#my greatest blunder

[localgardenweed]

HELP I REALIZED I REBLOGGED SMTHON THE ASK BLOG CAUSE I FORGOT TO SWITCH ACCOUNTS JWHDBHJDBVF HELPPPPP

EW ASK BLOG PPL IM SO SO SORRYYY

[azen13]

I’ve never been to a Starlight Pawnshop before…just look at all this stuff. Too bad I can’t buy everything in this store.

Wait a minute, who left this Chess Piece out by itself? No matter, I’ll gladly take it, even if I’ve never played a single game before in my life!

A Losing Game

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Chess Pawn: A finely-carved chess pawn. If life is a chessboard, then so too are people pawns in other's games. Based on this pawn’s pristine condition, whoever controlled it loved it quite dearly.

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CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Gaslighting

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Jing Yuan is an accomplished man. As the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, he has accumulated a list of titles and achievements that could fill a thousand archives: master of foresight; skilled with a glaive; voted “Most Attractive Bachelor” of the Xianzhou Luofu five years in a row. And, of course, his prowess at Starchess.

Yes, Jing Yuan is very, very good at Starchess. One of the best in the entirety of the Xianzhou Alliance, if not in the entire galaxy. While his knowledge of opening lines could be considered weak for his level of gameplay, after he gets settled, he excels at slowly cutting off his opponent’s options, until reaching the endgame. 

In Starchess, the endgame is extremely important. A poorly-played endgame can lead to a crushing defeat, while quick thinking and clever maneuvering of pieces can allow a pawn to be promoted to a queen, which can then help propel a player to victory.

While Jing Yuan is good at Starchess, he is almost undefeatable in the endgame.

Until today.

The ring was perfect and understated, a band of solid gold engraved with delicate patterns. He knew everything about you from years of dismantling every thread of your being apart, and knew you didn’t care for things that were too gaudy and outwardly luxurious. The night was perfectly planned: a picnic beneath the starlit sky, constellations framing your face like a crown. He had hidden the ring at the bottom of the basket, beneath a beautiful meal of the finest the Luofu had to offer. And you were going to be there, boundless in beauty and grace, sharp as a sword and sweet as sugar.

Tonight, though, Jing Yuan tastes the sea on his lips.

How long has it been since he has cried? Centuries, he thinks, standing in the foyer of his home, the front door slightly ajar. A biting wind snaps its jaws at Jing Yuan through the opening, but he cannot feel it. He can hardly feel anything. 

The numbness spreads from his heart outwards as he moves, first forwards to shut the door. A brief glance outside, and he can still imagine you standing there. In better circumstances, you and him would have gone to Fyxestroll Gardens, and enjoyed a quiet night. He would have proposed. You would have accepted. Everything would be right in the world. But when Jing Yuan opened the door, what greeted him was the greatest misfortune he had ever faced.

You stood outside, jagged shadows stretching like scars across your face, your posture guarded, your face unreadable. At first, Jing Yuan assumed you just had a terrible day, perhaps because of your job, perhaps because of something else. But then you began to speak, poison spilling from your lips, killing both you and him. He knows this is a grave mistake, but you have already drowned in these lies.

As you walk away from him, Jing Yuan makes a vow to himself: he will not let you leave. No, not like this.

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Without you by his side, safe and secure in his loving embrace, the General’s night is restless; as he tosses and turns, he replays the memories of hurt again and again in his mind, trying to wrap his head around your reasoning so he can dismantle it when he has you again. He may have unknowingly made a blunder, but he will still win this game, the most important game of his life.

Maybe a stop by the Alchemy Commission–your workplace–is necessary, no? Last time he heard, investigators are still clearing out spies from the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus hiding amongst its members. 

Jing Yuan takes a moment to check his schedule, a relaxed smile falling on his face. He still has several hours before his first meeting of the day. Enough time to bring you back home, where you belong. A brief flash of uncertainty courses through his body, like a chess player second-guessing their plan, before he steadies himself. This is for your benefit, he tells himself. With all the dangers on the Luofu, someone like you cannot simply remain unprotected. 

With a calm and patient gait, the General of the Luofu makes his way to the Alchemy Commission.

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He scrutinizes the cramped halls of the building you work in carefully, noting a pawn here, a bishop there. All people, yet all pieces in the game of love, and the inevitable, complete conquering of your heart. Perhaps they are playing their own games, but they do not matter. In this game, they are Jing Yuan’s pieces to move. Before today, they may have been your pieces. But while the game of life and the game of chess share many similarities, they are not one in the same. Life’s board flips and moves, expands and shrinks. Pieces change allegiances, or disappear and reappear entirely.

The board is not on your side today. You don’t even notice Jing Yuan watching you from the hall, preparing your doom. Within moments, he strides in the room, his lazy gait and relaxed expression taking control over the room and its occupants–including you–in mere seconds. Shocked faces spread like lightning, from healer to healer, before striking yours. You stand in complete terror, as Jing Yuan claims you with a simple glance, before speaking in an authoritative tone, booming like thunder.

“Mx. L/N, you are hereby arrested.” Eyes that once melted with fondness when simply seeing your face now bore into you with frigid disgust.

You can’t help but flinch from the words, mouth agape and mind blank. After a moment, you manage to collect yourself, disregarding the stares of those around you. “Excuse me? What for?” You demand. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head, looking down at you. “Sedition against the Xianzhou Luofu through serving the Plagues Author and the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” he cites, taking a stride forward, arms snapping to lock your limbs behind your back like shackles. “You will be taken to the Seat of Divine Foresight and given a proper sentencing for your crimes.”

Try as you may, your shouts and screams of vehement denial do you no good as Jing Yuan walks you out. Streets pass you by like snapshots of a past life. You can see the tea shop where you and Jing Yuan went on your first date. His favorite restaurant to order takeout from. The balcony overlooking the Ambrosial Arbor where he first kissed you. Thousands upon thousands of moves, each and every one thought out to perfection. Countless gambits taken, small victories celebrated, and little defeats mourned. You had nearly defeated him. Or so you thought.

Eventually, you make it to the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan’s arms still vice like in their hold, yet not tight enough to hurt. You try to follow the turns the General takes–a right, a left, another left, up a flight of stairs, right again–but your focus wanes.

You are not guilty of any crime.

At least, so you think. Because you committed a grave offense: breaking the weak, feeble heart of your lover.

A lifelong sentence is only fair, no?

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“My dearest, why must you struggle?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he pulls you into a small room with only a table and two chairs. Pulling you away from the door, the General gently places you on the ground, and remains by the exit, cutting off any chance of escape you may have.

“Why must you falsely accuse me?” You retort, voice flickering with fire and burning bright, even amongst all the encroaching darkness.

Jing Yuan’s soft smile slowly dissipates into a frown, the shine in his eyes dimming away into nothingness. “Y/N, I have been nothing but patient with you. I have explained why I must protect you. You understood then. Why can’t you understand now?” Slowly, like he’s trying to comfort a skittish animal, Jing Yuan inches towards you, arms outstretched inviting you into his embrace. 

“Because you’re a psycho!” You hiss, stepping backwards. Despite your insult, the General does not anger. Instead, disappointment flashes across his face. He takes another step forward, effectively cornering you.

With a quiet, hushed tone that echoes in the room like a hollow breeze, Jing Yuan’s arms find their way around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. Regardless of how much you struggle, you cannot escape Jing Yuan. “You don’t think that, love. You’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s why I’m here. To care for you. To protect you. To love you. Don’t you want that?” He asks quietly, letting you wear yourself out until you melt in his hands like putty, exhausted in every sense. A few moments of utter silence pass, before he speaks up again. “Why don’t we go home now? I have a surprise waiting for you.”

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The moment you return home, Jing Yuan locks the door. To protect you from yourself, he says. Though that’s a condensed version of his actual words, which are far more persuasive, spinning you around in a whirlwind of logic and reasoning you can’t seem to keep up with.

Only a second later, the General is down on one knee, a ring in hand and a glint of fire in his eyes. For a moment, you think the look is a soft, gentle thing. But then you see it for what it is: a love so warped it cannot simply be called love anymore.

As much as you want to reject his proposal, to slap him across the face and attempt to spark another uprising against his smothering love, you know it would do you no good. He would only force the ring on your finger and crown you his spouse, whether you liked it or not.

Checkmate.

[blackwomanwriter]

"Mine"

Read: Part I, Part II

It's been a minute, but I finally wrote something. And of course, I had to go back to this series because there is something about Thomas Shelby. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part. Happy Reading!

He entered quietly like he was on a mission. Although this one was unlike the ones he had performed during the war and after. No, this mission was different. Very different. Yet, Tommy performed it with the same intensity.

Eyes narrowed on the quiet interior, clocking each entry point and exit way, like a soldier, he assessed his environment. He hadn’t been in a house this small since his childhood. Even back then, the space had felt cluttered and cramped. Too noisy to think. Too busy to breathe. The stench of his father’s hangover in the air before it disappeared altogether.

He remembered talking Arthur out of trying to find their father. A man unworthy of carrying - no, sharing his surname. Tommy tensed his jaw, moving past the memory. Instead, he raised a brow at how devastatingly clean the entire place felt. Physically tidy, but clean in a way that made the house feel empty. Unlived. Unloved. Cold. The opposite of everything he thought of her. She was warm. Tender. Inviting.

Moving to the narrow staircase, he could hear the water running. The pipes pushing the water through the house. She was here. She was alive. She was avoiding him - again.

He hiked up the stairs, stepping one foot in front of the other. Like a soldier, he kept moving. He carried on with the task before him. His mind focused on the mission.

Opening the door quietly, Tommy leaned on the door frame - taking in the sight before him. Curved hips that were fuller since he had last seen her. A waist that tempted him to wrap his arms around her. It was now that he reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she shrieked. The click of his lighter giving him away.

She rested a hand on her heart, shuddering as she closed her eyes.

