#now he is a king and he doesn’t want to be

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

Knight in Shining Armor

Yandere Monster Knight x Princess Reader

TW: delusional Yandere, Yandere behavior, kidnapping (mentioned), etc.

Ajax had always been princess (your name)’s confidant and source of solace… so why did he have her cornered on the bed of the inn? His large, muscular frame towered over her as his body trembled.

“I can’t do it… I can’t let you marry some other man.” Ajax whispered, his metal mask hiding his expression. There was no doubt in (your name)’s mind that he was shaken up about something. She had no clue why he’d be so upset about her getting married…

“Ajax, it was bound to happen eventually. It’s my duty as the kingdom’s princess-“ (your name) gasped when he closed the distance between them. Ajax’s large palms pulled her into a tight hug. The force of the hug caused them both to land on the small bed with a soft plop.

“Ajax-“ Ajax placed a finger on (your name)’s lips to pause her words.

“I won’t allow it… I won’t allow some other man to sully you.” Ajax’s deep voice made her body anxiously shake. “Not when I’ve wanted you for so many years…”

“Ajax-“ (your name)’s eyes widened when he finally removed the mask that’s concealed his face for over a decade. Ajax was half orc? (Your name) hadn’t a clue and she had been with him for so many years…

“I’m half monster, I thought you knew.” Ajax chuckled as his crimson eyes flitted over (Your name)’s frozen form. She was now a helpless lamb trapped in the maw of the wolf. “It’s why the other knights have been so cruel to me… why the maids avoid me like the plague and your father wanted to send me to war.”

(Your name)’s eyes can only take on his scarred and burned face in shock. Why was half the skin on his mouth missing and his tusks filed down? Who had hurt him so much that he didn’t confide in her, his best friend? What atrocities had he faced while she remained none the wiser?

(Your name) were shocked when he bent down to show you his teeth. His tusks were clumsily filed down to almost look like teeth but they were still rather sharp. “I did the tusk work, but they grow back rather quickly. The skin on my face is still healing from when there was an assassination attempt on you from your future husband’s concubines. Bastard was going to pour acid on your face.”

(Your name) reached up to trace the scars on his face while Ajax gave her a soft smile. “Ajax…”

“You’re the only one who’s never treated me like a monster… you’re so wonderful and kind.” Ajax moved his large, gloved hands to hold her hands. “That old king doesn’t deserve you. No one does!”

(Your name) blushed when Ajax brought her hands up to his lips to press tender kisses over each of her knuckles. Despite how badly Ajax wished to ravish her, he must keep his composure.

“You took this amount of damage for me?” (Your name)’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it made Ajax melt into a puddle.

“Of course I did. I will do anything for you.” Ajax moved himself to crouch on the corner of the bed, his head in a slight bow. Yet (your name) could feel the burning obsessed behind his crimson gaze. “I am in love with you. Madly, deeply, entirely devoted to you and only you.”

Ajax grasped (your name)’s bare foot and brought it up to his mouth to press tender kisses across the top of it. “I will love you until my skin rots off my body and I am nothing but bones. Yet even death could not separate me from you for I will be in every corner of your life like a permanent shadow of protection. I will protect you with my entire being and soul. I will haunt and dismember your enemies if you so much as give them a glance of distaste.”

(Your name) felt her blood run cold when Jax gave her a bright grin that reopened a few of the stitches across his cheeks. The blood dripped down his face and onto her foot, but he merely lapped it up with his longer tongue. “Now tell me… is what I feel not love? I may not be a handsome prince but I swear I’m your knight in shining armor.”

[trappolia]

PUT ALL YOUR FAULTS TO BED (YOU CAN BE KING AGAIN)── leona kingscholar x gn!reader, 1.1k

some days, leona thinks about what the word king means to him and how it links back to you.

contrary to popular belief, he does not so easily forget the whispers of rumours behind his back; though, loathe as he is to admit, leona knows that some are less rumour and more truth, no matter how spiteful. he is a prince, after all, and not some spoiled rotten child who's had compliments fed to him on a golden spoon.

leona knows, better than anyone, that you deserve more than him.

he’s well aware of the fact that many perceive him as lazy, irritable and intimidating, and that is only saying the least. the perfect example of a student who has had to repeat a year way too many times, who is probably still in the world’s greatest magical academy because of his royal blood and noble connections.

the second prince is one way to describe him as well. second to everything his brother does is also a possible description. second to the throne, to their parents’ love, to the praise and glory befitting of a king. because leona will never be king. not as long as his brother and his blood live, because leona has always been the second option.

and so he acts like it. what else can he do? surely he cannot try to usurp his own brother; leona may be a better king than falena, but he is also intelligent enough to understand the consequences of a coup, long-term or otherwise. not to mention his nephew, who undoubtedly has the capacity to be a real pain in his ass if leona ever does away with his father.

now leona spends most of his time bored and unpleasant to be around, not so unlike the whispers that circulated the halls of afterglow savannah's royal palace when his signature spell was discovered. it is when you find him, lazing around in the light of the sun creeping into the greenhouse (one of the only times he has ever felt that he has ever felt that he could escape from the shadows), and, for one reason or another, you decide to stay.

leona hates it.

he hates the way you shine a light in his life. it’s too bright, too hot, and he can’t get rid of you no matter how hard he tries. and, at some point, he has become too scared to get rid of you. the underlying fear of losing that light, reduced to the shadow of a king and a crown prince that he once was; it kills leona. it kills him because he was supposed to be a king, grew up wanting to be the perfect one to rule over the kingdom, and kings do not have weaknesses.

but leona is not a king.

he is the brother of one, the second son of a royal family. with enough skills and intellect to survive in the battlefield that is the royal court of the afterglow savannah. he is born to a long line of kings, emperors, leaders; has learned from the stories of the great kings of the past, of which their blood courses through his veins; but he is not a king. never was, and never will be.

but then again, who is to say that he isn’t a king in another sense?

"the only kingly thing you haven’t done yet is actually opening your eyes, leona," ruggie’s damned hyena laugh echoes in his mind, the mischievous smirk on his face while his eyes stay rooted to the pathetic homemade crown on his head.

leona does not think ruggie has the right to laugh, when he doesn't even understand.

because even with his eyes closed, the second prince sees. he sees the way your breaths come and go, the warmth of the sun and the chill of the breeze on your skin, your quickening pulse and heartbeat. he sees it all without ever needing his eyes, and that is the exact reason why he doesn’t want to open them.

because if he does, he will see you, backlit against the sun and light of the greenhouse you both visit so much, and then he will want more; you by his side in the kingdom of afterglow savannah, bathing in the morning light while wrapped in royal robes, the consort's crown on your head, your rightful place on the throne beside his. you cradling his cub in your arms, sweetly whispering to the result of your love, the future ruler of the afterglow savannah. leona knows that there is none other more deserving of a consort's crown than you, and he would kill anyone who tried to take it from you.

(he would kill for you in a heartbeat. no matter what the cost.

one day, leona thinks, he will not be the only one to fear the extent of what he feels for you.)

but what murder is justified when the crime hasn’t even been committed? when you don’t have the consort's crown, because leona doesn’t even have the king’s.

(child’s play. reaching for something he will never get. leona is a master at this game, even when he loses every single time.)

silly lion, you would chide him with a smile. not for these foolish fantasies (for leona would never admit them), but for the most mundane things. being late to class, forgetting to do homework, getting detention, forgetting to go to that detention. such simple, pathetic things, and leona listens because you are his consort, and kings listen to their consorts.

(pathetic, hopeless little fantasies.)

"leona?" you call out his name, your voice the melody of his sweetest, softest, weakest dreams.

leona's eyes flutter open, lashes brushing against his cheeks as he blinks in the light.

he sees you there, bent over to peer at his sleeping expression. the way your head eclipses the sun makes it seem like you’re wearing a halo (angel’s crown), and if leona looks closely, he can see his own kisses tangled between your locks and the light.

he closes his eyes before he can meet your gaze, see your lips and everything else he’s ever wanted. he will settle for sense and touch, if not for the sake of his sanity, then for you.

"what is it now?" he snarls, feigning annoyance. he hears you laugh, and leona knows you see right through him.

just give him some more time, then he will give you a kingdom, the world, and everything else you’ve ever wanted and deserved──

──but for now, this will be all he can offer you.

© trappolia 2024

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday!!!! More FMA!

He’s fucking tired.

In Xerxes, he’s Van Edris. In Xerxes, he’s the son of a former slave, having narrowly escaped being born into his father’s fate by virtue of him being awarded freedom by the time of his birth. In Xerxes, he’s an uncommon commodity, an alchemist with a skill that hasn’t been seen since his father fucked off to who knows where.

In Amestris, he’s Edward Elric. In Amestris, he’s the son of Trisha Elric who was born free and died free because while there are lots of different forms of freedom, in Amestris there’s one that everyone shares. In Amestris, he’s unknown and unremarkable and no one gives a fuck about what he does.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says flatly.

This is what he gets for visiting his father’s country. It’s just fucking unfortunate that the really good alchemical texts are here.

He should have let Al (Van Altun, as they know him, even though the two of them having been using their Amestrian names almost their whole lives, regardless of what country they were in) do it. They’re not nearly as weird about him.

Pakor is alright, as far as kings go. He’s freed a lot of people, is poking at the laws of ownership that has governed his country for centuries to see if he can do anything about them without getting beheaded for it. He’s also known Ed since he was a barely able to walk, back when his father still made court appearances and brought the family along with him. Former slave against most talented alchemist in the country, and people tended to politely ignore the former. Hell, Ed’s been counting on the same thing since he was twelve.

Of course, now it’s coming back to bite him. People say he’s a genius, but if he was really smart he would have stayed far, far away from court. Like in Amestris, perhaps.

“You’re fluent in both languages,” Pakor says, coaxing.

“So are you,” he says accusingly. “We’re speaking Amestrian right now!”

