#like. he just means so much to every facet of me in ways i can only gently understand

[hwnglx]

hm i tried my best to explain, he has a lot of different facets to him, so reading for him can get a little overwhelming.. hope it's still a nice read 🤍

jake's ideal type

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

shuffled songs: bored by billie eilish young and beautiful by lana del rey “will you still love me, when i got nothing but my aching soul?”

physical traits

natural and classic beauty. harmonious features. deep and intense eyes. color more on the darker side. (like dark eyes you can lose yourself in) fierce gaze. something strong about their features that makes them stand out, it just catches your eye. face that lights up once they smile. (looks colder in a resting position but transform once they break into a smile) keep hearing “부담스러워” meaning burdenful. in this context, used more in an “intimidating” manner. in korean this can be used for people who have intensity to their look, people you can't hold eye contact with for long. he doesn't have an extremely specific type, just needs to feel intrigued.

personality traits

so, jake likes his partners to have a powerful effect on him. what seems to intrigue him in a person, is “reverse charm” where they might look sweet and innocent, but are much more fierce and savage inside. or look intense and cold, but end up being very soft and sweet inside. someone with a captivating aura, who carries themselves with a sense of mystery. a person he looks at and makes him wonder, awakens his interest like.. “oh this person must have such a different side to them deep down.”

jake also likes it when his lovers can boldly challenge him and his beliefs. he wants someone witty who isn't afraid to talk back at him, change his perspectives. someone whose words and actions linger in his mind, make him re-think his own and in hindsight change and transform him for the better. he wants his relationships to turn him into the better version of himself and to provoke him to discover his best self.

another quality he seems to cherish in his romantic partners, is when they're patient, gentle and persevering. he wants someone with emotional intelligence and empathy for people, who looks after the ones they treasure with great care. he needs someone loyal who won't be discouraged quickly, and remains committed to him through every trial. he seems to be quite self aware, so he knows that he isn't exactly the easiest lover to deal with.. whether that's because of his busy schedule, or his more complicated nature. he wants a person with motives and interests selfless enough to be accepting towards his faults, forgiving towards his mistakes. he wants a resilient person who can encourage him to work on himself. honestly, he seems to like his s/o to have motherly energy. he wants someone who will nurture him, coddle him on some levels, but also give him the tough love he needs to grow.

jake wants a person who puts importance into keeping the relationship harmonious. he'd appreciate a person who can balance him out, in a way where they can complete him in the areas he lacks. for instance, someone much more stable and grounded than him. someone who can be more logical or objective and less impulsive when the situation asks for it. i keep hearing “정신 차려”, which means “come to your senses” or “pull yourself together”.

(note; this insight was interesting because i think he's this case of opposites attracting and benefitting from each other. he could grow a lot from being with someone like jay, who has a stellium in taurus, which is opposite jake's scorpio stellium. idk if they're close but despite unavoidable clashes due to being so so different, they have potential to balance each other out pretty well)

jake puts a lot of value into understanding each other on a level deeper than everyone else. he wants there to be effortless communication between the two, almost telepathic, where they know what the other means even without necessarily being vocal about it. the person who seems to know you so well; they complete your sentences, or know what you're thinking or feeling just by one glance at your expression.

he also seems to like his lovers having this duality in personality, where they can be both; cute, playful and kittenish (someone who flirts in this giggly and coy way), but capable of having meaningful and long conversations about deep and serious matters in life. he does seem to love duality a lot, whether that's appearance-wise or character-wise.

him as a boyfriend

+ jake is a boyfriend who loooves making you feel like it's only you and him in this world. he really values alone-time and deep intimacy, whether that's physical intimacy in the form of quality time, or emotional intimacy in the form of deep conversations. he enjoys zoning in on his partners and focusing the entirety of his attention on them.

sweet aspect; he himself can be very moody, but if you need him to be your source of comfort and shoulder to cry on, he can become that for you. he'll put effort into making sure he wins over your trust and you feel comfortable around him. he wants you to feel safe enough to not be afraid of showcasing your emotions, whether that's sadness, frustration, anger.. he likes to see it all. he does enjoy seeing his lover riled up about him lmao, since to him it shows they're passionate about the relationship. but there is this comforting and warm energy to him, where he's good at making you feel seen, and listened to.

he is the type of boyfriend who will want to stick by your side through all storms. he really values what his lovers have to say. let's say you got into an argument with him; once you've both calmed down, he might sit you down, softly take your hand and deeply gaze into your eyes while quietly listening to your side of the story. he'll want to understand your perspective and your heart.

he can be responsible as a lover. it almost feels like a task to him to fulfill his role as a boyfriend, to make you feel like you can rely on him. he wants to lead the relationship, and make you feel secure. it's very much an equal give and take, since he does seem to enjoy leaning on his partner for security at times as well. evidently, he seems to actually like a balanced relationship with no crazy power dynamics.

- hm, some heavy energy here i don't feel comfortable diving into deeply. but i can sense him realizing he has a habit of so strongly clinging to his lovers, due to abandonment issues. which can be quite common for scorpio placements.. he's scared of being left behind and replaced with someone “better”, due to him potentially not being good enough to stay with. there's some lingering fatigue and emotional baggage from the past he seems to struggle letting go of.

jake can put so much pressure on himself to satisfy his partner. he wants them to feel fulfilled and confident in the relationship and makes it his responsibility. it can weigh on him if he feels like his partner is starting to lose the spark, fall out of love with him, and especially lose their trust in him. he wants his lover to recognize how much he cares about the connection, but is self-aware enough to understand it's his own bad habits and impulsiveness that can stand in the way.

i can see him having bad habits like, having wandering eyes or being too charming and.. complementary towards women, where it can border on flirting. blurring the lines (like in his eyes it wasn't flirting but his partner sees it differently). though i can't see him straight up cheating, “superficial” things like that can still understandably rub partners the wrong way. it can easily cause discomfort, conflicts, miscommunication. this can lead to trust issues on both sides. he can just be a boyfriend who requires a lot of patience.

[jpegcompressor]

"i'm normal" i say, as if the only thing that brings me true happiness in my life ISN'T (non-whitewashed) drawings of a fictional character that is the equivalent of a snickerdoodle

[linkspooky]

PITY VS. EMPATHY

Jujutsu Kaisen Chapter 265 quickly surpassed Gojo's death chapter as my favorite chapter in the entire manga. It's a high point in both Yuji's character development and the Sukuna fight, a notion most of the fandom agrees with. That being said, it's once again time for me to take a stance contrary to most of the fandom opinion. I was going to make this post two weeks ago but I'm glad I waited, because this week's chapter helps me illustrate my point in the contrasting way Yuji treats Sukuna and Megumi.

As you can probably tell by the title, my hot take of the week is that what Yuji is showing Sukuna isn't true empathy. It's not atn attempt to understand Sukuna's worldview, but rather condescending pity from a place looking down on Sukuna, which is why it infuriates him so much. This is illustrated in Yuji's atual actions this chapter, which is to go at great length to show memories from his past to make Sukuna understand HIM and not the other way around.

Whereas, what Yuji shows Megumi is compassion, because he's not telling Megumi what to feel or imposing his own views on him but rather accepting the fact that Megumi might be suffering too much to keep living on.

I'll explain more under the cut:

Guanyin, Goddess of Mercy

Yuji is, not as far along in his character development as he might seem. I don't want to undervalue his growth, this chapter shows definite progress, and I understand why it would seem that this is the completion of his arc of being a cog in society because he straight up says people don't need roles, and it seems like the manga is quickly coming to a close.

However, sometimes characters words don't exactly match their actions. Sometimes characters aren't self aware. People often call characters multi-layered and complex, but what does that mean exactly? For me, a mutli-layered character is the embodiment of "people are never what they appear to be."

A story has multiple layers when you're not supposed to take everything the author says at face value. Every time you read a story, whether you are aware of it or not you engage in some level of personal interpretation. You're not supposed to automatically accept everything the author feeds you without question. Therefore characters are not exactly what they are stated to be, and good character writing allows room for interpretation for what is going on in a character's head beneath the surface.

In a jungian sense this would be the ice berg model of consciousness. There's the persona, or the ego, which is what the person presents to the world and the people around them. Their own-self conceived image. Then there's the part of the ice berg that submerged, which accounts for all of their internal mechanisms and facets of their personality they aren't aware of. This could range from anything to like, how trauma can affect people's actions without them realizing it, things they are in denial of and don't want to admit to themselves or just like someone who's bossy but not self-aware about that trait until someone else points it out for them.

Everyone's have that friend who you try to call them out on their bad behavior, but no matter how hard you try they just won't admit it. That alone illustrates there's a difference between self-perception, how we view ourselves, behavior - how we actually interact with the world, and pther people's perception of us. Somewhere in between these multiple points of view there exists a vague outline of a person, and personality, whatever "personality" means exactly.

To step away from Jung, in a character writing sense this means a good character's motivations, personality, and actions can be viewed from multiple angles. There is conflict between how Yuji views himself, his actual actions in the story, how other characters might view him, and how he's framed in the story. The first two, Yuji's self-assigned roles, and what his actual actions amount to is a conflict that's run over the entire story.

It starts from chapter three, where Yuji's answer for why he wants to become a sorcerer is that he wants to fulfill his grandfather's dying wish, and Yaga immediately says "Is that what you really believe, or are you just using your grandfather as an excuse?" The story shows us Yaga was right to point out the discord between Yuji's stated motivation and his actual desires because Yuji changes his answer.

This stated motivation, "To do something that only I can do", or have a role as another way of putting it is Yuji's central motivation for most of the manga. Of course as I said people have multiple layers, so he can also have multiple motivations. Yuji's desire to have a good death, him wanting to be surrounded by people when he dies, his belief that fulfilling his role as a sorcerer will save other people from curses, all of these things are equally true but that one desire to have a role to play in the grand scheme of things is at the center of it.

The role Yuji has chosen is to kill curses so people can have more natural deaths, and also to stop more victims of curses from piling up. He's also resolved from the start to die with Sukuna in his body, to also spare victims of curses Sukuna might attract, and also kill Sukuna for good.

Even these stated motions are challenged right away, and then again continually through the comic.

I'm not going to go over Yuji's entire arc here, but the fact that Yuji is someone constantly interrogated for his motivations and even punished in story for his altruism is a constant pattern in his character arc.

It extends deeper than just the fact that Yuji is a selfless person in a world where selfish people like Mei Mei, and Sukuna get ahead while people like Nanami die young. A world where it is in your best interest to stick out your neck for others.

For me a lot of the harsh consequences Yuji's conflict in the story also centers around the fact that he can never live up to the role that he has assigned himself. Not only is Yuji mistaken in his perception of himself, but the fandom in general is as well, because most people tend to take Yuji's stated desire to guide people to good deaths and save them at face value.

For example, people were excited to point out the Guanyin symbolism directly referenced this chapter, and also the significance of the seal for Yuji's domain.

There is much speculation, but it seems certain that this hand sign is an invocation of Ksitigarbha, a revered bodhisattva in East Asian Buddhism. Ksitigarbha is also known as Jizo Bodhisattva in Japan. His name can be translated as Earth Womb, Earth Matrix, and Earth Store. These translations evoke the image of a vessel, which seems relevant to Yuji's role as Sukuna's vessel.

While I agree the symbolism is well suited for Yuji's goals, someone who wished to guide people to a more peaceful death, and also the way Yuji opposes Sukuna right now determined to kill him who lingers in this world as a parasite for a thousand years finally back to the cycle of reincarnation. It even alligns with his desire to try and make Sukuna understand the value in one individual's life by showing him his memories. In that way Yuji is fitting the role of someone guiding others to enlightenment.

However, Yuji is not a bodhivista in the end. He is a normal teenage boy. In fact this is the crux of Yuji's character to me, he is a good kid, but he's not as good as he thinks he is. If anything this is what this chapter goes to great length to demonstrate, that Yuji despite being a science experiment to create the perfect vessel for Sukuna for Kenjaku's 1,000 year plan, had a normal childhood. All of the things Yuji says in this chapter are for the most parts the musing of a normal kid his age.

This isn't me criticizing Yuji. I'm just trying to state the message I believe Gege is getting across in this chapter. It's similiar to the conclusion Yuji himself comes to, the conclusion that the value in life lies in the memories you make on a day to day basis, even if you're not living a life full of adventure.

Yuji's conflict is that he pursues the role of a bodhisvatta, and he holds himself to the standard too of someone who exists to be a sorcerer because by doing his job as a sorcerer people will get saved as a result. However, Yuji as a person will always fall short of this ideal, because ideals by the nature of them being IDEAL and therefore not compatible with reality.

To use an example for another media, it doesn't matter how hard Shirou Emiya strives to save others, or how selfless he tries to be, he will always fall short because the ideal of saving absolutely everyone is impossible. However, in most versions of Fate's story Shirou absolutely refuses to compromise on this and in the future, Shirou will continue to strive towards the ideal of saving everyone until his inability to achieve that ideal and the number of people he's failed to save eventually breaks him.

So Yuji may genuinely hold onto an unbreakable ideal, but is his inability to let go of that ideal necessarily a good thing? His ideal might break but what about Yuji as a person? Yuji will in the end always fall short of that ideal because of his humanity, especially since Yuji is the most human character in the story and practically the only one with a normal background.

There's also as I stated above Yuji might not be aware himself of the ways he falls short of his ideal, because he has a flawed self perception. Yuji is getting closer with his revelation in this chapter of looking at reality instead of trying to have a role like a character in the story, but that doesn't mean he's finished (since the story's not finished) or he's become a fully realized character.

One of my favorite quotes from my favorite Yuji video helps describe the point I'm getting at with Yuji's lack of self awareness and the way he sometimes falls short of the savior he sees himself as.

By assigning himself the role as heroes, and the other characters as victims to be saved Yuji sort of condescends to the people he endeavors to save. I describe this as condescending because this way he doesn't see the people he saves as fully fleshed out human beings who are separate individuals from himself.

Yuji is alligned with Higuruma of all people, someone who shares Yuji's savior complex and becomes disillusioned because the people he decided of his own free will to protect as a defense attorney are not perfect victims.

Someone who becomes disillusioned when looking at flaws in other people, and also cannot deal with his own guilt when he too, becomes like the crimminals he once defended after becoming a murderer.

In fact Yuji sees himself in Higuruma's inability to live with his guilt, and only being able to see himself atoning with his death. Yet, despite Yuji seeing himself Yuji also seems uneasy with Higuruma being unable to see one other way forward in life.

Also, remember that Higuruma is a defense attorney. The whole point is he's supposed to defend crimminals even if he knows they did the crime and try to get them off their sentence and win the trial. Therefore at this moment Higuruma has failed to live up to his ideal.

There's another character Yuji is paralleled to constantly, who also shares Yuji's symbolism of being associated with a divine, and benevolent figure.

Geto's ears, his dressing as a monk in a Gojo-gesa, this official art all connect Geto to be Budha and yet it's quite obvious that Geto has failed entirely to live up to his role as the budha.

There's so much symbolism aligning Geto as a divine figure bringing salvation to others, and this corresponds to his original ideal as a sorcerer who belived that sorcerers had an obligation to use their powers to protect others, because in a just society the strong protect the weak.

Geto is an outsider who wasn't born into the Jujutsu World who entered in with an attitude different from most sorcerers by trying to become a sorcerer for altruistic reasons. However, Geto, like Higuruma grows disillusioned when he's confronted with the fact that the people he wants to save are flawed.

However, Geto's ideal was mistaken to begin with because much like Yuji, by distinctly separating people into the weak and the strong, he's separating them into two categories where the former is inherently inferior to the latter. Other people existed to be saved by Geto. He couldn't cope with the fact that the people he wanted to save were people and not victims.

So we finally circle back to chapter 265 where Yuji is attempting to relate to Sukuna and see some humanity in him... or is he?

Yuji shares the same flaw of both Geto, and Higuruma where he sees the people he wants to save as existing in a separate category than himself. So, is what Yuji is offering Sukuna understanding and an attempt to emotionally reach out to him, or is he attempting to show Sukuna the mercy of a conqueror.

Even if Yuji wins the battle and spares Sukuna's life in the end, it won't be Yuji's compassion or empathy that won him the fight. If Yuji wins against Sukuna it's simply because he's stronger. Yuji only feels confident trying to offer Sukuna in the first place because this time he's finally confident he's stronger. It's mercy, offered at a threat with the same time. Yuji, like Geto, is still separating people in categories of strong and weak, he's just showing mercy to someone he now considers weaker than him which is why Sukuna reacted the way he did.

As I said above, Sukuna begins by just assuming that Yuji had just let go of his anger, and was now trying to reach out to him on some other way. He calls him weak for being unable to keep hating his worst enemy, because in Sukuna's world view Yuji should keep hating him and wanting to defeat him with all his strength to the end. Sukuna mistakenly believes for a moment that Yuji is the kind of person who, cannot sustain his anger even towards his worst enemy.

It's when he realizes that Yuji is just showing him simple pity that he snaps. Yuji doesn't care for understanding Sukuna's worldview or seeing the humanity in him, in the same chapter he says he can't forgive people who act like lives are worthless.

To Yuji's credit he admits he doesn't really know which side of the fight is truly human, or whether or not he's right, he admits it's his own personal belief. A lot of Yuji's wisdom this chapter, I'd argue, comes from admitting the things he does not know, and acknowledging that there's no objective truth or "meaning" to the world. However, he still separates people into "good guys, and bad guys".

Yuji isn't actually that interested in considering the perspective of those he considers the "bad guys" he just still had a faint hope that he could somehow convince Sukuna to see worth in his life by sharing memories, therefore convince Sukuna that an individual's life can have value.

He doesn't want to understand what Sukuna thinks, he wanted to change the way Sukuna thought so it was more like himself. Yuji doesn't ask Sukuna any real questions about himself while exploring his memories. Kind of ironic, because for some reason Sukuna of all people was patiently listening and even engaging Yuji in conversation while he went through the most mundane memories of his childhood.

Irony on top of irony, Yuji's worldview does resemble Sukuna's in some ways. They're supposed to mirror each other after all, Yuji is literally the son of his identical twin brother reincarnated. First and foremost Yuji's offer of mercy isn't really breaking away from Sukuna's ultimate ideal of "Might Makes Right." Yuji isn't seeking some other way of settling this besides fighting Sukuna, he's going to make Sukuna submit because he's stronger.

Maybe there was no hypothetical "third way" for Yuji to put down Sukuna other than fist fighting him into submission. There probably wasn't, Sukuna's pretty up front what he's about, and what he's about is being the strongest and nothing more. He lives and dies by violence, a Sukuna who isn't the strongest is nothing more than a corpse so can that person be reached? However, I just wanted to point out that Yuji wasn't interest in solving this in any way other than a fist fight to begin with. As opposed to say, the way that Takaba handled Kenjaku taking a third route by making Kenjaku feel entertained for the first time in 1,000 years.

In the middle of that fight Takaba even APOLOGIZES to Kenjaku, for saying that it doens't matter if he doesn't understand his audience and he fails to make 1% of them laugh as long as the other 99% of them are laughing and states it's his duty to make everyone laugh otherwise he's failed as a comedian.

Yet, another reason why this is the greatest fight in the manga. Yuta even remarks in the end that Takaba isn't someone who can kill people. Not only does his cursed technique negate most damage to him by turning it into cartoonish antics, but Takaba's comedy is also all about understanding his audience and trying to get his audience to understand him because his comedy began when he clowned around as a kid when he was lonely. All of this to say we've been shown more points of view than just "Might makes Right" and there are characters who've resolved conflicts in other ways. Kenjaku is also, probably as monstrous as Sukuna, and yet Takaba engaged him right from the start by asking him about his motivations and if there was some other way he'd be happy than the merger.

You could argue that maybe Sukuna can't be understood. Characters in the story certainly try to and all they amount to doing is projecting their own ideas onto Sukuna. Yorozu projects her obsession with love onto Sukuna and we get the idea that Sukuna must somehow be lonely at the top, but in the end Gege subverts this expectation by showing us that Sukuna was never lonely, rather characters like Kashimo and Gojo projected their feelings of unresolved loneliness onto him. They are strong, and he is strong, ergo he must feel the same crushing loneliness as them. Gojo himself demosntrates not understanding Sukuna as he expresses regret in the afterlife that he was unable to make Sukuna go all out and that he related to that guy's loneliness only for Sukuna's response to be a very gratified "You cleared my skies."

Sukuna: Others love us for our strength, and we respond to that love.

The twist of that is Kashimo and by extension the audience assume that Sukuna must not understand love, and therefore he's lonely. However, Sukuna all along had his own definition of love, that people express their love and admiration for him by trying to fight him and he receives their love by facing them at his full strength and giving them the chance to prove themselves. Sukuna's habit of toying with his opponents is an extension of this he wants to see them realize their full potential in their fights with him. Sukuna does understand love, he just REJECTS our understanding of love. Sukuna does not think in the way that we do, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have things he values, or is devoid of positive traits. Respect for his opponents, honoring strength, these are all values they're just not Yuji's values.

As stated above, the irony of all this is that Yuji does buy into "Might makes Right" to an extent. To reiterate, following Geto's "the strong exist to protect the weak" still divides people into two categories strong and weak and implies the weak are helpless. A benevolent might makes right, as you might say. Yuji wants to show compassion to the weak, but he also loathes weakness, he loathes himself for being weak.

"There still may be lots of people who are weak like you."

Higuruma even points out the flaw in his mindset, well if you loathe yourself for being weak, then what about other people who are weak do you loathe them too? I think it's no coincidence that Yuji is paralleled not one, but two (Geto, Higuruma) people who tried to use their strength in benevolent ways only to start out loathing the people they were trying to help. I'm not saying that Yuji secretly hates weak people, but his mindset of black and white, weak and strong, a mindset that can't accept the greys of reality is a dangerous mindset to have and Yuji has the potential to become like those two.

However, these parallels exist for us the audience to see just how close Yuji was to repeating the cycle, because it makes it that much more meaningful when Yuji grows in ways that Geto and Higuruma doesn't to move one step forward towards breaking that cycle instead.

Yuji is someone who experiences the same loneliness as Sukuna and Gojo for being the strongest, though to a lesser extent because he wasn't born into the realm of sorcerers. At the start of the manga we're introduced to Yuji a kid who despite being someone friendly to everyone he meets and incredibly social, has a friend group consisting of two friends. Two friends who hang out with him because they need a third member for their occult club. Yuji for the whole manga excluding one exception really only knows how to form relationships based on someone else needing him.

Noritoshi Kamo: Itadori why did you become a Jujutsu Sorcerer? Itadori Yuji: It just sort of happened. i'm a loner. I wanna help a lot of people so when I die I'll be surrounded by people.

Yuji has also appeared in flashbacks in early culling game as someone who doesn't really understand, or even take notice of weak people. Yuji in Amai Rin's flashback is beating up bullies, a heroic notion, but from the perspective of somone spineless like Amai who was just going along with the bullies so he himself wouldn't be bullied because he didn't have the strength to stand up with them, and wasn't born with the body of an MMA fighter at fifteen, Yuji looks scary.

The reason why reducing people to labels like strong and weak is reductive is that humans are complex and contradictory creatures. Let's take Amai Rin for example, an incredibly minor character. In the real world, Amai Rin would be someone as equally complex as Gojo Satoru. Amai Rin a middle school bully would have just as many layers to his personality, inconsistencies, contradictory behavior, different sides of himself as Gojo Satoru himself.

Humans are complex in the first place because we can't see inside their heads, we can only see inside our own heads and know that we're complex and sometimes say things we don't mean, behave differently depending on the situation, do things we're not proud of, but we also usually don't perceive others the same way because we are not inside their heads like our own. Amai Rin is just as complex and multifaceted a human being as Gojo Satoru, he is a person with his own memories and life experiences that shape him, but from Gojo's worldview Amai Rin is a minor character. By reducing him into someone weak, Gojo doesn't care to try understanding him.