Unbothered, he traced the stick along his bottom lip before lighting it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose, as her breath steadied.

“You haven’t been taking my calls,” he stated. Gaze unchanged. Smoke filling the air.

“I’m in mourning,” she enunciated, grabbing a towel to cover herself. She didn’t bother hiding her frustrations as she shoved past him. She was angry. He liked her angry.

At first, when she didn’t answer his call, he had briefly worried that she was sad. Tearful over the sudden death of her husband, who the police found floating in the river after a night of drinking. His death ruled accidental according to the official report. A drunken man’s blunder. An unsurprising end of life. An expected death for a man who drank as much as her late husband did.

An easy lie to believe, but she knew the truth. The greatest mistake the dead man had made was marrying Thomas Shelby’s favorite whore. It was her mistake more than his. She knew what she was doing when she said yes. The risks she was taking by marrying while Tommy was off in America. Her moment of rebellion had cost a life.

Although, they had gotten past the letter. She hadn’t returned to him. She wanted to keep her promise. To stay married. To honor what was left of her vows. She wouldn’t work for him. She wouldn’t see him. The temptation of losing herself in him made her stay away. She had already ruined the sanctity of her marriage by sleeping with him in his office. She didn’t want to continue making a mockery of the words she vowed before God and man.

She was suddenly religious, which amused Tommy. He thought it was a game, but she clung on to every word spoken by the priest. At the funeral, she remembered his words at the wedding. How he had pressed upon her the importance of repentance. Before Thomas Shelby, she had been a good girl. Never told a lie. Prayed before bed. Devout daughter. Devoted sister. An upstanding and honorable member of her community. He had changed her. Corrupted her. Loved her. Destroyed her.

“It’s been weeks,” Tommy stated coolly.

She ignored him. Her hands focused on the cream she was applying to her skin. Smooth skin. Soft skin. Skin his lips remembered. The taste imprinted on his tongue. Tommy exhaled.

His patience was wearing thin. He loved her. She loved him. He figured out how to help her keep her promise and allow him to keep his. Her husband was dead, and she was free.

“I see you’re eating again,” he quipped, trying to stir a reaction out of her. She didn’t disappoint. He ducked as the bottle of cream nearly struck his head.

“I went from being a whore to being a widow.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a book.” Tommy shrugged then ducked again. This time, she threw a shoe.

“At least I can bargain my way into heaven as a whore,” she resolved, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Is that what your priest tells you?” He brought the cigarette back to his lips for another drag.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She wondered if he was having her followed again. How else would he know about her visits to the church. Her talks with the priest.

“My greatest sin is you,” she finished her thought.

Her words were meant to be cutting, but Tommy remained unbothered. His eyes stoic, jaw set as if he was watching a horse race. He brought his cigarette to his lip, letting it dangle as he neared her. 

She stood up, ready to shove past him again, but he grabbed her forearm. Her eyes flared up at him as she tried to loosen his grip, but he remained firm.

“You want to talk about sins, ey?” He whispered against her ear. “You married a man who picked a pint over his life. A man who stowed you away in a house he couldn’t bear to live in himself, while he stayed three doors down with his brother’s wife.”

She frowned, hearing him confirm a suspicion she wouldn’t allow herself to believe. When he stopped coming home, she told herself that he was drunk at a pub or sleeping his hangover off at his mother’s house.

“A man who lost his wages betting on fights.”

So that’s where all their money had gone, she thought. Her face didn’t flinch as Tommy confirmed another truth. Her late husband was just another man who had let her down. All the words she threw at Tommy about him being a good man were lies. He was just better at hiding his wrongs.

Tommy softened his grip on her hand, as he relayed the sin that he couldn’t forgive. The sin that forced him to intervene without thinking of the consequences. “A man who was willing to sell his wife to settle his debts.”

Her eyes widened then glazed over. The shred of innocence he once found in those warm brown irises was quickly disappearing. He cursed at himself for the letter, but it wasn’t just the letter. It was the months he left her wondering if he could ever love again. It was the voice that told him to push her away. She married the man because of him.

Tommy released her hand. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been so honest. Her hardened eyes told him just as much. The look on her face was one he had seen before in the women who dared to love him. When his darkness eventually shadowed their light. When his world swallowed them whole.

She reached for the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Taking a long drag, she exhaled. The smoke covering Tommy’s face.

“My sin was marrying the wrong man,” she concluded.

His thumb brushed her skin, remembering when her lips pressed against his in hunger. His lip bleeding as their need took precedence. Her lip bruised from his appetite. Even when he had her, he needed more. Tracing her lip, he gently placed the cigarette between his fingers then lifted it to his mouth. The first puff was for the memory. The second was for his patience.

“No, my god doesn’t care about sins.”

“I didn’t think you believed in,” sighing, she looked up, “anything.”

Tommy closed his eyes. His patience wearing on him again. “You’re moving out of this house. You’re coming back to work, and you’re going to answer when I call.”

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” she answered.

His jaw ticked at the use of his surname. The smoke from his cigarette creating a haze over his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Tell me what your god thinks about whores.”

“Everyone’s a whore,” he muttered, as he moved toward the door, already thinking of his next order of business. The kiss would have to wait.

“Is that what your wife thinks?”

Tommy stopped walking. Leaning his hand on the door frame, he closed his eyes. His nose flared. His annoyance growing with her disobedience. He seemed to attract women who were determined to do the opposite of what he asked.

“She confronted me. Told me to stay away,” she admitted, and in that second, he realized why she ignored him. She was no longer his secret. He made his affection too obvious.

“I’ll take care of it,” he firmly stated, leaving no room for further questions. Yet, she continued.

“Does she follow any of the other girls or is it just me?” She asked.

He wasn’t ready to admit that there weren’t any other girls. That there hadn’t been other girls for a while. From the moment he declared his love, Tommy had made himself hers - only hers.

“You love me, but there are others,” she whispered. “I love you, but all I do is think of them. To be with you, I have to worry about them. I have to wait to be yours.”

“Is that what you’re doing then - waiting?” He asked, closing the distance between them.

Her hand dropped to her middle and Tommy’s eyes followed. He stared, then frowned before bringing his gaze back to her. “How far along?”

Her eyes softened. The grief coloring every muscle in her face. Tommy closed his eyes. She was in mourning. He understood her words clearly now. It was moments like this that made him miss Polly. She would have known.

Tommy muttered something in his Romanian tongue as he sat on the bed. He stamped his cigarette out in silent rage. There was never an end. Death seemed to find him at every turn. It hunted him. Craved him.

His hands went to her robe. Slowly, he pulled the fabric, revealing her body. A body that had prepared itself to carry his child. A body that had nourished him back to life. His fingers moved to her belly, tracing the skin there. The soft, smooth skin.

He looked up at her and saw the tears she wouldn’t shed. How long had she held them in, unable to weep. Unable to speak. Unable to fully mourn. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he pulled her in and kissed the place his hands had touched. He tried to do what she had done for him; he tried to make it okay for her to feel.

“I’m fine, Tommy. It’s better this way,” she said, her voice cold and void of any emotion.

“When?” He whispered, knowing it was his, and yet wondering how he’d missed so much in so little time.

“It doesn’t matter,” she stiffened. “It’s gone now, and I need to move on.”

She gave him a second to make peace with the reality she had lived with for weeks. Then, she moved from his touch, closing her robe as she distanced herself. Loving him was painful enough without the added grief of their lost child.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

Tommy raised a brow, staring at her before glancing around the room. It was as cold as the rest of the house - bare of any details or remnants of her. Standing up, Tommy found a new mission. He moved past her in search of anything that made the four walls more of a home.

His hands traced the metal bed frame. His fingers trailing the linen and cloth. He opened windows and tapped on wooden walls. He inspected the little furniture in the room, unsatisfied with the results.

“Tommy,” she started to say as he pushed open a wardrobe, finding it empty.

She was leaving. She planned to leave London. She planned to leave him. The thought stung in Tommy’s mind as he opened drawer after empty drawer. His anger taking center stage.

“Tommy,” her voice raised with concern.

He shoved the empty wardrobe back, watching as it crashed against the wall.

“Stop,” she yelled, as he shoved the wardrobe again and again. His grief coloring his anger. His anger coloring his grief. Her heart jumped as the wooden drawers finally cracked under the pressure. The splitting wood overshadowing her screams as the wardrobe completely fell apart.

“Tommy,” she cried, rushing to stop him from breaking the wood further. “Stop.”

“Please,” she whispered. Her plea full of a love she couldn’t deny him.

He exhaled. The sound of his heightened breath taking all the space in the room. His anger taking all the air. Tommy closed his eyes. The familiar whispers creeping in his head, telling him to put out the fire. To walk over to the other side. To let go of this life. To finally rest.

She swallowed, unsure of what to tell him, and yet, she persisted. “My sister found work outside of London. She thought it’d be good for me…”

Tommy shook his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“I wanted to tell you,” she stopped, lowering her head. There was nothing to say.

He scoffed. “Tell me.”

It felt like deja vu to hear him utter those words to her again. To hear the same command. The same request he’d asked from her when she told him about the wedding. Yet, this time, there was nothing left to say.

She stared at the back of his head. Her fingers yearning to brush his hair or wrap themselves around him. Her lips longing to kiss the nape of his neck.

Closing her eyes, she confessed. “There’s no life for me here.”

“You’re not leaving.” He pushed back, ignoring her words. “You’re mine.”

“When?” She sighed. “When am I yours, Tommy?”

He lifted his head, staring at the wall. His mind moving a mile a minute. She couldn’t leave him. His heart wouldn’t allow it. His body would protest. His hunger was contained to her. His thoughts all went back to her. How many minutes until he can think of her? How many meetings until he can dream of her? He suffered without her to be with her. Every hour he was away was an hour he promised to give to her.

