A magical copy that would have ears out for any mischief she may wind up falling into.

It would give her the illusion of freedom without telling her I put a spy on her person. That made Wukong feel better. For the next few days however, she wasn’t leaving his side. He didn’t care if she cried out or pouted or started to throw things. They had almost lost her.

Peaches half woke with a start as Wukong adjusted the blankets about her. Her face came upward, staring and trying to see all about.

“Wukong?”

“It’s just me… you can go back to sleep.”

To his astonishment Peaches shifted, settling herself into his chest. Wukong welcomed her tangle, twining has hands into her hair as she tugged on his fur. Her cheek was pressed to his chest where his heart must be hammering beneath. The Monkey king made soothing chirps and soft calls to her, a reassurance of safety and care. Soon enough her fingers relaxed again as she fell into sleep.

He kissed her temple and nose, twirling his fingers through her hair. It was just as soothing for him as it probably was for her.

Wukong was glad the tiger had been able to survive him. He couldn’t wait to gift his pelt to her when he was finished with him.

If Macaque didn’t kill him after all.

[earl-grey-teacake]

so how are we feeling after that news.

I am not sure how I feel about everything since I just keep finding out more stuff and it makes me feel worse and worse. I’m sad, and upset, and it feels like a tinge of grief. Not for my own dreams or aspirations but for Logan’s. That being said, I will continues writing my Baby!Loscar AU and I will continue/ start my other Loscar fics. I feel like it is a tough time and I hope to make it a little bit lighter.

I think my biggest feeling is overall disdain and disgust for how Williams went about this. My biggest issue is the whole situation being portrayed as “Williams is a business, this was a business decision. No emotion here” Businesses are not faceless entities, they are teams of people. It’s why teams put a lot of effort in PR and companies invest so much in HR. They are comprised of people and we as spectators and fans also play a role in the business that is Williams. Fandoms are profitable, fan content keeps people engaged, and those who are engaged spend money. This decision has shot William’s PR and whatever goodwill they managed to achieve last year. Logan is a martyr in the eyes of fans and James Vowles has come off as a deranged man. For the past month, any comments to the media are either of him passive-aggressively calling Logan a failure or thirsting after Carlos in a way that makes me want to call HR.

This decision isn’t even a money decision either. They talk about the upgrades, and need for points but are putting their faith in a driver that is clearly being brought up from F2 too early. They are taking risks that genuinely make no sense to me and I am afraid it may damage this new rookie’s confidence on top of it.

I cannot tell if James Vowles is doing this because he wants to live a bit wild before Carlos comes, has a vendetta against Logan, or he is just off his rockers.

I am happy Logan is out of there though and wherever he goes, I go. I hope he goes to Indycar. This is not me seeing Indycar as so lesser sport where unsuccessful F1 drivers should go it. I have great admiration for Indycar and genuinely enjoy watching it more than F1. My wish for Logan to go to Indycar is for the general vibe and how friendly everyone is and for the fact that I live 3 hours away from a track and will absolutely take PTO to see Logan race.

Personal feelings are below if anyone wants to read them.

I got into F1 last year around September but really dove into it around the beginning of November. Logan was someone who never really stood out to me in the beginning but I began to notice him more and more around October and November and I couldn’t help but sympathize for him. I remember how anxious I was waiting for him to be re-signed and the relief I felt when it happened.

I wanted him to do well and succeed so desperately and as it became more and more apparent that James and Williams, were doing, I became a bigger and bigger fan of him. I know I’ve mentioned it briefly on here before but near the end of last year and the first half of this year, I was dealing with a toxic workplace and an abusive supervisor. As the months went on, the treatment towards me got worse and worse and so did Williams’s treatment of Logan. Our workplace started to mirror each other.

The remarks, the veiled threats, the passive-aggressive comments that points to the same message “you’re under-performing, you’re not good enough”. Most of all, the expectation to practically perform miracles with tools and equipment that was vastly behind the rest of the field. I know very well how heavy and oppressive the work environment must have been. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to have to be doing it everyday, to have to perform for the public like everything is fine, and take the abuse from James, from journalists and commentators, and social media. I was already breaking under my supervisors treatment of me, I definitely would have snapped in Logan’s shoes. However, while my supervisor got kicked out of their position, Logan was the one who got kicked off the team. I do hope he takes the summer to enjoy himself and heal.

I feel so bad for him and I’m so upset at how I didn’t know this was his last race. I had Abu Dhabi planned out thinking that was going to be Logan’s last and now I’m just a bit crushed.

[anon-e-miss]

Touch of Sight - 11

A Cornerstone’s bells rang out calling the faithful to worship. Prowl lay on his belly, face buried in his pillow and listened to them ring. There was no mistaking the call of lesser temples for that of a Cornerstone. Minor temples had only a single bell in their bell towers, where Cornerstones had three octaves at least of bells that were not rung haphazardly, but in a score written by some ancient temple musician. He should not have been able to hear them at all, tucked away as he was in the market. Might the wind be blowing in just the right directions? With the haze of recharge still thick in his helm, Prowl listened. It was odd, he had never heard a Cornerstone’s call so clear and yet they sounded one dimensional, flat. There was something missing. Prowl stretched out his doorwings to “hear” a little better, only to realize he could not “hear”, could not “feel”, could not feel his doorwings, could not move them at all. He was blind, truly, completely blind. Imm. His audials heard his strangled cry as he tried to push himself up, digits clawing at the berth under him. He tried to reach behind himself but Prowl was not strong enough to hold him even partly upright.. His whole frame ached and his arms trembled. His voice was hoarse as he keened. A gloved servo brushed his helm and Prowl collapsed back down on the berth, the keen fading into a weak sob.

“Shh,” it was Jazz. Prowl felt the berth sag as Jazz sat on the edge. Prowl could almost feel tears wet his face, but he had no optics. He had no tears. Jazz’s gloved servo left his helm and covered Prowl servo. It took a long time before Prowl realized Jazz was writing glyphs against the back of his servo, only then did the panic roar fade in his help enough that Prowl could actually hear and understand. “Y’re okay. Y’re doors got burned in the fire. Ratch, my medic friend’s lookin’ after ya. He turned off yer relays so ya don’t gotta feel as yer sensors heal.”

“Fire...” Prowl frowned as his whispered the glyph, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded and how raw his voice felt. He remembered. The madmech, he had set fire to the apartment, set to killed them all, to kill him, the mech he had declared a demon. “My mechlings?”

“Are perfect,” Jazz promised and Prowl prayed he was true. “A bit o’ smoke was all they got, Ratch made sure their intakes are good. Got’em in class. Ori thought it was important for’em to have a lil normalcy.”

“Where am I?” Prowl asked. His sentio-metallico still prickled with anxiety as the panic ebbed. He was blind, wholly blind but he was not alone. Still, his spark continued to race. How was he supposed to live on like this? How was he meant to care for his creations?

“The Celestial Temple,” Jazz replied. Prowl felt the scarred sentio-metallico of his face strain to stretch as he raised his brow ridge with surprise.

“Why?” He asked. His spark pulsed out of control and he trembled with fear. Had Smokescreen said something? Had they discovered who they were, who they had been? The Celestial Temple was not just a Cornerstone, it was the Prime’s residence. Why would paupers be brought here for medical treatment?

“It’s sorta Ratch’s home base,” Jazz replied. “He runs other clinics but his apothecary is here. My home base too. Seemed like the best place to put ya were ya could be safe.”

“There is no more danger,” Prowl replied. He rested his helm on the pillow. How had he ever mistaken it for his own? It was far too luxurious and its cover too soft against his scarred sentio-metallico. “The voices haunting that mech told him to jump into the flames.”

“Sounds like ya feel a lil sorry for ‘m,” Jazz said.

