#its really mature of him to be kind even to people who have done so much wrong to him but i also think that

[m00ngbin]

JUST FINISHED THE SECOND SEASON OF MP100 AGAIN AND SOMETHING THAT I LOVE IS THAT MOB ISNT ALWAYS JUST NICE ON IMPULSE. HE HAS TO MAKE AN EFFORT. HE *CHOOSES* TO BE KIND

[valerie-is-in-the-cupboard]

HEELLOOO!! Firstly,How are you? I hope you are doing good(sorry for my bad english its not my first language😭)

I absolutely loved the way you wrote hazbin hotel characters ESPECIALLY angel dust.I was wondering if you could write what would Angel Dust be like if its fallen angel!reader's first time? Reader is also insecure about their body since their wings and some parts of their body(not their face) burned when they fell and they are trying to get used to their new appereance(if you are comfortable with writing it ofc).Thank you so much!!🩷🩷

To make sweet love - Angel Dust x fallen angel!fem!reader

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI! Hey there, hun! I'm doing well, thank you! Hope you're doing great too 💕 And don't worry about the English, haha! It's not my first language either, so I totally get it. But honestly, your English is really good, so no need to stress! 💕 I absolutely loved your request, and I apologize if it took a bit longer to get to you. I usually try to get things done ahead of time because there are days I'm not home, so I like to have things in the queue to make sure I don't forget to post. So, sometimes new requests might come after the ones already lined up. Anyway, I had such a great time working on this—it was so sweet. You have no idea how much I adore Angie, and I really wanted to make sure he's showered with extra love💕I wasn't sure if he and the reader would be in an official relationship, so I wrote them in a more casual, really close, and comfortable dynamic—kind of like dating, but not quite officially dating, if that makes sense (but i guess you can consider them together by the end of it? It's up to you really). Hope you enjoy it! 💕

Words: ~3800 TW: corruption kink, cursing, first time sex, fingering, vaginal sex, oral (female receiving)

It wasn't easy to adjust to a whole different world. After refusing to participate in the Extermination Day anymore, you were exiled into the realm of nightmares. You found yourself alone, your body bruised and torn after the flames engulfed it in your downfall. Your wings were no longer the ones of a divine saviour, worn with pride and confidence. They were burnt to ashes, only a few feathers managing to offer you a pang of comfort as you would gently wrap them around you.

But one day, gentle hands lifted you up from the ground. You were too tired to fight back, too hopeless to even care about your fate anymore. You closed your eyes and waited for the sweet death that would ease your pain, wondering what other tortures you'd have to endure at the hands of the ones you considered to be monsters. But you didn't die that day. Instead, you found yourself surrounded by the ones who were about to become your family.

Angel Dust was your saviour. You found it quite amusing when he told you his name because, for you, that's what he was - someone who saved you, who listened to your endless prayers and saved your life when you least expected.

Despite everyone's kindness, you found yourself growing more warm towards him and he seemed to enjoy being around you as well. He'd ask you to come to his room where you'd spend hours just talking. He'd ask endless questions about your life in Heaven, and you could sense that part of him wondered if things might have turned out differently for him under other circumstances.

But one day, after overhearing a conversation among sinners, your curiosity got the better of you, as you became quite curious about a topic that was a bit taboo among angels - fornication. You knew that for many people this simple thing led to their damnation, but you couldn't help but wonder - was it really that good?

Being an exorcist made you only focus on your job, not really having time to think about stuff like these. But now that you were here and had nothing else to do, you couldn't help your mind from wandering off at times.

You knew what Angel Dust did for a living and you also knew how much he actually hated it, so you tried not to ask about stuff like these too much around him, trying to take his mind off the horrible things he had to endure. But as you lay next to him, watching him scroll numerous messages from Valentino, you couldn't help it.

"Angel...?" you whispered, a dark blush on your face while you fiddled with your fingers.

"Yeah, hun? What is it?" Angel Dust said in a casual and lazy tone as he continued to scroll through his phone, reading the messages from his boss, rolling his eyes as usual as he read through them one by one.

"How... does it feel?"

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow and shifted his focus from his phone to you. "How does what feel, exactly?"

"You know..." you said, your face getting redder as seconds went by. "Fornication?"

Angel Dust chuckled and put his phone down, gently resting his arm behind his head, a look of subtle surprise spreading across his face as he looked at you. "You want me to describe sex to you, darling?"

"Yes... Is it really that good?" you calmed down a bit when he seemed comfortable with your question. After all, it wasn't really something he was ashamed to share.

"Oh, baby doll..." Angel Dust said with a smile and a laugh, clearly amused by your question. "Yeah, it's pretty damn good. Of course, it's a lot better if you actually love the person you're doing it with, but even just casual hookups feel pretty good, too."

"But... why do you hate to do it sometimes then?"

Angel Dust's expression became a bit more serious, and he sighed as he looked away from you for a moment before speaking again. "There's a big difference between doing it by choice with someone you like, and doing it because you 'have to' in order to pay the bills. Valentino makes me do it way too much and with... less desirable people."

You nuzzled against his neck, as his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of your body against his always managing to make him feel a little fuzzy. "Do you think anyone would want to do it with me?"

Angel laughed and gently ruffled your hair as he held you close, his hand wandering across your body, tracing the curves of your figure. "Oh, sweetheart, you're adorable if you think you'd have a hard time finding someone to do it with you. Any guy would be damn lucky to have you in his bed. Or gal. Either works."

You chuckled, but a hint of sadness could still be noticeable in your eyes. "I don't know... I feel like people would be... repulsed by the way my body looks..."

Angel rolled his eyes, an amused expression on his face. "And what do you mean by that, darling? Your body looks gorgeous as all hell."

"But these scars..." you said, slightly lifting up your sleeve to reveal a part of those dark memories.

His expression softened, and he gently touched the scars, tracing them with his fingers. "Darling, these scars just make you look more badass. Anyone who judges you by them isn't worth spending time on. Believe me, sweetheart, you look absolutely gorgeous."

You smiled softly at his compliments. He always lifted you up when you felt bad about your appearance. "And like... does it hurt when you do it... the first time, I mean?"

"That depends on a couple of things, darling..." He said in a slightly more playful tone, gently tracing his fingers across your skin. "If the person you're with is careful and takes their time, probably not. If they're too rough and hasty, it could hurt like hell."

"They're supposed to be someone... you trust then, right?"

Angel Dust nodded and gently moved his hand to caress your cheek. "Yeah, it's supposed to be someone you trust. Someone who cares about you, who'll be gentle and take good care of you, y'know?"

"Angel... Would you want to..." you began, your face burning as words came out of your mouth. "... you know..."

Angel Dust's expression changed to surprise as he looked at you. He wasn't expecting you to ask such a thing, not from you. He gave you a sly smile as he began to gently move his hand down your body. "Are you serious, darling?"

Your eyes widened as you moved away from him. "I... I'm sorry... I didn't want to make it weird..."

Hi's expression softened and he gently pulled you back towards him, wrapping his arms around you. "No, no, you didn't make it weird, darling. I'm just... I'm surprised, that's all." He let out a little laugh and looked at you with a smile. "Are you sure you want this, hun?"

"Well... you said it has to be with someone I trust... And I trust you, Angel." you caressed his hand, gently tracing your fingers against his. He let out a long sigh and looked at you, his eyes travelling down your figure. He was torn; on one hand, a part of him always wanted to do it with you. You made him feel safe and he couldn't help but want to make you feel good, but he never told you anything for fear of making you feel pressured. On the other hand, he was afraid he might destroy this sweet little thing that you two had. It was so innocent and nice and only the thought of him messing things up and you not wanting to talk to him anymore was too big of a risk for him.

He gently pressed his forehead against yours, looking you in the eyes as he spoke. "We can do it, darling. On one condition." You watched him with big eyes, curious of what he was about to say. "If at any point you want to stop, you tell me, ok?"

You smiled, placing a small kiss on his lips. "You too, Angel."

He chuckled and returned the kiss, gently caressing your skin with his fingers. He slowly moved against you and pinned you down on the bed, hovering over you with a small smirk on his face.

"I'll be fine, beautiful..." he said in a playful tone, his hand gently tracing down your body down to your hips. "Now, there's something else I need to ask you, darling. How much experience do you have, exactly? Like... I get that you never had sex, but you must've done things, right?"

"No... not really."

Angel Dust's eyebrows rose, but he didn't lose the smile on his face. "So you've never found any freaky angel up there, huh? Not even had fun by yourself?" You shook your head, feeling a bit embarrassed by your lack of experience.

He chuckled and gently brushed a few hairs out of your face. "Darling, you're way too innocent for your own good, you know that?" he leaned down, placing soft kisses on your neck that sent tingles down your spine. "You know... I'd lie if I said I didn't... fantasize about this moment from time to time..."

"R-Really?" you asked, as his lips softly caressed the skin.

"Mhm..." Angel Dust hummed as he started gently nipping your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. "The thought of seeing someone so pure like you do such things... Kinky."

His fingers intertwined with yours, gently squeezing your hands as his other two caressed your body. His hand slipped underneath your shirt, the warm touch making you tremble in excitement. His fingers quickly found your nipple.

"No bra today, sweetheart?" It pleased him how much you trusted him and allowed him to touch your body like this, and the feeling of your chest, completely naked under your shirt, gave him a certain... satisfaction.

"Ah~ fu- Angel!" you gasped when he grabbed your hardened nipple, gently playing with it.

Angel Dust let out a little laugh, watching your every reaction as he touched you. The way you gasped and squirmed, your body hot against his, it all made his chest fill with excitement. "You're so sensitive, darling... I can't wait to see how you'll react to everything that's coming~"

He pulled away from your body, gently raising your shirt as his eyes looked for any sign that you wanted to stop. You looked away as he revealed your boobs. You two were close, yes, but you always hid your body, so the fact that he's seeing it for the first time made you a bit self-aware.

"Don't look away, darling... You're beautiful," he said, his eyes admiring your body. "I want to see every part of you." He leaned down, his lips crashing into yours, as his hold on you grew tighter, his tongue gently sliding into your mouth.

He took your hands, placing them around his body, your fingers brushing against his soft fur, tugging it slightly. A soft moan slipped from Angel's mouth against yours as he felt your touch, sending waves of pleasure through him. He pulled you closer to him, his body pressing against yours, and you felt him getting excited against your skin.

He pulled away from your mouth and went lower, placing kisses along the path. He gently licked one of your nipples, a soft gasp escaping you. He was enjoying every reaction you gave, the way you squirmed and trembled, it made him want to keep going, to keep teasing you and make you want more. He harshly started to suck on your nipple, as his other hand played with the other. You arched your back into his touch, feeling yourself getting hotter with every moment.

"Angel... Please... I want more!" you pleaded as you felt yourself getting wetter with every moment. You were desperate to feel some pressure. You needed this.

"Patience, darling... You'll get what you want, just wait a little longer~" he said in a teasing tone, enjoying how you were at his mercy. You let out a desperate scoff and you moved your leg slightly, touching his clothed hard cock. He let out a soft gasp, his eyes snapping back to you, his expression a mix of surprise and excitement. "Mmm... now that's a good girl. Getting impatient, are we?" he smirked, his expression growing more sly as he spoke. "Alrighty then. I guess we can skip a few steps," he said and traced the waistband of your pants. "You alright, babe?"

"Yes, Angel. Please! I want this!"

Angel Dust smiled, his heart fluttering slightly as you begged him for it, your voice pleading and desperate. "Okay then, darling..." he said, gently starting to undo the buttons of your pants. "I'll give you what you want, don't worry." He slowly caressed your legs, looking at you with a mischievous smirk on his face. "You ready, sweetheart?" he said, his eyes full of excitement. You nodded, your heart beating like crazy. "Alright. You tell me if you want me to stop." Gently, he took down your panties, his eyes fixed on your pussy, your juices shining in the dim light of the room.

He placed your legs on his shoulders, lowering himself, his breath hot against your skin. You gasped when his mouth attached to your heat, his tongue making a mess of you. Your back was arched, as your hands tightly grabbed at his hair, his arms strongly keeping you in place.

"Oh, shit! Angel- Fuck, yes!"

Angel Dust smirked against you as he heard you swear, your curses making his heart pound as he continued to use his tongue. "Mmm, honey... you taste so good, no wonder I have a sweet tooth~"

His tongue moved in circles on your clit, as you lost yourself in pleasure. The sensation was electrifying in your body, sending waves of pleasure that left you shaken. You felt his finger slowly entering you.

"Ah, fuck…" you breathed, your body gradually adjusting to being spread, even though it wasn't much.

"Does it hurt?" Angel asked, his movements measured and careful.

"No. Don’t stop, please…" you whispered, and he began to move just a bit faster, his tongue and finger working together in perfect rhythm. The sensation was intense, and as you felt another finger trying to enter, there was a slight discomfort. But with how wet and needy you were, it only made you more eager.

"Jeez, are you already close?" he murmured, noticing how your body reacted, tightening around his fingers as they slid in and out, your juices making everything slick.

You couldn't find the words to answer, too focused on the way his fingers moved inside you, each drag against your sensitive walls sending shivers through you. He kept going, the knot in your stomach winding tighter with every passing second. Just as you were about to unravel, he pulled back, sensing how close you were.

"Woah! Slow down, honey," he said with a soft chuckle, pulling away and leaving you with a whimper of frustration.

"Why'd you stop?" you asked, feeling your orgasm fading slowly as you tried to regulate your breathing. He came closer, placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Listen, toots. If you want me to keep going, I need you to be just as horny as you are right now. Finishing now can make you a bit... sensitive and it might hurt more." he explained, running a hand through your hair. "But if you're not ready for this, we can finish this up and then grab a snack and watch something." You let out a sigh, looking at him and you could tell he was concerned, not wanting to push you too far too quickly. "It's your call, baby! Just tell me."

You cupped his face, kissing him softly. "I want you, Angel... So, do as you know it's best." Angel Dust smiled against your lips, feeling your body still shiver slightly in his grip. He let out a soft chuckle and looked down at you.

"Alright, darling... just relax. I'll take good care of you, I promise. Just let me know if it gets too much, alright?" You nodded and he kissed your forehead again, getting up to undress.

You watched as the clothes gracefully fell off his body. You always admired the way he looked as he never missed a chance to show you as much as he could. But this time it felt different. It felt intimate. It felt right.

He noticed the way your eyes locked on the tent in his boxers, a bit taken aback by how big it was. He approached you, gently cupping your face. "Hey, I know it might seem scary to... see a dick for the first time." he chuckled. "You don't have to continue if you don't feel like it."

"I do! It's just... I'm a bit nervous, that's all." you smiled, caressing back his hands.

"It's okay to be nervous, darling. You have nothing to worry about, alright? I'll be gentle... Just trust me." He kissed your lips as you both leaned back on the bed, his arms gently propping himself up above you. His hands caressed your body, running down your sides, feeling the softness of your skin as you lay beneath him.

He lowered his hand down to your core, his fingers coating themselves in your wetness. You moaned in his mouth as his long finger entered you once again, the motion a bit faster than earlier. His lips brushed against yours, his thumb drawing circles on your clit as you felt yourself getting close again.

Feeling you getting tighter, he pulled back, taking off his boxers. Before you could realise what was happening, he crashed his lips against yours again, as you felt something brush against your entrance.

"You ok, honey?" he asked, drenching the tip of his penis in your juices.

"Yes. I want it, Angel! Trust me!" you said, feeling a bit nervous, but not regretting any moment of it.

"I do, baby," he said and pressed his tip inside of you, slowly. With slow movements, he gradually entered, pulling out from time to time and entering a bit more after. You hissed at the stinging sensation but felt a bit more calm when you realised it was not as bad as you thought it would be. You kept a hand on his chest, slowly pressing when the stinging sensation became too much, and he would immediately pull back.

With one hand he started rubbing your clit, his movements less painful as the pleasure made you relax more. He kissed you as soft whimpers filled the room. "It's almost in, baby. You're taking me so well." His praise sent a tingle in your stomach, as his dick came in and out of you.

The sensation of fullness combined with the way his fingers teased your clit was surprisingly arousing. Your body responded eagerly, your juices flowing freely around him, as he bottomed out inside you

You looked at each other, desire visible in your eyes. There was something so special about this, so erotic, but pure at the same time. Angel's heart was beating loudly, as his hands roamed through your hair. It felt like he didn't only stop to give you time to adjust, but as if he wanted to spend some more time like this, in this moment.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate, allowing you to feel every inch of him. You moaned in unison with each movement, his pace on your clit quickening.

Without realizing it, his thrusts deepened, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He froze, concern flashing in his eyes, but you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to continue.

"Angel, please, don't stop!" you said as his pace fastened, the knot in your stomach getting tighter with every move.

"Shit, toots... You're a freaky one, ya knew that?" he said in between grunts, his breath tickling the skin of your neck. The feeling of his cock brushing against that sweet spot over and over again shot a strong, electrifying wave of pleasure through you, a moan escaping his mouth as you got painfully tight around him, your body trembling at the sudden feeling.

With a few deep thrusts, he finished inside of you with a guttural growl, his body collapsing on top of yours as he breathed deeply. He looked down at you, a lazy smile on his face. "You okay, darling? I didn't hurt you, right?" he asked softly, his breathing slowly steadying.

You hugged him tightly. "I love you, Anthony..." you whispered, hiding your face in his fur. Angel Dust's heart practically melted at your words, the way you said his real name always made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer against him, his face nuzzling in your hair.

"I love you too, sweetheart. So, so damn much," he replied, his voice a soft whisper against your ear.

"So... can we do it again?" you asked, as you rested your head on Angel's chest, his breathing still heavy.

"Toots... it's been the fifth round already... Aren't you tired?" he said, a soft, exhausted smile on his face.

"Nope," you said, making a pop sound at the end. "Cherri told me about a sex position and I want to try it."

Angel Dust let out a laugh and let his head drop onto the pillow, his eyes locked with yours. "Oh my god, you are unbelievable. How much stamina do you have, darling?" he said, slightly shaking his head.

"I'm an angel so... a lot."

Angel Dust chuckled at your reply and rolled his eyes playfully. "Of course... of course you are." He let out a sigh and looked at you for a moment, trying to think. "Alright, tell me about this position."

Your smile grew wider as you started to explain this new idea, but he wasn't fully listening. He got lost as his eyes adoringly looked at you. Yes, you became a little sex gremlin since your body got used to it, but it was the kind of sex he always craved - it was loving, safe, and warm. It made him feel special, wanted for more than his body.

Someone like him, who had nothing to live for anymore, finally found a reason. A reason to fight through the miserable life that he was cursed to have for eternity. And he wasn't willing to lose it.

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail

[thecourtscorkboard]

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Review - A Flawed but Charming Masterpiece

As we finish up Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, we discuss this game's legacy: and how it stacks up in modern times.

I'm... not exactly sure where to start here.

It would be a bit spoiler-y to say how I think of PW:AA in relation to other games, but I guess there's nowhere else to put it. I think PW:AA is one of the best games in the series, and an incredibly strong starting point. It's my second favorite game in the overall series, and for quite a few very good reasons; it's one of the few games in the entire franchise that I don't think has a single bad case. In fact, it has two of my favorites back-to-back; 1-4 and 1-5.

Here's how we're gonna order this. I'm gonna go through an overall list of pros and cons, giving a few paragraphs explaining them. After that, I'm going to give some closing thoughts and an overall ranking of the cases and top 5 characters. Sounds good? Sounds good.

PROS

Pro One: Tone-Setting.

PW:AA knows how to set a tone. Each case has a very unique feel to it, from the frantic and almost manic speed and nerves of 1-1 to the depressing and bleak atmosphere of 1-4 to the downright oppressive and confounding nature of 1-5. Each case is very easy to distinguish from one another: they have different "vibes", I guess is the best way to put it.

Each case establishes these vibes in different ways. 1-1 puts you straight into the deep end; Mia's still holding your hand, but the case is relatively simple and the stakes aren't very high. 1-2's tone is unfamiliar but not depressingly so, still managing to be relatively lighthearted and fun. 1-3 is incredibly fun and filled to the brim with excitement; we get to see a movie studio! 1-4 and 1-5 take on very bleak tones, but it's different types of bleak; 1-4 is incredibly high-stakes and rather straightforward, setting its bleak atmosphere through the time of year and the overall aesthetic of the case surrounding it all (DL-6), while 1-5's tone is created over time as the corruption and rot at the center of SL-9 comes to light. For example, in 1-5, Gant starts off as a goofy and kind of lovable old codger. By the end, you want to punch him in the face.

This is all done through some of the strongest opening cutscenes in the mainline series. Each case has an incredibly unique and tone-setting opening, from 1-3's exciting showdown between the Steel Samurai and Evil Magistrate to 1-5 starting on an overview of the city during a thunderstorm and ending on a reminiscence theme; tones are made with opening cutscenes, and PW:AA does it nearly flawlessly.

Pro Two: Characterization.

PW:AA is one of those very rare AA games where there's not any characters I downright hate. Hell, the only character I dislike is Sal Manella for obvious reasons, but if you took that away I honestly wouldn't mind him that much. Even from the first case this game sets up its characters and keeps their core values intact; Phoenix believes in his clients no matter what, Edgeworth cares about bringing criminals to justice, Larry is awkward but well-meaning, Mia is a veteran who teaches Phoenix what she knows, Maya is experiencing new stuff and exploring, and so on. Even one-off characters stick around in your head!

One thing I really like about AA in general but PW:AA in particular is that, to some extent, every character we see has some sort of flaw. Phoenix acts first and thinks later. Maya does the same but with a far less mature outlook. Edgeworth gets tunnel-visioned and others, like Manfred, Gant, and even White, will take advantage of that. Even minor characters have flaws; the Bellboy is easy to embarass, Cody lies to protect his favorite hero, Angel has an incredibly personal vendetta, and so on. Even minor flaws exist; Vasquez smokes, Jake (implicitly) drinks, Gumshoe is forgetful, and so on. It all makes these characters feel like real people.

Every culprit has something about them that makes them stick out as their own unique character. Frank is a nervous wreck, Redd is rich and corrupt, Vasquez is aloof and deeply tragic, Yogi is a great actor, Manfred is hilariously aggressive, and Gant gets under your skin. Even the victims have levels of characterization! Hammond was corrupt, Goodman was diligent and liked by many, Hammer was vengeful, and so on. Even Sal is recognizable. No character in this entire game just fades into the background; they all stick.

While we're on the topic of characterization, I'd also like to point out the dialogue in this game. It can go from downright hilarious to deeply personal in just a few lines and the tone can change seamlessly. It's great.

Pro Three: Mystery

At its core, Ace Attorney is a mystery series: a mix of whodunnits and howcatchems. PW:AA has some of the strongest in the series in that regard. 1-3, 1-4, and 1-5 are all standouts: 1-3 is the purest howcatchem in the series while 1-5 is a brilliant example of a whodunnit turning into a howcatchem. Even 1-2 carries its own weight here. Its mystery is lackluster, sure, but it's still engaging!

Circling back to those opening cutscenes, 1-2's, 1-4's, and 1-5's all set up their mysteries within just a minute very well. 1-3's mystery is set up over the course of the first couple of minutes in the case, and they're all articulated well and feel, for lack of a better word, believable. These are things that could feasibly happen, but at the same time some of them are downright challenging (lookin' at you, 1-5!) in very good ways.