He was a selfish man, who wanted what he wanted. A man who endured wars and monsters disguised as men. A cursed man. A broken man. A suffering man. A man who didn’t deserve her, and yet, he wanted her. He needed her. She was the cigarette on his lips. The pain tablets in his pocket. The shirt on his back. The razor blade on his cap. She couldn’t leave him.

“When your wife is gone? When you’re fucking other women?” Her voice continued in the background, but Tommy was half-listening. “When you’re bored? When the nightmares come? When the work is done? When am I yours?” She asked again, although there was no anger in her question.

“When you married him, you were mine. Every time you put on his fucking ring; you were mine.” His brows furrowed as he reached into his side pocket for a cigarette. “When you moved into this house, you were mine. When you had my fucking child inside of you, you were mine.” Tommy sniffed, turning to face her. “From the moment you entered my office, you belonged to me.”

She stiffened, as she traced her empty ring finger. His crassness didn’t bother her as much as his refusal to listen. He disregarded her words, only focusing on what he wanted. It was why she didn’t want to tell him about the baby. He would have stuck her in a big house that he would never visit. Given her everything except the thing she wanted, which was him. But now that nightmare wasn’t even a reality because she’d lost their child. She'd lost a piece of him.

“Is that all it takes…” she started to argue, but words were pointless. Their arguments were pointless. They had a love that was cursed from inception.

In this life, he was promised to another. In the next, he would be reunited with another. In life and death, she had no place in Thomas Shelby’s life. Her love for him didn’t save their unborn child. It reminded her that their love had no place to grow. It was wilted, and no amount of money or prayer could save them.

“You’re not leaving,” Tommy declared, cornering her until she had no choice but to look up at him.  Her brown eyes sinking into him, full of a love he didn’t deserve.

“You made me a promise,” he whispered. His jaw tensing as he remembered that night in his office when he had made himself hers. When he had promised to live. To stop craving death. The gods had given him a second chance with her.

“Tommy,” she protested, but he continued.

“You gave me your word.” His lips brushed hers and her body shuddered. “You made promises to me. Promises I intend to collect.”

His hand slipped down to her robe, loosening the ties. His fingers marking a trail from her chest to her neck to her lips. “Promises you agreed to keep.”

She folded under his touch. Her head falling on his chest as she exhaled. Quick, short breaths that made Tommy pull her in closer.

“And what of your promises?” She grabbed his fingers before they could slip between her thighs.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, trying not to smirk. “Remind me again.”

Shaking her head, she moved from his hands. Her heart ached, but it would always ache whether she was with him or not. He was not wrong. It belonged to him. From the moment she entered his office, her heart had become his. Knowing he was promised to another, it still beat for him. It yearned for him. It acted without consequence.

Thou shall not commit adultery. A vow she’d broken within a month of knowing Thomas Shelby. But her heart didn’t care. It didn’t care about the commandments she broke. Her sins were plenty but her heart was full. Full of love for a man who couldn’t confess his love until she married another.

Turning away from him, she closed her robe. Her hand wanted to follow the trail he etched on her skin, but she didn’t. She could hear him lighting a cigarette. His eyes on her. His eyes undressing her. His eyes claiming her as his.

She wanted to run, but her heart wouldn’t let her. Instead, she willed herself to face him. Smoke in the air. His scent in every crevice of the cramped room. She inhaled and tried to tell him again. Her thoughts were on her lips, and yet, nothing.

Offering her his cigarette, Tommy stepped towards her. “Leaving London won’t cure you of me.”

She reached for the smoke. Grateful for the distraction. For the heat. For the vapors. For the way her lungs would expand and contract. For the cigarette they shared between them. His lips on her lips. Her lips on his.

“That priest of yours won’t help you either,” he added.

“What is the cure then?”

Tommy leaned into her. His hands on her waist, slowly moving her robe up past her knees then her thighs. “First, you have to stop running.”

“Running?” She asked, confused by his accusation.

“The wedding. The job. This house.” He counted. “And now these plans of leaving London.” His hands pushed the fabric of her robe from her skin, leaving her naked before him. “You mustn’t run.”

“And what if I do?” She questioned, not allowing her nudity to dissuade her.

Tommy brushed her cheek before taking the cigarette from her lips. “I’ll find you. Remind you of where you belong.”

“And where is it that I belong?” She asked. Her eyes gentle and pleading. 

He brought her hand to his chest, placing it where his heart lay. “Here. Right here.”

She swallowed her nerves, terrified of letting her heart speak. “Second?” She went back to his list.

“Second.” He took a drag, exhaling the smoke before he continued, “You must know, I get scared,” he admitted, and she finally understood why he’d written her that letter. Thomas Shelby was scared of loving her. The first woman he loved died in his arms because of a bullet meant for him. Love was something to fear, and he was terrified.

“Now, it’s unpleasant and it’s unkind. But when I am…”

“I’ll remind you,” she finished, “of where you belong.”

Tommy cupped her face, placing a kiss on her head. “Good.”

She closed her eyes. Her heart too fragile for Thomas Shelby’s confession. He hadn’t proposed, yet they were already exchanging vows.

“Last.” He leaned his head on hers. “And the most important.”

“Yes,” she breathlessly whispered.

Tommy’s finger traced her bottom lip before he kissed her. His lips hungry to taste her. Selfish in his desire - his consumption of her. He groaned when he felt her kiss him back. Her own need just as desperate as his. She moaned when their lips parted, disappointed by her body’s need for air.

“I promise to have you pregnant by spring.”

Her eyes lit up as she laughed for the first time in months. She chuckled, not taking him seriously. “Tommy.”

“A boy,” he declared, wrapping his arms around her middle. “He’ll have your eyes and my charm.”

She giggled, playfully hitting his chest as he picked her up and placed her on the bed. Her smile widening as she gazed at him. She was returning to herself - returning to him. Weeks of grief slowly thawing from her heart.

Tommy stamped out his cigarette before joining her with a kiss. His body on top of hers. His hands on either side of her head. His mind fixated on the softness of her skin.

“I’ll be back at work in the morning,” she whispered in between kisses.

“You won’t be working anymore.”

She pulled away from his kiss, frowning at him. “What are you on about, Tommy?”

He sighed, already knowing he was about to start another fight. “I won’t have you working with a child of mine inside of you.”

“What?”

“You’ll be carrying my son,” Tommy repeated.

Closing her eyes, she realized he was serious. Of course, he was serious. She wondered how long he’d been planning to get her pregnant again.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tommy kissed her lips. “But, I promised to give you a life worthy of everything you are.” He reminded her. “I promised to let you in my head. I promised to do more than just wait to die. I promised to live.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but he remembered. Every word. Every promise. Everything they had discussed in his office.

“I promised to keep you safe.”

“To make us safe,” she corrected.

He kissed her again. “There are no other girls,” Tommy confessed, reminding her of his other promise. Tommy Shelby was hers.

Grabbing his collar, she pulled him into a long kiss. “No more running,” she vowed.

Tommy smiled. “No more.” He pressed his lips on hers before adding, “You’re mine.”

This time, she didn’t argue, simply letting him kiss her. “Now, where were we, Mrs. Shelby?” He asked, slipping his fingers between her thighs.

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This was a long one. If you made it to the end, thank you for reading! Let me know your favorite part.

[timblrdrake]

Fool. Imbecile. Rookie.

i bare my soul to you, i admit my greatest blunder, that i have cursed a plague upon my pc, and you mock me in my own home.

[daddiel-ish]

Hi! I’m curious as to what Law’s reaction was when discovering she was pregnant (or possibly how she discovered) and in turn Luffys reaction to becoming a father.

Law finding out she was pregnant was a big deal. She really believed she was unable to have children after her disease.

She simply started to get sick, and Shachi and Penguin were joking about it like, "Well, maybe you're pregnant!", "We know what you and Straw-Hat do after his checkups." But they were anything else besides jokes, a playful teasing between friends. Until one day, Law started to get those jokes seriously, and she started to put together all the pieces, and her late period was the biggest piece of all.

When she decided to check, she didn't tell anyone. And when all of her questions were answered, she cried alone: she was pregnant. She was both enthusiastic and terrified. She was a pirate, and her life was not suited for a kid, let alone for a pregnancy, but at the same time, she felt unable to get rid of them. So she decided to keep them. At the beginning, she didn't tell anyone about her bun in the oven, but eventually, they all found out, first of all, Bepo. Law asked her to keep her secret, but Bepo already told Shachi and Penguin.

Telling Luffy was another story. Law told him during one of their meeting in Amazon Lily. She was scared, it was such a strange feeling. She never was scared, but the idea of telling Straw-Hat he was going to be a father was simply terrifying. When Luffy asked her what was wrong, she simply blundered out, "I'm pregnant." At first, Luffy didn't understand what Law meant, then he lowered his gaze towards her baby bump, barely noticeable still and he simply knew it was true, Law could never lie to him.

He started to laugh and hugged her, first with the usual strength he always used, then he remembered that his Law was more delicate now and he needed to be more careful. He stayed there for a bit, letting Law feel loved.

"I'm happy", he said "You are?" "Yes! This is gonna be my greatest adventure, i can already tell Torao! And I'm so happy to share it with you. This kid is going to be amazing! I mean, they are half you...so they're going to be extraordinary, cute and smart!" and Luffy started to talk about how the fact that this kid was half Law was the best thing in the entire world, because he loves Law and so he's gonna LOVE their kid wiith the same energy.

Law was happy.

(sorry i got carried away a bit -idk if it has sense-maybe i'm gonna draw something for this too ;;;;)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

oh!! Oh!!! Lamb with a reader who taught him how to use the red crown as a gun!! Reader is flexing their talent like "haha yeah I was shamuras best (and like only) shot >:)" and follower shamura (who is maybe readers s/o??) is just like "I vaguely remember a report coming of you shooting one of the windows of my temple...." but lamb and reader have that vibe thats like older cousin younger cousin that cause chaos at every gathering their both at

"What is this..?"