Pakor sighs and switches to Xerxian. “You also speak Xingese and Drachman. You’re a difficult man to keep secrets from.”

“I’m also Amestrian!” he shouts. “And free, might I add! You can’t sell me off to slavery just to get some intel!”

“It’s not like we’ll brand you,” he says, affronted, and Ed is reminded that alright for a king is still pretty shitty. “We just need someone to do a little – double checking. To ensure the situation in Amestris is as it’s advertised.”

“You want to gift me to the Fuhrer to spy on him and you’re, what, just hoping he doesn’t notice that I understand everything and know everything and am, oh yeah, one of his citizens? I’ve been to Central before! With my luck, I’ll get recognized the first day here and then run out of Amestris! And, again, Amestris doesn’t have slaves! The leader of the country really can’t have one.”

Pakor sighs. “You’re very dramatic, Edris. It won’t be so bad. Here, I’ll say you’re my personal slave and that you’re on loan. It’ll be for cultural exchange purposes. He speaks Xingese, so you can communicate in that language without letting on you know Amestrian.”

Ed pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is a stupid fucking idea.”

“If you do this,” Pakor says, “I’ll give you the key to the royal library.”

Ed slowly lowers his hand, eyes narrowing. “I’ve been asking you to let me in there for years.”

“I figured I’d need to bargain it away eventually,” he says. “I was hoping you’d marry one of my daughters for it.” Having even light court obligations is bad enough, he’s in no way stupid enough to marry in. “You’re very difficult, you know. I’m your king. I shouldn’t have to bargain with you.”

“Tough shit,” Ed says, because Pakor may have known him for nearly twenty years, but that knowing goes both ways. Besides, he can’t piss him off because then he and Al will stop reparing all their shit bridges and infrastructure. “Fine. But if I lose my Amestrian citizenship over this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Noted,” Pakor says brightly.

Uhg.

It doesn’t help that everything he’s heard about Fuhrer Mustang makes the man sound insufferable.

[tanglepelt]

Dpxdc idea 179.

After the whole pariah thing and him accidentally become ghost king. Danny is annoyed. Then sam and tucker accidentally become royal advisors.

Shouldn’t have touched the book apparently.

Jazz touched the crown it recognized her as Danny’s family and poof. Another royal member. Same with Danielle.

He as phantom had to stop kwan and dash from accepting training from fright knight. He really didn’t want them to agree then be bound to serve the realm as knights.

But they didn’t listen. So yay. New knights.

Danny doesn’t need help with the ghost. No he needs help to shut the portal down because people are accidentally getting roped into the royal court and royal family in the realms. Can the league please turned the portals off.

So he decides if the league won’t respond to calls, texts and emails. He’ll confront them. He portals in a the middle of a meeting crown and all.

Danny: i get you all seem to think the whole amity park situation is a prank. But can you not? Like I was human and now I’m king. With how things are going I’m concerned another teenager is going to accidentally become royalty for the infinite realms. So please deal with the government and mad scientist. Then get the portal shut down. Thanks.

[latenightdaydreams]

Dom König Head Canons

MDNI🔞

Sub will be linked here once posted🥰

For more click here! . .

Dom König

Soft dom

Loves a bratty sub

Will talk through consent agreements and safe words before kink play

Wants to be called “sir” or even his rank

Likes for you to wear some type of animal ears; cat, cow, dog, etc…

A collar around your neck with a little engraved tag

“Property of König”

Makes you crawl to him

Bow down and kiss and lick his shoes as his blue eyes watch you carefully

Loves to see you kiss and suck his cock through the fabric of his pants

Your saliva soaking into the fabric where he can start to feel it on his cock

He just wants to see how desperate you are for him

 Likes to make you beg for his cock

Slaps your face with his cock

“Pout,” he says as he slaps himself on your puffy lips.

Will cock warm in your throat

Keeping you on your knees in front of him he slowly lowers your head on his cock

Your hands tied behind you back so he gets to set the pace

Gagging as he finally pushes your nose to nuzzle into his blonde pubes

Keeps you there until he cums down your throat, and he expects you to swallow like a good little sub

He doesn’t like to punish you, but he will, especially if you’re a bratty sub

Will bend you over his lap and spank your ass while making you say thank you after ever hit

Same for breast

He will stand you in front of him and smack your breast until they’re red and sore

“Will you behave now?”

“Yes Sir.”

*Slap* “I didn’t hear you Maus, louder for me.”

“YES SIR!”

One thing he learned in the military was how to tie a good knot…

Will turn you into his little rope bunny

Just admiring the way your body looks tied up with red rope

Your breast changing color from the tight ropes making his cock ache

Will use a cattle prod on your ass if you’re bent over

He loves to see you jump with every shock

Never over does it, he doesn’t want to hurt you

When fucking you aren’t allowed to cum without permission

You have to beg for your release

“Does baby want to cum?”

“Yes Sir…please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum.”

“No.”

Edging king

Also, after care king

Will kiss you all over and tell you how amazing you were

Makes sure you’re okay and he didn’t take things too far

Cleans you up himself, always making sure you have comfortable pajamas to change into

Snuggles you on the bed and praises you some more

He will always have your favorite snack on hand and ready to watch your favorite show

Buys gifts to let you know how thankful he is that you give him your trust and allow him the pleasure of being your dom

[hitlikehammers]

recovering!Eddie Needs Help With The Whole Showering Thing💦

Good thing Steve's there to help give Eddie a goddamn stroke at the idea of being naked in front of him? help him, huh?

or: put-up-or-shut-up time, Edward Munson

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< one: drink 🧊

🧼 two: wash 🫧🚿

“You’ve basically got two choices, man.”

Eddie folds his lips over on themselves, mashes them together until it fucking hurts, might put the last of the stitches in the gouge out of the left side out of their misery early and pop them clean out of the skin for the force of his, his…

“Pout all you like, dude, they’re not changing.”

He is not. Fucking. Pouting.

He is a grown goddamn man.

“I reject your binary options, Steven,” Eddie volleys, because he’s not pouting, he is applying logic to an honestly-offensively illogical proposal like a mature adult; he is rightly pushing back against two unacceptable options when another has to exist, obviously, because the ones presented are impossible and so there must be a possible one he hasn’t found yet. One that’s just hiding from him. Sneaky.

“Reject all you want, man,” Steve scoffs, and leans back with arms crossed over his chest, stretching his sweater across the expanse and that right there is why there has to be a secret hidden third option waiting for him somewhere, Jesus H. fucking Christ: “they’re not going to change.”

Eddie blinks probably too long, too many times; is quiet for the whole span of moments before he decides deflection is really his only way forward, here.

“You’re very cruel sometimes,” he laments with the best sigh he can heave with the remaining stitches in him; “leaves me positively despairing, almost.”

And it was a good, solid, drawn-out sigh, that he heaved, just for the record. Because there are fewer stitches holding him together today than there were yesterday, and fewer yesterday than last week, and it’s progress, there is so much progress—

It’s just that progress is a very big reason for why he has this particular goddamn problem right now.

To set the stage: he’s been home for almost a week. The freedom is glorious. The new trailer the Feds set them up with is a little bigger, close enough layout though to still feel like home. His room is almost suspiciously similar given that 98% of his belongings were collateral damage or in government lockup. Certain questions Steve had asked him over the past weeks make a little more sense; the main orchestrator of the set up likewise clear on context. Eddie is warm with it every time he thinks about it. Which is whenever he’s in his room. And whenever he sees Steve.

Which is probably the main thing to add, for context: Eddie had been grateful as fuck for Steve while he was in the hospital, the man rarely leaving his side, usually just to check on Max who, while not yet awake, was making progress in healing and Eleven—who Eddie’s finally met now and kind of fucking adores—thinks she finally understands what’s blocking her ability to reach Red, meaning she can work on obliterating it: all good signs. And if Steve’s abounded presence did absolutely fuck all for Eddie’s old and apparently latent crush on the asshole jock-king from high school, flamed into kind of a fucking inferno over the course of spring break—if Steve’s steadfast presence and tireless attention to Eddie’s needs in the hospital had only managed to tame it into some kind of big and bright and undying eternal fucking flame—and that’d be a good song title, he needs to remember that—but if that was the payoff, as it were?

The burn of it—incredible and unbearable alike—was kind of almost secondary to the mixed emotions Eddie was having over leaving the hospital and losing this; losing Steve.

Except—and here’s the fucking kicker—he doesn’t. He doesn’t…lose Steve. Like, not at all.

Sure, maybe Steve goes home more, like, touches base at his own house, and he pops to the hospital where Eddie currently isn’t anymore to check on Max, but on the flipside Eddie is awake more and so he gets to soak up all the time Steve is here, in the trailer, next to Eddie, breathing air in the same space, breathing the same air as Eddie and, and, and—

“Look,” Steve’s sighing, slapping his thighs—such fucking distracting thighs—and leaning in pointedly on his palms; “Wayne’s pulling the night shift,” he nods at Eddie’s little TV tray with the crust of half a grilled cheese and a little cup of his medications; “you take your pills, you’ll sleep until after he’s turned in,” then Steve leans back, lifts a finger demonstratively: “so there’s another day.”

Eddie pouts, now, sees where this is going.

“Wayne might be pulling night shifts all week, in fact,” Steve adds, another finger pointed upward, counting in the air.

Eddie doesn’t nibble his cold crust petulantly or anything. Like, he does nibble. And it is cold.

But petulant; him?!

Never.

“The nurse isn’t due by until Thursday,”and Steve pauses before arching his brow even higher; “afternoon,” and he raises two fingers for that and Eddie’s got enough presence of mind to shoot back, even if it’s muffled, bread still in his mouth:

“You saying I smell?”

Steve’s eyeroll is such a fucking impressive feat it should be, like, an Olympic sport. But it’s probably too arousing for national television, so. Shit, that wouldn’t work.