So Yuji for the longest time does not try to see the humanity in weak people (except for his big moment with Junpei) he just sees them as people to be saved. Which is why his real moment of progress to me comes the next chapter, with the way he shows empathy to Megumi.

Yuji begins when speaking to Megumi by relating his frustration with his grandfather for not wanting to go through chemo and accepting his own death in old age. Yuji is now mature enough to understand that just because his young body is tough enough to endure chemo, doesn't mean an old man's body can withstand that pain. When he was young Yuji had a very immature viewset of "Well, I can endure it, so why can't they?"

Yuji then compares the situation with his grandfather to Megumi. Yuji wanted his grandfather to keep living, so he couldn't understand why he wouldn't even try the chemo. Yuji wants Megumi to keep living, but he now understand why Megumi wants to give up. Yuji' fe elings of wanting Megumi to live are not more important than Megumi's own feelings of despair and wanting to escape pain.

Yuji is no longer imposing his feelings onto Megumi. Yuji is respecting Megumi's feelings, because in the end he can't FORCE Megumi to live. It has to be Megumi's choice whether he wants to live or not.

Yuji is no longer pushing Megumi away, or acting protective of him, while disregarding his feelings. He has gone from "as long as I'm around you'll suffer" to "I'll be lonely without you." Yuji doesn't ASK Megumi to live even though he wants to, because he knows he can't tell Megumi to keep on living. What Yuji does is just an honest expression of his own feelings. He's sharing his own feelings after listening to Megumi's ideal life with Tsumiki and Yuji, because that's what empathy is, an exchange, a conversation.

People often jokingly use the term "yap sessh" on Twitter, but yeah that's the different between a conversation and a "yap sessh" in the former you actually care what the other person has to say, in a latter it's only about expressing your own opinion.

That's why this panel, is such a perfect contrast with this panel.

One is Yuji offering Megumi a choice. The other is Gojo taking Megumi's choices away by giving him the false choice of "go to the Zen'in Clan and be a sorcerer and your sister will be abused, or come with me and be a sorcerer." Gojo railroaded Megumi into being a sorcerer and never let him decide for himself if he wanted a normal life. Gojo didn't see Megumi as his own person either, he, just like the Zen'in Clan just saw Megumi as the holder of the Ten Shadows Technique.

This is entirely different to Yuji who respects Megumi's feelings. Yuji expresses that he'll be lonely without Megumi, but that's just laying the cards on the table. In the end Yuji leaves what happens next entirely in Megumi's hands. Yuji cannot tell Megumi to live, even though he wants him to live so badly, he cannot tell Megumi to just get stronger and keep on trucking because he's not Megumi, he's not experiencing Megumi's pain right now.

Yuji does not tell Megumi to live and therefore becomes the first person in Megumi's entire life to give him a choice. This choice is the most important choice of all, a choice we make every day of our lives. The choice of whether we want to keep on living in this world.

Hopefully, Megumi chooses yes.

[spookyrea]

... Though I'm Not That Flexible

(part 2 following You Can Wrap Me 'Round Your Finger)

You prepare to tell Loki you love him. Much to his embarrassment, Loki has to tell you something, too.

(aka - frost giant biology is weird and Loki has to suffer the consequences) (and you're kinda into it) (oops)

Chapter 2 / 2 -- read it on AO3 here

Word count: ~9k

Warnings: 18+ !! fem reader; courtship/nesting behaviour, smut (and I mean... smut)

You watched Steve haul himself into the boxing ring, internally groaning at the thought of going toe-to-toe with the Man with a Plan himself. 

Loki hovered at your shoulder looking decidedly out of place in a button-down and trousers; he was off the training roster for the week after Bucky had benched him for his ‘poor attitude’. The only people currently brave (or stupid) enough to spar with him were Steve and Thor, the latter of whom was banned from sparring with Loki indoors because of, to quote Pepper, the 'Thor-And-Loki Event' in June.

Privately, you agreed with Bucky’s assessment – Loki had been acting strange lately. Clingy, extra affectionate but equally as moody. Any time you tried to pry you were met with the same response – that Loki was “fine” and “had complete control” over the situation.

Sometimes the best option with Loki was to let him come to you. His desire for absolute control was multi-faceted, but it usually worked out best if he could ask for help and feel like he had an explanation as to why. You knew from experience that hounding him could dig up raw insecurities about worth and ability. So - you made the most of it; if Loki was going to be clingy, he could at least be useful and clingy. 

“Hold these, please.” You pushed your towel and water bottle into his hand. Loki accepted them with only minor complaint, tucking them under his arm to make room for everything else you were sure to pile onto him.

Steve rattled the ropes fencing him inside the boxing ring. “Come on, soldier. Don’t keep an old man waiting.”

Loki stretched to hide his sparkling fingertips; you knew his seidr well enough by now to recognize how Steve’s shoelaces unraveled with a mind of their own.

With his arms raised like that, there was no denying Loki’s ‘growth-spurt’ – the buttons on his shirt strained to stay in their buttonholes, gaping a little across his chest. You fought back a grin, watching a young intern (definitely part of Tony’s university pipeline program) spill water down her front while admiring the pull of yet another too-small shirt. A few of her friends giggled, their faces downcast but their gazes teasing, peering up through their eyelashes every few seconds.

“What?” Loki glanced over his shoulder in the direction you were looking.

“Nothing. Some kids are staring at you, that’s all.” You honestly weren’t offended - you remembered what it was like to want Loki from afar, and you weren’t blind. You knew passersby were going to gawk and shoot him longing stares. Loki, however, seemed uncharacteristically upset. His eyes narrowed, upper lip curled slightly in dissatisfaction, and he turned back to you with his shoulders drawn taut. He hooked his fingers in the pocket of your hoodie – Loki’s hoodie, actually, since yours seemed to have mysteriously disappeared – and tugged you into his chest, pressing a firm, dry kiss to your mouth.

You blinked dazedly at him once he’d slunk back. “Is this one of those ‘obviously not interested’ moments?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“People stare all the time. It’s nothing new.”

“I know.” A pretty pink blush was creeping up his cheeks, warming his pale complexion. “I just thought it pertinent to make my intentions crystal clear.” Then, after a beat- “Do you think anyone would notice if I locked the changing room doors and had my way with you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course they would. Now– help me up. I have a senior citizen to cream.”

If anyone was getting creamed, it was you.

You circled the boxing ring on shaky feet, watching Steve round on you with that quiet cockiness of his. He flicked his stupidly perfect bangs out of his stupidly beautiful eyes and mimed a one-two punch combo while you considered giving into the universe and letting your limbs turn to oatmeal. Bucky sat in a folding chair on the sidelines, picking your scrimmage apart with his stupidly brilliant and equally beautiful eyes.

You hated them.

Bucky picked up on details you would never have noticed – your uneven stance, the angle of your elbow when you raised your fists – and, while helpful on paper, it only served to raise your blood pressure by a few degrees. Not helped by the fact that Bucky seemed to know what moves Steve was going to make before he did, so could comment on your form before you’d even finished a move.

PAL whistled encouragement when you just barely blocked a left hook. Tony had set him in Bucky’s lap so he could watch you and Steve train. (“He’s so little. He can’t see over anything.”) At least PAL liked you, even if he was out for blood.

“I agree with the pest, darling. You should wring his neck,” Loki offered from the sidelines. He leant his head on his forearms where they were draped over the ropes, his bored expression betrayed only by the way his brow furrowed whenever Steve got too close to landing a hit.

(You were admittedly not very good at hand-to-hand combat. As a telekinetic, your fists were usually a last resort in the field.)

“This would all be so much easier if you stopped - hey! - swinging so much.” You swept the back of your hand across your eyes, hoping to clear the sweat pouring into them. “Also, has your stuff been going missing lately?”

“Kind of defeats the whole purpose of combat training.” Steve frowned, then threw his body weight into a kick to your chest, which you only barely dodged. He stumbled but quickly corrected, spinning to catch your right hook effortlessly. “But no, nothing’s gone missing lately. Well, my veggie straws have been disappearing but I buy those because Bucky insists he doesn’t like them and then sneaks them from my cupboard. Has he been breaking into yours too?”

You squirmed, planting your feet and leveraging your upper body to try and pry out of his hold. Unfortunately for you, Steve was two hundred and seventy pounds of solid steel pretending to be flesh, so you might as well have been a leaf trapped under a fourteen-wheeler. “No. My pillows keep disappearing.”

Your feet briefly left the ground when Steve lifted you by the wrists. He dumped you unceremoniously on the padded floor of the boxing ring and proceeded to loom over you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and fatherly rage. “Someone’s been perving on you?”

You pushed yourself upright, wincing when you felt your muscles protest the movement. “I don’t know!”

“Weird. Maybe you have a secret admirer. Loki!” Steve mimed an elbow drop but pulled his weight at the last second; he rolled to the side and sprawled out, all six-feet-four-inches of him laid out next to you without having broken a sweat. “Keep an eye on your girl, ya’ hear?”

Loki visibly preened at the idea of you being his girl. You felt a whisper of seidr across your cheek, a sparkling green kiss so fleeting it could have been a trick.

Steve squinted up at him from the floor of the boxing ring. “Are you bigger?”

“You’ve gotta start throwing punches, kid.” Bucky interrupted from the sidelines. PAL bobbed his head in agreement. “Look, I was just like you. A sharp shooter–”

“I’m telekinetic.”

“My point still stands. I did all my best work from a hundred yards away. But sometimes, in the field, you’re gonna have some guy get in your space and wail on you, and I need to know you won’t just fold like a deck of cards when that happens.”

“I’m sorry I’m not built like a tank, Bucky.” You swiped the edge of your shirt over your forehead, grimacing when the already-wet material slid over your damp brow. 

“I’m not saying you have to put on a hundred pounds of muscle. Just-” Bucky slipped under the rope and into your personal space, rounding on you from behind to wrap his flesh arm around your throat. His other hand shot out and circled your wrist, holding it at an awkward angle so that your muscles locked uncomfortably. “Just play dirty. If I get this close, I will kill you. So what are you going to do about it?”

You hissed, jerking under his metal hand. “Ow, Bucky, I get it–”

It took all three of you a moment to register that the noise rumbling through the air was coming from Loki. The fluorescents overhead flickered in waves, darkness ebbing and flowing from a point above Loki’s head. They buzzed and crackled unnaturally with displeasure. Bucky’s arms dropped away to put a bit of space between your bodies. Loki’s eyebrows drew tight in the middle, a scowl twisting his pretty face.

“Hey, My Chemical Mischief,” Tony yelled from across the gym. “Cool it with the dick measuring contest, will you? We get it, she’s a kept woman - I don’t think Barnes wants any of that.”

Thor laughed. Racking his barbells, he straddled his padded bench and flicked sparks of electricity from his fingertips, a strange side-effect that manifested whenever he strained himself. He taunted something to Loki in their mother tongue and the effect was instantaneous; Loki gaped at his brother, his growling cut short, and hurled something – an insult? – back. 

With a few words they reduced the other to adolescents. Though none of you mortals could even hope to dissect their twisting language, it was clear that the two of them were rehashing centuries of arguments all at once.

Loki reeled back when Thor, his nose tilted to the ceiling, punctuated a sentence with a nod in your direction. “You will do nothing of the sort,” Loki snapped in English.

“Loki.” Exasperation dripped from Thor’s tone, mingling with the kind of joy that came from lecturing a younger sibling. He folded his arms and shot Loki a smarmy do-as-I-say glare. ”This is only going to end in disaster.”

Loki’s jaw snapped shut with a click. His pinched expression seemed to push Thor to hysterics. Thor goaded him on, wagging a callused finger; Loki’s hand fisted at his side as he moved to strangle his brother.

They must have been terrible pests on Asgard.

In English, Thor continued: “I have never been happier that you were adopted. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You’re preening. ”

Loki crossed the gym in a few long strides, a veritable storm cloud brewing over his head. The air crackled, ozone heavy in the air; the difference in pressure caused the open changing room door to slam shut, as if a draft had kicked up. Tony hopped to his feet, pointing between the two brothers. “Nuh uh. You guys take it outside. I am filled with too much scrap metal for you two to be throwing thunderstorms around inside. Again. ”

Loki grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck. Thor stumbled, still laughing, and tucked his shoulder into Loki’s chest as if to throw him over it. Loki hissed something unintelligible - Tony hollered something unrepeatable - and then the two brothers blinked out of sight in a flash of bright green.

You ran into them in the lobby on your way back from the corner store that evening. Both of them were soaking wet, their plainclothes plastered to their skin. Loki brushed by you with a stormy expression, anger rolling off of him in palpable waves; Thor followed a few feet behind, decidedly more jovial. Loki called over his shoulder: “do not say anything, Thor. I’m handling this.”

They left a trail of rainwater in their wake, their shoes squeaking across the marble floor. Thor clapped you on the shoulder as you passed and, through the widest grin you’d ever seen, said: “my darling friend – make sure you use protection.”

A flash of green sizzled across Thor’s knuckles; he yanked his hand away with a shout, raising his hand to examine a line of fresh, pink welts. Loki hissed at him; Thor cast you a sideways look, then winked. To his brother, he called: “I am always right, am I not?”

Loki snapped his fingers, calling Thor to attention like a master might call their dog to heel. Except Thor was the oldest, and had a petty streak longer than the continental United States, and his younger brother’s displeasure clearly brought him unbridled joy, so Thor slung one arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze, rubbing his prickly cheek against yours for good measure.

You squirmed under his arm. “Is this another Asgardian thing?”

Thor answered “no” at the same time that Loki answered “yes”.

Loki stormed back to your side and wrenched his brother away, speaking in a low tone. Fixing his brother with a scathing stare, Loki rubbed his thumb over your jaw, then rode his hand down the curve of your neck to sit on your shoulder, as if to wipe the physical evidence of his brother’s touch from your skin. 

Thor sidled up behind Loki and scrubbed a hand over your cheek; Loki, hackles raised, elbowed his brother in the side, setting off a chain reaction of flying fists and snapping teeth. 

Your groceries were definitely melting. “I’m gonna go. Uh, Loki, you can… You can come upstairs when you’re… done…”

Loki, who was trapped in a headlock by his older brother, nodded jerkily to you. “Of course, dear– Thor. You foul–” 

You watched as your boyfriend transformed into a glossy black snake. He fell to the marble with a sad, wet slap and played dead, lolled tongue and all.

Luckily, your ice cream was mostly salvageable.

The shower was hot. Maybe a bit too hot. Steam cloyed, clouding your periphery and leaving you feeling flushed. You contemplated switching the tap a half an inch toward to the right, but then you risked overshooting and being too cold. 

“I’m being called away,” Loki said by way of greeting. He was still a bit damp; his hair had just begun to curl around the ends. The steam, its attention caught by the open door, billowed around him on its escape path. “I was going to tell you earlier, but my brother had other plans.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. Close the door, please?”

“Right. Sorry.” The door slipped shut with a click. Loki hoisted himself onto your bathroom counter, his hands clasped loosely between his knees while he watched you rinse the last suds from your legs. “Believe me, darling, I don’t want to leave you, but it seems that Fury wants my head on a stake.”

“Thor, too. What was that about?”

Loki waved a hand. “Brotherly taunts. Now would you hurry up? I want to ravish you before I’m a decrepit, thank you very much.”

“Give me a minute.” You turned your back to him for a better angle under the shower head. You heard the shower door slide open – you assumed so that Loki could ogle you properly – then startled when his shadow crossed over you.

“Loki!” You shrieked, cringing when wet cotton slid over your belly as he wound his arms around your waist. “You’re fully dressed! You can’t– bad! Naughty!”

“I was already wet. Now I’m warm and wet.” He tsked, rubbing his cheek against the curve of your shoulder with an arrogance only a prince could muster. “I just couldn’t resist.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“Truthfully, pet, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less remorse in my life.” His wet fingers fumbled with the top button on his shirt. The plastic was slippery and the buttons small, so it took more than a few tries to get the first one out; by the time he had wrenched the third free, he was cursing. “Ok,” he said around a laugh. “Maybe I’m a little remorseful. But this is your fault, let it be known.”

“My fault?”

“Yes.” Two more buttons down. Loki growled, then tore the rest of them out with a firm jerk of the button placket. They scattered, bouncing off the tile with tiny sounds, and Loki struggled to pull the sleeves off his skin. “You’re so beguiling. I’m– I can hardly tear myself away.” He threw the shirt through the open shower doors, then considered his trousers. “Oh, nevermind.” With a flick of his wrist, the last of his clothing melted away. “Why do I even bother, honestly?”

You tipped your head back against the shower wall and hummed, enjoying the simple pleasure of Loki’s nearness. He was a vision under the spray, dark hair plastered and curling over pale skin and pink lips parted, glossy with water. When his fingers crept over your hip to tease the skin under your ribs, your chest soared, the hollow space between your lungs aching ice cold. 

(You loved him). 

(You promised yourself you would tell him when he returned from whatever mission Fury had assigned, come hell or high water - and you almost believed it.)

When you opened your eyes, you found Loki to be looking at you with the most peculiar hunger. “What?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“I wouldn’t call that ‘looking’. I would say you’re eating me with your eyes.” You rolled your shoulders, then reached around him for the tap. “I’m starting to feel a bit dizzy. Let’s dry off and you can tell me all about why Fury is taking you away from me.”

“You mean you let me suffer through that whole ordeal for naught?”

“I didn’t ask you to climb in here fully clothed. Now– chop chop, loverboy. You’re closest to the towels.”

He left in the early morning. It seemed to take a great deal of physical effort for him to extricate himself from your bed, even greater than it did on Sunday. By the time he had slipped into his last piece of armour, his breath was short and tense, and his mouth turned down in a harsh curve.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine. Just don’t… Just wait for me, okay?”

You were a couple seconds behind, your brain still heavy with the early hour. “What do you mean, honey?”

Loki shook his head. He leaned his weight on the edge of the bed and curled over you, pressing a dry kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry yourself. Go back to bed.”

“I can help–”

“I have it all under control. I’ll be back in a few days.” He said the last part like he was trying to convince himself more than he was you.

Only three days later and you were going a little stir-crazy. Maybe whatever clinginess-disease he had had rubbed off on you.

You couldn’t take it anymore – you missed your boyfriend. He had been scheduled to return that morning but another impromptu snowstorm had pushed his arrival back by a day, leaving you with an empty afternoon to putter. But once your laundry was done and your shower scrubbed, there wasn’t much left to do besides twiddle your thumbs and marathon episodes of Forensic Files. 

You took the elevator to his floor and let yourself in with a spare key. Your shoulders dropped, an unregistered tension draining as you breathed in the familiar smell of Loki’s cologne and lavender incense. There was a certain comfort in the menial reminders of him – his shoes by the door, his coat on the rack. You tossed your keys on the kitchen counter. “So much for man-eating wolves.”

You half expected his fridge to be barren, considering how much time he had spent over the last week in your apartment, but you were pleasantly surprised to find it well stocked – too well stocked. Whatever occasion he was preparing for was unknown to you, but he seemed to be anticipating an apocalypse or city-wide shortage of seasonal fruits and vegetables. You helped yourself to some from a pre-cut container and shuffled toward his bedroom to take a nap.

You stopped dead in your tracks under the threshold.

“You are the pillow thief.”

Fabric was draped languorously from every surface - a stack of quilts over his desk chair, pillowcases folded neatly on his dresser. The curtains were drawn tightly, two or three panels layered on top of each other to block out as much natural light as possible. He appeared to have gathered every pillow in his apartment - and a few of yours - and piled them in a semi-circle against the headboard. A few had fallen to the wayside, at the foot of the bed or scattered across the carpet, and a great spread of throw blankets was draped across the comforter. You could just make out the corner of one of your t-shirts peeking out from his pillows.

There was a decidedly two person-sized divot in the centre of it all, like you were meant to burrow in together.

“What have you been up to, my darling boy?”

You crawled across the covers and peeled them back, layer by layer. More of your shirts tumbled out, as well as a hoodie and a cashmere scarf. It was bewildering to say the least, but not entirely out of the norm for Loki. (He once spent two weeks meticulously replacing all of your cutlery with a mismatched charity shop set, so what was a little blanket theft, really?) You just couldn’t quite put your finger on why he had chosen this prank, nor why he would bother to build a veritable nest out of his spoils.

Tired and more than a little giggly, you tucked yourself between two comforters and curled up on your side. You’d have to ask him when he got home.

(In his defense, it was really comfy).

You blinked awake to the sound of your phone vibrating. It took you a moment to find it among the layers of blankets and pillows but eventually you wrenched it free and swiped accept. “Hello?”

Loki’s voice carried through the little speaker. “Where are you? You’re not in your apartment.”

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “That’s because I’m in yours.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. Then, “you’re what?”

“I’m in your apartment. Which– you have so much explaining to do.” You pushed yourself out of his bed. Through the phone, you heard FRIDAY greet him and a familiar jingle when Loki punched the button for his floor. 

“I… You weren’t supposed to see that.”

You laughed. You could hear him struggling to find his keys, his anxiety palpable even through the phone. “Loki, was this some sort of prank to keep me from refusing to sleep over?”

“No, it…” His keys ground in the lock. “It was…”

You pulled the door open for him. He blinked owlishly at you, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his cheek.

“Hi,” you said, and your voice echoed through his phone.

He ended the call. “Hi.”

The two of you walked together, Loki on tentative feet while you guided him, pulling on one of his harness straps until you were through the threshold. His bag slid from his shoulder with a thud; he was still wearing his armour, which you smoothed your fingers under and began to unclasp piece by piece, setting it on the table by the door.

“Loki,” you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you want to explain the nest in your bedroom?”

His shoulders tensed. “Thor, you bastard.”

You worked one of his leather straps free, tossing it aside. “What?”

“Just - ignore this,” he said. “Go back to your apartment. I have to go kill my brother, and then burn everything I own, and then maybe I’ll be able to scrounge up the dignity to see you before sunrise.”

He made an aborted movement to turn out from your arms, but you reached out with your mind and slid the deadbolt in place before he could slip through the door. “Nuh uh. What does Thor have to do with this? Is this about your fight? I haven’t spoken to him since I ran into you two in the hall.”

“Wait.” It was your turn to face Loki’s ire, it seemed, because he whirled on you, his finger raised accusingly. “How did you know about the nesting then?”

“I was joking.” You pulled the final knife sheath free, leaving him in his leather breastplate and heavy wool trousers. “I mean, you piled all of our collective pillows into a queen-sized bed. Do you mean to tell me you’re actually nesting? Is this another Asgardian courtship thing I should know about?”

“I-” Loki looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. A familiar curl of self-consciousness had begun to spoil his expression. He turned his cheek and spit out a curse. “Nevermind.”

“Loki, please.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “If you tell me your secret, I’ll tell you one in return.”

If there was one thing Loki loved more than self-pity, it was being let in on a secret. His eyes bolted up from glaring a hole into the hardwood to catch yours, assessing your deal. “Do not make bets you cannot pay, darling.” 

“I already have the perfect secret picked out. Explain.”

He watched you for a long time. Eventually, with a very careful, measured tone, he opened his mouth to speak. “I’ve never… Oh, this is humiliating.” Loki scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Asgardians know very little about Jotun customs. It’s… We didn’t have much need to study them, outside of battle. But it’s common knowledge that frost giants… mate for life. They pick someone to bond with and when they’re serious… In the spring… ”

 “Loki,” you cooed. “Humor me.”

He groaned and slunk to his knees before you. His forehead pressed against your hip while both his hands curled around your calves to steady himself. He mumbled something unintelligible against your leg.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “What was that?”

Loki sighed. “When they find a suitable mate they try... I’m… My biology is trying to entice you to tie yourself to me. Forever.”

“So the nesting thing? And the um… the clinginess?”

He toyed with the edge of your t-shirt. “Yes. I… I get quite upset when you don’t respond favorably to my… advances .”

“I picked up on that. Wait,” you pinched the meat of his bicep. “Is this why you’re getting bigger?”

“It appears that my glamours are failing, yes.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re growing in some new plumage to woo me with?” You trailed your finger along a featherlight path over his jaw. Lowering your voice, you couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Are you going to sing for me next?”