The clues provided to us, in most cases, are easy to piece together but not handholdingly so; this game trusts that the player can piece things together by themselves, including things that are seemingly unrelated or mentioned aaaaaaages ago like the parking stub in 1-5, the bent fencepost in 1-3, or the metal detector in 1-4. It's all a really neat and effective way of engaging the player in, generally, well-crafted mystery narratives.

Pro Four: Worldbuilding.

Yeah, bet you didn't expect that one.

PW:AA is a very grounded game. As such, it has pretty grounded worldbuilding; it all makes sense in its confines, which is the type I enjoy. Evidence Law makes sense for what we see, and at times the worldbuilding actively works its way into cases like 1-4's statute of limitations or 1-5's taking 30 minutes to go from the Prosecutor's Office to the Police Station. 1-3 makes the Steel Samurai feel alive, mostly thanks to its opening cutscene: even 1-2 expands on a wider outside world, with Redd White's role in the suicides and blackmailing of political and business figures.

Stuff that doesn't need to be explained, like prosecutor's badges or why trials can only take three days, are! There's also elements that exist behind the scenes, like guilty defendants having to face a higher court or the bureaucracy present in the Police Department. It's all meshed together into a believable world; which, speaking from experience, is not easy to do.

Pro Five: Aesthetic.

I know this is kind of lame to give to PW:AA given that all AA games have similar aesthetics, but I feel like PW:AA gets some leeway because it was the first game in the franchise and therefore set this game's aesthetic. I love it. Characters are portrayed realistically (more or less): nobody in this game feels cartoony at all, which I appreciate. In addition, this game's setpieces are very grounded: lakes, law enforcement buildings, offices, and of course the courtroom.

The courtroom itself is incredibly well introduced and designed; one of my favorite bits is how when Edgeworth points at von Karma he points to the side of the room von Karma is on instead of just forward. The defendant's lobby is probably my favorite setpiece; it's just... cozy.

Like, look at the courtroom! It's so grandiose yet so grounded at the same time. I could see myself in this room! It's a treat for the eyes; the clashing light browns of the desks and Judge's seat with the golden and white walls is awesome. PW:AA knows color theory and it shows. I particularly love the white pillars in the back.

Pro Six: Music.

PW:AA has the most memorable music in the series and for pretty good reason. The Pursuit theme is my second-favorite in the entire series, and it's instantly iconic. This is the Ace Attorney song to many people, including myself! That's not mentioning the Reminiscence themes, which all set and fit the tones of each case perfectly. DL-6 and SL-9's reminiscence themes are perfect for their cases, but I'd also like to point out Maya's own specific reminiscence theme; this plays after Manfred tases her and Phoenix in 1-4, and it fits the inner turmoil and the line where she says she wishes she'd never woken up perfectly. Speaking of DL-6 and SL-9's themes, they both do something very different that fit each case; DL-6's is somewhat hopeful, like there's still a mystery to be solved. SL-9 has come and gone. There's nothing left but despair.

This game plays with your emotions with its music in a very, very, very good way. There's the adrenaline-pumping octane energy of the Pursuit theme and the sadness of the reminiscence themes, but also the sense of relieved finality you get with the Victory music or the "let's get busy" feel to the Investigation theme: and we're not even mentioning character themes yet.

Every character theme has a sense of purpose. Jake Marshall's establishes his rough-and-tumble attitude: the song is wild, carefree, like if you told it to slow down it wouldn't listen. Gumshoe's is weathered and basic but still strong and good at heart; it fills your chest, y'know? I think overall, though, there are two standouts: Maya's, which is upbeat, cheery, and maybe a little scared to be on its own; and Gant's, which immediately makes itself known and takes over the room. Each theme has a purpose and a feeling; it's an incredible use of music.

CONS

Con One: Pacing.

PW:AA is not... the best paced game ever. Out of all the baseline cases, 1-2 is probably the best paced; 1-3 and 1-4's final days feel rushed, with 1-3 being the biggest offender. The DL-6 trial is criminally short for an already short game; 1-5 is nearly half of the game's length on its own! 1-3 is too long and 1-4 is too short, whereas 1-2 is perfectly passable; but I don't think I'd call it excellently paced by any means. 1-5, as much as it pains me to say it, is also a bit too long at times. There's only one excellently paced case (1-5), one case that's paced well (1-2), and three cases that have pacing that's a little all over the place.

One argument I've seen is that another case could easily fit between 1-1 and 1-2, and I'm honestly inclined to disagree. I just think that 1-3 could've been shorter and 1-4 could've been longer: like I said, the DL-6 trial is far too short for one of the most pivotal moments of the series! I get this was their first attempt, and it was a decent showing, but it's still lackluster.

This game just kind of feels a little bit all over the place. There's never really a great time to stop outside of days shifting over for a lot of these cases, which makes sense, but pausing in the middle of an investigation or trial to do something else feels awkward. It's not a satisfying game to put down, which is probably a good thing for some people; but it isn't for me.

Con Two: Original Pixel Art.

Oh, man. I know I just praised this game's aesthetics, and this still holds up, but good God some of the original pixel art sprites were ugly. Edgeworth's stands out the most: it looks like he's trying to see something from far away without his glasses on (which DD later shows is is probably what he's doing, but I digress).

It's not like Edgeworth is the only example, either. The contrast between 1-5's sprites and the rest of the game is painfully apparent on the original DS release, which makes sense—1-5 was released in 2006, 5 years after the first game and when AJ was being developed, so of course it matched that aesthetic—and the witness stand backdrop just... isn't great.

Con Three: Navigation.

Bear with me for not having a photo for this one. PW:AA's navigation system is very outdated; and it shows. I complimented it for setting up the general aesthetic, so I guess I can point out that it brought in my least favorite feature that would last until DD. The navigation system is occasionally pretty cool, but more often than not it's just a hassle. I get why it exists, and like I said it's occasionally cool, but on the whole... it gets in the way.

Having to go through two separate locations to get to another is annoying, and it's easy to lose track of the map in your head. It's not "you need to write it down on paper" bad like the first Zelda, but it's definitely not great.

We've still got one promised place to go; my top 5 favorite characters. We'll do this ascending, so let's start with #5!

Number Five: Damon Gant

I think Damon Gant is the best example AA has for "affably evil". He's a heartless piece of shit, sure, but he's also the kind of guy I'd go out and get a beer or watch a movie with. This alone speaks to the power of his character; he's a masterful manipulator, an open abuser, and a two-time murderer, but still a rather fun and swell guy to be around.

Over the course of 1-5, as Gant's mask slowly slips, so does the overall tone of the case; a double murder mystery becomes an incredibly thrilling conspiracy, all with this man behind it. He influences every little part of this case: there is nothing that his grimy hands do not touch.

And I love it. His shadow looms over the case, and once you go from "whodunnit?" to "howcatchem?" and finally piece together how you're going to take him down? Oh, man. Peak cinema.

And God, is it satisfying to take him down! Watching him slowly crumble into nothing is one of the most satisfying moments in the entire series, and us doing it nearly singlehandedly (with a little help here and there from Edgeworth and Ema, of course) is an absolute perfect way to cap off Phoenix's arc.

Let's talk about his design, too. Orange is his most prominent color; his suit is orange, his skin is orange, even the gold police badge on his tie looks orange, and it's on a red tie; red and yellow make orange. Orange is a color of happiness, enthusiasm, and youth, but it's also a color of spontaneity, superficiality, and in Confucianism is associated with transformation. It's a color that perfectly fits Gant's charming and goofy mask slowly transforming into the man that spontaneously killed Bruce Goodman and keeps up his charades through superficial charm and goodness.

Number Four: Maya Fey

I'll be the first to admit that she is way lower on this list than I expected: but this is not a diss at all. Maya is at her second-best in her debut appearance, and for good reason; this is just as much her game as it is Phoenix and Edgeworth's, making up the last part of this game's core three cast.

Maya is incredibly fun and plain enjoyable, but she also brings a very tragic and emotionally heavy element to this game. Throughout the game she's constantly battling feelings of inadequacy; this all comes to a head in 1-4, but it's hinted as early as 1-2. Maya's arc through this game is trying to find a place to fit in: Phoenix is a defense attorney, Miles is a prosecutor, even Larry is a bachelor... but Maya is just a "spirit medium in training". She's not even good at the one job she has yet.

The climax of her arc and the end of 1-4 tie into each other and it's an incredibly emotional moment; her relationship with Phoenix evolves from an employer-employee one to siblingesque very naturally. By the end of the game, you'd be hard-pressed to say they weren't related if you didn't know their surnames!

Let's go back to color theory. Maya's main colors are purple, black, and white: her robe is purple, her underrobe is a very light lilac, her hair is black, her pearls are white, and so on. It's a color of royalty and creativity: much like how Maya is the heir to the Kurain Channeling Technique through her mom, the heir to Mia's legacy, and the driving force behind some of Phoenix's big breakthroughs like drilling witnesses to get information in 1-2 and that von Karma killed Gregory Edgeworth in 1-4. Black is a strange color and hard to pin down to have a single meaning; it's a color of defiance, sadness, death and life, and so on. In Japan, it's a color of mystery and the unknown; much like how her psychic powers are never fully explained and are incredibly alien and out of place (but in a good way!) throughout the game.

White, meanwhile, is associated in China and Japan with grief: and hooh boy, does Maya carry a lot of it. Grief over her sister and mother, grief over not living up to anyone's (perceived) standards, the grief she gives Phoenix, and so on. White is a color of death: perfect for a spirit medium. Also: red and blue make purple and her pearls are white. Redd, White, Blue[Corp]...

Number Three: Phoenix Wright

Phoenix is at the top of his game: which makes sense, given that he literally is! This is some of his best characterization in the series and an incredibly strong first showing. Mia calls him a genius and it really shows; he pieces together some pretty complex theories by himself, like the entirety of 1-5 and the first half of 1-4. I like to equate him to a chainsaw; he needs time to rev up, but once he does he'll cut down anything in his path.

And boy does that show up here! His thought processes can easily match the player's, and his own arc does as well; over the course of the game he slowly comes into his own as an attorney and problem solver just like the player. By the end of the game he's experienced but not seasoned: again, just like the player.

He has incredibly solid relationships with the entire main cast, and his chemistry with every character is awesome; I particularly like his chemistry with Maya and Edgeworth of course, but he also has some incredibly strong dynamics with Ema, Gumshoe, Lana... even His Honor and Redd White of all people! He's a great bouncing off point for every other character as well as the player.

Talking about color theory a bit more, his main color is obviously blue. It's an old color, and people described it before they had a name for it. It's a color of business—which makes sense, given his role as CEO and owner of the Wright and Co. Law Offices—but it's also a color of authority and nobility: when people think of police officers, the color blue comes to mind, doesn't it? It's a color of the law! Blue is also associated with Heaven and immortality in some Asian cultures, giving Phoenix an almost divine presence; a gift to his clients, saving them from darkness.

Number Two: Miles Edgeworth

Edgeworth has my favorite arc in this game. I think this game really did a good job in making him fascinating: he's an incredibly tough nut to crack, but under his exterior he's very soft and sensitive. He's initially presented as this incredibly intimidating and corrupt conviction machine, but over the course of the game it becomes clear that he doesn't believe in convictions; he believes in justice.

This all stems from DL-6, the core lynchpin of the game. I'd actually argue that even more than Phoenix and Maya this is Edgeworth's game: I think that JFA and T&T fill Phoenix and Maya respectively. But PW:AA, despite being named after Phoenix, revolves around Edgeworth's trauma and beliefs. When those are shaken in 1-4 and 1-5, he becomes frazzled, dazed, incredibly irritable. His arc breaks down barriers he's kept up for years and doesn't know how to handle coming down. This is his story.

I think that his transition through 1-5 is one of the best parts of this game. To see him slowly realize he has absolutely nothing left to lose and just go full steam ahead on the person who has ruined his career, Damon Gant, is satisfying: it gives Edgeworth even more agency and coolness than he already had, which was already a lot!

His main color is red, obviously. Red is a color of passion and desire, but it's also one of blood and intimidation; it's complex and has two faces, just like Edgeworth. It's also a color of religious reverence, showing up frequently in Catholic art: Edgeworth himself almost looks like a pastor with his black undershirt and white collar. In that respect, there's the opportunity to view his arc through the lens of Christian themes of redemption: a dark and tortured soul brought to the light, finding a sort of peace through both the light and his struggle towards it. It's also a color of anger, which Edgeworth has no shortage of; anger at the world, anger at himself, anger at us.

Number One: Ema Skye

I'm admittedly very biased by her later appearances, but Ema is also an incredibly fascinating and amazing character in her first appearance. She is the heart and soul of 1-5, both as your assistant and the reason for the case's existence: it was Gant's fabrication of her murder of Neil, after all, that led Lana to forge evidence.

She has an incredibly active role throughout all of 1-5, as your assistant, suspect, and pseudo-charge: it's hard not to feel like you have to take care of her. Her personality is incredibly bubbly and endearing, creating adorable dynamics with Phoenix and Lana as well as an incredibly hilarious mini-crush on Edgeworth that she's so unsubtle about. Takumi really shows his maturity as a writer with 1-5 as a whole, but Ema is a great example of how he's become a better character writer over time.

As your assistant, she's spunky and fun; she's not even somewhat reserved like Maya is from time to time, but at the same time her spontaneity is far more mental than physical. A lot of people call her a Maya clone, but I disagree: she's a Maya mirror, just like how 1-5 is a mirror of 1-2. Whereas Maya is spiritual, Ema is scientific and materialist; Ema's main color is pink, in a similar spectrum to Maya's purple; her hair is brown, like Mia's, instead of black, and so on. The dynamic that she leads with Lana is incredibly captivating.

Let's finish this off with a discussion of her main color; pink. Yes, I know that most of her design is white, but her design is splattered with splotches of pink that stand out and are meant to be eye-catching, from her glasses to her necktie and undershirt to her watch and even her bag. Pink is her color and it's a color of soothing, love, and in Japan is a rather masculine color. She tries to soothe Lana's worries through her unconditional love, and it's that love that shines through the darkest parts of 1-5; be it Ema's love for Lana or vice-versa. In full honesty, I just decided to bring up pink being a masculine color in Japan because I wanted to share a headcanon I have that Ema is trans. Sue me. There's even an element of her relationship with Lana in the color alone; until the 1850s pink was seen as a masculine, immature and boyish shade of red; a color of young boys in contrast to the crimson worn by men and seen as a symbol of authority. Edgeworth's jacket? Lana's muffler? It's not hard to see the connection.

Overall Thoughts

PW:AA is a treat. It's my second favorite game in the franchise, and for good reason! It's a very very solid mix of mystery and character-driven storytelling, with a whole host of standout moments and an incredibly fun cast. The core cast is generally at their best here; not to degrade his latest appearances, but I think this game by far has Edgeworth's best characterization. I also think Gumshoe and His Honor are at his best here, and even with characters who have their weakest showings in this game still have standout moments that make them incredibly loveable.

My favorite thing from PW:AA isn't its characters, cases, or even its music, though. It's how it slowly builds up Phoenix alongside the player! We mimic his journey; we start off being handheld by Mia, and then we're thrust into a situation without her that we get through with her help. We also rely heavily on Maya but still get to shine on our own terms. In 1-3, we're finally on equal footing with Maya, solving the mystery with her. In 1-4, we take it on in a leading role; Maya takes an understandable backfoot for Phoenix's strong showing, but we still need her to finish the case and Mia still needs to intervene near the end. In 1-5, the core moments—the final trial especially—are nearly done entirely by Phoenix alone. It's an incredibly awesome buildup of development for both the player and Phoenix.

As a fic writer, I'd also like to point out some standout ships. While I don't ship it, Phoenix/Edgeworth ultimately finds its roots in this game; and it roots itself in very well! There's a reason it's the most popular. They have great chemistry. Some ships I do ship that also find their roots in this game are Lana/Mia, Ema/Maya, and some of my favorite non-romantic ships (be they platonic, adversarial, or something in-between): Phoenix and Ema, Gant and Ema, Edgeworth and Gumshoe, Phoenix and Maya, and Phoenix and Mia all shine through in my mind and find their roots in this game. It's a lynchpin for the fic-writing, shipping side of me!

PW:AA isn't a perfect game, but I think that's where a lot of its charm comes from. It's rough around the edges when you really look, but those rough edges make what shines really shine: the highs of 1-4 and 1-5, the dynamic between Maya and Mia in 1-2, the incredible way it sets up themes and vibes, and so on. It does a lot in its limitations and sets up an awesome format for the later games to follow.

Overall? It's fantastic. It's very understandably cemented itself as one of the greatest mystery games of all time! It's aged incredibly gracefully and is a perfect introduction to one of my favorite series of all time.

PW:AA holds a very special place in my heart as the second Ace Attorney game I've ever played and the first one I finished. It was a very fundamental part of my childhood; I started playing Ace Attorney in elementary school. It's incredibly nostalgic for me and this game is a massive reason why.

To wrap it all up, we'll give this one an overall rating and place its cases on our case tier list. See you for 2-1 and Justice for All!

Overall Rating: 8.5/10

[musings-of-a-rose]

Falling Slowly - Chapter 1

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2000+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes:This started as a simple idea for Tommy. He had different ideas and I can’t say no to those freckles and smile. Thanks to @mermaidxatxheart for helping me get unstuck. You always have such great ideas!

And a big thanks to @wyn-n-tonic for helping me form thoughts and give this a little shape. I hope I can be a quarter as talented as you one day!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described. Divider made by @benkeibear

Main Masterlist

Falling Slowly Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

It’s crowded in here tonight. Not quite theme park during season full, but close enough. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t seriously need a drink after the day I had at work. And this bar was the closest place to home that was still open.

Or maybe I just pulled into the first place I found.

I somehow manage to score a seat at the crowded bar, sliding quickly onto the stool that’s still warm from its previous occupant. I raise my hand to the bartender and she nods, taking another 2 orders before taking mine.

“Rum and Coke. Less Coke.”

She smiles, tossing me a wink before she walks off to make the drinks. I have to admit I’m mildly impressed by her memory, as she had taken at least 10 drink orders before mine and memorized them all. No wonder she has an overflowing tip jar.

It probably helps that she has giant tits too.

I take a few sips, letting the warmth of the rum spread through me, loosening my muscles before setting the glass down. The music playing is stupid loud, but the people seem to like it, jamming their sweaty bodies together in a tight group in the middle of the dance floor. 

I’ll admit, this isn’t typically my scene. But the patients today were really on their game of trying to piss me off and I decided I earned a drink. I just wish I’d known how loud it would be. Thankfully, I'm not on call tomorrow.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

A man sits next to me, shifting his body so he’s facing me. When I don’t respond, he repeats himself, a little louder.

“I’m ok, thanks.” I try to let him down easy, but turning down a man who’s tipsy and looking to get laid is not an easy thing to do.

“Not yet you aren’t. We haven’t even spoken yet.” 

Sighing, I turn my head to look at him. He’s all blue eyes and light hair, a slight tan on his face but one from hanging out at the pool and not from manual labor. I’d be surprised if this guy had to work for anything.

“I’m flattered, really, but I just want to drink in peace.”

“Oh, come on now, gorgeous. A little conversation won’t hurt.”

“Really, I’m good.” I turn my head back to my drink, removing my hand from the top of it to take a sip. 

“You look stressed. I can help with that.” 

His hand finds its way to my thigh, squeezing me slightly. But before I can do anything, a different, larger hand removes it for me. 

“She said she was done talkin’.”

This new guy is gorgeous. Broad shoulders, a barrel chest, arms that could totally lift me, coupled with beautiful black curls, freckles speckled across his olive skin, accentuating his eyes, which I'm sure are normally kind when they aren't staring down an asshole. 

The man who was talking to me yanks his hand away and stands up, the bar stool scraping across the floor. 

"Fuck off, friend."

"Not until you leave the lady alone."

The man puffs up his chest, sticking his pointer finger out, jabbing at the man with the curls that I'd love to touch. 

"Why don't you fuck off so you don't get hurt, hhmm? Me and the lady were getting along just fine."

The man with the curls looks at me and I shake my head, both to say I'm never going anywhere with this man and please don't get yourself hurt.

"Doesn't look like she wants to go with you."

The man glances over at me and I fix my face into what I hope is confidence. 

"No way. I'm not going anywhere with you."

The man narrows his eyes. "I bought you a drink. The least you could do is come home with me."

Curls laughs and oh, I would love to hear that sound again. "Imagine being such a dick that you think forcing a drink upon a woman entitles you to sleep with her."

The man draws his fist back and quickly releases, punching Curls straight in the nose, his head flying backwards. He stumbles but doesn't go down, his hand swiping at his nose to see its already bleeding. The man tries to grab for me but Curls stops him, landing several good punches of his own. 

"Stop! He's not worth it!" I try to step in but it's pointless. I can't get close enough to stop anything. 

A minute or so later it doesn't matter because the cops show up, separating the men and loading them both into the back of cop cars, Curls meeting my eyes and giving me a small smile before he's pushed into the cab. 

"Excuse me," I stop one of the cops. "Which jail is he going to?" 

"Travis County. The one on 10th."

"Thanks."

The men load up and take off as I turn to walk to my car and head to the police station. When I arrive, the desk officer tells me I'll have to wait a while for them to be processed, but that they will both make bail.

So I wait. 

Several hours later, the kind desk officer rouses me awake and let's me know I can post bail. I do and they ask me to wait in the lobby while they bring him to the front. When he comes around the corner, he's talking to the officer that's escorting him.

"Yes sir, but can you tell me who posted my bail?" 

The officer nods in my direction while extending his arm out, indicating that the man should proceed without him. Curls turns in the direction the officer pointed him and locks eyes with me as I stand, folding my jacket over my arm. He smiles as we walk towards each other, making my cheeks feel warm under his gaze. 

"You bailed me out?"

"I had to. You saved me."

God his smile is like sunshine. "Oh, you didn't owe me anything, darlin'." 

"I definitely did. That guy was a creep and who knows what else he could've done?"

"Well at least let me pay you back the bail?"

I wave my hand at him. "No way."

"There must be some way for me to pay you back?"

I gesture at his face. "How about you let me take care of that?"

He touches his nose and looks at his hand, seeing some dried blood. "Oh, no that's ok. I'll just go clean up-"

I step closer to him, hand stretching towards his face. "I can't believe they didn't get you checked out."

"Ah I'll be alright."

"Stop arguing and come with me."

He looks at me, all brown eyes and tiny freckles, a small smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. "Yes ma'am."

Oh I am so fucked. 

He follows me to my car and gets in the passenger side. As I turn the key on the ignition, I realize I don't even know his name. 

"I'm Tommy by the way." 

I tell him my name. "But my friends call me Daisy."

"Well it's nice to meet you, Daisy."

We make it back to my place, as his truck had been impounded and so unavailable until morning. Tommy tries to decline my offer of a place to stay while he waits for his truck, until I ask if I'm so offensive looking that he wouldn't want to come up to my apartment. 

"No way, ma'am. Quite the opposite."

He follows me upstairs, kicking off his boots when I kick off my shoes. He looks around nervously and I see him scanning all the windows and doors. 

"You serve?" I ask. 

He looks at me, eyebrows raised. "Yeah. Desert Storm. How'd you know?"

