#most incoherent rant to ever be ranted

[ace-no-isha]

i miss luffy. the concept of freedom embodied as a person makes me grieve my life a little LMFAO. he is everything to me. he is my dreams as a person. completely free and changing the world. everything i want to be so bad. i adore him. he is a thousand suns to me in his brilliance. id burn the world down for a hug from him. i would do unspeakable things for a taste of the freedom he lives. i miss him. i wish i could reread one piece for the first time again. the joy and grief and anger of that story all over again that makes me feel alive. i want to feel alive like luffy does. stubborn in his place on this earth because he’s got dreams that are worth everything, but also completely content with dying in the process of reaching his dream. and yet still, he refuses to die because it means he can’t protect the ones he loves. he will shave off years of his life if it buys you a second more. he is so fucking selfless in his selfish way of living. he is my everything.

[stansaaa]

i shamefully felt like the wedding scenes between rhaenyra and daemon didn’t live up to the brothel scene when i first watched 1x05 but the more i think about, the more WRONG I AM. it’s the way daemon came back to king’s landing to crash rhaenyra’s wedding whilst still in exile for messing around with her and trying to marry her bc he’s all like “well if i can’t have her, I’m at least not gonna let her go easily”.

and viserys trying to be all civil bc it’s his daughter’s wedding so he asks them to pull up a seat for daemon at the table. and daemon LOOKING SO SAD while watching rhaenyra bc she actually seems relatively happy about the whole situation.

and then of course him watching her dance with laenor and other men and playing with a KNIFE while doing it bc of fucking course he has murderous jealousy when it comes to rhaenyra.

and just the whole scene of daemon interrupting harwin so he can talk to rhaenyra and rhaenyra just following him silently bc she WOULD LITERALLY FOLLOW HIM ANYWHERE!! and it’s the fact that she looks like she expects him to take them somewhere private so she’s surprised when he turns around and jumps into it right THERE! in the middle of the dance floor! literally the only two not dancing! it’s just the way that he seems so overcome with sadness, jealousy, LOVE, lust, desire, feelings, etc while watching her all night that he finally loses it and needs to be close to her. AND THEN HIM WATCHING HER SO INTENSELY THE WHOLE TIME SHES TALKING?! like his labored breathing, his eyes focusing on her mouth, the way he both looks like he wants to fall at her feet and BEG her to leave with him but also SLAM her into the nearest wall and just fuck her in front of everyone ! when he grabs her face it’s just the cherry on top bc she has yet again done something he hadn’t expected her to do, which is up the game and ask him to take her away and marry her then and there. GOD THIS IS WHY THEYRE SUCH A SEXY MATCH FOR EACH OTHER! they are both insanely feral for each other and they just exhibit their whore like behavior in front of everyone bc they’re actually incapable of keeping it in their pants when they’re around each other

[transmascwillbyers]

The #1 piece of byler proof for me isn't the van scene, it's that Will's way too intelligent to ever have feelings for Heterosexual Mike (tm)

[minionwater]

sallies _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

[8aji]

im a lil embarrassed that most of the posts ive posted (duh) as of late were text posts abt me being sick LMFAO n it feels silly to write this but i think i may log out of this acc for a lil while at least on mobile <3

[yourstrulyrika]

Leon’s tits appreciation fic ♡

no warnings as usual, just fem!reader. it’s really just Leon’s chest appreciation because damn.

also. a small rant at the bottom of the fic? just a disclaimer btw. it’s nothing triggering me thinks, it’s about Leon so that’s why i’m putting it here i still encourage you to read it.

also this one might be a bit messy i just started taking my new meds and my body is going crazy. i’m really sleepy & dizzy all the time so yeah. sorry if it’s a bit out of my usual style or something ♡

you love Leon’s chest. that much is obvious — because he loves yours too obviously. you two love each other, body, soul, heart and mind. this includes your and his chests. Leon loves sleeping on your chest, and you love sleeping on Leon’s chest, too. it’s common for you two.

but, you definitely love playing with Leon’s chest the most. it’s just so plush, feels so good to touch. Leon’s chest is his soft spot, to say the least. when you touched his chest for the first time, he arched his back so prettily, leaning his head back. his nipples harden under your touch, his body getting warmer and eager for more as his cock grows harder.

“Dear god,”

he sighs out when you touch his chest, and it only makes you grin in return. you rarely get him to such state. sure, he lets out a grunt or two, but this? and he actually blushes. just a tiiny bit, but it’s still a blush! so you decide to take it further, planting little kisses all over his chest, feeling his heart subtly flutter under your lips. Leon is only this vulnerable around you, no one ever sees this side of him — he feels safe around you. safe enough to let himself be the submissive one for once.

Leon is unable to take it anymore. he tugs at your pants, sliding them down along with your panties to expose your pretty pussy to his eager gaze. your cunt is glistening wet, making Leon drool at the sight. he places a subtle slap on your pussy, before repeating it, making you twitch your hips. his cock is hitting against your thigh, wanting to be buried in your warm insides.

“Getting this worked up over playing with my cheee—ngghmh!!” he lets out the hottest whimper one can think of. as he speaks, you decide to shush him, rather effectively. you wrap your lips around his nipple, gently tucking on it while flicking the other one. Leon is actually losing his mind, he’s leaking precum already.

“Fuck, baby, please just let me slide inside you,” he grunts out, guiding his cock to tap against your clit, begging for entry. he’s giving you the puppy eyes, the ones you can’t say no to. besides, with the way the tip of his cock is leaking so much just gets you so eager. once given the permission he almost jumps on you, but you keep him down by biting on his nipple, getting another, louder moan.

“Tease,” he pants out, breathing hitching and getting heavy. he closes his eyes, lips parting slightly, chest heaving up and down. you decide to do something— you push two fingers into his mouth, and he immediately laps at them, sucking them like it’s your pussy that he’s so starved off. he finally guides his cock into your insides, his length already twitching and throbbing as it sloppily moves in and out. he’s mumbling something incoherent to himself, babbling about it feeling so good. this, mixed with you constantly sucking his nipples, kneading his chest while also pushing your fingers into his mouth? it’s heaven. he’s in heaven.

it doesn’t take long for him to cum. in fact, just a few more minutes of you playing with his pretty nipples mixed with your cunt gripping him so well just drives him nuts, cumming inside you after a while. he obviously makes sure to make you cum too— before pushing you beneath him, now cupping your breasts

“My turn, huh? Your chest needs some loving, too.” he says this so confidently, already kneading at your chest.

rant time! sorry guys, today’s one is shorter bc i dont feel so well :( but anyway, here’s my little rant about tiktok and honestly most of the fandom.

i hate the fact that people oversexualize Leon so much. this, and also not understand his character — caring only about his looks. people hate vendetta leon but i literally love this man. he’s fucking beautiful. all the resident evil characters are so misunderstood, oversexualized and ignored. i just hate it, and yeah i know i know — it’s just fiction, sure, but i just don’t like it. i wish more people took Leon seriously because this man is literally so much of a sweetheart, meanwhile people just sexualize him 24/7 :( he’s so much more than his looks. he’s literally so sweet it hurts.

rant over, just wanted to get it off of my chest. i just love him so much and people reduce him to various sex related things. smut and all that is good obviously, i just dislike when people constantly make Leon a completely different character than he actually is. i love both smut and sfw things, but man. tiktok is so full of people misunderstanding Leon, it’s annoying. they reduce him to completely different man — and let’s not even talk about the 18+ audios that they’re posting…. i just.. idk.

anyway. love you all! thank you for reading <3

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: Your new job as a Full Time Royal Therapist does not pay nearly as well as you'd like. Or, Leona is more of a problem child than he would ever admit, but you're surprisingly okay at dealing with that.

[PART 1][PART 2] [PART 3]

Sometimes you felt like you hardly knew what it meant to be a functional person, living a comfortable life on the fringes of society. So in comparison, trying to think of what it meant to be an actual prince, ruling over all of said society was something you literally could not comprehend no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it.  

“If you’re a Prince, what were you doing in a hole?” you asked, because you had far too many questions and concerns, and this one at least seemed easy enough to address. And also because you were genuinely pretty curious.  

The newly dubbed ‘Leona’ twitched against your back and you felt the low rumble of his snarl work its way from the depths of his gut all the way up through his chest and out his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Ace wheezed. “Screw this. I’m getting out of here before I wind up implicated as an accessory in your murder.”

And so your trusty friend abandoned you to the wolves lions?—darting away so quickly he always forget his bag, shoes, and everything else in the process.

You waved after him as he departed, knowing full well that he’d wind up stumbling back within the week, maybe two at most. He always did, no matter how much he complained about your Present Company. Plain old ‘murder’ was actually one of his more polite accusations. When he’d run into your Hunter friend the first time, Ace had gone on a wildly incoherent rant about how he was going to find your corpse strung up in a tree like some weird, ritual, sacrifice. And then that had devolved into something-something cannibalism or other. The visiting Hunter had just thrown his head back and laughed, positively enamored with the grisliness of it all. Ace had vanished for almost an entire month after that encounter, but he did come back—glaring up at you with a miserable pout like you were the one who’d gone and fucked off for thirty whole days.

