#my pure son who deserved better

[padfootswhiskers]

the absolute atrocious characterisation James gets from some of you…wtf. my man used to be a bully and a pompous airhead, yes, but he was also GOOFY and loyal and brave to a fault?? be fair.

[rubysparx]

Honestly I don't think I'm qualified to make this post, I just don't know if I can make coherent enough words man. But the thoughts are in there and I will try to articulate them. This is probably going to be mostly images though. anyway yeah KABRU POST.

A couple nights ago (at approximately 2:30am, lasting a little over half an hour) I had a bit of a moment about Kabru. That, too, was mostly images- most of what you see in this more concise post were presented then as well. I think my main points of the "moment" were about Kabru's trauma + self hatred, his autism and/or general otherness, and also a little labru if you'd like..

I think something easy to start with is I wanna point out Kabru's constant back and forth and conflicting opinions of demihumans and how, I believe, thats a reflection of how he goes back and forth on what he believes his purpose of living is- and the general worth of his own life. I've said it before and i've just kinda shown it in images; Kabru is "i think im a monster and it disgusts me" where Laios is "I know im a human and it disgusts me" (i could go more into the latter on another post)

the above are both from the world bible, with the left being from the section on kobolds and the right being from the section on Kuro specifically. Utaya was very near to the desert where most of the kobold population is, this is likely why Kabru is able to speak Kuro's language- he grew up around demihumans. (chapter 48 cover, kobold chapter in the world bible) I won't try to speak for how his mother or the rest of utaya felt about the kobolds but I can say that Kabru was very much othered as a child, as was his mother, purely for the way her son's (kabru) eyes looked.

I feel like its fair enough to say that both kabru and the kobolds were othered, and possibly for similar reasons (villager's seeing them as nonhuman, as monsters) and the fact that Kabru learned their language probably didn't help his case. I think his perception of kobolds (and all demihumans, subsequently himself, as he probably still views himself as nonhuman or not human enough.. deep down) was damaged by the Utaya incident. at 2:30am when I first started this ramble my main comment was that "had the utaya incident not happened kabru would have little reason to feel ashamed for his connection to monsters. and may have ended up similar to laios in that he couldve had otherkin swag" which is just a sort of silly way of saying Kabru could've learned to love the thought that he is possibly nonhuman or at least not hated himself so much for it.

in the original ramble I said, and quote, "he has been STALKING laios. laios is his hyperfixation to learn how he can ever be loved. he keeps going back and forth so harshly on wether or not he wants to kill Laios and he clearly sees his survival from utaya not as an unfortunate trauma [*] but as a necessary, deserved fate. a punishment for his mother's witchy sins, and for his sin of being non-human. to atone for it all, to apologize for being alive, he tries to better the lives of all humanity. He was set on his way to dethrone the governor of the island . do you understand? im going insane" *i also said somethings about the way he processes other people's traumas and not his own. He's able to understand and even help some people, but he struggles to process his own issues and see himself as worthy of love and life.

^some examples of Kabru being understanding of or helping others who have suffered greatly. I think its also worth mentioning that with Rin (called "Lynn" in that translation) he says "I wish there was a way to get her out of this" though he's insisted and pushed for himself to go into a dungeon;

In chapter 94, Mithrun says "The desire I had left wasn't revenge. All I wanted.. was for it to finish devouring me." and I don't feel like it's a stretch to say Kabru was in a similar situation. Mithrun sought out the demon with no plan on how to kill something like that because deep down he wanted it to end his (Mithrun's) own life, to finish the trauma it caused and kill him. I think Kabru went into the dungeon in part with the hopes that it'd kill him. That the same thing that destroyed Utaya and caused him so much trauma would just.. finish him.

I just think Kabru is a beautifully complex character, I have a lotta thoughts on him and I don't see nearly as many analysis posts for him than I do Laios (despite labru being such a popular ship)

there is no tldr for this post idk how to summarize it. do what you will with this collection of images. have fun. go crazy

fun fact the woman in the bottom left corner is his mother, she is labeled here as "witch"

[rafecameroninterlude]

hi angel! i love your work so much and fell in love with bambi!reader, so i was hoping you could write something for me ^_^

can you pls pls pls write bambi!reader comforting rafe after he gets into it with ward? i feel like she’d know exactly how to comfort himmm (pure fluff pls, i read too much smut lmaooo)

warnings: ward cameron, arguing, shouting, a little bit of physical violence, poor rafe who deserves so much better, mention of murder (i’m not referencing peterkin), fluff, soft petting, words of affirmation

a/n: aww bambi!reader has been getting so much love, it makes my heart happy to know that you enjoy the works that she’s in <3

“you had one job, rafe.. one!” ward had been shouting at rafe for nearly an hour already, his face flush with anger. “you really have a way of fucking things up, huh? i should put a caution sign on your forehead.” rafe’s fist clenched as he listened to his father, trying his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest with every word that ward spat.

“i already told you that i couldn’t close out the business accounts and wire the money to a different one. apparently i’m not next in line to own cameron development anymore. ‘you know something about that?” rafe was in disbelief when he had to find out from a service representative that his own father took him off of the family business, something that he worked hard all these years for in order to prove he was worthy of running.

ward froze. he had forgotten about that. “were you ever gonna tell me, or were you just gonna be a coward about it?” rafe stood up, towering over his father with that crazy look in his eyes. “what you forgot to do before you faked your own death instead of facing your problems like a man, was take my name off of the inheritance of tanneyhill.” he laughed, “i own this shit now.” rafe stepped closer, backing ward into the wall. “get out of my house.” ward was seething, his hand coming up to fist rafe’s shirt.

“your house? i’m the one who worked like a dog to get us here.” ward said through gritted teeth, shoving rafe in his chest. rafe stumbled, scoffing out a laugh as he then pushed his father. “worked like a dog to get us here but you were more than willing to leave me here while you start a new life in fuckin’ guadeloupe.” rafe fought to keep his emotions at bay.

“leave. and don’t ever come back.” ward’s chest was rising and falling, both him and rafe glaring at one another. “you’re cut off. good luck keeping up with this place on your own.” ward smiled bitterly. “cut off?” rafe narrowed his eyes, “i’ve been cut off, dad. i haven’t used a cent of yours since i was nineteen. all this time i’ve been making money my own way, and a lot of it too. ‘seems like your old man brain forgot about that.” rafe nudged ward as he walked past, his father following him out of the master bedroom.

“i’m leaving. when i come back i want you out of here,” rafe grabbed his truck keys, his skin on fire as he looked up the staircase, “and by the way, asshole, i’m not by myself. i got the prettiest girl on the island on my arm everywhere i go.” ward watched as his son walked out the front door. rafe was seeing red the whole time he drove to your house, cursing under his breath as he recalled his father’s words.

“the fucking nerve that guy has.” he punched the steering wheel, nostrils flaring as tears pricked at his eyes. he was the only one who was there to take care of things when ward was ‘gone’. even going as far as committing crimes so his father wouldn’t face any kind of scrutiny. yet, there he was telling him that he was a fuck up.

rafe spent the next five minutes mumbling to himself, his hands shaking as he parked outside your driveway. you were curled up on the porch swing, an open book in your lap when he walked up the stone path. all it took was one look at your boyfriend to have you scrambling up from your seat, eager to soothe him in any way you can. “oh, ray, what’s wrong?” you guided him inside, locking the door shut before both of you made your way up to your room.

“it’s ward. he came back just to tell me shit about not closing the bank accounts under cameron development.” you knew all about rafe’s conflict with his father. from the way he favored everyone else over his eldest, to the constant nagging and insults. sitting rafe down on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help the way your heart sunk at the sight of defeat in his shoulders, his eyes void of any emotion.

slipping his shoes off, you took your usual seat in his lap, stroking the outline of his jaw as he vented. “i’ll never be good enough for him. i killed for him goddamit, and what do i get in return? ‘i should put a caution sign on your forehead.’ rafe imitated ward’s voice from earlier. you blinked, pecking his cheek. “you’re an amazing son, rafe. shame on him for not recognizing that.” rafe stared up at you, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

you were the only one that looked at him with pure adoration, the only one who made him feel like he had a purpose. “i think you’re amazing, rafe. you don’t sit around, waiting to get things done, you’re so helpful, and so, so kind— to me.” he chuckled at the clarification, rubbing a large hand over your knee. “you think so?” he leaned his head against your chest, your arms coming up to hold him. “i know so.” you sighed, breathing in his scent.

“wanna be little spoon tonight?” your voice alone made him relax, his eyes fluttering shut.

“..yeah.”

[webslingingslasher]

peters nerdy side>>>> can we get more hot nerdy peter pretty pleaseeeee

nerdy peter makes me feral.

Peter Parker was finally rewarded for all the shit he deals with. 

A teen, who was a silent walker in school, but a near lethal hero at night, one that has to deal with more stress and traumas than any other kid at seventeen. Night after night, his spirit being broken down a little more each bad guy he’s put away. 

Queens see a hero that keeps the streets clean. 

Sometimes, all Peter could see was someone’s dad, or husband, or son he was putting away. 

All that bullshit he’s been dealt, the bullshit about power and responsibility, was washed away when he finally got something good, something he really thought he deserved. 

He got you, and that’s why he’ll stop at nothing to keep you. 

“You got yourself a good one, parker. Don’t fuck it all up with your nerdy shit, pretty girls hate that.”

Was it dumb to listen to Flash of all people? Maybe. 

Does he know more about girls and has a better track record at keeping them? Yes. 

But of course, just like how you were the one to approach him, ask him out, kiss him first and ask for him to be your boyfriend, he should’ve trusted you. Could you really blame him though, not totally trusting he can have a purely good thing with no consequences? 

He couldn’t, that’s why it shocked him when you made it clear you only wanted him. 

You wanted Peter Parker, however he came. Science facts, nerdy hobbies, tirades and all. 

—---------------------

Have you ever built up an idea of who someone was in your head, and when you date the other shoe drops and they’re nothing like you thought? 

That was you with Peter Parker. 

He was adorably perfect, noticing him when sharing a history class. Peter sat three seats up from you on the left, perfect position for you to watch his habits. The shake in his leg, tapping pencils on his desk, blowing a breath every time someone answered incorrectly, sitting up and leaning over his desk when something catches his attention, chewing his bottom lip while going over notes, poking his tongue out when he takes a test. 

Peter Parker was the constant subject on your mind, starting in history and causing you to look for him in other classes, you only shared one more, typing class. He was three rows behind you, there wasn’t a good way to look at him, instead having to rely on his quiet murmurs when the teacher stands behind his computer. 

After two weeks of pining you couldn’t stand it, stomping over to his table at lunch you sit down right next to him. His friends paused at your sudden and aggressive entrance. 

“Hi. We haven’t really talked but we share typing and history. For two weeks straight I’ve been watching you and I can’t get you out of my head, and I would really, really like to go on a date with you.” 

You can see it on his face, how he goes from shock to excitement, then as he looks you over his face falls. He thinks you’re fucking with him, you don’t know how to make him believe it’s real. 

“Here,” you pull at your backpack and rip the front pocket open, you pull a sharpie out and with a slight tremble you grab his arm, pushing his sleeve up you uncap the marker with your teeth. Scribbling your number onto his skin, “think about it, let me know.” 

Before you lose your steam you scramble to stand and grab your bag, “okay, that’s all. Um,” you nod at his friends, silence deafening as everyone at the table takes in the scenario. “Thank you, and… enjoy lunch?” Cringing, you turn to leave, whispering an ‘oh my god,’ to yourself while pressing a hand to your cheek. 

Peter is sure in that moment you were a hundred percent serious and you just mortified yourself, spilling your guts and being met with nothing.

 Six steps away he calls out, “yes!” 

You pause, then turn, “what?” 

“Yes! I’ll go on a date with you.” 

Oh, that’s a new feeling. It felt like your heart had wings, your stomach felt like you were on a rollercoaster, flutters everywhere. You couldn’t even try to play it cool, the guy you’ve been crazy about just as interested and curious as you were. A toothy smile overtook your face, eyes lit up. 

Taking a few steps closer, you felt giddy. 

“Really? You will?” 

Peter’s smile matched yours, he laughed through his answer, he can’t believe you actually like him that much. “Yeah.” Biting your bottom lip you pull it together, “cool, text me and we’ll plan something?” 

“You got it.” 

Nodding you walk off, Peter’s riding on a high like never has. He’s never had such a pretty girl like you like him, want him, notice him. He felt like he’s been rewarded, that he does deserve a good thing. 

Flash scoffs when you sit back at your table, immediately talking and watching faces gasp and squeal. 

“You got yourself a good one, parker. Don’t fuck it all up with your nerdy shit, pretty girls hate that.”

The last thing he wants to do, before he even gets you, is send you off. So, he listens and promises to be someone that should be with a girl like you, someone that isn’t really him. 

—---------------------

You figured it was first date nerves. 

That or just the fact you’ve never been alone with each other, especially under the guise of a date. It wasn’t like he was weird, but he was off. The person you watched in class was goofy, using his body to express himself, confident when speaking because he could back every word up. 