“I am saying,” Steve draws out the word obnoxiously and why is that attractive, good fucking god: “you’re itching places you’re not even fucking stitched up,” he pokes at Eddie unapologetically in a safe place on his still-fairly-bandaged body and Eddie jumps harder than he should, but makes sure he grins for it, that he doesn’t play up the annoyance or the shock because one, Steve’s eyes go wide and incredulous and kinda fucking scared, like he knows he didn’t touch anything healing or tender, because Eddie’s thinks Steve knows his wounds mapped out so goddamn well he could draw them out blind and he didn’t touch anything bad actually, and that brings up two, which is: Eddie didn’t even have to exaggerate his reaction; he hasn’t been touched playfully in so long and he didn’t realize how much he missed it, how much his body missed it and he’s also kind of fucking thrilled it’s Steve, who broke the sad little standstill—Eddie makes sure to laugh a little and it’s not fucking hard once he starts because the way the tension melts off Steve in a huff is a shot of adrenaline, a hit of dopamine, a bubble of joy stretched to bursting and then fucking popping to spill warm and gooey in Eddie’s chest and he—

What the fuck is happening to him?

But then Steve’s poking him again and he twitches for it and just laughs more because fuck he missed that but also fuck he wants this to mean something and it’s wild and insane and he kind of doesn’t know what to do with it at all when Steve leans in and whispers slyly:

“So I am guessing you’d feel better with a shower.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie but when he says it, particularly paired up with how he says it?

How the fuck can blood run hot and cold all at once?

Because Eddie does want a fucking shower, so he doesn’t feel fucking gross. And Eddie knows he needs help: moving like that, reaching what needs reached, and fuck all, but avoiding all the bandages, for fuck’s sake—but.

But: there’s this line, newly discovered beyond theory for one Eddie Munson, that divides an idle crush from an active wanting; that separates your fantasy jerk-off material from something that sits and grows branches and roots, heavy and tight and real in your chest.

Basically: there’s a difference between imagining what sucking pretty boy asshole King Steve off in the locker rooms might be like and coming hard in the privacy of your own bed for the gorgeous absurd impossibility of it, and the genuine article, not a king but something worse, something more like, like a benevolent god for how he speaks, how he touches, tends to Eddie so careful but sure, so goddamn competent and beautiful, dear god, he’s so much more breathtaking up close, but it’s not even that, it’s not even that, or well, it’s that, but it’s so much more than high-school-distanced-Eddie could have guessed even in his quickest, most satisfying jack-sessions, because Steve as a human being?

Fucking…captivating.

Funny. Bitchy. Cares so goddamn much it makes his heart crack wide to see it, let alone be the focus of it but then he’s so strung tight, so anxious with frontline reflexes that shatter that cracked heart and let it bleed with the desperate fucking need to care for him in kind but somehow tenfold but then you’ll always fail because this level of compassion and just, just this pure kind of love, how can anyone match it, which is where Steve has to land in benevolent god territory, some ineffable chaotic good, and Eddie—

Well. Yeah.

Of course, Eddie’s quiet for the whole of running this through his head and Steve’s taken the entry to care some more and cross over to Eddie, move his tray and hold out his hands expectantly. Like Eddie’s got a choice in the clear intention Steve has to…haul him to his feet?

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

And oh, wow, good thing Eddie's not actively dying anymore, because his heart goddamn stops for that, no getting around it for the way it bangs upon restarting; and if he'd still been half-dead regarding the rest of his body, that'd probably have done him in because Jesus flying fuck.

So it’s: haul him to his feet and drag him to the shower. Which he does, so careful but so precise, when Eddie’s mind blanks out and loses the window available to protest by way of stunned silence, which continues all the way to the bathroom where Steve lowers him to the closed toilet lid, again so careful, and goes to work.

Readying a shower. Eddie’s shower.

Which he needs help with. Lots of help.

While he’s, as indicated clearly: fucking bare ass naked.

And not even just in front of Steve, no, nope. Not that that wouldn’t be bad enough. But this?

This is him actively needing Steve’s help. Like…hands-on help.

Eddie thinks his heart’s about ready to crash into his chest wall for the reckless speed it’s taken to racing at because, just…

Holy fucking hell.

“Skipping gym class may have done half the work of failing your ass, but it’s not like you never showed,” Steve points out, still unbothered, so, so fucking unbothered when Eddie’s over here with palms sweaty enough to leave wet-marks on his sweats; “you came into the showers,” Steve barrels on as he moves the bottles of shampoo and the bar of soap out of the way for Eddie to maneuver in, with help, with Steve’s help;

“More than once,” Steve tacks on and Eddie has to blink, has to refocus on what they fuck was being said: he came into the showers. More than once.

Right.

“Wow, thanks for noticing,” Eddie quips, or tries to; it falls fucking flat, and for the way Steve stills, and then sighs with, like, the whole of him, it’s obvious he missed his mark.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, and pulls away from where he’d been learning to start the water, to warm it up right.

“Look,” Eddie breathes out shaky, because fucking hell; “it’s not like…that. It’s not the same.”

Steve stills, and doesn’t know what to expect of the way he freezes, back to Eddie but his muscles going tight beneath his shirt, and Eddie’s stomach drops preemptive-like, because, because—

“Oh,” Steve’s voice gets a little sharp around the edges; “so it’s okay when thirty dicks are swinging alongside yours, I get it.”

Except it really doesn’t sound like Steve fucking gets it; not least because Steve wouldn’t be fighting this, wouldn’t be putting up the front of pushing the point if he did get it. It he got it for real.

“It’s different when it’s you,” and honestly the words come out before Eddie can think them through; they’re not inaccurate but when he hears them out loud he winces because it sounds wrong no matter what he means and—

When he sees Steve’s face fall, eyes so wide, that flash of hurt, he, just: fuck.

He hurts too; he might even hurt harder.

“Jesus,” Eddie half-gasps, half-pleads already because no, no, fucking no; “not like that—“

“No,” and oh god, if Eddie ever thought about what real heartbreak felt like, he only has to hear that voice, in that tone, because Jesus fuck, he feels like a hand’s gone into his chest, snapped a couple ribs, and used the sharp bits to twist his heart around like a goddamn knitting needle.

“No, man, I get it,” but Steve’s tone’s too dull, too measured, and his shoulders are too tight, and he’s not looking at Eddie at all and Eddie kinda want to fucking cry, and—

“No need to explain,” and oh, god, did Steve’s voice break a little? Did Eddie cause that, all on his fucking own? What kind of monster is he, and all for his goddamn…what, shame? Pride? Cowardice? God, he can’t, he can’t let this happen, he can’t let this keep going—

“Maybe I can, like, get you some washcloths? And like, a bar of soap, just for now,” and fuck, no, shit, Steve’s rambling in that anxious way that’s also kind of….mindless, robotic and hollow and then he looks up, finally; he hadn’t been looking at all and Eddie thinks he can hear his own heart crack for the way those eyes are too damn bright, and look too fucking dead all the same:

“Is it still, like, a problem if I help? So long as you’re mostly covered,” Steve asks, and god, it’s like…it’s like he’s a stranger. It’s not like he’s mean, or distant really, but it’s like Eddie was welcome inside this door to him, pulled in close from the threshold and welcome and now it’s not the the doors shut in his face, nothing so definitive or rejecting: more like the door was gone and never there.

And that hurts…so much fucking more.

“Or, all the chairs are too big but maybe a stool,” Steve’s saying, moving things around in the bathroom where Eddie’s followed him, that voice still tomblike where it should be filled with sun; “just gotta make sure the bandages stay dry, do you think you can—“

“Steve.”

And the man stills, a bar of Ivory soap denting in the shapes of his nails for the way his hand’s clenched and…Eddie was scared. Of losing. Of being tossed aside, which would hurt with anyone, for anything. But the things he’s started feeling now, for Steve, changing the shape of him as much as his healing scar but for the better, if somehow far more terrifying—losing that, even where it lives alone and unrequited, and Eddie’s suspects also only half-formed yet even for how big it stands?

Losing the source of the star in Eddie’s chest would do him in quicker than the fucking bats ever had a chance to.

And the feeling of seeing Steve think…come to the conclusions he’s coming to now because Eddie’s a coward, like he’s misstepped or not given enough or said the rough thing or been supportive or, or, or—

The look on Steve’s face, and the crack in his voice: they’re causing pain under Eddie’s ribs in a way he hadn’t even considered the torment of.

And Eddie’ll probably crumble if this goes wrong, if Steve flinches away for knowing and if Eddie

loses this thing, this person whose presence he’s already grown to depend on, not for the help Eddie needs but for the >i>person Steve Harrington is: but he’ll fall apart anyway if he lets things stand as they are and he refuses to be the reason Steve’s pulled down in the collapse.

So he reaches, and fights the way his heart drops when Steve tenses as Eddie tries to nudge him into turning around, into facing Eddie. Into looking him in the eyes and seeing, or else, Eddie hopes like hell that he will see—

“It is different, when it’s you,” Eddie makes sure he says it careful, gentle; that he pitches it like a prelude to the way he’s gotta give up the cowardice, gotta face the music and be brave for this beautiful boy in front of him who’s scared for all the wrong reasons, for the lie of him somehow being the fuck up here, like he’s the one who did anything wrong—

Impossible. Impossible, so Eddie’s gotta pull back the curtain and if he holds his breath around it then—doesn’t fucking matter. So long as he says it.

“Because I never had an,” he chokes just a little, coughs around it and clears his throat too much; “umm, well, like,” and he stumbles, he stumbles but he tells himself it’s acceptable, that it’s to be expected, gotta build momentum to get this out:

“Never had an arguably-debilitating crush on those other guys,” Eddie finishes, a little shaky but without a hint of nervous laughter, closer to nausea than anything, and yeah: given that he can’t seem to get fucking words out when he tries to just say it, and shit: words are kinda his thing, y’know?