"My, you've done it! The power of a blunderbuss now belongs to you, dear Lamb."

"The blunder...wha..?" Tilting their head, Lamb stared at the rather odd weapon the Red Crown manifested itself into recently, before looking back at you.

You're a weapons expert from Silk Cradle, becoming an apprentice of Kudaai to better hone you combat capabilities while in service to Bishop Shamura. Although you were good with blades and arrows, the old bird allowed you to indulge into a different type of weaponry:

The blunderbuss. A powerful weapon that shot magic bullets, the damage dependent on how close your target was.

Its potential drew you towards it--like a moth to a flame--and you began studying it, utilizing it in any situation where you had to fight for your life. Even after winding up in Lamb's cult, they allowed you to keep the weapon so long as you didn't raise it against any of their followers.

You wouldn't dare to.

Not after seeing their incredible power gifted by the One Who Waits...who was now the cult's undertaker for the day, tending to the crypts and all the dearly departed who laid within them.

From the moment you heard Lamb had begun to harness their own blunderbuss, they seemed lost on how to use it, so they turned to you for an explanation.

You listened to their recounts of putting several holes through scamper heads, sniping flying beasts right out of the sky, and even making shield-bearing heretics recoil from the sheer force of the bullets.

"It's indeed a highly unconventional weapon," you told them. "Rarely known to anyone in the Old Faith except Shamura, Kudaai, and myself. But as you can tell...it beats the bow of a silly archer any day. They're dead before their arrow even made it out of the quiver."

"That is true," the sheep nodded, looking to their own weapon, the red eye staring back at them. "I notice that it refills on its own...but it took forever. I kept clicking the damn trigger, but nothing." With a small grumble, they glared at you. "I was in a tough spot, and had to use a curse to escape..otherwise I would've been dead--not that it matters..but it was annoying."

"I was going to mention that little tradeoff, Lamb." You chuckled softly. "With the blunderbuss, patience becomes your greatest virtue."

"Well..patience won't help when I'm surrounded by fanatics who are still making martyrs out of the Bishops, and I'm backed into a corner with little fervor, and I can't-"

"What of the Bishops?"

A raspy voice spoke, startling Lamb a little as you both saw a certain purple arachnid now standing over you two. Despite their menacing looks, their eyes were full of curiosity.

"A-Ah, Shamura."

"Shamura." You warmly greeted, patting the spot beside you. "Come sit. Lamb has an inquiry."

Wordlessly, they sat and glanced at the leader, waiting for whatever they had to say.

"Erm..what do you know about this?" They showed them the blunderbuss. "The people of Anchordeep and Silk Cradle supposedly have the most advanced weaponry..yet I haven't seen one person wield anything like this. Were these outlawed or something?"

Without speaking or blinking, Shamura took it into their hands, examining it thoroughly. They seemed rather focused...although it could have been due to the fact the Red Crown had taken form of it, which made Lamb a bit nervous.

Even though the Bishops couldn't do anything with it now, they still got fidgety whenever it left their side for too long...and even more nervous seeing it resting in the hands of another.

"I see...I remember something clearly." Shamura spoke after a long minute of silence.

"You do?"

"The broken window of my temple...was supposedly from one of the magic shells. Who informed me? Not a clue..but I knew the guilty party." All of their eyes suddenly shifted to you, narrowed with suspicion.

You looked around, pretending to play dumb, before you pointed to a random follower. "You mean him?"

"....take me naught for a fool, [y/n]." They hissed. "You were always trigger happy. We have barred use of this from the fighting pit. As an old saying goes, "never bring a blunderbuss to a knife fight".....who said it? I cannot say. But I knew who didn't like that rule."

"You have to admit, though, I was your best sharpshooter." You winked, smiling as they handed the blunderbuss back to you. "The archers were all jealous that I had better aim. I did offer to teach them."

"You were always trigger happy. We have barred use of this from the fighting pit.."

"Yes we have. I'm the one who got it banned in Silk Cradle." Feeling a little awkward, you laughed nervously. "But it's good to see that somebody else is able to learn the art of gunslinging."

"Now that Lamb has obtained knowledge of this tool..." Shamura hummed. "..what are you to do with it?"

Your leader was silent for a few moments, wondering if they should mention shooting freefalling spiders and stopping charger bugs dead in their tracks....when you interjected.

"They still have much to learn about it. So maybe we could borrow some training dummies from Kudaai, and I'll help them improve their marksmanship....if they wish to learn, of course." Nudging their shoulder, Lamb perked up and gazed at you for a few seconds, surprised by your offer.

Then they grinned, a twinkle in their eye as their crown returned to their head, back to normal. "You'd teach me how to master the blunderbuss?"

"Why not? You've mastered every other weapon." Laughing softly, you stood up, before extending your hand to them. "Perhaps we can have Ratau set up old worm corpses for us, and I can show you how to aim for the most vital organs."

"Wouldn't those be the brain and the heart?"

"See? You're already learning well. You'll be a natural in no time, Leader."

Lamb's smile widened as they took your hand, standing up before you two set off for the Lonely Shack.

Meanwhile, Shamura remained on the ground, sighing as they pondered over the mischief you two will bring to that old rat and his friends..

And Leshy had the misfortune of overhearing those last few bits of your conversation, as he unearthed himself from the soil just a few feet away from his sibling, spitting out dirt.

"As if my minions dying wasn't disgraceful enough...Lamb and your silly "sharpshooter" will spend today desecrateing their corpses for practice?!" He shuddered. "They think so...alike."

"Have you not used dissenters for the same purpose, brother?"

"..I used to be chaos, Shamura. That's different."

[akashis-waifu]

An Eternity of Mind Games with You (Aizen Sousuke x Reader)

Canon-divergence one-shot, set years after TBYW. Female reader is the Soul King, so is Aizen if you squint hard enough. Your first name is "Hana" for plot-purposes.

Tags: Domestic!Aizen with usual sass, wholesome, fluff, cringe but we embrace it. Immortal x immortal, enemies struggling with new established co-dependency. This might seem slightly out of character, but we've got Kyoka Suigetsu to blame. Contains spoilers on the ending of TBYW and CFYOW!

"Oh please, dear wife."

You raise an eyebrow at your self-proclaimed husband. The two of you have only been together for a decade as Lord and retainer — co-rulers, if you squint hard enough — after Aizen Sousuke tricked you into absorbing the Hougyoku, which apparently had long merged with his spirit. In effect, the man became a part of the Soul King and is now able to use your authority, as long as you agree to it.

In return, you get to wield one of the greatest Zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu. You see it as an absolute win, the Central 46 doesn't.

As to why Aizen insists that you two are husband and wife, he argues that "A system where a man and a woman govern together is called monarchy. And it goes without saying that a King and a Queen are married." He seems to have put the cart before the horse, a very uncharacteristic blunder for the renowned war criminal. You simply guess that the fusion might have caused him brain damage.

"I swear, I haven't used Kyoka Suigetsu for a long time. There is literally no reason for you to act delusional."

He feigns to be hurt at your words. "You are the king, I am the queen. How can we not be married?"

"It's crazy how you easily admit to being the queen now." During your ascension, you had to repeatedly remind him that the Soul King was you. If he insisted on his god-complex-driven monarchy delusion, the Queen would be him.

Aizen shrugs. "As the human saying goes, let me cook."

Chills run down your spine. Something is wrong. "Maybe I'm the delusional one."

"Took you a long time to realize."

A shattering sound awakens you. After adjusting to reality, you glare at Aizen Sousuke who has successfully swiped the two Heavenly Tickets out of your hand.

"Please stop using Kyoka Suigetsu on me."

He chuckles mockingly. "You have a funny mind, I can't help it."

You try to take the tickets from him. Those are your mode of transportation to Seireitei! "It's Rukia's inauguration today. We really need to go!"

"You can go by yourself."

"I can't leave you here alone!"

Aizen smiles. He knows that it is a matter of distrust — that he might destroy the Soul Palace in your absence — but teases you nonetheless. "What a caring wife you are."

"Is the illusion not over yet?"

"My apologies. I'm simply not in the mood to head to Seireitei today," he explains briefly, before turning around. "Feel free to go without me."

You watch with curious eyes as Aizen leaves the room. He has undoubtedly mellowed out compared to 10 years ago. Memories flash through your mind.

At the end of the war, you were supposed to absorb Yhwach, become the Soul King, and be sacrificed as the new linchpin of the Three Realms. If Aizen hadn't given you the Hougyoku that granted your divinity as the Soul King, you wouldn't have gained the authority to banish Hyosube Ichibe.

If it weren't for Aizen, you would've been mutilated into a thoughtless doll. You may not express it, but you are eternally grateful to him.

Standing at the edge of the Soul Palace, you stare at the boundless sky below. It is almost time for your departure.

"He tells me to go by myself, but he knows I hate jumping all the way down to Soul Society. He could have at least returned my ticket to me." You sigh and jump anyway.

Upon arriving at Seireitei, you use Kyoka Suigetsu to disguise yourself as a white butterfly. You dispel the Shikai after reaching the 13th Division.

"Hana-san! Ah, I mean, Soul King!" Kuchiki Rukia hastily corrects herself. She then invites you to a celebratory dinner and you spend some time with the Thirteen Court Guard Squads.

The party ends late. Rukia offers the Kuchiki residence for you to spend the night in, but you decline, worried that someone might wreak havoc in your palace if left alone for too long.

She suggests to escort you to Shiba Kuukaku's hideout, aware that you would need the cannon to return to the Soul Palace. Still, you refuse, "No no! No need. It's already late, Rukia, go to sleep. I usually disguise myself as a harmless butterfly when I go around Seireitei to avoid unnecessary attention. Don't worry!"

On the way to the hideout, you feel that you're being followed. You instantly regret declining her offer.