A scowl twisted his expression into something mean. “You forget who you’re speaking to, mortal.”

His tone did nothing to dissuade you. So rarely were you the one with the power to tease and you intended to take advantage. “Anything else I should know?”

“Well, if I’m already speaking candidly…” It came out bitingly, Loki’s voice laced with a burning mix of self-deprecation and frustration. “I can hardly think about anything else other than bending you over every available piece of furniture and fucking you until one of us passes out.”

“Loki,” you warned as his fingers wormed their way under the waistband of your pants. “We’re finishing this conversation.”

“Later, darling.” He pushed them down an inch and pressed his mouth to your hip. “Let us at least enjoy my biology for a little while.”

“Loki.” The air crackled, seidr whispering across your skin where the two of you connected as he considered testing your resolve. You felt the phantom impression of hands around your wrists, which you shook off with a glare. “Down.”

His lip curled in displeasure but he obeyed, sitting back on his heels. “It’s infuriating. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening.”

You joined him on the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. “What does it mean to… ‘mate’?”

Loki’s shoulders rounded and bowed; he tilted his face away from you, hiding his expression behind a wall of thick, black hair. “You just… are. You’re partners for life. A family. I’m not sure there are words in any mortal language to explain the breadth of it.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “It seems my biology has decided that you’re a good match for… that.”

“Loki…”

“I love you.” He said it so plainly, as if he was commenting on the weather. Your heartbeat turned hot and dizzy as you watched his long fingers trace the floorboard, his words rattling around in the space between your ears – I love you, I love you, I love– “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re wearing my ring, and my knives, and my clothes. You smell like me–”

“Wait–”

“I built you a nest. I’m not human. Your priorities are in desperate need of reassessment if that’s the part you’re uncomfortable with.” Loki rolled his eyes, that bit of familiar petulance peeking through his foul mood. “Anyway. It makes sense that my body would choose you. That I would… would want to convince you...”

“You know you don’t have to convince me.”

Loki picked at a knot in the wood, a loathsome smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Oh, but I do.”

You couldn’t bear the distance any longer; you crawled the last couple of feet to wrap your arms around his chest. He tipped into you, pressing his cheek against your shoulder and drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. Yet, despite his pain, a part of you sang as you stroked a line down his cheek. You were loved and in love – what greater joy was there than that?

Not for the first time in your relationship, guilt welled up in your chest. Being in love with Loki felt a little like learning a new language; he was so capricious, so aloof, that you sometimes felt like you were left out of a joke when he teased you, or flirted, or sidled up to touch you. It often wasn’t until afterward that you became aware of the fact that he was being sincere, that his teasing was earnestness wrapped up in a barbed tongue. 

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt. You might not have always understood his advances, but you would try to. For him, you would always try.

“Is there some sort of ritual involved? Do I have to cover myself in runes or something?”

He shook his head against your chest. “I think it just… happens. I’m not sure. There are very few intricacies about frost giant habits with which I’m familiar. But based on how my body is responding, I would assume it boils down to ravishing you on every surface available to me.”

You hummed. “And what will happen if we ignore it?”

Loki, turned mute by anxiety, drew a line down your arm with his knuckle. Finally, he mumbled, “I’ll be fine. I’ll just be very… sad. For the next few days.”

“Sad?”

“I know logically that you’re not, but it feels… Like you’re rejecting me.” 

“And how do you want me to respond?”

He sneered again and ducked his head, dragging a hand over his face frustratedly. “I want you to bare your throat to me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up inside of you. “What?”

The glare Loki shot you was bitterly cold. “Do not pretend that you misheard me.”

“No, no, Loki,” you reached out and twined your fingers together. “I mean, surely there’s more than that, right? You want me to do the same things for you? To- to nest? I’m not going to hunt a stag or something for you but I can definitely, like, go to the butcher and get you a prize cut.”

Loki shook his head. “I just want you to accept. To accept me .”

“And the throat…?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You ran your finger along the edge of your t-shirt, where it sat snugly against your collarbone, and watched his pupils dilate. Wordlessly you tugged on his hand, drawing it up to your neck, and placed it there loosely. “That’s it?”

His hand tightened, fingernails catching ever so gently against your skin. “You heard the part where I said that frost giants mate for life, yes?”

You nodded. “Mhmm.”

As if possessed, Loki leaned forward to nose at your pulse point. “So you understand that this… this is forever.”

“And ever and ever?”

“Brat.” His teeth scraped across your skin. “I’ve grown tired of this one-sided vulnerability. I believe you promised me a secret, pet.”

“I did.” You took a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

His fingers stilled around your throat. He seemed to not even breathe as he considered your confession. With a calculated effort, Loki peeled his hands off your neck and his voice, deep and rumbling with restraint, cut through the silence. “You should run.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Unless you want me to fuck you here on this cold, hard floor, I suggest that you run back to that pretty little nest I made you.”

A hot flush washed over you, starting in your cheeks and pooling in the pit of your belly. Loki leaned forward and sweetly kissed your collarbone, then reached up and tore your t-shirt down the middle.

“Loki!”

He smiled against your cheek. “I wasn’t joking, my love.” He sat back on his haunches and folded his hands in his lap, his gaze simmering with something molten hot. Though he moved slowly, projecting a characteristic aloofness, you could see the tendons in his neck straining as he worked against instinct to hold still. He grinned, all teeth, and jerked his chin toward his bedroom. “Run.”

You scrambled to your feet. The hardwood was slippery under your socks. You took a couple tentative steps backwards, watching the way Loki’s eyes raked over you like a butcher pulled pork. Your skin buzzed under his gaze as if you were standing under a powerline, electrified by a well of energy crackling overhead. 

His control was crumbling by the second. The faucet was leaking– Tony had promised he’d have someone over within the week to fix it – and the water beading on its edge began to sizzle and pop, blinking out of existence in green bursts. The microwave display went black as Loki’s seidr overwhelmed the kitchen’s circuit breaker; the hum of the refrigerator died with it, plunging the room into an unnatural silence, so heavy that you could hear your own breath catching in your chest. Loki shifted his weight to his knees.

Your heart thrilled.

You broke in unison; you started to run at the same time that Loki sprang to his feet. A laugh bubbled up out of your chest; you reached out with your mind and swept the cushions off the couch, pelting Loki with them before he could reach you. He swore, and a tongue of emerald light crackled at your ankles, nearly tripping you. You stumbled but managed to make it over the threshold of his bedroom door. Something collided heavily with the wall behind you, followed by the sound of debris coming loose and littering the floor.

You landed with a bounce in the center of the bed, sending a cascade of pillows tumbling to the ground. Loki appeared moments later, breathing heavily and bracketing the door with his arms. He must have tripped during the chase; dust and bits of drywall covered his left arm. His irises had disappeared, carved to mere slivers by his blown pupils. Your breath caught in your chest when you noticed the line of his cock, hard and wanting, straining against his pants.

You shrugged out of your ruined shirt while Loki stalked across the small bedroom, still dressed for battle. He swatted a discarded pillow out of the air when you used your powers to raise it, then shredded another one in an eruption of light and feathers when you tried to catch him from behind. A low purr rumbled through him, melting into the hum of his seidr as it thrummed through the air.

Sensing he would tear through every scrap of fabric you managed to throw up between yourselves, you yielded slowly, tipping your chin back, drawing his attention to your throat.

Loki’s body hit the bed with a muffled thump. He crawled up the length of you on shaky limbs, pressing a grateful, sloppy kiss to your mouth before moving down to your pulse point. Burying his face there, Loki dropped his full weight on top of you. “You really should not indulge me. I might never let you leave.”

“I’ve always been terrible at saying no to you.”

He laved at a spot on your neck. His hips pinned yours against the mattress, shifting against you aimlessly as his arousal heightened. Experimentally, you pressed your leg into him; a groan tumbled from his mouth before he closed one hand around your thigh and rutted up a little more purposefully. “Love. My little love.”

Loki pushed up to his knees and pulled on the strap holding his breastplate in place. You sat up on one elbow and pinched your bra clasp with the other hand. It had only just come undone when Loki worked his hands under the band and tugged it off of you roughly. You tsked in retaliation, then pulled his armour over his head. Just as soon as it hit the floor, Loki was crawling backwards, sliding his hands down your thighs with a heavy reverence.

Your pyjama pants joined the scattered mix of armour and plainclothes on the floor. Now that you were completely bare, Loki slunk up to admire you, leaving a wet trail of kisses over your body until he reached the thin skin over your pulse. One of his hands pushed your knees apart to draw featherlight circles across your inner thighs. 

You tugged on his hair, trying to convince him to lean up and kiss you properly. Loki grumbled but did not concede; his left hand slipped from between your legs and took your wrist, jamming it against the headboard before returning to run circles around your clit. When you pulled, you found your arm immobilized; a tangle of green light pinned it in place above your head.

“Rude,” you gasped. Loki smiled against your neck, dragging his chin through a trail of his own spit.

“Evil,” he agreed.

“Can you at least- at least take your pants off?”

The air shifted; when you glanced down, you were pleased to find that Loki had magically done away with the rest of his clothing, giving you an unobstructed view of his lithe body. You hummed, satisfied, and slid your free hand down his back to palm his ass.

Loki lazily drew his middle two fingers up and down your slit, toying with you in a display of casual dominance. Occasionally he would dip into you, pressing only far enough to leave you wanting before retreating to trace an intricate pattern of knots between your thighs. Despite the hard weight of him, nestled in the cradle of your hips and burning hot with desire, he seemed determined to take his time tangling with you. You rocked your hips, seeking some sort of pressure or friction, and were met with a haughty grin against your breast instead.

You babbled. You begged. The fingers between your thighs patronized you, pressing but never breaching, circling but never stroking. 

Finally, though you suspected it was due to his own neediness and not the way you were pleading, he raised his head to kiss you, sliding his tongue, hot and possessive, over yours. Between the teasing pressure at your cunt and the burning weight of his cock against your hip, a desperation paced in the space between your ribs that left you aching, left you wanting. You tugged a little more firmly at your restraint. When that didn’t budge, you worked your free hand under him to run your fingers up and down the underside of his cock.

The bedside lamp buzzed and flared. Loki nipped at your bottom lip. “I’ll take away your other hand if I have to.”

And yet, despite his warning, Loki slid his fingers inside of you, a little deeper, curling slightly, and pressed at that soft spot you needed him to touch. A smug curl of delight rose in your belly, that you could make him so docile with a touch. You closed your hand around his cock and pumped him slowly, testing your sway. 

“Pet,” he pleaded. “Just let me take my time with you.”

You bit back a sigh when he sat up, blinking wide cow-eyes down at you with an expression bordering on insecurity. “Please, Loki. My love.”

He choked out a whine. His eyes shut tightly for a heartbeat, eyebrows creased deeply in the middle. Your hand slipped free from the headboard – victory – but before you could really enjoy your freedom, Loki flipped you over on all fours.

“If all it took to domesticate you was a four letter word, I would have said something sooner.” One of his hands came down in a warning tap against the side of your thigh. You gasped out a laugh, turning your cheek to catch a glimpse of him. His fingers were splayed over his eyes, partially obscured by his wild hair, and his mouth had turned up in a grin, his usual cool demeanour betrayed by a giddy kind of anticipation. You pressed back against him. “Is this the part where you fuck me?”

He tugged you upwards, manhandling you onto your knees in front of him. You felt his chest mould to your back as he shuffled closer to slot his cock between your thighs, tauntingly, sliding through slick, heated skin, his cockhead bumping against your clit with every pass when his hips met the plush of your ass. “Oh, I’m not going to fuck you, darling.” 

You reached between your legs to guide him inside you, but Loki snatched your hand by the wrist and held it there, so his cock glided just along your fingertips, occasionally catching at your entrance only to pull away at the last second.

“I’m going to lay claim to you. I’m going to breed you,” he panted against the shell of your ear. Your thighs clenched tight when Loki pressed the heel of your hand against the lip of your mound, applying pressure to your aching clit. “I’m going to ply you until you are limp and then I’m going to fill you until you are dripping, understand? I’m going to mark you so thoroughly that you will never be rid of me.”

He pressed even harder, rolling your hand by the wrist. His eyelashes brushed the heated skin of your cheek as he pressed his face to yours, drinking in the closeness of your body. “And when all is said and we’re sated, I’ll make love to you. And that’s a promise.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. You whimpered, your back arching into him while he worked you higher and higher. Loki murmured praise against your skin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

He smiled against your shoulder. “Excellent.”

One of his arms hooked under your breasts, holding you up and flush against his chest. The other tilted your hips back, so you were nearly sat in his lap.

“Can you…” Loki huffed out a laugh against your skin. In a small voice he asked, “Tell me you love me again?”

There was no universe where you could deny him that. “I love you. Loki, I love you. Loki–”

Your eyes squeezed shut as he fed you his cock, inch by delicious inch, until you were fully seated against him. He swore, then growled out another stuttering laugh. A hot breath washed over the shell of your ear as he tucked his chin against your shoulder, and an experimental roll of his hips had you jolting in his arms, your toes curling when he slid over that spongy, sensitive spot inside of you.

“God,” you gasped.

He hummed in agreement, slipping his free hand between your legs to apply a firm pressure to your clit. His head rolled against your shoulder as he started a slow, teasing pace. “Pretty thing,” he cooed.

You felt his eyebrows furrow against your back. His mouth dropped open, panting hot air across your shoulder blades. Your hands shook, fisting in the bedsheets; you felt tears well behind your eyes as sensations overwhelmed you, a bit of pleasure and a bit of pain. You choked out a moan, a gasp, his name cut short.

“Loki. Please. I can’t.”

“You can,” he said against your shoulder. The hand between your legs grew a little desperate, sliding in tight circles while the rest of him worked you at his mercy up and down his cock. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you? My pretty little mate,” he continued. “You are, I know you are. You’re going to come for me, and then you’re going to take what I have to give you. You’re going to let your mate fill that little cunt of yours and you’re going to be grateful, hmm?”

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut. You were teetering on the edge of a knife, a knot in your belly drawn tight but threatening to unravel at any moment. A gasp tore from your chest when Loki changed angles, pulling you down with more force while leveraging his body weight to thrust into your harder. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder and you squealed, one hand flying behind you to anchor yourself against his hip.

“Yes,” Loki gasped. “Yes, that’s it darling.”

Relief washed over you for a heartbeat, a small coil shattered as Loki worked himself into you. You rocked back against him, writhing in his iron grip. The pressure on your clit eased away for a moment before doubling down, his middle two fingers burning molten pleasure in their wake as seidr sparked over your skin from his fingertips. Chasing relief in your body, he mouthed at your shoulder a little mindlessly. Your name tumbled from his lips, a plea, for what you weren’t sure.

Small sounds were punched out of your chest with every thrust, growing in volume as he went on and your body buzzed with overstimulation.

“Please,” you begged. One of your hands curled around his forearm, gripping him tightly, while the other fisted in one of the long-forgotten pillows. “Please. Please, Loki.”

Your legs clamped shut when your orgasm finally crested. Loki swore, tumbling, stuttering to his own edge before plummeting; he tugged you down and held you there, spilling inside you with a shaky groan.

Finally, he lifted you off his lap and slid out of you. You tried to turn over in his arms, but he tipped the two of you onto your sides and held you in an iron grip against his chest. He mumbled something foreign in your ear, intercut by the occasional sigh or a press of his mouth to your sweat-slick skin.

You tried again to turn around but Loki held you still. “Give me a minute,” he panted.

You squirmed. “But I want to kiss you.”

Loki leaned over your shoulder and kissed you, his eyes squeezed shut. Hardly satisfied, you tried to hold him in place, but your exhausted limbs were no match for him; he slunk back out of sight only a moment later.

“Loki,” you whined. His arms tightened.

“I’m not… myself right now.”

Slowly, you rolled over in his arms to face him and soothed your hands up his chest. An attractive flush coloured his pale skin, spreading from the top of his stomach to the highest points of his cheeks. You picked a flake of drywall out of his hair. 

His eyes were downcast, shuttered and turned away so you couldn’t see into them. “I don’t want to frighten you,” he mumbled.

You tilted his face up; his eyes had changed, the irises gone red. They weren’t quite gemstones, or cherries, or robins or cardinals. The same red as poppies, maybe. Startling against his pale skin, framed by thick, dark lashes, but so deeply endearing, swimming with emotion as they flickered back and forth over your face.

You must have been quiet too long; Loki huffed and buried his face in his pillow.

“No, wait,” you said. “Come back. Let me look at you.”

“No. I can’t bear it.”

“Stop being dramatic. Let me look at my pretty boyfriend.”

“Your pretty boyfriend is out of commission, I’m afraid.” His voice was muffled. He patted the bed until he found the comforter, which he then pulled over his head petulantly. “He can’t seem to control himself right now. He’ll come out later.”

You wormed your hands under the blanket and pulled it back from his face. Loki sighed and peered up at you from behind his pillow, his eyes barely open to slits to glare at you. You pushed a curl off his forehead, followed by a dry kiss to his cheek. “You know your eyes change colour all the time, right?”

“But the green is handsome. Intimidating,” he grumbled. “This is…”

“Gorgeous.”

“Horrifying,” he countered.

You pouted. “That’s my mate you’re talking about.”

That seemed to break the spell he’d fallen under. You felt the gentle brush of his fingers first, then the smooth slide of his hand down your side to hook around your hip. He drew you into his chest so he could press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “Hi.”

You returned his smile. “Hi.”

“You’re really not afraid?”

You pushed a stray pillow off the bed, trying and failing to extricate one of the blankets to drape over your bodies. Loki had been right about one thing - it was freakishly cold this week, and the chill was beginning to needle your sweat-damp skin unpleasantly. “Honestly, I’m more worried about the food in your freezer going bad. You blew a fuse in there.”

“Midgardians. You have no sense of self-preservation.” Loki reached out to help tuck you in. 

“Mhm… Coming from the guy whose favourite schtick is ‘pretend to grovel until you think up a better plan’.”

“That is, by definition, self-preserving.”

“Whatever. You blew a fuse. And maybe fixed the leak?”

“I also punched a hole through the wall.”

“Tony is gonna be so mad at you.” You scraped your fingernails across Loki’s scalp, drawing a deep rumble from his chest. “Ok, five more minutes and then we need to get cleaned up.”

“I think you’re mistaken, pet. We’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the week.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not risking a UTI for that.”

Loki groaned. He pulled his mouth from your neck just long enough to kiss you. “Fine. Shower?”

“Yes, but we’re just showering. I don’t want to get waterboarded like last time.”

“Of course, darling. Not in the shower.” He kissed you again, slowly this time, coaxing your lips apart with a thumb on your jaw. When he finally pulled away it was with a hiss and a sticky, wet sound. “Although I do intend to bend you over the sink so you can watch yourself fall apart first.”

“Oh?”

His red eyes found yours. They narrowed, sparkling with mirth, as he gathered you up in his arms. “Tell me again,” he purred, “how much you love me. I might just have mercy.”

You did.

He didn’t.

Not that you minded.

[hotvintagepoll]

Do you have any opinions on modern (post-1970s) movies that you feel capture the essence (in a good way) of Old Movies?

No, unfortunately. That doesn't mean I don't like modern movies or that modern movies aren't good, but modern movies—and here I'm really using modern to mean post-2010, so contemporary movies—have different standards for pacing, characterization, budget, and production that make it harder (or impossible) to capture some of the magic of old movies. Even when modern movies clearly try to emulate that old-movie feeling—I'm thinking of La La Land, The Artist, The Shape of Water, In the Heights—they play the homage too broadly, or they ignore crucial components that make the original films work.

There's kind of too much to go into here without writing a full essay, but essentially, the Old Hollywood system—ugly, failed beast as she was—made some movies simply more accessible to make, due to the ongoing storage of props, sets, master craftsmen, crew, and onscreen talent that could move from one movie to the next without pause. If you needed a dancer, he was already on staff. If you needed a fancy bed, it was already in the warehouse. That kind of longterm storage is invaluable if you want to crank out movies quickly and cheaply because it saves so much time on individual negotiation and sourcing. Modern production companies have to work out individual contracts for every actor on every film; crew members have to negotiate rental contracts and source pieces from scratch; if you need someone with specialist skills, you have to contract them specially at a high rate, which a lot of small companies can't (or won't) budget to do. There's sand in the wheels where there needn't be any. It's wasteful, and costly, but that's the system modern movies are made with.

Which all means that even if the modern movie system wanted to make a classic movie musical just like the old ones, they couldn't, because the talent isn't already there—it hasn't been trained up enough, and there's not that breadth of knowledge you can only get from people who have been allowed to work in the same department in the same place for decades. Movies like La La Land fail, for me, because they present themselves as descendants of Fred Astaire or Busby Berkley movies, while missing the bit where Fred Astaire was a master of his craft. When you watch Fred Astaire dance—or Moira Shearer, or the Nicholas Brothers, or Ann Miller—you are watching a true artist at work, purposely showcased by the studios because they already have them on contract. Modern movies, on the other hand, tend to take people who already have star talent (as actors) and try to convert them into dancers/singers—or they pull dancers/singers off of Broadway, but then they don't have the star power built in. You end up with lackluster musicals where no one truly knows what they're doing, or they do but they're not built up enough by the studios to sell. And that's me discussing just on-screen talent for musicals—there is a huge loss behind the scenes, as well, for all kinds of movies, where roles that would have been filled by union crew who moved continuously from one job to the next have been swapped for freelance labor who live with immense turnover, financial insecurity, and knowledge loss. You could hand me the budget and I could try to make an old movie, but the industry itself has changed so much it's impossible to recapture that charm of steady, niche talent, the amazing possibilities of bonkers set design, and the ability to take a risk on a smaller movie because the other films being produced by the same studio can help balance the budget.

I've talked way, way too much about all of this! Sorry, I just have a lot of thoughts—and the one above is just one of them; the talent loss and storage issues are only facets of a much bigger problem that extends to how we watch movies today, how we market them, what we expect of them, and what's allowed in them. It's a crying shame because the talent is still there, but times change and so does the industry, for better or for worse. (And, just again to clarify, I don't think modern movies are bad—they're just missing a lot of the juice old movies got to play with, even if there's more talent available than ever before.)

[wilcze-kudly]

Hey so can we like stop with the "Zutara is for the girls and Kataang is for the boys" thing. It's silly and it's breakdancing just on the edge of gender essentialism.

The assumption that there is something inherent to Zutara that appeals predominantly to women and Kataang that appeals predominantly to men is dishonest because every ship can have appeal to all genders.

The discussion of the "female gaze" in Zutara and the "male gaze" in Kataang is also redundant. I enjoy dissecting the concept of "the gaze", however it is important to note that the "female gaze" doesn't have a set definition or grouping of conventions it adheres to. Lisa French,  Dean of RMIT University’s School of Media and Communication says:

“The female gaze is not homogeneous, singular or monolithic, and it will necessarily take many forms... The aesthetic approaches, experiences and films of women directors are as diverse as their individual life situations and the cultures in which they live. The "female' gaze” is not intended here'to denote a singular concept. There' are many gazes."

Now excuse me as I put on my pretentious humanistics student hat.

Kataang's appeal to women and the female gaze

Before I start, I want to note that the female gaze is still a developing concept

There are very few female film directors and writers, and most of them are white. The wants and desires of women of colour, the demographic Katara falls into, are still wildly underepresented. Additionally, the concept of the female gaze had many facets, due to it being more focused on emotional connections rather than physical appearance as the male gaze usually is. Which means that multiple male archetypes fall into the category of "for the female gaze".

The "female gaze" can be best described as a response to the "male gaze", which was first introduced by Laura Mulvey in her paper: "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" , however the term "male gaze" itself was not used in the paper.

Mulvey brought up the concept of the female character and form as the passive, objectified subject to the active voyeuristic male gaze, which the audience is encouraged to identify, usually through the male character.

To quote her:

"In a world ordered by sexual imbalance', pleasure' in looking has been split between active'/male' and passive/female'. The determining male gaze' projects its fantasy onto the female' figure', which is styled accordingly."