But the fact that he can barely string any of them together makes it really clear, at the very least inside his own chest: it’s debilitating, alright, and it’s already far more than the high school crush that started years ago. It’s…it’s so much more than that, now which, fuck.

Fuck, can Steve hear the truth of it in the shaking, the stuttering? Does he know?

“Plus y’know, eww,” Eddie covers up nervously, always with the babbling, the lunge for distraction; “I didn’t go perusing the dick selection in the Hawkins locker room on the regular, please give me some credit,” and he tries so fucking hard to end on comic disgust, he tries, he thinks he might be shaking, he’s—

He’s being caught by the wrists. He’s being pulled in chest to chest so his own can heave with the trembling gasps he’s not even trying to fight but that can’t really build to their potential against the wall of Steve’s chest but; he can’t feel his heart racing against that sturdy splay of chest, he’s held so tight. He can’t kinda feel Steve’s heartbeat too, faster but not like Eddie’s. Just…faster than normal. It kinda feels like it should mean something. Eddie doesn’t move of his own choosing, but also can’t manage to stop with the shaking. Which is…not ideal.

“Eddie?” And Steve’s looking up at him, chin tipped down so he can glance through those goddamn lashes, so Eddie can have proof in the wild off-pace thump his heart gives, that rattles his bones just for extra proof that ‘crush’ alone left the building long ago. He mostly just…just tries not to tremble, mostly wills his knees not to give out even if he trust with everything in him that Steve’ll catch him, it’s just—

Steve looks up at him, and says his name like it’s delicate, like it’s worth something, like he is worth something, then he’s gathering Eddie’s hands in his and that’s, that’s not normal, it’s not for balance or to help guide him save where he need to go: no. No, Steve raises their joined grasps and Eddie’s pulse skips twice to think they’re going to Steve’s lips but he just lifts them to his forehead like a touchstone and breathes for a few long moments, the color on his cheeks changing shade before he sighs long and deep and brings Eddie’s hands under his chin before he whispers:

“Let me help you shower,” and maybe it’s not spoke like a question, but Eddie knows it’s a choice and how; how can this man still want to touch him, see him, he can’t, he can’t—

“Steve,” Eddie barely breathes because of all the ways he’d maybe envisioned this going, from worst case scenario to impossible fantasies, the possibility of it all just…kinda being a non-thing, taken wholly in stride?

That wasn’t in the cards he’d prepared for. Eddie…doesn’t know how to handle that.

“Let me help you,” Steve repeats, as soft and like a given as the first time but then he averts his eyes again and sucks in a breath through his teeth:

“Or, I guess,” he huffs, swallows, really is the braver of them for how quick and firm he meets Eddie’s eyes, then: to ask:

“Do you want me to?” and Eddie’s heart clenches like every way it’s ever clenched before was a trial run, because this is a squeeze and a twist for how earnest he not just sounds but looks, how big and bright and honest eyes are and he’s so beautiful, he’s so fucking beautiful—

“If you don’t, that’s,��� Eddie must be staring, quiet for too many seconds in a row because Steve sounds just as earnest but…can you be earnest about being hesitant? About giving someone the space and letting them hold the reins entirely? Jesus, it’s, this is…

“Yeah,” Eddie’s a little breathless, probably doesn’t sound as sure as he wants to but maybe sounds as sure as he can because he’s fucking taken aback, okay? Steve…people in general aren’t this good, y’know?

“Yeah, if you,” Eddie gestures between them, between Steve and Eddie’s crotch because, because, then more generally, more vague mostly to buy time, mostly because Eddie doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with this except, except say yes because he’s grateful, because he’s shell-shocked, because…

“If you’re okay with it,” because if Steve’s is, then: yes.

But Eddie’s gotta make sure.

But of course then there’s Steve, who never once let go of his hands, and now he’s squeezing them, and looking Eddie square in the eyes once more until Eddie returns the gesture; not nearly as steady, but fuck does he try.

“I am here,” Steve speaks clear, enunciates every syllables and barely fucking blinks; “so that I can help you,” and it’s the way he exhales while still holding Eddie’s gaze that nearly does Eddie in before Steve kinda just breathes:

“Okay?”

Eddie’s kinda proud he managed to nod because goddamn.

Given permission, he’s quick to work; he helps Eddie to lean against the closed toilet lid and then he’s shimmying Eddie’s sweats down, waiting for Eddie’s to step out once they’re pooled to the floor, meets Eddie’s eyes with hands on the waist of Eddie’s boxers and Eddie flushes so fucking hot he might set flame to something if he’s not careful but he inclined his head and Steve’s quick about it, stretches the elastic out extra wide around his hips and never looks away from Eddie’s face until they fall to the floor.

Then he’s reaching for something Eddie hadn’t noticed—scissors—and he’s going for the hem, of Eddie’s sweatshirt which—

“What—“ Eddie starts, but it hurts too much to flinch away and even if he could manage it: just because he doesn’t understand doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust.

Which should be fucking terrifying, but here they are.

“I can stitch it back together, promise,” Steve’s saying while he uses the blade not to cut but as an ad-hoc seam-ripper, and making a clean job of it from what Eddie can tell, all things considered.

“Steve Harrington, master seamstress?” Eddie chokes out as Steve moves to tear out the stitches nearest the neckline and then peels the top from Eddie’s body, no painful contortion required.

Man’s goddamn full of surprises.

But then Steve leaves Eddie buck naked while he goes into Eddie’s bedroom, comes back in an instant with more towels that Eddie thought they owned, pops two big ones on the sink and hands Eddie a big stack of washcloths while he starts lining the floor with the rest, pooling them carefully around the base of the toilet near Eddie’s feet, his head not dangerously close to Eddie’s not limp dick or anything while he gets to work, Jesus H. fucking Christ.

Then Steve’s grabbing for one of the washcloths and Eddie can safely place the rest of his lap for this goddamn modesty.

Eddie almost topples them to the floor and ends up with negative modesty when a damp cloth brushes his forearm, unannounced and so fucking gentle.

“Too hot?” Steve asks, and Eddie shakes his head. It should be. The water’s been running long enough. But…nothing’s probably hotter than Eddie’s skin right now for how he feels his cheeks burn so.

Relatively speaking it’s fine.

Steve raises a brow, fiddles with the knobs a little and then soaks the cloth, soaps it up and…starts from the top.

And he’s so careful, so gentle, so clinical but soft in the precise way he makes points, little triangles like a puzzle to clean just up to the lines of bandages, never submerging or letting the wet get to the edges, threaten the adhesive, and he’s no one-trick-pony either, because it’s soap then it’s a fresh towel to wipe clean, the whole of him, save for the behind he sits on and the…not attentive dick and its neighboring real estate under the extra cloths.

Steve holds up a finger, asks for a pause while his footsteps rush to the trailer beyond, and come back with a…

Chair from the kitchen.

Then he’s busy covering it with towels before he wordlessly helps Eddie to his feet and leads him to sit, back to the shower.

“Lean back as much as you can,” Steve says, and Eddie has no reason to argue before Steve’s got another towel gathering his greasy-ass hair up and then making a barrier between the limp matted mess and the wooden spindles, and then—

Oh god, oh god, then his hands are in Eddie’s hair, holding it at an angle so the water he’s pouring from somewhere falls into the tub basin until the strands are wet and if Eddie thought that was heavenly, then he’s working the shampoo in and Eddie’s been afraid for a little while that nerve damage would impair…y’know but good goddamn no worries there save for coming all over the fucking towels because Jesus H., the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair, massaging his scalp, ringing and repeating, combing through the strands with his fingers…

That’s what the word orgasmic means. Every other definition is a lie.

Eddie thinks he’s between floating on the high of the sensation and squeezing his dick to keep from shooting off beneath the washcloths and so he probably misses exactly when the water stops rinsing his hair out, and when Steve’s hands stop touching him save to mop the worst of the soaked ends of his squeaky-clean mop, but when he does blink back to the moment Steve’s frowning, but not, not at Eddie.

More like near Eddie.

“We can’t put it in, but,” and oh, he’s talking about the chair, can’t put a wooden chair into a shower, fair, fair, but then Steve’s eyes are lifting back to Eddie and they look…a little apologetic, but mostly resolute: “if I help, do you think you can,” and he nods at the tub, the mid-height lip of it. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, for the challenge, but.

But also because there is really just one general area of his body that’s not been…attended to yet for cleaning.

So it’s maybe like a 60-40, 70-30 split on that point. Moment of truth, either way.

“I’ll need a lot of help,” Eddie bites his lip, and he’s not even surprised when Steve meets his trepidation with encouragement.

“I can lift you,” and oh, wow, hey, definitely a safe thing to say to a guy before you’re gonna help him wash his dick. “But do you think you can stand if I help you keep your balance?”

Steve’s obviously got a plan and Eddie obviously just needs to not come on them both on the way to, in, and out of the shower right now so, he figures they should both handle their own separate priorities for the home stretch, here.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, even though he doesn’t believe it.

He believes in Steve, though, so. Probably that’s enough.

And Steve does lift him, and the towels are still covering his front but Steve doesn’t shy from lifting his ass and wow, okay.

Okay.

“You lean on me, like this,” and of course he’s manhandling Eddie as he runs a quick cloth—soap, then water—over Eddie’s back and then across the curve of his ass, holy mother of—; “and then,” Steve holds another soapy cloth to Eddie and gestures, this time hidden from a full frontal view by propping Eddie against his still-clothed chest:

“Then you can finish up,” Steve says like it’s simple. Maybe it is.

Eddie’s soaped up his pubes and barely dropped the cloth before he reaches for the wet one to rinse but—

Nope. Nope, Steve’s got a cup, maybe what he was using for Eddie’s hair, a crackled novelty one from the Pizza Hut in Muncie, Eddie remembers getting the damn thing; but Steve got that cup angled so he pours directly below Eddie’s lowest dressing, letting him use both hands to work the soap all the way out.