When Aizen finds you in the middle of Seireitei, you are already bleeding from a large cut on your torso. He rushes to your side and activates the Hougyoku to accelerate your healing. As if to laud his effort, you soon regain consciousness.

"Aizen...?" you ask, vision still blurry. "What are you doing here? I... I thought you didn't want to go."

"You're not adept at using Kyoka Suigetsu yet. An incident like this is bound to happen."

"I see," you chuckle weakly. "No wonder she saw through my disguise."

His grip on your shoulder tightens. "Who was it?"

"Candace."

"Candace?"

You cough out blood multiple times and reach out to caress his cheek, as if ready to utter your last words — which would be if he doesn't take the joke lightly.

"Can deez nuts."

Aizen deadpans. A shattering sound takes him out of his reverie, and he looks over his shoulder to see you fiddling with the tickets that he had previously hidden in his sleeves.

Of course, the whole farce was an illusion. He should've known since the Hougyoku grants instant regeneration. He sighs in annoyance. "I'd like to take the Hougyoku back. You're too insufferable."

"Is that a request for divorce?"

He smirks. "So, you acknowledge our marriage."

"Hell no!" You click your tongue, frustrated that he always has the perfect comebacks. "Can't you act normal for once? What happened to Aizen Sousuke, the war criminal?"

"You prefer that version of me?" He pushes his hair back. You aren't used to that sight since he always has his hair down when you're alone together.

You visibly cringe. "Stop doing that. What would you do if people recognized you?"

"We're using Kyoka Suigetsu. From their perspective, we are nothing but butterflies attracted to beautiful flowers basking in the moonlight."

You frown at him. "We're literally walking on concrete. Not a single flower can be found here."

"There is."

Aizen raises your chin, staring directly into your eyes. "Hana."

Too stunned to speak, you allow yourself a moment to think.

You finally understand why Aizen was so popular when he was still with the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. His strength, intellect, charisma — the sultry voice and handsome features that you will never admit to his face — he used everything at his disposal to manipulate everyone.

It will never work on you, though. Not today, nor in a million years.

You are good, he is evil. You are yang, he is yin.

You are pure, he is corrupted.

The Soul King can never let Aizen Sousuke dye Her in his color, for that would mean the end of the Three Realms.

You give him a thin smile. "Would you like the Hougyoku back? I can hand it to you now."

"Oh, you jest." Aizen feels the sudden shift in mood and lets you go. That's enough teasing, he muses to himself.

With an eternity to look forward to, he doesn't mind biding his time. You are the Soul King, the strongest, most benevolent, and most dangerous being in the Three Realms. It goes without saying that you are the greatest challenge he will ever face. It could take hundreds or thousands of years — even millions — but he knows that you will submit to him one day.

It's not a matter of if, but when.

You extend a hand at him. "Let's go home, Sousuke."

But, he has to make sure you don't win him over first.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Oklahoma Fursecution

Franz Kafka: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the guy who turned into a cockroach Steven Boyett: god i wish we were in oklahoma Boyett: they wouldn't tolerate this degeneracy Boyett: this perversity Boyett: this Boyett: this furversion

Poe: what? what's happening in oklahoma? Boyett: oh haven't you heard? Boyett: the good patriots of oklahoma are gonna make furries illegal

Boyett: furries will be illegal in oklahoma! Boyett: any kid caught pretending to be an animal will be arrested by animal control! Boyett: this is the greatest day of my life! Boyett: at least since the something awful lolocaust! Boyett: yiff in hell, skunkfuckers!!

Boyett: we'll finally be free of the scourge of furry! Boyett: no more big titty vixens! Boyett: no more twink rabbits! Boyett: no more comics where a ditzy genie accidentally misinterprets your wish and turns you into a sexy horse girl! Boyett: and no more fucking protogens!!!

Poe: steve i don't think this law is going to pass Poe: it sounds like another long shot power grab capitalizing on a moral panic Boyett: shut up! Boyett: shut up!!! Frank Belknap Long: [arriving, breathless] friends i have terrible bone-chilling news Poe: we already heard, frank

Long: this is blatant fursecution Barker: haha sure i Barker: wait a second Barker: wow, he's Barker: he's right Barker: jesus christ i can't believe he's right Barker: they finally did it Barker: they made fursecution real

Long: this can't be allowed to stand! Long: this fursecution won't just affect me Long: but every protogen, every sergal, every chakat Long: it's a real problem!!

Boyett: furry will be illegal! Boyett: that means none of this tf bullshit, franz!! Kafka: b-but Long: now steve everyone knows that cockroaches don't count Boyett: yes they fucking do! Boyett: it's still anthro!

Long: no no Long: it's not furry unless it's hot Boyett: what the Long: that's just science Barker: yeah that scans

Poe: what's this all about? Barker: they crossed the book-banning moral panic with the anti-trans moral panic Barker: to declare war on the limitless reaches of a child's imagination Poe: do you think joanne knows Barker: oh i'm sure she's keeping her ear to the ground

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: what newsss from america Allison Bailey: great news dark lord! Bailey: oklahoma is going to ban furries Rowling: good, good- Rowling: i mean wait Rowling: what?

Rowling: foolsss!!! blundering nincompoopsss!! Rowling: we've tried the furry moral panic before Rowling: like literally 5 timesss Rowling: that dog won't hunt!!

Bailey: oh but this time Bailey: this time will be different, dark lord! Rowling: no it won't! Rowling: not even americanss will fall for that litter box sscam!

Bailey: our terf deatheaters had so much success outlawing trans kids Bailey: we thought we'd extend the moral panic to furries too Bailey: this time, we can't fail! Rowling: see that you don't! Rowling: we must win the war against the limitless reaches of a child's imagination!!

Rowling: and then Rowling: when imagination iss illegal Rowling: when playing pretend is banned Rowling: when whimsssy is prohibited Rowling: the children will have to turn to the one form of entertainment ssstill legal! Rowling: Hogwart'sss Legacy!!!

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

A Cautionary Tale: Saint-14's Blunder

"Some still speak of the day, in hushed tones in the shadows corners of the tower, that Saint-14 fucked up.

The guardians know better than to speak the words too loudly for the great warlock Osiris is able to be anywhere and everywhere at once, but they have to warn the new lights of this cautionary tale.

You see Saint-14 and Osiris have faced unspeakable odds and still come back to each other with their bond stronger than ever. Their story is one of love conquering even time itself. So what could break such a perfect couple? What could bring the greatest love of the ages to a shaky edge?

It was not the hive, fallen, nor even the terrible vex. No my sweet blueberries, It was a bird.

Don't laugh, it's not a joke. Look to your elders and see their expressions little lights. Birds are no laughing matter in the tower. You have seen Saint's flock of pigeons, haven't you? Heard the tender way he calls Osiris his phoenix?

But this bird was neither of these. No, this bird was a Crow. A scrappy little Crow with a broken wing that Osiris found lost and abandoned by its flock. He was very protective of his little Crow. So protective that when Saint upset the little bird, even by accident, Osiris fell into a fit of rage even at his most trusted partner.

He yelled so loud you could hear it on the other side of the city. He snarled and hissed like a mother cat protecting her kits- honestly if you were there it was kinda sweet but you didn't hear that from me- anyway! The point was, Saint-14 was brought to his knees, pleading for forgiveness and repenting his mistake.

What? What did he do? I told you, he made Crow sad. Oh, how? Well Crow had this frankly stupid haircut and Crow overheard Saint joking about it to Geppetto. Oh, no I didn't mean an actual bird. I was being dramatic. Saint-14 and Osiris adopted the Vanguard Crow ages ago back when he was all sad and broody. Anyway, the lesson to be learned here kids, is to never insult Crow where Osiris can find out and he will find out no matter where you are. You should never-"

Osiris crossed his arms raising an eyebrow at the ghost bobbing on a plain tower shell surrounded by new lights and when one of the young hunters turned and yelped it caused the group to scatter like cats from a cucumber.

"Sagira, you can't keep doing this or none of the new lights will ever look at me without jumping." He tsked at her and she giggled as she moved to hover over his shoulder.

"Don't lie, you love watching them cower. Plus, it's funny to see how they all look at Crow after. He has no idea why he has an army of tiny guardian ducklings trailing him." She said dawning her usual shell with a flash of light now she wasn't trying to secretly spread rumors through the tower.

"At least you stopped telling them all I was in my boxers when I yelled at Saint. They really don't need to know those sort of things." He sighed as they headed toward the hanger.

"It was hilarious! You telling off Saint for making fun of Crow's terrible haircut while wearing nothing but your boxers and slippers and sleep robe! I can't believe Crow was brave enough to wake you up to make sad eyes at you over Saint mocking him. This is why he's my favorite." She chirped and Osiris rolled his eyes.

"I thought he was your favorite because he and Glint saved you from the traveler and helped you regain your memories so we could be reunited?" He hummed and she bobbed.

"You can have more than one reason for someone to be your favorite Osiris. After all, I'm sure there's many reasons I'm your favorite." She teased and Osiris frowned.

"When did I say you're my favorite? Did I not tell you of my close bond to the pooka I adopted?" He asked and grinned as she started ranting about how much better she was than some over-empathetic flying fish.

[livfastdieyoung69]

I’M NOTHING, I’M NOWHERE

(mcintyre!gn!reader x cm punk)

Your brother was going insane. There’s simply no other way to put it, he was just going crazy. For instance, now. He let Punk get to him so much that he lost a title match, after so much hard work, again. And this time, in Scotland. Your home!

“Drew, I get that this is tough, but maybe…maybe you’re letting him get to you too much.” You spoke, exhausted of both of their antics as he paced back and forth in your dressing room. Why he was in your dressing room anyways, you didn’t really know, but he’d pushed right through the door and wouldn’t stop grumbling. ‘CM Punk’ this, ‘CM Punk’ that, you were a little worried he had a crush on the man.