"My dad always scans a place when he enters it. I'm assuming you'll want your back to a wall too? Exits visible?"

"I…yeah. That would be preferable."

I gesture to my couch, which is against the wall. "Have a seat. Let me get my first aid kit."

I grab my kit and some ice in a bag and sit next to Tommy, who turns his broad chest towards me when he sits up. His eyes glance behind me at my bookshelf.

"That shelf looks like it's on its last leg."

I chuckle. "Probably is. I've had it forever and it wasn't high quality to begin with. Just some Ikea shit."

He groans, like I’ve just offended his entire ancestor line. "No, not Ikea! I could make you some new ones."

"What, are you a carpenter or something?"

"Similiar. Contractor. But I do know my way around wood."

"So do I."

Tommy shifts his legs at my implication and I smirk, dabbing at the now dried blood on his face, cradling his chin with my other hand. 

His eyes are on me, so close I can feel his breath puffing out against my skin and I feel heat starting to pool between my thighs.

"Pride and Prejudice?" He asks. 

"What?"

"On your shelf."

"Oh. Yeah. Haven't read it in a while but I was obsessed when I was little. Wait - have you read it?"

He smirks. "Are you surprised?"

"A little."

"My niece needed help with her book report. So I read it to be able to help her."

"You read an entire book to help your niece with a paper?"

"Yeah."

"That's really sweet. Not many people would do that."

"Oh I'm not many people."

"That's for sure.. hey Tommy, are you hungry? I have some pizza left over."

His eyes flick between mine, a soft smile appearing on his face.

"I love pizza."

"Great!" I move to the kitchen and start getting out the pizza, putting some slices on my pizza stone and turning on the oven to preheat it. 

"I rented the new X-Men movie from Blockbuster. Have you seen it?" I ask as the oven bings and I slide the pizza in it. 

"You managed to snag a copy?"

"I bribed the cashier."

He chuckles. "I haven't seen it yet."

"Ok cool. I'll put that on for us."

The pizza finishes reheating and I divvy it up, offering Tommy a beer. We sit on the couch, plates on the coffee table as I get out the DVD. Tommy whistles. 

"You got a DVD player?"

"Yeah. It was my one splurge on myself when I moved here. Well that and a new mattress."

I fast forward through the commercials, cursing the makers for not adding a "skip ad" button. 

"Is your boyfriend gonna be alright with us hanging out?"

“Yeah, no. I don’t have one of those.”

Tommy sits up a little straighter. “Oh? Why not?”

I shrug. “I just moved to a whole new city and wanted to settle in. I don’t like long distance because it just never works out. Plus I can’t deal with all the-” I twist my wrist in a circle “- neediness?”

Tommy chuckles. “Neediness?”

“Yeah. My job takes a lot out of me and honestly, I don’t have the mental space for a boyfriend right now. That’s why I like you.”

Tommy points to himself, eyebrows raised in question. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’ve only known you a few hours but you’ve already saved my ass and don’t act all high and mighty. Plus you have great taste in books and movies.”

Tommy and I finish watching the movie and I drive him back to the impound lot now that it’s open. We exchange numbers and promise to hang out again, both of us missing the glances in the other’s direction. Although I’m pretty sure he caught me staring at his ass when he was standing at the checkout counter. 

“So you’re just….friends?”

Tommy nods, taking another sip of his beer. “That’s what I said, Joel.”

Joel studies his brother, his eyes narrowing. “She pretty?”

“So pretty she’d make a man plow through a stump.”

The corner’s of Joel mouth tick up for a second before he fixes a stern look on his face. “Be careful, Tommy. It’s hard for men and women to be friends if they’re attracted to each other. Someone’s bound to get hurt.”

“That would mean she’s attracted to me, big brother, and there’s no way. She ain’t lookin’.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“‘Sides, don’t you want a good example set for Sarah? That boys and girls can just be friends?”

Joel shakes his head, pointing at Tommy. “I don’t want her near any boys for any reason for her entire life.”

>>Chapter 2>>

General Taglist:

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[arlh0e]

Almost (sweet music)

Part: 2/? “I would do it again”

Part one here

Rating: Mature (smut at times but not rn)

Warnings: Hozier x fem!reader, angst, post-break up, sulking, long-distance, yearning, title from a Hozier lyric

Summary: You and Andrew have been broken up for a few months, you still talk regularly, but you’re beginning to understand why he thought that seperating for the duration of the tour was a good idea. You miss him dearly, but its comforting that he’ll be home soon and you’ll be able to spend time together when he comes home for the holidays.

You were so happy to be home, and after the day you had at work, all you really wanted to do was text Andrew and tell him about the idiots you work with, more specifically the fact that none of them wanted to do their job and so all of the extra work fell on you.

He hadn’t responded to the message you had sent him at lunch, so you assumed that he was busy doing an interview or a sound check before his show tonight.

He was understandably busy, but you still felt a pang of hurt at the fact that he wasn’t responding. You hadn’t heard his voice since the last time the band was staying in a hotel, which had been weeks ago. With all of the traveling, they had just been sleeping on the bus because they were never anywhere longer than a day.

You wondered how he felt about it. The utter lack of privacy on that bus had to be stressful, especially for someone like him, who enjoyed his time alone as much as he did.

Sit down on your bed and reach for your laptop, opening up youtube to check and see if there were any more interviews with him that had been posted.

You knew it was slightly obsessive that you had seen just about every interview that he had done since he left, but you really did miss him. Watching him talk about his music, if nothing else talking to someone else about it helped fill the void in your chest that had been left there by his lack of presence, even if just for an hour.

You imagined that this is how some of his fans acted with his content. Did they obsessively search for new interviews and consume every piece of media that he was a part of? You were sure they did, he was magnetic. His personality just drew you in, making you want impossibly more of him by the second. Maybe it was because of his kindness, or his passion, or maybe it was just because he was pretty, but you couldn’t blame the fans who you had seen sob at his concerts just from being so close to him.

You were pretty sure that you’d likely be in the same boat when he came to perform in Dublin. He had already promised you backstage access for all three shows because he knew how much you loved watching him perform.

If you were being honest, part of what you was kind of confused as to how this arrangement with Andrew was supposed to work. You knew that at least for the time being, you weren’t together, and yet, nothing about the fundamentals of your relationship with him had changed.

You were still painfully in love with him, as was he with you. You both still ached to be with each other and to talk as much as possible, he literally couldn’t wait until he got home and so he invited you to his shows so he could spend time with you before then.

It was incredibly frustrating. Having to go from being able to talk to him and see him whenever you wanted to wondering if it was appropriate to text or call was borderline infuriating even.

And every so often you couldn’t help the thought from passing through your mind that he could be sleeping with other people while he was on tour. With no official relationship status, he could do whatever he wanted. And you couldn’t even be mad about it, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to rip your hair out at the thought.

You hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask him about any of it, but most of your conversations had been about how you were doing at home. Or how Elwood was behaving for his parents. He never talked about how the tour was going or how he was feeling or what he was doing, and it was feeding into the idea that maybe he was doing so on purpose. Maybe this break up wasn’t for your benefit but so that he could do whatever (and whoever) he wanted while he was away without fear of consequences.

***

The Dublin shows really could not come soon enough. You really weren’t sure of when his flight was supposed to land, but you knew he had a 2 day gap between his last show and the next show in Dublin, so you were almost positive that he was already on his flight back.

You caught yourself quite frequently checking the house across the street to see if his car was in the driveway yet, or if a light was on.

You were practically buzzing with how excited you were to see him. It had been months, and just being in his presence again would be so refreshing for you.

You had decided to take a shower to get your mind off of things, or at least distract yourself from staring longingly at his house from your window.

The playlist you put on (titled “the hoziest”) was compiled of all of Andrew’s music in order of your favorites of his, though there wasn’t a single song of his that you disliked, songs like in a week and work song just made you so happy to listen to.

When you’re done in the shower, you take your time going through your night time routine, skincare, fancy pajamas, the works. Knowing that you’d be seeing Andrew soon had sent you on a spiral the last few days.

Which was ridiculous of course, seeing as how this man had literally seen you doubled over, puling your guts out with your face in a toilet from alcohol poisoning on multiple occasions (you tend to get carried away) but you still found yourself wanting to look your best for when he saw you again.

Once done, you pick your phone up off of the counter, turn your music off and walk back to your bedroom while scrolling through instagram, looking at things your friends had posted and watching reels, not bothering to look up from your phone as you made your way to your closet to hang your towels.

“You know, my offer to let you sing in the band still stands, we’d be performing in a week every night if it sounded like that.” You froze.

You knew who the voice belonged to, and you almost forgot a half second thought you were hallucinating.

Did you really miss him that badly that you were hearing his voice when he wasn’t really there?

You turned around to look in his direction. Andrew’s lanky frame was laying comfortably in your bed, his torso propped up against the bed frame, smiling at you.

You blinked once. Twice. You were sure that the confusion you felt was evident on your face, but you weren’t sure if he was actually there or if you were half asleep and imagining all this. You were almost certain that he’d disappear.

“Hey?”you offered up in confusion. You had come to the conclusion that he was actually here but you were still wondering why. And how. “I could’ve sworn I locked the door, how did you get in here?”

“Hi, I missed you too.” He laughs. The sound is quite refreshing after all this time, soft melody that graced every inch of your being. “It was, I tried knocking but you didn’t answer and I still have a key if thats alright.”

Thinking back on it, you never had asked for the spare key you had given him back. And knowing him, this was all quite fitting of a homecoming surprise. You looked over to the bedside table, a bouquet of your favorite flowers was there, sitting in a glass vase of yours, a vase that wasn’t there before. Your heart melted at the thought.

Though it didn’t make up for everything that had happened or how lonely you had felt without him here, you were glad to see that he was at least trying.

“Hmm, I dont know, I do seem to remember a promise of groveling for my forgiveness when you got home.” You raise an eyebrow at him with a smile and a small laugh, while you cross your arms over your chest and lean against the doorframe of your closet.

“And here I thought I’d be able to get out of it.” He smiles and stands to make his way over to you. His hands snake their way around your waist, resting firmly at the small of your back while he looks down at you. “I missed you terribly, my love.”

You just continue with your sly smirk, cocking your head while looking up at him, silently telling him that this was not the agreement in full. He laughs in return and slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. “Im so sorry, darling.” He plants a kiss on the bit of exposed skin below your shirt. “Won’t you forgive me?”

Your hands move to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging him away from your mid drift, moving his face so that his eyes come in contact with yours while you smile down at him.

“Sweet boy, you’re going to have to try much harder than that.”

Smut in the next chapter! consider yourself warned!!!!!

[verosikastrikerstellaexcuser]

You know what the most pathetic thing the Stolas stans keep parroting is? That Stolas is just such a poor unsocialized rich prince, who just does not know how to talk to people, when that is 100 % a skill that you have to practice. I mean, look at Stella, who is arguably in a very similar situation to him, but even in the pilot had a little get-together with friends and in the show throws actual parties. She talks and gossips with people and is a very sociable person. Good for her! On the other hand, you have Stolas who gets drunk at now two different parties in the show and has no friends that we know of. At both of those parties, he could have talked to people, but that is not what happened. He could also throw his own parties. Or he could literally try to talk to people on the internet, who share his interests, but he doesn't even do that - as far as we know. In the same way, Stolas is pretty pathetic that he wants these big romantic gestures performed to him, but apparently doesn't understand that he has to put the work in to make a relationship even work to get to something like this. I am someone with autism who had to literally drag myself through social situation and learn all of those little things far later in life than others, and I absolutely loath how Stolas gets babied for not even trying to learn basic conversation skills or having any basic connection to literally anybody.

You're so right anon, like, even if he is unsocialized since they've retconned him to be a powerless naive little baby in S2, that still doesn't excuse shit like fetishizing someone and doing in front of a load of other people and embarrassing them. Genuinely just, what on Earth, how do people excuse that? Even if he didn't realize the harm he was doing, he was still doing harm! Blitz repeatedly said stop and he didn't listen (this is the harvest festival I'm talking about where Stolas fucking went "that sexy imp there" on stage in front of everyone and kept using pet names etc). Crossing someone's boundaries and ignoring them saying they don't consent... IS STILL DOING JUST THAT. Idc if you're a shut in, people don't have to just tolerate that! No one is owed friendship, friendships are mutual bonds you build with others, not pity donations.

And yes, 100%, St*las is pathetic in how he obsesses over 1 guy. He obsesses constantly over Blitz despite Blitz immediately not bothering to come on each full moon as soon as hes given the okay and being so unresponsive via text. I get not being good at reading social cues, but when you add in the deal... come on. Stolas should be able to put together that Blitz would be even more distant if only he could be. Stolas is surely mature enough to self reflect that Blitz is tethered. And to be fair, he did do that! So he did know. Its just a shame his apology didn't explicitly note who started it, and didn't apologize for forcing Blitz to interact with him. Instead it had all these vague passive statements like "and to not know how they feel" as if Blitz didn't constantly communicate active disgust all through S1. A kind of "Oh but you COULD have totally loved it really I didn't know!" It feels so sketchy.

St*las is his own worst enemy in that he constantly chases a guy who responds with "ugh, get away from me". If someone does that and constantly responds with "ugh" at you, OBVIOUSLY the healthier thing for both parties involved is for you to move on and to try meet anybody else. We've never once seen St*las attempt that though. And yeah, it is just pathetic. You can't cry and bitch and moan about loneliness if you've only taken steps that will ensure it and not done anything actually helpful to cure it, i.e making friends. Moxxie and Millie were right there... but he didn't try to get to known a single other member of IMP. Blitz doesn't even have a single thing in common with St*las, why doesn't that damn owl try to join a gardening club instead, meet people with any kind of similar interests? Like ffs. You're right about St*las wanting romantic gestures and such yet he won't put the work in to just get to know someone first. If you want a bouquet, you gotta try a "hello" and then a few "oh hey its you again nice to see you"s first. On someone OTHER than a guy who can't stand you.

And. Tbh part of me is scared to even go here. But, yk. It is discussed in the autism community, how men with autism get passes for things women with autism don't (since we're on the topic of not being able to read social cues etc). Some of the Stolas stuff honestly gives me that vibe. I wish so much that I could peer into an alternate reality where he was a woman instead of a cute soft lil gay bean man. I guarantee people would be quicker to call out his wrongs, tbh. Though they may take his abuse of Blitz less seriously, but I seriously do feel like his social behaviors and not knowing how to behave socially, not being caring in the right way, being a bad parent, all of that would have people madder and making less excuses.

[arkus-rhapsode]

Gonna give some love to one of my favorite Radiant Dawn minor antagonists, Hetzel. And what he represents overall in Radiant Dawn.

Now when Hetzel shows up in PoR and Radiant Dawn he seems like an unassuming old man. Practically harmless compared to the other obviously evil senators. But the thing is, Hetzel is a great sign of somebody who is aware actions are wrong, but he never uses any of his own power to stop or take a stance.

He knows the Serenes Massacre plan is bad, but he doesn't really make any attempts to stop it. Because the truth is he's more ambivalent to the plight of the Herons. He bails out slaver and fellow Senator, Oliver, despite a whole point of Sanaki's campaign was to find the people still partaking in the slave trade and stamping them out. And while he makes no aggressive actions against Sanaki, he still is a part of the anti Apostle group of Senators. Yet despite all that he still frees Rafiel.

This is because Hetzel is probably one of the most mature criticism Fire Emblem has had of someone in power: Hetzel is ultimately a man who likes having power and maintaining the status quo. Unlike Lekain and other who their current position isn't just enough and need to keep aggressively expanding, Hetzel rather takes a position of doing what is best to main the power he has. Despite the fact he is aware that slavery and massacring is bad. He will still benefit if Lekain wins, but will never use any of his power to implement any significant changes. At best all he does is gestures of good faith.

Theocracy in Fire Emblem is honestly kinda shallow and very much a simplified version of it. That there is a religion that has some form of political power. And that one in charge is probably some person who pushes down on others because god tells them to. But Tellius seems to understand a theocracy isn't just about the dogma of a faith being implemented by the state and there for the only true religion and those with conflicting ideas must die, but rather those who benefit the most are the ones in the highest positions of the theocratic organization. Something that can be achieved less through actually believing but actually knowing how to rise in rank in a religious institution. All of the senators are Dukes, holding massive lands and they are the senior most members of their faith. While we know that warriors of the faith like Zelgius and others hold titles like Earl for their place in the military fighting for their faith. The theocracy of Begnion is one that isn't just about "because the Goddess" its a group of men who have grown rich and consolidated much of their riches and political position and now someone like Sanaki is going to upset this balance after they worked to avoid this happening with Apostle Misha. Delegitimizing Sanaki by revealing she's not the true Apostle would then pass over the power of the empire to Lekain and his cronies. And Hetzel was along for this ride for a long time.

And when finally confronted by Rafiel in the end, Hetzel only begs for forgiveness. He knows what he has done is wrong but pleas that he was kind to Rafiel so that means he's not all that bad. But Rafiel has nothing left to say. Hetzel did have a choice given where he was in the senate. And in the end he ultimately choose to go with Lekain's flow. And when Ike confronts Hetzel, all Hetzel refuses to surrender. He'll be disgraced. Even at the end knowing after everything and having one last chance to get out, he doesn't take it because his status is more important to him than doing the right thing.

Hetzel is a wonderfully pathetic villain and a genuinely good examination of those in power who passively allow bad acts even when they have a level of awareness. While there are a lot of people who like to dismiss many FE villains (and lets be fair) that aren't always that strong or that complex. But I always want to at least give praise to instances like Hetzel that make memorable antagonists.

[rabbitsonthemoon]

MHA fic plot bunny (eraserdust-ish??? but not really???)

remember when I said I didn't /think/ I'd put any mature content on this blog? hahaha. same vibes as me thinking I'd 'just' write 20k words of a story. I mean, does it count if they don't actually do anything smutty? just that the subject is mature and has sexual themes??? Anyway I'll put it below the cut just in case, advert your eyes if it's not your cuppa.

tw: sex pollen (but not in the way you think), dubcon (in the sense that this Would Not Be Happening At All if not for the sex pollen), sexual themes, fear of noncon (due to misunderstandings), kidnapping, no smut, no romance, no feelings, kind of fuck or die but not really, Tomura is asexual in this one.

got bitten on the ankle by a plot bunny. mature rated MHA fic, partly crack treated seriously, about Shigaraki getting hit with a sex pollen-esque quirk in an attempt to weaken the LOV, except it does take asexuality into account so instead of being overwhelmed by lust and falling apart he's just. so fucking annoyed. so miserable. so done. his cock is not allowed to take that tone with him. the only relief that works for him is physical contact. cuddling and touching. except he doesn't want to touch anyone because of his quirk. he doesn't want to risk dusting one of his party members and the list of people allowed in his personal space is very. sad.

this is after Kurogiri got yoinked and before they found gigantomachia (canon who?), which might help explain why there were only one brain cell left in the LOV. They want to help Tomura, of course. He's miserable and the quirk lasts as long as a common cold if it's left to its own devices. They're also broke as hell. They really wish Kurogiri was there. He would know what to do. As far as a sabotage plot goes, quirking up Shigaraki to weaken the league is unfortunately working, just not in the intented way. he's miserable and it's everyone's problem. the itching is worse than ever and there's only so many spare shirts they're willing to rip up for bandages. point is, they're getting desperate.

and never underestimate the desperation of idiots.

they turn from looking at villains to looking at heroes. obviously it has to be an adult. which removes a hilariously sad amount of people from the pool because most of their heroic beef has been with a class of teenagers.

hey, how about their teacher? the one who erases quirks? tomura is still in absolute misery and completely misses the Signs That Something Is Amiss when he gets asked for his opinion on Eraserhead (he's still cool, wish he was a recruitable party member, his quirk would be useful).

fortunately for them, there's a feral cat hanging around their latest hideout that the whole league has been feeding, like the most poorly-kept secret. the cat is plump and trusting. heroes do things like rescue innocent animals, right?

perfect pro hero bait.

(the amount of heroes who would actually fall for this is a statistical error. Aizawa Shouta, who follows stray cats during his time off, is an anomaly and should not be counted)

cool. pro hero successfully captured. they have until he doesn't show up for his next class before the entire wrath of Yuuei and most of the underground heroics network comes down on their heads. Compress caught him in a marble. Cat was a paid actor and compensated with tuna. Cat is fatter and happier. unfortunately they have to. you know. let him out. It's a bit like trying to prepare and hype up the team to release a pissed-off lion.

cannot emphasise enough what a Terrible No Good Day this is for Aizawa. His evening plans consisted of changing into the comfiest pink sweatpants he has, finishing some grading, and falling asleep on top of the papers. This was not what he signed up for when he followed a weird little girl (disguised Toga) into an alleyway because he heard a cat and was told it needed rescuing. Now he's surrounded by the villains who attacked Class 1-A.

For the LOV, trying to explain themselves while trying to avoid getting their throats ripped out by a underground pro hero with a grudge is a WHOLE different kind of problem. they are. a lot more scared of him than he realizes. and that was before he pulled out the big knife!

In the League's defense, it never crossed their minds that getting into a four-way brawl with Eraser (Toga took a long hike with the cat) while explaining that they kidnapped him because Shigaraki's been hit with a sex pollen quirk and they ran out of options really wasn't A+ communication.

Shigaraki gets drawn to the fuss (read: they're being so fucking noisy while he's trying to sleep through the quirk) and it sure is a moment. misunderstanding cleared very fast, but Dabi is not getting those torn staples back, Twice is very grateful that his mask protected his eyes, and Spinner is Googling if mutant quirk-types can get rabies.

Eraser is suspicious as hell of the whole thing, but the ordeal sounds so stupid that he kind of believes it on principle. he's very glad that the cat is fine. the cat honestly wins more trust than any reassurance that he isn't under any obligation to stay, they just need help and couldn't think of any better way to make him hear them out than kidnapping him. still not allowed to know where he is, though, because it's a nice hideout. (Shigaraki has never come closer to dusting his own teammates.).

Because he's terrifyingly logical and efficient, Eraser is actually hearing them out + he's an absolute demon to bargain with. They get their human hot water bottle that doesn't mind being the recipient of a quirked-up Tomura's clinginess, he gets a free nap and valuable intel about the LOV's future plans and members. Probably nothing the police wouldn't have found eventually, but very neatly packaged instead of taking months to piece together. Sexual intimacy is off the table. He'll Erase Tomura's quirk if he feels threatened. The eye drops stay close by. Either of them can back out at any time. Eraser keeps his mouth shut for privacy's sake. They owe him a bottle of whiskey for the inconvenience and a fucking week of going radio silent on villain work. He wants regular updates on the cat. They keep their end of the bargain, he'll keep his.