“How,” Eddie starts, kinda marveling that his short and curlies are…distinctly not bubbly.

“Got good aim,” Steve’s smirk is audible behind him, and tangible for how it lifts his chest with a little huff; “basketball and shit.”

“Fuckin’ jock,” Eddie lobs back without any heat at all; shit, if anything, it sounds fond on the outside.

Adoring if you go any deeper.

“Dry off,” and it’s then that Steve hands Eddie the last of the bath linens that had been his little loin cloths before being hauled into the tub; he dries his front as best he can and then tosses the cloth before Steve’s reaching around him with a wider towel, drying him hip-to-thigh, and cupping across his ass. again before loosing the towel to the floor and grabbing around Eddie

“Hold onto me here,” and Eddie’s being hoisted ever-so-gently over the side of the tub and deposited back on the toilet which has a…fresh towel on it for him to sit on. When’d that get there, anyway?

“Okay, now,” and oh, wow, okay, Steve’s kneeling between his legs and when’d he get there, anyway?

“Slip these on, for your modesty,” Steve winks as he works a new pair of boxers up Eddie’s legs, quick and efficient like Eddie hasn’t had a fucking stroke here; “and let’s get you toweled off the rest of the way and into some clean fuckin’ clothes.”

He gets the boxers up as far as the line of his pelvis before it’s unavoidable, and Eddie assumes he’ll try to stretch the waist far again, to keep his hands as far from anything too weird no, nope: Steve sticks with quick and efficient and he gets those fucking underwear up and settled in no time at all.

And he brushes his forearm twice against Eddie’s shaft in the process, and does nothing. Has no reaction. Is…fine.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

Steve does, though, apparently: which is to careful dab the towels where he can’t rub him dry, and do exactly that until Eddie’s got nary a stray droplet left to be soaked up by the unseamripped sweatshirt and clean sweatpants Steve helps him into, before helping him to bed but Eddie shakes his head, nods at the door, toward the living room.

Steve eyes him appraisingly before helping him in that direction and Eddie’s glad he could fake whatever amount of wakefulness was necessary to bypass the bed because the fact of it is he’s bone fucking tired—all the arousal did not help that specific point—but Steve’ll sit next to him on the couch, as a given, where sometimes Steve sits next to his bed instead of next to him in his bed.

And Eddie wants to tip over exhausted against Steve, okay? Because Steve doesn’t seem to fucking mind, so.

They settle, exactly like always, exactly like Eddie expected. And Steve’s arm welcomes his rapid descent along Steve’s ribs, the soft echo of his heartbeat this hallowed, magic thing that just makes Eddie feel warm.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, for this, for the shower, for the way this is the same and also maybe better beyond all probabilities: for everything, really. For Steve, being Steve.

And Eddie’s almost asleep, and it might be the magic warmth of the way he tipped into Steve’s space and the tangle of their bodies for it but the words Eddie hears last before he’s out come from near his scalp, and lips move in his hair and maybe that’s just coincidence, or maybe all probabilities are still being shatters and it’s almost something like a kiss but either way—

Either way, Steve’s voice is so soft and open when he whispers Eddie into sleep with the most perfect word imaginable:

“Always.”

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[gabessquishytum]

While backpacking through the wilderness, hob gets extremely lost. Unable to walk any further, he sets up camp in the forest and hopes in the morning he’s able to see more clearly.

That night, his camp is ambushed. Hob is awakened by strange creatures with glowing eyes. He shouts, sets off his flare and tries to fight, but they are too numerous. they take his things, bind him and carry him off too.

He’s brought to what seems to be a colony of a half-human half-animal race, and dumped as an offering at the foot of dream, their king.

Dream is ancient and huge, with a set of jet black wings rising behind him, and he peers down at hob with keen interest. He reaches out and runs his hand through hob’s hair.

Hob, at this point is so hungry, thirsty and scared, that he can’t help leaning into the man’s gentle touch, and he does as he’s bid and stands up.

The man’s wings flare out and over his head as he pulls hob closer. Hob isn’t sure what he is. He has wings, but a strange, snake-like tongue and sharp, retractable talons that he uses to slice hob’s clothes off. Hob whimpers a little at the sight of his own hardening cock, exposed to the air.

Dream chirrups and touches him, stroking his cock until hob is panting and squirming.

He’s begging by the time he comes all over Dream’s hand.

Dream purrs, picks hob up with unyielding strength, and carries him up into the air, where he has a nest dizzying high up. Hob would never be able to climb down on his own. Hob clings to dream so he doesn’t fall as Dream deposits him there. Hob is terrified but altogether too into it as Dream pushes apart his thighs, and studies his hole with eager focus, while his own strange looking cock rises between his legs. Looks like the king has a new mate.

This is peak monster porn, and i absolutely love it!

Hob is just completely lost as to what he can even do in this situation. He can't run away, nor does he particularly want to. The monster who now seems to own him if surprisingly beautiful and gentle, despite certain terrifying aspects (the strange hissing language of the creatures definitely takes a minute to get used to). The King of the creatures is also fiercely intelligent - Hob is starting to suspect that these strange beings are far more advanced than humans. Sometimes he feels like they can read his mind. The King certainly seems to know exactly what Hob likes sexually. His cock is strangely shaped with ridges running down the shaft and it is big, but Dream prepares Hob for it diligently with his own saliva. He always cums inside Hob and then plugs his hole shut for at least an hour afterwards.

Hob’s life in the nest, high above the ground, is surprisingly pleasant. The creatures bring him suitable food, he is never cold because Dream keeps him wrapped up in his huge magnificent wings whenever they're together. Hob’s life is one of luxury, really, and he spends most of his time being tenderly fucked by his King.

What does being the King's mate truly entail? Only time can tell. As people search for Hob on the ground in the wilderness, they have no idea that he's high above them with Dream’s serpentine tongue buried deep in his hole. Eventually they'll give up on finding him. But that's okay, because Hob is happy! He's having the adventure of a life time, and plenty of orgasms... what's not to like? Let's just hope that this new role as the King's mate doesn't involve anything more complicated, right??? Right, Dream???

[theladyofbloodshed]

Delving into the Ember and Nesta scene

Idk how this scene is supposed to read as anything other than Nesta re-assessing her life in the Night Court when a woman who has known her for 5 seconds can see how miserable her life is

Azriel, fuck off with your withering glare.

An emphasis on how powerful Rhys is... but still needs to intimidate women. Feminist king!

Amren, you will always be nothing. I love how Feyre is meant to be scarier than Rhys. Or she's basically Nesta's mother now. Wait until Feyre finds out how naughty you are! Imagine if Nesta didn't save them all. A life without rhysand 🪦

Cassian grow a spine challenge

Nesta vacating her body hmm almost like somebody who dissociates during abuse to protect themselves wow sjm thank u for writing this whilst also being like rhys is SO sexy for being an abusive piece of shit

Nesta still standing her ground whilst Cassian proves what a worthless mate he is. Eris wouldn’t stand for this shit.

Somebody appreciating nesta!!!! Recognising that she’s being treated like crap!!

Why is she always in trouble? Because she doesn’t want to drink with the ic? Because she doesn’t bow down at Rhys feet after saving their lives? Because she sat on a rock in Illyria?

Ember you are a real one!!! The only one who matters besides nesta!!!

Ember quinlan with the biggest balls in prythian

Straight men: I hate my wife

Nesta staring with longing at ember because she’s the mother she didn’t have! The one who will fight her battle no matter what 🥺💔 when Bryce is so quick to ignore her mother’s calls or argue against her protectiveness, nesta would lap that up!!!

Straight men: marriage is a jail I hate every moment with my wife

the only thing that gives hope that nesta will get out of there is this

[itsabouttimex2]

Ok, ok, HEAR ME OUT-

How about lmk Monkeifam and Bullfam with a Y/N who isn't afraid to throw hands —

Like i mean in a response to trauma or manipulation, becouse i fell it isn't explore enough in this situation -

Sure, your loved that you belived was a friend trapped /kidnapped/gaslight you is heartbreaking and of course you are gonna be sad and more incline to behave butttt-

There is always the other way of absolute rage that comes in once you realized you have been trapped/kidnapped /gaslight ecc- like i don't care anymore, i wanna throw hands, those people are death to me.(even thought this isn't the smarter choice considering the strenght of some of the people here) like them breaking Y/N down so they can comfort them to manipulate them, but then unsurprisingly the get the biggest smack/punch of their life . Just- wow the audacity.

Throwing Hands

Bullfam & Monkiefam

“…is this some sort of pathetic attempt at ‘rebellion’, Y/N? I am not impressed.”

Your hands straight bounce. Like punching a bag of wet cement, the Demon Bull King’s skin just shifts around under your fists, never breaking or bruising. You only shatter yourself against it, leaving you worn and looking foolish.

He might not even punish you, given that it’s likely that you break a wrist on impact.

“Now, look what you’ve done to yourself, foolish child. Did you truly think your mortal flesh could stand a demon king’s might? Well, now you know better.”

You lost your temper and struck him. Immediately, you learn better than to do that ever again, and he considers it lesson enough.

Surprisingly merciful, all things considered. (Partially because he finds it somewhat funny.)

I once said in my yandere alphabet that: “Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning or whipping you”. And though I think that viewpoint is usually true…

This changes that. It’s maybe the only situation where he would actively engage in any form of normalized torture “corporal punishment”.

Being physically attacked switches Red from ‘mildly reasonable, if a bit hair-trigger’ to ‘vicious and cruel’. Through brute force alone does he wrestle you into submission, binding your arms behind your back with a pair of metal cuffs.

He tosses you onto the nearest bed and couch before burning the lower half of your clothing off. He then takes up a thin metal rod to utilize in “disciplining” you, sharply lashing it down against your now unprotected skin. He’ll leave puffy, bleeding welts from the top of your rear to the bottom of your thighs, ensuring that you won’t even be able to think about walking for at least a week.