Leona snorted and you felt the puff of breath against the back of your neck.

“Coward,” he grumbled, though he didn’t sound particularly displeased about your friend’s sudden departure.

“Fear lets us be brave,” you responded, wise as a sage. Or maybe an old frog in a puddle.

“Yeah?” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “And when’s that little rat ever been brave?”

“There’s always tomorrow,” you chirped, and that snort turned into something dangerously close to a chuckle. Which—gasp!—how dare such a pleasant sound fall from the lips of someone so obstinately determined to be otherwise! You grinned at the low tones of it, only for the snickering to cut off sharply in his throat once he’d realized what he was doing. And then of course he shoved you forward and out of his lap with a great amount of indignant snarling.

You laid there for a few minutes—face down in the sun-warmed grass and laughing quietly about just how ridiculous this stupid Lion was, before finally sitting up with a pleasant stretch. He could put on airs all he liked, you knew there was kernel of something far less angsty and murderous buried at the heart of him.

“So,” you hummed, lazily making your way back to your feet. “What exactly have I done to draw the realm’s Prince to my doorstep?” You squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re not here about the fairy gate thing, are you? Because that was actually an accident.”

“The what?” he frowned, brow pinched in confusion.

You waved him off. “Ah, nothing, nothing.”

Something in his jaw twitched, like now he was going to push the subject out of principle of you being shifty. But he just sighed and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“I need your help,” he said finally. Just as crabby as the first time he’d asked, if perhaps just a touch less imperious.

You arched a brow. “I think you’ve mentioned that already, yes.”

Silence.

The Lion stared you down with a slowly deepening scowl, and you stared back with a smile as placid and unmoved as the shallow pond you’d nearly drowned Ace in not an hour before.  

“If I apologize, you’ll help me?” he asked after a long moment, the question turning sharp at the end on a bitten of growl.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” you hummed back and he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with all the pleasantry of someone undergoing a root canal. And all the sincerity of Ace swearing that this was the last time he’d get caught evading the tax man, promise.

You sighed, feeling a bit cheated. But you hadn’t really stipulated anything beyond those two little words leaving his mouth, so if anything, that was on you.

“Alright,” you huffed. “What is it you need help with?”

The Lion glared at you suspiciously for a long moment—glowing eyes narrowed into slits and tail twitching back and forth like he was swatting flies. Finally, he sighed and lifted his hands out in front of him with a pointed flex.  

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he frowned sourly, wrists twisting to display the pointed claws tipping his fingers. “I’m not supposed to get stuck in between.”

Your eyes traced the fluffy tufts of his round ears, the black-tipped tail swishing irritably at his hind, and allowed yourself a melancholy sort of huff.

“But you look good like this,” you pointed out sadly. Because he really, truly, did. Leona without his squishy lion ears would just be… grumpy. Miserable, and angular, and angry. Nothing soft worth coddling at all.

“That’s not the point!” he snapped, baring his overlarge canines at you. There was a darker cast along his cheekbones that seemed to be making a valiant effort to crawl all the way up into his fringe. “And don’t fucking say that!”

You frowned. One second this stupid dick wanted to be praised to the Heavens and back! Practically swanning about, demanding you bow down and acknowledge his blatant superiority. But, oh no. Apparently your meager half-sentence masquerading as a compliment was too much for his delicate, princely, sensibilities.

“Fine,” you griped. “You’re ugly.”

He growled—low and rumbling—and if he was anymore of a cat you’d say you could see his hackles raising in indignation. But before he could launch into another vicious, verbal, evisceration of your person, you cleared your throat loudly in an attempt to get him back on track.   

“What do you mean by ‘stuck in between?’”

He sneered down at you testily for a moment before reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again and letting out a put-upon sort of sigh that was not at all indicative of the fact that he was the one asking you for help.

“The Shift. When you found me in that pit, I should have been able to Shift between that form and this one without issue,” he frowned, brow tugging down tight with something a bit more disquieted than his usual, flat, annoyance. “The iron was a problem, but once I was out of the trap, it should have been fine. I’ve dealt with cursed snares like this before, and the effects have never lingered as long as this one has.”

You blinked owlishly. That did sound… fairly unpleasant. And honestly, if you were in his position you’d also be at least a little concerned that something else was at play. But, still, all that being said—

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, more or less genuine. Perhaps leaning a bit harder into less.“But I don’t understand how that has anything to do with me.”

“You were down there with me,” he argued. “You dismantled the trap.”

Uh, yeah. By messing with bits that looked breakable until they broke. Not exactly a high-level intellectual pursuit.

You didn’t say that, of course. Because after a few days watching you scuttle about your homestead like a particularly vocal lizard in the dirt, you were sure he already thought you were stupid enough without you outright admitting to it. Nevertheless, the Lion observed your zip-lipped silence with an ever-deepening scowl.

“You took it apart,” he tried again, nearly a growl.

“Yes,” you said with a nod.

“You know how you did it,” he continued, firm. At your lack of affirmative, he pushed again. “You know. I watched you do it!”

You raised your hand nervously and made a little so-so tilting motion.

Anyone less refined would no doubt have had their head in their hands at this point, but Leona just curled his lip at you and looked like he was fighting valiantly not to put your own very silly head through a wall.

“It was charmed,” he spat. “Bound up with talismans, and cursed down to its very moldings. That isn’t something any random farmer could walk up and break.”

“Oh,” you blinked, taken aback, and struggled to recall if there had been anything so obviously enchanted about the trap you’d fiddled into bits. “Was it?”

And head had officially met hands. He ground his clawed fingers into his temples like you were a headache that with enough determination and massaging he may somehow be able to will away.

“Couldn’t you go just home if this is such a big problem?” you asked, still genuinely baffled at it all. “Get help from your family? I mean, you’re a Prin—”

“No,” he interrupted, emerald eyes gone glacier cold.

You frowned, as unimpressed by his prickliness as you usually were. But something in you was hesitant to prod at whatever it was that had managed to tug a feral rage so tightly across his face—like drawing a shade over a window until the entire home was cloaked in shadow, or slipping away behind a carved mask too heavy to ever wear comfortably. It was an expression so sharp and so bitter that if you hadn’t only just yesterday watched this stubborn man lounge about in the sun as your chickens hopped all over him like he was the world’s most carnivorous jungle gym, you wouldn’t ever have known that they could be the same person at all. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, and some of that angry, hunched, defensiveness eased into confusion.

“Hah?” he frowned.

“Alright,” you said again. “We’ll figure it out here.” He glared over at you balefully, and you waved off the obvious retort on the tip of his tongue about something-something-you have no idea what you’re doing-something-something-dangerous risks and lifelong consequences-blablabla. “I have a friend who would know a lot more about those kinds of traps and talismans that I do. He could help, probably.”

“Probably?” he scoffed. Though when he rolled his eyes, they weren’t quite so hate filled—lids hooded with a familiar, begrudging sort of irritation rather than outright malice.

“He’s a bit of an enigma,” you explained—wiggling your fingers in a little, sparkly, dance to emphasize the, well, enigmatic part.

Another huff. But amidst that grumpy bellyaching, you watched those fluffy ears of his slowly perk back up atop his head, and his tail swish leisurely behind him. The Lion certainly didn’t look happy (but did he ever? So was that really a fair comparison?), but he definitely seemed like he’d thawed into something less ‘frigid dead of winter’ and more ‘unpleasantly nippy spring morning.’

“Weirder than you, herbivore?” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

Normally you would too. But, well…

“He’s charming,” you chirped pleasantly, and Leona’s face twisted up like you’d served him a bowl of rancid yogurt.

.

.

That night you composed a letter to your dearest Hunter friend. You thanked him for bringing you the White Moor Stag, elaborated a bit on the new marinade you’d been experimenting with, and then ended the whole thing with a polite plea for his aid in deconstructing the mechanisms of a magical trap you’d encountered. You bribed one of your two carrier pigeons with some snacks and watched it fly off into the unknown with a little, cream-colored envelope tied to its foot. Message talismans were much simpler and far more convenient, but the Hunter always seemed to appreciate the personal touch of postal birds.

Leona glared at you from the window, and made some dramatic swipe at your pigeon like he meant to knock it out of the air. The poor bird tottered about like an overfilled water balloon—jiggling and wriggling in its roundness before eventually righting itself and continuing on into the sky with a warbled coo coo.

“Don’t be rude,” you huffed at him.

“I can’t believe you still won’t let me in,” he sneered from beneath the fluff of that blanket you’d gifted him. “I apologized.”

“Yes, but you actually have to mean it,” you explained, not unkindly, as he prowled just beyond the glass. “But we’re making progress!” you beamed. “That’s something! Maybe you’ll make it in here within the next five years, hmm?”

“Or I could just wipe out the entirety of your ridiculous dirt farm now,” he threatened, a bit of that sandy magic swirling sinisterly along his fingers.