Shigaraki would die from embarrassment if he didn't already feel like he was dying from touch starvation. Good thing Eraser is very warm and pliable (caterpillar man), and has seen far too much to be fazed by this. probably knows a thing or two about ways to alleviate the suffering caused by the quirk, like heaping on any pillows and blankets from around the hideout. It's still awkward, of course. Sleepover from hell for both of them basically. There's an inherent sort of trust you need for this that is. not fucking there. but Eraser is trustworthy. even when Tomura's body is reacting with arousal dialed up to eleven, much to his dismay. It's like a sick day. But kinky. Except communication and understanding skips the kinky. Probably the most healthy interaction he's had. (yikes).

ofccourse you can't be cuddling the enemy through a sex pollen buzz without some kind of angst! Tomura isn't going to lie around all day, and his new Erasure hero blanket is portable. You bet he's still being a restless, scratchy bastard, playing his video games, trying to pretend the league isn't hovering like flies. And sure, Eraser's job here is just to laze around for Shigaraki to cling onto, but his trauma??? adoptable??? senses are tingling. Tomura says the most fucked up little things, nestled in those long rants about enemy hitboxes and the plague of heroic society and That Ending Was Bullshit, Actually.

The LOV are running out of nails to bite. doesn't help that Eraser is observant as hell and clocking them whether they like it or not. Kidnapping a pro hero with the keenest fucking sight was A Mistake, Actually, but by now Tomura is satisfied with the arrangement and it's too late for regrets. Eraser's phone might ring, might be Mic because he had a weird feeling today was a prime day for his friend to get kidnapped by villains while looking for a cat under suspicious circumstances, or something. well. his gut wasn't wrong, but Eraser's got it handled, and he wins more trust tokens by rolling a nat 20 on deception, all good here, see you tomorrow, grab me a coffee.

I think in the end the real winner here is the cat. Nothing but a good time for that spoiled little bastard. If Eraser accidentally slightly tames the LOV like a pack of feral cats by proxy, that's entirely covered by their NDA. The quirk breaks by the next day. It's a struggle to get Eraser to leave, because he's having a very comfortable sleep for once + staying in the captivity of the LOV is marginally nicer than being the homeroom teacher of the hell class. Perils of opening your secret villain hideout to the prince of sleep.

They tempt him out with the cat.

I'm gonna write this one into a full fic. ❤️ I'm craving sweets that the bakery (Ao3) does not have!!! I'll make my own then. >:3

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Eighteen

A mysterious invitation to an Undercity gala leaves you feeling off-balance...

Silco x fem!reader

Rating: Mature and explicit. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: threats, conspiracy, overeager lackies, mentions of alcohol consumption, semi-public piv sex, creampie, and plugging

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

“Here you go, boss,” Rowan said, handing you an envelope. 

It was unmarked - fairly normal for the Undercity, but the envelope itself was odd. It was a heavier weight than most of the low-quality paper that was cheap enough to be used by Piltover’s Undercity. This felt expensive. Your guard was immediately up, but you were the head of the Haven. Opening unmarked mail was one of the less objectionable duties you were responsible for carrying out. 

You slid your finger under the lip of the envelope, opening it so you could peer inside with suspicion. What exactly you were looking for was a mystery even to you - an odd smell? Some kind of powder? A venomous bug? 

Regardless, you didn’t find any of that. 

Instead, the envelope held only a card. You couldn’t read it without pulling it free, but you could see that it was marked with elegant script and gilded embossing. Despite your confusion, it seemed harmless enough, and you pulled the card from the envelope. 

Your half-observation had been correct: the cardstock was thick and heavy, clearly high-quality. The embossed design traced the edges of the card as well as snaking a delicate design around the script on the card. 

It appeared to be an invitation. You managed to see that much before you were distracted by thoughts of who would have possibly invited you to a gala. 

The gala was meant to celebrate the Undercity’s improving economy. That was the only reason you didn’t immediately throw it in the garbage: Jazper had confided to you that the local economy was improving. He hadn’t named a specific cause and you didn’t expect him to. It was unlikely that any one thing had jump-started the economy, especially when there were so many programs all working toward freeing the Undercity from the extreme poverty that wracked so many of its citizens.

But Jazper wasn’t the one who had sent the envelope. You knew that name of his business, and it wasn’t listed anywhere on the card. The gala was apparently being hosted by an organization called Undercity Improvement, Ltd. You had never heard of it. 

If you were being truly honest, that made you feel a little miffed. Between the Haven and your work with Jazper, you should have at least been aware of an organization that was presumably focused on the improvement of Piltover’s Undercity. But that was small and petty, so you tried to move past it. 

The better question was why an organization you weren’t familiar with - and really should have been - was sending you an invitation to a gala. You were active in the community, but you were well known for being hard-working to the point that you rarely attended outside activities.

You went out fund-raising, of course. You attended meetings with potential donors and tried to stay involved in local politics, but there were people who needed you at the Haven. It didn’t make sense to leave them alone so you could go to events that seemed designed to make you feel nice and complacent about the things you had done for the community. 

Of course, you had meetings with Silco twice a month. You managed to keep the frequency of those meetings a secret, but you had been seen at The Last Drop and other places around the Undercity more and more often lately… 

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so suspicious that you had been invited to an event. But something about it gave you a strange and suspicious feeling, and you had learned to listen to those instincts. Even when they seemed small and petty.

A knock on your office door pulled you out of your thoughts before they could spiral further. “Yes?” 

“Another message,” Rowan announced, popping in just far enough to hand you the envelope. “You’re popular today.” 

“Lucky me,” you said, voice dry. Rowan chuckled before disappearing again. 

You didn’t need to perform any examination of the second envelope. It was from Silco - you could recognize that much from sight alone. You were a lot less wary as you pulled the note free. As usual, there was only a single line of neat script on the page: 

Our next meeting will be at the gala. - S

That left you with more questions than answers, but one thing was clear: skipping the gala wasn’t going to be an option. It didn’t matter how good your excuses were. 

The day of the gala found you navigating carefully up the stairs to the makeshift event hall in the Undercity - a building known only as the Court. As far as anyone knew, it had originally been intended as a city hall or a courthouse. The Undercity had ended up being far less governmentally-oriented than anyone had expected, and the Court mostly sat empty.

The hall was an imposing building, constructed of dark stone made darker by decades of soot stains and grime. The architecture itself was elegant and spacious, with the type of facade you could picture ivy snaking over if such things grew in the Undercity. The narrow windows were plentiful, and you would bet that they only remained intact because of the iron that divided the panes. It would be far too much work to cut through those strips and enter the Court.

There were signs of the gala: artistic lights pointed upward along strips of fabric, projecting the light further than would have been possible otherwise. Strips of the same fabric fluttered from the upper levels of the Court, and a short carpet extended slightly outside of the building’s entrance. 

Guards stood on either side of the heavy doors. They were clearly there to dissuade any uninvited guests, but you had to admit that their heavy-duty outfits - entirely black from head to toe - made them look like an intimidating part of the Court itself. 

You were wearing a dress and heeled shoes that felt utterly impractical in the depths of the Undercity. You fervently hoped they would feel more in place when you got into the gala itself, but you wouldn’t bet on it. It was simply too far outside of your normal attire. 

The dress was a blue that felt like a particular rich shade of teal. You had opted for straps that laced together and up over your shoulders in an artistic netting style. There would be enough to focus on that night without worrying about a dress slipping down. The flowy hem reached just above your knees, almost demure if not for the fact that the fabric tended to flare out as you moved, offering glimpses of your thighs. 

You were careful as you climbed the stairs, doing your best to avoid an unfortunate spill on the cold stone of the stairs. When you approached the guards, you dipped fingertips into your pockets - custom-added to the dress and worth every bit of effort - to retrieve your invitation to the gala. 

The guards opened the doors without seeing the paper, let alone reading your name written across the invitation. More concerning was the fact that, after you had offered your uncertain thanks, the guards nodded and greeted you by name. With the distinct sensation of a deepening mystery, you stepped inside of the Court.

The inside of the building was just as imposing as the outside had been, but was far more welcoming. Generous lighting kept the dark stone from looking gloomy and small tables were scattered across the room. Each one boasted its own subtle lamp, giving more than one couple a place to settle in for quiet, semi-private conversation. The dance floor had better lighting, tucked unobtrusively in one corner next to a small group of musicians on string instruments.

Wait staff circulated around the room, offering drinks and hors d'oeuvres to chatting groups. As you entered, one man immediately offered you a tray of glasses. Clearly noting your quizzical look, the man explained, “Champagne. There is a bar at the edge of the room where I can get any other beverage you would like, or you can browse their selection yourself.”

“I think…” you trailed, overwhelmed. “This will be fine, thank you.” 

The man nodded, giving you a quick smile as he maneuvered his tray to the next group. You took a sip of the champagne as you meandered through the room. Somehow, you weren’t surprised that the alcohol was notably high-quality. 

You recognized several figures scattered around the room. Some of them were people you knew from their efforts to improve the Undercity. If you had given it much thought, you would have fully expected them to be here. Others were donors from Piltover and more exotic places. Of those ones, you recognized enough to see that outreach was one of the goals of this particular gala. 

Eventually, you spotted Jazper and made your winding way to him. He was absorbed in a conversation with several people. You recognized some of them, but only vaguely. There was no one in the group you knew personally, but they all nodded or smiled as you approached. You may not have known them, but they seemed to be familiar with you. 

“Jazper,” you said, smiling around the group, but holding eye contact with the man himself. “I’m glad to see a friendly face.” 

Jazper chuckled, the warmth and familiarity of the sound putting you at ease. You had spent long hours together, working late into the night on various projects and details. He was a friend, at least in your book. 

“You would know more people if you ever left your Haven,” he teased. You rolled your eyes playfully. It was a long-running argument, but you were starting to wonder if he might have a point. “Here, let me introduce you.” 

“No need,” one woman interrupted, turning to smile and shake your hand. “Everyone knows about the Haven and its mysterious leader.”

“Is that so?” you asked, trying to make the words bland, or even challenging, instead of nervous. You missed the days when you didn’t have secrets to worry about someone discovering.

“Of course!” another well-dressed conversationalist said. You couldn’t begin to tell their gender identity, beyond that they were simply stunning. “You’ve been quite the topic of conversation since you arrived here. Especially when you started putting such a dent in the Shimmer sales in the area.” 

You frowned, already opening your mouth to ask how everyone seemed to know confidential crime statistics, but you were cut off as someone else leaned in, treating you to a view of the best groomed mustache you had ever seen.

“But we should leave you to your conversation,” he countered. “I’m sure we’ll all get the chance to speak with you at another time.” 

And then they were leaving, retreating across the room in a single mass of extravagant clothing and perfumed smiles. You watched them warily, noting that more than one glanced back at you. 

“Is everything okay?” Jazper asked. “You seem stressed.” 

“This gala is strange,” you explained, still watching the group. “Haven’t you noticed anything going on? Who were those people you were speaking with?”

“A mixture of donors and business owners, all interested in helping the Undercity emerge from Piltover’s shadow.” Jazper gave you a searching look. “Maybe you should leave the Haven more often. You really didn’t recognize any of them?”

“No, I didn’t,” you murmured, feeling an uncomfortable twinge between your shoulder blades. 

“Strange,” Jazper remarked. “They seemed to be familiar with you. With the Haven, anyway. But I don’t think there is anything sinister happening.”

“Sinister?” you echoed, forcing a laugh as if you found the idea to be ridiculous. Privately, you thought the word summed up your feelings quite nicely. “No, of course not. I was only going to ask you who was hosting the gala.” 

“Undercity Improvement, Ltd.” Jazper’s answer was prompt and helpful, but you shook your head. 

“I’ve never heard of that organization, either. Had you? Before all of this?”  

Jazper slowly shook his head. “I can’t say that I had. I thought it might be one of the Haven’s sponsors, if I’m being honest.” 

“It isn’t,” you confirmed, then frowned. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? How?” 

“I thought it was before,” Jazper explained. “But then I started receiving an anonymous series of letters. They were from someone… unexpected. Let’s just say that I doubt Undercity Improvement, Ltd. has much to do with any charitable organization that operates in the Undercity itself.” 

The pit of your stomach dropped so suddenly and sharply that you were dizzy with it. If Jazper was saying what you thought he was saying… 

“You may want to move to another room,” Jazper suggested quietly, taking your arm and turning you toward a nearby doorway. A mirror - spotted dark with age - showed Silco behind you, watching your retreat with irritation subtly written across his face. 

“The apartments are nearly ready,” Jazper was saying, when you lost sight of Silco and could focus once more. “We should schedule a meeting to get ready for the next steps of improvements. You still have some suggestions for people to live in my complexes, don’t you?” 

“Of course,” you agreed, mostly on instinct. Then you remembered the importance of the topic and nodded fervently. “Of course! I have a few promising candidates, both individuals and families. We’ll have your complex full in no time.” 

Jazper smiled, turning to face you as he released your arm. “Wonderful! I can never thank you enough for all of your help with this. As I said, we must schedule a meeting sometime this week. Call my office with the times you’re available!” 

He leaned in to kiss your cheek, a very Piltover affectation, and then he was gone, disappearing back into the room where he had been. 

You found yourself nearly alone beyond the doorway, though you took a moment to look around curiously. It should have been another room, just as expansive as the last. Instead, it was a hallway, segmented with sections of a rough wall running along one half of i

When you looked a little closer, you found a tastefully understated sign, proclaiming that this was a small part of an exhibit promoting architectural styles in Piltover and the Undercity over time, focusing on their similarities and differences throughout different eras of the cities’ shared history. Pieces of original building exteriors had been formed into a series of halls in the room.

It was rather stunning, you reflected, to wander through a maze of facades and exteriors illuminated by dramatic lighting. They were marked with subtle description signage, explaining the materials, builders, and influences that had helped create each one. They were interesting when you read them, but you found yourself lost in the idea itself, of walking among the faces of buildings that were long gone. 

You had been lost among the history for quite some time when you realized you weren’t alone in the labyrinth. Footsteps were trailing yours - almost in step, but not quite. You ducked behind a section of decorative cornice and crouched, watching down the hall to catch a glimpse of your would-be stalker. 

To your confusion, it was a man you didn’t recognize. 

It would be a lie if you said you hadn’t expected Silco to follow you. You could read between the lines of Jazper’s vague explanation - Silco had something to do with Undercity Improvement, Ltd. If he wasn’t officially in charge of it, he was certainly somewhere deep in the management of whatever the company did. 

But you had bigger problems at the moment: the man following you was wearing a dark coat, longer than you typically saw and definitely too misshapen to fit in at a gala. It hung strangely from his thin form, and you had the distinct and uncomfortable idea that his pockets were filled with weapons. 

The man was creeping slowly toward you, checking every nook and corner that he passed. It was only a matter of time until he found you, but there was no way for you to continue on from your hiding spot without him seeing you. When he did reach the cornice where you were hiding, you would only have a moment to act before his surprise ended and he did whatever he had followed you here to do. 

You could hear his footsteps… but, to your relief, you could hear a second set - one that you recognized easily. 

“What are you doing here, Mikel?” 

The tension drained from you at the slippery threat of Silco’s voice. Mikel apparently did not share your reaction, since you heard a soft curse, then a stammered, “I’m- I was going to… I have a surprise for you.” 

There was a beat of silence. You almost snickered despite yourself, imagining the expression that surely must be on Silco’s face. “Is that so.” 

“Yes, sir, yes,” Mikel quickly agreed. “I found that lady you hate. The one who runs the Haven. She’s here. Alone. I was gonna kill her for you. As a tribute. Show you how loyal I am. I still will.” 

Another silence, this one heavier than the last. “And this was to pay tribute to me?” 

“Of course,” Mikel’s voice was growing more confident, clearly convinced he had won Silco’s admiration. 

“And tell me,” Silco purred. “What, exactly, is the nature of my relationship with the proprietor of the Haven?” 

“I… I don’t know,” the other man confessed. “I just know ya hate her.”

“You don’t know,” Silco repeated, ignoring the second half of Mikel’s statement. “So your plan was to follow someone into a historical exhibit and publicly kill her on my behalf, yet you have no idea how I truly feel about her.”

“Feel?” Mikel stammered. You couldn’t blame him for it: you were feeling a little breathless yourself. 

“She is a wonderful enemy,” Silco told him. “Do you have any idea how rare those are? I have not encountered one since… Not for a very long time. If you want to pay tribute to me, you will tell all of your business associates - and anyone who may be possessed of a similarly asinine idea - that I deal with my enemies personally. And I do so with pleasure. As far as you are concerned, she is under my protection.”

“Of course, Silco.” Mikel’s acquiescence was shaky and you could hear him already starting to retreat. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Silco agreed, voice cold. “And if you had managed to achieve your goal, ‘sorry’ would have been the most pleasant thing you became. Do not let me see you here again.”

Muttered apologies, agreements, and thanks poured from Mikel. Judging from the footsteps you heard, Silco had already started walking away, moving purposefully down the hallway toward you. 

When he drew closer, you pulled yourself further against the wall. Silco was just in view around the edge of a cornice when he paused, half-turning to watch as Mikel scurried back out of the exhibit. 

You truly expected Silco to turn to you and make a casual remark, or tell you that you owed him an extra session for saving your life, but he did neither. Instead, he turned and kept walking down the hall, idly studying the walls and decorative stone outcroppings around him. Apparently, he hadn’t seen you at all. 

Your back twinged as you straightened up. You hadn’t been crouched for a very long time, but the situation had made you tense. As your muscles slowly unclenched, you glanced down the hallway where Silco had gone. He hadn’t seen you. You could leave, go back to the gala and focus on networking with potential investors. You could find Jazper again, continue your conversation about his apartments and save yourself an appointment later in the week. You could leave, retreat to the Haven as you tried to ignore the very real chance that you could have died that night. 

But those possibilities were discarded almost as soon as they floated through your mind. Instead, you walked briskly after Silco. 

When you caught up with him, Silco was looking at a section of wall from the original hospital that had treated Undercity residents. You had seen him a few times that evening, but you took an extra moment to admire the figure he cut in his gala outfit. 

He was dressed, as always, in red and black. They were his signature colors, after all, but he had put a different twist on them for the gala. The outer pieces of his suit were black, the stretches of inky fabric disrupted here and there with piping in a deep red. The touches of red at his pockets and lapels drew attention to both his trim waist and his broad shoulders. His vest was black as well, contrasting sharply against the rich deep red of his shirt. 

The effect was striking, utterly intimidating when combined with his severe stance and the way he had been prowling through the gala, then the display. But the thing that made your breath catch was the orange silk of his pocket square. It didn’t match the red of his outfit’s theme, not in the slightest. But it clashed so obviously that it was, in itself, a statement. And the statement was far from subtle; the pocket square and its placement perfectly emphasized the glowing orange of his eye. 

“There you are,” he commented without turning around. “I was beginning to wonder where you had gone.” 

“I thought some idiot was following me, so I ducked off around a corner,” you explained with a shrug. The motion was pointless, since he still wasn’t looking at you, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Some idiot was following you,” Silco said darkly. 

“Don’t be so harsh,” you chided. “You’re not an idiot.” 

Silco wheeled around, shock across his face. When he saw your broad smile, a little grin slipped into his expression and he gave a surprised bark of laughter. “You never quite know when you should be afraid, do you?” 

“No,” you agreed easily. “But I stopped being afraid of you a while ago.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. Something in you eased at the realization that he wasn’t going to push the idea of being scared, to threaten you. Maybe you were being foolish, but you liked to think that the two of you were past that by now. “Seems a wonderful way for a poor, lost lamb to be eaten up by a wandering wolf.” 

“In this scenario, are you the lamb or the wolf?” you mused, tapping your chin like the question could possibly have any real merit. 

“I will show you precisely which you are,” Silco threatened, stalking toward you. He grabbed you around the waist and dropped his mouth to your neck, nipping at you with chipped teeth as you laughed loudly. “Shrieking with terror already, pet?” 

“You’re ridiculous, Silco,” you chided, nose crinkling as you tried to look stern. 

He pulled back slightly, eyebrows lifting with disbelief. “I have been called many uncomplimentary things, but I cannot say that has ever been among them.” 

“There is a first time for everything,” you reminded with a smile. 

“Yes,” Silco said slowly, something unfamiliar growing in his eyes as you watched. “And on the subject of firsts, you look utterly ravishing tonight. I do not believe I have ever seen you dressed this extravagantly.”

“And?” you asked, pulling away so you could turn in a circle for him. “What do you think?” 

“You are always lovely, but I must admit that I am partial to this color on you.” Then you recognized the look on his face: admiration. “And this shape is quite flattering.”

As Silco studied you, his touch skimmed across the line of your bodice. The very tip of his fingers trailed over the flesh of your breast and your breath audibly caught in your throat. 

“I can’t say any of this is new for you,” you countered, running your fingers from Silco’s collar down the front of his vest. “But the combination is… eye-catching.” 

Silco preened. “Only to catch one pair of eyes, though it seems I was successful. Perhaps to your detriment.”

"Is that so?" you asked, delighting in the way his eyes darkened.  

"Indeed," he agreed. "In fact, I may not be able to control myself long enough to take you somewhere more secluded." 

His hands stroked down your arms, giving you ample opportunity to pull away. 

Instead, you gave him a sly look from under your lashes. "This looks plenty secluded to me." 

Silco's chuckle was dark and smooth. His other hand moved to your jaw, holding you in place as he kissed you fiercely. You hadn’t shared many kisses, and this one was nearly as much of a shock as the first had been. His lips were firm against yours, his tongue assuming dominance without giving the chance for anything else. Those fingers on your jaw held you at the perfect angle for him, and you couldn't have moved if you wanted to. 

But you didn't want to. 

Normally, his dominance would irk you, make you fight to remind him that he wasn't actually in charge of you. But things were different. In this unfamiliar place, wearing these unfamiliar clothes, you felt a little unfamiliar yourself. 

Instead, you melted into the kiss, hands fisting in the jacket of his suit. You accepted his kiss and the warm slickness between your legs intensified until you were worried it would be visible even through your dress. 

So when Silco backed you against a convenient corner in the display, you eagerly followed his lead. His fingers were under your dress the instant your back met cool stone. They traced maddeningly over the front panel of your underwear, teasing you through the thin barrier. 

You moaned against his mouth, then pouted when his lips curved into a smile. "Careful, pet. This area is secluded, but there is nothing to stop another party from viewing the exhibit. Our careful subterfuge will be meaningless if we are caught together this way." 

You nodded, trying to collect yourself. He didn't make it easy, mouthing along your neck and pressing his lips against the slivers of skin exposed between the interlaced straps of your dress. 

Your shiver did nothing to push him away, and the process of cooling down seemed to slow even further. Silco moved to the neckline of your dress, though the anchoring bases of those straps stopped him from sucking marks into your skin. You decided that you would simply have to be aware of how noisy you were being. The alternative was stopping, and you weren’t willing to do that. 

“Silco, please,” you murmured. He had lifted his attention in a moment and sealed his lips to yours in another drowning deep kiss. The stone wall of the display you were pressed against was warm against the exposed skin of your back by the time he reached under your dress once more.  

You made a low sound of surprise when he snapped the thin fabric of your underwear over one hip, then the other, letting the garment flutter to a useless puddle between your feet. With the cool air of the Court playing over your most private parts, you realized just how wet you were. It seemed excessive for a few kisses and some barely-there touching, but Silco had always known how to wring a response from your body. 

He used that particular skill to his advantage as he grasped your leg behind the knee, pulling it up and over his hip until it could wrap around his waist. The bulge of him pressed directly against your core and you barely managed to muffle the cry of mingled relief and desperation that tried to fight free. 

“So good for me,” Silco praised roughly, releasing your leg to work at the buttons holding his pants closed. You tried to keep yourself from grinding against him, knowing you would only be in the way, but the sensations were so tantalizing that they were almost impossible to ignore. “Just a moment, pet, and I promise you’ll have what you need.”