Not like you didn’t, you’d been in a bit of a relationship with him for who knows how long anymore. Especially Drew- he didn’t know at all.

“I just lost in front of our people, and it’s my fault after he did this to me?” He glared over at you, towering over your sitting from as if none of this could possibly be on him.

“I’m just saying-“ Your not allowed to finish before he cuts you off with a scoff and a shake of the head, turning to leave your locker room, no trace left behind.

You don’t see him or even talk to him, he won’t pick up your calls, until you tune into Raw the next Monday, only to find out he’s up and quit. Your brother, who you worked side by side with for years, quit his dream because of your situationship. What the hell.

And he still wouldn’t answer your calls! You’d gone all week stressing about him, even going as far as texting Phil about it, threatening to punch him in the face if he ever did this to your brother again. (You wouldn’t, but you’d give him the silent treatment long enough that he’d fold and leave Drew alone completely if worse came to worse.)

Friday had already been tough not just from the week of no Drew, and the weeks jet lag of Scotland to your home to Chicago, but also the anxiety of an important match- a money in the bank qualifying match. If you didn’t have as much going on you’d have no doubt you’d win but you also had to face Phil for the first time since Clash at the Castle. It was hard to stay mad at him, especially in person. You knew he’d give you the big dumb puppy dog eyes and a sweet smile, maybe even a kiss to the forehead and you’d do nothing but fold the same way he does to your silent treatment.

Luckily, you hadn’t seen him in the building. The longer he stayed away the longer you stayed winning. You were a little worried he might no show when the time started getting close, to the point where you watched the screens in the gorilla and asked the camera men if anyone had showed up while you waited for your opponents.

Of course, you won. It felt eerie though, without having your brother to call and celebrate by screaming excitedly at each other. This was such a big moment, but all you could think about was Drew. Hell, you started reminiscing Covid when you got to be on the same roster together. It wasn’t like you could celebrate with Phil either, you were supposed to be mad at him, he wasn’t here, and that’d just make you think even more about Drew. Who knew winning a qualifying match for what could possibly be the greatest moment of your life would suck so much? You scurried off to your locker room to change into comfortable clothes and sulk by your lonesome, maybe send Drew a passive aggressive text or two.

After growing bored of sitting in your misery after about half an hour, you huff and puff your way to the door, tugging the heavy thing open. The sight of the hallway stops your heart. Nearly shatters it, really.

There, in front of nearly half the damn roster, your fucking brother is scowling his way through the hallway with a bloody and blundered half to death CM Punk thrown over his shoulders, practically skipping towards the gorilla.

“Drew?” You ask, stumbling from the door as you watch him move further ahead. “Drew!” Your pace picks up, quickly following after your brother but somehow he still held room over you with a man on his shoulders. “What the hell are you doing, Drew! Drew!!” The tactic of getting louder in hopes that he’d stop ignoring you doesn’t seem to be working. Drew disappears from your sight and a crew of staff rushes in front of you, trying to reach your brother before he makes it out of the curtains.

The fans reactions tells you they didn’t make it. The yelling for a medic tells you Drew is really, fully going batshit.

Pushing your way through the crowds of people and the curtain you see your brother first. Relief that he’s okay fills you, he’s still your brother after all, but it leaves when your gaze moves to Phil- unmoving, hair caked in blood, and dumped on the ground.

You look back up to your brother, your older brother you idolized for so long, and back to the man you’ve loved for maybe even longer.

“What the hell the did you do, Drew?” Your voice cracks, raw with emotion, as you walk towards him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What did you do?!” You push at him but it doesn’t do much. He doesn’t even look at you, just stares down at Punk and the medics cluttering the space around him. You turn from him and tumble down to your knees.

“Phil? What’s-what happened? What did he do?” He doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at you either. Doesn’t seem like he can do much but breathe. “He’s gonna be okay, right? He’ll be fine.” You turn to the closest medic, assuring yourself before they even answer and scoot closer to Punk. “Everything’s gonna be fine, baby. You’re gonna- you’re gonna be okay!” You grab a hold of his hand, standing with the medics as they start pushing the stretcher up and out. Suddenly they’re pushing you away, trying to tell you that you can’t ride with him but you don’t hear them over your own screaming voice telling Phil everything will be fine.

The doors to the ambulance close, the cameras shut off, and Drew is long gone. The world moves on, another segment plays, but you’re still here. Alone, covered in your lovers blood and the accidental betrayal of two siblings.

MWAHAHAHAHHH ANGSTT (the titles from broke back mountain teehee) didn’t wanna do it under a specific request cause i believe this fits two or three but either way i gotta go snooze i got work in like three and a half hours 🥲

[ohmigoshiloveu]

Okay so like. I still haven't managed to get myself to finish episode 9, so I don't fully know how Theo's glow up finishes, but regardless I fucking love relistening to Emizel's section of episode 1 and like. Fuck man Theo does a lot of growing. Like he's a little bit pathetic at the beginning of the series. He's so, so brave during the alleyway fight, but he sounds shaky and scared and like a sopping wet pathetic baby the entire time. Charlie specifically describes him as not very alert, not a great fighter, and gives him this little moment where it takes him a second to manage to crush a soda can. He botches the check to beat Emizel in Smash Bros so there's a chance he sucks at the related skills (dexterity and computers I think?), but also after he loses Charlie specifically has him sound super frustrated and conclude that he should've 'stayed in his lane'. When Emizel says 'We'll do what we do best,' and Theo immediately responds with 'drink soda?' so fast that the other players notice it. Charlie might've had that as a predetermined character thing. Theo drinks soda. There's not much else to him.

Which creates this interesting dynamic between him and Emizel, because Emizel is so much better at him at all of these skills that the people around them (a FUCKING GANG) value. Emizel's perceptive, and agile, and strong, and a great fucking fighter irl and in videogames AND he always sounds badass. He's the top dog, the apex predator in their social circle. And I think that colors their relationship a lot? Like Theo has to look up to Emizel. I bet that Theo's looked up to Emizel since they first met, maybe Emizel came crashing into his life doing something epic and Theo thought it was the greatest shit ever.

On the flip side, I was getting a few hints of resentment? Hear me out! It's that 'should have just stayed in my lane' line. He's painfully aware how great Emizel is, compared to how much he's (from his perspective!) just a one trick pony. He's here to drink soda and say funny things, that's all most people want from him and he fucks up whenever he tries to do anything else!

And later in the segment Theo snarkily brings up a medicine check that Emizel had just fucked up in like this super backhanded, super passive aggressive way. That could be him wanting to rub Emizel's one singular fuck up in his face (especially because Theo was having a Moment about how he feels like people only see him as the soda guy, so any feelings of inadequacy would've been dialed up to eleven, so if there was any time for him to resent Emizel it'd be then), but it could also be that he was frustrated with Emizel being an ass (Emizel had just guessed that Theo's dream was to be a nurse, which was flat out wrong, and that's literally what set up the backhanded comment. Theo was saying something like 'thank fuck you don't wanna be a nurse cuz you sure fucked up with nursing that guy earlier.' It could also be that Emizel literally almost forgot Theo's name. Theo literally gave him the 'th' sound, it might've just been a bit Charlie was doing or it could've been Theo being AWARE that Emizel almost forgot his name. Or! It could be that in this moment, where Theo was confiding in Emizel about feeling like being the soda guy was all anyone ever saw in him, Emizel said something to the affect of 'well yeah Soda's the fun one.' Emizel doesn't think before he speaks and literally has a 1 in empathy. Just because he loves Theo doesn't mean he's not gonna blunder into being a complete and utter asshole to him. I'd hazard to say Emizel accidentally being an ass to people he cares about is a running theme).

But also all of that might come down to Charlie still getting the character down. Or, because I've theorized before that Theo might not've been supposed to survive the first Gabriel fight, the little hints of bitterness might've been intentional (even if they were completely improvved and Charlie didn't mean to add that to Theo's character) because Charlie was trying to shove as much character into this character before he was gone, but once it became clear that Theo was going to stick around longer he dropped it. As far as I remember, that bitterness is completely gone in all later interactions we see with Theo. OR! It could be that the bitterness drops because they've both got bigger fish to fry from that point onward, what with Theo's Shilo Incident TM, Emizel's vampirism, the Weylin twins. He doesn't have time to be bitter, he's too busy worrying about losing a cornerstone of his identity or helping his best friend adjust to being a fucking vampire now. And then after he learns to live without soda that basically negates his feelings of inadequacy- like, getting over the idea that he's nothing if he's not the soda guy would be required for him to give up on being the soda guy. And then Emizel would drift back into JUST being a guy to aspire to instead of also being a reminder of Theo's short comings, and then drift even further down into being 'guy who is actually going through it and has to overcome his own demons just like I had to overcome mine'. Like, I think we got to watch Theo slowly start to take Emizel off this pedestal in real time (he still definitely thinks Emizel's hot shit tho. Emizel's his boy, after all.)

Regardless, even if Theo did resent Emizel a little in the beginning, it's so fucking clearly overshadowed by how much he fucking loved him. And like, how could he not? Imagine you're Theo, critically low self esteem, and the literal coolest guy you know fucking LOVES you. Like, Emizel keeps consistently going out of his way to pull Theo up to his level and to treat him as an equal (mostly. Sometimes protectiveness bleeds through, like in his hypothetical fang scenario in ep 1 where he predicts there being five Fangs to fight and he says he can take three and Theo can take two (which in itself is still incredibly kind to Theo. Like, boy, you thought Theo was gonna be able to take out two whole guys? Hell no.) But that could also be chalked up to Emizel just being a cocky ass who wants to show off). Like dude, c'mon. Emizel might be a reminder of everything that Theo's not, but he's also probably Theo's biggest cheerleader. He wholeheartedly thought he was being supportive when he said he thought Theo'd make a great nurse! In all seriousness, though, even if it ultimately discourages him, Theo playing that Smash game against Emizel was at least a little bit of proof of him decidedly not 'staying in his lane,' and Emizel seems to inspire that! Later in that segment he challenges Theo to see which of them can break one of the Fangs kneecaps first! I bet Emizel challenged him to stupid competitions a lot, and that got Theo fired up and competitive in return!