“You certainly could, your highness,” you agreed easily. His lip curled unpleasantly, but that glowing, gritty, arcana faded away and he didn’t move from where he’d tucked himself up under the duvet.

After another solid fifteen minutes of his pissy glowering and barbed insults, you pointedly unclipped the ties on your curtains and let them fall shut so that his ridiculous pouting was hidden away behind the thin, cotton, mess of poorly stitched flowers and herbs.

(You did leave a nice dinner plate on the ledge before that, with extra portions of meat and a neatly frosted cookie for dessert. Because as much as your day had been a bit rough, you had a feeling his melancholy extended far beyond being left out in the dark for another evening.)

.

.

The next morning, your doddering pigeon returned with an elegantly bound scroll—all embellished with golden filagree and tied up in a neat, crimson, bow.

“Why does this freak call you ‘mon cher ami,’” Leona sniffed, tongue curling awkwardly over the unfamiliar words.

You sighed and debated snatching the letter back, but all that would probably culminate in was the paper in tatters and a smug beastman lording his superior letter-wrangling skills over your head like a trophy.

“It’s just one of his little ticks,” you explained with a shrug. “I told you—he’s charming.”

“Ah, yes,” Leona drawled, tracing a claw along the parchment’s edge with a soft shhhhhft. A raised, white, line cut across the paper’s surface like the beginnings of a wound. “Waxing poetic nonsense in a foreign language. Rambling on about all kinds of useless fucking garbage. Charming.”

“You,” you snipped, reaching out to smack at his tightening grip before he could rend the poor correspondence to bits, “are not one to talk about ‘charming.’”

“Oh?” he scoffed. He maneuvered around your tutting to hold the letter over your head. Typical. When you leaned forward to try and wrangle it back, Leona leaned in closer—eyes going hooded and lips curling into a smug little smirk that promised all sorts of trouble. “Haven’t had any complaints about that before. Who’d be saying otherwise?”

“The person you left stranded at the bottom of a pit, you inglorious oaf,” you griped. His ears immediately swiveled to pin flat against the top of his head, and you used the distraction of his indignation to finally snatch back your prize. “Besides,” you huffed, straightening out some of the new wrinkles. “Not very Prince-like, is it? A real prince would have swept in to save the idiot in distress. Sword drawn, banners flying,” you sighed, a bit too besotted with your own imaginings. “Why did you have to be such a dick, huh? Ruined my fantasies for the rest of my life.”

“And what?” Leona snapped. “Some rogue bastard sending you cursive garbage does it for you?”

“Better than being left for dead in a hole after saving their life,” you smiled—perfectly, poisonously, pleasant.

Leona rumbled something indiscernible under his breath and turned to glare petulantly off across your garden.

“Besides,” you hummed, looking over the letter. “There’s more important things. Like this—right here. Do you know what a self-bored stone is? He’s thinking maybe there was a process like that with the iron shackles. Or maybe something to do with seeping the components in herbs… Hmm…”

“Whatever,” Leona scoffed. “I’ll try whatever it takes to fix this shit.”

You clapped him amiably on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, tête de noeud!”

“The fuck did you just call me?!”

“Poetic nonsense,” you chirped, and Leona looked half ready to drop you back into the hole where he’d found you.

.

.

The first attempt to aid the Lion Prince in his conundrum didn’t go particularly well.

You’d tried to work off of the whole ‘overlap with a self-bored stone’ theory, but all that really amounted to was you gesturing like an over-serious crossing guard for him to walk under every low hanging branch, every arch, beneath the stunted beams of the chicken coop. You dangled rocks from strings and waved around your little creations like slightly more dangerous pompoms.

Penelope clucked irritably when one of the pebbles fell with a plunk into her nest, and Leona frowned up at you from where the wayward chicken had firmly situated herself in his lap.

“How was any of that supposed to help?”

You drew a blank and promised to try something new tomorrow.

The next day you tried herbs. The Hunter had listed off quite a few that were known to cause lingering issues with magical creatures, and you harvested the lot of them from your garden with ease. You held them up to Leona’s face one by one, brow furrowed in concentration, as you waited for… something.

“How is this any better than the rocks?” he complained.

You pushed the bright, butter-yellow, blossoms of some Saint John’s Wort under his nose until he sneezed and shoved you away with a slew of indignant threats to your person.

The following few days were spent perusing your meager library. You carted every book you owned on magic, and binding rituals, and rune smithing out into the yard. Leona looked over at the slowly growing pile of tomes with a truly unimpressed scowl.

“You could have just invited me inside,” he griped, rolling his eyes. He was splayed out in the grass at your side, his head tossed lazily across your lap after he’d complained that he needed at least some leverage to see what you were trying to read.

“Nice try,” you hummed, reaching for your page of hastily scribbled notes. “But you’re not getting off without a genuine apology that easy.”

A week passed in this fashion, with you attempting to string together more and more ludicrous ideas—throwing everything you had at the wall and hoping something, anything, would stick. But Leona’s ears stayed tufted and round. That tail seemed to only grow more twitchy, his claws longer and sharper.

You sent the Hunter another letter and waited anxiously for a reply. When it arrived the next morning, Leona snatched it from your pigeon before you’d even made it out your front door. It was a miserable sort of day—pouring rain and with nothing but the grey cloud cover overhead to color the world.

He read it over once, twice, before dropping it to the ground. You could see the tendons twitching along his jaw, could practically hear his molars grinding in his frustration.

You plucked the note from the grass and looked it over carefully.  

‘Mon ami, while I am loathe to address this, perhaps it is not the make of this trap at all that is causing such a vexation? Is there any chance that rather than this being a lingering malady, that this friend of yours was simply unable to overcome the initial curse in the first place?’

You glanced back up at Leona, who was intermittently clenching his fists at his sides. You could see the harsh indentations from where his claws were digging into the skin of his palms.

‘Sometimes such things just happen, je crains. The flesh may be willing, but often the spirit is weak. You mentioned this Roi du Leon has a powerful family he may turn to for assistance. Certainly one of them may be strong enough to overcome this curse for him, even if he perhaps is not.’

“Of course it’s all because I’m a fuck up,” Leona snarled. Some of that spitting, sandy, magic of his seeped into the air. It bit at the rain like an overeager dog. You could see it dancing along his skin—fighting to pull his features one way or another.

“He didn’t say that,” you pointed out gently. “And even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. Your family—"

“—Would rather I keeled over dead and stopped sullying my brother’s perfect fucking reputation!” he snapped. “Heir to the King’s Roar,” he scoffed. “Stupid. I was never going to be a king to begin with. And even if I had been born first, they would have deposed me to put their flawless, favorite, golden boy on the throne anyways.”

That... That was a lot. You stared at the pacing Lion with wide eyes—unsure how to help, unsure if any attempts to do so would only make this worse. This was—this was so above your ‘happy, homey, hermit’ paygrade.

“Of course this is all because of me,” he hissed, that roiling, angry, arcana coiling around him like curdled milk. The pupils in his eyes flickered oddly from round to thin-cut, hard, lines. Beastly. “Of course it was because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Leona,” you tried, as gentle as you could be.

The Prince threw his head back and laughed. And laughed, and laughed.

“I should have known!” he cackled, borderline hysterical. “I should have fucking known!”

“Leona—” you tried again, reaching out a hand.

Only to be immediately knocked on your ass by an explosion of magic.

You’d heard of self-destruction—of implosion. The arcane wonders of the world were a wily and unyielding mistress. While creatures like Leona who were so naturally steeped in ancient magics and sorcery could control that beast more adeptly than some little mortal like you, it didn’t make them any less susceptible to its dangers. If anything, they had it worse. It was like sitting in a shallow stream versus wading out into a roaring ocean. So much more opportunity, such a higher aptitude for greatness, but far too easy to drown beneath the churning tides of it all.

The inky, geometric, swirls along his arms pulsed like a heartbeat. They crawled along his skin and traced black patterns into his veins. Even you could feel the horrible, dark, stickiness of it—as the magic ate him alive. His face twisted back and forth between human and animal, and you watched him contort and snarl under the weight of it before turning on you with a vicious roar.

Uh oh.

The first wave of magic seared the ground, leaving nothing but strange, grey, sand in its wake. The more he snapped and clawed wildly at anything and everything, the more that dusty desert spread. You managed to hop out of the way of most of it—sparing a single, sad, thought for all the poor plants you’d worked so hard to cultivate dying a miserable, grainy, death.

The next arc of magic shot straight from his clawed fingers, and it managed to catch the flesh of your forearm. It was sharper than any dagger or sword that you’d ever had the pleasure of accidentally nicking yourself with, and it tore its way down your arm like a raging beast, leaving an eerie, tacky, bubbling mess in its wake. And ouch did it hurt—like someone was taking a fistful of coarse sand and rubbing it into the open wound. You ground your teeth against the strange, gnawing, sensation and hastily wrapped a bit of torn fabric around the weeping gash to keep it a bit more contained. You waited for the worst of it to pass, for that initial bite to fade into a more manageable throb. But it didn’t. It just got sharper and tighter, hotter and hotter. For a moment it felt like your skin was crackling—like firewood popping and splitting beneath the weight of a blaze. From across the field, Leona made a noise like a hurricane given voice, and you bit back a groan.