This Peter was quiet, guarded and almost… boring. 

You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, he just had some jitters. Maybe if you kissed him it would settle him, you could prove that you liked him and he had nothing to be nervous about. Trying to look past his awkwardness you took the night as it was, wishing he was making you laugh like he had in class, or wishing he would ramble on in a story like you’ve watched him do with his friends at lunch or at his locker. 

It may have been different than you thought but he’d come around after a date or two surly, you’d kiss him and after another few dates he’ll open up and be his true self. It was hope, but you were riding on it. 

Peter ended the night by walking you home, conversation slowly dwindling as you approached closer, falling flat when you were  in front of the building. Waiting for a moment you looked at his mouth, he made no reaction, you hadn’t expected him to sweep you off your feet but to not offer anything made you feel unsure. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

It was obvious from the look on his face that he wasn’t expecting anything in the slightest, but he licked his bottom lip and nodded softly, “yeah,” leaning in you wait for a moment, he makes no move, he has to be extremely nervous, no other option. You kissed him, you pressed into him and grabbed his face, his hands gently hovered and you pulled away. 

Maybe he just pitied you, just agreed because you put him on the spot. 

“Um, you know if you didn’t want-” 

“Can we do this again, please?” 

And just because he asked, and because it seemed like he realized he acted off and he wanted another chance, and because you really do believe in first date jitters, you say yes. 

—--------------

The first time you went over to his house his room was oddly clean, empty spaces on his bookshelf and shelves, almost like he’d put things away. Eyeing a bin by his closet you walked closer, “you collect comics?” Hoping you wouldn’t find, but still opening the top and starting to look through the ones on top. 

Peter took a deep breath, “as a kid, kinda stupid now, don’t you think?” 

You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, looking back down at the comic in your hand. You thought when you started dating he’d open up more, instead he got more closed off. 

Clearing your throat you place the comics back in, in the exact same order and putting the lid back on. “No, I don’t think they’re stupid. I was hoping you had some new ones I could catch up on, but if you think they’re stupid now I guess I’ll have to get ‘em myself.” 

If he had known you like comics he would’ve never said that. It’s his fault for leaving them out, he should’ve put them away like everything else that screamed ‘nerd alert’. 

“I didn’t mean they’re stupid, just you know… collecting them as an adult… is.. weird?” 

The lamest excuse you’ve ever heard, but you keep your patience. It hasn't even been two weeks, he’ll come around. You know it. 

—------

Surprising Peter with a hug he budged against your weight before supporting you, talking to a friend while he wrapped his arms around your back. Picking up on pieces of the conversation you nudge your head up, interested in his words. 

The Peter you like, the one that’s animated and rambling, moving his hands across your back as he talks. You place a kiss at the bottom of his neck, “whatcha talking about?”  It sounded like a new program that was going to change the future of computer engineering, when you questioned he blew you off. “Nothing important.” 

You had tried, you tried to be kind and patient and understanding but he just wasn’t who you wanted. You wanted that person, the person that’s excited about new technology and collected comic books. 

Peter closed off when you asked, guarded back up, you wished it could’ve been different. Maybe one day he’d open up more, you didn’t want anything but his true self. 

You gave it a month before you had to accept that Peter Parker wasn’t the person you thought he was, today, you had to accept that you were breaking up with Peter Parker. Pulling away you grab his arm, silently telling him to look at you. 

“Can I come over later?” 

“Yeah, of course. Wanna come with me after school?” 

“Sure,” you wondered if he could see through your smile. It doesn’t seem like it, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, you pull away and back away through the halls. 

He has no idea what’s coming. 

—------------

Gently pushing Peter’s shoulders down to coax him into sitting on the edge of his bed, you grin politely when he follows instruction. Dragging his desk chair to sit in front of him you pause to think about what you were going to say, clearing your throat you begin. 

“So, I like you a lot, and I’ve enjoyed having you as my boyfriend for the past month-” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, he holds his hand up, “enjoyed? Are you breaking up with me?” 

You bite your lip and nod solemnly, “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

The silence is unsettling, you look away from him, his figures deflated and his mind races. 

“Why?” 

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out you shrug, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Peter. But, uh, you’re just… not what I thought you’d be like.” 

How could you not like him? He’s done everything right. He was the perfect suitor, he acted like the typical non nerd male. The kind of all american guy every girl wanted. 

“I don’t… what does that mean?” 

You laugh, “I have a type, and you’re not it. I like nerds, like, straight up goofy, funny guys that know something about everything and collect comic books and get excited at new, humanity altering technology. I thought you were that guy, but I guess not.” 

Oh my god. 

He’s fucked it all up, he was dumb enough to believe you wanted something else. 

He can show you he’s a nerd, he’s been one his entire goddamn life, he’s about to nerd olympics the hell out of you. 

Peter jumps from his seat so quickly it startles you, his hands come down on the armrests of your chair, the seat tilting backwards as he pushes his weight towards you. 

“I’m the biggest nerd you’ll ever meet.” 

Your seat jostles when he lets go and opens his closet, pulling out a box he sets it on his bed. 

“This is everything I put away when we started dating,” he turns with three rubik’s cubes, each one in various sizes. “,these are my rubik’s cubes, I can finish the standard in forty three seconds, the six by six took me about thirty minutes and this baby?” he bounced the biggest one in his hold, “, this is a twenty one by twenty one, it took me about three hours.” 

Peter dropped them to the bed and continued, “and this is my national championship trophy for chess club,” he shoves it in your face before he keeps digging, a small picture frames come next, “this is when I won the states most innovative science fair project,” frantic digging, “, this is a figurine of my favorite video game,” two large disc sets next, “lord of the rings and star wars,” 

He spins around, flying past your body where he picks up his comic book container, “remember when I was late to our date last week? I was getting these,” three new additions of an old comic you had just started to pick up, “, and currently?” Peter moved to his desk, tapping on his keyboard until his screen woke up, code covered the screen, he pointed between the monitor and a notebook, “I’m learning to read binary code.” 

You felt like the grinch because your heart grew the times the size, adoration blossomed, you could feel your chest crack and glow. The Peter you wanted, the person you thought he was from the start, was real and in front of you. 

This was who he was, so why was he hiding it? 

“Why did you hide that from me? Peter, that’s like, the entire reason I wanted to date you. I liked who you were, then you turned into someone else.” 

Peter rested against his desk and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I figured a pretty girl like you wouldn’t want some nerdy guy, it might be cute at first but when I’m stoked about something I read on wikipedia and make it my thing for a day and talk your ear off about it, you’re gonna wish you had a boyfriend that just watches sport clips for fun.”

That’s the point you were trying to make, “that’s what I want! I was literally dumping you because you weren’t that.” 

“Well, I am that. So there’s no point in breaking up, right?” 

You hum and spin in his chair, “I dunno… you dragged me along for a month, hiding yourself from me, making me question everything. I mean, you have a lot to make up for, parker.” 

“C’mere,” you’re not given an option, he reaches forward and pulls the chair towards him and pulls you from the seat, flopping himself down and tugging you into his lap. Your stomach clenches, this was the confident Peter you wanted, it was confidence in himself. 

His pointer finger taps on the monitor, “you read binary from right to left, and you separate them into groups of eight. Now the key is knowing that each one and zero mean-” 

Your mouth on his, cutting his words off with a kiss, you held his face tightly, never wanting him to separate from you. Caught off guard he froze for a moment, then wrapped his hands around your middle. Pressing into him, separating for air but giving small pecks. 

“Baby,” kiss, “, I’m sorry,” kiss, “, I shut,” kiss, “, you out,” kiss, “I didn’t,” kiss, “, know it meant,” kiss, “, so much,” kiss, “, to you,” kiss. 

“You’re so much smarter than me,” a chaste kiss, “it’s so hot,” you look into his eyes, he’s flushed out and breathing harshly. “You’re so hot,” another kiss, Peter feels like the room is spinning, he’s never felt so wanted, so needed, the way you can’t stop kissing him, how tight you’re holding him to you, how blown your pupils are, the way you’re gulping him like water. 

“I mean if you,” he grunts when you kiss down his neck, biting into his collarbone. “, if you want, I could show you how quick I can solve my rubik’s cube.” Your hands drag up his hair, gripping and tilting his head away, better access to nibble and lick the skin. “Or, recite the first seventy nine numbers of pi.” 

Attention caught, “you know the first seventy nine numbers of pi?” 

“Mm hmm, I could also tell you” a whimper,  “, all the elements. Want me to start rattling them off?” 

Kissing the middle of his throat you hum, “I’d rather you take your pants off.” 

For the first time in Peter Parker’s life, memorizing the periodic table got him laid. 

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 6

summary ;; This is the reality of Jake Sully: the father and Olo'eyktan of the People cannot coexist, Eywa teaches her lessons in the toughest ways. PART 5 | NEXT (wip) pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; well this took a hot minute. am back on my bs WARNING for violence and t0rture, reader discretion is advised. Please excuse my mistakes if you see any!

Jake moved on pure primitive instinct, unbridled arctic rage honing all his senses into one laser point of focus. It wasn’t survival, and it surely wasn’t prey running from predator, there was nothing noble about what he was trying to achieve. 

That avatar was going to die today, and Jake was going to make it hurt. No fair game. No warrior’s death. No respect. 

Devoid of the shape of humanity or the ties that bound him to it, he was the embodiment of a creature’s killer intent, body taking over and consciousness disappearing to the backseat as he catapulted his tomahawk at the avatar, taking advantage of the miniscule opening provided by a magazine change needed after emptying all of his bullets to a Jake luring him into wasting his resources away. 

The dull squelch of the hand-carved ax’s head plunging into flesh couldn’t be dampened by the avatar’s choked and short shout, and Jake was jumping out of cover in no time, a bull to red, advancing towards the man, footsteps not hidden out of having no concern for it at all, let him panic or try to struggle for all Jake cared. 

Opposite of what he expected, the rifle wasn’t picked up or fumbled to aim at him. The avatar, pale in the face and pupils having devoured the yellow, fear trumping the pain of his arm almost sliced off from shoulder, crawled away on his back from Jake in full speed, getting up before Jake could reach him, and started staggering into the forest, dropping the tomahawk in the process. 

Jake stopped in his tracks for a moment and picked his weapon up, the dark liquid glistening purple in the light of the Tree of Souls, droplets of blood making the moss light up as they hit the ground. His chest heaved in controlled, loud breaths, mouth pulled back in a snarl, watching the pathetic son of a bitch trying to get away. 

He was one of the lot who’d shot you, hurt you, tortured you — simply to get a reaction out of Jake. 

He was the one who pulled Jake away before he could fix his mistakes, undo the damage they had done, and get you back. 

Jake was so close. So close. 

You were there. You were right there. He could still feel you in his arms, his shoulder imprinted with your tears, shiest of smiles at a better future he could build with you from the burnt soil of your relationship. 

If it hadn’t been for him… 

That man was your murderer. 

He deserved the hell of a father’s making.

This avatar was a marine — and the fucking idiot was running into the oblivion blind worse than a normal civilian would in this situation, had all those years of training evaporated in one second? Jake’s steps were determined, yet lax following after the guy, nose picking up the trail of blood left behind, eyes watching the red splatters. This was all Hansel and Gretel for him, playing follow the breadcrumbs.

The sound of thumping, frantic running, bumping into obstacles, crashing into flora, all was distinguishable from the natural song of the forest Jake had gotten so familiar with in these fifteen years. No response came from the avatar, but Jake wasn’t hurrying. He would have him. Let the bastard tire himself out first — but he wouldn’t let him die. No. He could smell the fear, the blood, anger at bay, all ice, knowing the trees would carry all the sounds he needed to Jake. He could hear exactly where the avatar was. and If he was hoping he’d bleed himself out faster than Jake could reach him to save himself from what was going to happen, well… 

He’d better start praying for mercy to whatever deity held his worthless faith, because Jake had none of it. They had no mercy for you, his sinless, innocent child, all but wails and yelps and blood, and apologies for it. 

Every time Jake thought of you in that tremendous pain to the brink of delirium, he burned in his heart’s ice until he was black and purple all over. Your smile was so real, your embrace was tiny and warm in his arms and he had a chance, the only chance no parent could ever get in this life. Jake had dissolved together with that mirage.   

The part of him engulfed in flames wanted to end this quickly and painfully—to burn it all, break that man in, scream his lungs out, the other part of him, frozen fury that scalded over in the loss of you, wanted to draw it out, wanted to inflict never-ending pain, to bring the avatar back from the brink of death over and over again just to repeat it in a cycle. 

His child. His baby. 

The ties that held Jake together were getting pulled tight, the pressure building like deep water currents, thinner threads snapping and crackling, body being pulled to all five directions from all five limbs. Awareness went out and barged its way back in hot flashes, he couldn’t comprehend the passing of time and how long he let your murderer catch the delusion of shaking Jake off his tail — but, his instincts knew to reveal himself before the avatar could be claimed by blood loss. 