Mulvey also brings up the concept of scopopfillia (the term being introduced by Freud), the concept of deriving sexual gratification from both looking and being looked at. This concept has strong overtones of voyeurism, exhibitionism and narcissism, placing forth the idea that these overtones are what keeps the male viewer invested. That he is able to project onto the male character, therefore being also able to possess the passive female love interest.

However, it's important to note that Mulvey's essay is very much a product of its times, focused on the white, heterosexual and cisgender cinema of her time. She also drew a lot of inspiration from Freud's questionable work, including ye ole penis envy. Mulvey's paper was groundbreaking at the time, but we can't ignore how it reinforces the gender binary and of course doesn't touch on the way POC, particularly women of colour are represented in film.

In her paper, Mulvey fails to consider anyone who isn't a white, cis, heterosexual man or woman. With how underrepresented voices of minorities already are both in media and everyday life, this is something that we need to remember and strive to correct.

Additionally Mulvey often falls into gender essentialism, which I previously mentioned at the beginning of this post. Funny how that keeps coming up

"Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" started a very interesting and important conversation, and I will still be drawing from certain parts of it, however huge swathes of this text have already become near archaic, as our culture and relationship with media evolves at an incredible pace.

And as filmaking evolves, so does our definition of the male and female gaze. So let's see what contemporary filmakers say of it.

In 2016, in her speech during the Toronto International Film Festival , producer of the TV series Transparent, Jill Soloway says:

“Numero uno, I think the Female Gaze is a way of “feeling seeing”. It could be thought of as a subjective camera that attempts to get inside the protagonist, especially when the protagonist is not a Chismale. It uses the frame to share and evoke a feeling of being in feeling, rather than seeing – the characters. I take the camera and I say, hey, audience, I’m not just showing you this thing, I want you to really feel with me.

[Chismale is Soloway's nickname for cis males btw]

So the term "female gaze" is a bit of a misnomer, since it aims to focus on capturing the feelings of characters of all genders. It's becoming more of a new way of telling stories in film, rather than a way to cater to what white, cisgender, heterosexual women might find attractive in a man.

Now, Aang is the decided protagonist of the show, however, Atla having somewhat of an ensemble cast leads to the perspective shifting between different characters.

In the first episode of atla, we very much see Katara's perspective of Aang. She sees him trapped in the iceberg, and we immediately see her altruism and headstrong nature. After she frees Aang, we are very much first subjected to Katara's first impressions of him, as we are introduced to his character. We only see a sliver of Aang's perspective of her, Katara being the first thing he sees upon waking up.

We see that she is intrigued and curious of him, and very excited about his presence. She is endeared and amused by his antics. She is rediscovering her childish side with his help. She is confiding in him about her own trauma surrounding the Fire Nation's genocide of the Southern Waterbenders. She is willing to go against her family and tribe ans leave them behind to go to the Northern Water Tribe with Aang. We also see her determination to save him when he is captured.

As the show moves on and the plot kicks into gear, we do shift more into Aang's perspective. We see his physical attraction to her, and while we don't see Katara's attraction quite as blatantly, there are hints of her interest in his appearance.

This is where we get deeper into the concept of Aang and Katara's mutual interest and attraction for one another. While her perspective is more subtle than most would like, Katara is not purely an object of Aang's desire, no more than he is purely an object of her desire.

When analysing this aspect of Katara and Aang's relationship, I couldn't help but be reminded of how Célene Sciamma's Portrait of a lady on fire (in my personal opinion, one of the best studies of the female gaze ever created) builds up its romance, and how it places a strong emphasis on the mutuality of the female gaze.

Portrait of a lady on fire's cinematography is very important to the film. We see the world through the perspective of our protagonist, a painter named Marianne. We also see her love interest, Héloïse, the woman whom she is hired to paint a portrait of, through Marianne's lense.

We see Marianne analyse Héloïse's appearance, her beauty. We look purely through Marianne's eyes at Héloïse for a good part of the movie, but then, something unexpected happens. Héloïse looks back. At Marianne, therefore, in some way, also at the audience. While Marianne was studying Héloïse, Héloïse was studying Marianne.

We never shift into Héloïse's perspective, but we see and understand that she is looking back at us. Not only through her words, when she for example comments on Marianne's mannerisms or behaviours, but also hugely through cinematography and acting of the two amazing leads. (Noémie Merlant as Marianne and Adèle Haenel as Héloïse. They truly went above and beyond with their performances.)

This is a huge aspect of the female gaze's implementation in the film. The camera focuses on facial expressions, eyes and body language, seeking to convey the characters' emotions and feelings. There's a focus on intense, longing and reciprocated eye contact (I have dubbed this the Female Gays Gaze.). The characters stand, sit or lay facing each other, and the camera rarely frames one of them as taller than the other, which would cause a sense of power imbalance.

The best way to describe this method of flimaking is wanting the audience to see the characters, rather than to simply look at them. Sciamma wants us to empathise, wants us to feel what they are feeling, rather than view them from a distance. They are to be people, characters, rather than objects.

Avatar, of course, doesn't display the stunning and thoughtful cinematography of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, and Katara and Aang's relationship, while incredibly important, is only a part of the story rather than the focus of it.

However, the 'Kataang moments' we are privy to often follow a similar convention to the ones between Marianne and Héloïse that I mentioned prior.

Theres a lot of shots of Katara and Aang facing each other, close ups on their faces, particularly eyes, as they gaze at one another.

Katara and Aang are often posited as on equal grounds, the camera not framing either of them as much taller and therefore more powerful or important than the other. Aang is actually physically shorter than Katara, which flies in the face in usual conventions of the male fantasy. (I will get to Aang under the male gaze later in this essay)

And even in scenes when Aang is physically shown as above Katara, particularly when he's in the Avatar state, Katara is the one to pull him down, maintaining their relationships as equals.

Despite most of the show being portrayed through Aang's eyes, Katara is not a passive object for his gaze, and therefore our gaze, to rest upon. Katara is expressive, and animated. As an audience, we are made aware that Katara has her own perspective. We are invited to take part in it and try to understand it.

Not unlike to Portrait of a Lady on Fire, there is a lot of focus placed on mannerisms and body language, an obvious example being Katara often playing with her hair around Aang, telegraphing a shy or flustered state. We also see her express jealousy over Aang, her face becoming sour, brows furrowed. On one occasion she even blew a raspberry, very clearly showing us, the audience, her displeasure with the idea of Aang getting attention from other girls.

Once again, this proves that Katara is not a passive participant in her own relationship, we are very clealry shown her perspective of Aang. Most of the scenes that hint at her and Aang's focus on their shared emotions, rather than, for example, Katara's beauty.

Even when a scene does highlight her physical appearance, it is not devoid of her own thoughts and emotions. The best example of this being the scene before the party in Ba Sing Se where we see Katara's looking snazzy in her outfit. Aang compliments her and Katara doesn't react passively, we see the unabashed joy light up her face, we can tell what she thinks of Aang's comment.

In fact, the first moment between Katara and Aang sets this tone of mutual gaze almost perfectly. Aang opens his eyes, and looks at Katara. Katara looks back.

There is, once again, huge focus on their eyes in this scene, the movement of Aang's eyelids right before they open draws out attention to that part of his face. When the camera shows us Katara, is zooms in onto her expression as it changes, her blinking also drawing attention to her wide and expressive eyes.

This will not be the first time emphasis is placed on Katara and Aang's mutual gaze during a pivotal moment in the show. Two examples off the top of my head would be the Ends of B2 and B3 respevtively. When Katara brings Aang back to life, paralleling the first time they laid eyes on one another. And at the end of the show, where their gaze has a different meaning behind it.

We see Katara's emotions and her intent telegraphed clearly in these instances.

In Book 1, we see her worry for this strange bald boy who fell out of an iceberg, which melts away to relief and a hint of curiosity once she ascertains that he isn't dead.

In B2 we once again see worry, but this time it's more frantic. Her relationship with Aang is much dearer to her heart now, and he is in much worse shape. When we see the relief on her face this time, it manifests in a broad smile, rather than a small grin. We can clearly grasp that her feelings for Aang have evolved.

In B3, we step away from the rule because Aang isn't on the verge of death or unconsciousness for the first time. It is also the first time in a situation like this that Aang isn't seeing Katara from below, but they are on equal footing. I attribute this to symbolising change of pace for their relationship.

The biggest obstacle in the development of Katara and Aang's romance was the war, which endangered both their lives. Due to this, there was a hesitance to start their relationship. In previous scenes that focused this much on Aang and Katara's mutual gaze, Aang was always in a near dead, or at least 'dead adjacent' position. This is is a very harsh reminder that he may very well die in the war, and the reason Katara, who has already endured great loss, is hesitant to allow her love for him to be made... corporeal.

However, now Aang is standing, portraying that the possibily of Katara losing him has been reduced greatly with the coming of peace, the greatest obstacle has been removed, and Katara is the one to initiate this kiss.

Concurrently, Katara's expression here does not portray worry or relief at all, because she has no need to be worried or relieved. No, Katara is blushing, looking directly at Aang with an expression that can be described as a knowing smile. I'd argue that this description is accurate, because Katara knows that she is about to finally kiss the boy she loves.

Ultimately, Katara is the one who initiates the kiss that actually begins her and Aang's romantic relationship.

Kataang's appeal to women is reflected in how Katara is almost always the one to initiate physical affection with Aang. With only 3 exceptions, one of which, the Ember Island kiss being immediately shown by the narrative as wrong, and another being a daydream due to Aang's sleep deptivation. The first moment of outwardly romantic affection between Aang and Katara is her kissing his cheek. And their last kiss in the show is also initiated by Katara.

I won't falsely state that Kataang is the perfect representation of the female gaze. Not only because the storyline has its imperfections, as every piece of media has. But also because I simply belive that the concept of the female gaze is too varied and nebulous to be fully expressed. With this essay, I simply wanted to prove that Kataang is most certainly not the embodiment of catering to the male gaze either. In fact it is quite far from that.

The aspects of Kataang that fall more towards embodying the female gaze don't just appeal to women. There's a reason a lot of vocal Kataang shippers you find are queer. The mutual emotional connection between Katara and Aang is something we don't have to identify with, but something we are still able to emphasise with. It's a profound mutual connection that we watch unfold from both perspectives that sort of tracends more physical, gendered aspects of many onscreen romances. You just need to see instead of simply look.

✨️Bonus round✨️

Aang under the gaze

This started off as a simple part of the previous essay, however I decided I wanted to give it it's own focus, due to the whole discourse around Aang being a wish-fullfilling self insert for Bryke or for men in genral. I always found this baffling considering how utterly... unappealing Aang is to the male gaze.

It may surprise some of you that men are also subjected to the male gaze. Now sadly, this has nothing to do with the male gaze of the male gays. No, when male characters, usually the male protagonist, are created to cater to the male gaze, they aren't portrayed as sexually desirable passive objects, but they embody the active/masculine aide of the binary Laura Mulvey spoke of in the quote I shared at the beginning of this essay.

The protagonist under the male gaze is not the object of desire but rather a character men and boys would desire to be.

They're usually the pinnacle of traditional, stereotypical masculinity.

Appearance wise: muscular but too broad, chiseled facial features, smouldering eyes, depending on the genre wearing something classy or some manner of armour.

Personalitywise they may vary from the cool, suave James Bond type, or a more hotblooded forceful "Alpha male" type. However these are minor differences in the grand scheme of things. The basis is that this protagonist embodies some manner of idealised man. He's strong, decisive, domineering, in control, intimidating... you get the gist. Watch nearly any action movie. There's also a strong focus placed on having sway or power over others. Often men for the male gaze are presented as wealthy, having power and status. Studies (that were proved to be flawed in the way the data was gathered, I believe) say that womem value resources in potential male partners, so it's not surprising that the ideal man has something many believe would attract "mates". [Ew I hated saying that].

Alright, now let's see how Aang holds up to these standards.

Well... um...

Aang does have power, he is the Avatar. However, he is often actually ignored, blown off and otherwise dismissed, either due to his age or his personality and ideals being seen as unrealistic and foolish. Additionally, Aang, as a member of a culture lost a century ago, is also often posited as an outsider, singled out as weak, his beliefs touted as the reason his people died out and.

Physically, Aang doesn't look like the male protagonist archetype, either. He isn't your average late teens to brushing up against middle aged. Aang is very much a child and this is reflected in his soft round features, large eyes and short, less built body. This is not a build most men would aspire to. Now, he still has incredible physical prowess, due to his bending. But I'm not sure how many men are desperate to achieve the "pacifist 12 year old" build to attract women.

Hailing from a nation that had quite an egalitarian system, Aang wouldn't have conventional ideas surrounding leadership, even if he does step up into it later. He also has little in the way of possessions, by choice.

As for Aang's personality, well...

I mean I wouldn't exactly call him your average James Bond or superhero. Aang is mainly characterised through his kindness, empathy, cheerful nature and occasional childishness (which slowly is drained as the trauma intesifies. yay.)

Aang is very unwilling to initiate violence, which sets him aside from many other male protagonists of his era, who were champing at the bit to kick some ass. He values nature, art, dance and fun. He's in tune with his emotions. He tries to desecalate situations before he starts a fight.

Some would say many of Aang's qualities could be classified as feminine. While the other main male characters, Zuko and Sokka try to embody their respective concepts of the ideal man (tied to their fathers), Aang seems content with how he presents and acts. He feels no need to perform masculinity as many men do, choosing to be true to his emotions and feelings.

These "feminine" qualities often attract ridicule from other within the show. He is emasculated or infantiliased as a form of mockery multiple times, the most notable examples being the Ember Island play and Ozai tauntingly referring to him as a "little boy". Hell, even certain Aang haters have participated in this, for example saying that he looks like a bald lesbian.

I'd even argue that, in his relationships with other characters, Aang often represents the passive/feminine. Especially towards Zuko, Aang takes on an almost objectified role of a trophy that can be used to purchase Ozai's love. [Zuko's dehumanisation of others needs to be discussed later, but it isn't surprising with how he was raised and a huge part of his arc is steerring away from that way of thinking.]

Aang and Zuko almost embody certain streotypes about relationships, the forceful, more masculine being a literal pursuer, and the gentler, more feminine being pusued.

We often see Aang framed from Zuko's perspective, creating something akin to the mutual gaze of Katara and Aang, hinting at the potential of Zuko and Aang becoming friends, a concept that is then voiced explicitly in The Blue Spirit.

However, unlike Katara, Zuko is unable to empathise with Aang at first, still seeing Aang as more of an object than a person. We have here an interesting imbalance of Aang seeing Zuko but Zuko meerly looking at Aang.

There is a certain aspect of queer metaphor to Zuko's pursuit of Aang, but I fear I've gotten off topic.

Wrapping this long essay up, I want to reiterate that I'm not saying that Zutara isn't popular with women. Most Zutara shippers I've encountered are women. And most Kataang shippers I've encountered are... also women. Because fandom spaces are occupied predominantly by women.

I'm not exactly making a moral judgement on any shippers either, or to point at Kataang and go: "oh, look girls can like this too. Stop shipping Zutara and come ship this instead."

I want to point out that the juxtaposition of Zutara and Kataang as respectively appealing to the feminine and masculine, is a flawed endeavour because neither ship does this fully.

The concept of Kataang being a purely male fantasy is also flawed due to the points I've outlied in this post.

Are there going to be male Kataang shippers who self insert onto Aang and use it for wish fulfilment? Probably. Are there going to be male Zutara shippers who do the same? Also probably.

In the end, our interpretation of media, particularly visual mediums like film are heavily influenced by our own biases, interests, beliefs andmost importantly our... well, our gaze. The creators can try to steer us with meaningful shots and voiced thought, directing actors or animating a scene to be a certain way, but ultimately we all inevitably draw our own conclusions.

A fan of Zutara can argue that Kataang is the epitome of catering to the male gaze, while Zutara is the answer to women everywhere's wishes.

While I can just as easily argue the exact opposite.

It really is just a matter of interpretation. What is really interesting, is what our gaze says about us. What we can see of ourselves when the subject gazes back at us.

I may want to analyse how Zutara caters to the male gaze in some instances, if those of you who manage to slog through this essay enjoy the subject matter.

[thought--bubble]

Dreamin of You

Modern Dark Actor Aemond X (Non-Famous GF Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 3065

Modern Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Jealousy, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, Dubcon, insecurity, unprotected sex (p in v), oral sex (F receiving)

Based on THIS request

"Aemond! Over here!" You cringe at the noise, a man with a camera nearly screeching into your ear.

Aemond shields his eyes, trying to block out the flashing of the cameras as he tightens his arm around you, pulling you through the crowd.

It has been about a year since he got his big break. The leading man on a hit show that streams on Netflix. One of this year's biggest hits.

His life entirely changed nearly overnight, changing yours right along with it. You could no longer go out in public with him. You would be swarmed by cameras and people reaching out and grabbing at him. Women yelled out to him that they loved him.

Oh, how the women scream for him.

It doesn't surprise you. He is handsome and charming, not to mention tall, with a jawline that could cut diamonds.

Aemond used to be a quiet man. Hiding in the shadows. Shy and self-conscious. His disability made him bow out from most social situations unless you were there.

You had met Aemond back in primary school. Growing up beside him, you knew him better than anyone else. Or at least you used to.

The man standing beside you now, curling you up in his arm, is not the same man he was just one short year ago, and the realization hit you recently.

You had accompanied him to a photo shoot as you often do. Watching him flit about the place, shaking hands and charming them all with that beautiful smile. The two female models on set hanging on his every word. One being so forward as to brush her hand on his arm. Which he allowed.

Every day, you felt the pressure of his newfound fame start to squeeze into every facet of your life.

You had never been an insecure person. Never. Now you found yourself constantly comparing.

Aemond had been approached by models, a fellow actress, and even a pretty popular musician, and when you look at them and then at yourself, it's obvious that there is simply no comparison.

He is going to leave you or cheat on you at some point, which has you constantly on edge. You had been denying this, but what man wouldn't? What man would stay with his average before fame girlfriend when he could have a lingerie model? A pop star?

You know that he loves you and you love him too, but sometimes love is just not enough.

That's how you find yourself here. Standing in his living room, watching him update his Instagram after fighting your way through a sea of photographers.

Your stomach feels sick as you watch him, trying to build up the courage to say what has been bouncing around in your head for weeks.

"It's time," you whisper to yourself.

You clear your throat as you gently shake out your limbs. "Aemond? I....I need to talk to you."

"Course." He doesn't lift his head from his phone, no doubt jumping on every notification coming from his social media accounts.

"It's important"

He lifts his head and furrows his brow.

"Everything alright, love?" He turns his phone screen down toward his lap to show you that you have his full attention.

You open your mouth to speak and immediately the anxiety of what you're about to do hits you like a tidal wave. Am I doing this? Really doing this?

Aemond can sense the panic that is coursing through you and stands up and quickly walks to you, taking your hands.

"Don't be afraid, love, tell me what's going on," He squeezes gently. His tenderness makes this all so much more difficult.

"I think it's...... Aemond? I..... I'm leaving" the relief you feel at finally telling him is soothing, it's done. You've said it. No take backs.

"Leave?" Aemond grips his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white as he turns his head from you. "Leave where? Go where? For what purpose?"

"Aemond..... I mean leave..... us. This" You turn your head in an effort to avoid that eye. You know you shouldn't look away. It's you who is doing this to the both of you. What right do you have to be sad?

The gentleness on his face is replaced with shock, and he turns his back to you, taking a few steps away. His silence is deafening, but you want to be fair. Give him a moment to process this.

"I... I just don't think we fit anymore, I'm so happy for you, Aemond. You're so talented, and all this that's happening to you? You deserve it, and i want you to have it." You recoil slightly at your own words. You've been thinking it for months, but saying it out loud, saying it to him. It's so painful. So final. "But, there's no room here for me anymore"

As you feel the all too familiar sting in your eyes, you watch his form turned away from you. You want him to look at you. Let you know that he understands that you don't want to hurt him. That this is what is best for both of you.

Instead, he chuckles, and you're hit with a wave of confusion before he turns around and stalks toward you. "Leaving? You think you're leaving me?" The smirk that creeps its way onto his face sends shivers down your spine.

He clicks his tongue as he reaches you, pulling you in tight against his chest.

"You don't get to leave." He coos. "No, my darling, you'll stay right here." he gently runs his fingers through your hair, the movement comforting and menacing.

The little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Who is this? This isn't the Aemond you know. Kind gentle, Aemond.

No, this person is someone else.

His lifts your face to him by your chin and kisses you gently. The way he moves between loving and domineering so seamlessly, it's as if there are two of him.

"You are mine little dove." He chuckles again as he looks down at you, the gleam in his eye, conveying a message that you are having trouble reading.

"Things have changed yes, we will figure out how to make you more comfortable, but one thing remains constant and that is you."

"You don't get to decide that." You wanted to say this with conviction but it comes out weak and feeble. You and Aemond have hardly ever fought and when you do, he wins every time.

Aemond sighs and smiles. "But I do. See i decide if we stay together. Me, and i have decided that we will. Now if there are things that we can work on to make you more comfortable I am happy to do that" He pushes his face into the crook of your neck as he whispers, " It's what's best for both of us"

You push him back, his arrogance finally pushing you over the edge.

"Who are you? Huh? This isn't you! This arrogant, entitled twat!" The dam that was holding back all of your frustrations fully bursts and you can't help yourself from offloading.

"You flirt with models right in front of me, you-"

"IT'S AN ACT!" He explodes, and you jump back, his voice unrecognizable.

"You think I want them? Those vapid cunts?" He grips your arm tight and shoves you down onto the sofa. The movement jarring.

"Don't shove me!" You move to get up but he leans down caging you in with his arms.

"When I sleep, I dream of you, when awake, I dream of you, when I do anything, I dream of you. There is not another for me, not in this lifetime or the next."

You push your body back on the sofa, trying to put a little distance between the two of you. He glares at you for a moment, lowering his arms from the sofa and bringing them to your shoulders.

"If you leave, I will find you, and I will drag you back to me" He slowly drops to his knees in front of you, sliding his arms down the length of your body in the process. "I'll always find you."

Your eyes widened slightly in fear. His love has always been expressed in gentleness, kind gestures, and soft caresses.

"What happened to being partners? Since when have you owned me as you seem to think?"

"I always have." He looks at you, not with malice, not with hubris, but with a look that tells you he takes this to be simple fact.

He pushes your skirt up, and begins trailing kisses up your thigh.

"Aemond.... we shouldn't. " His grip on your thigh tightens, but he doesn't stop. Your mind is telling you to push him away, stop him but your body is succumbing to his dangerous allure, like a lamb to the slaughter.

The closer he gets to your heat, the faster you lose your resolve. He's always had this effect on you. When he kisses you, touches you, loves on you, you all too quickly fall to your knees.

He slides his hand up your other thigh, slipping it under your skirt until he reaches your hip, gently squeezing at the flesh there.

You close your eyes and lean back on the sofa as he continues to lick and nip at your thigh. Every touch of his skin to yours sending currents of electricity through your veins.

"We're gonna be fine darlin" His voice is hynotizing. Just a moment ago you wanted to punch him in the face and now you are spreading your legs wider to give him enough room to fit his face between your thighs.

"That's a good girl, such a good girl" He moves his hand from your hip to your heat gently caressing you through the thin fabric of your thong.

"For someone who thinks we shouldn't be doing this you are very very wet" You feel the embarrasment rush to your cheeks but are unable to stop yourself from gently bucking your hips upward.

Aemond chuckles and clicks his tongue. "Is that was this was all about hmm? Have I been neglecting you sweet girl?" He moves your thong to the side and brings his finger to the wetness pooling there. "Hmmm seems I have, you poor poor thing" He mocks with fake sympathy.

You sigh as he grips your thighs dragging you to the edge of the sofa. pushing your skirt all the way up and exposing you to him.

"So fucking pretty" He leans forward and flicks the tip of his tongue on your pearl. Your leg twitches in response and he pulls his head back.