Problem is that not only does it not solve the problem of you being scared and angry, it also just… makes him feel bad afterwards. It breaks him, seeing you weep brokenly over his bed. Blood sluggishly trickles from the skin he’s lashed open, and you scream your lungs out into the sheets as you try to adjust to the pain.

And then he “has to” (wants to, in truth) settle in for some awkward form of aftercare, offering lotion and bandages. When you don’t accept, he forces you to drink a cup of honeyed tea loaded with sedatives because you won’t stop shrieking.

Antiseptic while you’re asleep, a few stitches here and there, then the lotion and bandages he tried earlier. And then a few cautious back rubs, trying to calm your fitful slumber.

“Gods, Y/N… what have I done to you? I… I was just… I was… no, I… I’m sorry.”

An outright dodge. Princess Iron Fan has no time for your nonsense. For trying, she’ll lock you into whatever room has been set aside for you, barring the door with powerful magic.

One shallowly-filled bowl of food every two days, adding just a little bit more to it each day. One ceramic cup of room temperature water every four hours. A change of clothes every three days. Instead of brute force, Iron Fan teaches you through deprivation.

After a month of this, she might see fit you allow you back out of your room, letting you mingle with the family you have been forced to adopt.

After writing her a letter of apology, of course. Two pages. Pray you have the mind to keep your pencil steady.

So very many tears to deal with, probably on both ends. MK knows that he’s doing isn’t all that great, sure… but it’s because he loves you!

Can’t you love him back, please? Ok, he’s been manipulating you! Maybe he’s been driving some friends away! Maybe he’s sent a few clones to tail you around the city! But, please, please- you can’t stop loving him! He just can’t risk having you hurt!

“Please, Y/N! You don’t understand! I’m just trying to keep you safe! You can hit me again, hit me as many times as you want! Just- please, Y/N… I need you. Please…”

His last resort is stuffing you in Shuilian Cave, given that you can’t escape with his or Sun Wukong’s help. Maybe a few ropes to keep you in place. He’ll cry with each knot tied, begging you not to hate him.

Sun Wukong tanks your punch and gives your head a little pat, frowning at the display. “Sorry, bud. Trust me, I know I’m not exactly the good guy here. Go ahead and let it out. I… kinda deserve it, huh?”

The Great Sage knows you have every reason to be upset. Really, you do. All there’s only so much waylaying of emotions to be done, unfortunately. You were going to crack eventually.

He stands firmly in place, one hand rubbing your back while you break your fists against his body, watching you scream and cry. The man is just… unsurprised? He’s starting to realize that he messes up a lot of things.. So just letting you whale on him seems fair, gently trying to shush your angry tears while your skin grinds to bloody pulp against his shredded abdomen.

“How about I make us some tea,” he offers afterwards, surveying your destroyed hands. “And I’ll patch you up. Then… I think you’ve earned yourself an early bedtime for the rest of the week, bud.”

“Oh, kiddo. Do you know what “screwing up” is? After this, they’re gonna put your picture in the dictionary as an example.”

Macaque does not tolerate having hands laid on him. Not by friends, not by enemies. And certainly not by his little student, who is supposed to be wide-eyed and placid, in awe of his every move and strike.

You are supposed to be sweet and respectful. You are supposed to be kind and loving.

And he’s sure that with a little bit of “training”, he’ll get you back to that disposition.

He’ll snap his fingers with an angry snarl, shadows springing all around you like cold wires. You are gagged with a cold ebon muzzle, both your hands locked inside a cuff of swirling black and purple. You want to act like an animal? Macaque will chain you to the wall by your new muzzle and treat you like an animal.

Maybe a few days spent so on a chain so short you can’t lay down will teach you better than to raise a hand against “the only person who even loves you, Y/N!” ever again.

[winter-soldier-101]

What have you done! Part 2

Summary: Driftmark the home of her father and the resting place of her aunt the events that happens that night changes the course of (Y/N)’s life and that of her family’s

Driftmark

Dragons flew in the sky as Princess Rhaenys held back tears as she held Baela and Rhaena (Y/N) stood by Rhaenyra as Vaemond spoke.

“We join today at the seat of the sea to commit the Lady Laena Velaryon to the eternal waters the dominion of the Merling King where he will guard her for all the days to come as she sets to sea for her final voyage the Lady Laena leaves two true born daughters on the shore though their mother will not return from her voyage they will all remain bound together in blood salt courses through Velaryon blood ours runs thick ours runs true and ours must never thin” Vaemond says while looking on at everyone then at Rhaenyra and then at Jace and Luke as they drop Laenas casket into the water.

“Go to your cousins, they need you all” Rhaenyra tells (Y/N) and Jace and Luke.

(Y/N) walks over to Baela and Rhaena and holds each of their hands as they cry. Aemond walks over and looks at (Y/N).

“Aemond” (Y/N) whispers out softly.

“I’m sorry for your loss” Aemond tells Baela and Rhaena then leaves them alone with (Y/N) and Jace and makes his way over to Aegon.

“Go to sleep and make sure your brothers are in bed first (Y/N)” Rhaenyra tells (Y/N) then leaves and follows Daemon.

(Y/N) takes Jace and Luke to their room and gets them in bed and makes way to her room and her handmaidens help her get dressed in a nightgown.

(Y/N) is woken up by Jace, Luke and Baela and Rhaena all talking at once saying someone stole Vhagar and they want to see who took her as they walked down the corridor to the open door and see a shadow walking in and (Y/N) sees it’s Aemond.

“It was him!” Baela yells.

“It’s me,” Aemond says back.

“Vhagar was my mother’s dragon!” Rhaena yells at Aemond.

“Your mothers dead Vhagar has a new rider now”Aemond tells them.

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena yells at him.

“Then you should have claimed her, maybe your cousins can get you a pig to ride it would suit you” Aemond tells Rhaena.

Rhaena runs up to Aemond and hits him as he pushes her to the floor then Baela runs up to Aemond and punches him as he punches her back and she hits the floor.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon” Aemond yells at them.

“Please stop this madness!” (Y/N) yells as she tries to get in between them.

Jace and Luke run over and start hitting Aemond as (Y/N) tries to pull everyone away from each other but Baela pushes (Y/N) to the floor and hits Aemond but that makes Aemond angry and he punches Baela and Rhaena to the floor and throws Jace off of him and holds Luke by the throat.

“You will die screaming in pain and fire like your father should have bastards!” Aemond yells at Luke.

“My father was never in a fire.” Luke says.

“He doesn’t know does he now Lord Strong.” Aemond says to Jace as he throws Luke to the floor.

“Stop this nonsense please!” (Y/N) yells out helping Luke up.

Jace pulls out his blade and runs at Aemond and Aemond hits him and knocks the blade out of his hand and picks up a rock and holds it over Jace's face as Luke grabs the blade and runs at Aemond and slashes up and hits Aemond in the eye (Y/N) yells out and sees all the blood and goes to help Aemond and yells out for help as the King's guards make way over to Aemond.

The Great Hall in Driftmark

(Y/N) stood near her brother’s as everyone entered the great hall Rhaenyra runs in and over and holds onto Luke’s face as she looks over at Jace and (Y/N).

“He called us bastards, mother,” Luke tells Rhaenyra.

“My daughter and sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace, this is the highest of treasons Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders,” Rhaenyra says to Viserys.

“Over an insult? My son has lost an eye!” Alicent says with tears in her eyes.

“You tell me boy where did you hear this lie?” Viserys asks Aemond.

“The insult was training yard bluster- the lot of boys it was nothing” Alicent says trying to help her son.

“Aemond… I asked you a question?” Viserys asks Aemond again.

“Where is Ser Laenor? I wonder? The boy's father?” Alicent asks.

“Yes, where is Ser Laenor?” Viserys asks Rhaenyra.

“I do not know your grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk” Rhaenyra says.

“Entertaining his young squires I would venture” Alicent says.

“Aemond… look at me your King demands an answer who spoke these lies to you?” Viserys asks again as Aemond looks over at Alicent before answering.

“It was Aegon,” Aemond says.

“Me?” Aegon whispers as Viserys makes his way over to him.

“And you boy? Where did you hear such calumnies? Aegon! Tell me the truth!” Viserys yells at Aegon.

“We know father, everyone knows just look at them” Aegon says to Viserys.

“This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another your father your grand sire your King demands it!” Viserys yells out.

“That is insufficient, Aemond has been damaged permanently my King goodwill cannot make him whole.” Alicent tells Viserys.

“I know Alicent but I cannot restore his eye” Viserys tells Alicent.

“No, because it’s been taken,” Alicent says.

“What would you have me do?” Viserys asks Alicent.

“There is a debt to be paid I shall have one of her son's eyes in return” Alicent says to Viserys then looking at Rhaenyra.

“My dearest wife,” Viserys says.

“He is your son Viserys your blood” Alicent says tearfully.

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment” Viserys tells Alicent.

“If the King will not seek justice the Queen will Ser Criston bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon” Alicent says.

“Mother!” Luke yells hiding behind Rhaenyra.

“Alicent!” Viserys yells out.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son” Alicent says to Ser Criston.

“You will do no such thing” Rhaenyra says, pushing Luke behind her more.

“Stay your hand!” Viserys yells.

“No, you are sworn to me !” Alicent yells out.

“As your protector my Queen” Ser Criston says, stepping down.

“Alicent this matter ... .is finished do you understand?” Viserys asks Alicent before turning to the mass.

“And let it be known anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s son's birth should have it removed” Viserys says to everyone.

“Thank you father” Rhaenyra says then turns to her children.

Everything then turns as Alicent grabs the Valyrian steel dagger and charges at Rhaenyra but (Y/N) steps in the way and Alicent slashes (Y/N)’s hand as Rhaenyra grabs Alicent and holds the dagger away from her as Lord Corlys hold (Y/N)’s hand and calls for a maester.