Dangling hope right in front of his face just to snatch it away wasn’t enough. It could never be enough compared to you who had dragged your own corpse back home, muted to your own pain cocooned between those who should have meant nothing but home and safety to you. Torture. You had lived torture in your last hours with help just one step, one word away. 

Nothing would ever be enough.  

Jake emerged from the thick flora like the grim reaper himself who would always be waiting right at the spot of the reaping wherever the soul ran away to, detached and unimpressed, blank face not reflecting the scorched soul inside. The almost passed out avatar jolted awake when he smelled the smoke from Jake’s shadow falling on him, and could only press his back further to the body of the cluster of big rocks he had taken shelter against as if somehow becoming one with it could shield him away from Jake’s wrath.  

The man’s breathing was getting louder and shakier the more Jake stood there motionless. “C’mon then,” he said between clenched teeth, spasming hand dropping from his mutilated shoulder, squaring up the last drops of his courage. “Get on with it.”

Jake’s whitened fingers were making noise against the handle of his tomahawk, but his voice was hauntingly hollow, unfeeling now that he had the man right in his palm. “Thought I should let you live what you did to my daughter first.”

The avatar began to scream. “Fuck you, man, we didn’t do none of this shit to that kid—”

Jake’s tone didn’t change, but it cut worse than a knife. “You killed my kid.”

His eyes widened, breath hitching, the reality of what was coming to him finally sinking in and Jake witnessed every panicked second of it. “Fuck…” His gaze wildly alternated between Jake and the tomahawk, raising his better, trembling hand up for feeble defense. “Look, look, listen, we didn’t kill her, alright? We patched her up, okay, she was going to be a prisoner, what happened happened because you engaged in battle, we wouldn’t do that to a—AGH!”

He was interrupted by Jake sharply shoving the head of the tomahawk into his injury, just putting it in there, not moving it further down. “Do you have children, marine?”

The man palmed at the weapon, fingernails digging into the wood, but no matter how much he pushed, it didn’t budge one bit. “Stop, stop! Fuck—”

Jake repeated again, firmer. “I asked you a question, do you have children?”

“No!— No, god, argh!” 

He spaced out for a while, watching him squirm and trash to get away with defeated, half-assed attempts, also unable to because of how much of an immovable object Jake was making the weapon buried in the open wound be. It would hit the bone if he used more strength. 

With a fixed, stony stare, Jake removed the tomahawk, waiting for the man’s deplorable whimpers to recede before breaking him the news like reading it off a doctor’s report. “You won’t get to have any.”

He didn’t look like he cared about something like that, but the man knew his fate insinuated by the words. Nevertheless,it didn’t mean he could be free from the survivor’s instinct’s mood swings his body was putting him through. Denial to bargaining within minutes. “Just kill me already, you deserter piece of—”

“Oh, no, no no,” Jake reassured, the only flicker of emotion he had shown since he’d cornered the avatar. “You won’t get to die for a long time, either.” 

The avatar grunted, head falling down before he started to shake it. “Please just let it end—man, just let it end, I’m sorry, okay, please!” A whole body-trembling begging shifted to anger the more Jake remained non-responsive. Watching. Just watching. The hole in his chest getting wider the more he fed this man’s suffering to it — it wasn’t enough. “Just fucking do it! Pussy ass bitch! Come on you blue motherfucker, kill me! Kill m—”

“Are you the one who shot my daughter?” 

“What?”

“Are you. The one. Who shot my daughter?”

The avatar’s face twisted. “It wasn’t me—it wasn’t—asshole, you already killed the guy, I didn’t fucking do anything!—”

“You... didn’t do anything?”

A beat. The forest fell silent in Jake’s ears. Just like how the noises you made had abruptly died down as he was putting pressure on your wound.

And like that, the thick haze that had Jake desensitized blew over, unadulterated anger rushed to his body, acidic and nauseating, soul stitching back to his limbs by a million needles and he began to shake, face contorting, teeth showing itself, the hiss that lacerated his throat was the most terrifying one of his life yet, it didn’t sound like it belonged to a sentient being, twisted by a grieving, demented animalistic horror. The avatar’s breath hitched, whatever protest and voice he had escaping deep inside his body, ears pinned back to his head. 

“Of course,” Jake glowered, swallowing the scorching stones blocking his throat. He closed his burning eyes, and was greeted by the image of you, opening them back again, and shaking the ax as if it was an accusing finger. 

And without a word of warning, his hand shot down and grabbed the avatar from the neck of his tactical vest, hurling him over the chest-level array of big rocks forming a pointy bed above, ignoring the cries of pain as the abused, torn open flesh of the wound dragged through the sharp teeth of the gravel, dousing them in blood. “Please, please, stop!—I’m sorry, I was wrong, that wasn’t right, shit, shit!”

Jake snatched the man’s dominant arm that was coincidentally the same one dangling by fractured bone and tendons from the shoulder. His soul had known what he wanted right from the start before his brain had processed it. “This hand,” he spat, holding it from the wrist, gnashing his teeth. “that pulled the trigger at me…” 

Murdered his daughter for a second time. 

All a soldier’s worth for. One hand to hold the stock tight against the body and one to fire. All that to take a single life.

Leaning the hand down against the rock in a sudden move, Jake slammed on the blunt, pointy end of the tomahawk on it like he was hammering a nail, the sickening crack of the bones breaking got followed by the avatar’s fractured scream. 

Jake saw you hunched, cheekily laughing in the blue and purple of the creek, freckles glowing because of the eclipse, silhouette illuminated by the floating bioluminescent bugs.  

Spinning the tomahawk in his clammy hand in a full 360 turn, he smashed it down once more, stronger. The metal broke skin and sank into spongy muscle. His ears were buzzing, ringing from how the shrill yells. 

Jake was hugging you after what seemed to be years, and your little arms were clinging to him for life — you were sand slipping from his fingers. 

Jake hammered again. 

You were telling him how mean he was to you, your voice suppressing the avatar’s. 

He brought it down one more time and felt the tomahawk recoil from hitting rock. 

You were bashful as you repeated how Jake would always love you. 

Guttural breaths getting louder with effort each hit, he kept slamming it down until everything was his beautiful little sweet girl. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again. 

Again and again and again and again and again until there was no resistance from the limb anymore and the man had gone silent and it was all mashed meat he was pounding— 

And then he almost plunged it to your bleeding, battered corpse, your stomach covered in reddish brown from the dried brown, body ashen blue, and Jake cried out in terror, jumping back and losing strength in his legs as the tomahawk flew from his hand and he fell over. 

His lungs constricted, refusing to take any breaths in and his heart ricocheted around in his ribcage, he was gaping at the wall of rock now washed red as if it was some white rose painted red in Alice in Wonderland. 

Jake sat there for the longest time, dissociated.

In those moments, he wasn’t Toruk Makto, he wasn’t Olo’eyktan, he wasn’t the pillar of a family of seven. He was simply Jake Sully. 

However, he wasn’t allowed to be stripped down to the bone until all that’s left was a mourning father. That was Jake’s reality. 

He had to cast the crippled man aside, the tragedy of his child away, and bring the leader of the People out right as your ghost rippled in his vision, watching spitefully within the forest — because all you wanted was for him to be your father, and he couldn’t even fucking do that after your death. 

This avatar was a valuable asset, a hostage to question. For the sake of his people. 

He wasn’t allowed revenge. 

A single drop of tear rolled down expressionless face. When he looked down, Jake’s hands were still stained with your blood. 

The only instance a child should be covered in blood is when they come out of their mother’s womb, little lungs being burned with existence for the first time, crying from the pain of being separated from Eywa’s arms, birth mother a complete stranger to them. 

The gore of you barely clinging to life, unmoving, drenched in your own blood, wiped and wiped to the point Neytiri had to change buckets of water until it turned light pink was overlapping with the joyful image of your newborn self she had lovingly and gently cleaned of the remains of labor with wetted mothsilk, skin too sensitive for water for the moment, the blue coming alive as the blood and other clotted bodily fluids were cleansed. 

It wasn’t the broken, ice-cold, lithe body of a young girl Neytiri had cleaned in the torment of her excoriated, unraveling mind, it was her baby’s. Her baby, her poor baby with a gaping hole in the middle of your body, memories marauding Neytiri’s lucidity. 

She lived the moment of your first cleansing over and over again. 

You were a particularly indomitable cryer, Neytiri had known you would be infamous for your battle cries right as she was brought back from the blackout of post-birth by your overly-healthy wailing — or perhaps you would best Ninat as a singer when you’d unapologetically blossom, but one thing was ascertained: her first daughter was a fierce, fiery blue ball of ardor compared to Neteyam, who was almost shy and reluctant in disturbing people around him in his weeping that a collective worry for his health had plagued the whole clan. 

As you squirmed, smeared in chunks of her flesh and blood, as if you wanted to jump off from her arms and start walking already, Neytiri had smiled up at her Jake, your father, unable to take his eyes off you, stuck between awe and laughs that came and went. “She has your heart,” she’d told him, spent and hurting, but wonderfully alive. “Strong.”

He’d traced his thumb through her drenched hairline. “Lungs, you mean?” His scent, wind and hearthfire, had enveloped Neytiri when Jake had leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I think they’re yours.” The teasing about how you had made Neytiri scream in labor wouldn’t have gone unpunished if she wasn’t on the edge of sleep held up only by your crying, so, he’d gotten a light hit on the side of his face instead. But Jake knew how to apologize, he’d always been spectacular at it. “I’d say she takes after me in appearance, look at her little ugly face.”

To Neytiri, you were beautiful, face dark purple from how strong you were screaming, and a mini-village elder with the wrinkles, swinging those little fists — things that made you lovely in her eyes. Her first daughter. 

She had learned motherhood from Neteyam, but she would learn to understand her mother and her choices through you, someone she thought couldn’t be more different from her — Neytiri, all Mo’at could have been, and Mo’at, all Neytiri might have become, once. She prayed you would love her as much as she’d begun to love you the second you were in her arms. 

To think the enormity of her love hadn’t reached you — it was one of the greatest failures of Neytiri’s life. If it had, you’d be wounded, but perfectly conscious and well in her mother’s tent. If it had, you would have been beyond comfortable telling those demons had hurt you. 

In that all-consuming devastation, the woven towel she was using to wipe the thin sheet of sweat that formed on your body slipped from her uncoordinated hands and fell on your chest, and Neytiri had to hold back the breath that spiked to become a hiccup by covering her mouth, and immediately, her curled hand was engulfed in a smaller, five-fingered one. She came eye-to-eye with Kiri after raising her head, putting her other hand on hers at the girl’s more disheveled and messy self, heart dropping to her stomach at the fatigue varnishing an extra layer of moisture in her daughter’s drooping eyes. 

“Oh Kiri,” Neytiri mumbled, caressing her cheek and brushing the tangled hair away from her face. 

“Why don’t you go get some rest, mom, hm?” 

“Even if I somehow agreed to that, I could never agree to leaving my daughter alone in this.”

“I’m fine.” Stopping to take a breath, she sighed, collecting the towel and starting to fold it. “Well, not really fine, but don't worry about me. We’re all miserable here. And that’s natural.” Fiddling with the corners of the cloth, she leaned in a bit and lowered her voice, light reflecting from the yellow of her irises making it look like they shone from within. “I… I know she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. Eywa has bestowed us a gift she has never given to anyone before and it’s for a reason. I feel that everything will be set right.” She shook her head up and down, determined. “Dad will do it. I know he will.”

Neytiri trusted Kiri with her intuition and understanding when it came to the inscrutable intentions of Eywa, she was closer to the Great Mother than any Tsahik was — so close that she would drift away too much from her family. And deep down, Neytiri was heartsick by this invisible line that separated her from her daughter, any parent in her place would be unsettled like this.

She was also hog-tied to close the distance growing between them because of the human boy Spider and how she would find camaraderie in him in their ‘orphan’ status as she called it. Kiri was already faraway in her obscure existence and unwittingly separated herself as if she didn’t see herself as a real part of the family some days, and Neytiri hated that the ‘kinship’ she’d formed with Spider was planting these ideas into her head when she was her and Jake’s daughter, no more, no less. To overwrite those feelings, she tried so hard to reach Kiri, but was unsettled by the feeling of being hated sometimes, again, more or less for her stance in placing Spider at the outskirts of their family. 

But oftentimes Kiri would express her affection through small, otherwise unnoticeable actions, just like this one, a caring touch and reassurance that could melt an ice cube — and Neytiri basked in the babiest of steps between them. And maybe this was how Jake had it with you, too, she had never thought about it like this before. 

Taking in Neytiri’s solemn silence, Kiri grumbled, suddenly agitated about something. “I just… I just wish I had isirka resin and xhikul seeds for this paste and cover her wound with it. Grandmother’s extract isn’t enough to stimulate the bone marrow and ugh—” The girl groaned with the obvious guilt at groaning in the first place, as well. “I’m sorry, mom, I don’t know what—”

“It’s alright, Kiri,” Neytiri said, weariness blending with tenderness, knowing you’d agree too. You would have probably told her to not waste her energy and wait around when there wasn’t anything left to do anyway. “Maybe it’s you who needs some rest. You’ve worked hard. Harder than any of us. You do need rest, too.”