You groan at his teasing scooting your body closer to his face, as he starts to chuckle.

"Now, now sweet girl. I'm going to need you to admit, that you aren't going anywhere." He lightly scratches at the sensitive skin on your thigh with his thumbnail. You were supposed to break up and leave, This life with him was making you miserable. "Give me what I want, and I will return the favor" He again leans forward and flicks the very tip of your clit twice.

The teasing is starting to drive you to madness, you came into this room with conviction and a plan but it looks like you would leave this room with shame and satisfaction. "Fine! I'm not leaving, I'm not, I promise, I promise!" You feel a mix of discomfiture and arousal coursing through you but at this point you just don't care.

"Mmmmm" is the only sound he makes before again leaning forward and taking your engorged nerve into his mouth and sucking on it harshly.

"Fuckkkk Aem" You bring your hand down and grip his head, pushing his head closer to you and he is more than happy to oblige.

He slides a long course finger into you while he continues to swallow at your pearl. The sensations have your legs shaking uncontrollably, and as if your hips have a mind of their own, they buck gently against Aemonds face as he gives you everything he knows you want.

His finger crooks inside you, rubbing at the pad inside, gently calling your orgasm to him.

"Oh fuck ahhh!" Your whole body stiffens as he quickens the pace of both his mouth and finger.

As you tumble forward into your peak, you squeeze your legs around his head, the blood rushing to your face heating up your entire body. Is this heaven, or have you been tricked into hell?

After you finish sitting dumbstruck on the sofa, Aemond wastes no time. He slides towards you on his knees, wrapping his hand around your waist.

You rest your exhausted head on his shoulder and wrap your legs around his hips. With just one arm he lifts you slightly off the couch and slowly rises to his feet, you feel the muscles in his chest and shoulders tighten as he lifts you and himself from the floor carrying you into the bedroom. His hard cock pressed against you.

"Have I got you all stupid for me, sweet girl?"

You make some incoherent noises as he gently drops you onto the bed and climbs on top of you.

"I love you" He breathes the words directly into your ear, the sadness in his voice not lost on you. He slots himself between your legs tightly gripping your thigh and pulling it up against him.

"You can't ever leave ok?" He roughly kisses you before you can respond while he pulls you closer by the thigh pushing himself up tight against your core. "Not ever".

Aemond ruts against you, still fully clothed. "Can't live without ya." His voice sounds strained like this is taking everything out of him. "Won't live without ya." His movements become more rough, more desperate.

He pulls back from you just long enough to get your panties off, disposing of his boxers and trousers in the process, before slotting himself back between your legs.

He slides an arm under your back, bringing his hand to the back of your neck, raising your face to his.

"All I want is you. All I've ever wanted is you." His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, a kiss that screams don't go.

He pushes himself against your entrance, begging to be let in. You lean back further parting your legs and he pushes forward slowly.

"Fuck, I love you, oh gods I love you" He moans as he fills you up. Once he reaches the hilt, he lies down on top of you, sliding both of his arms under your shoulders before he gently starts to move against you.

Your bodies are pressed together so tight. You can hardly tell there are two separate people here.

"I'll never let you go, I'll never let you go," he repeats this over and over as his speed increases, his voice changing from desperate to domineering.

He grips your shoulders tightly, holding your body in place as he ruts up into you. "Do you understand now? You can never leave. I love you. You're mine. " his thrusts are slowly getting harder, as the heat again builds up in your abdomen.

"Fucking mine. Always mine. Forever mine," he growls the words at you as he bites into your neck.

"I'm gonna fill you up." He bites into your shoulder, pushing himself as far into you as he can get, but pushing ever still. He can't be close enough to you. He can't be far enough inside. Everything feels like it's just not enough.

He pulls back from you, has his speed increases, and his rhythm falters.

"Cmon cum for me sweet girl" He licks his thumb and brings it to your nub pressing down harshly on the nerve, his movements furious.

You whine out, your legs trembling as you feel your lower stomach growing tighter and tighter, the feeling overwhelming but so good. "Aem." You whimper, "ohhh gods"

"No baby, it's just me." He watches in wonder as you reach your peak for a second time, arching your back and yelling out loud.

"That's good. That's a good girl. Fuck yes baby" His movements become sloppy and he grips your hips tightly as he chases his release. "Say you love me," he growls his hips smacking against your skin with a loud slap sound as you moan out riding out the top of your pleasure.

"Fucking say it" he grunts as he tries to hold back his climax, "Please baby say it." His face is contorted somewhere between pleasure and pain until you acquiesce.

"I love you." The words flow from your mouth so delicately, so naturally. There was never a question as to whether you loved him. The question is whether that love is enough.

Hearing the words from your tongue immediately sends Aemond into the climax he was fighting as he screams out like some kind of feral animal thrusting into you harshly as he rides out his high, collapsing onto your chest leaving himself sheathed inside.

"I love you too"

You wake up the next morning to the alarm on your phone going off and grumble, turning it off and rolling onto your side, looking at a sleeping Aemond. Feeling ashamed of yourself for giving into him last night.

As you slide out of the bed to get ready for work he reaches out and grips your wrist tight.

"Where are you going?" His eyes are still closed and his body hasn't moved the only thing alerting you to his consciousness being the hand tightly gripping your wrist, and his voice.

"To work?" You move again to get out of the bed thinking the matter settled.

"Oh, no we are sending your letter of resignation today" He opens his eyes and shifts in the bed stretching but not releasing your wrist.

"Aemond, i'm not quitting my job!" You can't believe he would even think that was an option. You love your job. Why would you quit? Why would he even want you to? You look towards him in utter confusion as he slightly tightens the grip on your wrist.

"You can't go. You might not come back." He yanks you back into the bed crawling on top of you.

"Like I said before. You're gonna stay right here"

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[yesimwriting]

Please please please write for itwv. I would cry of happiness?

You seem like a lestat girl... But also a armand.

"You seem like a lestat girl... But also a armand." you clocked me and my love of toxic men omg

here's a lestat drabble just for u anon <3

Summary: Darkness encroaching on what's considered holy is one of the world's few consistencies. Or alternatively, Lestat enjoys your stolen moments more than he'd ever admit.

Warnings: my first time writing for a character so be nice bc that's always a little scary 😭, slight religious allusions/metaphors, no pronouns used but there are potential vague implications that the reader was socialized as a girl/woman

----

What's confined to the shadows holds little regard for the sacred. The absence of light leaves no space for the good, no sanctuary or safe place to keep darkness from swallowing the revered whole.

It's fitting, then, that Lestat cannot bring himself to let you go.

You shift, fingertips brushing against the inside of his wrist. There's a valiant effort on your end to keep the turn of your head subtle, but it's not enough to keep him from feeling the weight of your cautious stare.

He keeps his eyes on your ceiling. You're radiating a warmth he's not sure he'll ever grow accustomed to, the heat of you nowhere near as simple as blood and flesh alone. It's as if remnants of daylight cling to your skin, so alive and attached to you your touch should scald him.

"Did you miss me?" The question is a thing of greed rather than curiosity.

You're quiet for a moment, your mind warning you to not reveal too much. Your hand stalls against his forearm. "Of course I missed you."

Your thoughts focus on your own response. Wearing your heart on your sleeve is a facet of your being, a testament to your ever giving honesty. Regardless of vampiric gifts, your thoughts, your feelings are easy to notice, even when they're not simple.

Now, your head is latching onto a myriad of things. Ever the lamb blinded by the wolf's clothing, you were more than just happy when he appeared at your window, you were relieved. A part of you, however, was still worried in a way that came close to making you resentful. The contrasting feelings blend together now, enjoying his presence isn't enough to make you forget his absence. Humanity and its ability to turn an approximate two weeks of nothingness into something with meaning.

Lestat turns his arm over, his fingers finding yours. "You seem to have little interest in showing me."

An exaggerated sigh falls from your lips. You move further onto your side, attention now openly settling onto him. From you, divine prophecy takes the form of a barely there crease between your eyebrows and your lips pressing together to fight against a smile. There's a similar sort of revelation in the way you're looking at him now.

"That is not true." You're working at an irritation you don't feel in an attempt to mask your desire for this type of conflict. Your elbow presses into the mattress as you prop your head up. "The only thing I've done tonight is dote on you."

In your defense, you always give as much as you can. You're generous with your attention, listening to his every word as you hold onto him, gentle fingers attempting to work warmth into stone flesh. It's a companionship unlike anything else. What once was only a simple form of entertainment has morphed into a dichotomy that shouldn't exist. You ever the saint and him the night's creature tainting holy ground.

He drags his thumb against your knuckles. "Really? You're doting on me?" The corner of your mouth pulls itself upwards, the look bordering on a smile. "And if I were to tell you I want more. What then, ange?"

Your thoughts instruct you to hold his gaze as you squeeze his hand. "Then I think I'd have to warn you of the dangers of greed."

"I'm a selfish man." Lestat lifts your intertwined hands. You watch him curiously, blood dragging its way up your neck as he presses his lips to the back of your palm. "I don't need a warning."

You're so close now he can feel the flush of your skin. "You talk like it's too late for you."

The promise of eternity is enough to quell the effects of irony. It's human nature to cling to ideality, to believe that the world is something they can take at face value. Still, from you, the comment is enough to make him smile.

The comment is closer to a joke than a genuine analysis, but it's clear that you mean the sentiment. Your eyes are bright, forgiving in their kindness. Perhaps if you knew what he was, you'd no longer look at him like he's responsible for the stars hanging in the sky.

"Maybe it is."

Your expression briefly falters, but before any changes can take root, you're moving back. You remain on your side as you lie down, head resting against his side. "I doubt that."

He begins to trail his fingers against your shoulder. You'll fall asleep soon, and he'll leave the way he always does, shedding the only version of himself you'd ever welcome with open arms. "Of course you would."

"What?"

His palm settles against your back. "You're a good person, mon ange." The vagueness of the topic paired with the tinge of something harsh in his voice leaves your thoughts restless. Lestat should take care to not pull at threads, to not leave you with questions he cannot answer. "Almost irritatingly so."

You lift your head enough to rest your chin against his ribs. "Irritatingly so?" The words are repeated with an easiness that manages to surprise him, your easy mood returning. "You're impossible."

"And you missed me desperately."

You stare at him skeptically, eyebrows drawing together and head angling itself to one side. "I never said desperately."

He pulls your arm towards him, fingers digging into your hand with enough force to imply a warning. "Do not be mean."

"I'm not," you defend, tone conveying a honey sweet innocence that could convince anyone you're incapable of wrongdoing, "I'm only saying I never told you how much I missed you."

You don't realize your mistake until the sentence has already left you. Lestat grins. "And how much did you miss me?"

Ignoring the warmth making its way up your chest, you shake your head once before moving to lie on your back again. "Oh, infinitely so. I spent my evenings in utter agony.

The facetious response is not enough to distract from your thoughts. You missed him more than you'd ever be willing to admit. For now, he'll leave you your pride. After all, he'll have other nights to focus on drawing out our praises. "Fine, be sarcastic. We're all entitled to our secrets."

You extend an arm, moving to rest it against his side. He'll have to take extra care not to wake you when he eventually has to detangle your limbs from his. The thought of the inevitable digs at him in a way he can't make sense of. Beings of the shadows may constantly work at ebbing away light, but there's an inevitable end to all wear away. You were right to notice his greed.

"Yeah," you mumble, the syllable heavy with drowsiness. For a moment, you're so still and silent Lestat almost convinces himself you've fallen asleep. "Then what are yours?"

His hand smooths circles against your spine. "That I think about stealing you away."

Your mind seems to catch itself on his answer, thoughts dissecting his words with an awareness that defies the docility that takes over when you're half asleep. After a moment, you choose to see humor there, but that isn't enough for you to let it go. "Is it really stealing if I want to go?"

You don't know what you're asking for. You're from a world so separate from his own you cannot even fathom the true implication of your words. His lips part, but before he can respond your breathing evens and your mind empties, finally succumbing to sleep.

----

a/n i really liked writing this so if you have any itwv requests pls feel free to send them to me!! just specify the character and as a general note i usually assume fem!reader but i'm happy to write gn!reader if it's specified in the ask :))

[heavenlyvision]

Until hell freezes over

Word count: 6.7k

Pairing: Bi-Han x F!Reader

This is a part two to when hell freezes over

A/N: Longest fic so far woohoo, I’m overjoyed at the interactions and comments I got from the first part so thank you for the attention. I’m glad you’ve all been enjoying my writing; it encourages me to write more! I hope you all enjoy this part as much as the first and please reach out with any thoughts, feelings, questions, anything of the sort. I am happy to interact with everyone. And thank you for reading! :)

Summary: Ever since you and Bi-Han had sex he’s been staring at you even more than before, not that he’s admitted to it yet. A competition begins between the two of you, who can hold out longest?

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, masturbation, p in v sex, creampie, possessive!Bi-Han, hickeys (reader receiving), pussy slapping (one), inappropriate use of Bi-Hans official title, minor appearance of pussy drunk Bi-Han, return of mean Bi-Han, special appearance of soft Bi-Han, no use of y/n

Following the events of the other night, Bi-Han has been staring at you a lot more frequently. You can’t be certain what he’s thinking about, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You had both mutually agreed to keep what happened between yourselves, but he keeps giving you bedroom eyes and it isn’t going to take long for someone to catch on if he keeps looking at you like that.

Subtlety does not seem to be Bi-Han’s strong suit, which you feel is cosmically ironic considering how subtle he is in other facets of his life. His eyes set you on fire, you know what he wants from you. You haven’t slept with him since the first time, three days ago now.

The reason for this is because you needed time to recover from the world class fucking you received the first time and because you want to get to know him more; by actually talking to him. Not that, that stops him from shoving you up against walls and sticking his tongue in your mouth when he gets the chance. Just the memories of his indiscretions make you vibrate with arousal.

Other than those few shared, private moments, he’s respected the fact that you don’t want to have sex again yet. He is getting impatient though, you can tell by the way his constant staring has gotten more intense. His eyes track your every move when you’re close to him, sometimes it seems like he’s actively fighting the urge to pick you up and walk away with you over his shoulder.

Everyone is in the training area right now, and Bi-Han is standing by Lord Liu Kang, and yup, he is staring at you, again. You really can’t be shocked anymore; you’ve come to realise that the most he communicates is with his eyes and his grunts.

Lord Liu Kang steps away from Bi-Han to talk with Kuai Liang on the other side of the training area, you take the opening to slowly shuffle yourself up next to Bi-Han.

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” you say quietly, keeping your head forward.

“Looking at you like what?”

You have to try real hard not to make a face of annoyance at him. He always does this, acts dense on purpose just to get under your skin.

“Like we’ve had sex,” you hush out at him.

He moves to stand directly in front of you and tilting his head down slightly he says, “That is a little difficult, considering we have had sex, sweet girl.”

He’s taunting you, it’s not fair, the nickname, his words, it’s all not fair to you and he knows it. It’s why he does it, he wants you to break first, to beg him for it, and as the days pass by, you’re worried you will cave and beg him to fuck you. And he is counting on it, it’s probably part of the reason why he pushes you up against walls and kisses your breath away. You get the feeling that the man has an impeccable resolve, which makes you want to break it. It’s turned into an unspoken competition between the two of you.

“You aren’t being very fair,” you try not to, but you can’t help but pout at him.

His eyes sparkle as he looks at your sulking face, “I’m not trying to be fair,”

Bastard, you go to tell him as much, but he cuts you off, “I am trying to get you to ask me for what you need, I want you to ask me sweetly to fuck you.”

He has said you undo him, but he is actively pulling you apart, he wants you at his feet and you’re afraid that you might comply. You are strong, you can resist him, you just have to want to win more than him and you are competitive. You’ve decided you’re going to turn his constant stares and teasing into determination. You are determined to win, you want him coming to you, head in his hands asking you for your body.

He can see the way your eyes harden with your own resolve and his light up in an amused way at it, you find it maddening that he’s getting joy from this.

“You will not be winning this, Grandmaster.” You say his title to stab home your determination, you want him to know that he is the one who turned this into a challenge. One that you aren’t willing to lose.

The use of his official title is effective, his smile falters for a second, a glimmer or his underlying arousal for you shining through his mirth. Good, you think.

“Mmm where has my sweet girl gone?” He asks you, his smug nature intact. Not good, you think, he might be able to play dirty better than you.

Your confidence in yourself is waning the longer he looks at you, “Just… stop looking at me.”

A smile breaks out across his face, “Not if it’ll get you to break first.”

You keep showing him your hand, he makes you weak, and he likes that about you. Maybe it would be smarter to use that to your advantage, rather than pretending he doesn’t affect you. He’s able to read you impeccably well, any lie you try and give him is probably going to fall flat. Lying isn’t something you consider yourself to be bad at but trying to lie to Bi-Han is like trying to lie to someone who can read minds, so it’s better to just avoid it.

“You’re right Bi-Han, I want you, badly, all the time,” you’re looking at him as innocently as possible.

One of his eyebrows raises in response, “Are you asking for something?” He’s hoping you are.

“Nope. Just letting you know how much I want you. All the time.” You state before walking over to where you were previously standing with Johnny and Kenshi.

You would’ve liked to keep talking with him, but you have a feeling that would be more to your detriment than his. Tuning back into Kenshi and Johnny’s conversation you realise they’re arguing, because of course they are.

“Just give the sword back Johnny!” Kenshi sounds exasperated with him, this is not the first time they’ve argued over this, and you have a feeling it won’t be the last.

“No way man! Do you know how much this cost me?” Johnny is just as equally exasperated as Kenshi. Their relationship and squabbles amuse you, until –

“Settle this, do you think he should give Sento back?” They both turn to you suddenly, dragging you into this argument against your will. How nice of them.

You really do not want to be dragged into this, “I have no stake in this, guys.”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s why you should decide for us,” Johnny adds.

Why would they want you to settle this, whatever you decide the other would be angry with and you like both of them.

“Look, guys, this isn’t something that another person can solve for you, and I’d really rather not pick, I don’t want to lose a friend based on a choice I make.”

They both stare at you, God, what is with all these men and staring.

Then you feel it, his looming presence coming up behind you, he grabs your shoulder to get your attention. You drop your head back to look up at him.

“Did you have something to ask, Sub-Zero?”

He looks down his nose at you, “mmm, you need to come with me.”

Straightening your head, you look forward again, you go to address the two men in front of you but before you can, Johnny looks at Bi-Han and says, “Wait, before you leave, settle this for us. Who do you think should have Sento?”

Bi-Han looks at the pair of them dead eyed for a moment, trying to give Johnny a chance to take his question back, “Don’t care.” He states plainly before grabbing your arm and walking away.

Why Johnny thought asking him was a good idea you have no idea, you turn around quickly to apologise to them both, they’re giving you a sympathetic look. Their pity is granted because to them, you’ve just been pulled away by the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. Assumedly, about to get scolded for something, which may be half true. You give them a smile back; to try and assuage any genuine worry they may have, before facing Bi-Han’s back again, following him silently.

He walks you away from the training area into a quiet, empty area of the temple. Your heart is racing, you have no idea what he’s intending to do, he wouldn’t have cracked that easily, which means he’s brought you here for another reason. He’s stopped walking, back facing you.

“Bi-Han, why have you kidnapped me?”

He turns to face you, rolling his eyes at your light-hearted accusation, “I have not kidnapped you, that’s an exaggeration.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him and placing a hand on your hip, you say, “I am well aware, what did you have to ask?”

“How long?” He asks, he needs to start speaking in full sentences, more often than not he will state something like it doesn’t need further explanation.

Though you can probably guess with pretty good accuracy what he’s referring to, that doesn’t mean you’re going to make it easy for him. Time for a taste of his own medicine, he’s often acting intentionally dense to get you to admit to things, now it’s his turn.

“How long for what?”

His eyes harden at you, “How long until I can have all of you again?”

Is he trying to compromise with you? Maybe he wasn’t as confident in his own willpower as you thought, “that depends, are you giving up?”

“No.”

“It’s a competition now, Bi-Han, there is no timeline anymore.” Not that there was ever a timeline, you were just hoping to get to know him a bit more before sleeping with him again but seeing him increasingly get more desperate is too good to turn away from now.

Watching him struggle with what he wants to do next has you realising, two sides of Bi-Han are clashing right now. He’s stubborn but he’s also impatient, it’s thrilling not knowing which side will win.

“It’s a stupid competition. Childish.” He spits the words at you.

“You started it.” You shrug at him.

“I most certainly did not start this.” He points at you.

He’s getting angry now, it has you smiling, “you’re only annoyed now because I’m winning.”

He grunts at you, “This could end right now Bi-Han, if you just admit you’ve lost.” You’re offering him a way out; one you know he won’t take.

“What are the rules?”

You answer him honestly, “I hadn’t considered any.”

He stalks towards you, it has you taking steps back until you hit a wall. Both of his hands come up and cage you against it, he leans down slightly, head angled, “then I will.”

You look up at him, eyes large, taking him all in, “Bi-Han, you’re really pretty,” you tell him your internal thought by accident.

He looks shocked for a second before his head rests on your shoulder, he speaks into your neck, “Sweet, sweet girl, my sweet girl.” He inhales the scent of your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

This situation is precarious for you, if he sweet talks you, you might cave. You need to get him back on topic. But before you can speak to get him back on track, he moves his lips to yours, one of his hands coming off the wall to grab at the side of your face, angling you to his liking. Tongue entering your mouth teasingly, you moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound.

When he pulls back, he smirks at the look on your face, your eyes wet and soft for him, he always makes you feel so pliable. This competition is not made for you, you bend to his will too easily, he’s only kissed you and you want more.

You close your eyes tight, not looking into his eyes will help, he’s got pretty eyes that you fall into every time. You just need to not look at him right now.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek, a rare sign of the way he coddles you.

“I can’t look at you and your pretty eyes.”

He hums in response, “that’s fine, only need your lips for what I’m doing right now.”

Then he leans in to kiss you again, he’s being gentle, tender, tongue licking into your mouth and exploring, he’s taking his time, kissing your breath away.

He’s officially, completely, distracted from what he was talking about, lips moving against yours, consuming you. He moves his body closer to yours, the feel of him against you has a whimper slipping from you. The sound makes him grunt but it brings him back to himself, and he pulls away, but not before he plants a single wet kiss on your lips and then he’s pulling his lips away completely.

Forehead resting against yours, he huffs, “you wanna give up?”

You nod your head, and he seems pleased, but you continue on to say, “I do, but I’m not going to.” His small moment of triumph ripped from him at your words.

A low grunt is his response to you, he’s disappointed that you haven’t caved but only because he’s not going to either. “Want you and your tight, little–”

“Rules! What rules did you want?” you cut him off, his words are his weapon and right now he’s one good strike away from you giving in and letting him do whatever he wants to you.

He smirks at you, he knows how his words effect you, loves the way you squirm at the things he whispers to you.

“From now on losing counts as, kissing, touching, dirty talk, whispering sweet nothings to each other–”

“–Bi-Han, you’ve done all of those things, just now.” The gall of this man.

“There were no rules before,” he’s dismissive of your complaint.

You have an incredulous look on your face, “well, there goes your whole arsenal then.”

“Not really, I still have my pretty eyes.” He’s making fun of you, but you know the way you react to and compliment him has him soft for you.

“No nicknames?” You ask him.

He glares at you, “no nicknames.” He confirms.

That makes you sulk a bit, not only because calling him Grandmaster was one of your trump cards but also because you like when he calls you sweet girl.

“Can you still call me sweet girl?” You ask him gently; you genuinely don’t want him to stop but you’re also playing dirty by asking and you know it.

His chest rumbles with a deep growl and his head tips back, “Fucken, alright but only because I think it will benefit me more than you.”

When he looks at you again there is a cheeky smile on your face, “compliments? Can I still tell you how pretty your eyes are? Or how I love when your arms are crossed and your muscles become defined, or how hot your hands looks when they flex, or–”

One of his hands moves to cover your mouth, cutting you off, “Jesu– no, no compliments.”