“You’ve gone too far,” Rhaenyra tells Alicent.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law while you flouncy all to do as you please” Alicent says.

“Alicent let her go!” Viserys yells out.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again” Alicent says.

“Release the blade Alicent” Otto yells out.

“And now you take my sons eye and to even that you feel entitled” Alicent says to Rhaenyra.

“Exhausting wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness but now they see you as you are” Rhaenyra says letting go of Alicent as the blade slashes Rhaenyra’s arm.

“Do not mourn my mother, it was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye but I gained a dragon” Aemond says.

Lord Corlys helps (Y/N) to her room as everyone follows and waits for the maester to clean and stitch up the cut.

“It was a clean cut my Princess you are lucky and but the looks so is your mother” the maester tells (Y/N).

“My love, are you alright?” Laenor asks (Y/N).

“Father I’m alright” (Y/N) says as Rhaenyra has the handmaiden take (Y/N), Jace and Luke to a room and wait for them leaving Rhaenyra and Daemon and Laenor alone to talk.

Taglist: @rosey1981 @hc-geralt-23 @lightdragonrayne @snh96

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 37: CHÉVALIER (2022)

1. The Introduction

Well, hello there, Citizens! I’m back and I hope you missed me! Sorry for the multiple delays and all, but luckily I’m back at it now!!!

Okay, so this movie has been on my radar ever since it got announced. A story featuring a real Black man who lived during Frev? Sign me up! This has excellent potential and also, to my knowledge, at least a partially Black crew so we get more representation of marginalized groups in crews and on the screen!

At least, those were my thoughts before I actually watched the movie, but we’ll get to whether it was a good media piece later.

I found the movie on Russian language streaming websites, but it’s available on Amazon Prime and Disney Plus for those who would like to watch the original English version.

This review is dedicated to @idieonthishill , @vivelareine (who has a review that unpacks the movie from a historical pov and is welcome to add to the review 😊), @theravenclawrevolutionary , @sansculottides , @citizentaleo , @saintjustitude , @avergehistoryenjoyer , @lanterne and @jenxiez .

Okay, let the Jacobin Fiction Convention reopen!

2. The Summary

The movie tells a story of a real man, Joseph Bologne aka Chévalier de Saint-Georges. Recognized son of a white French nobleman and an enslaved black woman, Bologne must navigate the cutthroat world of the Parisian high society, dealing with racism and trying to reconcile his “white” upbringing with his African roots.

Sounds interesting, but let’s see how the premise was handled.

3. The Story

The Introduction scene - a musical duel between Mozart and Bologne, was actually quite good in my opinion. So were the other beginning scenes of kid Bologne growing up in France as an aristocrat and being bullied by his white peers, plus his father telling him not to let society break him.

These scenes establish quite well that Bologne has to carve out a place for himself among French nobility and make a lot of effort to get even a hint of acceptance. Sounds like a nice setup, right? Well, unfortunately at times Bologne in the movie doesn’t seem to have much agency at all.

For example, his title is granted to him by Marie-Antoinette basically on a whim, handed to him on a silver platter because the queen was impressed by his fencing skills, which in my opinion isn’t enough to show a character who has to work hard to be accepted. I think it would’ve been better if Bologne had at least several impressive fencing performances to prove himself and show more of his skills.

On the flip side, there are characters who have a bit too much agency. For example, in the story it’s Marie Antoinette who is calling all the shots and giving all the orders in France, even though Louis is alive and well. It’s definitely jarring to see how people say “by the order of the queen” when the king should be the one mentioned instead.

I didn’t care much for the love triangle storyline, but it’s my own personal preference and also the fact that it, like many parts of the story, isn’t all that nuanced. So yeah, very bland and boring.

Yes, Citizens, unfortunately nuance has officially left the chat, especially when it comes to the main character. See, at first Bologne doesn’t give a shit about poverty and famine plaguing France. He is enjoying his cushy life and his friendship with the queen of France instead. However, you know what makes him join the Jacobins? A fucking PERSONAL FALLING OUT WITH THE QUEEN. Not promises of abolishing slavery or granting rights to black people, not his own ideals… Just fucking pettiness!

It would have been much better if he didn’t have a falling out with Marie Antoinette and signed up for fighting with the Republicans because he genuinely wanted to do what was right, not due to personal beef. Especially since that was why he joined Frev in reality – the real Bologne made a choice to do the right thing simply because it seemed to be the right thing to him. Not out of petty desire to get back at the queen.

Also, the conflict between Bologne and his mother about how he is acting “too white”… eeeehh. To me it felt very anachronistic but maybe I’m wrong and there is more nuance missing because EVERYONE at court had to carry themselves in a certain way to make it. If you couldn’t do it, you were socially FUCKED. Besides, Nanon (the mother) and her friends crack really mean jokes about Bologne being “too white”, which is… well, an INTERESTING way to endear him to his mother’s culture…

The movie is juggling admittedly anachronistic theme about black culture, anti-slavery message, court drama and love triangles… and the juggling is done quite sloppily too, I’m afraid.

Also, just to illustrate how inaccurate this movie is, the events of 1789 are shown happening in 1776 for some reason, which shows just how much the creators didn’t give a shit about research.

Moving on.

4. The Characters

I really didn’t care for Bologne to be honest. He shows selfishness and pettiness, doesn’t have enough agency in the story and is also very inconsistent. After falling out with Marie Antoinette, he claims he defended her, which… he didn’t! At least it’s not shown in the movie! What the fuck happened to “show, don’t tell”?! Also, his incredible talents aren’t really shown in the way they could’ve been, more on that in the soundtrack section. A missed opportunity, really.

Nanon, Bologne’s mother, is a real embodiment of the themes of slavery and trauma present in the the movie. She merely exists to push him to embrace his African heritage and to remind him that he will never be truly accepted by other nobles. I honestly wish there was more to her character, because she ends up being little more than a walking theme embodiment.

Marie Antoinette here is a capricious, fair weather friend. She CLAIMS to support Bologne, but does it in indirect ways out of fear that nobles wouldn’t appreciate her openly backing a black man. Even though she is an absolute monarch so she can afford to show her support more openly. Actions speak louder than words, and she is clearly not a true ally of Bologne.

Marie Joséphe, Bologne’s love interest, is a woman trapped in a miserable marriage and yearning to act in Bologne’s operas. While I do sympathize with her, I believe that there really isn’t much depth to her either. We just don’t learn much about her. This is becoming a common theme…

Also, just as a side note while we’re talking about characters, many white characters in the movie are shown as mere flat caricatures. I can understand why, but, again, this doesn’t show nuance as in reality, while Bologne definitely had to deal with racism, he was not only accepted, but adored as a celebrity, but we don’t see that reflected in the attitudes of other people towards him. Because apparently the brains of the spectators will implode when they see nuance in a modern movie, it seems.

5. The Setting

Personally I wasn’t that impressed by the costumes or the settings. I’ve seen much better ones. Nothing bad, but nothing outstanding either.

6. The Soundtrack

Where the fuck is actual music from that time period?! Where is music by Bologne himself?! It’s a fucking missed opportunity and I don’t know what prevented the creators from including the music written by the MAIN DAMN CHARACTER into a biopic about him. A shame that they missed yet another opportunity.

7. The Conclusion

Honestly… I can’t say much when it comes to what this movie is fucking about. The story is bland, lacks nuance, doesn’t follow basic historical facts and is pulled in a million directions.

For a movie about an obscure figure, it doesn’t show much of the things Bologne was known for and at times even strips him of agency. We need to have better POC representation, because this is just not it.

The movie is mediocre, bland and forgettable. Don’t waste your time on it.

With that, I declare today’s meeting of the Jacobin Fiction Convention to be over. Thank you for your patience and support during this hiatus of mine.

Stay tuned and stay safe!

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel

[secretdiaryofcrowley]

Where we left off: Shax, newly anointed Duchess of Hell, jumpscared our hero in his bentley….

…. and apparently, she wants to bribe me with liquor-filled chocolates to come back to Hell. I’m not going back, but first I puncture the chocolates with a pen to drink all the liquor. Oh, and did I mention I’m small? (the puncturing and drinking thingie wouldn’t work too well if I was my usual size).

“Stop deluding yourself, Crowley. Deep inside, you already know that Aziraphale left for one reason only. You are a demon and you will never be good enough for him.” Shax tilts her head to the side in one of those familiar bird-demon gestures and watches me intently with one eye.  “How does that make you feel, Crowley? Hurt? Angry? Will you let an angel treat you this way? Break you and cast you away like a used toy?”

I clench the pen and ram into the next piece of chocolate like a tiny lance. This is ridiculous. She doesn’t know the least thing about my angel. However delusional Aziraphale may be for believing he can make a difference in Heaven, deep down his intentions are good. He never wanted to hurt me.

“You gave up everything just to be with him, and you’ve risked everything, even your own destruction. And at the first grasp of power – he’s gone!”

No. No, no, no, no! This isn’t about power. Aziraphale doesn’t care about power at all. He wants to change the system from within. He wants to turn Heaven into the place of light, he always believed it’s meant to be.

But in this belief, there’s no place for a demon. There would have been a place for the angel I was, but I can no longer be that angel.

Shax’ eyes glitter. “I’m not offering you a job, Crowley, I’m offering you a chance at revenge. Rise from the ashes and use that burning fury inside you against the one who wronged you. Unite with me and strike him down on the battlefield in the Great War to come.”

Revenge? Burning fury? I almost choke on the burning whiskey running down my throat. Course, I understand where this is going, she wants to me to direct my anger against Aziraphale. She wants me to become the big bad demon in shiny black armour raining fire and destruction in his unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

Bloody Heaven, I can almost picture this. Aziraphale and me having a face-off in the midst of battle. He’s probably wearing something silvery-white and carrying – I don’t know – some flaming sword or lancea-longini-spear-of-destiny-thingie. And then we’d look into each other’s eyes and stab each other very dramatically with Heaven and Hell watching. And maybe, just maybe, we’d die even more dramatically in each other’s arms with white and black wings entwined.