You weren’t clinging to him for balance as much as you were desperately gripping his shoulders to help you keep control of yourself. But Silco was true to his word, at least in this - the moment his length was free, he positioned it against your entrance. He speared slowly inside of you, forcing your core to stretch and spread around the intrusion of him. 

That stretch burned slightly, but it was nothing compared to the tide of eagerness that rose in you at the idea of your needs being fulfilled. Something about Silco in that outfit…

When he was seated fully inside of you, something tipped toward you and your gaze sprang upward, lifting out of whatever half-trance you had put yourself into. It was Silco, moving to press his forehead against yours. “Do you need additional preparation?” 

You let out a shuddering breath. “No. I need you to move, Silco, please…”

“My little philanthropist…” Silco murmured, lips curving. “Did I not promise to give you what you need?” 

He withdrew from you slowly. Your mouth opened to complain that this wasn’t what you needed, but your intended complaint was cut off when he slammed back inside of you. From there, he set a merciless pace.

If you thought you had been clinging to Silco’s shoulders before, that had been nothing compared to the tight grip you were using to keep up with him now. Your back arched to let him in deeper, hips moving to increase the impact of those thrusts. You had been wet for him, body tight with eagerness, but everything only intensified when he was inside of you. The sounds of him burying himself in your heat were loud in the quiet exhibit and your muscles squeezed his length at every possible moment. 

Your leg was slipping from the narrow perch of his hip, and you gathered yourself enough to shift position. You rucked yourself up further, squeezing your lower leg around the flexing muscles of his back and hips. Something about the position put pressure against that place inside of you and your body locked down entirely. 

Silco growled, hands catching at your hips to hold you in place as his pace increased even further. “So tight…” 

He pounded into you, holding himself in as deep as possible and grinding into you just a fraction further as you squirmed and whined for him. That whine was met with an unintelligible rasp from Silco before he dropped a punishing kiss on your lips. You returned it feverishly, trying to get close enough that there was no space at all between you and bemoaning the way your dress’s fabric made that impossible. 

“Shh…” Silco urged. Your mouth closed, and it was only then that you became aware that you had been making any noise at all. “I hear something.” 

Despite the way you were both straining to listen, Silco didn’t stop moving. The only concession he made was to sink deep inside of you and shorten his thrusts to quick pulses into and out of you. You were getting close - deliciously close - to the edge, but you heard what he had been talking about: footsteps. 

“Sil-” you started, cutting yourself off with a gasp when he delivered a particularly brutal thrust. “Someone’s coming.” 

“Not before both of us do,” he growled. His fingers rubbed at your clit, and your head kicked back so violently that you hit your head on the rough stone of the wall. 

In the next instant, you were clenching around him, fingers scrabbling against the fabric of his jacket as you tried to anchor yourself against the overwhelming pleasure. Your legs grew weak and Silco was the only thing keeping you in place - holding your leg up around his hip while he pinned you against the wall so you didn’t collapse entirely. 

He kept thrusting in and out of you, drawing out your pleasure as he chased his own. With a grunt and a hissed curse, he buried himself as deep as possible inside of you. The rush of heat came almost immediately and you frowned.

Silco was nuzzling your neck as he recovered, but you pushed his head away, dropping your still-lifted leg and moving back. Doing so dragged him out of you and you grimaced at the sensation. 

Silco caught the changed mood immediately. His posture stiffened and he watched you warily, the dregs of pleasure disappearing from his face. “Is something wrong?” 

“I just got here,” you reminded him, trying to dampen the stab of irritation you felt. “I’m not looking forward to dripping cum for the rest of the night.” 

Silco nodded, expression clearing. You wondered momentarily what he had been worried about, but that train of thought disappeared entirely as he dropped to his knees in front of you. You stared at him in front of you, wondering if he was planning to use his mouth on you. Silco was far from shy about bodily fluids, but this would be new even for him. 

You felt a little less off-kilter as he retrieved your torn underwear and used it to gently wipe the wetness that was already starting to spill from your core. 

When he set the ruined fabric aside, you said softly, “Thank you.” 

“That will help, but it did not take care of everything,” Silco warned. “But I have an alternative, if you’re interested…”

When you didn’t answer one way or another, Silco reached into a pocket inside his jacket and withdrew a small plug. 

You fought off the wild urge to laugh long enough to ask, “Do you always carry plugs around?” 

“They are useful more often than you would expect,” he said dryly. “But tonight, I knew that I would see you and hoped we would be together. I had every intention of pulling free before I made a mess, but you can be far too bewitching for even my self-control.” 

Flattery was rare from Silco, but it was never idle when it came. You sighed, allowing your eyes to drift closed before you said, “Fine. Give me the plug.” 

“Oh, I will, pet,” Silco purred, lifting your foot and guiding it to rest on his shoulder. His frank admiration of you as he stared between your legs was flattering even as it made your face heat. 

“Silco,” you hissed down. “Have you forgotten that someone’s coming?” 

“No, they are not.” He stroked teasing fingertips up the inside of your thigh. “There have been no footsteps for nearly five minutes. We have all the time in the world.”

Silco’s teasing was mercifully short, pushing the plug into you with only the slightest stretch. It was small compared to some of the others the two of you had experimented with during your time together, but it stayed firmly in place. You could only trust that it would hold the mess of your time together inside of you until you were somewhere you could deal with it more thoroughly. 

He rose to his feet, holding out a hand to you. When you took it, he tugged you gently toward him and began leading you back toward the main room of the gala. At the last possible place where you were shielded from view of other guests, he urged you onward. 

“Go. I will follow in a few moments,” he instructed. “But stay close.” 

The firm set of his jaw warned you that he wouldn’t offer any further explanation, so you did as he said - though you gave an exaggerated eye roll first. You made your way into the main room, getting a drink directly from the bar to stay close to the doorway. 

Only minutes later, Silco walked in. He was casually adjusting his red-jeweled cufflinks, scowling around the room. He strode over to the bar beside you, tersely ordering a drink. He wasn’t looking at you, so you followed his lead, pretending to ignore him while you waited for him to make some kind of move. 

When Silco was holding a glass in his hands, he glanced sidelong at you. You looked back, trying to look surprised when he sidled in your direction. “Ah, the lovely owner of the Haven. You have been avoiding me, I presume.” 

“Your presumption is incorrect,” you retorted, lifting your chin. People were already watching you, so you needed to put on a good show. “I have no reason to avoid anyone. Somehow, I get the feeling that we travel in different social circles.” 

One corner of his mouth lifted as he set his glass down on the surface of the bar. “Then you will not object to sharing this dance with me? We have much to discuss, and there are far too many ears listening.”

You had to bite the inside of your lip to keep from laughing at the way your observers’ eyes dropped at that. “Fine.” 

Silco offered his hand, which you pointedly stepped around. That turned out to be the perfect move, since he upped the stakes by placing a hand at the small of your back and guiding you toward the dance floor. 

“What is all of this about?” you asked, when you were safely dancing and away from anyone not having their own conversations. “I thought the point was to be low-key and not draw attention.” 

“This is a message,” Silco told you, hand sliding a little lower on the curve of your waist. “I am telling my people that you are mine, and not to be approached. I only regret that I did not think to do this earlier.” 

“Ah,” you agreed mildly, letting your gaze fall to the vivid orange of his pocket square. His reasoning made sense, but you found yourself inexplicably disappointed anyway. 

“And,” he added, grip tightening until you looked up at him, “I cannot foresee many opportunities to dance with you this way.” 

“Silco!” you admonished, trying not to look like you were enjoying yourself too much. 

“Can you fault me for it?” Silco’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “I believe I have already demonstrated that I cannot keep my hands off of you. You are lovely.”

“And if someone asks what we were discussing?” you asked, though you were beginning not to care. 

“Simply tell them that you cannot say,” he offered with a shrug. “With the alcohol consumption in this room, I do not believe any are tracking our conversation too closely.” 

A dozen other arguments rose to your lips and you let them fade without being voiced. It wasn’t smart to be so close with Silco in such a public place, but you found that you didn’t mind. For now, you were going to let yourself enjoy being in his arms.

---

Author's Note - I meant to get this chapter out a while ago, honestly. But it ended up so much longer than I expected that it took extra time to write and edit!

Here's the bad news: I'm going to step away from this story for a few months while I focus on writing my last set of Fanfic February fics. I still have about half of them to write and I need time to do that. You'll start seeing me publish works every day in February. The next chapter of Good Intentions will be posted in early March.

Thank you for your continued patience, and for reading this story!

You can find other works on my masterlist.

[cupcraft]

It is really interesting to me, and by interesting i mean so scary and baffling, to see how Dream's cultivated a fanbase.

To his fans, he is loyal to people that "dont care about him", he is "endlessly kind even though some people dont deserve it/arent receptive to it/are people who hate him", he is "helpless and doesnt know what he's doing", he is someone who "makes honest mistakes", is "mature in the way he handles controversy/situations". Dream has cultivated a persona of being loving, kind, loyal, mature and rational, but also equally helpless and in need of saving from a large fanbase. A lot of it stems from him being a white man, but it also stems from the way he's cultivated a fanbase within the power he has in parasocialism.

It is this that allows him to subvert controversy. Dream says or does something racist? It's "he already apologized so its okay", it's "he didnt know what he was saying", it's "ya'll are too sensitive", it's "all people do is want to victimize dream who is loving/kind/loyal/etc." Dream has grooming allegations against him and he admits to the messages being true and real and thus admits to flirting with minors and it's "dream is the victim". His twitlonger is on priv and it's considered "mature and rational". His initial horribly response is ignored because "of course dream would be upset :(! he just is so in need of our help and defense". And then there's the situations of doxxing that people bring up that dream has experienced things that are unjustifiable, but only as a matter of deflecting dream from ever being able to cause harm never as a point of empathy and importance in discussing that as an issue in itself.

It just really reminds me of many other cc's fanbases who continue to have a cc with issue after issue, cause harm after harm. It never matters. The consequences are ignored because those who allow the cc to get away with these things, dont think it affects them. And they dont care who it effects.

And that's the danger of it. To view someone in a position of power who can do real harm and has done real harm as infallible and incapable of anything harmful either due to viewing his heart as perfectly pure and kind or viewing him as helpless compared to everyone else, or to view anyone who critiques the cc as just blindly hating him stuck in an echo chamber of "he can do no wrong" is dangerous. it's dangerous for marginalized fans and fans who are victim to dream's harm or similar situations of harm because you are actively justifying and causing more harm in a cc's name who doesnt really gaf about you. To throw away all morals, ethics, beliefs, all for the sake of destroying people around you for one person. It's just i'm terrified for you too.

[soleilnomoon]

Prompt: “I don’t like them; I can barely tolerate them.” for Abarai Renji. Once again, I leave it up to you what you wanna do (but maybe enemies to lovers) Yes, I might be on a little Bleach binge right now but it's okay you like it. kiss kiss

*hides face* ok, ok, ok, hear me out, let's pretend i didn't take *insert accurate length of time here* and say i wrote this in a few days. i am so sorry i took forever and ever with this but as u know i can only give u top quality work or else i'll never forgive myself. renji is.......well *motions to him* yk how that man is, he made me suffer!!!! in a good way!!! but still i suffered!!! yk how much i love enemies 2 lovers u big brained beauty 🤭 so ty baby❤️️ also this is my first renji fic and i can't belev it.

5.2k words (don't look at me, just don't), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, enemies 2 lovers, angst city, angst angst city biiiitch (yk the vibez babey), smut obviously, no fluff bc who do u think i am? feat. renji being a mean petty bitch (i guess that makes him a mean dom maybe yes), sub reader bc that's what i want; there's a party with alcohol, ichigo and co. make brief appearances, bathroom sex, choking (he's sf romantic), a lot of cursing bc they're grown that's why, renji is a beast when he's jealous, reader is a lil bit of a brat but lbr who wouldn't be in that situation; mutual ""unrequited"" pining, lots of tension, fingering, rough (consensual) sex, lil bit of degradation, lil bit of a size kink, lil bit of praise kink, idk there's probably more stuff but i'm so tired rn i can't think; um renji obviously comes w his own gd warning; reader is determined to not let this man win but, hello, it's renji he always comes out on top wink wink. (if u see spelling errors/mistakes no u didn't hottie)

“when i write about all of this it becomes its own kind of violence. / i retell the story as myth, as if it were my own body devoured.” — caitlin scarano & “so much of love is violence. the desire / to be split open, invaded, mangled / and made new.” — erin slaughter

HATRED X TASTES X SWEET

you’ve never been cut out for this line of work, but your insistence on eliminating all your shortcomings is commendable. brave, even. it’s something you don’t really think about unless you want to spend the night half-drunk, rambling about the things you should’ve done but never had the courage to do.

like telling a certain red-haired, bullheaded lieutenant that he’s the most ridiculous and excessively arrogant man you’ve ever come across. all in all, you’re pretty sure telling him off won’t phase him; nothing ever does, not really anyway.

at first you try politeness; your grandmother would be proud of how well you’ve learned to bite your tongue. it’s ungraceful, but you fake it well enough that others think your emotional maturity is far above theirs. little do they know, you actually have to literally bite your tongue; simply remaining silent isn’t easy for you anymore. so, when you bite, it’s with rage, months of unshed tears and accumulated spite; you bite your tongue so hard you bleed more every time.

your unsaid words bunch together — tiny soldiers determined to strike in unison without fail — and sit heavily in the back of your throat, ready to launch forward at your command.

but you never say them, and you choke more than once; an unbearable shame to carry with you as he continues to slash at your patience, thin ribbons cascading off you like confetti. you wonder if your anger will lead to your death— or if it’ll lead to his. you intend to keep all of that hidden, though, and keep reminding yourself that eventually he will tire from berating you, from talking to you as if you’re the most incompetent being in all of soul society, from looking at you like your very being disgusts him.

that’s what you tell yourself these days. you like to conveniently ignore the way his dark eyes linger on yours during meetings — you’ve noticed that people have taken to describing them as soulless, cold and critical, unimpressed at everything and anyone.

but you see him — all of him; the raw, feral, powerful and severe side that not many have the misfortune of knowing. they think they get the real version of renji whenever they deal with him, but they never do; you know that now. you doubt it’s even intentional on his part, or maybe — just maybe — he really does hate you.

to put it plainly, as you’ve told rukia and rangiku, the sixth division lieutenant has the biggest fucking chip on his shoulder. despite the walls he continues to put up to keep others from carving out a place for themselves in his life, despite the way his words roll around his mouth, clumsily coasting down the length of his tongue before they pierce the air around you with their toxicity — you’re tired of the way he purposely singles you out time and time again to point out your inadequacies without remorse.

abarai renji is also sick of dealing with you. whenever he thinks he’s found a means of scaring you off, you scurry right back more determined and more obnoxious than ever. which is rich, coming from him.

he claims you’re inconsequential, a nuisance — a pest, even — one that he intends to get rid of permanently. it’s harsh and he’s more than aware of that, but he finds that this is the most appropriate solution to his problem. he could easily ignore you; he could try to keep his comments to himself and try to be somewhat cordial whenever you cross paths. but he won’t. and he has no damn idea why.

“no, no come in, i have plenty of snacks for everyone.”

rukia’s voice is a constant in his life that he’ll always be thankful for. he watches her glide into the room, grinning at the friends she’s invited over, her laughter like soft bells that is easily recognizable even with all the conversation happening. when he feels his chest constrict, an uncomfortable, yet familiar warmth stretching over his skin, he decides to drink so that he can ignore the sensation and forget.

a feeble attempt, because he knows how this will all end — with him drunk off his ass in an even worse mood than he started.

mouth opening, renji prepares to tell rukia to get better sake, when rangiku leads you into the living room where he’s lounging comfortably. the bottle in his hand grows heavier by the second and suddenly he’s not very interested in drinking anymore. already, his foul mood from earlier returns, and every step you take only fuels his irritation; it bubbles underneath his skin, making him frown and grip the bottle tighter.

you don’t need to look at him to know that he’s glaring at you — he always is. rangiku feigns obliviousness as she encourages you to go make yourself comfortable while she fetches snacks with rukia. you stare at both of them, wide-eyed, confused — a pleading look sliding onto your face after a few moments, but they assure you both that they’ll be back shortly.

with a sigh you sit on the armchair adjacent to him, determined to just remain quiet in the hopes that he’ll just ignore you for once. sitting up straight, discomfort finds its way to the pit of your stomach, swirling around as you fidget with the bracelet around your wrist. his eyes watch your movements with an obsessiveness that startles him; there’s no reason why he should be interested in the shape of your fingers, there’s no reason why he should be interested in the way you keep brushing stray curls away from your face, and there’s no reason why he should be interested in possibly fucking you when he knows for a fact that he is absolutely uninterested in you.

his disinterest runs so deep it spoils the taste of the sake, but he takes another swig anyway. the alcohol burns as it travels swiftly down his throat, and it just so happens that you glance over at him — innocuous, an attempt to gauge his annoyance level — as his throat bobs and your mouth dries at the sight.

you turn your face away quickly, a traitorous flush crawling slowly along your skin, unjustly warming your cheeks. inhaling deeply, you do your best to will the blush away to no avail. where the hell are rukia and rangiku? surely it can’t take that long to grab snacks. you’re tempted to go find them, but you have a sinking feeling that it would turn you into a coward.

and you refuse to give that man any more ammo against you.

IT’S X (NOT) X YOU

what initially starts as a small get-together, quickly turns into a party; leave it to rangiku to liven things up, her laughter infectious and whimsical, flitting about like a persistent hummingbird as she encourages everyone to play drinking games with her. experience taught him better than to engage because despite his high tolerance, there’s really no beating rangiku when she’s on a roll.

but when you emphatically agree to play with the rest, fury rises in his chest; your audacity, it seems, knows no bounds — and, yes, he understands the hypocrisy in his critique. he just doesn’t care.

the games are every bit as simple and ridiculous as you thought they’d be, but as everyone seems to be in relatively good spirits, you play along. not normally competitive with things like this, you get into the swing of things when you win round after round.

cheers resound nearby at your success, but throughout the evening, you feel renji’s stare and do everything in your power to not give in and look back at him. a tough feat to say the least, as you are always acutely aware of his presence; and when you do happen to sneak another glance, his legs are spread and you curse under your breath for finding that attractive.

foolish, you chide, so fucking foolish.

renji sucks his teeth as he feels a heaviness in his head; groaning loudly he swirls around what little sake he has left in his glass before finishing it.

“you lose again,” rukia’s voice is soft and teasing, but he’s annoyed and can’t be bothered with talking to her right now. she pats his shoulder gingerly before standing up to head to the kitchen. his mind is a mess and he blames you for it completely.

“i don’t fucking care,” he says gruffly to her retreating figure, not bothering to elevate his voice as he’s sure she heard him. and he really doesn’t care; he’s trying to tell himself to calm down, but he can’t.

the fault completely lies with you — of course it does, everything you do agitates every cell in his body. the reason is simple, and he hates that he doesn’t want to admit it — he’s so undeniably attracted to you that it pisses him off. he takes in your appearance for the twelfth time that night, admiring the softness of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips, the way you seem entirely too animated as you laugh at someone’s lame joke — and yes, he can tell it’s not funny from how your laughter dies down after a few seconds.

if he had better sense, he’d stop looking at you, but he can’t now; he might blame the sake for this later.

the intensity behind his gaze is enough to bring an inextinguishable heat along your skin. it’s only unpleasant because it travels down to your lower abdomen and brings about an agonizing ache between your thighs. at first, you do the sensible thing and ignore it; but the longer he stares, the more you want to look over, until finally you can’t take it anymore.

“i’ll be back,” you mumble to the other guests, although you doubt they hear you with how rowdy everyone is being; the noise isn’t unwelcomed, the distraction serves to mask your footsteps when you scurry from the living room to the back corridor, turning corner after corner until you find the bathroom.

a coward — that’s what you are.

you barricade yourself in there without thinking, heart pounding loud enough to disorient you. after several long minutes, you splash water on your face and take a few deep breaths.

“i can’t believe i ran away,” your voice is so soft you barely hear the words — almost as if you’re still in disbelief over the entire situation. there’s something off about renji tonight; the tension between you was more palatable and tangible than normal.

even though you feigned nonchalance as best as you could, there were so many moments where you couldn’t help but watch him too. pitiful. absolutely pitiful. there’s no excuse for it, and yet you struggle to find one anyway.

as you look at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you try to convince yourself to head back out there. sooner or later, people will realize that you’ve gone missing — and rangiku is nosy enough and like a bloodhound when she’s drunk. your time is incredibly limited now.

there’s no reason for you to continue to avoid the inevitable, so you sigh and give yourself a small pep talk before heading back outside.

TRUTH X OR X …

renji’s mood doesn’t improve at all; in fact, it worsens the moment ichigo sits right next to him. he’s not even sure why this sets him off, but even closing his eyes and counting backwards does nothing to keep him calm.

with slight difficulty, renji grits out, “what do you want?”

undeterred, ichigo stares at renji pointedly, voice steady as he says, “you could go after her, you know.”

again, renji sucks his teeth loudly, arms folded against his chest, right leg bouncing slightly as he taps his foot on the floor. punching ichigo would be pointless, and then rukia would get involved and he doesn’t have time to deal with the fallout from that so he keeps his hands to himself.

besides, his anger is obviously misdirected right now. he knows — he knows —but he doesn’t care, so he doesn’t mince his words when he responds with, “go after who?” through his peripheral, he can see ichigo’s patience has also reached its limit.

“you’re not that stupid, so stop acting like it.”

normally, renji would take the opportunity to mes s around and argue back and forth, but he might actually fight his friend if he doesn’t walk away. so, he does; abrupt and without looking back, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor.

maybe he just needs to change his approach with you, maybe talking things out would work in his favor; or maybe he needs to fuck you hard enough to purge you from his mind.

he lies to himself when he considers the first option, because it’s the second option that drives him to walk a little faster, head full of impossible thoughts as he wonders just how far you’d let him go.

when renji finally finds you, you’re in the middle of rebuffing the advances of an unfamiliar guest — they’re drunk, handsy, and keep oscillating between giving you cheesy pick-up lines and berating you for rejecting them. but you stand firm, and your voice is relatively loud when you tell them, “for the last fucking time, go away.”

under normal circumstances, renji would let you handle this yourself; he has no desire to play prince charming or be a knight in shining armor. you’re more than capable, and he’s seen the way you fight and argue to defend yourself — but, it’s when they place a wandering hand on your hip that he loses sight of all of that.

a brief moment passes, where your blood boils as you contemplate how best to kick their ass, but you never get the chance. a rather large shadow hovers over you both, but you already know who it is without having to look properly.

renji is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, but he’s at his fucking limit right now.

he doesn’t ask, doesn’t give any options for retreat, doesn’t say a word when he yanks them off with a brute strength that surprises even you.

now, can he really be blamed for throwing them into the neighboring wall hard enough to make a noticeable hole? and is it really his fault that the drunk can hardly walk as they clutch their broken arm while murmuring something unintelligible, something that renji takes as a sign of them wanting a repeat demonstration?

consequences be damned, he gives the drunk a lethal look before they scramble away in fear.