And even when Emizel's not building Theo up, he's still giving Theo special attention, or readily receiving any attention Theo gives him. If nothing else, even at his lowest points that might've made Theo feel cool by association.

On Emizel's part, I think he's like, possibly completely oblivious to any turmoil Theo's going through? Like he thinks Theo's the shit and genuinely sees him as an equal. I'm 99% sure that Theo being his right hand man happened because Theo would've put himself into the role (in episode one before he gets all of his character development he's pretty much always looking to Emizel for what to do, and still more or less does whatever he says up to where I'm at in the series, with refusing to leave the alleyway being the only exception I remember). I think if Theo'd had higher self esteem or been less eager to defer to Emizel, Emizel would've happily gone about his business slotting Theo into more of a partner role. He tells Theo to run from that alleyway because Theo'd taken a fucking devastating hit and Emizel was sure he could handle himself, not because he knows Theo sucks at fighting. He tries to turn Theo into a cool vampire. He convinces Shilo that Theo'll be a valuable asset to raiding the Weylin warehouse and they take Theo with them instead of having him stay behind with the car like Grefgore, despite Theo being the one who actually knows how to drive. He tells Theo about being a vampire even though he keeps it a secret from everyone else, confides in Theo that 'yeah he might absolutely be susceptible to going into a frenzy like Shilo did.'

When you get down to it, Emizel pretty much tells Theo everything he would think is relevant, with two notable exceptions. Maybe three if you count him not telling Theo he has nine lives like a cat but tbh I think he might've just forgot. Or maybe he gets to it later, or maybe he did tell him and I forgot! idk man! But! Those other two things. First off, he like. Pointedly does not tell Theo that he's a prince. Like when they were doing the recap on the way to the Weylin warehouse, there's like. Charlie gives Condi an opening to say it, a little 'is there anything else?' and Emizel just. Doesn't. And the second one is that (at least where I'm at) Emizel never comes clean about bloodbonding Theo. Maybe it just hasn't come up yet, but still. It fits a pattern of Emizel not wanting to admit something that makes him, like, ABOVE Theo somehow. He sees Theo as an equal, and a precious one at that, he doesn't want things to get weird between them because he's literal royalty, and he doesn't want Theo's life to literally revolve around him like it would under a level three blood bond- and doesn't want to admit that he even considered it, even if he did it without really understanding what it was.

And Emizel backing off from ghoulifying Theo after Arthur explains what it actually entails kinda leads into a far more headcanon-y relationship analysis thing so um. Feel free to skip the next paragraph.

So! Like. Why the fuck was Emizel so attached to Theo being Soda. Like he gets over it decently quick, cuz that's his buddy and it's what Theo wants, so like. Whatever. But like, if I'm right about Theo always looking up to Emizel from the moment they met, there might've been some wiggle room between when they first became friends and when Theo became Soda. And like, before Theo became Soda, being Emizel's buddy would probably be the only thing he'd feel he had going for him? Which would've made it even harder for Emizel to get them both on equal footing, and I think that's just... really unappealing to him. Like! Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Emizel loves having people kiss up to him and respect him and blah blah blah, I just think Theo being his boy and Emizel treating him like a partner go hand in hand. Either they weren't best friends yet or Emizel was just. Kind of uncomfortable and eager to push Theo into growing into something more than a hypeman. And then the soda incident occurs, and it gives Theo SOMETHING to define himself by, something people like him and know him for that's got nothing to do with Emizel, and maybe the initial soda incident was bad, but having that sense of identity and falling into what kind've feels like a class clown kinda role might've helped get Theo over his self esteem issues long enough for Emizel to go 'oh you're actually super cool. sweet.' and then blah blah blah they get super close like they are in canon. And then whenever Theo seems like he's backsliding into what he was before the soda incident, Emizel tries to course correct not because he doesn't think Theo's any fun without soda, but because he's made the mental connection that Soda without soda turns into less of a best friend and more of a follower, which as stated before he probably really doesn't want from Theo specifically. but idk. pure conjecture here.

Anyways, above all else, Theo's important to Emizel. I really, really like the idea that Theo was supposed to be like a brother to him (which. Again pointing at my 'Theo was supposed to die in episode 1' theory, can you IMAGINE the angst Emizel could've had about that? Lose one brother and then someone else claiming to be your brother shows up? It would've felt like some hellish, not-worth-it trade. Like a betrayal, like accepting Shilo might mean replacing Theo, and how could he ever?)

And Emizel's important to Theo! But unlike Emizel (who I'm 99% sure is gonna have some kinda moment with Theo but I genuinely cannot see him loving Theo in any other way than the way he does now), Theo has the bonus of having his view of Emizel have a clear trajectory to evolve over the course of the campaign. Like I said, he seems to be getting more confidence in himself and like, not gonna get into the stuff I've had spoiled beyond episode 9 but it seems like Theo's gonna get a lot more comfortable being a proper leader and not just a number two. He's gonna have an easier time seeing Emizel as an equal, and I think that's fucking awesome!

I could be completely off base, but if I never watch another episode then I'll never be proven wrong. So. Ya know.

[mania-sama]

Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Crime and Punishment: Short Bungou Stray Dogs Analysis

Finally finished Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky. i might do a post talking about my actual thoughts on the book, but not right now because I'm INSTEAD gonna talk about BSD Fyodor because, if I'm gonna be honest, a large part of the reason I read this book was to see if I could get an insight on what his ability could be (obviously I also read it because I know it's an extremely influential book to the psychological thriller literature genre, and it's made me want to read more of his books because I am absolutely entranced by his writing style).

SPOILERS: This book did NOT give me a single damn clue to Fyodor's ability.

However, I do have a better understanding of why Asagiri chose to write Fyodor in that specific way, with the added effect of making Fyodor much more understandable. I have a better appreciation, I think, for Asagiri's character writing. Let me explain:

The large, overarching theme of C&P is the idea that some people are naturally born with the right to kill. That is, people are naturally born into two categories: "Ordinary" and "Extraordinary". The majority of the population falls into the former - they live their lives in submission to the law and to those above them. In essence, they do not have the "right to kill"; they are otherwise overcome with guilt, regret, or simply caught for their wrongdoings.

The latter category has very few people in it, and for a simple reason - they are the ones who are, essentially, above the law, and therefore, the lawmakers. They are the ones who lead the revolutions, sit on the throne, and most importantly, kill when they need to kill and do not hesitate to "step" over their crimes as nothing more than the necessity to power. They are not caught. In fact, they are hailed as the greatest leaders. Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and his most constantly referred example, Napoleon. These are the born with the "right to kill".

The main character, Raskolnikov (of whom I will be calling the affection Rodya because I am NOT spelling his name over and over again), believes himself to be a "Napolean". Rodya is the one who came up with this theory in the book, after all. However, he finds out, near the end, after several blunders and mental breaks, that he is not one of the people who can "step" over their crimes. He hesitated before killing his target. His guilt for his two murders sent him into a feverish state for days on end. He walked to the police station to confess his crimes a million times before finding some reason, right before he was meant to do it, to chicken out and continue living life under this ever-evolving notion that he was sorely mistaken about himself. Rodya is not the "Napolean" he thought he was born to be.

How does this relate to the Bungou Stray Dogs character? I believe that Fyodor is, essentially, the embodiment of the "right to kill". He is everything that Rodya thought he was, which is an excellent analysis on the part of Asagiri. One of the first things Fyodor does is kill Ace, then a relatively innocent child, Karma. He does this without blinking, without a hint of remorse, and proceeds with his day. He knows that this is his right, that he is the one above others, that he can kill and he cannot be caught for it. He claims to have mastered and tamed his own ability. Why? Because he is the "Extraordinary."

Another theme that I find quite intriguing is religion. In truth, it really isn't that prevalent (though there are a great many Biblical quotations and references throughout) until the last part, Part 6, of Crime and Punishment. Rodya has a near-constant epiphany with religious belief, even at one point stating, point-blank and in irritation, that God isn't real and He certainly isn't helping anyone in the mortal plane. He oscillates between claiming that the "Devil" forced him to kill, to saying that believers are frantic and stupid, then to kissing the dirty ground in repentance for his crimes. He state of mind ends in that repentance state, a supposed believer and eager to start his life anew.

To make Fyodor a devoted believer in God, with a set viewpoint and acting as an executor of God's will, is, once again, an excellent choice. Rodya's irritation and inner turmoil were one of the many reasons why he failed miserably in maintaining the secret of his crimes. Fyodor is none of those things: he is calm, cool, collected, and set in his ways. Interestingly, in Crime and Punishment, the vilest character also seems to have no particular issues with religion himself. And he, for the most part, gets away with his heinous crimes completely. This battle of belief, and relating it to God, provides a healthy insight to why Fyodor has obtained the "right to kill", versus Rodya, who was born "Ordinary."

The last point I want to seriously touch on is less about Crime and Punishment and more about the author himself. However, I did learn about this through reading the translator's notes (the translation I read is by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, Second Edition (2021), Vintage Classics). Dostoevsky was hugely indebted to Nikolai Gogol as a successor to Gogol's ingenious literary developments in "fantastical realism" and satire. Dostoevsky made several references to Gogol's works in C&P, and none in a critical manner. In the animanga, the roles are completely reversed; Nikolai is the one chasing after Fyodor, admiring his intellect and "ingenious" with the eventual goal of setting himself free. This idea of flipping authors' relationships on their heads is part of what makes Bungou Stray Dogs so entertaining to consume, and it takes a great deal of research and effort to be able to adjust these relationships so that they clearly reflect the real-life ones.