Kiri was quick to refuse. “I’m trying something new, I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sure one of your brothers—”

Her earpiece buzzed alive. “Neytiri, do you read me?”

The unexpected timing of it caught her off guard, her hand flying up to the device, drums of alarm going off in her head by the croaky, despondent note to his voice. The impact of their previous argument evaporated from existence just by hearing his distress. “Jake?” She focused on you, not observing any difference, and frowned in worry, her pulse picking up pace as Kiri also locked her attention to her the moment she heard her father was on the line. “What happened?”

“I have here one of Quaritch’s dreamwalkers—whatever they are.” Neytiri’s mouth opened and closed at the reveal, forehead creasing. “Alive. Somehow survived to get to the Tree of Souls.”

Her hand instinctively descended to touch your cool and clammy arm closest to her. “Tree of Souls…? But you were—”

“Yeah. Yeah, he… I couldn’t. I couldn’t…” 

She stared at your face, all thoughts draining from her mind. “What are you saying, Jake?”

Silence.

“Jake,” Neytiri implored, her voice snuffed out towards the end. She tried again. “Jake, I don’t understand. What does this mean..?”

“Son of a bitch pulled me out before I could… before I could finish talking to her.” Kiri reached for her when she let out an incoherent, disbelieving voice, getting more panicked as Neytiri clawed at her tightening chest with his next words. “I failed, Neytiri. I couldn’t… She…” 

Neytiri was physically helpless to respond, and Kiri couldn’t hold back from inquiring seeing the state she was in. “Mom? Mom! What’s wrong?”

“This man, if it wasn’t for this man, I had it.” Jake kept talking at an increasing speed the longer Neytiri didn’t say anything. “I had her right in my arms, making future plans, smiling, everything was perfect, and then he—” His breath quivered. “He fucking—” And he stopped the sentence abruptly to get some semblance of control back because Eywa knew Neytiri was losing it ever so slowly. “I need you here with me right now, please. Please, I…” 

Neytiri refused to acknowledge what Jake couldn’t say out loud. You were still breathing, she felt your chest rise and fall even if the pattern was weak. You had life left in you. Jake saying he failed made no sense to her, she didn’t believe it. 

“Neytiri, I need to question this… this filth, need to learn all I can about what’s going on, but I can’t do it on my own. I’ll kill him. In a heartbeat. I want to squeeze the life out of him with my hands right this moment and I— I can’t… We have to know how they could have gotten this far, what they’re planning—and now right to the Tree of Souls too, and…” The rambling that got chaotic and disconnected faded off eventually, as if he’d lost his voice. “Shit.”

And throughout all that, Neytiri had gone from confused, in denial, at the threshold of grief but not nearly in there anchored by your pulse, and lusting for blood within minutes. Kiri was taken aback by the anger radiating from her. “Bring him here!”

“I can’t. He could have a tracker on him—they could have put it in his body. I can’t risk that.”

Neytiri stood up with only one thing in her mind, and it didn’t match Jake’s. “Where are you?”

“You gotta let me pass, buddy, come on! You wanna take my head off or something? Why are you being like this!” 

Hands up and quick on his feet, Lo’ak was trying to negotiate. 

With an ikran of all things. Not even his.

Yours. 

Mom storming out like a wronged, vengeful spirit had been the perfect chance for him to do a quick supply run sneak off, but your overgrown big bird with the exact same attitude as you was getting in his way and blocking Lo’ak off by snapping its jaw at his head and opening its sunset fire tinged wings every time he attempted to cross over to his own ikran. They were basically at a standstill and he had no idea why. 

Lo’ak just wanted to help. Help you. 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Shit. 

Neteyam. Making his way to him with such speed that got his braids swinging and of course he’d sniffed Lo’ak out like a nantang. Followed the odd silence, probably. Eywa, he should have thought this out better. 

“Skxawng, do you not remember what dad said?”

“I do,” Lo’ak hummed and hawed, and that was the problem. He’d never felt this guilty about disobeying dad’s orders before, it was making him squirm. “But look, Kiri said she needed isirka resin and xhikul seeds or whatever to treat her, I’m going—”

Neteyam’s jaw had flexed when he said whatever, but there was no visible agitation after he gave a sharp breath through his nose.  “So let’s call mother or—”

“They’re busy with some sky person dad caught—”

“I know. The same ones who did this to our sister. I know, Lo’ak.” Neteyam aggressively gestured to the exit of the cave system, shaking his arm while speaking. “What do you think will happen if you go off on your own and land yourself in bigger trouble than she did? Huh?”

Lo’ak threw resentful looks at your ikran. “I can’t stay put like this. I have to do something.”

“This again? There is nothing we can do.” He hadn’t said that in his normal drilling of dad’s orders — Neteyam had the same pain of acceptance that were Lo’ak’s bruises etched onto his face.

And that made Lo’ak want to throw up all over the place. He’d experienced countless sicknesses his siblings had fallen to over the years, none of those were as fatal as this and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. What was he supposed to do when his sister was dying? What did one do when a family member was in this situation anyway? Nothing seemed right to him. 

And something was finally, finally within his power — and Lo’ak would of course rise up to the challenge without hesitation. He wasn’t just going to sit down and let that possibility of your salvation slip by. “But there is. Kiri said—”

“Lo’ak if you leave right now and somehow get caught dad will never trust you again. He was the most open he’s ever been, don’t betray him like that.” 

He was getting annoyed that Neteyam was ignoring the whole point, though it wasn’t as if Lo’ak didn’t know. He was fully aware, and that’s why this was supposed to be a secret. Dad couldn’t be hurt by what he didn’t know now, could he? Not only were you getting Kiri’s remedy, which he was sure as his name was Lo’ak that would end up most effective, but he also wasn’t breaking his promise to dad when the tiniest thread of trust in his son was knotted by the man just recently.  

Neteyam grabbed him by the top of his head in a brotherly manner but his hold was of steel, the boy tried to grumpily push him off but he didn’t budge, staring right into his soul. “Use what’s in this for once and just tell dad or mother, they’re down in the forest already anyway.” When he let go, Lo’ak stumbled back, rubbing the sting off, and the semi-playful older brother was back. “And one of them will actually know what to look for.”

His immediate response was refusal. “I know what I’m looking for—”

“What does isirka look like?”

The sounds your ikran was making was eerily close to laughter and Lo’ak felt heat rush up to the tips of his ears. “It’s a tree.”

Neteyam didn’t have brow hair like Lo’ak did, but the way he raised the lines was always more expressive than how he did it. “Xhikul, then?”

“Flower, skxawng.”

“Wrong.” Lo’ak’s tail started beating the air at the condescending tone. “Kiri is talking about the fruit. Xhika is its flower.”

He rolled his eyes, turning away. “Whatever—”

“Is it whatever?” Neteyam grabbed Lo’ak by the shoulder and spun him around so rough that he got dizzy. “Are you calling my sister’s life whatever?”

Lo’ak was going to explode from how wrong this was going and how insistent Neteyam was to twist his words. “That’s not what I meant bro!” 

“You are so careless.” Neteyam’s tail had shot up ramrod straight, the little bush of hair at the end of it all puffed up, ears perking in all directions. He wasn’t necessarily yelling but was tense all over, something he did whenever they were playing back in the day and he was about to pounce after staying still enough to implant a false seed of safety. “You don’t even think about what can happen if you were to bring a completely different ingredient! You don’t think!”

“Sorry that I’m trying to help! What are you doing?”

“Keeping us safe. Keeping you safe.” He pressed his lips together on a thin line, but couldn’t hold back whatever was bubbling inside. “I’m not losing another sibling, Lo’ak!”

Only a small gasp escaped Lo’ak when he opened his mouth in retaliation. He couldn’t have found his voice even if he found something to say to that rawness in return, anyway. 

The gut-churning guilt doubled. 

“Hey… I—”

“Go,” Neteyam whispered, tilting his head together with the lone word. “Since you’re dying to help, help Kiri. She’s exhausted. I don’t think grandmother will refuse.”

“What about you?” And there he goes again. Wrong words. Neteyam was looking more closed-off than before. “I’m not accusing or anything—”

“I can’t go in there.”

“What?”

“I can’t,” Neteyam took a deep breath and loudly let it go, tail deflating, the arch of it depressing as hell for some reason. “I can’t look at her.”

Neteyam just gave a forlorn smile in return to Lo’ak’s heavily concerned looks demanding he continue but not knowing how to word it, his back looked weirdly lonely as he was tending to your significantly calmer ikran to join back the horde. 

Buried in negative thoughts all the way back and ignoring the pitiful looks from the rest of the clan, he met Kiri outside of the healing tent talking to Spider, and he could see Tuk’s back covering the view to you in his peripheral.

They were whispering about something and it was obvious even from a distance where they were nothing but stick figures. At least try to look less suspicious, Lo’ak thought. 

The only part he caught from the conversation was Spider saying, “Just describe them to me,” — Kiri was really leaning in towards him. 

“What’s going on?” 

The two looked like they were caught in the middle of scheming, and it clicked almost immediately. 

If Lo’ak had thought of going off on his own, so had they. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, bro,” he said, draping his arm across the human boy’s shoulders. “Neteyam’s literally patrolling.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Spider groaned, visibly disappointed. It warmed Lo’ak’s heart to see he was totally down for sneaking off the camp for you. “You said your dad told him to rest.”

“Yeah, he did. Except Neteyam never rests. He has a dancing glow worm up his ass.”

The conversation couldn’t continue because Kiri did a double take at something. 

“Tuk!” Kiri took a few steps aside, squinting as if she didn’t think she was seeing it right. Then her expression burst into panic, her hands flying forward as she ran to the tent, Spider and Lo’ak could only stare, baffled. “Tuk, oh Eywa, what are you doing!—” 

“I’m giving her water, she’s thirsty.”

“What?”

He actually rushed to the entrance of the tent, nearly falling headfirst in, having stumbled on some rock. Your mouth was actually open. And Tuk was really trying to get you to drink from the bowl she was holding against your mouth.

You choked at one point, still unconscious, but it was a sign of life. Lo’ak didn’t know if the shocked screech came from him or Kiri.  

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[dceasesd]

why juni ba’s the boy wonder has my favorite jason characterization of any contemporary comic run: a needlessly in-depth analysis (pt.3)

go check out part 1 and part 2 if you'd like! this is a long one, sorry guys.

if you haven't already i'd recommend you check out pt. 1 & pt. 2 (linked above), but if you haven't checked them out i've been going over some of the main things people have been criticizing ba's characterization for: 1. the typical boiling down of jason's character to "the angry one" 2. his lack of strategy going into the fight with the demon is out-of-character 3. the neighbor's kid interaction

alright, so this last point is purely based off of one page of the entire comic: the one where the child of one of jason's neighbors is dragged inside his home when his mother see's jason coming.

first off, i love this page. it might be my favorite page in the entire issue. everything about it is great. just thought i needed to say that.

anyway, there's some people who are seeing this page and reading it as "jason protects kids! that's one of his big things! why are they scared of him?"

here's the thing, though: the kid isn't scared of jason, the mom is. the kid is literally playing dress up as the red hood-- he's not scared of jason, if anything he's trying to replicate him. little kids dress up as their heroes all the time; why is this kid any different? it doesn't really make sense for the kid to dress up of something he's scared of (not everyone is as weird bruce wayne), especially a real person that could be a real threat rather than a concept. i doubt you see many kids in gotham dressing up as the joker or something, because that's just asking for trouble.

the dress-up honestly seems like a ploy for attention to me. the kid clearly knows that red hood lives in his building (which is honestly so funny. take off the mask jason you're giving you're position away (actually this is a really good instance for analysis but i'm determined to not go on a tangent)). if the kid knows red hood lives in his building, what better way to get his attention that dressing up as him and playing pretend? if the kid was scared of him, he wouldn't want to draw that sort of attention to himself. if he had a sort of hero-worshippy thing going on like i suspect, then he would want to get jason's attention. to sum it up,

it's the mom who pulls him away when jason nears, because she either a) perceives him as a threat, b) doesn't want her kid to try and replicate him even more, or, the most likely option, both! the kid isn't scared of him, but the mother believes they should be.

once again, we come back to the whole perception vs. reality theme i talked about in part one! we've come full circle, everyone!

when looking at the neighborhood's perspective of the red hood, ba gives us a few contradictory examples. there's the kid and the mother, obviously, but there's also a slew of other citizens who interact with him at the beginning of the issue, both in fear and camaraderie.

the unhoused man and the people outside of his building clearly have a familiarity and are comfortable with him, while the shopkeeper is terrified and literally has a banned poster on his wall featuring jason (i am so curious what he did to deserve that, if he even did anything at all). from this, it appears that jason's reputation teeters between fearful and familiar-- a sentiment that also colors jason's relationship with his family.