“His processor was broken,” Prowl replied. He was tired. He had only just woken up but he was so tired. “He genuinely thought I was a demon. He genuinely thought Primus and the angels were telling him to cleanse me. He never should have been let out of the sanitarium. Let me guess, they deployed mnemosurgery, erasing the voices from his memory and declared him fit?”

“That’s right,” Jazz replied. “How’d ya guess?”

“Because that is what they do,” Prowl said. “They address the symptom without searching for the cause.”

“Sounds like ya got some history with mneumosurgeons,” Jazz replied.

“I have a processor glitch,” Prowl explained. “Every time I would crash, they would erase the thought or feeling they thought triggered it. It took until I was a mech grown and could refuse the mneumosurgeons that I was actually able to learn to manage my affliction. I do not know what would have helped that mech, but I know mneumosurgery was not it.”

“Y’re a wise mech,” Jazz replied.

“Mm,” Prowl hummed. He turned his servo around around to touch Jazz’s palm. It was not gloves Jazz was wearing. His servo was covered it gauze. “What happenened?”

“Servos go burned climbin’ the buildin’,” Jazz explained.

“You were hurt saving us,” Prowl said, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. “Punch... he tried. The sheets I tied, they tore. He said he was going to try the stairs.”

“He did, they’d collapsed, he didn’t think he could make the jump,” Jazz replied. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, I think he woulda gone back in ‘n risked it anyways. Y’re bitlets are worth it. So are ya.”

“I am sorry you were hurt,” Prowl said. “I am sorry Punch was in danger because of us.”

“It was nothin’ ya did,” Jazz told him. “I’m just glad Swindle put more into that place than I thought. Fire didn’t spread near as fast as it coulda and when the floor collapsed, the walls still held.”

“I think he invested in the struts of that building and not the facade,” Prowl replied. “If he had done the latter, he could have charged more for the habsuites and no one would have thought any of it.”

“He did good,” Jazz said. “‘N I told’m that. He was there, when the fire was goin’. Helped me wit yer mechlings. He’s terrified o’ poverty. ‘N I understand why, since we come from the same corner o’ the Pit. Sometimes he makes bad choices but he’s a decent mech o’erall.”

“Are you bothering my patient?” A new voice, rumbled. Prowl flinched. He had never been easy to sneak up on. It had become even harder since he had been blinded, when his doorwings had taken the place of his optics. Was this how he was to live for the rest of his life? It felt unbearable.

“Smokey wasn’t bout to leave’m alone, ‘n rightly so,” Jazz replied. He did not sound as if he felt any fear towards this new mech. “I stepped out for half a klik to speak to Hide ‘n he was awake ‘n right terrified.”

“Fine... what did I tell you about using your servos?” The medic asked.

“They’re fine,” Jazz replied. “Ain’t putting pressure on’em or nothin’.”

“I have no faith in you,” the medic said. “I know better.”

“Ya wound me, Ratch,” Jazz replied, with a chuckle in his voice. “Ratchet’s the best medic on Cybertron, Prowl. He’ll want me outta the way to look at yer doors. Mind if I sit at yer peds.”

“If you have business to attend to, do not delay it on my behalf,” Prowl said.

“I got nothin’ goin’ on,” Jazz said. “Even if I did, it wouldn’t be more important than this.”

Prowl could not help but believe him and it was a strange. He should have been nothing but a potential new minion to this mech and yet, Jazz had brought him and his creations home to his originator, not just for a meal but for friendship and... for Punch’s approval. Rather than discourage any attachment from Punch, his originator, Jazz seemed to encourage it and... Smokescreen glyphs echoed in Prowl’s memory banks. Though he had denied it to his creation, the observation felt like a peculiar truth. When Jazz had all but danced with him in the field, there had been pleasure and warmth in his field. It made no sense. Prowl was not a beauty. He had been... simply unremarkable before the blinding where Nightstalker had been the beauty. Their procreators had called him the Jewel of Praxus. Prowl, he had been an udder disappointment. How could Jazz look had him now, with a mottled face with two empty pits and feel anything like attraction? Pity did not explain it. Heavy pedsteps signalled the medic’s approached as Jazz moved to sit at Prowl’s peds.

“I’m Ratchet, Prowl,” the medic formally introduced himself. “I’m sure the miscreant told you but both your mechlings are in good physical health. It’ll take them some time to process the fear and trauma. I think they were both brought back to the Cataclysm, especially your little one.”

“What do I do for them?” Prowl asked.

“What you’ve always done,” Ratchet replied. “Love them and listen to them. It’s done wonders.”

“I have not been able to help Bluestreak find his voice,” Prowl countered.

“Traumatic mutism is difficult for anyone to treat,” Ratchet said. “You gave him a voice with chirolinguistics. You’ve done more than a lot of medics would think to with that alone. You haven’t focused on his spoken voice. You empower him by adapting to his needs.”

“Ya done right by them,” Jazz told him.

“I’m going to change your bandages,” Ratchet said. “Despite your sensory grid being offline, you may still feel pain.”

“I understand,” Prowl said. He remember the agony when the farm’s creation cleaned his infected burns and applied dressings. Every dressings change had been a renewal of that agony, pain that had been worse than the original burn.

There was a throbbing pain across his back as Ratchet pealed away the bandages. It was unpleasant yes but nothing compared to what he had already endured. Jazz would be suffering far more with his treatments and Prowl felt guilty. He was relieved as Ratchet disposed of the used dressings, he smelled medicinal ointment, not festering metal. The odor of his facial burns had been a terrible thing and something he still smelled in his memory-purges. It felt more like an itch he could not place, that bounced all over his frame. Jazz brushed his bandaged sevo over Prowl’s ankle and it was grounding. Prowl smelled the ointment Ratchet took out to apply to his burns and distracted himself in separating the smells and narrowing down what crystals he believed had been used in the blend.

“It’s looking good,” Ratchet told him. “No infection. Luckily, you only suffered partial thickness burns. Most of your doorwing sensors should heal to within normal parameters. You may have some holes in your perception but your processor will fill those in so you don’t even notice.”

“That is a relief,” Prowl sighed. “I could not imagine how I would live completely blind.”

“Ya woulda found a way,” Jazz reassured him. “For the mechlings.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

“Are you hungry at all?” Ratchet asked.

“A little,” he replied.

“Good,” Ratchet said. “Punch took it upon himself to make a melon soup. He thought you’d be up this cycle.”

“Ori’s got good instincts,” Jazz declared. “Not feelin’ too banged up?”

“I am fine,” Prowl asked. “Sore. Just sore and tired.”

“Ya fell through the floor,” Jazz explained his concern. “Maybe it was a good think the smoke already had ya in stasis ‘cause ya was relaxed when ya fell ‘n that helped ya not too get too hurt.”

“I do not remember that at all,” Prowl said. “The last thing I remember is giving Bluesatreak to you.”

“Probably not a bad thing to forget,” Jazz said. “Important thing is ya made it out.”

[cemeteryspider]

Dearie~ Part 3

Alastor x Singer! Reader

Summary: You and Alastor are reunited, that doesn't come without consequences.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, gore, blood, injury, manipulation, emotional distress, abuse, physical restraints

Word Count: 1638

Previous | Next

Vox left you with Velvette to try on outfits for the show and to get ready for the runway you would walk later today. Velvette was not in the mood to take any shit, so Vox knew you would be on your best behavior while you were with her. You had been on the receiving end of Velvette's show day tantrums many times before.

Walking up the stairs to Valentino's room he recognized shouting and many things, most likely expensive things, breaking. Taking a deep breath he opened the doors to see Val seething. The air in Valentino's room hung heavy with the acrid scent of demon rage, shattered glass crunching beneath Vox's shoes as he entered. It turns out Angel Dust was at some hotel, and Val wanted to go after him himself. 