As for one afterthought, the name "Rats in the House of the Dead" appears to be a clever play on the Dostoevsky book Notes from the Dead House. I haven't read this book yet, but I want to (along with Notes from Underground). I'm curious to see if there is any further correlation, but I would assume not, considering the contents of the book.

NO. I did NOT find literally anything that could help me decipher Fyodor's ability. Rodya literally confesses his crime like a week and a half after he commits it. No character in this novel, nor theme, reflects whatever the h e double hockey sticks Fyodor has going on in BSD. I have theories, but they have literally nothing to do with Crime and Punishment outside of the base fact that his ability has something to do with killing (which we already knew). Woe is me. I'll get over it, I guess.

[onejellyfishplease]

I found the best song, that just encaptures all of SnapDonnie's vibes!!

I'M SANE by Axie!

omg the lyrics fit so well! and the tune????

i feel like this this would be Donnies descent before he turns fully feral (as seen in Containment Breach)

What's he cooking up, I wonder?

Toys invented, let them wander

Geniuses are left asunder

Some die young, and some die younger

Joy is found within us all

It has a face, and it's a doll

Let's gift it to, like, half the globe

Show everyone our new-found trope

(This is just messed up!)

Business is booming, but I crave a bit more

Creations I have crafted to awake from the floor

I wonder night and day what it'd be like

If what we've made could spring to life

Grant it a brain?

That'd be crazy

Slay the obtained?

But how can you blame me?

Impending doom, seek no freedom

Don't interfere with the rhythm

Endure the pain

Preventing me from going insane

You won't die in vain!

Once they tried to stop me, and that when I said

Metal mesh and human flesh, put it to the test!

It's not bad, I swear

If you close your eyes, it's not there

There's no such despair

Trust in Schrödinger's cat!

HR wants a word with me, though I am the one craving human resources

My program's gonna enhance thriving workforce and save your sorry a—

Ah, Isn't it profound, isn't it profound? (What?)

Oh, la-la

Raised from the ground, by the greatest guy around!

Senses call for acts of wonder

Toys went missing, what a blunder

Geniuses were left asunder

Someone rose to fuel that hunger

(Someone rose to fuel that hunger)

Clever endeavors go a long way

If you seek for ideas each and every day

You'll go insane!

This man has gone insane

This man has gone insane

This man has gone insane

This man has gone in—

[shortprince-cos]

Hidden Masks

Summary: Zuko has worn a mask since he had been burned, but now he must replace it with the one of the Blue Spirit. Unfortunately, he loses that one, and the avatar assumes that some random person saved him from the Pohuai Stronghold. Now, Zuko is faced with an opportunity he hasn't had before: capturing the avatar by earning his trust as his new friend.

AO3 Link

Chapter One: Prologue

(Word Count: 355)

Zuko didn’t like the word ‘ashamed’. Ashamed implied that he was regretful, embarrassed, and frightened of himself and his actions, and he wasn’t.

He just didn’t like the scar on his face, that was all.

It represented a failure, and Zuko hated looking at his failures. Maybe that made him egotistical or narcissistic, but every time he did all he could think about were the ways he could have prevented his mistakes and/or how he could have made up for them better, so looking back was pointless.

Zuko didn’t like the word ashamed, because he didn’t like admitting that that’s what he was.

It’d been almost three years since Zuko had been banished, and the sight of the scar on his face still made him flinch. He didn’t like looking at it and he didn’t like being reminded of his greatest blunder, which wasn’t a grand enough word to describe the events of that day, but he couldn’t think of anything better at the moment.

So, all things considered, it was just easier to cover the scar up entirely.

Uncle had been against the idea at first, claiming that Zuko shouldn’t view his scar as his greatest mistake. But, the prince had pushed, so once it had healed, Iroh had adjusted his uniform helmet, adding a panel that covered the upper half of his face.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it did the job well enough. Now, no one else would be able to see his past errors stained into his face; they’d only see the cold mask of the fire prince who wasn’t a royal failure, and that’s how he liked it.

He didn’t care if it put off the crew. He didn’t care if Uncle didn’t look him in the eyes. He didn’t care that the helmet limited his sight even more than the burn did. Any of that was better than seeing his own face in a reflection and thinking back to the day it happened.

He didn’t care, so why did he wake up in a cold sweat scared that no one would ever see his face ever again?

~~~~~

Hiya! its been a long time since i posted on here! if you remember me, i used to write tss and toh fics, but rn my current focus is atla! this is mostly just a test to see how this fic performs on this platform, so if you want more there's already like five chapters on ao3. if this does well I'll post them here in tandem. anyway, have a good day everyone!

[alarajrogers]

You know how there are all these Christmas movies where the big amazing thing is that Santa turns out to actually exist, and all the adults are big surprised?

This makes zero sense. If Santa really existed, then presents that adults did not buy would be magically turning up under the Christmas tree every year, and it would be obvious to all adults who celebrate Christmas and have children that yes, there really is a Santa Claus.

I want to write a story that explores this premise. Not one of those grim n' gritty things where Santa is really a child molester or is spying on you for the CIA or whatever, but realistic. What does the existence of Santa do to the world? How has the manufacturing sector been influenced by a being who does enormous amounts of manufacturing of certain types of goods, for free? Can Santa use his outsized economic power for the good of children everywhere, or is he a naive idiot blundering around in a world that has outgrown his capabilities? What do world governments think of a guy who can traverse the entire United States in the course of a single evening, making deliveries? Is there only one Santa or are Father Christmas and other cultures' versions of Santa all different guys?

My feeling is that at some point, as children started being influenced by branding and corporations got bigger, Santa switched from having the elves manufacture everything to give to the kids, to buying toys from the corporations and giving them away to the kids, giving him incredible economic power since he's basically the largest buyer of certain types of goods. Where does Santa get his money, and what does he use it for?

Again, I'm not about the grim n gritty; Santa in my view is a genuinely benevolent entity who will not do anything he knows to be harmful, but either he was never human or he hasn't been human in hundreds of years, so does he actually know what is harmful? Elves are not exploited and oppressed, they are fairly compensated for their work, but how do they feel about existing in a world where there's basically only one guy they can work for because the rest of the world has become too dangerous for them to exist in?

And does Santa do anything about children living in dire poverty whose greatest Christmas wish is enough food to survive, or a roof over their heads? Isn't it kind of gross to be giving some kids bicycles while ignoring the children who are being brutally abused? And what about Jewish kids and other kids who don't celebrate Christmas; is Santa deliberately ignoring them because he's a Christian bigot, or is there some other force at work preventing him from helping them?

I'm not Christian myself except in the cultural sense; I was raised Catholic but became agnostic around 8th grade, and my parents were an atheist and a Deist who were both cultural Catholics but not actually religious. And I'm not interested in shit like "Santa is the spirit of giving at Christmas" because I am an sf/fantasy writer and my whole thing is exploding metaphors into something more realistic. (Philip Pullman said, "It's a metaphor, don't expect it to do the work of a fact." Well, I do, Mr. Pullman. My metaphors are very hard working and they can pull their own weight almost as hard as a fact.) I want to know... if Santa was real, how would that change the world we live in?

[aimportantdragoncollector]

Okay, what about the "You get seduced by an illusion of your deepest desire and it turns out to be your crush" trope for the ask game.

An AU where Second works for AFO but has a huge crush on his brother, who occasionally comes by with snacks and kind words for the workers. One day, as part of training, AFO uses a quirk that shows people their deepest desires and says that as part of training they have to resist whatever pops up.

Imagine the look on his face when Yoichi appears.

What fun! Oh no, how will I keep AFO from ending this AU early by murdering Second?

1. In this AU, AFO focused more on good publicity to keep his little brother on his side. Since AFO has a reputation as a fighter for metahuman rights, Second also joined AFO's side. However Second used to be a thief when he lived on the streets, so as a result he's allowed into the shadier side of AFO's business. He helps transfer fishy packages but doesn't know the full extent of it.

2. AFO's plan worked a little too well because now Yoichi is absolutely desperate to be part of the family business and do good for the world. AFO doesn't want Yoichi uncovering his lies. So he gives Yoichi some busywork and puts him and his perfect hair on recruitment posters. (This works very well.) Yoichi regularly makes care packages for his brother's employees. Second is smitten at first sight. Being young and inexperienced, Second doesn't understand his own feelings or why he keeps saving the wrapping from Yoichi's gifts. He just really looks forward to the visits.

3. No matter the AU, AFO is still an obnoxious boss. So naturally, he comes up with stupid mandatory team-building activities that are really more about tormenting his employees. AFO decided to publicly reveal his employees greatest desires because he thought it would be funny to humiliate them. Training them to resist was just an excuse.

4. Second saw Yoichi's face and had several realizations about himself in a row. At this point, Second's life is in grave danger. However, he's saved from the wrath of an overprotective brother because...it turns out that every single employee attracted to men had Yoichi as their desire. And there were quite a few people for whom Yoichi was the exception to their sexuality. AFO made an enormous blunder by using Yoichi on his recruitment posters. Yes he had an employment boom, but at what cost? Fortunately there are so many dream Yoichis in the room that AFO can't tell who is attracted to his brother. Oh yeah, and some of the employees had fantasies about AFO too, possibly in a threesome with Yoichi. Those poor souls take the brunt of AFO's wrath (he'd kill them if he could figure out which dreams came from which people).

5. To make this all even more mortifying, Yoichi was also at the team-building exercise and flees when the dreams start popping up. Second figures Yoichi must have been embarrassed and follows him to apologize. However, Yoichi didn't actually see that everyone had a crush on him. Yoichi ran off because his own desire popped up--and it was Second.

6. When Second sees his own shadow chasing after Yoichi, there's shock, then a tearful mutual confession, then two people who skip off for a happy first date while AFO is still trying to figure out how he can fire all of his employees and still keep his business running. He can't, but everyone gets a big pay cut.

(All of these are free to use in my Three Weeks of Trioholders event.)