furthermore, this concept underscores just how lonely jason is-- one of the only good relationships he had in his current life was his fucking landlord, for gods sake, and he's dead.

i think it's important to note that jason doesn't respond to the friendly greetings from the men-- he could attempt to build camaraderie, the roots are there, but he chooses not to. he could work to try and show the mother that her son is safe with him, but he chooses not to. why? jason is obviously lonely (as ba states in the panel below) and he caves pretty easily when damian asks him for help (both of them are so desperate for human interaction its tragic). so why does he distant himself from the community?

obviously it is in part due to the vigilante lifestyle, but it is also jason's perception of himself and how he believes others perceive him, especially in regards to his family (ba is literally hitting readers in the head with that theme baseball bat).

he doesn't see that the kid with the mask looks up to him, all he sees is the mother pulling him away. he sees the banned poster in the store. and, as ba narrates, "he was sure he'd been forgotten about" by his family. utrh is jason's twisted way of attempting to reach out and connect with bruce, and obviously that doesn't work-- so he chooses loneliness over rejection.

like in part one, though, damian refutes this idea by describing bruce's perspective, showing how what jason believes differs from actuality. bruce hasn't forgotten about him and doesn't hate him, as he suspected, but instead harbors guilt over the situation and desires to make it better, which jason must come to understand to be able to open the locked door and begin to move past his trauma.

so, that's what the little kid in the red hood outfit looks like to me. i actually have a lot more i'd like to say about the boy wonder, especially in regards to the whole "door to my past life" thing and what ba does with lighting and blocking in his artwork, so i may do a little post on that as well! i was gonna try and shove it into this one, but i've run out of room! i hope you guys liked my analysis, if you'd like to chat about the boy wonder or any other comics, my dms, asks, and reblogs are happily open! thanks for reading! :)) <3

pt. 1 / pt. 2

[deconstructthesoup]

Personal Ranking of the Fantasy High Moms, From Worst to Best:

Arianwen Abernant: -19999/10. She's not as bad as Angwyn, since she's convinced herself she's a good mother, but her "I just want the best for you" shtick isn't any better, and the fact that she's ignorant about how horrible she is doesn't make up for years of neglect. And she also attempted to rope her daughters into raising a being of pure nightmares because she lost her status, so.

Donna Applebees: 0/10. Conservative, racist, judgmental, only loves her kids conditionally... you get the gist. Also, she's absolutely a Karen.

Hallariel Seacaster: 3/10. Yes, I know, she's a MILF, she's got such an iconic vibe, she's a badass with a sword, but none of that excuses years of being emotionally absent from your son's life. She's not a bad person, but she unfortunately doesn't know how to be a mom. Sorry, Hallariel. I wish I could rank you higher.

The Last Phoenix: 5/10. Bird. She's a bird. We don't know enough about her except for the fact that she is the last phoenix, she started out as a "haha Arthur Aguefort is a crazy motherfucker" gag, and she gave us the incredible gift that is Ayda. I cannot rank her fairly, but given that she is Ayda's mom, she goes on the list.

Roz Last-Name-Unknown: 6/10. Same deal with Gorbag---we don't know enough about her for me to properly rank her, but we do know that she was a teen mom, and she's made the choice to reconnect with her son and be in his life. Props for that.

Sandralynn Faeth: 7.5/10. I am ranking her realistically, but let it be known that I love her so much. She is such a beautiful example of a flawed person who consistently tries to be better, and even though she does relapse into old behaviors, she's still growing---and outside of the serial cheating (that is a response to trauma, by the way) and occasional lapses in social skills, she's a pretty damn good mom, all things considered.

Cathilda Ceili: 8/10. She's the parent that Fabian needed, even if he didn't always realize it. She's sweet, she's caring, and if anybody hurts her boy, she will fucking rock your shit. (Also, the reveal of Cathilda being an incredibly fearsome and ruthless pirate outside of Solace was one of my favorites.)

Wilma Thistlespring: 9/10. She's a caring and supportive mom who writes songs, is sex-positive, and loves her son! Again, she does need to recognize when she's embarrassing Gorgug, and she needs to recognize that he's gotta learn how to be angry, but still! We all love her!

Lydia Barkrock: 9.6/10. While she doesn't quite get the full score due to the fact that her son was briefly an ass, it clearly was not her fault, and from what we've seen of her, she is a fantastic mom. She's a badass disabled powerhouse who cooks incredible spreads and cares about her son and his friends a lot. I love her a lot. She's amazing.

Sklonda Gukgak: 10/10. She took that spot in her very first scene, where she poured water in her cereal so Riz could have milk in his, and she's been holding it up ever since. Despite the fact that she's constantly swamped with work, Sklonda is literally one of the best moms you could ever ask for. She deserves the world and it's a constant injustice that she's not getting it.

Bonus: Garthy O'Brien, while having transcended gender and therefore not being able to fit into either of the "mom/dad" rankings, is an 11/10 parent---not just to Ayda, but to everyone younger than them who they've essentially adopted. Words cannot express my adoration for this person.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Who did this to you?

Buck Cleven X Nurse! Reader

Summary: When a patient attack Buck's girl, he's worried about his girl.

Warning: violence/ blood/ use of Y/n/ choking/

Word count: 800 words.

Buck and Y/n were together, but they didn’t like to show it in public. Sometimes, at dances for example, they would dance together, but that was it. Since she was a nurse and he was a pilot, they were really busy all the time. Especially today, the 100th just came back from a bloody mission and Y/n had patient to treat. She was assigned on Edward Monroe’s case. He had pieces of flak in his leg, and he hit his head, so he was unconscious. The pieces were easy to remove, he had 4 big part and multiple small ones. Since he was unconscious, it was fast. But what Y/n didn’t know, was that the man was starting to wake up. Edward was afraid, he didn’t know where he was, and it made him panic.

The door flew open, and the men looked at the nurse that entered the room. She was in shock. ‘’Help, something happened’’ she panted. Buck and Bucky were the first one to get up. ‘’What happened?’’ Colonel Harding asked the nurse. ‘’A patient attacked Y/n, and we can’t get him off her’’ she said. As soon as the name of his girlfriend was mentioned, Buck started to run. When he entered the medical center, he saw the military police with a man, it was pure chaos. Bucky arrived a little bit after and went to talk to the M. P’S, Buck was looking for his girlfriend. ‘’Laura? Where’s Y/n?’’ he asked a nurse. She pointed to a small room; it was a big storage closet. He walked towards it, hoping his girl was okay. When he opened the door, he saw Y/n. Blood dripping from her nose, her eyes were filled with blood since the man choked her so hard. She had bruises on her neck, you could see his hands printed on her neck. When she looked at him, her heart sank.

‘’Oh, my darling, are you okay? What happened, who did this to you?’’ he kneeled in front of her. When she tried to talk, nothing came out, only raspy breaths. He had bruised her vocal cords. She took a piece of paper and wrote on it. ‘I’m better now that you’re here. Edward Monroe attacked me; he was unconscious and then he jumped at my throat.’ When Buck read this, his heart broke a little, but his fist clenched, that son of a bitch hurt his girl. Bucky came behind his friend, he jumped a little when he saw the state of Y/n. ‘’They’re going to arrest him for assault’’ he said. Y/n shook her head, trying to talk, but it was useless. She quickly wrote on another sheet of paper. ‘No! He was just scared. He didn’t mean to hurt me!’ Buck smiled when he read this. She was always so thoughtful and caring. ‘’Y/n, he almost killed you, he deserves it’’ Bucky said. Even though it pained her to admit it, he was right. She simply nodded as she got up, with the help of the two men. ‘’Here, I’ll take care of you’’ Buck said, walking towards an empty room filled with medical stuff. She sat on the bed as he opened the cabinets to take what he needed.

‘’Okay, try to talk, slowly’’ he said, gently holding her neck. She took a deep breath before trying to talk. ‘’Hi’’ her voice was raspy and breathy. ‘’My name is Y/n’’ she continued, still with her shaky, raspy voice. He encouraged her with a smile and small nods. ‘’It hurts’’ she whispered. ‘’I know, darling. You’re really brave. Don’t push yourself too much. We know you can talk, I’m proud of you’’ he said. She smiled and hugged him. She wanted to tell him how she was grateful for him and she wanted to thank him, but her voice didn’t allow it.

‘’You look better’’ Bucky sat on the couch as the couple smiled. ‘’Yeah, my voice is still sore’’ she said with a raspy voice. Her voice sounded like the voice you have after a cold. It was really better, but still it was painful for her to talk. ‘’Still, your eyes are less scary’’ he laughed. Y/n chuckled and looked at Buck, she smiled to him and took a sip of her drink. ‘’I’m happy to see her pretty eyes again’’ Buck confessed. Bucky smiled; he was happy to see his best friend happy with a woman.

[captainamericasmotercycle]

secretary

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warnings: smut, MINORS DNI, 18+, kind of dark!hotch, cheating themes, boss/secretary, p in v sex, cursing, office sex, semi-public sex, female reader (afab reader), dark themes

wc: 1.7k

a/n: if you do not like reading a boss/secretary relationship or cheating - DO NOT READ. i put warnings for a reason so please, if you know you’re not going to enjoy it, save yourself the time and skip over it. my writing is not for everyone. also I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING. just because i write about it does not mean i condone it in real life - all of my works are purely fictional for entertainment.

*smut under the cut

You began working as Aaron Hotchner’s secretary about 8 months ago.

When you first started at the BAU, it was an understatement to say you were intimidated, but as you broke down the emotional walls of your boss, everything became better.

You didn’t travel with the team, but you waited for their return from every case. But mostly Aaron’s return.

Anyone in a 10 mile radius could see the tension between you two, though you denied your crush on him, and him, you.

He would never admit his attraction to you, he was married for God’s sake! But his marriage was failing and everyone knew. While he suppressed his feelings for you, they only grew stronger, with every waking day.

But in your case, who wouldn’t fall for the strong, head-strong, tall, damaged, father?

Both of you kept your relationship professional, albeit, tonight in particular seemed different. Aaron was locked in his office as normal, and you worked at your desk in the bullpen, silently.

Except, you were the only two left on your floor. The clock on your computer shifted to 11:26 as you yawned. Scanning the room, you looked up to Aaron’s office, still seeing him hunched over his work.

Stalking up the stairs to the higher level of offices, you knocked softly on the door. A low, come in, followed.

You entered the room, he didn’t look up at you, but God, did he look hot.

“You need to go home, Agent Hotchner. It’s almost 11:30, I’m sure your wife and son are waiting for you,” he finally looked up from his papers.

“Jack’s at a friend’s tonight and Haley is out of town. I’m fine, go ahead and head out.”

You knew it was wrong but you felt bolder tonight, something took over you. You walked behind his desk, looming behind his chair, you set your hands on his shoulders, moving them slowly in a massaging manner, “You’re too tense, Agent Hotchner. You need to go home, too.”

He froze in his chair, is this some fantasy he’s hallucinating? Are you really here or is he just exhausted?

You lowered you hands to his pecs, leaning over his shoulder, “Come on, Agent, it’s late.”

This feels real, but is it?

He says your name firmly, but you don’t stop. You lightly kiss his cheek, feeling his stubble on your lips.

He knows it’s wrong, but he deserves this. He leans back into your touch as you kiss down his neck.

He pulls away from you and stands up. Grabbing your waist, he pulls your lips to his, harshly. Your hands rest on his torso as one of his rests behinds your head and the other on your ass.

As he deepens the kiss, he moves both hands to your ass, squeezing tightly, under your short skirt.

Picking you up with his brute strength, he sets you on his clean, organized desk. He pulls from your lips and gets down on his knees at the edge of the desk.

Yanking down your skirt and underwear, he shoves his head between your thighs, licking a rough stripe from your asshole to your clit.

He maneuvers his tongue between your folds at a rapid pace, provoking a roaring moan. Your clit throbs as he circles it with his tongue and sucks at it. You keep a firm grip on his hair, driving his face deeper into you.

He pushes you to an orgasm quicker than you’d like, you don’t want this to end. As you cum, your legs shake over his shoulders with pleasure.

He rises from your sex and presses a hard kiss to your lips. He forces off your blouse and bra, taking a breast into his mouth. He moans at the feeling, you feel the vibrations in your chest. Pulling away, he lightly grazes your nipple with his teeth.

Fiddling with his belt, he finally gets it off and nearly jumps out of his pants. He pumps his erection a couple of times before pushing it into you.

He grabs you hips, pulling you closer to him. Your hips slam into his. As he begins to thrust into you, he presses both his large hands to your tits, using them as a grip to move quicker.

Neither of you can barely contain your moans, screaming out into the empty office.

Your back arches off the desk, “Oh my fuck,” you shiver with arousal.

The quiet office, now becoming loud, would most have definitely caused an uproar if the office had been full.

He thrusts hard, hitting his pelvis to yours, which is most definitely going to bruise. As you approach another orgasm, he pulls out of you, making you gasp at the sudden loss of contact.