After Valentino was coaxed off that precipice of fury, an uneasy calm settled over the room.

"There's someone else at that hotel, whatever it's called, Hazbin Hotel" A glitch crossed Vox's face when he heard the word. Something he taunted Alastor with a long time ago. He regained his composure quickly.

"What, someone who owes you money?"

"Someone who owes us a lot more than money... the Radio Demon"

In that moment, Vox's composure shattered like glass, a buffering error adorned his screen momentarily before showing off a darkened expression.

"How in the infernal realms is he back? It's impossible." Vox's mind raced, the return of the Radio Demon dredging up memories and fears he thought were buried.

"Maybe not because no one has gotten involved yet"

"What does this mean for us, Val?"

"It means that maybe we SHOULD send a message after all"

~~~

A simmering inferno surged within Alastor, threatening to engulf every fiber of his demonic essence as he inspected his Darling in chains. His Darling was displayed on every single screen across town. Velvette's newest lingerie, a silk veil of temptation, clung to her form. The worst part is the chains around her wrists and throat held by none other than Vox himself.

Vox's smile flickered like a dying ember, a harbinger of the storm that loomed within. Vox knew he was back in town and would do anything to get under his skin. The Radio Demon had to plan his next steps very carefully so as to not get his Darling hurt anymore than this silly picture show campaign already has.

Others have seemed to notice the provocative ads. Lesser demons took pictures like they were in fear that somehow they would never be able to see them again. Little did they know Vox would never allow that to happen.

~~~

"See sweet thing, was that so hard?"

Vox smiled at her place on the ground. Her body was covered in bruises from the hellish chains wrapped around her body. Valentino clapped from his director's chair.

"Look at you! You would look so good in my next movie, Dollface!"

Vox's gaze snapped upward, a storm of anger and defiance brewing in his crimson eyes.

"Valentino, that was not the deal. This is the only public ad campaign that she will do for you and Velvette's line currently. Until I say otherwise! Is that clear Val dearest"

Val nodded, his eyes rolling with a theatrical flourish, "Well, I must be going, other things to do and all that. Tata"

Val left the studio leaving you and Vox alone in the room together. The chains dissipated and you were left to sit up on your own accord.

"What would you say to dinner, Sugar?"

~~~

Alastor did his best to keep tabs on you, but Vox's security made it incredibly difficult. Not impossible however.

"Hello, Angel, how are you on this hellish day?"

"Heaven, Smiles what do you want"

"I was wondering if you had any idea what Vox wants with this dame?"

It took nearly all of his strength not to call you his, in that moment, but nothing could jeopardize getting you home and safe at this point.

"Her? Oh Vox's plaything... all I saw was her leavin' the studio with him. She had this look in her eyes. Nothing good when it comes to the Vees that's for sure"

"Any ideas on where they were going?"

"Vox was talking to some lady about a reservation. Something fancy I assume, Rosie's something"

With that little bit of knowledge Alastor made his way to Cannibal Town.

~~~

"Why did you wanna come here, Sug, this place is not quite your scene"

"Just a place I used to frequent"

You played aloof. Vox didn't know about your ties to Rosie, and if you played your cards right Rosie would understand the dire situation and get Alastor down here swiftly.

"Well I suppose coming here one last time wouldn't hurt, ay"

Your brows furrowed together and you silently wished this wouldn't be your last time here. After all, you and Rosie were practically inseparable before the deal went down.

The server made eye contact with you and recognized you immediately. Quickly the cannibal scurried off, with all the hope in your black heart to find Rosie.

Without a minute going by Rosie made her way over to your table. Luckily Vox was rambling on about some sort of angelic security and hardly noticed your lack of a response.

"Hello Darlings, I don't think I've had such overlords grace one of my tables in quite a while, hm"

Her eyes darted towards you after addressing the first comment to Vox. She scanned your body and quickly found the many dark marks marring your frail flesh.

"Yeah well, Dearest here wanted to see this place again. Must have some good food"

"Yes well, I like to think so, what can I do for you"

"Whatever she'd like, I'll stick with the... atmosphere"

He started to tap away on his phone. Probably firing someone for a poor job. Better that then in person.

"The usual please, Rosie"

"Of course dear, it'll be done in a jiff"

With a swift motion, she darted off to the kitchen. As the door closed, you released a small, relieved sigh.

With Vox's back towards the door he didn't even notice Alastor waltz in. Once he made eye contact with you he made a show of walking into the back. The very lounge that you had shared so many cups of tea and spilled so much more.

"Vox, I really must go use the ladies room"

"Don't be long, don't want to send a search party"

He chuckled but the look on his face told a completely different story. If you try to run away there will be consequences.

Calmly you stood up as Vox went back to his phone furiously tapping away. You rushed to the back room where Alastor had just walked into and closed the door quietly behind you.

"Oh, mi amor, what have they done to you?"

His arms wrapped around you and you allowed yourself a moment of real vulnerability you haven't felt since Alastor left town.

"Oh Darling, how happy I am to see you. I've missed you so"

You knew you only had a few minutes together before you would have to go, but you savored this time.

Words spoken and unspoken drifted between the two of you before a familiar chain wrapped itself around your throat, and pulled you back from Alastor.

Regaining his composure he tried to help you when the door burst open to reveal Vox. Rosie was on the floor behind him, a pink handprint visible across her cheek and an immense look of sadness across her features.

"I should have known. To think I was doing something nice for you, and you t̴͊͜u̷͕̅ȓ̶̠ṅ̷̖ ̶̩̄a̸̼͋g̴̱̓a̶̙̾ḭ̷̓ṅ̴̜s̸̥̐t̷̅͜ ̵͙̉m̵͖͠ē̸͉ ̶̭͝"

The chain shortens until your throat is encased in Vox's fist. Alastor goes to summon his tentacles, but Vox just tuts reminding him of the deal.

"Allie, my dear, she's in capable hands," Vox taunted, his fingers tightening, suffocating breath and igniting tears in your eyes.

Alastor's mind raced, a tempest of thoughts seeking an escape route from this infernal contract. His beloved was caught in the crossfire of their shared history, a pawn in Vox's grand play. The radio waves that once echoed with whimsical tunes now crackled with tension, mirroring the turmoil within the Radio Demon's heart.

Yet, within this maelstrom of despair, a spark of defiance flickered. Alastor's gaze met Vox's with an unwavering intensity, a silent promise that echoed through the tangled threads of their shared past.

"Leave, Al, and I will make the punishment merciful" Vox's voice dripped with disdain, each word carefully enunciated as if savoring the bitterness.

The silence stretched, a taut thread ready to snap, as Alastor and Vox locked eyes. The weight of their shared history hung in the air, a storm waiting to break.