You give the palm of his hand a small kiss and his head falls forward, chin on his chest, “You’re going to kill me,” he sighs.

You’re smiling against his palm; this round goes to you.   

❆˖°

It’s been a few days since your rendezvous with Bi-Han, he had to go away for a couple of them to take care of some business but ever since he’s been back you think he’s been avoiding you. And you aren’t sure if that excites or frightens you. The upper hand was yours last time, now you’re worried that he’s plotting his revenge, and you have no idea what he would even do. His rules basically take away all of his trump cards, but they also take away yours. Leaving you both in a weird purgatory state of trying to figure out what to do next without breaking any of the rules.

There are a few options, but unless you can get away with walking around the temple grounds completely naked without anyone seeing you, there isn’t anything that could get him to break quickly enough.

You find yourself back at the rock, you’ve started calling it your enlightenment rock, on account of how often you come here to meditate. Though you aren’t here for spiritual guidance currently. Not unless the spirits can guide you on how to break Bi-Han’s will into fucking you senseless. It feels a little inappropriate to even think about here, but you think best here, and you need the peace right now.

Thinking about what you could do is exhausting, you’re not good at initiating these kinds of things, you’re more of a defence kind of person than attack. Which makes Bi-Han avoiding you even funnier, he’s pretty quick to go on the attack, usually.

You’re at a stalemate and you want to be the one to break it, but you’ll need a for sure thing, if you go in half-cocked and your plan fails it gives him an opening to get you to crack, which, in all honesty, you would. He breaks down all your defences with just a look, and now that you’re thinking about it, that might be his plan.

This is what you mean by thinking about this is mentally taxing, you’re either thinking too hard or not hard enough. The man is unpredictable, and you like that about him, just, not right now. You want to be the one to win and over thinking might cost you the competition.

A big smile breaks out across your face as you are suddenly blessed with a fantastic idea to get the man to break, not the kind of enlightenment you usually come here for but it’s the next best thing.

The moment is taken from you when you feel Bi-Han’s eyes on you, “Hello Bi-Han.” You don’t turn around to look at him.

“How do you always manage to know it’s me? I am a ninja, and I can’t even look at you without you knowing.” He’s curious about your sixth sense for him and you don’t have an answer that would satisfy him.

You shrug your shoulders in response, “I can feel it, that’s the best way to describe it.”

“And what do you feel when I look at you?” He’s moving closer to you, standing directly behind your sitting form. Any closer and his back would be pressed against yours.

You consider what to say, you could lie but like you’ve said, lying to him is damn near impossible, “It feels electric.” It’s the only way you can accurately describe how it feels to have his gaze aimed at you.

He grunts at you in response.

You’re smiling because he’s so soft for you in the oddest of ways, “you asked,” you tell him.

“Shouldn’t have.” He pauses before continuing, “Mmm, what are you doing out here? It’s getting late.”

And it is, you had realised this you just needed the silence to give you ideas for your plan. The temple has too many people and you often get pulled into conversations, you don’t mind, but you’re taking this competition unnecessarily seriously.

“I have been thinking.”

“And what have you been thinking of?” He asks.

“I’d tell you, but I think it would count as whispering sweet nothings to you.”

You can practically feel the way he rolls his eyes from behind you, he huffs a breath out and you can feel the air brush against your neck. You stifle your reaction, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of your body reacting to him without physical touch.

He’s moving his face closer to the back of yours, lips close to you neck but never touching, “there is nothing I can say right now that won’t break those stupid rules.”

You can’t help the shiver that runs through you at his breath whispering over your skin “you made them.”

“Might break them too. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me breaking first, taking you however I desire–”

“–You are walking a very thin line Bi-Han,” you remind him, he often gets lost in the words he speaks to you.

He takes a step back, sighing again, “Come back to the temple, dinner will be served soon.”

You look back at him and smile, “I’ll be up soon.”

“Don’t take too long, it’s supposed to be cold tonight,” he mumbles at you as he begins to walk away.

It’s adorable, the way he cares if you eat on time or if you’ll be warm. He’s driving you crazy without even realising it, if he turned back and said one more thing concerning your wellbeing, you’d break the rules by running up to him and hugging him.

❆˖°

Waiting is all you can do right now; you’re waiting until everyone has gone back to their quarters so that you can sneak into Bi-Han’s and put your plan into action. It’s not going to be particularly fair to him and you don’t know if he’ll classify it as cheating, but you don’t classify it as cheating, not technically anyways.

It’s almost quarter to midnight when it sounds like everyone has turned in for the night and you take the opportunity to sneak from your room and briskly walk to Bi-Han’s.

Approaching the door, you tentatively knock at it, waiting for him to answer and slide the door open feels like it takes forever but when he does you feel like you might fold on the spot, he’s wearing a loose robe, his whole chest on display and the worst part is, his hair is down and in his face a little. He has such soft looking hair, and you want nothing more than to run your hands through it.

Bi-Hans face is decidedly unhappy until he realises it’s you at his door, and then he’s smug, taking in your gaze, all gooey for him.

“Evening, sweet girl, you here to give in?” He’s grinning at you like you’re his prey.

You hurry inside past him, careful not to touch him, “No, I’m here to win.”

He groans, exasperated at you, like he couldn’t just cave now and end it all. “C’mon, just give in, I know you want to.”

“and I know you want to, too,” you’re standing in the middle of his room awkwardly, you’re trying to decide how you’re going to do this.

He slides the door closed and turns to look at you, his head crooking to the side slightly, hair falling into his face a bit. His arms are crossed over his chest, and it has your skin on fire, he looks irresistible to you right now and it’s not fair.

“What are you here to do, exactly?” He raises a questioning eyebrow at you.

You purse your lips, you know exactly what you want to do, you’re just feeling a little shy. Fuck it you think, and you shrug your own robe off your body, you’re completely bare beneath it.

Bi-Han’s eyes go wide, “What are you planning, sweet girl?” He’s breathless at your bare figure in front of him, completely taken aback by your uncharacteristic boldness.

You move over to his bed and sit down on it, propping yourself up against his pillows, “I’m going to touch myself and I’m going to make you watch.” You’re fighting against your own embarrassment, skin breaking out in a deep blush.

He looks entirely too pleased with this situation, “Mmm, go on then, show me how you touch yourself.”

“You can’t sweet talk me! that was one of your rules,” you point at him, “If you break the rules you lose,” you’re pouting at him.

He’s nodding his head, staring at your legs, waiting not so patiently for you to part them, “mmhm, I know, just spread your sweet thighs.”

You’re not sure if you should call him on that or not but since you’re also walking a thin line you let it go. He’s moving to sit at the foot of the bed, eyes never leaving your body as he does.

Slowly, you part your legs, and he lets out a quiet growl at the sight of your pussy, wet and wanting. Reaching down, your fingers run through your slick, spreading it all over your folds. You insert one finger into your hole, whining at the feeling, before you move it to your clit, rubbing small, controlled circles into it.

Little whimpers and quiet whines leave your mouth, you’re trying to hold in your sounds as you use your fingers to bring you pleasure. Looking over at Bi-Han you can see a thinly veiled animalistic look in his eyes, he’s trying to restrain himself. Feeling tortured by his inability to touch or even speak to you right now.

Your movements speed up on your clit and a gasp is ripped from you, Bi-Han’s staring heightening your pleasure.

“Ffuck – stop, stop.” He’s suddenly asking you to stop.

“Mmm, but I am so – ngh – close,” you don’t stop, your breaths coming faster and whines pitching higher, you’re so close to finishing.

Eyes wet with how close your high is, your other hand reaching up to grab your own breast. Bi-Han looks angry, his hand reaches out and rips yours away from your pussy. You whine in response to your pleasure being ripped from you at the last second.

“I told you to stop, shit.” He looks really angry, and you can’t help but feel a little smug, a small, suppressed, smile painting itself on your lips.

“You lost,” you tell him, though by how angry he is, you think he already knows that.

He squints at you with an accusatory glare, “wouldn’t have if you just fucken listened to me.”

“Yeah, but I wanted you to lose.”

He snarls at you, “you fucken win and now I’m taking you how I want.”

“Okay,” you smile brilliantly at him.

“Try not to be so pleased with yourself.” He’s hot when he’s grumpy.

But you can’t help it, you won, and he lost and now you can have sex with him again and feel victorious. It’s a good day to be you.

He moves over you and leans down, kissing you harshly, he pulls away but only to pull your mouth open and then he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth. You moan against him; you’ve missed his lips against yours. He’s being more forceful with you than usual, sexually frustrated and annoyed that he’s lost this arbitrary competition against you.

Pulling his lips from yours he starts kissing your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin.

“Bi-Han, not my neck, the others will see–”

“–Good, mine, you’re mine.” He sucks another mark into the centre of your collarbones, “Isn’t that right, my sweet girl?”

You nod your head, “Mhm, m’yours.”

The groan he lets out can be felt against your skin where his mouth is attached, he continues downwards. Sucking hickeys into your skin as he goes. He reaches your cunt and nuzzles his face into it, licking between your folds. His actions make you whine, back coming off the bed, his hand reaches up and pushes you back to the bed by your stomach.

Then he uses both hands to spread your thighs further apart, enough so that he can fit his shoulders between your legs. He turns his head into your thigh and sucks a mark there.

“Got such a pretty cunt, Mm gonna fucken ruin you,” your hole clenches at his words and he watches, he has a wolfish smile on his face at your reaction.

“God, fucken missed seeing how needy you are, love the way your body reacts to me,” he adds.

He’s driving you mental, “please,”

“Mmm? You need something, sweetie?” His tone is mocking, he knows exactly what you want.

“Want your mouth, on me, please?”

“Say you want my mouth on your cunt and then I might oblige.” He’s staring into your eyes, waiting for you to repeat his words.

It has you blushing again, it feels so filthy to say out loud to him, “I want your mouth on my cunt, please.” Your voice wavers as you mumble the words out.

You feel really exposed, legs over his shoulders as he looks at you, refusing to break eye contact.

“Not good enough, try again,” he has an amused look on his face, but his tone is serious.

You repeat yourself louder, “want your mouth on my cunt, please, Bi-Han,” you whine a little as you say it.

He chuckles at you, “all you had to say, sweetheart.”

He tucks his head down and licks along the length of your pussy, your back goes to arch again but he predicts that and moves his hand back to your stomach and holds you down.

His tongue enters your hole, licking into you before moving up to your clit, then he suctions onto it. Two of his fingers coming up to enter you, crooking them up into you, finding the spot he did last time and fucking into it.

You’re biting your lip trying to keep the noises in, head rolling back onto the pillows behind you. He removes his mouth from your clit but doesn’t stop his fingers.

“Eyes on me, do not stop looking.” He warns.

You aren’t focusing though, his fingers inside you taking you elsewhere. He pulls them from you and smacks your pussy at your lack of response, it has you jolting upright.

“Eyes on me, and stop biting your lip, wanna hear you.” His words slur together a little.

You look him in the eyes again, “yes, Grandmaster.” You mumble mindlessly, a little lost in the pleasure he’s given you.

“Fffuck, look at you, so pretty and dazed.” He moves his mouth back to your pussy, lapping at you like his last meal.

He’s eating you out with the conviction of a man who’s afraid he’ll never do it again, you maintain eye contact with him, but you feel like they might cross. You move your hands to his head, grabbing at his hair. He hums at the feel of your fingers pulling at him.

You’re getting closer to your peak; he stuffs his fingers back inside you and it pulls a loud moan from you. He groans into your cunt, the vibrations pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers speed up as he sucks unforgivingly at your clit. Your moans come louder and faster, and then he pulls his mouth away to blow cold air on your clit, it feels sharp and has you coming with a yelp. Your hands move to grab at his sheets, attempting to ground yourself.

He’s pleased, watching you fall apart on his fingers, when you’ve come down from your high, he pulls his fingers from you. But he leans down again and licks up your cum, he keeps licking at you and you try to wiggle away from his unrelenting tongue.

He pushes you down and uses both hands to hold your thighs open, “stay fucken still.”

“Ngh – it’s too much Bi-Han, mm sensitive, please.”

“I know but you’re gonna take it.” He tells you.

He’s licking at you fervently, in your pussy hole, your clit, sucking on your folds, he’s lost in your cunt. He flattens his tongue against you and shakes his head and it has you coming suddenly against your will. A breathy whine pulled from deep inside your chest, the force of it bites at you, the feeling too much. Your grip on his sheets hardening, if you were more present, you’d worry about tearing them.

He pulls back satisfied with the way you’re squirming, he keeps his hands on your thighs, holding them apart.

He’s staring at your fluttering hole, “could suck on your pussy for the rest of my life.”

Your thighs are fighting against his hands trying to close, he lets go and lets you close them. You take a moment to catch your breath, the overstimulation sending shocks through your body. A sharp kind of pleasure.

Tears in the corners of your eyes, one falling, Bi-Han climbs on top of you and leans down, licking it away.

“You’re such a sensitive little thing.” He whispers to you.

Then he moves his mouth to yours, devouring you through a kiss. He kisses you until you’re reaching up to him, running your hands through his hair, and then tugging him away.

He pulls back from you, lips ghosting over yours, “What is it?”

“Want you, please?”

His grin is wide, “love the way you ask me for things, such a polite girl.”

He pulls back, resting on his knees as he undoes his robe, throwing it onto the floor, the sight of him bare makes your cunt jump and mouth water.

He locks eyes with you, “You’re staring.”

“Yes.” Is all you can manage, “you’re… beautiful.”

“Jesus woman, too nice, such a nice girl.” He leans down and pecks your lips, your cheeks, he noses at the side of your face before kissing your ear, neck, anywhere he can reach.

Your hands reach out to rest on his shoulders and your legs move to rest your thighs on his hips, pulling him closer. His skin rests against yours, and you hug him to you. Your face moves to the crook of his neck, and you place a kiss there.

His hips slowly start to grind into you, the sweet intimate moment broken by his dick slipping through your folds.

“Sooo, fucken wet, always so wet an messy, mmph,” he speaks into your neck.

You move your hips against him, the feel of his cock rubbing against you making you wetter, rutting yourself into him more, “Bi-han, need it, please.”

“ngh – you can – hah – fucken wait,” he’s teasing you, your punishment for winning.

You whimper as his dick continuously slides over your clit; his upper half pulls away so he can look down to where he’s rubbing against you. Enjoying the way your hips are raising to chase him.

Deciding to take mercy on you and himself, he grabs the base of his cock, and slips the head into you, “hah – I forgot how fucken – ngh – ridiculously tight you are.” He groans at the feel of you wrapped around him, “you’re so – mph – warmmm.”

“Bi-Hannn~” you moan his name; he keeps sliding into you at a leisurely pace, trying not to hurt you.

“I needa fuck you more often – nghh, keep this cunt ready for me.” His hands are back on your thighs, keeping you open so he can watch himself slide into you.

You can feel his dick twitching inside you, he’s turned on watching the way he’s splitting you open. He’s about halfway in when he starts rubbing your clit, moving a hand off your thigh to do so, “you needa relax for me, sweetie.”

Your pussy clenches around him, “that’s hard when you keep talking.”

“Mmm, love the way I talk to you, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” he knows, he just loves the ego boost he gets from hearing you confirm it.

Then he drives all the way into you, and it pushes a gasp from your lungs, a long-drawn-out groan comes from Bi-Han. His question was just to distract you so he could bully his cock the rest of the way into you.

He looks up to the ceiling and away from where you’re connected, “ffffff–”

You raise your hips to grind against him, clit rubbing against his pelvis, the full feeling has you seeing stars.

“Mpphh – stop, unless you want me cumming now.” He warns you.

You whimper at him but can’t stop grinding into him, he pulls his hand from one of your hips and pushes them down, holding you still. The way he can hold you down turns you on, you’re still trying to rut up against him though.

You whine his name, and he snarls at you, “hold fucken still, needy fucken–” Your cunt tightens around him, and he has to take a breath, his dick twitching in you.

He shoots you an angry glare, “I can’t help it,” you tell him.

He knows but he doesn’t want this being ruined because he came too soon. He lowers his body down and presses flat against you. Skin to skin, it has you preening, you wrap your legs completely around him, ankles connecting behind him. He sinks deeper at your movement and a guttural moan comes from deep in his chest.

Pulling his head from your neck he presses kisses all over your face before taking your lips in his again, kissing you deeply, passionately. Licking into you deliberately, taking his time. Then he starts gently pulling from you, moving in and out of you at a languid pace. His tenderness makes your heart sing, his pace is consistent, unrelenting, and makes your head spin.

Lips parting from yours he moves to your ear, whispering praises to you, “sweet girl – ngh – sweet cunt, tastes so sweet – mph – sounds you make are so sweet.” Soft clapping noises are filling the room.

The sounds in the room are a mix of the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises your cunt is making. It’s making him dizzy, he’s holding back, being gentle and sweet, always trying to remember to be careful with you.

“Grandmaster – hah – harder please, I want more, want all of it.” You tell him, trying to encourage him to let go, to fuck you how he pleases. Like how he promised.

“Mphh – fucken, whatever you want, sweet girl – shiii” He kisses your cheek, before moving his head back a bit.

One of his hands braces behind your head on the bed, the other grabs your hip, holding you against him tightly. He spreads his knees slightly and then he’s fucking into you at such an unforgiving velocity it leaves you breathless, weepy moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth in a broken manner.

“How’s – hah ngh – this?” he asks you, smirking cockily at you.

“good, sogood – mph – always so good Grandmaster.”

He speeds up more, something you wouldn’t have thought possible, “never letting you go, mine, you’re fucken – ngh – mine now, sweet girl.”

You feel overwhelmed, his words, the speed of his thrusts, the strength of them, it’s making you cry. Bi-Han notices and laughs, “too fucken much for you? Mmph – look so cute when you cry.”

You nod your head, eyes glassy as you look at him, tears slipping from the corner of your eyes. His smile is filled with pride, he loves that look on your face, never wants to forget it.

Your hand is grabbing onto his forearm by your head, the other scratching at his back, the feeling of your nails digging into his skin has him moaning. He looks down your bodies, watching where you connect.

“I’ve missed the way your – ngh – little cunt creams around me – mph,” he mumbles out, words slurring together, he’s getting closer to cumming.

Your pussy tightens around him, almost impossibly so, “cumming, mm cumming – hah–” You warn him, gasping moans leaving you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuck – nghh – you feel sooo – ngh,” He’s cumming too, pumping you full of his cum.

He keeps fucking it into you until you tell him it’s too much, then he’s leaning down and wrapping his arms around you. He takes you with him as he rolls onto his back. Leaving you resting on top of him, his cock still inside you, both of your releases leaking from your hole.

“Mmmm, I’ve missed you. Couldn’t say it earlier, might’ve counted as sweet talking” He whispers against you.

Your heart leaps at his confession, “I missed you too, a lot.”

“We aren’t ever doing this stupid competition ever again.” He looks you firmly in your eyes, trying to drive home his point.

“Yes, Grandmaster.” You joke with him.

But he groans in response, and you can feel his cock hardening inside you, it has you blushing and tucking your head into his neck, hiding your face.

He chuckles at you, “Shouldn’t have deprived me, it’s gonna be a long night for you, sweet girl, I’m nowhere near done with you and your sweet little cunt.”

❆˖°

A/N: Oh mi gosh, 🤭 Bi-Han went a lil crazy in this. I make no apologies, you asked, and I supplied. And again I’m glad so many people enjoyed my first part. I say this every time but please if you want another part, or if you have any thoughts, feelings, ideas, requests, please reach out! I love hearing from everyone, and I am more than happy to interact with people.

Part three

One lovely @belle-oftheball34 asked to be tagged, so here ya go <33

[sirenscriptures]

primarchs + fantasies (2)

anonymous asked: Can I like. Beg you to do another of the primarch fantasies. But including Angron and Peter Turbo. Don't care too much about who else you go for if you do it but please there's so little content for them 😭😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

notes: you ask and you shall receive my sweet anon <3 if you want more primarchs for this series of hcs do let me know!! i decided to include my fav emo ankle biting bat and pretty goth raven man along with your lovely choices. (mdni banner is by arlerts-angel!)

warnings: pretty much gender neutral ! reader. size difference. touch starved primarch time. possessiveness. some bondage. body worship mentioned. depictions of fear play + predator/prey + slight stalking on konrad’s part. the primarchs not knowing how to deal with intimate feelings (shocker!!)

perturabo

for one so cold such as perturabo, it’s a safe assumption that any type of fantasy—even if fleeting—is an utter waste of time. and to no one’s surprise, wasted time is one of his many irritants.

in general, primarchs aren’t recognized as being the greatest with intimacy, yet there are certainly ones who are better at handling it than others, and perturabo is not within that group, at least not yet. shall we say…he would be low-ranked on the intimacy scale compared to some of his brothers.

though, in his slow-building foundation of trust with you, various facets of the massive primarch began to reveal themselves.

it started small, really—fleeting thoughts in your absence of how you watched with a bright curiosity at how he spent so many hours repairing and creating countless devices at his workbench, looping even the smallest of interactions you were able to have in your limited time together within his head during his alone time, the feeling of your prolonged absence beginning to drive an even emptier pit within his chest that made it impossible to focus on anything…

at a certain point, the initial waves of these new urges made perturabo’s already thin patience begin to melt away completely, making him more prone to snapping at everyone around him, even toward you at times—which he of course would come to regret.

but other than his immense frustration due to his inability to recognize and fully confront his deeper desires, he would find himself giving into these “wastes of time” he’d resented so much before.

specifically, desires to explore every part of your delicate body. desires that made him, perturabo of all souls, yearn for physical contact from only you. even if it meant splaying you out on his workbench or hooking you into one of his large contraptions so you had nowhere to flee, he’d do it.

just envisioning how your fragile skin would be stained with marks from metal straps and contraptions digging into your soft flesh, how warm and tight you would be even with his thick cock barely inside of you, and how addictive your noises would be to him as he’d let himself finally have the privilege of getting completely lost in pleasure instead of his own monumental ego…it was enough to drive even someone as stone cold as him mad.

yet, there was more to these thoughts. perturabo had no interest in simply pleasuring you, or getting his pleasure from you. even though pleasure in this sense was fundamental, the aspect that enthralled him the most was being able to call you “his”. not that just your body was his, but that you belonged to him. and he had no means of forgetting to remind you. physically, emotionally, mentally, he wanted to let you know that you belonged to no one else but him.

the more he entertained these thoughts, the more he couldn’t even really recognize himself anymore. you had somehow managed to completely rewire his way of thinking. whether this was good or bad was to be determined…maybe after he did what he did best: putting his ideas into action.

angron

although angron is one of the primarchs who struggles with intimacy the most, that doesn’t mean he is immune from having the same thoughts and desires as his brothers. the only thing that truly “prevents” these thoughts are—you guessed it—the nails.

due to the amount of pain he was in at almost every waking moment, angron had essentially written off any other feeling than his anger. after all, he had no choice. the way he was engineered made this unfortunate truth evermore present, especially when you started growing on him.

he couldn’t even fathom how it was possible that he’d started growing attached to you. of course he had care for certain folk around him, like his sons and certain siblings, of course. but when it came to you, it was completely different. not even the nails could drive hard enough into his brain tissue to convince him that it wasn’t. yet, any time he wished to explore the sensations you gave him, the anger would always wash over him even more than the last time.

anyone that even knew slightly of the primarch knew that his fury was unmatched. his rage boiled like no other, even out of the deepest pits of the immaterium; and the way he fought and shed others' blood displayed that clearly. and though his exterior would never let you know it, he did have the capacity to worry despite the pain.

the truth was that these desires were possibly even stronger than his own potent rage. but angron knew, with that same bitter taste in his mouth, that even if he were able to, letting himself release onto you would only end up hurting you; but more likely killing you. though he could be bloodthirsty and careless of the lives he tossed away, you were different to him than others. his trust was not easy to gain by just anybody, but your gentle nature and genuine kindness even despite his own temperament had gradually surrendered it to you.