He flips you over and has you bent at the waist over his desk. He pulls his hand back and lands a firm, rough slap to your ass, leaving a red handprint. He smacks you another time and you moan out.

Aaron bends down to whisper in your ear, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for something like this.”

He shoves his cock into your cunt, creating a fast, but steady pace. He holds down your hips on the desk.

He lands another slap on your ass, “This is what you deserve, after walking around in your short skirts, teasing me during meetings, and getting me hard during work.”

Tears rolls down your cheeks, “I don’t regret any of it, Aaron,”

“We’re on first name basis, now, are we?”

You shivered at his gravelly voice, “No, sir,” stuttering out, he spanked you again.

“Good girl.”

As he continued to move, you felt his pace falter, he pulled out of you and finished himself over your red, handprint stained ass.

“Fuck,” he breathed out heavily, leaving back in his chair.

You stood from your position and rubbed your sore ass.

You stalked over to him, straddling yourself over his bare lap, you grab his tie, pulling yourself to his face. You kiss him gently on the mouth.

He wants to pull away but he just can’t. As you move in for another kiss he turns his head, “This is wrong, Y/N.”

“I know,”

“We shouldn’t be doing this, I’m married,”

“I know,”

“I need to stop,”

“Mhm,” you hummed as you placed soft kisses along his jawline.

You shifted your body over him, making him hard once again.

“Fuck it,” he lifted you from his lap onto his cock.

Holding your hips, he bounced you up and down his shaft. You kept your arms over his shoulders as you breathlessly rode him.

You rolled your hips over his and he whimpered. Fucking whimpered.

You kept going as he let out obscene sounds. As he was about to cum again, he pushed you off and stood up.

You stood vulnerably in front of him, fully nude, watching as he finished himself off over some blank paper. You watched his seed drench something that wasn’t you.

Why wouldn’t he just cum in you?

“Aaron, you don’t have to do that,” he came closer to you, his eyes dark.

“I do. I’m not trying to get my fucking secretary fucking pregnant,” you rolled your eyes at him and went for another kiss, he hesitantly reciprocated.

God, this is so wrong.

He picked you up, shoving your back against the wall. He had you pinned between him and the wall, your legs around his waist. Nipping at your neck, you arched your back. He teased your entrance with his tip, just grazing over the sensitive areas.

He did this until you begged him to get inside of you, “Please, Aar-, Sir, I need you,”

“Again?” Letting out a strangled moan, his voice got heavy, “Use your words,”

“Yes, fuck, I need you,”

He slowly let you drift onto his cock. Keeping you up against the wall, he was practically fucking you into the wall, his hips moved at a rapid pace.

Your tits sprung up and down, forcing a tugging feeling on your torso, only adding to you pleasure.

You watched Aaron’s face as he fucked you. You watched the sweat bead on his forehead and the rough ridges between his furrowed brows. You watched as his focus on your tits only grew.

It was like a scene right out of a porno.

Your walls clenched around his hard cock, and he pulled out once again. He dropped you down from the wall and pushed you down to your knees.

You stared as his impressive endowment before taking it into your mouth quickly. He watched from above as you looked up at him.

He watched your eyes flutter and your pretty little mouth around him. He watched as you worked up and down his shaft, only growing closer to an orgasm.

He felt a knot in his stomach, knowing he was about to cum again. With your mouth still on him, he let go, his cum shooting into you, hitting the back of your throat. He watched as you pulled back at the contact and swallowed.

You pulled away from him and quietly gathered your things and got dressed. Before walking out of his office he landed another slap on your ass.

You stopped at the door and turned to him, “Call me, if you ever get bored of your wife.”

Walking down from his office and across the bullpen, Aaron watched you sway to the elevators from his window.

As you stepped out of the elevators, you said goodbye to the night time security guards on the way to the parking garage. They did not miss your completely disheveled look and slight limp in your walk.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“I’m perfect,” you smiled at them as you left.

The next morning, you walked into work, with a smile on your face and the tightest skirt you could manage.

Aaron peered through his office window, watching you flirt with Spencer. As Spencer looked away from you with a blush, you looked up to Aaron’s office.

He wanted to take you right there. He craved you. And he was so fucked.

[dryadalisliv]

Merthur ao3 recs

The trouble with Daisies 23.4k words

Merlin is just settling into his new role as Court Sorcerer and trying to figure out where he's exactly standing with Arthur when he finds himself adopting a dog completely by accident.

A dog who seems to hate the king with a burning passion.

Arthur is far from amused.

---

The moon stays warped in silence 12.6k words

"What is wrong with me Ma?" asks little Merlin his mother. "What is wrong with me?" asks Arthur Pendragon to the moon. About monsters and their hearts and how they love life so much that it hurts.

---

Little ones 14.5k words

“Did you just say you found two children in Arthur’s bed, Merlin?” Gaius gave him The eyebrow. Or, when two children who look weirdly similar to Merlin and Arthur appear in the prince's chambers, they have to find out where they came from. In which secrets get revealed, families founded and chaos ensues!

---

Sunny in Camelot 14.6k words

"Merlin," Uther says, "For your alleged crimes, I would normally sentence you to death by fire. But, because my son has requested it… I have granted you a fair trial. All witnesses and involved parties shall state their cases, and then a verdict will be reached. Is this understood?"

"Yes sire."

"Now you will each tell me, in your own account, what on earth happened this week."

"Your majesty, it all began Tuesday…"

---

The Hunt for Red Emrys 27.9k words

King Arthur sets out to keep his promise to the spirit of the Druid boy by repealing his father's ban on magic. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done, for reasons including but not limited to the following:

(1) He can't change the law until he understands magic better, but no sorcerer is willing to explain magic to him until he changes the law;

(2) The sorcerers all have some strange obsession with Merlin, which is awakening all sorts of feelings in Arthur that he really doesn't fancy examining too closely;

(3) He is starting to feel like the butt of some Druid-population-wide inside joke involving the mysterious phenomenon called Emrys; and

(4) Oh yeah, Morgana is still trying to kill him.

Thus he embarks on a journey of discovery, diplomacy, accountability, and self-improvement, and maybe even falls in love along the way.

---

Forgotten Memories 8k words

Relying on pure luck and Merlin’s inexistent ability to keep a secret was not working any longer. So, Merlin figured better to be prepared and memorized a spell that could erase short-term memories. Honestly, he’d meant it as an emergency protocol, he had no idea how he’d become so careless that he needed it so often. It wasn’t his fault Arthur seemed to be paying way too much attention to him lately. Look, Merlin was just trying to survive while protecting his prince, he hadn’t done anything to deserve all this stress!

Or the 5 times Merlin erased Arthur’s memory of his magic and the 1 time he let him remember.

---

The Laughter From the Next Room 24.5k words

A small ball hovered in her hand, shining with a silver-blue light. It floated there, getting brighter and brighter before dimming again. Wisps of cloud swirled at its center. It was pure magic. And the breath was stolen from Arthur’s lungs. “I thought you’d recognize it. He said it was warm. He said it reminded him of home.”

It has been one year since Merlin's death when Arthur meets Morgana on the battlefield. Somehow, between all the guilt and shame, he discovers that his sister knew Merlin better than he ever did - and ever would.

^^

( actually one of the best fics i have ever read, and it made me sob and ugly cry, my god!)

[gennemi]

𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒊𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒌 𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

A/N: I enjoyed writing these cute and silly headcanons of my favorite swordsman Dracule Mihawk✨. These are just headcanons I had in my head! 🥰

Warnings: Pure Fluff, little bit of silliness, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Mihawk being best husband and father.

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

.He gives off the vibes of possibly being attracted to someone who is like him per say, one who prefers the quiet like him. Considering he's a man of a few words In a way.

. He's a big softy. He won't admit it though, but he's got a big soft spot for you. Always acting soft with you. Very rarely ever gets mad at you.

. When he does get mad at you, it's because he's probably being overprotective. He just wants you to be safe. Doesn't ever want you to be in harm's way, so sometimes he can be a bit menacing with it, but the man means well, he doesn't want to lose you.

. Very ✨sassy✨ he was very sassy in the Live Action. So he can be very sassy, especially if he's woken up from his naps. Just let the poor man nap.

. Speaking of naps, he deserves them. He probably doesn't get a lot of sleep at night, at most maybe 3 or 4 hours. He sleeps a whole lot better at night with you next to him than he will if you aren't.

. He may not vocalize it a lot, but he does love you. He's one of those that doesn't vocalize that he loves you out loud a lot. But possibly he shows it with gifts that he brings back when he comes home from long trips.

. He would be the best dad to his future kids!! A very strict dad though, with certain rules that he makes to keep his kids safe. GIRL DAD VIBES!!! I don't make the rules.

. He just has these girl dad vibes to him, he would want to be a girl dad. But doesn't care what the gender is at the same time, he will still love his child(ren).

. If he has a daughter, he will be way over protective over her, like very. If he has a son he will still be an overprotective father, when his son is old enough he will teach him self defense, he will also teach his daughter self defense but will still be overprotective.

.if you two do start a family, and you fall pregnant, be prepared for Mihawk to be overbearing, he just wants to protect you more since you are carrying a baby.

. He will take care of you, feet or back is sore? He will rub your back and feet for you. Are you craving something? He's making it for you. He will also do that one thing you see dads do on tiktok: slowly lift the belly up to relieve some pressure on your sore back. He will for sure do that for you.

. When it's time for you to give birth, he's there the whole time you are in labor, not once leaving your side. He wants to be the best supportive husband he can be. He feels so bad that you are in so much pain, he whispers soothing words to you while letting you literally squeeze the life out of his hand.

. If you two have a girl, he's over the moon. Loves her so much, she would look like a spitting image of him, if you two have a son he's still over the moon, and he will also look like a spitting image of Mihawk.

. But if you two end up having twins! A boy and a girl! Man is ecstatic, definitely for sure over the moon. And his genes would definitely be strong; they would both definitely look like a spitting image of Mihawk.

. Overall Mihawk would be the best husband, and father to yall's future kids.

[aboxofcereales]

I’m slowly working on a piece of paper about changes in Wyll’s character between early access and game release, but I don’t really know when I’m going to finish it, in the process I’m more and more fascinated by potential story of Wyll’s parentage and their own story. Although mostly this is purely headcanon, but may I suggest the following:

There are few things we learn about Wyll’s mother during the game.

After stumbling upon Arabella in Shadow-Cursed Lands, a following dialogue may happen: “You've talked about your father, but not your mother. Why's that?” “Because there's nothing to tell. She died when I was born. As a boy, my bond with father was too deep to miss the mother I never had. Now, well - I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about my mother. What life would've been like if she'd lived.”

During romance scene in Act 3, Wyll says: “My mother always said the Wilden Oak's acorns held just a touch of wishing magic.”

There are two weapons, belonging to Ulder Ravengard, which describe some details about Wyll’s parents - Duke Ravengard's Longsword (can be found on Ravengard himself) and Ravengard's Scourger (can be found at High Security Vault 5 in The Counting House): Longsword: “Cradling his newborn son awkwardly, the Duke's face pulled into a rictus of misery. His love Francesca smiled at him, briefly, and died. He stared at her until the boy cried, and he told the boy it would be all right, though he himself did not believe it.” Scourger: “Duke Ravengard's father was the sort of man who works with his hands, and communicates in grunts. In his heart his son vowed to do better. But when Wyll was born, Ravengard felt a strange gravity that drew him away from his son.”

To sum up, what we learn in-game is that Wyll’s mother was named Francesca, she died giving birth to Wyll, Ulder loved her and their son, and tried his best to raise Wyll well.

Ulder’s parenting style deserve its own piece, but I think its obvious that he cares for Wyll deeply, though often failed to show it, acted to strictly, to righteously. Ultimately, it fall down on Ulder character, the “Murder in Baldur’s Gate” describes him as following: “Blaze (Major) Ulder Ravengard is the incarnation of militarism. The only beauty he appreciates is precision, and the only quality he values is utility. He believes that personal ornamentation other than military insignia is a waste. A meticulous man, he forgets nothing and forgives less. Ravengard has never married and has no interest in domestic matters. Someone might consider him handsome, if not for his constant scowl and many scars.

Blaze Ravengard is Marshal Abdel Adrian’s right hand man. He is both the second Highest ranking officer in the flaming fist and the warden of Wyrm’s rock. Ravengard’s soliders do not love him. They do respect his leadership, however, and pay for it with their obedience, which is exactly how Ravengard prefers things.

Naturally stolid and terse, Ravengard is slow to speak and make decisions in any arena expect the battlefield. Once he decides on a course of action, Ravengard is relentless in it’s pursuit. He believes the Flaming Fist is the Gate’s backbone and the key to the city’s strength.

With the Death of Marshal Abdel Adrian Ravengard has risen to the Rank of Marshal of the Flaming Fists.”

What’s interesting, its noted that Ulder Ravengard was never married, and the longsword description calls Francesca Ulder’s love, not bride or wife. This more then likely mean that Wyll was born out of wedlock, as Wyll is about 16-17 during  the death of Abdel Adrian.