Aware of the impending defeat, Alastor retreated, vengeance echoing in his mind, a dormant storm waiting for the right moment to strike.

~~~

As he walked the dimly lit streets of the damned city, Alastor's steps were heavy with the weight of uncertainty, his once confident stride now faltering with doubt. The neon lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows that danced along the cobblestone pavement, mirroring the disarray within his own fractured psyche.

The air hung heavy with the weight of his decision, a silent acknowledgment of defeat that reverberated through the empty streets like a funeral dirge. Yet, amidst the despair, a spark of defiance flickered, a stubborn refusal to surrender to the whims of fate.

For as long as there was breath in his lungs and fire in his soul, Alastor vowed to fight, to defy the shackles of fate and reclaim what was rightfully his. His Darling deserved better than to be a pawn in Vox's twisted game, a mere puppet dancing to the whims of a malevolent puppeteer.

[tfdtreasurer]

sorry for not asking about eridan but, why the feferi hate?

Don't worry anon I fully expected this question to be one of the first. Besides, Eridan and Feferi are foils to each other and thus any look at one is being done in the context of the other. Narratively, they're inseparable. My actual nuanced opinion on Feferi is that she's a bad person, a fascinating character, and yet one that I feel is so tragically misunderstood by everybody that it leads me to not liking how she's liked. If that makes any sense.

The short answer is she's one of the most casteist trolls out there. And not in the way Equius is, or Gamzee becomes, or Eridan claims to be. Her's is just a little too real and it kinda gives me icky vibes.

The long answer is... Well there's a reason a whole essay was in the works. If Eridan alludes to Herman Melville's novel Moby Dick of 1851, Feferi alludes to Rudyard Kipling's poem "The White Man's Burden" of 1899 (which in a semi timely way, was published to the context of the Philippine–American War). In her first pesterlog with Kanaya, "burdens" is the word used to refer to her responsibilities. Not really enough on it's own, but then you keep reading Feferi pages. Eridan being the best that alternia breeds, seemingly exiled from living in the sea to serve her captives' needs. The captivity of animals that she's associated with bolstering that. How she espouses a desire to unite the races, but mentions having plans for the throne, implicitly retaining imperial power. Her weapon being named after the triple entente, an alliance of colonialist powers. How she remarks royalty is so civilized, alluding to the colonialist projects of that era being referred to the West's civilizing mission. The way she talks to Jade and is quick to use the r-word, like she'd have to make her speech a hundred times plain. Just the way that she often has other people doing things for her that seems to emulate the delegatory voice of the poem. Eridan being the orphaner for her. In the Make her Pay flash (which is the best flash don't @ me), she has Sollux fight for her as she seems to sit back. Even her creation of the dream bubbles is something she asks of the gods to do for her. And if you think I'm searching for patterns in the clouds here with my ancient-ass 1800s literature: just take a look at the regime of Beforus Feferi. How casteism wasn't abolished, it just became patronizing the lesser and pretending that considering them lesser but in need wasn't the inequality is was.

Eridan is interesting in combination with her because they're designed to contrast each other. Eridan is so deeply associated with hipster inauthenticity, pretention, over exaggerated theater, and explicitly mentions that villainy is practically a performance for her. She calls comin off as a diabolical sort "showwmanship." But pay attention to the way that each frame dropping their quirk. Eridan drops her to become more genuine for a moment. Feferi has to be asked to drop hers and gets mad that she's had to peasantify herself. And the tragic part is that although Eridan is in the position of the audience in that poem, in essence the soldier sent to brutally occupy the Philippines, Feferi also sees her as one of the ones needing to be civilized. Eridan is to her half devil and half child, fluttering and wild, needing to be restrained by a moirallegience she seems to have never wanted from her.

I don't mean to let Eridan totally off the hook. I see her character as being under a dramatic form of siege mentality, perceiving herself to be the target of everyone's hostility. As she's the orphaner, I feel vaguely inclined to give it to her a bit. Like yeah, I can't imagine that job title comes with the perk of making friends. But her siege mentality xenophobia primarily makes her think that everybody that isn't Feferi must hate her, to the point where she only trusts people when her relationship with them is adversarial. The subversion central to Eridan's character is that while she may be genuinely xenophobic, she isn't a supremacist, nor genocidal in intent. The weapons she claims to be amassing to conquer the surface aren't military, it's just whaling equipment she uses to prevent everyone dying. The Brand Whaling Gun and Bomb Lance. Some derivative of the Greener swivel harpoon gun (that I have yet to 100% identify but I do have the original picture used for the Photoshop). Broken killing lance heads (as can be seen in my pfp being held by captain Ahab).

So why do I hate Feferi? Because she does think herself superior to others, in a way that is supremacist. She's a paternalistic casteist of the highest order and it is gross.

But here's the twist: if people believed in the Feferi I just outlined, I'd love the character. Because I still do fundamentally believe in redemption and rehabilitation of people with really shitty beliefs. Feferi could've been a character who narratively served to demonstrate how her beliefs may appear good intentioned, but actually warns the audience of the trap of real life paternalistic racism that justifies colonialism with a friendly face. A narrative where she had character development and evolved alongside Eridan. Symbolically, the orphaner killing the idea of paternalism would've been goddamned beautiful. But instead, what I got, what we got, was the fandom never picking up on the nuances, the comic itself electing to skirt around the problematic elements, all leading up to this strange quirk of Homestuck where once you're aware of all this, you really can't look at cutesy Feferi fanart the same way ever again because it never gets addressed. And I think that's sad. But, until the people that like Feferi are in the same boat as me in wanting a redemption arc for her, I'm gonna stay her #1 hater.

[doberbutts]

Hello, I’m mixed and I know you’re mixed too so I’m hoping for some advice. My mom is white and my dad is Native American (technically he is indigenous to canada the tribe he is from but I just say Native American because it is easier to explain, ‘native Canadian’ sounds weird 😭) and I’m sure you know things r really bad for indigenous people in Canada even more so than in America so when my dad was young his parents managed to save enough money to move to America many years ago, anyway I guess none of that is important besides the fact that I’m mixed.

Basically, I am involved in a fandom with many mixed-race characters that I love. None that are specifically mixed like I am (well besides one character whose mom is native and dad is white, though his mom was never revealed it’s a popular fan theory so I’ll just go with it) and other notable mixed characters are Arab/white, Chinese/white, etc. Writing this out I kind of realize that all of these mixed characters are mostly half white lol. But, that is also kind of the problem.

I’ve noticed a real… I don’t want to say racist but really discriminatory and hurtful attitude towards these mixed characters that really hurts my feelings as a mixed person myself. Basically people ignoring their mixed heritage and opting to just refer to them as ‘Arab’ and ‘Chinese’ and whatnot. Which is fine on the surface, but then I see people start talking about how disgusting it is that these characters have a white parent and that it would be much better if they were ‘pure’ POC. Which is really… hurtful as someone who is mixed with a white parent. Sorry I’m not ‘pure’ enough for your liking?? I guess? What is the point of them even saying things like that? And I guess I want to know how I can bring it up to these people without them getting angry at me. I got really mad one time and said that trying to erase a mixed characters other parent is trying to erase their identity and you can’t just choose to accept half of someone you have to accept ALL of them or you accept no part of them but they just block me.

I don’t know I feel like they’re trying to be well meaning even if it’s in a really hurtful way, but then when I try to correct them they don’t even care so can I really call it well meaning? They outright ignore the fact that the characters are canonically mixed and choose to just present them as ‘pure POC’ which they act like it’s somehow ‘superior’ to being mixed. I already don’t fit in anywhere I go and I feel like neither side will ever accept me and now I feel like this pervasive fandom attitude just kind of confirms all my fears. Sometimes I wish I was fully one or the other. I liked your other posts about being mixed and how you weren’t ‘half’ of anything you were fully all of them and I’m trying to internalize that but all these people and their hurtful comments make it hard. Like they’re not making these comments about me specifically, but I see what they say about fictional characters that are like me so it’s :/