“loser,” he says loud enough for them to hear, but they don’t double back or even try to go toe-to-toe with the hot-headed lieutenant. you watch, half-amused and half-impressed with the unnecessary machismo, but still, you know better than to chastise him right now, especially when your heart sputters out of control from his proximity.

“…thanks,” you say, a faint flush on your cheeks, voice soft, head fuzzy when you realize that renji — aka mr. “i’ll fight you on everything any day of the week unprovoked for no reason other than to drive you crazy” — saved you. unprompted at that.

you make the mistake of looking up at him, your nerves prompting you to take a small step back when you realize that the usual hostility that renji reserves for you specifically is nowhere to be found. in its place is something more unreadable — or, rather, you don’t want to read into it for fear of being wrong.

renji steps closer, which makes you back up again until your back hits the wall and you’re no longer able to escape.

“we need to talk,” he says suddenly, but you shake your head, non-verbally objecting to the idea, curls bouncing wildly with your exaggerated movements. since he knows he’s pressed for time, he grabs your face with his large hand and stops you from moving. “that wasn’t a request.”

swallowing rusty nails would be better than dealing with your conflicting feelings over renji right now, because he’s much too close to you and now you’re forgetting why it is you hate him in the first place. ironically, he’s in the exact same position. so far, he’s acted on impulse over you more times than he can count tonight, but he supposes that’s to be expected — you are a wildcard, after all.

“what if i don’t want to.” your response is clumsy, the words tumbling one after the other. “what if i want you to leave?” you don’t actually mean that, but you throw it at him anyway, to see if maybe this was all a fluke, and maybe, just maybe he’ll remember himself and you both can go back to fighting like usual.

he considers your question, goes so far as to release your face to wrap his hand around your throat instead. your sharp inhale and parted lips tell him all he needs to know.

with a slightly raised brow, he asks, “well, do you?”

because if you do, he’ll walk away right now. but he knows what your answer will be, he just has to drag it out of you. he squeezes your neck to remind you to hurry it up, and before you can answer him properly, he places his leg in between yours, pressing close enough that you roll your hips forward while whimpering softly.

he really didn’t think any of this through, but luckily the adrenaline from it all won’t wear off anytime soon, so he’ll improvise along the way. he spent most of the night dealing with a semi-hard cock that wouldn’t listen to reason no matter how many times he tried to stop thinking about you. but now? all of that restraint goes out of the window, and before he can question it, he kisses you.

you’ve kissed plenty of people in your life — some good, most were mediocre and uninspiring — but renji actually takes your breath away. everything about him commands all your attention; from the way his lips move against yours greedily, leaving behind burning kisses that make your nipples harden underneath your clothes — to the way he thrusts his tongue in between your plush lips, licking inside of your mouth hotly, igniting an inextinguishable flame deep inside of you.

he grabs your hip with his free hand, squeezing hard, fingers digging firmly. all the irritation from earlier dissipates completely, leaving you feeling lightheaded and needy; you grind against him recklessly, arousal dampening the front of your panties, clit sensitive as it rubs against the delicate fabric. his cock presses against you — thick, long, and hard — and you wonder if this is why he’s so angry with you all the time.

was it always that simple?

if you asked the question aloud, he wouldn’t know what to tell you — it’s a combination of things, but mostly he’s an idiot; he knows that now, but likewise you’re an idiot too. you just don’t realize it yet.

it’s renji who pulls away first, lightly panting, breath warm against your lips as he releases his hold on your neck. he doesn’t know where he finds the strength to string together a coherent statement, but his voice is low and husky when he speaks. “answer my question.”

you blink at him, completely in a daze, lips slightly swollen from all the kissing. “wh-what?” you don’t remember what he asked you, and you don’t care.

“do you want me to leave?”

for some reason, you completely forgot that you told him that. you rub your lips together and run your hands along his chest. “no.” the answer comes out automatically, without hesitation, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

“good.”

SAY X IT X LOUDER

he picks you up with ease, almost as if you weigh nothing; a small squeal spills out of you as you wrap your legs around his waist, and renji gives you a sly smile — one laced with mischief and an unspoken promise of what’s to come.

you’re back in the bathroom again, this time sitting on the counter with renji standing in between your legs. his hands coast along your curvy hips and down your thighs. he’s touching you but he’s not touching you and it’s driving you crazy.

with hurried, eager hands you both undress, and for the umpteenth time you internally curse this style of uniform; still, it doesn’t take too long before his hands are on you again, calloused palms rough and warm against your skin. he places a kiss on your jaw, then another on your neck right underneath your earlobe; each kiss he leaves behind distorts your common sense, makes you feel irrational and impatient. your hands are soft and well-practiced, stroking his stiff cock as his hips jerk forward from your touch.

he can’t remember the last time someone had him this worked up, which pisses him off a little; because that means him fucking you once won’t settle things. at that thought, renji bites your neck and your startled yelp quickly morphs into a moan when he runs his tongue along the mark. he dips his hand in between your thighs, rubbing his thick fingers against your slit. a loud banging on the door has you looking over, and you can’t remember if he bothered to lock it once you both were inside.

your attention nearly falters, but when he pinches your clit you buck your hips, a shiver shooting down your spine at the slight pain.

“eyes on me,” is all he says, seemingly annoyed that you would dare to focus your attention elsewhere, “always keep them on me.” what he means by that, he doesn’t know, but you take the command at face value and nod while swallowing. he slides a finger inside of your wet pussy, and while you initially wanted to keep quiet to avoid suspicion and to prevent anyone from intruding, but you can’t now.

“renji,” you breathe, fingers trembling as you hold onto the counter for support, he thrusts his finger in and out, quick and hard, before inserting another. you clench around him, hips rocking forward as he fingerfucks you and grinds his palm against your clit. you close your eyes and moan louder than you mean to, chest heaving, thoughts jumbled and incoherent. he scissors his fingers inside of you, but quickly removes them without prompting.

“fuck!” you open your eyes again and stare at him in disbelief. “why did you stop?”

he laughs darkly and grabs your face roughly, fingers pressing into your soft skin without remorse. “what did i tell you earlier?” everything about this situation is laughable. he gave you very specific instructions, ones he thought were easy enough for you to follow. for some reason your movements are sluggish, mind in a haze as you scramble to remember but nothing comes to mind.

as you open and close your mouth, looking every bit as adorable as you are alluring, he decides to show you a bit of kindness.

“get down.” his command comes swift, his patience practically nonexistent; precum glides down the head of his thick cock, but he ignores it for the sake of teaching you a lesson. you don’t bother waiting for him to repeat himself and slide off the counter. “turn around.”

like a doll, your movements are dictated by renji with simple, short statements. nothing about that phases you, though; it’s all very exciting, so when you do turn to face the counter, you bend forward and lean over the counter. renji admires the roundness of your ass and slaps it hard.

again, you find yourself moaning loudly, without shame and not caring about the volume of your voice. surely the others won’t pay attention, as they’re still very drunk and are entertaining themselves with more games. another slap on your ass has you grabbing onto the counter again, legs shaking, arousal dripping between your thighs in anticipation. if renji doesn’t fuck you soon, you might actually die.

he knows he’s taking too damn long, but it’s much more interesting making you work for him. he rubs the tip of his cock against your puffy pussy, gliding it in between your slick folds, your moans sweetly wrapping around him once he pushes inside of you slowly. someone bangs on the door again, making you look over, anxiety quickly filling your head with unnecessary what ifs that almost command your full attention.

with narrowed eyes, renji grabs onto your hair, curls soft in his hand, and yanks hard.

“the fuck did i say earlier?”

goosebumps travel down your arms as a different kind of awareness and clarity surges through you quickly. you blink at your reflection, watching the way he towers over you, his muscles hard and defined — sculpted from years of training and dedication to honing his skills. it hits you then, what he’s really asking you.

“to,” you swallow thickly, throat dry, “to keep my eyes on you always.” you say it all in one breath, gasping when he runs his tongue along the curve of your ear. you don’t know how much more you can take, but you know if you complain, if you say anything he might stop altogether.

renji’s smile is wicked and dark, his lips graze your earlobe, voice deep and gravelly, a huskiness that wasn’t there before as he thrusts into you, burying his cock deeply.

“good girl.”

he refrains from kissing you properly, instead pushing you down so you can lean over the counter again. your mind melts from it all, and you’re panting, heart beating faster and faster as he firmly places a hand on your back.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” he remarks thoughtfully, although you note the slight strain in his voice; as much as he tries to act like he’s not that affected by you, you know that isn’t the case at all. your pussy is every bit as enticing and heavenly as he knew it would be; he pulls back and slams his cock into you all over again, filling you completely. you try to keep watching him in the mirror, but he’s fucking you like he’s angry with himself for being so attracted to you.

and he absolutely is. it’s a truth he fought against for so long that he’s given up on denying it now. your moans drip onto his skin like caramel, sticky and sweet, and when you say his name like that — your voice going higher and higher from the ferocity of his thrusts — he nearly loses his mind.

“fuck,” he says out loud, grabbing your hip roughly, your wetness coating the length of his cock, “you’re taking me so well.” he knows you can’t really answer him, and he likes that; you’re beyond caring at this point, instead focusing on the way his cock reaches a spot that has you bouncing your ass and fucking yourself against him. normally, renji would play around and edge you in retaliation, but he’s too far gone, completely under the spell of your pretty pussy, with how soft and tight it is.

you’re not sure how you got here, but you’re drowning in ecstasy right now. he instructs you to lift your leg to rest it onto the counter, pulling out momentarily to help you position and spread your legs further apart. he plunges his cock into you again, keeping his hips closer as he gives you shorter, frenzied thrusts. your head spins and you can’t think straight, but that doesn’t matter. all you care about is the way renji is angling his hips, rolling them forward to pound into your cunt roughly, balls heavy as they smack against your ass.

“oh, oh, oh.” you swear your life flashes before your eyes, because something possesses him, his strokes shorter, brutal, and frenetic. drool slides down your chin, your voice hoarse from how loud you’ve been. you’re sure someone’s heard you by now, but you don’t care.

how can you?

with renji fucking you like this — merciless and possessive, fingers brusing your skin, almost as if he wants to make sure you’ll be as obsessed with him as he is with you — your common decency, your morals, everything that makes you you, they don’t exist.

all that’s left is this burning desire to let him have his way with you for as long as he wants. thankfully, you have enough sense to not admit that out loud; who knows what kind smugness you’ll be subjected to if renji knew.

but you’re pretty damn transparent about it, he can tell from the way you can’t stop clenching your pussy around his cock, from how your pussy makes loud, lewd squelching noises — ones that he’ll commit to memory so he can revisit them from time to time.

tears roll down your cheeks and you sob as you hold onto the counter as best as you can, back arching, hips rocking against him with a neediness you never knew you had. there’s a tightening in your stomach and your pulse skyrocketing as a flash of white practically blinds you. he watches the way your pussy keeps swallowing the length of his cock, and you finally fall over the edge, orgasm suffocating you with its intensity.

your cunt flutters around him, gummy walls soft and hypnotic, an addiction he never thought he’d have; breathing heavily, his muscles tense and renji groans something that suspiciously sounds like your name. the thought alone makes your face burn and warms your chest in a way that doesn’t make sense. and when he finally cums, he humps into you, cum thick and hot as it spills inside your pussy, mixing with your slick wetness. a completely messy affair, but he doesn’t care — it’s not his bathroom, after all.

legs trembling, you’re limp and incapable of movement, whimpering and whining until he finally pulls out of you.

renji runs a hand down his face, feeling spent but more than satisfied. suddenly his shoulders aren’t so tight and tense, and his mood is much more tolerable. you do your best to stand but almost fall — your legs are useless, turned to jelly because of the man behind you. he chuckles at that, then clears his throat once he realizes. he fully expected there to be a moment of awkwardness after, but it never comes. when he sees your face — lips bruised and swollen, face flushed, eyes glazed with a faraway look — he feels compelled to kiss you again. so, he does. it’s not sweet, nor is it tender, but it still makes your heart swell all the same. he holds you close as you wrap your arms around his neck, doing your best to keep standing, even though your legs are ready to give out.

you don’t know exactly what any of this means, but you do understand him a bit better now. he’s terrible with expressing himself, but you kind of like that about him; and maybe this isn’t the healthiest relationship, but life was uncertain and you’d take renji fucking you like it’s his last day alive over him openly hating you any day.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 4608

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, enemas, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30s), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty. Steve's the care worker who's been developing too much of an attachment.

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Persistent Genital Arousal

Previously:

This may be (and hopefully is) Bucky's last day as a Hydra patient, but that doesn't mean he won't have some group classes and therapies left to attend with the other boys in his cohort that afternoon and evening. Steve will just have to find a way to fill his own time, leave Bucky to his schedule, and hang in there while he gets the ball rolling to secure Bucky's release into his custody.

That afternoon, Steve completes a plethora of paperwork. He submits his recommendation for Bucky’s care, fills out a formal application for custody, and hands in his letter of resignation to Raynor.

He’s completely transparent with her about his intentions, and Christina isn’t just fair in her response: she seems downright pleased. She does call him a traitor for leaving Hydra, but she’s smirking when she says it, so Steve knows he’ll still be getting a stellar reference from her.

He is officially quitting, but Bucky’s still a patient on-ward—with all the services afforded one—for at least the next twenty-four hours. So to avoid interrupting his scheduled therapies and groups, Steve tries to keep himself busy, closing out his cases and saying goodbye to some of his more friendly coworkers. Hydra Sanatorium might not be the nicest or the most well-funded place, but for a county-run institution it’s always done the best it can with what it has for the people who come through its halls. Lord knows Steve has. After five years of working there, doing his best to help the people that he could, Steve hopes he made some sort of a difference. In one case, at least, he knows he has.

Later in the day, he goes looking for Bucky and finds him with the rest of his cohort in the soft room. A lot of the boys are napping, the rest of them engaged in various stimming activities. Steve doesn’t immediately spot Bucky, but the room attendant points him towards one of the nesting pods. When Steve pokes his head through the little circular opening into the cave-like space, sure enough there his boy is: nestled amongst an impressive collection of blankets, throws and pillows.

Inside it smells heavenly, Bucky’s scent built up in the air. All sexually mature omegas experience something called persistent genital arousal, or PGA. It can be more debilitating for some, and it’s definitely more intense at certain points of their cycles, but in general Steve’s heard it described as a low-level thrum of arousal—like what one might feel from touching themselves idly from over their underwear while watching mediocre porn. Essentially, omegas really do always have sex on the brain.

The resultant smell they give off is, of course, one easy identifying marker for any omega out in public, and Bucky is no exception. The nesting pod is already thick with his scent, sweet and cloying, and Steve finds himself breathing in deeply to get more of it as he crawls inside. He smiles when Bucky’s sleepy eyes peek open and register his presence. The boy is beautiful. “Hey,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky lets loose a huge yawn and stretches with a lazy smile, his hair all floofed in different directions and his eyes nothing but puffy, squinty slits. “Stteeeve,” he hums, reaching for him with grabby hands. “Mmm. C’mere.”

How could he ever resist? Steve crawls over and settles next to him, pulling their bodies close together. “Hey you.”

Bucky’s already purring as he wriggles up against him. “Mmm. Hi.” He shoves his face into Steve’s chest and rubs his cheek against his pec, scenting him. “I took’a nap.”

“I can see that.” Steve’s mood is already in the stratosphere, because he’s suffused with Bucky’s scent: happy, safe, content—and yes, mildly aroused—omega. It’s infectious, making Steve’s body respond with all of those same feelings and more. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, tucked into a tiny, warm nesting space with his omega. 

“His” omega, because Steve’s already started thinking of him that way. The transition feels almost seamless, feels natural, like maybe Bucky was his long before he knew it. He rumbles in his chest to match the boy’s purr and holds him close. “Missed you,” he murmurs, speaking against the softness of his hair. “How’s your day been?”

They’ve only been apart for a few hours, but after the intensity of their morning together, Steve hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Bucky’s wellbeing all day, even though he knows he’d left him in a good place, mentally. He’d made sure to bring him down from the high of their sensory session, had tenderly changed him and dressed him in warm, soft clothes, checked that his body’s lingering confusion from the therapy wasn’t anything that was going to cause him discomfort or distress during the day. He’d personally escorted him to his life skills group, kissing him on the cheek and promising to find him later, even watching from the doorway for a few long minutes until he could be certain that Bucky was relaxed and taking to the company of others well.

Now, in the safe confines of the nest, Steve kisses his hair again. “Good?”

Bucky does a happy little wiggle. “Mmm, good,” he mumbles, still seeking contact through the way he rubs himself against Steve’s body. “Missed you.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, like he’s stubbornly trying to dig himself a space inside of Steve. It’s adorable. Steve smiles and rubs his back. “Me too, Honey. I’ve been getting a lot of things sorted out, so that I can take care of you after today. If you want.”

Bucky peeks up at him. “‘If I want?’”

“Yeah.” He knows that this is a talk they need to have, now that Bucky’s sober and fully back in his head. Steve doesn’t think there’s a high chance that Bucky’s going to change his mind, but they still have to discuss it. Because Steve would be a bad person—and a garbage Alpha support—if he didn’t give him the chance to decide for himself now.

And he’s going to have to tell Bucky about the castration issue. As much as Steve hates it, he can’t deny the sheer medical facts. It’ll help Bucky. His body produces too much testosterone as it is, his testes given too much time to develop before he finally presented. They’ve always known that the elevated hormones are part of what contributes to Bucky’s aggression and his struggles. Steve takes a deep breath and forces composure into his voice. “So, my boss asked me to put in my recommendation for you.”

“Recommendation for what?”

“Um, since your folks signed over custody, the state is in charge of you now until you turn twenty-five. That is, unless you find an alpha guardian to take care of you in a personal capacity. But you know, Hydra isn’t really … it’s more of an acute care facility, right? So even if you didn’t have an Alpha, you’d still have to go somewhere else, like a group home or a treatment facility that’s geared toward longer term stays. My boss asked me to submit my assessment of what your needs are and where you should go. It’s called an ongoing care plan.”

In his arms, Bucky tenses up. “My ongoing care?” he repeats, uncertain.

“Yeah Honey.” Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “There are lots of places where you could go to live other than with me, if you wanted. Nice places.”

Bucky’s face crumples in distress and he keens lowly. “But I … I mean, I thought …” His lip trembles. “You changed your mind? Don’t you want me?”

“What?” Steve’s heart sinks at the way Bucky’s looking at him—as if he’s just revoked a promise Bucky had been counting on. “Oh, Honey,” he mourns, pulling him in close again. He cradles his head and kisses over his hair in apology. “No, no bub. I do want you. I was just trying to be fair and give you all of your options. I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Didn’t want you to feel like you had to make that choice to go with me.”

It’s immediately obvious that his words calm Bucky down. The scent of distress dissipates as quickly as it had formed, and their dimly lit nesting pod is once again filled with nothing but cozy, happy omega pheromones. Bucky butts his head into Steve’s chest and grumbles at him for having scared him. “I always want to go with you, Steve. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Steve strokes his back. “Okay, okay. I understand.” His hands dip under the soft fabric of Bucky’s top, tracing up the vertebrae of his spine. It feels good to have the connection of their naked skin again. Steve hums and flushes, aware of his cock having a vague but growing interest. It’s all chubbed up in his briefs, tingling with a low level of arousal. And even though he has little intention of doing anything about it right now, it’s still nice to feel when he’s close to Bucky like this. He turns in towards him a little more, pressing him back and down into the nest with his bodyweight. The boy’s legs part for him on instinct and Steve hums, pleased. He slots his thigh between Bucky’s legs and tucks his face into his neck. “I just want to make you happy, Buck,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to do anything other than what you really want. And if it takes you time to figure that out, then you’re allowed to take your time.”

“Nooo, Steeeve. I want you to be my Alpha. I don’t need to take time. S’stupid.”

Steve scoffs fondly. “Oh yeah?” He searches out the slight swell of Bucky’s bonding glands beneath the skin, closes his lips over the spot, and sucks. Bucky gives a surprised little ‘meep!’ of a sound, then pretty much melts full-body into the blankets. Steve chuckles. “There’s a lot that comes with that, you know. Having an Alpha you’re bonded to is different than just what we do here.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Like you said before, in the bathroom when my tummy was full. You said you could be my for-real Alpha.”

Steve kisses where he’d sucked, the spot now pinked and swollen. “Do you know what that means?” he whispers. “To have a for-real Alpha?” Bucky shivers pleasantly in response to the question, but Steve’s not just asking to get him worked up over it. “Buck,” he prods gently. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Means you’d be in charge a’ me,” Bucky sighs, his scent shifting as he grows more aroused. Beneath Steve, he squirms purposefully against the weight of his body. “I’d live with you, right?”

“Yeah. You’d come live with me and I’d be in charge of you.” Steve nuzzles against him, not missing the way that Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny little sound of pleasure. “Hey now, you might not always like that.” He playfully nips his skin. “There might be times when you’re mad as a hornet at me. That won't change anything. I’ll still be your Alpha. You’ll still have to listen.”

“... Could I still call you Daddy?”

Steve groans and turns his face away from Bucky's neck while the omega giggles at his reaction. “Yeah, Buck. You could.”

“Mmm, and you’ll still call me bub?” he asks, looking up with shining eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. “I um … I kinda always liked that you called me that. Even back when I was new and mean to you and stuff.”

Steve smiles tenderly at him. “I know, bub. That’s why I always did.” He kisses him softly, just once, on the lips. The first time he’s ever let himself do so.

Bucky’s wide-eyed by the time Steve pulls back, looking like a whole new world of possibilities has just been opened up to him. “Oh, man,” he breathes. “Do we get to have sex whenever we want?”

Steve laughs, taken aback. “Buck,” he scolds, but he’s already dipping back down to kiss him again. “Yes. Though I do have to keep a day job, so you can’t go full-on nymphomaniac on me.” Bucky whines and Steve kisses back down to his neck and seals his lips over his tender glands to suck some more. “Mmm, you’re swollen here, Honey,” he murmurs, kissing the spot, thinking that he’ll have to check the kid’s chart to see if he’s nearing estrus. It’d make sense, given how reactive he’s been lately. And, oh god, they’ll definitely need birth control. Steve would love to breed Bucky up, but that’s not something they should take lightly. It’s too soon to pup him, not when so much else is in flux, and Steve still needs to tackle the castration issue with him. There’s a lot to be done. Everything is changing. Steve sucks hard on his glands in one, long pull.

“Oohh,” Bucky moans, both hands coming up to run through Steve’s hair. “Oh, S-steve. Mmm. That feels so good.” He hitches his leg up higher on Steve’s hip, rocking against him, and Steve indulges him by driving his thigh forward to give him more firmness to grind on. Bucky whimpers and jerks. “Oh!”

“Mm hm.” Steve gently scrapes his teeth over the swollen spot on his neck. “I’ll need to bond you, if you’re living in my household long term.”

Bucky whimpers and nods, hips shoving up harder at the feeling of the alpha’s mouth on his glands. “Okay,” he gasps. “Yeah, Steve, do it. I'm ready.” His fingers dig into Steve’s shoulders and he cranes his head further to the side, presenting himself for a bite.

Steve chuckles, the sound morphing into a groan at the end as he denies himself and moves his face away. “Mmm. Not right now, silly. You need to be in heat for that to stick.” He gives him a peck on the lips. “Besides, it’s supposed to be something special.”