though it’s immensely painful for him, sometimes he can’t help but to think of you. there are so many times where he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his. times where he can feel you in every aspect, from the taste of your lips to how it feels pushing inside you. the pain he’s so used to feeling doesn’t stop him from envisioning how hypnotizing you’d look pushing yourself down onto his shaft, head throwing back as your entire body trembled at the feeling of his length stretching you from the inside.

he knew it could never truly happen because of these feelings, but a part of him wanted so badly to feel you with his own hands. as battered and scarred as they were, you’d always looked so soft to him. the attraction angron had to you seemed to only fester when he had these thoughts, causing even more pain for him.

envisioning a position where he can have you in his possession and feel every single part of you without any pain feels like it could be the closest feeling to euphoria he could ever feel. even if it’s just a sliver of the sensation, the pain feels worth it in some form. even if you have to restrain him until he has fresh scars, it would all be worth it for you. at least, some part of him felt that.

corvus corax

like many of his brothers, corvus is extremely complicated. there are many cold and immovable aspects to his personality, yet there is still the glimmer of humanity in him. there are also aspects of vulnerability that you don’t get to see too often, at least as a human surrounded primarily by legionaries.

even as a human who never got much interaction with him, corvus knew there was something about you worth exploring. while it was never too common for primarchs to interact so personally with humans in or outside of their legions, he wasn’t the type to be concerned about any raised eyebrows or whispers.

the more alone time he spends with you, while limited at first, only makes this curiosity within him grow. every visit with you makes him want to know even more about you than the last, even when your conversations expand from only mere minutes to hours.

while it only seems like a harmless interest of his in the early stages, corvus slowly begins to realize just how much of an impact you leave on him, and it eats away at him in your absence. there is something desperate within him when thinking of you. it doesn’t make sense at first due to how new these sensations are to the primarch, but it comes together eventually.

maybe it was how deeply he’d gotten to know you that drew him closer. even just the sight of your face or sound of your voice could pull him from even the darkest of ruminations that plagued his mind so often. the first time he’d ever heard you sincerely smile and laugh without any worry of formality made something in him feel more alive than ever.

his thoughts of you were fond, but they had so much more depth now. because of you, his mind no longer felt so dark and clouded.

the desperation he felt for you was connected to the deep longing for your touch. though he could never let you know that, corvus still ached to feel you. his thoughts of you were full of admiration not only for your character and personality, but also for your body.

if he let himself slip too much into the thought, it would make him wonder what it would be like exploring your body. you were so delicate, so gentle that he’d have to almost “train” himself to handle you properly and with care. your body was so fascinating to him entirely. in his mind, there wasn’t any other way to make you know that than to worship it entirely.

so many thoughts and wonders of feeling you and noting which parts of you were most sensitive, so many visions of your back arching and body squirming, so many questions of whether you felt similar to him.

of course, he has to pull himself away from these thoughts, which is a battle against himself every time. though, there are still so many questions in his mind that remain. even when he’s gotten to know so much about you, there is always a deeper yearning in the raven guard primarch to display how much he desires you as a whole. for now, he can only hope that these fantasies don’t just exist as such forever.

konrad curze

curze is another one of those special cases, in that most if not all of his fantasies involve invoking fear in some way. yet, his fantasies about you are quite different from his fantasies of how he sheds others’ blood.

in true primarch nature, it takes him quite a while to properly acknowledge these thoughts and urges. having these types of feelings for a human was the last thing he’d ever expected in his lifetime. he never would have found his mind capable of ever having these feelings for really anyone.

for a being so centered on generating fear and violence wherever he is, it’s like the world he’d always known was shattering around him. the discovery of his feelings and desires for you feel like konrad’s biggest loss yet an amazing revelation at the exact same time.

before, you were such an insignificant face in his mind. just an innocent stranger, almost like the rest of them. almost. that was the part that had stuck out in his mind: you were clearly different in the way he’d spared you from death. yet, he never understood why.

these feelings are almost unbearable to him, like a sickness of some kind. it’s almost like feeling this way changes him physically in some form, because it seems to take a toll on his health and stature for a while. yet somehow, it feels good…and he doesn’t want the overwhelming sensations to stop.

though he manages to hide it from you when you’re present, it comes to a point where even the mere scent of you fires off a million of these sensations at once: head spinning, vision almost completely blurred, feelings of that same drunken sickness mixed with an intense, unquenchable thirst for more blinding all rational thoughts…

yet, it somehow only intensifies. he can’t help but think of how beautiful you’d look underneath him, eyes glassy with that familiar fear he’d evoked in so many. even if it’s only an image in his mind, konrad can feel how soft your lips are, how delicate your neck is with his massive hand engulfing it, and how desperately you writhe beneath his body, both in fear and arousal.

the mere thought of you eventually becomes insatiable to him. he needs to feel you, needs to be as close to you as he possibly can, even if that means lurking wherever you are. he really doesn’t care whether you see or not, though he has quite a talent for slipping right away from your vision before you can even turn your head.

it doesn’t matter how much he tries to fight the visions away. once his mind was set on you, an endless spiral drove deeper into his mind with each passing moment. even if he would never fully understand why he’d felt this way, or how this had ever come to be, konrad knew that there was far too much enjoyment to be had in this little game of chase with you to really care.

even if there was a very small part of him that did truly wonder of the deeper parts of yourself other than your mixed fear and interest within him, he’d never truly let that be known. at least, not in a direct way. but who knows? maybe one day you’d see that mask slip accidentally. but until then, he would still keep so many secrets from you, even in his own fantasies of you.

written by sirenscriptures. do not copy, repost, rewrite, translate, use, or post on to any other site.

[pricegouge]

Don't mind me, just thought too long about keeping Price on a leash while he fucks you from behind 🫠

John Price x gn SAS captain reader oneshot | explicit

cw: Light pain play. Unsafe gagging practices. Praise kink. John isn't so much a masochist in this one, as just very enthused with reader's anger.

It's never easy working so closely with another captain, but John Price was perhaps the worst. Cocky, arrogant, brimming with the kind of self-assurance only a man who looked like him in a field like this could have.

A league all his own, really; a fact which he never let you forget, of course.

"Should give a horse its head when it knows where it's going, love," he'd murmur after you'd send your lieutenant away with detailed instructions on a task he could surely handle without your input. Ironic, that, seeing as John never seemed to tire of micromanaging you.

You hate him; tell him as much every time weeks of frustration in the field and no options other than lower ranking officers who'll get you discharged combine to find the two of you tangled up against the nearest sturdy surface. 

He only ever laughs at you. "Show me, then," he goads, and you'll scoff in disgust and slap him, or dig your nails into his flesh so hard you can feel the heat welling beneath your grip. "Just like that, love," he'll hiss, "harder, fuck," and you're never certain if he means riding or hurthing, so you do both.

Most times, he likes when you keep his hands pinned over his head as you sink onto him. He could probably break out of it easily enough (this is John Price, after all), but he never does; just lets you lean across his unreasonably long torso and plant too much of your weight on the delicate bones of his wrists. It makes for an awkward angle, but you don't mind so much when it gives you great access to his neck. This might be his favorite, and while part of you is loathe to give him anything he wants, the other part is deeply satisfied with the knowledge that you could embarrass him in front of his men just by ripping off his keffiyeh at the next strat meeting if he pisses you off too much.

Too bad you don't actually want anyone else seeing him like this, all marked up. It's not that you care about him, but there's an undeniable rush that comes with getting John Price all laid out under you, asking for your hands, your fists, anything. That's the part you're not eager to share any facet of.

He makes it hard to keep quiet, though, grunting and groaning like a pig as he does.

"Could you be any more obvious?" you hiss down at him, and his mustache twitches ominously.

"I can use my mouth some other way," he offers. You hum, considering, but when he opens his mouth again, it is not in pliant offering of his tongue.

"Saw your spar with Ghost earlier. He let you grapple him, that last time. Get him in the ribs first, next time, and -."

"I'm gonna fucking gag you." His laugh, loud and obvious, lets you know exactly what he thinks of that idea, and far be it from you to deny any opportunity to shut him up.

With your knickers in his mouth, your belt holding them in place, it should probably occur to you that this is a bit too much for casual sex. You should probably notice how eagerly John pulls you onto his lap. You definitely should have noticed the pattern of events which always lead you back here by now. You never do though, just as eager to get him hilted inside you as he is to be there. 

He groans when you sink onto him, neck cording with the effort to be heard.

"Should keep you like this all the time," you suggest, digging a thumbnail into his nipple. He arches a bit, lays back flat when you swat his pec.

"Christ, Price," you mutter as you wiggle on his long cock. It's a shame something so intuitively designed was wasted on such a right shit, you think, notching him impossibly deeper. Price swallows thickly when you squeeze around him, work him within yourself for a moment. He's content to watch you until he's not, heavy hands climbing up your thighs to encourage you to move properly. 

You swat them away. "Greedy," you admonish, but you're ready to move anyway so you do, fucking yourself onto him with long rolls of your hips. You forget most times, when gear's back on, and perfectly professional (unsettlingly self-assured) masks are back in place, what exactly keeps you stumbling back into his tent time after time. But like this, when he waits until the grip you have on his thighs gets dire and the pinch of your brow combines with your slack jaw to betray your pleasure to get his hands properly on you; like this, you remember.

John's hands are heavy and warm, coaxing and guiding. He's like this always, some squirmy little bug that's made a home of your ear likes to remind you, but it's only here - where the judgemental eyes of your officers can't follow - that you allow yourself to be guided; let him pet at you, reward you. Here, it's all justified. Honors owed. Tomorrow, surrounded by the best soldiers in the world and expected to stand on a pedestal as his equal, the doubt will set in and his praise will draw your teeth.

"Shit, John," you huff when his big palm stretches flat against your tummy and the way he pushes into you, you know he can feel himself there. He grunts, rocks up and tries to squeeze himself through the wall of your abs. You help, constricting around him, and the thick material of your belt folds under the pressure of how hard he grits his teeth, the needy thing. 

"Want you to fuck me," you tell him, and smirk when his eyes drag up to your face from where they'd been trained on your chest. He grunts, a little dazed, and follows automatically when you climb off him. You don't let go of the tail of your belt, keeping it trained over your shoulder as you settle on hand and knees. He follows, of course, unable to do much else, and hums excitedly as he climbs in behind you. 

"Hands to yourself," you warn, but he just hums again and slides his palms up your thighs like you knew he would. You yank on the belt, sending him sprawling over top of you. You only realize it was a mistake when he catches himself easily with a fist planted above your head and he chuckles darkly against your ear. You forget how big he is sometimes, how he's only here because he wants to be. He waits until you turn towards him and only pushes back into you when your eyes are locked on his.

You'd be ashamed of the way your mouth falls open if you had the capacity for it, but the way John fills you leaves room for little else. 

He knows, damn him. Fucks you so good you forget you're supposed to be in charge. He leans heavily onto you, gets your elbows to fold under you and follows you down, keeps his forearm planted on the mattress above your head. He took the belt tail out of your hand at some point, set himself free so he could murmur praises in your ear with ticklish lips. You swat at him half-heartedly but he just chuckles, holds your hands in his free one once he gets his arm tucked up under your chest. When you cum, he's still right there, panting the same air as you, mumbling about 'Go on, show me how much you fuckin' hate me.'

 You get yourself sorted enough to thread your fingers through his short hair and tug and that's all it takes. He groans deep and guttural, nips at your ear lobe so delicately it's as if he's afraid to hurt you, even after everything.

He sighs eventually, sits back on his haunches to look down at you. "So pretty, love," he murmurs and you sigh, doubt creeping in already.

"John -."

He swats your ass to shut you up and you glare back at him, any post-coital affection you might sometimes feel for him long gone. "Said you look fucking pretty like this." The words are honeyed, the tone is threatening. "Gotta fuckin' gag me cause you don't wanna hear it, huh? Well too bad, love. Not done with you yet."

You can't even complain when he buries his face in the seam of you.

[physalian]

Humanizing Your Characters (And Why You Should)

To humanize a character is not to contort an irredeemable villain into the warped funhouse mirror reflection of a hero in the last 30 seconds to gain “narrative subversion” points. To humanize is not to give said villain a tragic backstory that validates every bad choice they make in attempt to provide nuance where it does not deserve to be.

To humanize a character, villain or otherwise, is to make them flawed. Scuff them up, give them narrative birthmarks and scars and imperfections. Whether it’s your hero, their love interest, the comic relief, the mentor, the villain, the rival, these little narrative details serve to make all your literary babies better.

Why should you humanize your characters?

To do this means to write in details beyond those that service the plot, or the themes, or the motifs, morals, foreshadowing, or story. These might be (and usually are) entirely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. So, if I wrote lengthy diatribes on pacing and why every detail must matter, and character descriptions and thematic importance, why am I now suggesting go free-for-all on the fluff?

Just like real people have quirks and tics and beliefs and pet peeves that serve our no greater purpose, so should fictional people. Your average reader doesn’t have the foggiest idea what literary devices are beyond metaphor, simile foreshadowing, and anecdote, but they can tell when the author is using motif and theme and all the syntactical marvels because it reads that much richer, even if they can’t pinpoint why.

And, for shipping fodder, these tiny little details are what help your audience fall in love with the character. It doesn’t even have to be in a book – Taylor Swift (whether you like her or not) never fills her music with sexual innuendo or going clubbing. She tells stories filled with human details like dancing in the refrigerator light. People can simultaneously relate to these very specific and vivid experiences, and say “not that exactly, but man this reminds me of…” and that’s (part of) the reason her music is so popular.

What kinds of narratives need these details?

All of them. Visual media, audio, written, stage play. Now, to what degree and excess you apply these details depends on your tone, intended audience, and writing style. If your style of writing is introspection heavy, noir character drama, you might go pretty heavy on the character design.

But even if you’re writing a kids book with a scant few paragraphs of setting descriptors and internal narration, or you’re drawing a comic book – if you have characters you want people to care about, do this.

Animators, particularly, are very adept at humanizing non-human characters, because, unlike live acting, every single stroke of the pen is there with intent. They use their own reflections for facial references, record their own movements to draw a dance, and insert little bits of themselves into signature character poses so you know that *that* animator did this one.

How to humanize your characters.

I’m going to break this down into a couple sections: Costume/wardrobe, personality, beliefs/behavior/superstitions, haptics/proxemics/kinesics, and voice. They will all overlap and the sheer variety and possibilities are way too broad for me to capture every facet.

Costumes and Wardrobe

In the film Fellowship of the Ring, there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where, after Boromir is slain by the Uruk-Hai, Aragorn takes Boromir’s Gondorian vambraces to wear in his honor, and in honor of their shared country. He wears them the rest of the trilogy. The editing pays no extra attention to them beyond a split second of Aragorn tightening the straps, it never lingers on them, never reminds you that they’re there, but they kept it in nonetheless. His actor also included a hunting bow that didn't exist in the book because he's a roamer, a ranger, and needs to be able to feed himself, along with a couple other survival tools.

Aragorn wears plenty of other symbolic bits of costume – the light of the Evenstar we see constantly from Arwen, the Lothlorien green cloaks shared by the entire Fellowship, his re-forged sword and eventual full Gondorian regalia, but all those are Epic Movie Moments that serve a thematic purpose.

Taking the vambraces is just a small, otherwise insignificant character moment, a choice made for no other reason than that’s what this character would do. That’s what makes him human, not an archetype.

When you’re writing these details and can’t rely on sneaking them into films, you have to work a little harder to remind your audience that they exist, but not too often. A detail shifts from “human” to “plot point” when it starts to serve a purpose to the themes and story.

Inconsequentiality might be how a character ties, or doesn’t tie their shoelaces, because they just can’t be bothered so they remain permanent knots and tripping hazards. It might be a throw-away line about how they refuse to wear shorts and strictly stick to long pants because they don’t like showing off their legs. It might be perpetually greasy hair from constantly running their fingers through it with stress, or self-soothing. A necklace they fidget with, or a ring, a belt they never bother to replace even though they should, a pair of lucky socks.

Resist the urge to make it more meaningful than “this is just how they are”. If I’m using the untied shoelaces example – in Spiderverse, this became a part of the story’s themes, motifs, and foreshadowing, and doesn’t count. Which isn’t bad! It’s just not what I’m talking about.

Personality

In How to Train Your Dragon, Toothless does not speak. All his personality comes from how he moves, the noises he makes, and the expressions on his face. There’s moments, like in the finale, when his prosthetic has burned off and Hiccup tells him to hold on for a little bit longer, and you can clearly see on his face that he’s deeply uncertain about his ability to do so. It’s almost off the screen, another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. Or the beat of hesitation before he lets Hiccup touch him in the Forbidden Friendship scene. Or the irritated noise he makes when he’s impatiently waiting for Hiccup to stop chatting with his dad because they have a giant dragon to murder. Or when he slaps Hiccup with his ear fin for flying them into a rock spire.

None of those details *needed* to exist to endear you to his character or to serve the scenes they’re in. The scenes would carry on just fine without them. He’s a fictional dragon, yes, but these details make him real.

Other personality tics you could include might be a character who gets frustrated with tedious things very quickly and starts making little inteligible curses under their breath. Or how they giggle when they’re excited and start bouncing on their toes. Maybe they have a tic where they snap their fingers when they’re concentrating, trying to will an idea into existence. Or they stick their tongue out while they work and get embarrassed when another character calls them on it. They roll around in their sleep, steal blankets, drool, leave dishes in the sink or are neurotic with how things must be organized. They have one CD in their car, and actually use that CD player instead of the phone jack or Bluetooth. They sing in the shower, while they cook, or while they do homework, no matter how grating their voice.

They like the smell of new shoes or Sharpies. They hate the texture of suede or velvet or sticky residues. They never pick their socks up. They hate the overhead light in their room and use 50 lamps instead. They hate turning into oncoming traffic or don’t trust their backup camera. They collect Funko Pops and insist there’s always room for more.

And about a million others.

Beliefs, Behaviors, and Superstitions

*If you happen to be writing a story where superstitions have merit, maybe skip this one.* Usually, inevitably, these evolve into character centerpieces and I can’t actually think of one off the top of my head that doesn’t become this beyond the ones we all know. A few comedic examples do come to mind:

The Magic Conch in “Club Spongebob” and the sea-bear-proof dirt circle in “The Camping Episode”

Dean Winchester’s fear and panic-driven actions in “Yellow Fever” and “Sam, Interrupted”

The references to the trolls that steal left-foot socks in How to Train Your Dragon

I’m not a fan of wasting time writing a religious character doing their religious thing when Plot Is Happening, but smaller things are what I’m talking about. Like them wearing a cross/rosary and touching it when they’re nervous. Having a specific off-beat prayer, saying, or expression because they don’t believe in cursing.

The classic ones like black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, salt, sidewalk cracks can all be funny. Athletes have plenty, too, and some of them, particularly in baseball culture, are a bit ridiculous. Not washing socks or uniforms, having a team idol they donate Double Bubble to and also rub their toes. A specific workout routine, diet, team morale dance.

Other things, too. A character who’s afraid to go back downstairs once the lights are off, or fear the basement or the backyard shed. Or they’re really put-off by this old family photo for no reason other than how glassy their eyes look and it’s creepy. They like crystals, dreamcatchers, star signs, tarot, or they absolutely do not under any circumstances.

They believe in all the tried and true ways of predicting the weather like a grizzled old sailor. They believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves, witches, skinwalkers, doppelgangers, fairies. They talk to the cat statue in their kitchen and named it Fudge Pop. They whisper to the spirit that possessed the fridge so it stops making all that racket, and half the time, it works every time. They wear yellow for good luck or carry a rabbit’s foot. They’re not religious at all but still throw prayers out to whoever’s listening because, you know, just in case. They sit by their window sill and talk to the moon and the stars and pretend like they’re in a music video when they’re driving through the city in the rain.

Haptics, Proxemics, and Kinesics

These are, for all you non-communication and psych majors out there, touch and physical contact, how they move, and how they move around other people.

Behold, your shipping fodder.

Two shining examples of proxemics in action are the famous “close talker” episode of Seinfeld (of which every communication major has been subjected to) and Castiel’s not understanding of personal space (and human chronemic habits) in Supernatural.

These are how a character walks, if they’re flat-footed, clumsy, or tip-toers. If they make a racket or constantly spook the other characters. If they fidget or can’t sit still in a seat for five seconds, if they like to sit backwards or upside down. How they touch themselves, if they do a lot of self-soothing maneuvers (hugging themselves, rubbing their arms, touching their face, drawing their knees up, holding their neck, etc) or if they don’t do any self-soothing at all.

This is how they shake hands, if they dance while they cook or work. It’s how much space they let themselves take up, if they man-spread or keep their limbs in closer. How close they stand to others or how far. If they let themselves be touched at all, or if they always have their skin covered. If they always have their back to a wall,  or are always making sure they know where the nearest exit is. If they make grand gestures when they talk and give directions. If they flinch from pats on the back or raised hands. If they lean away from loud voices or project their own. If they use their height to their advantage when arguing, puff their chest, square their shoulders, put their hands on their hips, or point fingers in accusation.

If they touch other characters as they pass by. If they’re huggers or victims of falling asleep on or near their comrades. If they must sleep facing the door, or with something solid behind them. If they can sleep in the middle of a party wholly uncaring. If they sleepwalk, sleeptalk, migrate across the bed to cuddle whoever’s nearest with no idea they’re doing it.

If they like to be held or like to hold others. If they hate being picked up and slung around or are touch-starved for it. If they like their space and stick to it or are more than happy to share.

Do they walk with grace, head held high and back straight? Or are they hunched over, head hung, watching their feet? Are they meanderers or speed-walkers? Do they cross their arms in front or lace their hands behind them? Do they bow to authority or meet that gaze head on?

I have heard that Prince Zuko, in Last Airbender, is usually drawn sleeping with his bad ear down when he doesn’t feel safe, like on his warship or anywhere in the Fire Nation, or on the road. He’s drawn on his other side once he joins the Gaang. In Dead Man’s Chest, just before Davy Jones drives the Flying Dutchman under the waves, two tentacles curl up and around the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing off in the water.

When they fight, do they attack first, or defend first? Do they touch other characters’ hair? Share makeup, share clothes? Touch their faces with boops or bonks or nuzzles and eskimo kisses? Do they crack their knuckles and necks and knees?

Do they stare in baffled curiosity at all the other characters wholly comfortable in each other's spaces because they can’t, won’t, or don’t see the point in all this nonsense? Do they say they’re happy on the outside, but are betrayed by their body language?

Voice

Whether or not to write an accent is entirely up to you. Books like Their Eyes Were Watching God writes dialogue in a vernacular specific to its characters. Westerners and southerners tend to be written with the southern drawl or dialect, ripe with stereotypical contractions. Be advised, however, that in attempt to write an accent to give your character depth, you could be instead turning off your audience who doesn’t have energy to decipher what they’re saying, or you went and wrote a racist stereotype.

Voice isn’t just accent and dialect, nor is it how it sounds, which falls more solidly under useful character descriptions. Voice for the sake of humanizing your characters concerns how they talk, how they convey their thoughts, and how they become distinct from other characters in dialogue and narration.

If you’re writing a narrative that hops heads and don’t want to include a big banner to indicate who’s talking at any given time, this is where voice matters. It is, I think, the least appreciated of all the possible traits to pay attention to.

First person narrators have the most flexibility here because the audience is zero degrees removed from their first-hand experiences. Their personality comes through sharply in how they describe things and what they pay attention to.

But it’s also in what similes and metaphors they use. I read a book that had an average (allegedly straight) male narrator going off and describing colors with types of flowers, some I had to look up because I just don’t know those off the top of my head. My immediate thought was either this character is a poorly written gay, or he’s a florist. Neither (allegedly), the writer was just being too specific.

Do they have crutch words they use? like, um, actually, so…, uh

Or repeat exclamations specific to them? yikes, yowzers, jeepers, jinkies, zoinks, balls, beans, d’oh!

Or idioms they’re fond of? Like a bat out of hell. Snowball’s chance.