I guess I just want to know how to convince them that mixed people are worthy of telling stories about too and how we aren’t lesser just because we are mixed? How do I tell these people to get over their discomfort with acknowledging the heritage of mixed characters? I’m not very good at articulating these sorts of things.

And sorry this was so long 😢

This is a bit of an older ask, and I've left it sit in my askbox for a while because I'm honestly not sure if I even have any advice for you.

The biggest things I suppose would be

A: remember that fandoms really aren't known for acknowledging the nuance of, like, literally anything that can be polarized. Unfortunately, that includes race and racial mixing.

B: sometimes you have to be the change you want to see. And I know. I know it sucks when you always have to be that person. But sometimes that is truly the only solution. Exist happily as yourself, be content in your own mixed race identity, talk about it when you feel up to it, and those who see it will be touched by you. Perhaps they may even catch on, and start to spread a healthier way of looking at the mixed race characters within your fandom.

C: stop giving a shit what other people think. Be you. You will find people who love you for you. Fuck all the others who reject you for being yourself, and don't force yourself into an easily digestible box for those who would barely glance your way regardless.

[dr-futbol-blog]

Sanctuary, Pt. 4

Now. The Ancients. Let's do an excursus on them real quick.

There appears to be a strong sexual attraction between the Ancients, and to a lesser extent the people who hold the ATA gene. They feel drawn to each other and can feel this pull emanating from one another upon close proximity.

We are shown several times that Sheppard can feel the Ancients, he can recognize them based on their physical presence alone. Ancients and those still carrying the gene are instantly and powerfully attracted to him. He could also recognize that the replicators were not Ancients despite for all intents and purposes looking like them just based on their physical presence (they didn't feel "Ancient-y" to him). Ditto being able to clock the wraith among the Ancients in the virtual environment of Aurora (S02E09), because "There's something very odd about her." Even McKay with his artificial ATA gene can feel them:

McKay: I know I'm not normally Mr. Sensitive, but you've got to believe me when I say there is something about her. I know it's intangible, but I can feel it--*

This actually makes sense from an evolutionary stand-point.

There are "Four Great Races" in the SG universe. We know nothing of the Furlings. The Nox, given their reverence for nature, probably are DTF but because their life-spans are lengthened, it probably happens rarely. It would make sense for them to have mating cycles to keep their population under control but we have no information about this. Then there are Asgard. We know that they they evolved beyond sexual reproduction, actually becoming incapable of reproducing sexually. This lead to the destruction of their race through progressive attrition of their gene pool. And then there are the Ancients, the Alterans.

We know that the Ancients also evolved beyond their physical forms to beings of pure energy. But this didn't happen over night. It didn't happen in one generation.

In the episode Epiphany (S02E12), we meet people that are close to Ascension, close to evolving beyond their physical forms. They are not Ancients but as "those who came after", they are close enough. These people not only had and enjoyed sex but it seems like sex was one of the only pastimes that even slightly interested them beyond meditation anymore.

I'll argue later that Sheppard felt attraction toward both Avrid ("Then shouldn't he be the one bringing me breakfast?") and his sister Teer ("The woman teaching me how to meditate was… very attractive"), although he seems to not actively pursue women in general. Like he tells Teer, he never sees these things coming, with women. Sheppard most definitely had sex with both of them.

Now, this makes sense. If, as a species, your pursuit is to evolve into beings of pure energy and discard your physical bodies but this cannot be done in a single generation, there needs to be a strong sexual pull between members of this species. Otherwise they would, like the Asgard, die out for lack of sexual reproduction before reaching that goal. They need to feel sexual attraction toward each other, and it has to be pronounced to override their disinclination toward earthly pursuits.

There's a phenomenon called Genetic Sexual Attraction that exists in humans. It's an intense sexual attraction felt between people that are genetically close to one another (like siblings) that have not undergone the reverse sexual imprinting that usually takes place when peers are raised in close proximity. This reverse sexual imprinting can happen between children that are not genetically related to one another if they are raised together, and it seems to be missing between siblings that have been raised in separation. It's an unfortunate side-product of an assortative mating strategy in humans.

It would make sense for the Ancients to have evolved something of this nature to ascertain the survival of their species, which would keep members of the species too genetically close to one another from reproducing but to generally drive the people of their species to have a strong sexual attraction toward one another. This attraction would have to be strong enough to force them to mate and produce offspring despite a mental disinclination toward carnal pursuits.

The Ancients, whom we know dabbled in genetic manipulation, may even have reinforced this through scientific means, given that they were losing the war against wraith due to their diminishing numbers, being out-reproduced by the wraith. Further, the Alterans had also evolved to a state of physical beauty that humans frequently describe as "perfect". This beauty, this attractiveness, also contributes to the assortative mating strategy.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, of course, but it could maybe be argued that the people carrying the ATA gene also do seem to be more attractive than average humans. Somehow even Joe Spencer of Citizen Joe had married a woman way beyond his pay-grade (and also, I'm not saying O'Neill was attracted to him but it's interesting that they cast Dan Castellaneta, the voice of Homer Simpson, as the guy with the Ancient connection to O'Neill).

We see several examples of strong sexual attraction between Ancients. Janus, we learn, had many lovers (there's an argument to be made that they were women and men).

Jackson: Several of Janus' peers suspected he had a "bastion of unfettered thought and experimentation" or -- as one of his lovers put it... McKay: He had lovers? Jackson: "...an isle of solitude within the city walls."

Orlin wanted Samantha Carter so badly that he was willing to give up his ascension. He wasn't in love with her in some pure platonic way, he wanted her.

People with the ATA gene seem to have somewhat of a lessened version of this. When McKay's body was occupied by someone that didn't consider Carson Beckett his best friend, she wanted him so badly that she basically sexually assaulted him (and once she was no longer in McKay's body, this attraction seems to have vanished).

Not saying McKay wants Beckett by any means, but that this genetic resonance exists between their bodies after he received the gene therapy. I'm also not saying that Sheppard wanted to bone Beckett, but he sure was drawn directly to Beckett in the Antarctic base, following the sound of his voice. And then there's Gen. O'Neill with his "if you can't give me a yes by the time we reach McMurdo, I don't even want you!" who has chemistry with everyone.

And finally, there's Sheppard and his "what is it with you and ascended women?" (and men, my guy), who attracted to himself both Arvid and Teer but also both Mara and Tavius, and even Harmony and her sisters (who possessed a diminishing ATA gene). These are all people who barely knew him but definitely wanted to bone him right at the offset.

Because he has an exceptionally strong ATA gene. Strongest we've seen in a human. It's not mere main character syndrome that these people are instantly attracted to him, and this would also explain this instant connection between him and Chaya Sar, especially from her side as she had not felt this kind of connection for 10,000 years. There are just way too many examples of this same exact thing for it to be a coincidence.**

So where does this leave Sheppard and McKay? Was Sheppard attracted to McKay before he got the ATA gene through gene therapy? It's impossible to say. Before he got the gene, we mainly see McKay being drawn toward Sheppard. We might be able to make a case for McKay having been attracted to Sheppard from the outset. Also the fact that Beckett is his best friend might suggest that he is drawn to people that carry the gene, although again, it might just be because they are attractive by design.

But as soon as the gene is activated in McKay, Sheppard is more and more pulled toward him. Sheppard physically gravitates toward him, and although McKay is wearing a personal shield at the time, Sheppard is comfortable being in his presence, touching him, manhandling him as soon as McKay has had the gene therapy. It's not proof but it is enough to speculate.

Would it matter if Sheppard's initial attraction would have been motivated by this? After all, that's not what sparked his interest in Rodney.

The thing is, all of this is just sexual attraction. It's a biological imperative. It's incentive, it's not fate.