‘Oh come on,’ you hissed to yourself. ‘Not now, please.’  

And while you’d been mostly referring to the Lion losing another brick of his sanity fort, your wound seemed to pulse at the command—a sensation not unlike the soft drone of the wards carved deep into the support beams of your dilapidated home, and an impression of words tingling along your nerves without any real shape or form. ‘Alright. Later then.’ Like a breath of wind along your fingertips. That pulsing doubled back, and the wrap you’d hurriedly tied around your forearm hummed low with gentle arcana.   

And then the cracking stopped. Just like that. Like it’d given up on eating you alive and decided to head home early for the day.

Huh, you though a bit dazedly, before hurriedly ducking out of the way of another swipe.

You clutched your still smarting but at least now functional arm to your chest, and Leona turned on you and your ethereal booboo with a raging snarl. But then that glowing glare caught on the blood trailing down towards your wrist in too dark, too thick, rivulets and his eyes went wide. It wasn’t much, but the strange bought of shock rocketing through him gave you a handful of seconds of ceasefire. You reached into your pocket with your uninjured hand and pulled out a thick bit of cardstock. This was supposed to be for emergencies, goddamn it! And you’d spent so much money on this stupid little thing! And—

You shook off the mildly delusional complaints bogging down your brain and unfolded the paper between your fingers. The sigils inked into it hummed against your skin, and the rain sluffed off its face like the cold and the damp were no bother at all.

“Fucking—” you flung the talisman at your ridiculous, rampaging, guest. It fluttered like the beat of a hawk’s wings and dove towards him with just as much vicious precision. “GO TO SLEEP!”

The enchantment smacked into his face with an echoing THUNK and you watched those too-bright eyes of his roll up into his head as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

With the main source of all the Magical Warfare knocked unconscious, most of the miasma began to disperse—like dust caught up in a gale. The rain washed away the rest. It slid into the mud and seeped back into the earth. The plants and animals seemed to give a collective sigh, and some of your more courageous chickens even started to venture in close to peck at the leftover destruction.

You approached the felled Prince hesitantly. The talisman had been meant for subduing an enemy with a more human constitution, so you doubted it would keep him down for very long.

“Hey,” you grouched, poking his side. He twitched a bit but didn’t move otherwise. “Hey, asshole,” you tried again. Still, nothing. Uh oh.

You reached down to wedge an arm under him and hoist him upright. The singed skin of your forearm brushed along his jaw as you attempted to maneuver his bulk, and his nose twitched sharply at whatever scent was trapped in the dark, cracking, gash there. His brow scrunched up like you’d just doused him in spoiled milk, so naturally you went about waving your wounded flesh beneath his nostrils like the world’s strangest smelling salts.

After a moment he blinked back awake, face twisted up into the most properly disgruntled mien of distaste that you’d ever seen on a person who’d only just barely managed to claw their way back into the world of the living.

“Herbivore,” he rumbled, still looking more than a bit dazed.

Good enough.

You manhandled him back onto his feet as best you could—turning yourself into an impromptu crutch to try and get him mobile again. The sand shifted and sank beneath your heels, making dragging his ridiculous, dramatic, ass even more of a challenge. As you hauled him towards your cottage, you complained to him in earnest. Every little irritation under the sun. Half because you’d probably never have another opportunity to bitch at him so thoroughly without getting your own earful of grievances in return, half to keep him conscious—keep him focused on staying here. With you. And not… Wherever it was he’d gone in those moments of delirium.  

“I still don’t get why you call me that,” you griped, readjusting your grip on him when he’d started to slide down to the point his nose had buried itself against your collarbone. “Herbivore. I’ve cooked so much meat for you since you decided to crash here. Talked about how I prepare it, and the flavors I experiment with—I literally gave you some from my own sandwich when we first met! That I ate the rest of! In front of you!—”

When you finally herded him over the threshold and into your little cottage, the wards and their protection slipped around him like the soft current of a stream. You hardly even noticed the way the old magics ruffled his hair—and that was only because you were actively looking, half convinced the house was still about to toss up an invisible barrier and send him sprawling back into the dirt.

Leona wobbled on his feet, and his eyes were still too far away and grey.

You grabbed him by the ear and maneuvered his too-tall self into one of your rickety kitchen chairs. The wood groaned under the sudden press of his dead weight, but it didn’t collapse beneath him so it wasn’t worth fussing over. Once you were certain he wasn’t about to fold over sideways and crumple to the ground (or at least, that he was angled enough over a rug that he wasn’t going to crack his head on the stone floor), you rushed off to your bookcases and shelves and began hurriedly rumaging through your collection of nonsense.

The charms, the charms. Where were your emergency charms?! You’d thought you left them right there on the—Ah! There we go.

You pulled the raggedy binder from its place on the shelf, blew away the coating of dust that had settled over the top of it, and returned to your patient.

You flipped open the worn leather hooks and began sorting through the dozens upon dozens of sheets of enchanted parchment within. They were unimpressive—just small, rectangular, bits of faded paper inlaid with the softest kinds of magic. Not meant for much more than coaxing warmth into chilly limbs or placing a soft kiss over a scraped knee. But medicines were medicines—whether arcane in origin or otherwise. If you—if you just doused him in the things, that would probably work. Right? Of course it would. That made perfect sense.

So you slapped the first talisman square in the middle of his forehead. Leona swayed at the wet SMACK of the paper gluing itself to his soaked-through skin, but aside from the faintest, startled, widening of his eyes, he didn’t do anything else to complain. So you stuck the next charm to his cheek, and then another on the opposite one too.

“Magic overuse is dangerous,” you chastised as you went about layering a veritable novel’s worth of pasty, paper, enchantments up his arms. The soft spells worked their way into his skin, and you watched those twisting, black, shapes skitter back up towards where they’d once sat peacefully curled around his bicep. “Are you trying to kill yourself, hah?!”

Instead of snapping back at you like normal, he just sort of… sat there. Accepting your angry accusations in frosty silence. He absolutely looked like a cat that you’d fished out of a bag in the river. Pathetic, and sad, and droopy. And… quiet. So, very, quiet. You frowned, because as much as you didn’t particularly enjoy being insulted every minute of the day, the Lion’s biting little remarks had become… familiar, at the very least. Even if they weren’t entirely pleasant. Even if he was far from pleasant.

The dampness on his skin was starting to curl the edges of your talismans, and you reached forward with a huff to at least pull the freezing, soaked-through, vest off his shoulders. The leather jacket landed with a wet plap on the stone floor, a cold puddle already pooling around all its stupidly intricate, embroidered, edges. Something fluttered out of one of the open pockets—small, and off white, and crinkled. You stepped over the whole mess to retrieve a pile of towels and didn’t give it a second thought.

“Make a mess of my home, why don’t you,” you complained, dropping one of the towels over the entirety of his head before reaching forward to start drying him off with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “Drip all over the floors I just mopped, why don’t you. Be emotionally constipated and almost turn my whole yard into a sand pit, why don’t you—”

A hand reached out to snag your wrist, and you let him pull you away from your attempts to rub all that stupidly thick hair straight off his head.

From beneath the curtain of the cotton towel, you could see Leona glaring at the long, dark, scratch curling along your forearm. It certainly wasn’t… nice to look at. The gymnastics of getting him into your cottage had managed to displace the impromptu bandage, so the whole of it was just there. Bruised, and dark, and odd looking. But ugly or not, it was hardly bleeding or anything anymore! And he was the one who had almost just self-destructed in your front yard!

‘Think of the accusations!’ you wanted to wail. ‘Can you imagine the garbage I would have to deal with if I wound up with a dead royal fertilizing my garden?! No thank you!’

But before you could complain about his fussing, his claws flexed against the soft skin of your palm and you saw the muscles along his forearm tense—like he was fighting to keep still.

“You should be dead,” he muttered, terse.

You huffed. “Look, I know you think humans are all sorts of pathetic, but I’m not that—”

“You should be dead,” he repeated, sounding as if the words had to tear their way out of his throat—scraping like shards of glass all the way up.

You stared at his dark eyes and dripping bangs—the shadows playing across his cheeks and the strange, hollow, wrongness that had settled over all of him. With a heavy sigh you plopped yourself down into the chair across from his and dragged a handful of the leftover charms your way. Pointedly, you took one and slapped it over the wound. And then another.  

“See?” you said, flexing your wrist in his grip to put the creeping, black, cut on display. The talismans glowed softly against your skin and the lingering whisps of darkness licking at the the injury began to fade. “All better. Not something a dead person would say at all.”

Leona frowned, but at least it looked a bit more annoyed than outright bleak. And besides, frowns were better than whatever that stoic, expressionless, numbness had been.