Do they stutter when they’re nervous? Do they lose their train of thought and bounce around, losing other characters in the process? Do they have a non-Christian god they pray to and say something other than “thank God”? Are they from another country, culture, time period, realm, or planet with their own gods, beliefs, and idioms?

When they describe settings, how flowery is the language? Would this grizzled war hero use flowery language? How would he or she describe the color pink, versus a PTA mom? Do they use only a generic “blue, green, red” or do they really pay attention with “aquamarine, teal, emerald, viridian, vermillion, rose, ruby”?

How do this character’s hobbies affect how well they can describe dance moves, painting styles, car models, music genres?

This mostly matters when you’re head-hopping and the voice of the narrator serves to be more distinct, otherwise, what’s the point of head-hopping? Just use third-person omniscient.

If you really want to go wild, give a specific narrator unique syntax. Maybe one character is the ghost of Oscar Wild with never-ending run-on sentences. Just be sure to not go too overboard and compromise the integrity of your story.

In the book A Lesson Before Dying, a somewhat illiterate, underprivileged and undereducated minor has been given a mentor, a teacher, before they face the death penalty. At the end of the book, you read all of the letters they wrote to their teacher. There’s misspellings everywhere, almost no punctuation, and long, rambling sentences.

It’s heartbreaking. The subject matter is heavy and horrible, yes, but it’s the choice to write with such poor English that has a much bigger impact than perfect MLA format.

How to implement these details

Most of these, in the written medium, need only show up once or twice before your audience notices and wonders why they’re there. Most fall squarely under character design, which falls under exposition, and should follow all the exposition guidelines.

These details exist to be random and fluffy, but they can’t exist randomly within the narrative. If you want to have your character be superstitious, pick a relevant time to include that superstition.

Others, like ongoing speech habits or movements, still don’t overuse, especially if they’re unique. A character might like to sit backwards in a chair, but if you mention that they’re doing it every single time they sit down, your audience will wonder what’s so important and if the character is unwell.

And, of course, you can let these traits become thematically important, like a superstition being central to their personality or backstory or motivation. These all serve the same purpose of making your character feel like a real person instead of just a “character”.

Just think about tossing in a few random details every now and then and see what happens. One tiny sentence can take a background character and make them candidates for the eventual fandom’s fan favorite. Details like these turn your work from “This a story, and these are the characters who tell it” into “these are my characters, and this is their story.”

[river13245]

Hi! Hope your doing okay

I wanted to ask if you could do I fic with Dean Winchester x Male reader who is autistic and has a sensory meltdown? And Sam us freaking out not knowing what to do or what happened and Dean’s handling it like a pro. Season one episode 8 possibly? If not any episode is fine.

Thank you! Have a nice day!

The Bugs

Dean x autistic male reader

Another day means another case and as much as you loved traveling and taking down the supernatural. Today just already wasn't your day.

Your morning started out really good. Waking up next to dean who was holding you tightly against him was how you always wanted to wake up. You stayed in his arms for just a few minutes wanting to be close to him as long as possible. However what made you slip from his arms and out of the room was the fridge closing and a bag rustling.

Getting up and putting on one of your shirts and sweatpants you made your way into the kitchen. What you saw was Sam opening up a fast food bag that he must have went and gotten earlier. "good morning Sam" "good morning" he says before handing you a breakfast sandwich. You tell him a quick thank you before eating the food.

You knew that you didn't have much time before the three of you needed to leave for the next case that had popped up. So when you finish your sandwich you make sure to grab Deans before walking to your bed. Leaning down to place a kiss to the top of deans head you wake him up by shaking him gently. "hey get up and eat while I take a quick shower" He slowly wakes up and you put his sandwich on the bedside table.

Dean sits up in bed his hair barely a mess since he kept it short. However it is sticking up in different directions and his face looks softer than usual. "Want me to join you?" there was a slight tone in his voice and you knew he was joking. "shut up and eat. Any other time I wouldn't mind sharing the water but we have to leave and You took a shower last night"

He nods and eats leaving you to get ready. Once you get undressed and make sure the water is warm you step under the water. The water falls against you and it feels nice. However the repetitive noises got to you after a while. The small splattering sound it made as it fell against the bottom of the tub and the sound you heard as it came out of the facet.

Instead of getting frustrated and letting it ruin your day you made sure to hurry up your routine. The three of you were in a old hotel room so you wouldn't complain but man did the sound agitate you just a little. When you step out and turn the water off is when you let out deep breaths and manage to calm yourself down and get ready.

When you walk out the boys are already getting their shoes on and so you get your shoes and jacket on. Dean grabs his keys and the three of you get into the car. "so we have to go to a barbeque?" sam asks and dean smiles "absolutely. Just think about it, we get free food"

The three of you continue to talk for a while but you eventually to fall asleep. Which is something that happens alot on long car rides. and a few hours later Dean is waking you up while Sam is grabbing a few things from the trunk. "hey were here come on. Lets eat" This causes you to roll your eyes with a smile and get out of the car.

Walking up to the door you could hear a large crowd. This is not how you wanted your day to go. A lot of noise can cause you to have sensory overload. However you have been working on things to distract yourself so you are trying to be confident.

The door opens a moment after Sam knocks and a man walks up and he looks at the three of you and after a bit of talking he lets the three of you inside.

In the place and outside in the back there's a lot of people talking and just living their life. The whispers of so many people that are going straight to your eardrums are causing you to close your eyes. You were observant of many noises whether you wanted to be or not. But every little noise was overwhelming sometimes. However you distract yourself by talking to as many people as you need to. You even got some information out of it.

When the three of you all met back up to exchange data. You all left and began searching for more information and leads to figure out what exactly was happening in this town.

-----

The day is spent searching and sneaking into places to try to get to the bottom of this. and sure enough you guys have it figured out. The kid that was super interested in bugs was part of the problem. So Dean calls the kids father who was the man who was the owner of the place you went to just earlier that day.

When the man picks up and Dean says this lie to make up a story it doesn't go exactly how he plans and he hands up. You could tell that Dean was frustrated and frankly you were beginning to be. Your head hurt a little bit and you just couldn't understand why people couldn't just listen. If someone tells you that your family is in danger you would listen.

Sam sighs "gimme the phone" before taking it away from his brother and he calls the kid. Sam is telling the kid to make his father listen and trying to keep him calm about the whole thing. However Dean wasn't having any of that so he grabs the phone and starts telling the kid to lie. To lie to his father to get him and his family out of the house.

Tension is in the air but you don't speak. Instead you just put your hand on deans as he drives. There is not much talking until you arrive and when you do the door opens and the dad comes out yelling at the three of you. "get off my property before I call the cops"

Sam is the next to speak "mr Pike listen"

Then there's a whole lot of yelling and talking to try to reason with the man. It didn't look like it was going anywhere but then there's a noise that causes everyone to shut up. The sound is flying insects/bugs, whatever you want to call them. One wouldn't cause any alarm but when the sound is loud it causes you to cover your ears and look around.

The sight makes the man start running indoor to get his wife. There high in the air are hundreds or even thousands of bugs flying towards the house. There isn't much time so instead of leaving everyone goes into the house. Dean is the first to snap into action and he gets everyone prepared while Sam is helping everyone.

You are helping Dean find things to secure the house. Anything that he needs you've managed to find and hand it to him. everything seemed to be going the best it could until the bugs started coming in from the fire place. They swarmed you all and the sound went right to your ears and you covered your ears trying to block out as much as the sound as possible.

Dean was quick with a lighter and bug killing spray so that it created fire to kill them as quickly as possible. "everyone get upstairs now" he ordered and you stand there for a moment before Sam grabs ahold of your arm and pulls you upstairs with him.

When all of you are upstairs you pull up the ladder and for just a moment its quiet. There's no bugs and so you open you close your eyes for a moment just resting your head against the wall. Of course it doesn't last long. When does it ever. The bugs begin to eat through the ceiling and now they are swarming all of you again. You are quick to take off your jacket and draping it over the kid. "shield yourself as much as possible with it. Okay?" he nods and does his best and it seems to be helping him a bit more.

You huddle with the family leaving Sam and Dean to try to figure it out. The family took off their own jackets and started covering themselves up with it. Blocking the bugs as much as possible which was difficult to do. They were covered for the most part but you weren't so the bugs were gravitating towards you more.

The sound from all of them. The buzzing was starting to make you become extremely sensitive to all sound. You shut your eyes and took deep breaths but your body still started to shake. "fuck not right now" you said to yourself. Your legs soon started to give out and so now you were sitting on your knees swatting at the bugs that were flying around you.

You were like this for a long while until the sun started to come out. Which made the bugs disappear. You were sitting down with your hands on your ears trying to calm yourself down but you couldnt. The family start to get up and put down the jackets that were shielding them while Dean and Sam are helping them back downstairs. Sam is the first to notice you handnt gotten up so he comes over to you while telling Dean to continue helping them. "hey come on its over" he grabs ahold of your arm causing you to flinch back.

Sam is confused because hes never seen you like this. Usually you would already be with the family making sure they were okay. But here you were curled up in yourself shaking. "Man come on get up. We gotta get back to the room" he wasnt frustrated or anything just concerned as you went mute.

He calls for Dean and he instantly comes back upstairs and sees you. "I don't know what to do. He's just mute and shaking" Dean holds up his hand silently telling him to shut up before sitting next to you. When he speaks he does it quietly. "i'm going to hold you now okay" he doesn't wait for you to respond because he knows you aren't able to and so he just holds you in his arms for a moment. Your head rests against his chest as he runs his hands up and down your back lightly.

Sam goes downstairs talkling to the family for a bit making sure they knew what they were doing. Eventually you look up at Dean and he looks down at you. "you okay?" he asks and you nod. "yeah im okay just really want to go to the hotel and pass out." He laughs quitely before standing up and helping you up.

When the both of you go down Sam gives you a thumbs up and you give him one back. Sam knew about your autism but he had never seen you react that way before. You knew it wasn't his fault for how he reacted. The kid that you had given your jacket walks up to you handing you it. "its a bit ripped sorry"

You shake your head. "its okay just means it worked well. I'm glad you all are okay" He and his parents both tell the three of you thank you and then you all leave.

A while into the car ride is when you finally spoke. "i'm sorry for how i reacted back there. I should have helped more" Dean quickly grabs onto your hand and Sam puts his hand on your shoulder. "don't apologize for something you cant control. we will never think of you any different" Dean says and then Sam speaks "Also you helped so much. You were helping the family in any way that you could even when you were feeling badly. Thank you"

Sam squeezes your shoulder before sitting back and for once Dean doesn't turn on rock music. Instead he puts on soft quiet songs that make you fully relax.

The rest of the night is spent with fast food and cuddling in bed with your boyfriend. You have your head on his chest while his arms wrap around you. Neither of you speak because its not needed and eventually you fall asleep with him holding onto you.

[whosaidsealscantfly]

My two cents on the whole situation

I think a lot of people in the Welcome Home fandom are misunderstanding the bigger picture here. It's resulting in a lot of people expressing disappointment and pointing fingers at people who aren't even the problem, and while the intentions mean well, it's causing the toxic environment Clown doesn't want.

In his post, which has now been privated, he talks about how overwhelming everything is. He even directly states that it's not just about boundaries, and while he has trouble putting it into words (and I will not put words in his mouth in the process either), Clown indicates that the sudden spotlight and attention is overwhelming him. And that's completely understandable - he's just one guy! Plus, he's been making stuff for Welcome Home for years, so it only makes sense to fluster over the sudden rush of attention in only a week. A week!!!

The reasons why boundaries come into play with all of this isn't just because his THREE rules were violated by garbage people. It's the fact that he had no time to establish boundaries beforehand, and it's stressful to suddenly have to think of EVERY facet of fandom culture and establish the dos and don'ts. But as Clown said, what's happened has happened, and all we can do is move on. Which leads me to my next point:

Clown explicitly said to not reprimand people on his behalf. He doesn't want the fandom to waste time and energy on people who have already crossed the line. What has happened, has happened. With that said, it's important to educate and point out when someone has crossed a boundary, but you shouldn't go through so much effort and anger over someone who clearly doesn't give a shit.

I've seen a lot of people who are making posts with a lot of "shame on you!"s and "You are all trash." I've also seen comments on harmless fanfics or art saying things like "You're the reason this fandom sucks." What awful things to say!

This fandom is probably one of the best fandoms I've been a part of. Why? Because a large majority, and I mean a LARGE majority, are respectful of Clown and want to do right by him. I've never seen a community band together so quickly to change their ways, apologize, spread the word, and evaluate the decisions they've made: not just in this fandom, but every fandom they've ever been a part of. That's HUGE. I've been on the internet for a very long time, and I don't think I've ever seen anything like that.

Yes, there are BAD eggs in this fandom, but there always is. What's important is that I haven't been seeing those bad eggs. Like, at all. I haven't seen a single explicit NSFW post, and I haven't seen a single piece of mass-produced merch. I've only heard about them through word-of-mouth, but I've never actually seen anything with my own eyes. Not that I doubt anyone, but I'm saying this to illustrate just how little bad eggs there are in the community. And this is a HUGE community.

In fact, I think we're so good, that we're starting to punish ourselves for making fandom content, and that is also awful. I want to reiterate what Clown's three major rules are:

Refrain from publicly posting NSFW content or content that wouldn't be safe for children to see/read.

Do not mass produce merch. Commissions and personal projects are fine, but they cannot be mass produced to be sold.

Do not impersonate and claim his art as yours. Give credit!! Don't trick people, and don't profit off of someone else's work!

And that's it! I've seen a lot of people taking down their fanfictions and art and AUs just because they're worried about Clown. That's super sweet and it warms my heart to hear that the community is so considerate, but remember, the three rules above are the only don'ts. Lots of people are scared of continuing to overwhelm him, and they're also scared that he might stop the project all together.

I assure you, he's not. Firstly, his fan works guideline is still pinned on his Tumblr blog!! If he wasn't sure of fanworks all together, he would have simply privated the post and write a new one with new rules. The rules have not changed. He loves to see fan interpretations, your AUs, your OCs, and your art! This is all explicitly stated! You can read it here incase you forgot -> https://www.tumblr.com/partycoffin/712519493403934720/apologies-if-this-has-already-been-asked-but-how?source=share

Secondly, he actually posted an update on his ko-fi that indicates that he's doing much better and that he's "elbow deep" into working on Welcome Home! I'm a member that gets to see all of his posts on ko-fi, and while I'm not going to show you the whole post (obviously), I will quote an important part you guys should see: "You have all been so delightful to me (Setbacks happen with an abrupt shift in attention, I realize, so roll I will with this newfound experience!) and I was like 'Oh, let's post a tasty preview!'"

Clown acknowledges all of the goodwill and kindness the community has shown. He even states that he's learned from the experience and he's working hard on Welcome Home to see it through!

This was a very long two cents, so I'll end it here.

tl;dr, You guys are being too harsh on each other/yourselves, and that's the last thing Clown wants. He's doing better, Welcome Home is still being worked on, and you shouldn't have to shame yourself or others for posting perfectly kosher fandom content. There's only three major rules, three, so you shouldn't have to feel bad about what makes you happy.

[furst1ded]

Thoughts on Shipping Alastor from an AroAce person

(this entire thing is copy and pasted excerpts from a Discord rant so if the grammar is funky, that's why, I just felt like giving my 2 cents on the topic)

Aroace people can still participate in romantic and sexual interactions. All being aro/ace/aroace means is you don't feel romantic/sexual attraction upon seeing other people. You can feel it later on or in waves or could never feel that attraction but still can participate and love others in a fulfilling way. Some aroace people are fine performing intimacy onto others but dislike reciprocation, others are the opposite where they're fine receiving but not giving. It's a spectrum.

The nuances of asexuality and aromanticism aside, you can be in a relationship without being in a relationship. Platonic relationships beyond friendship are a thing (QPRs for example). But like, I get it. Not everyone who ships Alastor keeps it confined to a QPR. And his character seems pretty sex-repulsed and romance-averse. But here's the other thing. He's fictional. As long as his character remains aroace in canon, fans taking the silly radio man and making him kiss the devil isn't taking away from aroace representation.

This next bit is coming from me as an AroAce person myself. I ship Alastor. I write/read him kissing people and fucking and acting romantic. And guess what? It's related to expressing my sexuality. Alastor is one of my favorite characters in anything ever and I love that there's a character that represents a facet of myself in a popular media. I relate to him so goddamn much and that's why I ship him. He's a fictional character I like that I project onto, so I use him as a way to navigate and explore romantic/sexual relationships that I'm never going to participate in myself. He's not real so I just puppet him around to live through vicariously in the scenarios I don't want to be a part of myself but find super interesting. It's not anything new, I do the same with my own characters in the stories I write them in, it's part of storytelling, I just use him for a specific type of story for a specfic part of myself.

It's not like we're hurting anybody by shipping him. We're not drastically effecting canon and making him an alloromantic. I've seen plenty of fics that ship him that either make it a QPR or they thoroughly explore the nuances of his asexuality and what subtype of sexuality he is and how he navigates it and I love those fics because they speak to me on a spiritual level. Grayromantic Alastor, demisexual alastor, sex-repulsed but romance-favorable Alastor, sex-repulsed and romance-averse Alastor in a one-sided ship fic, etc they're all so important to me because it helps me live out my own sexuality and romantic orientation and explore myself.

I get it. Not everyone is respectful. Not everyone feels the way I do and use characters in this way. It can suck seeing people just ignore his sexuality when asexuals and aromantics don't get much in terms of screen-time. But you can't control everybody and what work they put out. And trying to censor stuff like that does more harm than good. I just explained why fics involving Alastor are so important to me. They normalize QPRs and aroaces being in relationships. That's probably what pisses me off the fucking most. If we're not allowed to write about aroaces being in relationships or romantic/sexual situations, you put aroaces into a box. A box where every aroace is perceived as sexless and loveless, which just isn't true. A box where aroaces are prudes or infants who can't handle hearing the word "sex". It's just so frustrating. You can be mad at fics that expressly rewrite or stomp on his sexuality, sure. You can't stop them, but you can disapprove of them. But let the rest of us have our fun making the literal devil and TV head man have the hots for a man whose teeth are yellower than the sun, Jesus Christ.

TL;DR: asexuality is a spectrum, I'm aroace and use shipping as a way to explore and express myself and I know I'm not the only one, trying to suppress works where an Aroace character is seen participating in romance or sex can actually be harmful in that it promotes only one idea of what being aroace is, and at the end of the day the character I'm talking about doesn't even exist.

[lostinthesasuke]

do you think sasuke is religious or upholds his clan's religious practices? i was rereading and in the part where they go to resucitate the hokages orochimaru says "there's nothing left of the uchiha's nakano shrine", to which sasuke answers "the exterior doesn't matter" and it got me wondering

HI YES thank you so much for sending this ask. it's very close to me. elaborated a Lot under the cut but tl;dr - yes.

he is religious in the only way he remembers how to be. preserving Uchiha tradition and culture is deeply important to him. when he said the exterior of Nakano shrine didn't matter, sure he was referring to the fact that there was a hidden underground level... but it meant much more than that.

genocide doesn't just claim lives, it claims languages and religions and every facet of culture. konoha has been known to participate in the censorship and eradication of culture. this assimilation functions as an extension of genocide.

by virtue of being a survivor, i think sasuke feels an obligation to "carry the torch". since he was so young when the massacre occurred, it's likely a lot of practice and customs have been lost altogether. this is distressing to him. even during his character introduction at 12 years old, his clans "restoration" was first and foremost in his mind. to me this statement was never about re-population as many people interpret, but about justice, pride, and culture.

he feels as though the Uchiha name has been "tainted" and it is his responsibility to "purify" it. but what that means to him shifts over time.

the Uchiha clan's religion is obviously based on and deeply tied to the Shinto religion, just like the clan's jutsu and kekkei genkai. many Uchiha jutsu are named after Shinto deities.

this part i am not going to delve into too much yet because one day i will probably write a paper about it, but one of the tenets of Shinto belief is the importance of purity. Shinto practice and customs are regionally variant but the practice of purification is central. death is considered to be extremely impure. this context is deeply relevant to Sasuke's belief system and the way he thinks about himself and his clan.

it is likely that the uchiha religion is closed, evidenced by nakano shrine being kept a secret. sasuke not only has to contend with the fact that the remaining pieces of his culture are guarded and hidden, requiring the use of high-level dojutsu to decipher, but also that any of it may have been altered. the revelation that the stone tablet was altered in order to facilitate madara's manipulation and further subjugation of the uchiha was destabilizing. sasuke has to put the pieces of his religion back together with mostly his memories to rely on.

many parallels can be drawn between sasuke and the sun goddess Amaterasu. when she is betrayed by her brother Susanoo, she withdraws into a cave and plunges the world into darkness. Susanoo conspires to manipulate her into leaving the cave, and then binds her.

this gender reversal is sort of fascinating. Amaterasu and Susanoo contradict the popular notions about the sun and moon and the masculine and feminine. of course this reminds me of sasuke as well, because everything does.

sasuke is typically associated with the waning crescent, the phase just before a new moon, and itachi with a full moon. since sasuke is associated with the moon, the yin, and the feminine, it would logically follow that he would be passive like water; low like a valley. however, he subverts this expectation.

i believe this is a big part of why he makes so many people uncomfortable. he is fire and lightning and he is not a perfect victim.

after speaking to the kage and revealing the secrets of Nakano shrine, he resolves himself to burn the world down and be reborn like a phoenix. like the waning crescent before a new moon.

he is not "pure" the way itachi expects, kishimoto states, or many fans anticipate. he has strong convictions and he is confident. he is not apologetic and he is impossible to ignore.

the first time we ever see sasuke associated with the sun is after he learns the truth about the massacre. he leaves his cave. he sheds hebi and becomes taka, predator instead of prey. he is ready to spill as much blood as it takes.

i have many ideas about what Uchiha religious customs might look like, and many of them concern fire. the uchiwa fan that stokes the flames is their crest. they are seen as fully fledged members of the clan once they can perform katon jutsu. the shrine that houses the Uchiha's patron deity has eternal flames lit.

drawing from my own religion, one of my favorite metas draws a parallel between the Uchiha fire affinity and

אש תמיד (Aish tamid)

which means eternal flame. (sorry for line break, tumblr hates right to left languages). Aish tamid refers to the flame in the temple of Jerusalem that was always kept alight before its desecration by the greeks. just like the torches located in Nakano shrine.

the greeks attempted to hellenize and extinguish Jewish culture. they outlawed observance of Shabbat and circumcision, spat in the face of kashrut by sacrificing pigs in the temple, and even built statues of their gods within. the Jewish people rebelled against them and the flame was rekindled.

rebellion, justice, and pride in culture is in the spirit of fire. unending, always enduring. Sasuke and the Uchiha clan embody this, their crests always emblazoned on their clothes even at the cost of armor. from Madara's rage, to the coup, to Sasuke's revenge, justice is an integral component to the Uchiha ethos.

to me this is a really interesting contrast to the will of fire. the will of fire is the ideal of nationalism-- putting the state before the self. this idea is lauded as heroism. it was originated by the senju, no wonder.

meanwhile, the uchiha clan with their fire affinity and deeply spiritual connection to flame are seen as transgressors. they are seen as disruptive to the ideal of the "will of fire" due to their strong cultural identity. they refuse to assimilate into the dominant culture. they prioritize their love and familial bonds with each other over konoha's interests.

naruto wiki im going to kill you

they are labeled with the opposing "curse of hatred".

it is no surprise then that itachi was praised for his strong "will of fire" for carrying out the massacre-- putting the well-being of the state over the lives of his family. groomed into following the senju doctrine and abandoning his own culture. assimilated and outcast.

in modern culture Aish tamid is kept alight by the continuation of religious practice- praying and studying Torah keep the flame burning. "The exterior doesn't matter". the flame is already burning within Sasuke.

sasuke carries on whatever pieces of his culture he remembers, and he prays in the dark, and he thinks of his mother with her hands clasped at the kamidana, and he visits shrines often on his journey. he lights incense and he burns brightly. and he walks on.