“Special?”

“Mm hm.” It kind of breaks Steve’s heart that Bucky doesn’t know this, though he supposes the kid couldn’t possibly have had many positive exposures to A/o relationships, growing up with the family he did. Steve kisses him again, explaining, “We’ll make it nice. Relaxing. Bonding is something special we’ll do in private.” They may currently be sequestered in this dark little space, but Steve sure doesn’t count a communal nesting pod in a state-run Sanatorium to be the appropriate place for such an important, intimate act.

He crawls off of Bucky and moves over to the side, sitting up in the mounds of soft nesting materials with his back against the pod’s wall. “C’mere.”

Bucky happily crawls over to sit in his lap. He straddles him, and Steve’s hands settle at his hips. Steve smiles at the bright teal clothes the kid is wearing now. After their sensory session that morning, he’d helped Bucky to get changed, and teal pants with a tangerine top was what the omega had wanted to wear. “All these years of navy blue,” Steve teases. “And it was just you being stubborn, huh?”

Bucky huffs and squirms, but he doesn’t deny it. “I always liked the colorful ones. I just never picked ‘em because I … I didn’t want to be this way,” he admits softly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be just another omega. Dumb and drooling in my rainbow patterned sweatsuits.”

“Bucky,” Steve chides. “That’s not nice. The other boys on-ward don’t deserve that kind of talk, do they? ”

Bucky flushes and looks away. “No,” he mumbles. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

Steve sighs. Just because Bucky wants to be with him doesn’t mean that the kid’s suddenly going to be well-adjusted. He's got so much internalized omegaphobia from being raised by his asshole parents, it isn't even funny. Steve gives his waist a squeeze and tells him, “Hey: you’re still going to have to go to some therapy, bub. I hope you realize that. Just because you’re leaving here doesn’t mean there won’t be rules and discipline. It doesn’t mean you don’t still have issues you need to work on.”

Bucky grumps about that a little, but eventually he nods his head in understanding. “What rules?” he asks shyly. “‘Discipline’?”

“Mmhm. That mean consequences if you act up. I’ll never be harsh with you, Honey, but being someone’s Alpha also means correcting their misbehavior.”

“Like … like spanking?”

“It could be, yeah.” Steve personally believes in gentle domestic discipline for omegas, so long as it’s administered fairly. He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully. “How does that make you feel, hm? If you knew you might get spanked if you did wrong?”

Bucky squirms a little in his lap before he’ll admit, “I dunno. Maybe embarrassed but … kinda nice, too.”

Steve tilts his head to try and catch Bucky’s eyes. “Nice?” he prods.

“Yeah. Kinda.” Bucky pouts and shrugs. “I dunno. I guess it just, um … it makes it seem like you care about me. Like you’re enjoying takin’ care of me.”

Steve’s heart warms, and he kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I do, baby. I care about you a whole lot, okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky sits there thinking it over, sucking his lip into his mouth and releasing it repeatedly. “What are the rules gonna be?”

“Oh, well … I don't know them all yet, but we'll figure it out. Just be good in general, I guess. Don’t make messes, don’t be rude to people, listen to what I tell you to do. That sort of stuff. My place is in Flatbush, not too far from here. You’ll have to be good, stay there when I go to work. I’m looking at changing jobs, so we might have some time together to start off at first, but then you’ll need to mind yourself when I’m away.”

"I'll be good," Bucky promises, sounding adorably determined. It makes Steve smile.

"I know, bub." He strokes the side of Bucky’s head, running his fingers through the soft curls that he’s come to love so much. “We’ll make you an area in the apartment to nest up real nice, just the way you like it. And I can get some stimming tools if you need ‘em, for during the day. I don’t want to see you ignoring your needs like you have been.” At Bucky’s hips, he digs his fingers in meaningfully, crinkling the plastic of the diaper beneath. “And these,” he says, arching a knowing eyebrow when Bucky peeks up at him. “You still need to wear them.”

Bucky looks mortified, but he does eventually give a reluctant nod. “I know,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t gonna argue about it.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm mn.” He’s blushing and avoidant, bites his lip and tries to wiggle away, but stills when Steve holds fast. He sighs. “I mean I guess I don’t hate ‘em so much.”

“No?”

“Mmn. Not … not when it’s just in private,” he admits. “Sometimes they even make me feel kinda, I dunno, kinda safe. … And when you take care of me with ‘em. That part feels really good.”

Jesus. Steve grips him harder and rumbles deep in his chest, praising him for his honesty. “That’s good, Honey. That’s what they’re for.”

Bucky’s physical level of need for the diapers isn’t actually all that high. He has the same small, spastic bladder that most omegas do, and he suffers from the typical pattern of stress incontinence. Most of his wetting occurs when he’s upset, aroused, or asleep. He could feasibly attempt daily life without them, though accidents would happen. But beyond the practical, it’s the emotional impact of wetting that’s so huge for someone like Bucky. That’s why consistent diapering has always been part of his therapeutic program at Hydra. It’s one routine that Steve intends to maintain once he’s got Bucky home and living with him. “It’s nothing to be worried over,” he reminds gently. “Remember what we talked about?”

Bucky sniffles and nods. “... S’normal,” he recites, voice tiny. “Lots of omegas wear ‘em.”

“That’s right,” Steve praises. “And Alphas don’t care. We like taking care of you. We like seeing you feeling safe, and knowing when it feels good for you.” He sees the color rise in Bucky’s cheeks and hums knowingly. “It’s okay when you enjoy the feeling, bub. Like how you did this morning? That’s totally okay.” Bucky whines and squirms a little, and Steve shushes him. “Hey now: I mean it.”

He uses his grip on Bucky’s hips to rock him in his lap a little, and Bucky squeaks and grabs onto his shoulders, pushing into the motion reactively before he can shame himself out of it. Steve hums, pleased. He leans in and takes Bucky's mouth in another, coaxing kiss. That seems to be the key to disarming the boy. He moans and gives another uninhibited roll of his hips. He keeps going, grinding against Steve’s crotch and panting quietly.

Steve smiles and holds him while he rocks. Ever since he ducked into the nest, he’s been able to smell the general level of arousal that Bucky always carries with him. But now it’s heavier, the distinct scent of new slick and a more urgent sort of need coming to the forefront. All Steve’s talk of discipline and acceptance and care has gotten Bucky worked up. He hums encouragingly as the omega stims himself against his lap. “Aw, Sweetie. There you go. That feel good?”

“Ah, uh huh,” Bucky pants quietly, eyes going a little muzzy as he starts to lose focus. “Oh, Steve, ff-feels good, nnngh …”

“Good. That’s all I want, honey. Just want you to be happy and feel so good. Don’t need to worry about a thing, okay? Cause I’m your Alpha and I like you just like this. Rocking in my lap, doing what feels nice, just being a sweet n’ happy omega for me.”

Bucky chirps in a way that he rarely does, his hips juddering forward hard. “Oh! Steve I … I have to …” He squeaks and tosses forward, burying his face in Steve’s neck and whining plaintively.

Steve tuts and wraps his arms around him, still guiding him in the rocking motion. “What’s up, bub, huh? You have to go?”

Bucky nods fast against his shoulder. “Nnn! But, but …” He shakes his head back and forth, trying to fight it. “Nngh …”

“Okay, okay Honey. You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and grabs him in a firm scruff. He slides it up into his hair and pulls, using his grip to guide him back a little. Bucky yelps and meets him with wide eyes. “Shhhh,” Steve hushes, shoving his other hand down inside the front of Bucky’s pants. Bucky’s eyes go even wider. “It’s okay, bub,” he soothes, hand cupping the bulk of the padding and rubbing. “I know you just don’t get it. And this is me showin’ you. Cause I’m gonna keep you right here, and I’m not moving my hand until you let go for me.”

Really, he’s sure he’ll have Bucky naked and straight up wetting in the middle of sex in the very near future, but for now this’ll do. They are still in the hospital, after all, and this is still a communal nesting pod they’re in. If nothing else, Steve knows that the orderlies would not appreciate the mess.

Bucky gulps in a huge shaky breath and nods frantically, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes as he gets overwhelmed. “Okay, okay,” he pants, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders fiercely while his squirming gets frantic. “Oh god, S-ssteve …”

Steve kisses his forehead, murmuring non stop praise and love at him. Finally, Bucky tenses up and goes stock still. “Theere it is,” Steve coaxes, jostling his hand as he feels the warmth start to spread. Bucky moans and loses control completely, going limp as a noodle against Steve’s front and panting as he loses control. “Good boy.” Steve keeps murmuring it against his skin, giving pulses on the swollen crotch of the diaper with one hand and petting up and down his back with the other. “Good boy. That’s my good boy, Bucky. So good.”

Bucky doesn’t go all embarrassed, after. He stays a little dazed, in his head, chirping and humming at Steve when he encourages him to come out of the nest. They walk together to the bathroom, and Bucky does speak on and off when prompted; little 'yeah's and 'no's' and ‘okay’s. So he’s not quite non-verbal, and he’s definitely not in a fugue or a fit of any sort. No. He’s just a soft, contented, aroused ball of very happy omega.

In the bathroom on the changing bed, Steve is hardly surprised to find a pool of slick and a chubbed up little cock underneath the diaper. “Would you look at that,” he chuckles, going about cleaning him up. Bucky starts to whimper afterwards as he’s lying there, clean but exposed and untouched. “Please,” he begs, proving that he can, in fact, speak. “Please Steve?”

“Of course, Honey.” He wasn’t planning on denying him, poor thing. Steve smooths his hands over Bucky’s inner thighs, right up to the crease of his groin. He brushes his fingers over his half hard penis, back and forth a few times, just teasing it lightly. “How do you want me to make you cum?” he asks, only anticipating that Bucky will either ask him to touch his cocklet or else use penetration. He is not prepared for the kid’s breathless request of,

“Suck me, please.”

He freezes, taken aback. Oral sex—giving or receiving—is not permitted between Alpha Supports and their patients on the ward. Steve’s not precisely sure why, when digital and device-aided penetration is done every single day, but at some point in history, some guy writing the rules drew the line at oral. Anything that could be easily twisted to gratify the Alpha support rather than the omega patient is strictly forbidden. Steve has actually never given head to an omega before—patient or otherwise.

But he’s suddenly, achingly hard at the thought of doing so. “Oh, Honey ...” he hedges. “I don't know if ...” He grimaces at the pleading look on Bucky’s face, the anxious, wanting pinch in his brow, and finds himself throwing all his reservations aside. Fuck it, he thinks. He’s been professional long enough. Bucky’s going to be his by this time tomorrow, anyways. “Okay, Baby,” he says, giving in and rubbing over the boy’s belly with one hand. “Okay. You want that? Want to feel Daddy’s mouth on your sweet prick?”

Bucky keens and nods, “Yeah, please.”

“You ask so sweet,” Steve praises, sinking down his body, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, down to his belly and the base of the sweet little cocklet he’s got between his legs. Steve tells him how pretty it is as he kisses it, mouthing over the softness. It’s only half hard, never really getting rigid, but it's still more to play with than the average omega has. Steve pulls him into his mouth and sucks until he gets an orgasm out of him. Bucky shudders hugely, his little prick squirting a tiny bit of useless seminal fluid, but nothing more. Steve pulls off, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly as he comes down from it. “Good?” he asks.

Bucky shudders and nods, smiling dreamily. “Thank you, Alpha,” he breathes. “We can do that all the time?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, Honey. There’s nothing off limits anymore once I take you home with me. You can touch me and ask me to touch you any way you like. Whatever you’re curious about.” Steve is well aware that, outside of his treatment on-ward, Bucky is very sexually inexperienced. There’ll be a lot of firsts, once Steve brings him home.

Bucky's eyes have slipped closed, and Steve takes a moment to stare. He pets his belly, trailing his hand down to the boy’s wet little cock and further down to his balls. He plays with the soft skin, considering him. Bucky’s shrunk up some in the past three years, but he’s still bigger than he should be. Steve imagines what he’ll look like, after the procedure. There’ll be a bare space there, room to press and stimulate him. Steve's never had much of a preference with male omegas, finding both the little pocket of looser skin left after a castration and the tiny, coin purse sac of an intact omega to be attractive, in their own ways. But he can’t deny that he likes the aesthetics of a cut omega.

“Bucky?” he says softly. “There’s something I have to talk with you about, something we’re gonna have to do eventually. And I don’t want you to be scared, so hear me out, okay?” He waits until Bucky opens his eyes, a little wrinkle of worry forming between his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks.

Steve cups his sac and rubs it gently. “Here,” he murmurs. “You’ll need to have these removed, Sweetheart. Do you know about that?”

Bucky tenses. “What? N-no,” he looks pleadingly up at Steve. “Why?!”

“It’s something they’ve had written down in your chart for a while,” Steve admits. “I’ve avoided bringing it up until now. We had more short term parts of your treatment plan to work on, and I didn’t want to upset you. But I’m going to bond you, Sweetheart, and I gotta take care of you. This is what all your doctors have been recommending.”

Bucky keens miserably. “I don’t want to. Please. Please don’t make me.”

Steve hushes him, rubbing his belly and cupping his balls. “It’s such a simple procedure, Sweetheart. Lots of omegas are cut. Your body had a little too much time to develop. Remember how we talked about that?”

Bucky whimpers and nods uncertainly. “Y-yeah.”

“You’re bigger than most omegas down here,” Steve tells him gently. “Your body’s making hormones that you don’t need. It gets you all confused. That’s part of what makes you get so angry sometimes.”

Bucky whimpers. “Will it hurt?” he asks tearfully.

It’s such a naive question that it makes Steve’s heart ache. “No, Honey,” he soothes. “Not very much at all. You’ll just go to sleep while they do it. And then you’ll have nice pain medicine to keep you comfy while you heal. We’ll get you nested up at home. You’ll probably sleep a lot. You can watch movies and eat as much ice cream as you want,” he coaxes. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Bucky sniffles. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, I know. It’s new and scary, but it’ll be so simple, I promise. I’ll be right there to take care of you, okay?”

Bucky sniffles for a few more minutes, but then he nods meekly, giving in. “Okay,” he whispers. “You’ll be with me the whole time?”

Steve bends down to kiss him. “The whole time,” he assures. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky. It’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to nod this time, and Steve rumbles low in his chest, pleased. “Good boy,” he praises. “Once you’re healed it’ll feel nice,” he promises. “You’ll have an easier time getting pleasure from here.” He touches Bucky’s hole gently, circling the rim. “Release will be easier.”

Bucky’s still nervous, Steve can smell it on him. But he calms down enough for Steve to get him in a fresh diaper and dressed again. He can hardly believe the conversation went the way it did. If Steve had attempted to talk about this during Bucky's last stay on-ward, he's nearly positive he would've had a meltdown on his hands. But Bucky accepted it so easily.

“So proud of you, bub,” he praises. “Come on. Let’s go get you some lunch, huh?”

By four fifty, he’s said goodnight to Bucky and promised to be back the very next day, when he’ll see him discharged from his stay on-ward and bring him home. He clocks out and takes the train to a specialty omega shop up in Queens, where, along with a bunch of nesting supplies, he purchases Bucky a nice collar to go home in. It’s pricey and has all the bells and whistles, from inflation features and removable D rings, to insertable scent chambers and a GPS locator. Steve figures he must really be giving off the 'new Alpha' vibe, because the saleswoman smiles at him indulgently and says “congratulations” as she’s ringing up his purchases.

"Oh. Thanks." He blushes and tries to keep a straight face, but can't help but wind up beaming anyway.

At home he takes the tags off all of the purchases and sets them aside tidy and ready for Bucky, excited about how the kid will react when he sees his new things and gets to experience someone taking care of him properly and spoiling him for the first time in his life.

Geez, Steve thinks, by tomorrow he’s going to have an omega living with him. He feels giddy about it. Even with knowing Bucky’s personal issues surrounding his designation, Steve still isn’t worried. He cares so deeply for Bucky, loves him even, at this point. And he knows that no matter what obstacles they may face going forward, this is the best thing that he could do for the omega.

He flits about the apartment that evening, full of nervous energy but in a fantastic mood. He shoots off a few emails, one to Sam, inquiring about job possibilities at Shield or other local private practices. Even if there isn’t a position available at Sam’s firm, Steve is still very confident in his ability to find a new job. He’s got excellent qualifications, and omega healthcare is a chronically understaffed field. He’ll have to give up the role of support Alpha, though. At least in a sexual capacity. It wouldn’t be fair to put Bucky through that, coming home each day smelling of other omegas. Steve couldn’t do that to him.

He tries to fill his evening up with distractions, but it’s hard. He surfs a few job boards half-assedly, scent marks the stuff he bought for Bucky, makes a microwave dinner that he can barely taste, and watches an episode of a show he’s been following. Nothing gets his mind off Bucky for long. He’s simply too elated and impatient for the next day to arrive. So when eleven P.M. rolls around and he’s still wired as fuck, he goes rooting through the medicine cabinet, downing four Benadryl tablets in an effort to get at least a modicum of sleep in for tomorrow.

Predictably, he wakes up earlier than usual. Rather than closing his eyes again until his alarm goes off, he forces himself to don sneakers and go for his usual morning run, pounding out a few extra miles because he’s got the time and because he needs to burn off some of this nervous energy. He goes back home, showers, changes. He heads for the Sanatorium with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a skip in his step. 

God, he thinks as he keys into the hospital’s ground floor, the building really is ugly: very outdated, institutional, depressing. He’s gotten so used to it over the past five years. He’s glad that Bucky won’t ever have to come through its halls again.

Stanley isn’t at the security desk when he passes by, and Steve’s kind of glad, since for the first time in a long time he’s forgotten to grab their usual morning pastries. He leans through the security window and snatches his badge from the wall, heading for the elevators.

Raynor intercepts him at the double doors leading onto the ward, her mouth set in a grim line.

Instantly, Steve is on high alert, tension pulling through his body. “What happened?” he says, already panicking that something awful has happened to Bucky in the last sixteen hours. “Is he hurt?”

“No. His parents showed up. Come on.”

Steve’s guts sink and harden with dread, yet at the same time he doesn’t really have the chance to work himself into a true panic, because they’re on the move. Raynor marches straight to the conference room, inside of which they find a somber-faced orderly at the door, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes seated at the table, and Bucky huddled down over in the far corner, having a bit of a fit. Steve instantly recognizes it as another stress fugue, though thankfully it seems to be less severe than the one he’d found him in yesterday. He’s still got all his clothes on and he isn’t humping anything, so that’s a plus.

Steve hurries over and kneels down next to him. “Buck? Oh Buck, Sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m right here with you, Baby. Please don’t cry.”

Bucky’s huddled on the floor, tearfully rocking in place, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other hand up at his face, sucking two of his fingers. Steve wipes his cheeks and kisses his forehead, heartstricken at seeing him so upset. “Shh sh sh, Honey. It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” He remembers his backpack and slings it off his shoulder, unzipping it and dumping half its contents on the floor in search of the collar inside. He finds it and starts putting it on him, getting the buckle closed and the pressure points lined up with Bucky’s glands. “Can you get something for his mouth?” he tells the orderly at the door. The man nods with wide eyes and hurries out of the room. Steve finishes with the collar and fits the little air pump to its port, squeezing it until the pressure points in the lining have all inflated. Bucky’s breathing calms down considerably just from that. Steve rumbles low in his chest for him, giving him the sound of his Alpha’s approval. “Good boy,” he Voices, petting his face soothingly. “So good for me, bub.”

“Excuse me."

Steve looks back over his shoulder and meets George Barnes’ scowl with one of his own. “Be quiet,” he growls at him, making the man’s face go slack in sheer surprise. “Trust me, I’ll be right with you,” Steve grits. Turning back, he continues to murmur quiet, comforting words for Bucky to hear and latch onto; telling him how he’s right there and he’s not leaving, how he’s his Alpha and Bucky’s his omega and how they’re safe and good and everything is going to be just fine. Bucky whimpers and pushes himself closer to Steve, still crying sluggishly, but he’s non-verbal and even if he weren’t, he’s still got half his hand shoved into his mouth, his body’s reflexes in full gear as he tries to calm himself down.

Behind, Mrs. Barnes is complaining at her husband to “do something,” and Bucky registers her shrill voice and starts to rock a little harder. Steve winces as he sees the red indent of where Bucky’s started chewing on his fingers.

Luckily that’s when the orderly returns, and he hurries over to give Steve the suckling gag he’s brought. “Thanks,” Steve grunts, glad to see that the guy actually had the foresight to bring along a container of PheroGel for the thing. Steve exhales in relief and takes it from him. It'll help Bucky calm down. “Good thinking,” he mutters, maneuvering Bucky so that he can coax his hand away from his mouth and feed the rubber head of the gag past his lips instead. Bucky parts easily for it, accepting it with an anxious whine. “Shhh, there you go.” Steve velcros it in the back and checks the fit, then opens the valve and fills the chamber with the PheroGel.

Bucky makes a tiny, surprised sound when the taste reaches him, his cheeks hollowing as he returns to suckling instinctively. Steve smiles and encourages him. “That’s right. You just focus on that, okay?” He pets Bucky’s face and watches as he visibly calms down from the pressure of the collar and the feeling of something heavy and Alpha-scented in his mouth. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he soothes. “Just close your eyes and focus on how that feels. Can you do that for Alpha?” Bucky sniffles and nods tearfully, and Steve’s heart squeezes as he watches his eyelids start to droop closed. “Good boy,” he praises him once more. The gag is a slow suckle design, so Bucky should be able to keep using the pheromones to self-soothe while Steve works on dealing with the Barnes.

He’s enraged that they’re here at all. Steve fully intends to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Forcing himself to pull away from Bucky and stand, he’s stone faced by the time he turns around to face the Barnes. He walks over to stand across the conference table from them. They’re sitting side by side, but Steve doesn’t pull out a chair to join them. He locks his arms and leans with his hands braced on the back of a chair. “What are you doing here?” he says, letting his full displeasure come through in his voice.

For a second, both of the Barnes look a little bit intimidated. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last. George Barnes seems to recover some of his willpower and squares his shoulders to glower back at Steve. “We came to get him,” he snaps, sparing a disdainful glance towards the corner where Bucky is huddled. “We came to take him home and now they’re telling us we don’t have permission. ‘Permission’!”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s bullcrap. He’s our son!”

Steve smiles nastily at him. “Well unfortunately, Mr. Barnes, You signed paperwork relinquishing custody of him.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. That was only a few days ago! We’ve changed our minds, so you just get him packed up or, er …” he glances back over at Bucky and winces in disgust when he sees his son: collared and rocking and stimming with the sucker strapped over his mouth. “Just get him ready to go. Take that crap off him. We’ve found somewhere to put him, and he’s coming with us.”

“‘Put him’?” Steve repeats, frowning.

“Yeah.” George raises his chin defiantly, looking every bit the asshole that he is. “Found out he’s actually worth somethin’, even like this.” At ‘this’, he casts another disdainful look in Bucky’s direction. “Milking center up in New Rochelle takes cases like him. Said they’ll pay six grand up front.”

Steve sees red so fast, he has to hold on tighter to the chair for a few seconds. “What?” he says, the word coming out quietly only because he’s so breathlessly fucking mad. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

George Barnes’ snide expression is more than enough of an answer. “At least he’ll be useful, not a leech on society.”