“Though I appreciate your concern,” you grinned, pointedly sharp and prodding. Like a toddler standing by with a stick, hoping to poke out a reaction. “Truly, whatever would I do without the Great Lord Lion there to fret over me?”

But instead of the acidic ‘I wasn’t fucking worried,’ that you were expecting, or even a more muted grumble of dissent, Leona’s brow just pinched in displeasure and your awkward attempts at teasing faded into terse silence.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear—his head low and eyes lower.

You sighed and twisted your wrist around to pat at his hand. There was the faintest tremor in his fingers and you tangled your own between them to give him something to squeeze, something to hide the shiver of lingering malaise that he would no doubt deny with his dying breath. You observed the stern, tight, expression warping his otherwise handsome face—the miserable, puckered, angle of his mouth and the way the emerald of his eyes was cut through with a shadow of genuine remorse. You reached out with your other hand to pet at his soft, round ears. They squished flat beneath your palm and your lips twitched up into a fond, little smile. Leona tipped his chin just enough to glower at you from beneath his bangs with no real heat, and you sighed and gave him one more pat for good measure.

“You’re forgiven.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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[gothamundernightlight]

Incorrect Batfam Quotes

Tim: *mindlessly ranting about his latest conspiracy in the middle of an insomniac episode

Tim: …so what do you think? Am I right?

Jason: What you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard.

Jason: At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought.

Jason: Everyone in this room, myself included is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.

Tim: …

Tim: A simple no would have sufficed.

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

Take it real slow

Hongjoong x F!reader

Author's note; I wrote this in a trance (or frenzy... whatever you wanna call it) after watching this edit (plz watch it.)

CW: smut smutsmutsmutsmut

"N-ngh, oh god, Y/N..." Hongjoong groaned into your neck as he lazily rolled his hips into yours. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sensation, revelling in the feeling. Your lover had been teasing you for hours on end, and calling you impatient would've been an understatement; you were desperate and down bad for whatever he would give you. And "whatever he would give", in this case, was him sinking and pulling his cock out of you at the slowest, most torturous pace you could ever imagine.

You threw your head back when Hongjoong drove his dick against a particularly deep spot in you. A wanton moan tore from your throat as black spots dotted your vision. A whimper followed when he pulled out, the emptiness in your sopping hole coming fast. Too fast.

"J-joongie, please~"

He lifted his head from your shoulder at the sound of the cute nickname you'd given him. A stark contrast to the sinful happenings that the two of you were partaking in. Hongjoong couldn't help but chuckle at the look on your face. Although he could only see your side profile, the way your eyes glazed over and your tongue stuck out the side of your mouth said so, so much about what he was doing to you.

"M-mhmn, baby? Whaddya need?"

The man had to bite back a moan as he tried to keep his cool while having his twitching dick halfway in your warm, wet cunt. Even though he was in an equally, if not more, vulnerable state, he would never miss the chance to take charge of you in bed. He hissed when you babbled incoherently.

"Hey, words. Or are you too fucked out to answer?"

He punctuated the last word with a sharp thrust of his hips, making you cry out loud. His signature Cheshire cat grin tugged at the corner of his glossy lips as he witnessed how you trembled and fell apart in his arms. Until you snaked a hand to his nape to tug at the overgrown brown locks.

"Shi- ahhnh~"

This elicited a pathetic moan from your usually stoic, dominant boyfriend. He flushed out of what seemed like embarrassment, but his growing cock in you said he felt otherwise.

You took this opportunity to anchor your hand in his tousled locks, and slowly roll your hips upwards against him, effectively fucking yourself on his dick. Your breathing grew erratic as you fought the urge to go feral and unrelentlessly fast. It was torture for you, too, but the idea of your boyfriend getting his comeuppance was too good to not come true.

It was your turn to tease him now.

Hongjoong was at your mercy. He could do nothing but bitch and whine about how slow you were going. Your addicting warmth slowly enveloping him, and disappearing so fast that he could barely enjoy it for too long. You chuckled shakily when he started to tear up and paw at your hips.

"What happened to wanting to t-take it slow, Joongie?"

Another tug at his hair, another whiny "a-ah Y/N~!" from him gracing your ears. He grinded his hips into yours at the same time, making you huff in concentration. Clearly, he wasn't ready to give up the fight yet.

It was gonna be a long night.

"Leslie it's 1 in the fucking morning get out of my dms" -my best friend after I went on a rant abt how down bad I was(am) for Kim hongjoong before writing this

[genderisareligion]

Radblr will be on here like “I’m so sorry this rant is incoherent/English is not my first language!” and then spill 8 of the most eloquent well sourced paragraphs on misogyny I've ever read

[milleneumfulcrum]

16 Psyche

for @sanzosin once again, keeping the ship alive one day after another!!!

crossposted to ao3

Pairing | Handsome Jack x Nisha Kadam

Word Count | 3,647

Warnings | they get steamy

When Nisha Kadam had enlisted in Jack's ragtag team of so-called heroes, she'd really been looking for a challenge. The money was trivial, the renown useless, and the Vault entirely uninteresting. Zarpedon had been a disappointment; she'd challenged them right after the destruction of the laser, idiotic bitch, when Nisha's rage was running higher than the sun at noon.

Because how dare that clown slut Moxxi try to blow her up?

The Vault was better; Nisha had savored each stinging cut from the Sentinel's otherworldly glaive, laughing with damn near glee as her body broke like waves against the arena walls. And when it came from the floor, seemingly undefeated, Nisha (et al.) trounced it again. 

The riflewoman was knee-deep in rubble by the time Jack arrived, sorting through the explosion of strange crystals and leftover arms from when Zarpedon's squadron first arrived. She only made slow, languid steps toward her employer once everyone else had already crowded around- perhaps more notably once she had her arms around a few new rifles- her boots clicking on the lustrous, splintered ground.

And Nisha, hands full of shiny new loot and not her trusty Jakobs, only made it halfway to Jack's seated, maniacal figure before it happened. 

A flash of red hair heralded the bitch in second place on Nisha's kill list, but her fist colliding with the Vault's treasure- and Jack's handsome face- quickly pushed Lilith to number one. Nisha tossed her loot aside and drew her pistols with frightening speed, but the Siren phased off without so much as a scratch. How was it that she got past all those damn guardians so silently? Nisha barely had time to snarl before Jack was screaming, and holy hell was it like nothing she'd ever heard before. She watched with a mixture of boiling rage and rising arousal as he writhed on the ground, the barest hint of a manic grin creeping across her lips. In the distance, Athena turned away.

"FUCK!" Jack howled, just barely able to stagger to his feet. He fumbled blindly for the rocky throne, one hand pressed to the red-hot burn that Nisha could practically taste. "I'm gonna kill her! I'm... I'm gonna kill them all!"

If Nisha was just a little more feral, she might've stuck her hand down her pants right then and there. 

"First, you're gonna find me a doctor," He snarled. Not as hot, but probably more necessary. "Then we're gonna wipe those bandit bastards off the face of Pandora."

Bingo.

Jack was still ranting and raving even as Nisha hauled him to his feet, ducking under the wild swings he was making to prove his sincerity. He was heavy like this, incoherent and psychotic and so unbelievably sexy. Wilhelm came to double her efforts, and they shared a brief, puzzled look as he spouted some shit about a warrior. Yep, definitely delirious now, Nisha decided. She could smell Jack's scorched flesh as they made slow, measured progress back to the fast-travel station they'd planted upon entering the final depths of the Vault. By the time Nisha jammed in the codes to Helios, he'd lost most of his steam, slumping against her shoulder wiltingly. 

"Does it hurt?" She hissed into his ear. Of course it did. Jack moaned in response, and her vision went white. 

God, she wished her ECHO had been recording. It was harder to get off on those noises when they were from memory. 

Nisha was certain she wouldn't have to wait, though. Jack was the kind of man who needed his wounds licked, and he was not patient. But as the days started to bleed into weeks without so much as a word from the great big H in the sky, an unfamiliar feeling began to creep into Nisha's gut. She watched the atmosphere from a new perspective each night, aiming down the sights of her sniper as if it were powerful enough to zero on to the giant glass windows of Helios. Nisha would have to tell him that one later- something along the lines of needing a scope to see Jack's dick. Served him right for ignoring her. 

It was early when she awoke face up on the roof with dust in her mouth and an ache in her spine. Her ECHO communicator was chirping in the room below, and Nisha was quick to swing back through the window and snatch it up. It was Jack, and an insidious amount of anticipation curled in her gut. Except he wasn't calling.

"The fuck?" Nisha said aloud, looking at the device like it had personally offended her. It simply blinked back, displaying a dollar amount she previously thought unreal. That made it all the more official; her contract with Jack had concluded, and he'd just paid her without a word. Bastard.

Nisha wasn't often one for making the first move, preferring her men desperate, but Jack seemed hellbent on ignoring her now that the deed was done. Even if she didn't burn for him, her raging curiosity drew Nisha to the teleporter, her fingers itching to touch the nasty scar she knew must've formed. She just hoped he hadn't lasered it away before she'd gotten the good sense to come up. 