Love is so much more than simple physical attraction and even by this time, we have seen what ever it is that exists between Sheppard and McKay develop into something much deeper than mere attraction, a mere physical pull. It may have started as attraction but it was through their deeds and sacrifices that the two of them started falling for the other. It was through getting to know one another, the good and the bad, through sharing experiences, of joy and fear and humour and anger, that they've started forging a genuine bond between them. And this is the lesson that the episode is building toward. We get to learn what it is that Sheppard so desperately needs. And we get to learn who he can find it in.

Continued in Pt. 5

.* So let's assume for a moment that you're a Kinsey (5-)6. You've never felt genuine sexual attraction to the opposite sex. Performed it, yes, but not felt it spontaneously. Then you come across a member of the opposite sex you have every reason to dislike for personal, interpersonal, philosophical, ethical, religious, and other reasons. But you feel a strong sexual desire toward her, all out of the blue. That would be confusing to you. You wouldn't even know what to do with it. It would probably make you kind of nauseous. It would feel wrong. Yes, Rodney is clearly jealous, but it's not the only thing that is going on there. He hates her, literally, with a passion, from first sight.

.** So, like. McKay actually kind of does have a reason to worry about Sheppard and his sister given how he has historically fared with siblings but, like. As long as she doesn't have the gene therapy, you're fine.

[whispersofalostsoul]

RUNAWAY

Summary: Image if Lando Norris has follen in love for the first time….with a woman that he never thought he could fall for… and when his whole world turns upside down, he finds himself alone…once more...

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(Please leave comments to help me improve my story ! Would also love to hear your opinions ! thank you !)

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Chapter 1 - Encunter --- https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/756913230598815744/runaway?source=share

Chapter2 - Belgium ---https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757021516150030336/runaway?source=share

Chapter 3 - Dinner --- https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757096323375824896/runaway?source=share

Chapter 4 - The fight --- https://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757270709880930304/runaway?source=share

Chapter 5 - Sleeping inhttps://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/757554318977204224/runaway?source=share

Chapter 6 - Confrontation

Confrontationhttps://www.tumblr.com/whispersofalostsoul/758005643926011904/runaway?source=share

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Chapter 7 - Greece

The Greek breeze felt amazing against Dalia's skin, like a cool splash of refreshment. Syros, a lesser-known gem compared to the more famous Santorini, was just the right spot for celebrities wanting to escape the spotlight. Its charming streets, vibrant culture, and serene beaches offered a perfect retreat from the relentless attention of the media.Carlos, Lando, Oscar, and Alex had booked a spacious villa on the outskirts of Ermoupoli for their summer getaway. The villa, with its traditional Cycladic architecture, boasted whitewashed walls and blue shutters that mirrored the colors of the Aegean Sea. As they stepped out of the car, the intoxicating scent of blooming bougainvillea and jasmine filled the air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace."Finally!" Lando shouted, his voice echoing with excitement as he parked the car beside the stunning villa. The sight before them was breathtaking: the place was nestled among gorgeous plants and flowers, with a sprawling terrace that overlooked the sparkling sea. Lily, Alex's girlfriend,  dashed toward the terrace, her eyes wide with wonder. "Look at this view!" she exclaimed, leaning over the railing to take in the panorama of the coastline. The azure waters stretched endlessly, dotted with small boats bobbing gently in the harbor.

Carlos chuckled, shaking his head at Lily's enthusiasm. "Just wait until you see the sunset from here. It's like the sky is on fire," he said, joining her at the railing. Alex, meanwhile, was already unpacking their bags, his mind racing with plans for the week ahead. "We should hit the beach" he suggested, glancing back at the others. "I heard there's a secluded cove not far from here. Perfect for some sunbathing and swimming without the crowds."Oscar nodded, already envisioning the adventures that awaited them. "And we can explore the local tavernas for some authentic Greek food. I'm craving moussaka and fresh seafood!". "Hey Carlos, how did you end up with this place?" Lando asked as he stepped onto the porch. "I thought you already knew," Carlos replied, looking a bit puzzled. "It was your buddy Max who suggested it." Lando just shrugged. Meanwhile, Lily had left with her boyfriend to pick out their room. Carlos leaned in closer to Lando, still gazing at the stunning view. "Looks like this is your chance," he said with a grin. "I'm not so sure," Lando admitted, looking confused. "Last time she called our situation a 'friendship,'" he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "And you want to keep it that way?" Carlos shot back, giving Lando a playful jab in the groin and chuckling. "Come on, Lano, grow some cojones!"

The hallway seemed to go on forever, filled with tons of rooms. Dalia peeked into each one, searching for the right choice. On her fifth attempt, she flung the door open wider and was blown away by the stunning room. The decor was pretty minimal, featuring white walls and a spacious double bed. A classic wooden nightstand fit right in with the dresser. There was a window showcasing a beautiful vase of colorful flowers and a balcony that offered a direct view of the sea. In its simplicity, the room radiated elegance, comfort, and a refreshing vibe. "Have you set up you mind ?" Oscar asked leaning against the frame. Dalia nodded in contempt. "How about you ?" she asked. He sighed heavily and plopped down on the bed. "I'm really trying to steer clear of the room next to Carlos. That guy gets up at the crack of dawn and starts working out. Plus, I want to avoid Alex and Lily too, you know," he said, making a face at Dalia. "Those... weird noises." Dalia chuckled at his words. "What about the room at the end of the hall?" she suggested. "Ghosts," he shot back, looking dead serious. "Wait, you actually believe in ghosts?" Dalia laughed as he went on about how every horror movie shows those rooms as haunted. Just then, they heard a voice. "Have you made your choice?" Lando asked, standing by the door. "Yeah, I'm taking this one," Dalia said. "Cool, then the next one is mine," Lando replied. "No way, I already called dibs on that one," Oscar interrupted, chasing after him. The two guys bickered for a while, while Alex and Carlos just watched, clearly entertained. Eventually, they all decided to settle it with a card game.

The private villa beach was just a short stroll from the back garden. The chairs and sunshades were already set up, ready for a day of fun. The guys took off first, sprinting toward the sparkling blue water, while Lily and Dalia decided to whip up some lemonades and snacks before joining in. Dalia felt lucky to have Lily by her side; she was such a sweet girl and had opened up to her pretty quickly on the way here. Unlike the typical image people might have of F1 drivers' girlfriends, Lily seemed like someone Dalia could really connect with. "So, are you and Lando a thing?" Lily asked, slicing a lemon. Dalia felt her cheeks heat up at the question and replied, "No, no, we're just friends." "Hmm," Lily said, taking a bite of a lemon slice. "The way he talked about you was a bit different." Dalia's heart raced at the implication, and she couldn't help but ask what Lando had said. "I don't know, things like 'Oh, Dalia is such a gorgeous woman; you all are going to love her. '" Lily waved her arms around, trying to imitate Lando's voice. "You know, not in a 'just friends' kind of way, but more like an 'I find her attractive' vibe," she said, giving Dalia a cheeky smirk and a playful wink. Dalia's eyes lit up with curiosity. "You should totally make the first move!" Then she sat up straight, her face turning serious. "I mean, I know Lando, and even though he seems all confident, he's actually pretty shy around girls." Lily shot Dalia a playful grin. "He just needs a little nudge."

The water felt amazing, and Dalia just couldn't get enough. While everyone else headed back to the beach to soak up some sun, she chose to stay a little longer. With her eyes shut, she soaked in the soothing sounds of the cool waves and the warmth of the sun on her skin. It was like she had found her own little slice of paradise. The water started to ripple a bit more, and Dalia spotted Lando swimming her way. He flashed her a smile and said a quick hello as he reached her side. His eyes, reflecting the blue and green of the water and his sun-kissed skin made him look even more attractive. The way the water cascaded off his toned arms and shoulders only added to his allure, making her heart race a little faster. "Hey," she replied, trying to keep her tone casual, though her cheeks felt warm. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware of how the sunlight danced on the surface of the water, creating a shimmering backdrop for their conversation. "So do you like it here?" he asked his eyes not leaving hers. "Yes I do, thank you for the invite" she smiled shily, "Of course" he whispered as if his thoughts were trailing away.

Lando couldn't take his eyes off the woman standing before him; it was a feeling he had never experienced. When he caught sight of her in her swimsuit, he was taken aback. She usually wore baggy clothes, so he had no idea her figure would be so appealing. Her skin appeared incredibly smooth, and the blush on her cheeks made her utterly captivating. Those round brown eyes sparkled with a mix of innocence and warmth, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was a turning point, a moment that would change everything.  The thought both excited and terrified him. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if he ruined again whatever they had ?