In his head, Steve hears Bucky’s tearful, bitter words from two days ago: 

“Just a waste of hardworking people’s tax dollars!” 

An unpleasant groaning sound meets his ears, before he figures out that it’s his own hands, stressing and warping the plastic backing of the chair. He pulls them away and glowers across the table at the other man. A fucking milking center, he fumes, wanting to pick the chair up and put it straight through George Barnes’ smug fucking face.

Because Steve’s been to those places, has been called in to evaluate the omegas housed in their custody. He’s seen the warehouse-sized rooms: filled with rows and rows of omegas, fat and sedated, restrained to benches and hooked up to machines, bred and fed and watered and hosed down in place, like animals.

Christina steps in, probably because she can sense that her employee is about to unleash imminent violence on their visitors. “Unfortunately, the law is clear in this matter,” she tells Mr. Barnes, as no-nonsense here as she is in any other situation. “You signed all legal rights to James over four days ago and you no longer have any say in his care. The hospital has full custody of him, and we’ve already approved a long-term guardian for him.”

“What?” George Barnes stands abruptly from his chair, sending it rolling back to thunk against the wall in his haste. “What are you talking about? You can’t do that! I’ll … I’ll get a judge. There’s no way you can just—”

“There’s every way we ‘can just’,” Steve growls, unable to restrain himself from being unprofessional at this point. Fuck it. He doesn’t work at Hydra anymore, so unlike in times past where he’s been forced to make nice with less than stellar parents, now he can say exactly what he’s thinking. “You are a piece of shit, garbage human being, who shouldn’t be allowed to raise a fucking dog let alone a child. I think that you should leave now. In fact I strongly advise it. Forget about ever seeing Bucky again—because you never will—and just be grateful that you got away with the level of abuse that you did for so many years without ever being charged in a court of law.”

George Barnes opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something pissy, but before he can, Steve tacks on:

“Oh, and in fact you should be very grateful that you did sign those papers when you did. Because if you hadn’t? You’d best believe I’d be making sure you’d lose custody of all your children before you ever got him back. Now why don’t you pick your jaw up off the floor, help your wife heft her sloppy ass out of that chair, and leave this place before you’re thrown out?”

Of all things, it’s the comment about Mrs. Barnes’s weight that fuels George Barnes into action. He gets alarmingly red in the face, and it’s to the background noise of his wife’s insulted screeches that he starts to come towards Steve (presumably with the intention of hitting him). But before he can so much as round the end of the conference table, Stanley is bursting through the door.

“Hold it! Not another move, Buster!”

At Stanley’s back, Rumlow is standing with his taser gun drawn and pointed right over Stanley’s head. It’s that sight which seems to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention, and he pulls back from where he’d been approaching Steve, hands raised and gesturing for his wife to get up, too. “Alright, alright. We’re coming. Geez.”

“Sure you were.” Stanley sports his tough guy face, proud of himself, and ushers the Barnes into the hallway. Steve’s opinion of Rumlow inches marginally higher when he sees him hurriedly holster his weapon and step back, so that Stanley doesn’t realize he’d had a little bit of backup, there.

With the Barnes led away, Steve returns all of his attention to Bucky. The tension of this confrontation seems to have had surprisingly little impact on him, and Steve is especially pleased when he sees that the orderly had at some point managed to get both a blindfold and a pair of noise cancelling headphones on Bucky as well. With the positive stimulus of the collar and gag, he’s much calmer. Steve hurriedly takes the headphones and blindfold off, followed by the gag. “Hey, hey baby.” He’s petting all over Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression and scent the state he’s in now. He’s surprised when Bucky blinks a few times and then looks up at him with clear eyes.

“Steve,” he breathes.

“I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to go with them. You’re safe. You got your words back?”

Bucky blinks some more, looking between Steve and the place where his parents had been sitting at the conference table. “... They can’t take me, right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck. That’s right. They can’t. They legally can’t.”

Slowly, Bucky’s expression starts to brighten. He smiles. “But you can take me,” he says hopefully. “To live with you. Because you’re my Alpha now, right? And I’m your omega?”

Steve doesn’t even think of propriety, he just leans in and kisses Bucky straight on the mouth. Bucky’s lips are so soft, and he whimpers and responds so eagerly. Steve forces himself to pull back before he can get carried away. “Yeah, bub,” he says happily, trying not to get emotional in front of Raynor. “Yeah. You’re my omega now.”

In reality, they’ve probably got close to a half day’s worth of paperwork and consent-confirming counselling sessions ahead of them. But in the way that Bucky’s asking about? Yeah. They already belong to each other.

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[randomthefox]

Idea for villain Amy's She could be a yandere that stalks sonic and tries to force herself on him and kills anyone for going near him

Amy's attraction towards Sonic is severely misunderstood by people who do not respect her character enough to properly understand her. Amy's feelings are not an obsessive mania, they are a precocious crush. They derive from her primary character flaw of short sighted entitled selfishness, but they are also indicative of why Amy could never be a villain: she is too innocent and pure of heart.

Compare Amy to, for example, Goku. Goku is not anybodies idea of a paragon of moral virtue. But he is completely pure without a single ounce of evil in his heart whatsoever.

Amy is the same way. She is selfish and juvenile, but that comes from the same place as her boundless energy and capacity for reaching out and touching the hearts of others inspiring them to be their best self. They are inextricably linked. You cannot have an Amy who will drop everything to help a lost baby bird evade killer robots and find its family members without also having an Amy who will ambush Sonic out of nowhere with demands that he act as the birds bodyguard whether he likes it or not and then proceed to galavant off into an amusement park in the whimsical idea of them being a cute couple. They both derive from the same place: her childlike purity. You have to take the good with the bad.

That's also why Amy could never be a true villain. She can be misguided or wrong headed, but she can never be properly evil. She would never do something that strictly benefits herself to the exclusion of another person's feelings. Even in the bull rushing Sonic to be Birdies bodyguard scene, Sonic DOES go along with it despite his protestations. In Sonic's version of the Twinkle Park entrance scene, they are just casually walking down the street together.

Clearly she isn't exactly holding a gun to his head. If Sonic has genuinely been like "Amy I do not have time for your bullshit right now, our PLANE got shot down and I need to find Tails!" she would have gone "oh shit well then I'll tag along and help you find Tails too!" which would have conveniently also allowed her to stick with Sonic which is what she wanted in the first place. She would not in any spectrum of reality been like "I don't care, I SAID you need to help the BIRD >=O " and like threatened him with her hammer or something. The fact Sonic pretty much goes along with Amy's bullshit to the exclusion of finding Tails says more about him than anything else

Amy cannot be evil because she's too pure. That's not to say she's too "good" by our subjective definitions of virtue and morality. She's pure in the same way a child or an animal is pure. Just like Goku woulda done. And that's also where her attraction to Sonic comes from. She isn't really attracted to Sonic for, like, his body. She's attracted to his personality and what he represents. She's attracted to his spirit of adventure. And it is through her childish purity that that attraction expressed itself in a desire to get married, it's a very "playing house" or "tugging a girls hair because you like her" kind of thing. Sonic's rejection of it is just as juvenile like Oshima once explained: he finds it annoying because "getting married" isn't "cool", not because he genuinely dislikes her. (They're perfect for each other lol)

Ironically if Sonic became the kind of person who would be happy with "settling down" and getting married to Amy, he would cease to be the person that she is attracted to in the first place. If she ever "got him" then she wouldn't want him anymore. The evolution and maturation of their relationship in the games since Unleashed comes from a mutual understanding of one another and themselves. She WANTS him to be the wind that blows free and can never be tied down, so that she can always be swept up in the breeze and go along on adventures of her own.

An "evil Amy" just wouldn't make sense for that same reason. Just like how Sonic would cease to be the person Amy is attracted to if he were to want to settle down, an Amy who is evil just wouldn't be Amy. She would fundamentally be a completely different character who shares none of the same values or personality. She might as well just be a new character wearing Amy's skin. Or be possessed by the will of a hack moron of a writer. Amy can be a dumb bitch sometimes, but she could never ever be evil by any strata.

[mejomonster]

Just watched till the end of the moon ep 9:

I'm so down bad for these 2

I cannot stress enough that skipping them to marriage so no stupid "innocence" or naivety stuff as is the usual situation is here

I cannot stress enough how much I LOVE that li susu seems adult, mature, seasoned in battle love etc, and just generally like a late 20s early 30s adult trying to save the world instead of a young adult Hero and how nice it is. Just for me, I'm happy for the variety

I LOVE tantai jin. He's a fucked up guy. He's the wet skinny pathetic man fangirls always say they want. He's genuinely a pretty cold bitch AND he gets to be lead (in a cdrama!). He is monstrous cause bitches have treated him monstrous so like susu said! He responded to a cruel world with cruelty back. It's not a lead I'm used to but I AM loving it. I also love how for him a kind gesture really is worth it's weight in gold like? For him. As awful as ye xiwu was in marriage pre susu, as much as susu literally said she wants to kill him more than anyone else in the world... she keeps saving him. Giving him food. Risking HER life for his. And for him those specific actions are worth more than anything anyone's ever given him. Maybe even more than what Lan gave him, since at least ye xiwu is upfront about wanting to imprison him and being mad at him so like she probably isn't going to "secretly" betray him since she's fairly honest (now). I love that he is JUST a fucked up guy with a fucked up destiny meant to be devil God, who the universe was probably intentionally shitty to cause its hoping (on like a cosmic scale) he will Suffer and Die and become devil God in revenge. I love that its not trying to make the bitch noble. He is who he is. For whatever that means, it's just a story about 2 people who'd never have met. But susu has changed the trajectory just by being herself around him and it's COMPELLING.

The transformative power of love (or simply being kind to another person) and all that. How the cursed jade said she's mostly just SO SURPRISED someone would help another person. I feel like that's probably the Theme of the show right there. Even susu is probably surprised by herself helping him. And in the jade transfer moment, I think she's surprised she genuinely does NOT think he only is comprised of bad traits. For all the cold bitch that he is, betraying her that he's done, cruel view he has of the world... actions speak louder than words to susu too. And for all the bad he's done... he has also done some good things. And she finds herself seeing him in shades of grey instead of a monster like she expected to.

I just love their bickering lets be real. Susu just SAYS shit on the top of her mind (to be fair tantai jin is a bitch and deserves to be bitched at). But she's like "from now on let's have NO CONNECTION" to 6 hours later being like "your life is in my hands and I say when you can die I'm imprisoning you forever ill see you nonstop bitch." And it's like... susu honey, that was LITERALLY tantai jins plan to do to you like 6 hours ago. Yall have the same plan. Just who's the prisoner is switched lmao. No wonder he's oddly attracted to you. You see him being a big manipulative bitch and like you're not stealthy, but you ARE like "WELL FINE ill say some SHIT and BREAK YOUR HEART then. Cry me a river! Oh you thought I was dead? You cried? GOOD. Now anyway fight is over as long as I'm winning!"

Their emotional fights are both ridiculously huge (like rumor of the Kingdoms wild) but also so shallow cause these bitches will be like "I DECIDE when you DIE" then you find them clutching each other in the woods BOTH unwilling to abandon the other and BOTH taking life threatening damage trying to protect the other and BOTH trying to then heal said damage of each others! Like. That's just so fucking funny??!! And fun. Xiao Lin is going to be like "what in the world??" But move on

Anyway speaking of Xiao Lin: I love how he genuinely seems to care for tantai jin! Probably only person in the world who does! I hope one day tantai jin finds out its genuine heartfelt care for him. Buy knowing tantai jins life... he's going to do some awful shit to Xiao lin that ruins his life or kills his wife or kills thousands of innocents in front of him, THEN Xiao lin will be breaking down crying how he never thought tantai jin would do this and he thought tantai jin was a good person who wanted to avoid seeing the ppl in harm and he always wished tantai jin could have a better life. And then tantai jin, probably newly learning compassion from enough bullshit attempts with susu, that his own heart will be breaking BECAUSE of the consequences of his own actions. So. Thrilled to cry later I guess

Speaking of susu and tantai jin. tantai jin LAYING ON HER SHOULDER THINKING ABOUT WHAT SHE BULLSHITTINGLY SAID LOVE WAS AND HOW HE THINKS SHE LOVES HIM AND HOW HE THINKS HE MIGHT LOVE HER AND CUDDLING

that is what watchers want!! (At least me!!) Men lying heads on their lovers shoulders and thinking dreamy about them

Bai Lu gives off such bisexual lead energy tho even without a woman to flirt with I'm sure thats part of the appeal for me. Bottom line is I like in my b/g romances on occasion (who am I kidding more of the time than not) to have a dominant kind of woman. And bai lu delivers. Her man leans on HER shoulder. Is carried around her shoulder with HER arms.

Speaking of, people who cast this were 1. Fulfilling so many wishes letting Luo yunxi just play PURE FUCKED UP and I love it. 2. By casting him as this suffering Weak physically nearly always dying willfully little skinny twink of a man, who's also God tier powerful especially with rage, who's costume entails constant bloody whump, collars, choking and ropes, like. There's a HELLA SPECIFIC NICHE Luo yunxis character resides inside this show and it sure is feeding That Demographic. I'm up for it. It's like if mo ran and chu wanning had a fucked up mashup

I'm fearing the jade maker witch was somehow susu in a past life and now I'm wondering if time travel is gonna be in this bitch

If there IS time travel? I really like the idea of tantai jin specifically time traveling the 2nd time around, once he and susu fell in love, once he knows what susu knew from the beginning. I think that could open a lot of new avenues that he is not currently able to go into given his current personality and knowledge

It's still funny as hell to me tantai jin is kind of angling for death cause he KNOWS he gets super-powered once he dies. But his wife keeps being like NO BITCH YOU GOTTA LIVE WELL. And I'm hoping eventually he's like: maybe she's right... maybe the revenge means more if I'm alive for it and not dissassociated. Maybe I SHOULD try to become a God tier monster without dying. Which would still lead to oh no devil tantai jin lol, but a version of it that is fully Himself which I would like

You know I'm liking a show when I'm contemplating binging beyond what's on youtube rn

[beauty-and-passion]

I think I perfectly know what you’re talking about, so let me tell you some trivia.

When someone acts very defensive about something, in Italy we say that they have “la coda di paglia” (which can be translated as “they have a straw tail”). This saying comes from an old tale of a fox, whose tail was cut off by a trap. The animal was so ashamed, that its friends decided to give it a straw tail, so beautiful that anyone could never have suspected it was fake.

But one day a rooster let this secret slip away and once the peasants knew about the straw tail of the fox, they lit fires near the chicken coops, so that the fox could no longer steal their chickens anymore: straw catches fire very easily and so the fox was forced to stay away.

From this story comes the expression “having a straw tail”, which means fearing any kind of criticism for a behavior they are well aware of. If you have a straw tail, if you have bad behavior or did something wrong, you know it. And so, you act defensive to hide it.

Thomas is doing exactly that. He’s getting very defensive over simple questions, he’s making childish excuses in a desperate attempt to show how good he is, but all he’s doing is showing us he knows he’s in the wrong.

So here are the tweets you (probably) wanted me to talk about and yes, I will talk about them both (special thanks to @transfemlogan​​ who posted them on Tumblr first).

Those are both very recent tweets, but let’s start with the first one dated October 2022:

Okay, let’s recap everything Thomas did wrong here.

1) That person was not pressuring nor threatening him. They asked a simple, genuine question and they did it very politely and very calmly. This wasn’t an angry fan. And yet, Thomas went in full passive-aggressive mode, as if that person was insulting him. This is the best example of what “having a straw tail” means.

2) “Keeping people posted” means giving real updates, not a vague “working on the script” written months ago. It means telling people how much has been written, if he’s close to the end or not, how long he thinks it will take to reach the end, what his plans are, even if he’s just working on the actual script or not because he’s doing other stuff. Those are updates.

3) “Updating to the extent that I feel comfortable doing” is just a more convoluted way to say “I do not have any real update, so I am giving you crumbs, because this is all I have”. But he’s hiding it behind the excuse of “I’m taking care of myself”, which could’ve worked years ago, but after three years it’s not so convincing anymore.

4)  Pressuring someone to deliver content is not healthy nor productive, but if someone is clearly doing nothing, some pressure makes the work done. As a writer, I learned long ago that, if I want things to get done, I have to do them. I won’t enjoy the whole process and there will be times I don’t really want to do it, but it’s the only way to do stuff. You can’t wait forever for the inspiration to come because, flash news, it won’t magically fall from the sky.

And sure, taking care of yourself is important too, but using your well being as an excuse to always postpone is just laziness.

5) Since Mr. Sanders is thirty-three years old and not five, I think he is old enough to accept someone asking him what is going on with the season finale and not overreact like he did. I could understand if he was a teen, but when you’re 33 you’re old enough to deal with something as simple as a question.

Oh and since I’m here talking about this post and since Mr. Sanders didn’t do it, I would like to formally apologize to the person who wrote that question. You did nothing wrong, dear. Your question was valid and polite and I am sure that another, more mature person would’ve given you the proper reply you deserved.

And if any of you is curious, would you like to know what the real answer to that question was? “The season finale is not here at all, because I am barely working on the script. And I am barely working on the script, because I don’t know how to handle it. And I don’t know how to handle it, because I am not a writer - but I want to write it anyway”. Here’s your answer, you’re welcome.

Believe me, I hope to be proven wrong, but this is what I got from Thomas’ over-the-top reaction. And if any of you think I am too hard on him, then sorry again, but it pisses me off to see a grown-ass man whining like a child because someone just asked him something he doesn’t want to talk about.

And here is the second tweet, dated December 2022:

Not only this is another textbook example of what “having a guilty conscience” means, but Mr. Sanders’ reply is - if possible - even more childish: I work very very hard! See how hard I work? I am right and you are wrong! And If you keep saying these bad things, I will tell mom.

In addition to that, he wasn’t even clever enough to turn the topic away from him. That person said that his supporters got nothing in turn and are more excited than him? He could’ve said that this was offensive towards his supporters, because if they are trusting him it’s not because he’s forcing them to do it, but because they like what he’s doing and want him to create these things he’s passionate about. But nope, he was too butthurt and he clearly knew that person was right, so he overreacted like a child.

This also proves that, sadly, he doesn’t believe his supporters are following him out of trust or because they like everything he’s doing. He’s probably very aware that the reason most people are following him is Sanders Sides - and that puts him in a difficult situation.

Why? Because he’s not able to handle the series. And he's aware of it: he knows he’s taking too long with the script, he knows there are no real updates, he knows he has nothing to give. And yet, this series is his main income: there are people, merch, contracts. He can’t just drop or cancel it.

And so he keeps everything as vague as possible. If everything is vague, people will still trust him, they will think he’s working on the series and patiently wait for the next episode.

This can work with kids. But when kids grow up or teens grow tired, they start to rightfully ask questions. And if you don’t have answers, you end up replying like this - thus involuntarily showing how aware you are of your situation.

And now, let’s take Sanders Sides out for a moment, because this isn’t about the series, but about him.

This behavior is very, very disrespectful. Adults should be an example for younger people, they should be someone the next generation will look at and take inspiration from, to grow into even better adults. We can’t pretend kids are better than us, if we are not the first to show them how to be better.

Thomas isn’t just an adult, but a public figure, so he’s not just an example for his friends or relatives: he’s an example for a lot of people. He should show them what a proper, mature, adult reply is. What he did instead was attacking with a lot of passive-aggressiveness an innocent fan who just asked a question and a more sarcastic one, who just poked him.

Do you know what he could’ve done instead? Not reply at all. Or just grow a pair and reply like an adult. He could’ve thanked the first fan and said that, unfortunately, there are no real updates on Sanders Sides for now, because he’s working on other stuff - and added that he hopes they will like this stuff too. While to the second person, he could’ve said that people are following him for more than just Sanders Sides and that he’s sorry that person thinks he did nothing, because he worked on different things. Was it so hard to do?

This is not a good way to handle criticism. And I hope he will grow up a little: all he did now was showing us how long his straw tail is and how easily it catches fire.

[natalisdragon]

COOK, LOVE, AND HOME

Someone has already introduced the topic, but I want to delve deeper and give my vision on the matter.

This is the kind of thing that, when you think about it, is so obvious that you can't help but feel a little silly for not noticing it sooner.

When we talk about cooking, the doors are opened for many interpretations, but we will not go to something as complicated as… analyzing the dishes that appear next to the names of the episodes. It's something much simpler.

Cooking is something that we can associate with independence and maturity. I think this is easily represented by Arajin's mother, who, although she can be somewhat eccentric at times, let's not forget that she is also the owner of her own restaurant, in addition to having to take care of her son practically alone (as far as we know) both being responsibilities that are not exactly easy to carry. We even have Arajin himself, who despite demonstrating questionable behavior throughout the story, we know that he helps his mother, again, a responsibility about which he usually doesn't complain, being one of the few things that probably helped him with his trauma and develop a skill necessary for adult life, or in his particular case, a business that he will most likely inherit.

We can talk about the scene in which Arajin and Matakara cook together, these are already my conjectures, but perhaps it is a way to contrast how each one has tried to cope with their lives, and it's even more revealing if we remember that they were making gyozas ( They are stuffed/external part, internal part), showing us that Arajin (despite what one might think) has had more tools at his disposal (which his mother also provided him) to move forward than Matakara, who has managed to do so, as we can see, with great difficulty.

Akutaro is another one we see cooking in episode 7, but since it's something he's doing more out of obligation (and possibly threat) perhaps it's more to emphasize that HE NEEDS INDEPENDENCE (he depends on Ichiya) and learning to manage with his own resources to mature.

Now let's talk about what really matters, cooking and love. Cooking has an important relationship with love, being very commonly represented as one of the most sincere gestures of affection, both for those who cook and those who eat. Let's remember when Marito is hospitalized and Mahoro visits him, the food that she prepares for him is well… we know… peculiar, but we see that despite this, even if it's not in front of his sister, Marito makes the effort to eat what she prepared for him, making us understand that despite seeming distant, he appreciates her.

On the other hand we see it in Arajin's mother and the effort she puts into preparing his lunches for school.

We also notice it with Matakara while he prepares the party to welcome his brother, where he offers to help Arajin to make the food. Let's remember that the only person with whom we have seen Matakara cook apart from Arajin is his brother, therefore, the two people for whom he feels the most affection. That's why he wants Mitsukini to eat something that he prepared with his own hands.

But here there is something else. We talk about cooking as a sign of maturity and affection for those we love, but there is something else, and you should already imagine what I mean. Cooking as a representation of a home and its warmth. We already see it with all of the above, especially Arajin, who if there is something he doesn't lack is his mother's love and support . Personally, this makes Matakara's situation even sadder, because if we are good observers, we have NEVER seen Matakara eating or cooking with his "relatives." Basically yelling at us that he doesn't feel part of them, which is confirmed when he simply leaves after what happens with his brother.

In contrast, Arajin's house is a place where we know that beyond being also a restaurant, it's a place where cooking is done with love, therefore,it's not just a house, it's a home.

And now that we know about his past, it's just heartbreaking. Deep down, Matakara not only wants strength, he wants someone who won't abandon him, he wants a home and feel its warmth, maybe that's why we see him so happy making gyoza with Arajin, because it had been a long time since he could experience it. In the end, for Matakara, any place where he can be with a person he loves is his home.