Helios wasn't quite fully operational yet; it had only been a few weeks since they'd reclaimed it from Zarpedon, after all, and Hyperion hadn't quite shipped out enough engineers and code monkeys to fill the sprawling, shining halls. In fact, Nisha remembered hearing from some tinny news broadcast that Tassiter himself would be coming to assess the situation, as it was, before deciding on whether it was worth it to continue the Helios project. Dumbass, Nisha thought. He didn't have an inkling of who Jack had become. 

No one tried to stop her as she marched through the shining halls; no one was there to do so. She imagined both man and robot alike were stuck working on Helios' scaffolding, preparing the space station for Tassiter's ill-timed arrival. Nisha's mission was unimpeded, and she slipped into the elevator that would take her to Jack's office without a hitch. Just in case, though, one shiny Jakobs waited in hand, the sterile light reflecting gaudily off the burnished metal. When the doors opened again, Nisha had to blink as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of Jack's office, lit only by thin rails along the floor and the glow of Elpis beyond. If it weren't for the rhythmic, pacing footfalls, she might've thought he wasn't there at all. Cautiously, the lawbringer stepped inside, the elevator doors hissing shut behind her- taking the last of the sterile white light with it. 

Jack's figure was silhouetted against the stars as he paced back and forth in front of the window, muttering hoarsely to himself. He didn't notice Nisha at first, but when she slipped from the shadows, emerging into the light of Elpis, he nearly jumped out of his skin. She couldn't get a good look at his face, but he seemed... normal. Nisha was almost disappointed. 

"Fuck!" Jack spat, his expression souring at her sudden intrusion. "What the hell are you doing here?"

That tone... Nisha clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and to her immense pleasure, Jack looked immediately chastised. This had to be a record for her; it had only taken a few fumbling quickies in the back of Moxxie's bar before she'd tamed him well. Despite his arrogance and inherently adolescent disposition... Jack had some real potential. 

"Movin' onto bigger things, cowboy?" Nisha hummed, holstering her gun as she stepped forward. Her spurs clicked with each predatory step as she circled Jack, scrutinizing his apparently perfect face. "Don't have time to skip a drink with little old me?"

Jack faltered. 

"C'mon Nish," He began slowly, sounding rather unconvincing. "Don't be like that- I've had my hands full rebuilding Helios and expanding my freakin' robot army. I paid you, right? You're not mad because I-"

Nisha stopped dead in front of Jack, causing his speech to sputter out. Her fingers were on his face before he could stop her, tracing the line of his jaw with rampant curiosity. 

"Like it?" He supplied. "Designed it myself. Sorta."

What Nisha had thought was his face, healed and sculpted, was actually a mask, a soft, plastic-y feeling thing that made her lips purse in curiosity. It moved as Jack did, imitating muscle and flesh as he blinked and grinned. Though it was surprisingly lifelike, the effect was somewhat ruined by the three steel clasps that pinned it to his real face. She thumbed over the one at his chin, but Jack's fingers had her wrist in a vice-like grip before she could flick it open. 

"Don't," He blurted quickly, prying her curious hand away before composing himself. "It's, uh, it's still healing. Stings like a bitch to get it on and off, y'know?" 

Nisha raised her brows, intending him to wilt under her gaze. Instead, Jack seemed to perk up, a slow grin lighting his countenance. It must've hurt to smile. 

"Like I said- designed this baby myself," He continued, waving his hands enthusiastically. "Moves like the real thing, and it's suuuuuper comfortable. Tassiter's gonna be so fucking weirded out when he sees me. And then-" Jack paused, looking savagely at Nisha. "I'm gonna kill him, Nish. Hyperion is gonna be mine." 

A little thrill ran down her spine, one that was becoming so familiar. She hadn't been able to do anything about it when he shot the Meriff and airlocked those nerds, surrounded by idiots as they were, but Jack's office was blissfully and entirely empty. They were alone, for once, and Nisha didn't have to stow away this little moment to save for later. 

"...yeah?" She hummed, her palm sliding up Jack's infuriatingly yellow sweater. "Is that what you were so busy with, handsome? Not rebuilding Helios- you've got engineers for that. You were luring Tassiter in, weren't you?"

Jack swallowed thickly under her palm, but his shit-eating grin never wavered. 

"'Course," He rasped, looking down at Nisha with a gaze that could burn. "He's coming in three days. I'm gonna put my fingers around his greasy little neck and-"

Nisha's lips were on his before he could finish, bruising and insistent. Her fingers twined around his collar, pulling Jack close as his mouth parted readily for her. A little whine escaped him, and suddenly, Nisha found herself nearly toppled by Jack's weight as his knees buckled. She pulled away as he grasped for the edge of his desk, his fingers scrabbling at the polished surface before he inevitably slumped to the floor. Nisha grinned, her tongue sharp with a joke when she realized Jack had gone wickedly pale. She was on her knees beside him before she could think, reaching for his face. 

"Jack?" She hissed, tilting his chin up sharply. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut with a sudden lurch forward. "What the hell?" 

"R-Room's... fuckin' spinning..." Jack managed to spit out. Before she could stop him, he dropped his face into the crook of her neck, pressing greedily into the exposed skin. Nisha tried to shove him off, but he moaned in pain. "Don't. I'll barf."

And she believed him. Jack was panting like some beast of burden, cold sweat dotted along the back of his neck as Nisha gingerly circled her arms around him. She'd never known how to comfort- never been taught- but somehow, it was the most natural thing in the world when her fingers landed in Jack's hair, combing through his dark locks. He shuddered when her nails ran over his scalp, whining half in pleasure and pain. 

"Does this happen often?" Nisha asked after a moment, finding her voice had gone soft and low. "That why you got the lights off, handsome?" 

Jack didn't answer for a long time, his breathing ragged and heavy against her skin. Nisha felt like she was drowning under his weight. 

"It w-was..." He rasped, licking his lips. "...worse, at first. Couldn't keep anything down. And it wouldn't stop... f-fucking burning, god! Fucking mark ate right through all the goddamn skin grafts and r-reconstructions, and... and-"

"Hey," Nisha interjected sharply. "Easy, Jack. Easy. Let it pass."

Eventually, his trembling stopped and his breathing steadied. Jack didn't resist this time when Nisha peeled him off of her, refusing to hold her gaze as she hauled him to his feet. Together, they stumbled over to one of Jack's plush velvet couches, where Nisha deposited him unceremoniously onto the cushions. For once, he didn't complain at her rough treatment, only tugging his knees up when Nisha tumbled down beside him. 

"Don't be like that," She chided, shaking her head. "When I first saw you, you were on your hands and knees- one punch by a Dahl soldier was all it took. I'm not surprised this knocked you down a few pegs too."

Jack scowled, but even her little jab didn't provoke him to speak, his eyes thunderous as he looked away from her. Nisha sighed, cupping his jaw as she scooted closer. He leaned into her touch, pressing his cheek into her palm, but yelped when she manhandled him back to meet her gaze. 

"That fuckin' hurts!" He snapped. 

"Well, that damn mask isn't helping!" Nisha hissed back. She was trying to be gentle, but Jack was thinning her patience. "For fuck's sake, just take it off, Jack. It's nothing I haven't seen before." 

What she had meant to be comforting- to a certain extent- only fed the flames, now. Jack's annoyed expression turned to seething rage, and one by one, he tore at the clasps lining his face until they were undone. The mask was sent flying across the room- rigid, without his facial structure to mold it. Nisha was momentarily enraptured. 

"Well?" Jack spat. "Well?"

The scar was... enormous. Lilith's brand stretched from Jack's jaw to his forehead and back down again- only narrowly missing his right eye. His left, however, was completely destroyed; a pale, milky sphere blinked back at her where she should've seen green. She could've sworn he'd just had that eye- perhaps the mask was more impressive than she'd thought. 

One-eyed or not, he was still staring at her, fiery and ashamed. Nisha could've laughed- so this is why he hadn't called for her? Jack seemed to have a hard time tracking her fingers as she reached out, brushing her thumb over the edge of his scar. No depth perception, she imagined. Not without the mask. 

"Not so bad," Nisha said after a long moment. "It's turning blue."

Jack looked baffled as she leaned in to kiss him again, just as bruising as before. She relished in the pained whine that escaped his lips but eased up nonetheless. The last thing she wanted was to bring on another bout of vertigo, lest he puke on her leathers.

"Blue?" Jack breathed when they broke apart, his hands hovering tentatively over her hips. He opened his legs for her and she slotted in instantly, straddling his waist as his head fell back against the cushioned arm of the couch. 

"Yup," Nisha replied, grinning triumphantly as she settled her hips against his. "Blue. Really clashes with this sweater."

Jack looked dumbfounded for a moment, watching as Nisha drew the hem up to his stomach. When she bent down to kiss along his exposed waist, he jolted to life, leaning up with a groan and yanking the sweater over his head. 