Dalia caught Lando's gaze drifting from her eyes down to her lips, and her heart raced. The world around them faded into a blur, the sounds of water dimming as the intensity of the moment enveloped them. Finally, she thought, he's going to kiss me! The anticipation was electric, sending shivers down her spine. Oh please, just kiss me already! Dalia's pulse quickened, and she bit her lip, a nervous habit that only seemed to draw his attention further. She could see the flicker of desire in his eyes, a silent conversation passing between them that needed no words. Her thoughts spiraled, imagining the softness of his lips against hers, the warmth of his hands cradling her face, the way time would stand still in that perfect moment. But as she waited, the seconds stretched on, and doubt crept in. What if he didn't feel the same? What if she was reading the signs all wrong? No way! I won't let these doubts take over again. Just when she was about to lean in, her heart racing with anticipation, Lando suddenly plunged into the water with a splash that sent droplets flying in all directions. The moment was so unexpected that it startled her, breaking the tension that had been building between them. He stayed submerged for a bit, and Dalia held her breath, half-expecting him to resurface with a serious expression, ready to address the unspoken words hanging in the air. But instead, he popped back up, his hair slicked back and water glistening on his sun-kissed skin. "Come on! It's time for dinner!" he urged as he started swimming back towards the villa.

Lily was spot on; Dalia had to take the initiative. The thought of stepping out of her comfort zone sent a shiver down her spine, but deep down, she knew that she couldn't let fear dictate her life any longer. It was time for a change, she thought as she slipped into her light green dress adorned with tiny white flowers. With Lily's help, she styled her hair into a messy bun that framed her face beautifully, allowing a few delicate strands to cascade down her neck. The casual elegance of her look made her feel more confident, and she could see the excitement in Lily's eyes as she added the final touches. "You look amazing, Dalia! Tonight is your night," Lily encouraged, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. Dalia took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and exhilaration.They decided to have dinner at a cozy outdoor spot in a traditional Greek restaurant, where the air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of grilled meats and fresh herbs. The soft glow of string lights overhead created a warm and inviting atmosphere, perfect for a night of new beginnings. As they arrived, Lando, dressed casually in his white shirt and black shorts, felt his heart race when Dalia appeared.

She looked stunning, and the dress highlighted her complexion perfectly, accentuating her natural beauty. The way the fabric flowed around her as she walked made it seem as if she were gliding rather than simply moving. Her hair pulled up showcased the lovely curve of her neck and shoulders, making it hard for him to catch his breath. As she approached, Lando couldn't help but notice the sparkle in her eyes, a reflection of her newfound determination. "Wow, you look incredible," he managed to say, his voice slightly shaky. Dalia smiled, a hint of shyness creeping in, but there was also a glimmer of confidence that hadn't been there before. "Thank you" she replied, her voice steady and filled with a newfound. They were all gathered around the big table, the atmosphere buzzing with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Oscar and Carlos sat across from Dalia and Lando, while Alex and Lily were at the end of the table enjoying the view from the window. As the conversation flowed, the Australian driver wasted no time in complimenting Dali's appearance. The compliment hung in the air, and Lando felt a slight knot form in his stomach. Without really thinking about it, Lando reached his arm around Dalia, gently brushing against the bare skin of her back. The warmth of her skin sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he immediately regretted the impulsive gesture. Dali was surprised by the unexpected touch, her eyes widening for a brief moment as she processed the intimacy of the action. However, she quickly adjusted to it, leaning slightly into Lando's side, a subtle smile playing on her lips as she turned her attention back to the conversation.

As the night wore on, the conversation ebbed and flowed, with jokes and playful teasing filling the air. Lando and Dalia found themselves gravitating toward each other, their connection deepening with each passing moment. They shared plenty of close moments, their conversations punctuated by playful nudges and knowing smiles. Occasionally, Lando's hand would lightly brush against hers, a fleeting touch that lingered just a bit longer than necessary, sending a ripple of warmth through them both. Sometimes, she'd notice him gazing at her, his eyes twinkling with delight as he absorbed the sound of her laughter. There were also times when he'd lean in to whisper something in her ear, his breath warm against her skin, sending delightful shivers down her spine. The intimacy of those moments was intoxicating; she could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the way his voice danced just above a whisper made her pulse quicken. Each time he leaned closer, he couldn't resist taking in the sweet scent that surrounded her—a delicate blend of floral notes and something uniquely her, a fragrance that lingered in the air long after he had moved away. 

As the evening stretched on, the group figured it was time to head back to the villa since exhaustion was starting to set in. When they arrived back to the villa, Dalia grabbed Lando's hand, halting him from joining the others inside. The suddenness of her grip surprised him, and he turned to her, a bit confused, waiting for her to say something. Dalia felt a wave of panic wash over her, fidgeting nervously as she tried to muster the courage to go for that kiss she had been dreaming about for weeks. "Are you alright?" Lando asked, puzzled, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched her face for answers. "No, please don't say anything," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper, as she gazed up into his eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her heart flutter, and she felt as if the world around them had faded away, leaving just the two of them in this suspended moment. She could see the concern etched on his features, but all she could think about was the way his lips curved when he smiled, the way his laughter echoed in her mind long after it had faded.

Without further thinking, she leaned in closer, closing the distance between them. Lando's breath hitched as their lips met, a spark igniting between them that felt like fireworks exploding in the night sky. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in the intensity of their connection. Dalia jerked back, laughing nervously, "Oh my god, I actually did it!" Her heart raced as the adrenaline of the moment coursed through her veins. The thrill of spontaneity had taken over, and she couldn't believe she had just kissed him. Lando, still in shock from the moment, blinked rapidly, trying to process what had just happened. "No way, that doesn't count," he replied. he moved with a quickness that took her by surprise. In a fluid motion, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. The warmth of his body enveloped her, and she felt a rush of electricity at the contact. He closed the distance between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration, but it quickly deepened as they both surrendered to the moment. Dalia felt herself melting into him, her worries and doubts dissipating like mist in the morning sun.

His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest. Each gentle caress sent shivers down her spine, awakening a longing she hadn't realized was there. Dalia's fingers tangled in his hair, feeling the softness of each strand as she deepened the kiss, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and vulnerability.Time seemed to stand still as they explored this new territory together, their breaths mingling in the cool air. She could taste the sweetness of his lips, a flavor that was intoxicating and addictive.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The chaos of life, the expectations, the fears—all of it faded into the background as they lost themselves in each other.

As they finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, Dalia searched his gaze for reassurance. The warmth in his eyes mirrored her own feelings, a silent promise that this was just the beginning. She knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, emboldened by the spark that had ignited between them.

[bohemian-nights]

How do Targies unironically praise T@rgaryen blood purity like legit white supremacists and then deny there's any racism there?? Please make it make sense

Honestly liking the Targaryens isn’t the problem(and at this point, I'm pretty sure we all like a Targaryen or two).

Yeah, they undoubtedly have some bad views as a whole, but as long as you acknowledge that their views are an allegory for real issues that’s fine.

We aren’t necessarily defined by the fiction we consume.

However, these fans outright taking on white supremacist talking points about blood supremacy and blood purity with 100% sincerity and then being confused as to why people are calling them racist is a mind trip.