There’s only one little mistake in this scenario, we did this whole silver knight - dark knight scenario a thousand years ago in King Arthur’s Court and it hasn’t become any less pathetic since then. And second – a crank handle isn’t really made for stabbing. Or fighting in wars for that matter.

“Sorry, Shax.” I’m back to normal size now, sitting in my usual seat behind the wheel. “Nice career option, just not seeing myself there. Anyway, thanks for the booze and tell Hastur, I said ‘hi’”.

She looks at me incredulously. “This choice will have consequences. If you stand aside like a coward, you will be crushed like one.”

“There are always consequences.” I shrug. “But it’s not cowardice, although you probably don’t believe me.”

“What is it, then?” She eyes me suspiciously.

“I just don’t feel it, Shax. All this silly power play for rank and influence and who-get’s-the-biggest-throne-and-the-shiniest-medal. I know, we demons are supposed to live for this, but I just don’t care.  And, you know, that eternal-fiend-thing with the angels? Don’t feel that either.”

“Earth has made you weak.” She shakes her head. “All of us will assemble and take our positions in the last stand. Like on a chess board. If you don’t take yours, you will be totally insignificant in the game to come. And my offer was better than anything you could've hoped to achieve. You could’ve been my Second-in-Command, once I sit on Beelzebub’s old throne.”

She can’t know that she’s already the second person to offer me a position like that. The third, actually, if you count “The United States of Beelzebub”.

No.

No Heaven for me. No Hell for me. I’m done.

“I’m perfectly fine with being insignificant.” I want to add more, but she’s already vanished.

Anyway, I’m keeping the coffee. Or in my case, the liquor.

~*~

More Diary Parts

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19

[lazorbeanz]

Late Night

Unbreakable Bond

Headcanons and indirect quotes :p #4

🔶 Tails: You ready for tomorrow’s history test?

Sonic: Yea

Tails: What ended in 1896?

Sonic: 1895

Tails: Yea you ready…

🔷 Tails: So, who did ya learn about today?

Sonic: Errr some guy called ‘Martha Luker King Jr.’

Tails: *tryna hold it together* u-uhm okay…and what did he do?

Sonic: *with all confidence* He died for our sins…

Tails: Wait no that’s- *wheeze*

🔶 Sonic singing along the Chorus of Speed Life (he doesn’t know French): 🎶“Something something speed life…SOMEBODY’S WATCHING MEEEEEE”🎶

🔷 Sonic and Tails have this challenge they do at karaoke nights where they attempt to sing a song that’s not in English, which really just ends up as a big laughing fest as they fail miserably. Sonic tries to make up for it by dancing to the music (cuz mind you, it’s catchy) but his legs turn into spaghetti from his fit, and faceplants onto the floor. Tails attempts to help him up but his knees do a funny and falls on top of him, leaving the brothers immobile and gasping for air.

🔶 Sonic: is the pink panther a lion?

Tails: say that again but slower

Sonic: I don’t get??

Tails: he’s the pink PANTHER

Sonic: okay?? But is he a lion?

Tails: 🤦..*grabs the landline phone* hello is this the brain replacement store-

🔷 The brothers have a war going on in their Snapchat stories, where they would steal awkward pics of each other…whether that’s Sonic eating a really messy chilidog or tails after an experiment gone horribly wrong, with the caption being like ‘look at this loser lol’ or something meme related…yes they turn each other into memes

🔶 Sonic would randomly decide to attach tails to a lead every now and then to see his reaction, which at first was pretty vicious, but now he’s just like “rlly bro? -_-” but either one would send Sonic in hysterics

🔷 Tails: hey Sonic, what word starts with “f” and ends with “u c k?”

Sonic: Fu- WAIT TAILS NO-

Tails: it’s firetruck! 😊 uhh sonic?

*cue sonic getting carted away in an ambulance…i think he stopped breathing*

🔶 Since Sonic doesn’t give a toss, tails would somewhat keep an eye out on his brother’s quill care (you could say Amy has talked to Tails about the matter) so after heaps of reasoning and the last resort - the cute fox eyes, Sonic reluctantly gives in to letting his younger brother brush his quills for the first time. It’d go down something like this…

Tails: one~

Sonic: ow-

Tails: two~

Sonic: OWWW…how many of these (brush strokes) do we have to do?!

Tails: like a thousand or something…thre-

Sonic: AAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEE!!!!🦅🦅🦅

ANOTHER LIFE IN THE DREAMHOUSE REFERENCE IM SORRY IM SORRY-

🔷 Tails was so sleep deprived that he almost mistook liquid petroleum for coffee one morning (somehow)

🔶 Tails loves planes…in all forms…and THAT INCLUDES the one used to be fed…

Sonic: Tails, you are 8 years old, with an IQ of about 300…and you still want me to do…this?

Tails: b-but…aeroplaneee 🥺

Happy wholesome Wednesday!

Whilst you’re here, we have an Unbreakable Bond Discord server out for all you folks who love the brothers just as much as us! 💙💛 It’s a totally chill place where we can chat, share art or fics, and most importantly, hyperfixate over that hog and fox duo we love so much! (There’s even a place for boops!)

Created by @suzienightsky ✨ If you’re keen on joining, flick her a DM and she’ll give you an invite.

Sorry for the ad lmao

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 12

Danny sealing away the previous ghost king came back to haunt him. Someone freed him. He also has the crown and ring again. Maybe the fruitloop maybe a cultist who knows. Danny has words.

No one is able to stand up to him. His rouges tried his allies tried. I like the idea of ghost speak so they just can’t do anything. Danny and Vlad have a natural resistance to his orders as half human.

Background knowledge Giw is a huge thing. Like it’s supported by a lot of ppl. They have actually had Danny at one point before sam and tucker busted him out.

Danny and pariah are in a fight. It’s an official one on one fight. They end up in the human realm. Danny realized right away that they changed locations.

Danny went from attack to protect. Majority of his power is going to protect the people. Ice walls, shields anything he can. Danny is stopping the crazed lunatic from destroying houses and entire cities. This continues for a long time.

With a blast from both pariah and Danny they both disappear.

Reform is brought. Sam tucker and jazz lead it. No longer are the anti-ecto laws a thing. Time passes and the reformed laws are the bases of the meta human rights. Phantom is remembered as a hero who stopped pariah. Everyone thinks the two took each other out.

Danny’s friends and family are long gone at this point. But a portal opens and out the two come. They had fallen into a portal that lead them to future.

So now there fighting yet again in the human world. Danny managing to get more offensive as others are dealing with the humans. He doesn’t necessarily notice this.

He is to focused on pariah to notice the flying cosplayer and the furries.

In the end danny gets the crown away from him. The two only work when both are wielded. This time danny forces pariah into his core which ends the duel.

Pariahs core glows and fizzles out of existence. Danny is now king.

So now the justice league has to deal with a newly crowned king. One who has no trust in the government has been displaced in time and all his family is dead.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 266

Back on my Danny & Ras frienemies/rivals/maybe-lovers-nobody-can-tell-their-signals-are-very-mixed train. 

See, Danny has gone through time a lot. Often. It comes with being Clockwork’s charge-son-thing and honestly he finds it fun. And several times he’s used this time travelling to get some training in. Enter Ras, stage left, also a teen at the time and also learning swordsmanship from the same person. 

And they… utterly despise each other. They would kill the other for an apple slice, if the other one would die! But also, only they can kill the other, as it is obviously their right! 

And well, they keep running into each other. It has been a hundred years, surely the other would die by now? But of course their rival would live through utter spite. Probably to spite them specifically. 

The amount of times they have ended up sparring- trying to kill each other or not- the moment they see the other is actually ridiculous. But time is also passing. And… Danny understands, not having another to talk about things people are forgetting, or have already forgotten. 

How they ended up actually talking without a murder attempt was a long story that included a demon, a dragon, a pair of fae, some bandits, and a lot of alcohol, but it happened. And then it happens again. And again, and now it’s just kind of normal to share a drink after their spars, talking about things that no longer exist, and things they miss. 

Sure Danny can go back in time again, but he knows better than to do it willy nilly. He’s matured, he’s been an adult for a hundred years now, he knows there’s consequences for messing with time, even with Clockwork’s blessings. 

The first time they got married was technically for an undercover assassination. Well, Ras was there to assassinate someone, Danny was there to grab an artifact that should Not be in the realm of the living. And they got divorced after, it was fine. 

They just, also got married again when they met a few years later, for another job. And… okay, so maybe they have gotten married over a dozen times now and only divorced like half of those times. Half of those were for the bit or while drunk! 

And even if technically they’re married or shared a bed, it’s not like they're exclusive! As Ras’ daughters’ existences attest to (adopted in one case or not). They don’t exactly have a label for their relationship, despite others asking for one or trying to put a name to it themselves. 

Now Danny knows Ras isn’t exactly a good dude, or at least on the side of ‘good’ as he’s a literal assassin. But he also knows that good? Bad? Rather relative. He had gotten labeled as a villain when he was just trying to help all that time ago after all, and really who was he to tell someone else how to live their life? 

Which brings him to now, where he’s run into his old frienemy-rival and his youngest daughter. Who has a braindead teenager and a small toddler. Which is fine, really- but also, Talia dear, why are you using a brain dead teenager to guard your three year old son? 

…

Okay, Talia dear, Ras (Derogatory), why are you using your brain dead son and grandson to guard your younger son and grandson? Do you not have the Pits, which you were soo proud about Ras? Yes, he will spar with you, but for Realms’ sake, heal, what’s his name? Ah yes, go heal Jason and he’ll actually stick around for a few years, deal? Good. 

[the-meme-monarch]

spades king better either genuinely make it up to his son or rot in that cell for the rest of the game