"Watch the face," He whined, watching with a mix of arousal and unease as Nisha drew close again. She merely rolled her eyes, tucking against his neck as she scraped her teeth over his throat. Jack turned, instinctively trying to bury his moan into the back of the couch- only to have the noise turn into a yelp as he pressed against his scar once again.

"Watch the face, huh?" Nisha teased, drawing back just enough to savor his pain. Jack's eyes were wet with the sudden sensation, prickles of moisture that he tried desperately to blink back under her gaze. 

"Shut up," He grumbled, his fingers squeezing her hips wantonly. Nisha bristled, a surge of arousal stinging her spine. 

"Don't tell me what to do," She purred, tracing his throat with one broken, violet nail. "It's kind of pathetic." 

Jack's spluttered response made her grin. Nisha calmed him with a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing just under the jagged edge of his scar as he took in a shaky breath. 

"I can't wait until this thing's healed," She hummed, pressing down just hard enough to make Jack hiss. "How do you think it'll taste? D'you think it'll burn my tongue?"

He shivered beneath her fingertips, pressing his lips together to stifle another startled moan. That wouldn't do. 

In one swift movement, Nisha hooked Jack's waist with her leg, twisting sharply. They fell to the ground in a heap, and finally, Nisha had enough room to reach back and kick off her shoes. Before he could complain, she guided Jack's hands to her waist, watching in faint amusement as he fumbled with her button. 

"You a virgin or somethin'?" Nisha teased. Jack growled, his good eye trying desperately to focus.

"Fuck you," He spat. Nisha peeled off her vest and shirt in response, basking in his rapt attention. 

"That's the idea."

They'd done this countless times before, stealing little moments of passion when time was short and Elpis needed saving. Now that they were alone, with all the time in the world, Nisha felt strangely generous. She had his pants off quickly, but she took her time tracing the lines of his chest and the scars that broke them apart. Most of them were new; she'd always teased Jack for his easygoing lifestyle, but these recent weeks had upended his world. She traced a graze on his shoulder, almost reverant in the way her lips followed. 

The Meriff had given him this scar, shit aim and all. Jack had never turned his back on anyone again. 

"So... are we gonna fuck or not?" Jack complained, impatient as ever between her thighs. He'd gotten too used to the instant gratification that came with a lack of time- too many quickies in Moxxi's back room, Nisha supposed. The memory of that greasy little bar made her grimace.

"I dunno," Nisha hummed, brushing her finger down to his navel as she pulled back to look at him. "Maybe I just want to enjoy the view, pretty boy."

As expected, Jack focused on the compliment, flushing with pleasure as she rolled her hips experimentally. He was always beautiful beneath her, but the expression of bliss he wore at her praise was unmatched. Perhaps she'd need to be nicer more often. 

"Don't look so surprised," Nisha continued. "Did you really think that little scar could cancel out so much handsome?"

"No," Jack whined. "But-"

"As far as I'm concerned," She interrupted sharply, taking in his startled, pleased expression. "As long as that dick works, nothing's wrong."

Jack was always easy to please, but this was something else entirely. His good eye widened, a cold fire burning within as he bucked up sharply against her in an attempt to flip the roles. Nisha was a cowgirl, though, and a rowdy mount was nothing outside her expertise. She dug her heels into him as she might've a skag, a fierce look in her liquid gold eyes. 

"You'd best behave now," Nisha scolded, her gaze shifting to the whip tangled around her belt on the floor beside them. "I've been lenient today, you know. If it wasn't for the fact you might hurl all over me, I probably would've put my fingers in that scar already for how much of a bastard you've been. Did you really think you could just pay me off and be done with it? Finish what you started, Jack. Be a man."

"Fuck," He grunted, breathless. "Usually girls like it when it takes a bit longer to fi-"

Nisha's fingers were a vice around his throat before he could finish. Jack choked, spluttering on his own words as she slammed his head back against the ground. He looked dazed when his good eye managed to open again, but Nisha wasn't worried. It had little to do with the blow. 

In, out. In, out. Jack's stuttering breaths matched her pace as she bounced against his hips, unraveling any complaints he might've had. He did a fair job, she had to admit, until his hips fell out of rhythm and his throat bobbled against her palm. She loosened her grip slightly, and he gasped. 

"M'so close," Jack heaved, his face twisting in pleasure- and then in pain from the contortions he was pulling his scar into. Nisha felt such a rush at the sight that she didn't even stop him, her own pleasure whiting her vision like snow as they toppled over each other. She rolled her hips once, twice- Jack's muffled whine of complaint stopped the third, and they fell still. 

Nisha moved first, crawling off of Jack's spent body and hauling herself up to the couch. She was dressed by the time he managed to sit up, smirking down at his languid figure. He winced. 

"You're not going back to Pandora," Jack said hoarsely, with what Nisha assumed was an attempt at authority. It made her grin as she bent down, her hands on her knees as she leveled her gaze to his. 

"Contract's up, handsome," Nisha leered. "Sorry, but you don't exactly have any weight to swing around me anymore."

Jack licked his lips. A flash of something dangerous ignited in his eye, the one bluer than any sky Nisha had seen on Pandora. 

"Well, Nisha Kadam," He began, and this time, his sharp, candied grin wasn't colored with pain. "I have a proposition for you..."

[banes-favourite]

How do you think Durge found out about Gortash’s past in the Hells? Would Gortash have willingly told Durge or did Gortash have a break down and Durge find out that way?

I really don't think Gortash would admit to it. Being a Banist, he probably takes great shame in the fact that he used to be a servant, even if it wasn't by choice. So I think he's convinced himself to put his past as far behind him as possible because it's better to focus on the future.

He never planned on letting anyone know, even Durge, his most trusted and powerful ally. That doesn't mean he'd lie though; just danced around the subject. When Durge questions his incredible knowledge in infernal matters, he simply says he spent a lot of time there. When he questions why he's so efficient at chores that are meant for slaves, he just laughs it off that he's skilled in all manners of subjects. I think the one thing he'd be particularly sensitive of would be the burn scars on his forearms that he consistently covers up with shirts and his gauntlets.

If Durge ever asked him about them, he'd admit they're an old injury and try his darnest to change the subject. I think after HoH, he's really touchy about scars, he absolutely hates his own, so if Durge was to push him about it, he'd get unreasonably angry and probably storm off and refuse to speak to him for like a couple weeks.

I think the only way Durge would find out is not by confronting him or asking around, but by finding him in a moment of weakness. Perhaps after the Mephistopheles vault heist, Gortash was quite bothered to have been back in the Hells, so he sulks and sulks until one night he tries to drown his feelings in multiple bottles of alcohol. Durge is shocked to find him so drunk and vulnerable so obviously he wants to know what's going on.

Gortash refuses to speak, getting angrier by each question, until eventually he blows up at him, cussing him out, breaking their alliance, talking shit about Bhaal and his useless children, saying all kinds of things he doesn't mean and Durge doesn't take seriously - all the while he's crying without even realising it. Through his incoherent rant, he eventually mentions HoH and how he "used to be a slave to the most fucking annoying devil who would break his bones every other day just for fun" and it just kinda clicks for Durge. After his rant, he just slumps in his chair defeated, muttering something about how he can't stand the hot of the Hells with a shaky voice as he finally starts sobbing. Durge just quietly holds him through it and never questions him about it again.

[thevulturesquadron]

THAT LATEST EPISODEEEE

Okay okay I have many thoughts and I apologise if this is gonna end up very incoherent and disjointed but I NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE AHHHHH

You know what the episode did very well (the writers, man)? Make the audience feel like they're taking crazy pills. There's this almost cognitive dissonance from the rest of the squad (Charles esp) with the way they say and behave because as Rogue stated "none of you were there". This is SO good in showcasing that you can be as understanding as you want, be literally a part of the same group... and STILL it's not enough because you didn't have the (in this case unfortunate) exact experience. The previous episode is a great addendum to this. The rest of humanity's (majorly the big wigs of course but you get what i mean) scared and at worst callous and apathetic reaction to the genocide. They're not scared because of what happened to those mutants, they're scared because of what Magneto would do in retaliation. Cooper is another example of how much actual experience can wholly change a person. She's not a mutant... but she was THERE. Erik and Rogue were there... right in the middle of it. How does anyone expect SOMETHING to not happen. You know who else saw what happened? Us, the audience. The latest episode felt frustrating and cathartic in the best way. It felt like decades of repressed righteous anger spilling in the most messiest manner, but it's OUT there. It needed to be said. Rogue's rant at the group before joining Erik, Erik's iconic "SHUT UP" line (yo lemme tell you istg i said the EXACT thing after that drivel Charles said). That's another thing that was so well done. Showcasing that no matter how well meaning Charles is... sometimes it feels like the dude's not LISTENING (Erik talks about watching a child be eviscerated in front of his very eyes, and I feel like all he's getting from others is an 'aw im sorry thoughts and prayers now can you please CHILL out') and does need this slap in the face. And the consequences keep piling up (the last big thing being what happened to Logan). Nothing will ever be normal and it's sad and scary and I'm very much looking forward to what comes next.