When talking with Counseller Florrick, when Wyll is reveled to be Ravengard’s son, he says “The circumstance of my birth is no matter of pride for neither me nor my father.” This may refer to Wyll’s birth leading to his mother’s death or the fact that Wyll’s technically was born a bastard. In the latter case, Wyll’s mom might as well have been a worker at  Sharess' Caress, with whom Ulder could have had a one night stand, but its specifically stated that Francesca was loved by Ulder, and of what I read about the Grabd Duke he seems to be the man who would marry her out of duty and responsibility of getting her pregnant. So there should be another reason behind it.

 There’s this banter between Shadowheart and romanced-Wyll:

“Someone of your social stature, Wyll, are they typically allowed to pursue their heart whims as they like?” “I don't have to ask for permission if that's what you mean.” “Really? I'm surprised, I thought dowries, alliances and old blue blood feuds might have to be balanced against your desires.” “I'm my own man, Shadowheart, in this sense at least.”

Wyll’s a hopeless romantic, who wishes for a happily ever after with her one true love, and Ulder apparently never minded the potential social status, despite him and Wyll being a high-ranking member of society.

Of course, Ulder’s marital status and Wyll existing can be explained by the fact that Wyll being Grad Duke Ulder Ravengard’s  son was a part of the character rewrite. It was datamined before that originally was supposed to be a great-grandson of Duke Eltan, the founder of the Flaming Fist and a Grand Duke of the city of Baldur's Gate in the 1300s DR. And the bits of this storyline are still presented in the game: Fist Art Cullagh with his original writ of duty, signed by Eltan himself, pre-final part of Wyll quest taking place in the Iron Throne, where Eltan nearly assassinated.

Currently, House Eltan, the descendants of Duke Eltan, is one of the noble patriar families. The Forgotten Realms wiki states that: “The family held partial financial ownership of the Flaming Fist mercenary company. At one point however, they were forced to sell their interest to help pay significant debts they had incurred.”. Which I believe corelates with what EA!Wyll spoke of his father (the man saw any shining bauble he liked and took it, and my hand were ever so stinky or smt along those line).

So, what if Wyll is still Elatn’s great-grandson through hid mother? What if somewhere along 1460s DR Francesca Eltan, a granddaughter of a once Grand Duke of the city and a member of  patriar family, met Ulder Ravengard, a son of a poor blacksmith and a mercenary of The Flaming Fist, steadily ascending through its ranks? What if Franceesca taught the stern and disciplined Ulder to dance, read to him her favorite stories and poems under the Wilden Oak, made him on other things then duty and order? What is if their time together resulted in Francesca getting pregnant with Wyll? What her family did not approve of the union due to Ulder being merely a mercenary, who hailed from the Lower City, or they wished to marry her off to someone who could aid with the family’s financial problems? What if Francesca ran away, hoping that the birth of a grandchild could convince her family to attend their wedding afterwards? What if Wyll’s love of dancing and dreaming came from the mother he never knew?

[ineedtherapydesperately]

I'M BACK ON MY SONG FIC PROMPT THINGO BULLSHIT 🫶

dear theodosia ella thoughts inspired by the idea @strugglingsapphic added to my crack hamilton post :D

the theodosia part is dedicated to chloe purely so ella sings "loOK aT mY sON" at chad. this is canon and I don't make the rules. ( @bigmilk-13 please make it a presidential decree or smth)

*father's name

but like ughhh chloe is ella's BABY, her little pumpkin, and ella will do ANYTHING to keep her from witnessing the horrors of the real world. every time chloe cries, ella can feel her heart break a little more. she'll make sure that her little chloe NEVER has to want for anything, that she NEVER has to experience the way ella grew up. and if chloe ends up a little too spoiled, a little too opinionated, well, that's okay—as long as she doesn't have to face a dark and lonely and cold world. as long as she has people around her who love her for who she is, who support her and who would never abandon her.

ella does it for chloe, maybe a little bit for herself, but also for bridget—bridget, her once bright star and first love, the one who grew cold and callous and jaded because she was betrayed one too many times, and it's all ella's fault goddamnit. but she can't change the past, so she'll make sure that history isn't repeated through her daughter. for bridget.

domestic life really never was ella's style, not with the way she grew up. she hates it, hates the false pretense of 'family', she hates the pain, the terror and the utter helplessness she was made to suffer through daily. but for chad, for chloe, ella is willing to put her reservations aside. she's willing to be as domestic as it gets, to be the mother she never had. and, well, if her thoughts sometimes stray to a younger bridget, crying in ella's arms after another harsh few days spent with the queen of hearts, well, nobody needs to know. but know this. ella vows to be a better mother than the ones she saw growing up.

and god, whenever ella sees chloe smile?? she falls apart, overwhelmed by the love and protectiveness she feels. this is who she's fighting for, this is who she's protecting from the world. this is her little girl, her baby, and she will always fight to protect that smile. ella thinks back on her younger self, so determined to avoid domesticity and family and commitment. she was so stupid, back then. she won't make the same mistakes again. she can't make the same mistakes again.

ella and chad feels 🫶

this is ella's firstborn, her first attempt at breaking the cycle. chad is ella's everything, her little prince, her baby boy. every time she looks at him, she can only feel an immense surge of pride—something stronger than pride, even. he's so charming, that chad, even as just a mere baby. every smile, every giggle, undoes ella and she's so, so enchanted with her baby.

she's going to give him everything she possibly can, all the opportunities she missed out on growing up. the friends, the food, the money, the material goods—anything and everything. chad will NEVER be left wanting for anything, he'll always be warm and well fed and have a place to sleep. ella vows this. and if he ends up growing up a bit too spoiled, like all the royalty she hated back in the merlin academy? ella ignores it, because he deserves the chance to just be normal and have a normal childhood, without the pressure of anything else. because chad is the crown prince, and ella has seen first hand what that pressure can do to someone. ella has seen just what happens when someone succumbs it, and she has seen the ramifications of not having someone to lean on when it happens. so ella makes sure that chad has a strong support system, because this is her damn son and she's going to make sure that history never repeats itself again.

daddy issues!! (no but fr a few days ago I very loudly whispered 'daddy issues' during the part in hamilton when he says 'don't call me son!' the silence was palpable and I'm still embarrassed bc it wasn't supposed to come out that loudly)

but wow, look at ella go, breaking the cycle once again! she'll always be there for her babies, because she grew up lost, with an absent father who was never there when she needed him the most. ella refuses to let this be reality for her children, and if she has to break into the council room to steal christopher from the meeting so that he can say goodnight to their babies and tuck them into bed with her, she fucking will. the council is used to it by now, and are no longer offended—it's hard to be, when christopher drops his charming demeanour and threatens the first and last person to complain about ella, at sword point. he leaves a small, barely noticeable but definitely present scar as a reminder.

and sometimes ella sits in on those very meetings as well, because she's determined to change the very foundation of cinderellasburg, to keep her children safe, to make sure that nobody else ever has to grow up like she did. and the council doesn't protest, which probably has nothing to do with the way christopher casually twirls a dagger between his fingers, eyeing each and every one of them with a pleasant smile and a threatening gleam in his eyes. and ella can't help but feel a bit bittersweet, because finally, she's changing the system, the way she and bridget had always dreamt about back in the merlin academy. but there is no bridget by her side, not anymore. and ella can't blame her for that.

chad and chloe are the new blood, the next generation. the united states of auradon has been around only slightly longer than they've been alive—it's literally a new nation, and they're the future leaders. ella will make sure that she hands down a good kingdom to them, and if she has to bleed for it, she doesn't care. if she has to die for it, so be it. cinderellasburg will uphold it's damn morals and convictions, even if it's the last thing she ever does. because her children, her little prince and her little pumpkin, deserve nothing less. she raises them to be good people, to have strong morals, to always, always, do good.

which is why ella refuses to kneel. she holds her head high, and accepts the face of death, staring the consequences of her mistakes and inaction in the eyes, and she does it for her children. for chad and chloe. for chloe and chad.

this accidentally turned too angsty but I just had to slip in some bridgella oops 🎀 doomed wlw you have my heart

this has been marinating in my drafts for several days now I have so many songs in my drafts but none of them are comprehensible so. they might get released in the future who knows

edit bc i forgot auradon prep didn't exist yet :D if you came from a repost mb g

[emilykaldwen]

Okay but although the episode had some MAJOR flaws can we please talk about Sunfyre and Aegon because his SMILE when he saw his dragon I can't

Don't mind me and my table flipping and my shattered hopes.

Look, I had one wishlist item: To start the season with a mirror of the Rhaenyra and Syrax flight with Aegon and Sunfyre. It would have been a fantastic re-introduction to the character, show their bond, show that out of everything that Aegon fucks up at/struggles with/deals with hating him, there is one unconditional love in his life, and that is the bond between him and his dragon.

Condal wants to go on about how the Sunfyre thing was TG propaganda and I ask: why? There is no reason for it. This is a family war that decimates the realm, and I appreciate the show doing the Rhaenys and Aegon both hugging and smiling and clinging to their dragons but god. WE DESERVED MORE.

Aegon was denied a cradle egg, he was denied the trappings of what is the role of a first born son in this society. He went and claimed Sunfyre, the literal sun in Aegon's life. The one who does not seek to make him a puppet, to put him in the crosshairs of his sister, how accepts Aegon, unconditionally, and shares a bond with him that the records say was unparalleled.

Yeah, sure, fine, call it propaganda, but why does it have to be made up? What's the harm? What's wrong with, if you're stripping everything else from Aegon's character per the record, that he can't, at least, have this one thing? Why can't we show that, much how Rhaenyra and Syrax have a bond, that Aegon and his dragon do too.

Rhaenyra doesn't address Aegon as her brother. It's Alicent's Son, but is it not more compelling, tragic, fraught, that they're both dragonriders with good bonds with their dragons? That it hints to the fact that one does not need to be purely Valyrian to have a bond with a dragon - because I'm pointing to Jace/Vermax and Luke/Arrax, who are both Half Valyrian themselves.

one of the first things I wrote in Oct of 2022 was Aegon and Sunfyre for my fic. That was the core in me discovering Aegon's character. This fuck up messy idjit and his bond, his love, his tie with Sunfyre the Golden. And so the thirty seconds we get where Sunfyre comes in and senses his rider's distress, and nuzzles him (I WROTE THAT I WROTE THAT EXACT EXCHANGE AAAH VINDICATION) and Aegon embraces him. The smile on his face.

Sunfyre loves me. Sunfyre chose me. Sunfyre found me worthy as his first rider. Sunfyre, nestled warm and safe in his chest. Better than anything else he seeks to fill the gaping holes inside him as his mother claws out everything in him.

Sunfyre doesn't find him a nuisance. Sunfyre doesn't find him an issue. Sunfyre doesn't seek to shove him in a dark corner to be forgotten about until they need him.

Sunfyre accepts him, loves him, for him.

[marthawrites]

Darkened Corridors

Aemond Targaryen x reader

word count: 2.3k+

About: After avoiding Aemond for what he deems too long, he finds you to remind you what you’ve been missing out on.

Includes: explicit sexual content! (featuring minor religious undertones, the dagger is foreplay, Aemond really loves p*ssy)

Note: hello reader happy new year! I’ve come to understand that sunday is a holy day so it only makes sense to share some holy text with you all. desperate Aemond is one of my faaavorites. there’s just something about someone who’s seemingly always in control losing control. thank you to all the content creators, writers, and lovely readers for continuing to inspire me to write and share these fics! ♥  have an idea? I’m open to requests!

Now cross posted to ao3 as well!

-

"Walking the corridors this late is dangerous. Hasn't anyone ever told you?" An arm snaked firmly around your chest: a forearm pressed up between your breasts and its hand covered your mouth to muffle any sound you might have made. A glint of steel shone in the torchlight. The wielder held it dangerously close, the point cold against the soft flesh beneath your bottom rib.

He guided you deeper into a blackened corner; two shadows intertwined. "How unfortunate it'd be for something to happen to you, my lady," his voice was a low purr by your ear. He held you tight against his front, arms taut to keep you from squirming.

Slowly his hand relaxed around your face and once he was satisfied there were no loiterers his hold finally eased.

Turning around you stared up at the face you were purposely avoiding: single eye dilated to the low light, eye patch, and silver hair hanging down the front of his Targaryen blacks. You hissed between your teeth, staying quiet, "Seven Hells, Aemond!"

"If you had been in your room I wouldn't have had to stalk you down," is all he replied, sharply angled face seeming all the harder in the shadows and scarce torchlight. "What's my favorite bastard girl doing wandering around so late, anyways, hm?" he asked, idly twirling a lock of your hair around his finger.

"You know I hate when you call me that," you blushed furiously. "Especially coming from a one-eyed kinslayer. If you weren't born a prince you'd be in no better position than me."

"Mmh," he huffed a half smirk. "Feisty tonight, my dear."