If all you are getting from the books is how special and magical the Targaryen’s are and how they must keep the bloodline pure, how outsiders dirty the blood, and then use that to degrade and mock characters(and harass their fans) who aren’t silver-haired with purple eyes then yeah, you’re a fucking racist.

GRRM is admittedly not the best at handling race(or even certain female characters). He’s an old white man and it shows, but even he didn’t create this universe for you guys to spout out this crap. You are supposed to question things like feudalism and Targaryen exceptionalism not uphold it.

Nettles is a prime example of this, but they want to say she’s Daemon’s kid, or unquestionably Valyrian, and how she’s irrelevant since she’s Black(not to mention deny the racism she faces in the text as well as outside of it) rather than admit that maybe your blood, your gender(she’s a woman too but they always seem to forget that), your social economic status, your race does not define you. You and your actions do.

That all being said, I do think the Targaryen ideology is what attracts people to the house in the first place, but they won’t admit this because that means they have to confront their own biases.

If Targaryen ideology is harmful and you agree with it wholeheartedly what does that make you? How do you view people who are different than you? Who do you view as beneath you? How do you treat people who you view as lesser than you?

Yes this is all fictional, but the language being used is very much based on how they feel about certain groups in real life.

Look I’ve seen people straight up say things like there are too many Black people on HOTD and that the only in-canon Black character should be cut because they’ve met their quota and then cry that they are being (rightfully) called racists.

I’ve seen people say that since Daemon rejected a white woman(Alys) who they view as better than her(Nettles) he would for sure never touch Nettles’ with a ten-foot pole much less love her in a romantic capacity and then cry that they are now being called a racist.

I’ve seen people purposely reduce characters solely down to their race and then cry that they are now being called a racist.

I’ve seen people harass and stalk actual Black fans and then cry and say that they are being bullied when we call them out for it.

I’ve seen people outright use racial slurs then the fanbase brushes that aside to say that the racism is limited to just a few individuals when many of these same people are using the previous arguments and treat real-life fans like crap.

Racism isn't limited to saying I hate n-words and wanting to commit acts of violence upon us.

It’s easier to say you aren’t a racist than to deal with the very real possibility that you are a part of the problem. That you treat people(including fictional characters) who don’t look like you like absolute shit because of something as stupid as the color of their skin. That you view them as so beneath you that we don’t deserve basic respect.

It should be noted that Targaryren fans aren't the only racists in this fandom especially when it comes to Black characters/fans, but they are the most outright hostile to the point where it is utterly ridiculous when they say they aren't racist.

But what do I know? I’m just a crazy hating ass bitch who’s out of her depth and who should shut her trap���

[kortacqueen]

MORE MORE MORE KORTAC INSPIRATION HAS HIT LETS GO

Hutch, my man, is a computer genius

However his true power remains long unknown UNTIL a bet comes around

During one of the team game nights, König loses and is forced to reveal a story about a scar not gotten in the field

He shares a long scar running up his forearm and says it’s from a dirt biking accident, mentioning that there may be footage of it somewhere

He doubts anyone actually saw it since it was only aired locally

Hutch says ‘if I find it, can I show it to everyone?’

König responds (he is a little drunk) ‘I bet you can’t find it, but if you do I’ll owe you one favor AND tell you another story of a scar, just you.’

Time passes and people move on. It’s a while before they are all able to have a full team game night together

Before they can start, Hutch gets them all to the rec room, his computer hooked up to the TV

A long video file ready to play as everyone sits down.

‘I win our bet König’ was the only warning everyone got before Hutch started a video of a 15 year old König dirt bike racing in the mountains on old footage.

Clear as day, near the end battling for 1st, a kid nicks König’s bike and he falls off the hill into the deep mud on his arm

Quickly getting back up, he fights for the top spot. In the final stretch, König passes the kid and flips him off

Then proceeds to mock him while on the podium with his still bleeding arm, gesturing that he’s crying then laughs and points

Safe to say a fight broke out and the footage cut off

Hutch was standing there a little to proud of himself, and he does receive his special story

Out of solidarity, he has not looked at anyone’s search history on base.

Hutch, Declan, Oni, Roze, Zeus, and Horangi are great singers and have amazing range

Stilletto, Zero, and Askel should never be allowed to sing and aren’t banned but they will get glares

All of KorTac are a little sadistic in battle, but there is definitely a range.

Surprisingly König, Stiletto, and Oni are at the top of this list. Callisto is the only one who will force them to stop.

Oni can, will, and has cut off arms with his katanas just to leave them to bleed out

König likes to use a sledgehammer when available, he swings so it hits the enemy’s head but there is usually a wall of floor to meet them.

He has a biting problem too. If you put your hand on or near his mouth he will bite you through the mask if need be, fingers have been lost and König thinks it’s hilarious.

All of them carry a spare balaclava in case comeones is ripped, most often Horangi’s or König’s.

Some of them take medication for many things

Most for PTSD and depression, König for those and anxiety and insomnia (caused by his anxiety and depression)

The man is bad WITH his medication, without it he is so much worse. As an unmedicated kid who needed meds, he would hardly leave his room and would panic attack upon returning

The days that he misses, he locks himself in his room and cries all day

Though one of the lesser religious of the group, Klaus embodies the Christmas spirit the most

Though, he acts more like a demented Santa

Singing carols with twisted lyrics as he completes his missions, finishing with a ‘ho ho ho, and have a merry Christmas in hell’

He gained an affectionate nickname of ‘Krampus’ given to him by Fender and König who grew up with it.

It was not out of kindness or humor that they gave him this name like everyone believes.

To strengthen his bond with the name, he researched several different traditions over many countries with the creature and began to terrorize them all.

Fender and König were terrorized the most and their childhood trauma/fear was used against them.

Declan found this especially funny. You could tell Klaus just pranked them is Declan was seen with tears in his eyes.

Eventually, Fender and König call him Krampus throughout the year, while the rest stick to just Christmas time.

Zeus, although very polite, can be incredibly judgemental.

If someone eats something he deems as disgusting, he’ll scrunch up his face and give this horrified look.

This look has spared no one and made several people cry.

The reveal of König as a Colonel had shaken everyone. Apparently Zero was the only one who guessed right but was under the impression König had no idea how he got there

Which, to be fair, is kinda true

[arkus-rhapsode]

Manga Recommendation: Soara and the House of Monsters

So with the popularity of fantasy series that are actually pretty hard fantasy and not just isekai fantasy in manga and anime recently. Particularly, series like Dungeon Meshi, Frieren, and Witch Hat Atelier, I wanted to personally spotlight a lesser known series in that same high fantasy genre that gave me a similar vibe. Soara and the House of Monsters

So the premise: Soara is an orphan who was raised to do battle in a war between man and monsters, but never got the opportunity to before peace was declared. Without a purpose in life, she meets a dwarf, Kirik, who builds homes for monsters. Displaying the gorgeous/imaginative art of the series.

Each "arc," if you want to call it that, often involves Soara and Kirik's party coming across a stereotypical fantasy race and their often run down or depressing lair where they can live. Kirik resolving to then build that creature their dream home. This is because monster have been motivated to steal from humans because what they desire is a home. Comfortable accommodations instead of the squalor they're trapped in. Through building these homes, Kirik makes a place where they can be happy and avoid trying to take from humans.

Now if that sounds a little like discussing how people are inclined to do bad things when society may not allow them to have a comfortable place in life, that's because it is. Despite its comedic tone, a key component of the series is Soara herself coming the grips with the prejudice that was instilled into her as someone raised to fight against monsters. But also her own hang ups of not having a home to call her own.

While I won't say it pushes the envelop of fantasy manga like the artistic tour de force of Witch Hat Atelier or the melancholic beauty of Frieren, it's still a creative fantasy series with likable characters with some great art. Following a compelling protagonist as she both has her comedic moments, badass moments, and moments of decoupling the prejudices that were instilled into her. Soara and the House of Monsters is a great little series.

First volume has already been translated officially, so you can pick it up from any book store or site.