On a small note, showing how Roberto's decision was unsure with him trying to apologise to Jubilee and then his shocked reaction at her not wanting to hear him was so sad. It truly felt like a boy who only realised how massive of a consequence he's facing but just wanting his friend back.

I'm pretty sure I had more things to say and a more thoughtful way of saying them but anyway... 10/10. VERY ANGERING AND FANTASTIC. I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE LAST EP!!!

HI!!! ✨SAME!! 💜💜💜💜 thanks for coming in kicking the door down and shouting my way cause I needed that!! My brain has been stuck on a loop with the events in E9.

I love, love, love this episode exactly because of the strong emotions it made me go through. To see the division, to see where everyone stands, to see what matters most to them: what they are going through or an ideal? It. Was. So. Good! It was skin itching to see it at the same time. Each episode has continued to take me by surprise and go beyond my expectations.

I love how well the writers have been able to portray the difference between people who have been through horrible events, and those who have seen them ‘on screen’. Remember in episode 7 when Amelia said 'a survivor is the last thing I’d wanna be.’? Now it resonates even more than ever. It’s poetry. And yes, Cooper isn’t just someone who ‘saw it Magneto’s way’. No. She was one of the perpetrators caught in the middle.

So that when Scott goes around saying ‘Magneto is responsible for this.’ When Wolverine is out for blood - it should make you angry cause it feels like the crimes that Bastion has orchestrated are secondary to the X-men's agenda of 'righting a wrong'. Bastion is just a battle, another villain they need to defeat. But the call was coming from inside the house all along.

I’ve seen people online saying that this episode did Magneto dirty. But I think it’s the opposite. Magneto had always been capable of awful things in his pain and anger, but that’s not the point the writers are trying to make. The name of the episodes is ‘Tolerance is extinction’ - the whole point is to put the viewer in the uncomfortable position of understanding Magneto’s anger, but knowing his actions have big consequences, all the while making you lose your mind at how backwards and ignorant Charles' side seems. People are dying because ultimately his dream is more important than the people the dream is made for. And Rogue and Magneto are calling him out on it. The beauty of it is that Charles is preaching an ethical way where everyone matters, but how entitled and arrogant he must come across when everyone else around him is just ‘sacrifices he is willing to make’ for the sake of an ideal. It’s beautiful and awful that the cry for battle and survival is coming from the mouth of those that have nothing left but violence in them, while the champions of the just offer shackles and tell those that suffer to endure more for the greater good.

Yes this episode is supposed to make people angry and confused. And I think it succeeds.

If there is one less positive thing to say about the show, it's the pacing. You can feel that they were forced to put everything in just 10 episodes because there are a lot of moments throughout the show that are either missing or rushed. (For ex. in this last episode I would have liked to have scene with Rogue and Roberto on Asteroid M, in a similar fashion to what we got for the two X-men squads; just a glimpse at how things are impacting them instead of immediately seeing them in a 'villain guards' roles.) But I am not going to hold it against the show; from what they've delivered it reads a lot like cuts that they needed to live with.

[luvring]

YOUR TOUCHSTARVED HCS ARE GOD TIER I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU CAPTURED THEM SO WELL WITH JUST THE DEMO

If you want, could I ask for some with Vere and Kuras?? I feel in love with them in the demo and am in desperate need of more toushstarved content

GENERAL KURAS HCS

gn!reader | ?!!?!! GIGGLES..THANK U THANK U a girl never shares her secrets 😍🤫😘 jk ive shared characterization tips at Some point. KURAS TIME!!! ;3c

has a sense of humour where if you say something silly he Does find it amusing,, he just has a calm + direct demeanor. "can i climb you like a tree" > he blinks because he's caught off guard but smiles anyway. says you could definitely try, but he thinks it might be more effective to just pick you up, no?

the Look the others give him when he says a joke You often say that just...does not match him at all. awesome

he'd get you flowers. not in a bouquet of red roses way but in an i checked the meanings of all of these and personalized it to have your favourite colours and what you mean to me. i'll either explain to you the most devastating story of eternal love and our souls being intertwined or look at you and go :) who's to say what it means? and let you figure it out

next level putting things high up so you have to ask him for help. doesn't try to hide his amusement at all. "odd how it ended up there." ? Yeah i know right

but seriously if you're on the shorter side and you choose to get a chair instead of asking him he's a little upset. and worried. please don't hurt yourself

very serious if you hurt yourself or get sick. if you want to recover fast, let him take care of you. just know he's going to follow some strict rules to make sure you're healing as efficiently as possible

don't let this guy in the kitchen.... his lack of cooking skills make him very appreciative of any home cooked meals, and he knows some pretty good restaurants to make up for it

go ahead and hold onto kuras if you're stuck in a crowd again. like you Can trust him to not lose you, he meant that. but also he won't stop you from reaching for his hand/arm. asks if you're alright before continuing on

get him to relax by laying his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair

never minds bending down to kiss you. you can solve ths problem by getting him to sit down and standing between his legs by the way

forehead kisses are a go to!! and a hand on the small of your back

likes when the both of you talk about how your days went in the evening. i think he likes hearing about drama. he remembers names and stories and if he ever sees the person that pissed you off he's. a Little petty/passive-aggressive. he's really good at making it seem like it's accidental though. LOL

you know when you recommend something to someone and they figure out the big twist or mystery so fast you're like wtf. that's kuras. he pretends he doesn't know, especially the first few times, but eventually you just have to take the opportunity to make it a challenge. how fast can he do it y’know.

? glitter eyeshadow. give it a thought and come back to me.

morning person who gets breakfast for you by the time you're up

giving me words of affirmation and quality time vibes. inviting you out whenever he isn't working and making sure you know you're a priority... casually saying some kind of sincere, poetic praise..

sort of a dry texter but you know what. he's supportive. boyfriend who doesn't know what game you've started and are now incoherently ranting about but does his best to guess and support u. looks up the wiki to read about the characters and plot on his own time

when the game has a secret and kuras Offers a Suggestion. a Guess. and he's right. and ur like OMG :D and he :). pretends he didn't look it up because you told him you were stuck yesterday

[mftango]

I just wanna go on a rant about Bionicle and age and how people apply ages to the matoran, turaga, and toa Matoran are not children, Toa are not adults, and this is the big one Turaga are not old, they are not "village elders", they are never called "Village elders" "elders" or anything of that sort in any official Bionicle media that i know of (correct me if im wrong) and the closest you will ever get is the movies, which code them as old, and the movies are dubiously canon. of course your interpretation of what exactly is "the bionicle canon" can vary but Greg didn't seem to regard them as canon If you really want to compare toa, turaga, and matoran to something more recognizable to non-bionicle fans, I suggest cells in a body (the original intent, the toa are an immune system, the turaga and matoran are cells) similarly ant colonies also work as a comparison of what is effectively an organism of many organisms. going back to the Turagas age thing though, I think the interpretation of the turaga as geezers has done a massive disservice to them and what they originally were, Mataus 2001 character bio describes him as a warrior! they wield elemental powers! they have mask powers! this was before the conceept that they were originally toa, these aren't scraps of leftover power, devoid of the context of toa and before the toas arrival they were the most powerful people in mata nuis society, not just because they lead the villages but physically, strength wise. the movies having them all hunched over and using their **tools** as walking sticks is very stupid. but what about characterization? well sure they're "wise" but so are gali and onua and they aren't "old" again with 2001 character bios

Quick temper, quick reaction times they were never coded as "old" before MOL I think it's also worth noting that whoever was working on G2 probably knew this, and the protectors were an attempt to lean harder into this direction to make it more clear that these guys do some fighting, have powers, etc. anyway sorry for this insane and probably borderline incoherent rant but I hope if nothing else it atleast made you consider how you see the turaga and how they were meant to be seen

[fuck-customers]

I had the absolute FUNNIEST customer interaction my entire career tonight (9/3)

The date is relevant!

So, a guy comes up trying to buy beer. He opens up with a strong: "You are the most annoying dumbfuck that works here." First of all, funniest comment I've ever heard working here. And I've had some funny weirdos come in, like the lady who was convinced I work for Satan himself because I didn't "talk enough".

Anyway so I say to him, literally, "why are you here then." No response. He just stares at me scowling. So I scan his beer and ask for the id and he was born in 2003, in August. He's 20. I look at him and I'm like, I tell him that. He swears that everyone else rings him up and every other store takes his ID. He swears he will call the cops and make them come over here to tell me that it's okay to sell him beer. First of all, no cop would ever waste their time with that shit and second of all, I'm allowed to refuse service to anyone I want to, and third of all, HES NOT OLD ENOUGH!!!

He INSISTS I scan his ID and when I do, it says it's expired. So I look and it expired the beginning of August. I tell him this and hand the thing back over to him because like, seriously, you're not old enough and your ID isn't valid either you're literally not getting the fucking beer. He's shaking and there's TEARS in his eyes and he storms out ranting incoherently.

Dude, the way I was laughing for a long time after that. That's in the hall of fame for me.

Posted by admin Rodney.