In one hand you absolutely hated the sway Aemond had over you. In the other you desperately loved it. Your heart thudded loudly in the quiet stone hall and your hands squeezed into fists to stop them shaking in need to press beneath his leathers and slide along his abdomen; at the mere idea, warmth already collected between your thighs.

You were his secret. And him, yours. No one could know about your midnight trysts and adventures on Vhagar. It could ruin his reputation. And, without a doubt, it would ruin your purely political and less than ideal marriage.

Yet here you were, a servant girl for the Queen, doing your best to work even though her son had you nearly swooning each time he looked at you a little too long; the memory of his kiss, fingers, and body never far from your forefront.

You were the bastard by birth, but he embodied the title by attitude.

"My husband has grown suspicious. Not of you exactly, but of another man. I can't keep this up. This marriage saved my family." You tried to sound sure of yourself, looking up at him with an angle of jaw that made him want to squeeze it.

"He doesn't deserve you," he whispered, hand silently shifting to his dagger. Hushed as a prayer he unsheathed it and trailed it up along your body. Knowing. Teasing. Watching as goosebumps pebbled your skin.

A soft whine escaped your lips. "Aemond, please. You know I can't help it when you act like this," you croaked in reply. Wanton tension coiled in your core to the point of trembling. Pitiful.

His eye locked on yours before zeroing in on your mouth, and lower still to your perked nipples showing clearly through your dress. "I know,” he mocked. “Such a shame that you get wet as a maiden for a dangerous man, when your lord husband is soft as a summer fawn." With the barest pressure, the tip of his blade pressed up beneath your chin, forcing your full attention back up to him and not whatever you were pretending to look at instead. "And you've been avoiding me for... how many days now?"

Aemond Targaryen seemed to barely be holding on. You shuddered in his intensity. His scent. The sigil of his house sewed into his leathers; something so close and so far from your reach, something that might have been in a different life. Everything about him tonight was aflame. His eye, hair, touch -- desperate for you as you were for him.

"Too many," you said upwards, lids heavy as you gave him a slow, sad smile. "But my husband will know..."

"And if he says anything I'll make sure he won't have the chance to utter another word about it." He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to yours, 'mmh'ing at the sensation.

His mouth was so soft against yours, lips eager and relaxed alike. As soon as your tongues slid against one another, you gently, delicately, gripped the handle of his dagger and lowered it from where it'd been pointing all the while. Together you sheathed it. Now free, both his hands pressed up your sides, over your breasts, until one held your jaw and the other your neck, biting over your bottom lip. You whimpered.

"When's the last time he fucked you?" Aemond asked between kisses, bodies hot with roaring blood pressed firmly together.

"Two weeks ago," you muttered, eyes growing hazy with need.

He scoffed. "Two fucking weeks... He really doesn't deserve you." Only the muffled noises of you and the prince filled this corridor of the Red Keep: there wasn’t another soul around. Grabbing you around the waist he pushed you against the wall and dipped into the crook of your neck. He kissed, and bit, and sucked, lips tenderly brushing over any part of skin he might have nipped too roughly. He kicked your feet apart and one of his thighs nestled between your legs.

The stone wall chilled your back through your dress, and Aemond’s front seared against the full front of you. Your mind was entirely blank save for the young prince, focused on only him. Both your hands slid beneath the undershirt tucked into his trousers, palms flat and fingers splayed wide as you pressed up his slim hips and lean abdomen. “I’ve been avoiding you because each time I see you, I want only this. And more. You live in my head like the foulest demon,” you admitted through soft moans. Without entirely realizing it, you ground slowly against his thigh, pulling him closer against you by his belt. 

That elicited a groan from him. “I’ll kill him. What do you think, my sweet little flame? I grow tired of sharing you.”

You were entirely drunk on him; buzzing, spinning, overwhelmed. "I think I'm going to burn forever with the way you've planted lust in me," you said, sighing blissfully despite talking about burning in the hells for an eternity; you mirrored all of his kisses and rewarded his lovebites with pink scratches.

"When mother makes us pray to the Seven my mind often drifts to that of you. Wicked things. It makes the time go by much faster... and much easier to endure," he said against your skin; jaw, neck, chest. His mouth lowered as his hands slid up the curved slopes of your sides, pushing up beneath your breasts just as his breath warmed the modest swath of your cleavage.

You arched up into him, standing on tippy toes as your eyes fluttered closed. "Aemond...," you gasped, looking down to his bent silver head in time to watch his fingers curl beneath your dress' neckline. You couldn't help the moan that tore from your throat as he yanked the material down, cool night air shocking against the fullness of your bared breasts. Your hands went to his head, fingernails scraping through his hair to his scalp.

Hot mouth wrapped around one nipple, sucking with immediate need. A shiver ran up and down your spine. He released you only to do it again, releasing for a second time to lick over the soft swell, and suckling for a third time. He kissed inward to the center of your chest, tongue trailing along, to repeat his attentions to your other budded nipple.

Whimpering, your head tilted back against the unforgiving wall, grinding against his thigh firmer now, quicker, more needful. You gasped his name so quietly into the dark you weren't sure he'd heard you over his ministrations.

"It's too quiet for you to be getting so loud. I've barely yet touched you... Once those pretty thighs are wrapped around my head the entire hall will hear."

His words sent you spiraling, already barely hanging onto reality. "Let them hear," you breathed, daring and bold.

"Lecherous girl," he said, smug. "This way." Quiet as a ghost he fixed your bodice and turned both of you on your heels into a corner you didn't know existed. Had it always been there? Pushing a tapestry aside he lead you through. "It's dark all the way through. Keep close and hold my hand. This leads to my chambers."

Within a few moments another tapestry was pushed aside and you were in Aemond's private quarter. The familiarity of it put you at ease; though, it didn’t last long. 

Hands immediately squeezed over your ass, soft flesh yielding beneath his firm palms. He languidly kneaded the relaxed muscle while backing you up against his desk. “And to think you’ve been ignoring me while I’ve been dreaming about your cunt... fucking my hand at the memory of you.” 

Lightening webbed through your entire body, electrifying even the smallest places. “Oh will you shut up about that? I already told you my reasoning,” you mewled, trying so hard to be defiant even as he sat you atop his desk and spread your legs open around his waist. Lascivious.

“No. You’ve chosen to disregard me at all costs. And I’m here to remind you what you’ve been avoiding.” He knelt on the floor in front of you, effortlessly bunching your skirts up as high as they would go. Wasting little time he tugged off your smallclothes. Both arms wrapped around your hips, and he pulled you forward to the edge of the wooden desk until you were at the perfect angle for his mouth. A sigh shuddered from him as he took in your glistening slick; voracious. “This...,” he growled, licking fire up the fullness of your slit. “Is the only thing I wish to pray to.”

You almost choked. One hand squeezed into the hair at the side of his head while the other pushed down against the solid wood to support you. He drew your swollen, throbbing clit into his mouth and every single nerve in your body vibrated with pleasure. Your head tilted back as the Targaryen prince ate you like he was fucking starving.

A string of mumbled moans broke from your throat, completely incomprehensible. Rolling your head forward you looked down at him: kneeling, desperate, and without inhibition. "Yes, my prince... don't stop.. please, don't stop...," you encouraged to him as if in private prayer of your own; pulling and guiding his head along with your desire.

Alternating between long, slow licks of your folds, and quick, tight flicks of your clit, Aemond meant to not stop until you were quivering. Perhaps even beyond. Wet and sloppy as it sounded, he was wholly practiced. Unhindered by the drenched noises from his lewd affection, he tirelessly worked his jaw until both your hands tangled in his moonlight hair.

His hands stayed anchored around your hips and thighs, refusing to slide them into you; the sensation of the first stretch of you would be saved, tonight, for only his rigid need.

"Come, my darling girl. Come on my tongue so I can stuff my cock in this sweet little cunt," he mumbled between kisses, and flicks, and sucks, groaning with his own pleasure at giving you pleasure.

In a moment your entire body arched and flexed, and in the next you shuddered with release. Orgasm turned your bones to putty.

Aemond stood, and in a shuffle of arms and hips he was out of his clothes in seconds. A sheen of sweat shone on his chest, the low muscles of his belly already flexed with barely reined need; his length stiff to the point of discomfort.

With shaky hands you helped him unlace your bodice and dress, shrugging out of it so you were both bare to each other.

He grabbed a hip with one hand and a breast with the other, pinching and rolling and teasing the nipple. "Look at me as I claim you," he rasped, feeling you part your legs for him as your eyes fixed on his one.

You both gasped as he took you in a single forward thrust, your body wet and eager for his solid length. "Oh fu-," you bit your lip, unable to make words.

He pulled back until only his tip was inside you, before snapping his hips forward again. He did it again, and again, and again. Each time a slightly different angle, a slightly different speed, purposely stretching you out to hit different spots. "There it is...," he growled as you jolted, cockhead hitting and dragging along your deepest, most sensitive spot. He absolutely ravished it.

Neither of you were going to last long.

Your fingernails raked down his entire front; from the tops of shoulders, to his collarbone, pectorals, down his abdomen. Welts swelled in your wake. You finally stopped as you held onto his ass, denting half moons into the muscled flesh.

He hissed, pace growing wild as he chased his high. "Come on my cock. Now."

Tension snapped in your belly and bliss overtook all of your senses, weightless.

As soon as you began rippling around his girth he pulled out with an unrestrained moan, cock twitching as he shot his load over your heaving breasts and clenching belly.

You both collapsed into each other, sweat and seed slick between your bodies. With lazy satisfied smiles you slowly began kissing, enjoying each other unhurried, now.

"I really shall murder your husband," he said softly, with meaning, pressing his forehead to yours.

A small laugh sounded in your throat. "All I hear are threats," you replied teasingly, but also with meaning.

Stepping back be carefully helped you off the table, guiding you to his bed where you both fell. The moon shone high and he kept you with him until the young hours of the morning, sending you away wholly blissed out and sated.

-

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings ♥

masterlist

[anathemaspeaks]

what was i made for?

character(s): toji fushiguro synopsis: toji doesn't believe he deserves love - until you come along. word count: 0.6k warning(s): none, it's purely fluff a/n: tried something new lemme know how you feel about thisss

reblogs, follows, and likes are appreciated :)

i used to float, now i just fall down i used to know, but i'm not sure now what was i made for?

toji who thinks he is not worthy of love. he is not a man deserving enough to have someone to care for him, someone who chooses to stay with him simply because they want to, not because they gain something out of it. all he did was cause pain, anyways. he was better off alone.

what was i made for?

his path had been one of solitude for god knows how long. looked down upon by everyone, barely surviving physically and mentally - a man, no, a monster who gave up his own son. people like him don't get second chances.

nobody can love a monster. nobody even wants to be around one.

taking a drive, i was an ideal looked so alive, turns out i'm not real just something you paid for

toji who had no one left in this world, nothing to live for, nothing but a shell of the man he used to be - the man he could have been. he was useless. empty. a man without a purpose. someone else's puppet. he didn't have any power over his own life. he was pathetic.

what was i made for? cause i don't know how to feel but i wanna try

vacant, brutal words engraved onto his soul. he was a monster, and he always will be. that is just how his life will be - his destiny. he would just be alive, never quite living, silently wishing he could end it all.

i don't know how to feel but someday, i might

and then you - who crashes into his life in all your frustratingly captivating glory and finds a home in his heart. you thought toji fushiguro was no monster, he was just a man who had been hurt and misunderstood far too many times. a broken man. you saw right through his tough façade. you were the first person who showed him how it felt to be seen as something other than a fraud of a human.

when did it end? all the enjoyment i'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriend it's not what he's made for what was i made for?

falling in love with you was the easiest thing he ever had to do. you, with your kind eyes and gentle smile. you, with your warm words and and comforting presence. you, who never pitied him. quite the opposite, really. a man who had been through so much, and who still fought so hard every single day, how could you not be wonderstruck and completely infatuated by him?

you, the only person who made him feel safe.

cause i don't know how to feel but i wanna try

toji, who would rather die than ever see you cry. toji, who doesn't really know what love is, but gives you the whole world. toji, who isn't used to healthy communication, but for you, he tries. toji, who still has a lot to learn, but is perfect in your eyes. toji, who is only happy when he's with you. toji, who is always there for you. toji hadn't been sure of anything in his life until you.

i don't know how to feel but someday, i might

toji who gets his spark back. he knows who he is, and it's all because of you. toji who fixes his life, but can he even call it his when it's all for you? toji who doesn't even have to think twice about it when he asks you to marry him.

and you don't have to think twice about it when you say yes.

think i forgot how to be happy something i'm not, but something i can be

toji who would gladly spend the rest of his life with you. he was a man who had nothing, but with you in his arms, he has the whole world. a man considered to be stoic and unaffectionate, absolute putty in your hands. you would always have him wrapped around your finger.

and he would have it no other way.

something i wait for something i'm made for

toji, who finally gets the happy ever after he thought he didn't deserve.

this is all based on a true story btw, we're getting married soon 💋