#on my hands and knees. absolute tragedy

[un-pearable]

i need to be awake and Functional in two hours but in the meantime i can and will cry over my own fic. sue me i miss shard and jules and i will continue to lose my mind over them even if i haven’t published anything more about them than this

[naivegh0ul]

Hngggg I'm losing my mind over sweaty Ghost. Filthy, smells absolutely vile but in the best way possible. Maybe this is just my scent kink talking, idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

(warnings: smut, gender neutral reader, scent kink, armpit licking, blowjobs, overall filth)

(word count: 1167)

His shirt is drenched, and his sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, revealing his happy trail, sticking against his skin from how sweaty he is.

He's sitting on a bench, his mask pulled up above his nose as he drinks from his water bottle, some dribbling down his chin from how fast and messily he's drinking it.

It has you thinking about how he'd look between your legs, his jaw and mouth slick with your juices and cocky smile on his face, showing off those pointy canines.

You wouldn't mind getting beard burn on your thighs from his stubble, rubbing against your thighs from how messy he's being.

Ghost catches you staring, clearly mid-daydream, and he sends you a wink, those deep brown eyes of his filled with lust. He stands up, pulling his mask back down before turning away and heading towards the showers.

Now that would be a tragedy, to wash away his intoxicating scent under the shitty pressure of the base showers, using some random bar of soap. No, you have to stop him before he commits such a heinous crime.

You follow him into the communal showers, and as he strips out of his clothes, his bare body being revealed piece by piece, you get an amazing show of just how strong Ghost is.

Ghost knows you're there, no doubt, he's trained in the art of you, so it's no surprise that when he steps into the shower cubicle, he waits a moment before turning the shower head on, giving you time to get naked and join him.

He knows you're there when he feels a pair of hands on his hips, your thumbs rubbing softly. "Thought you could wash away all that sweat without me knowing, Simon?" Ghost hears you say, your tone surprisingly dominant.

You flip Ghost around, pressing his back against the cold shower wall, and Ghost lifts his arm up for you, knowing what's about to happen. He lets out a groan as you immediately dive in, shoving your face into his armpit and sniffing, sniffing like a damn dog.

He feels your hot tongue poking against his already steaming skin, lapping up his sweat from his workout, your nose deep in the hair there. "Fuck, look at you, filthy bastard." Ghost chuckles teasingly, his other hand not currently in the air resting on your lower back, occasionally sliding down to cup your ass.

"Saw me and just couldn't resist, huh? A fuckin' dog is what you are." Ghost slaps your ass as he speaks, smirking at the way you moan into his underarm. He grunts in surprise when you turn your head to the side and bite his pec in retaliation to his words, your teeth marking his skin, staking your claim.

You huff annoyedly, turning back to the task at hand. You bury yourself in Ghost's armpit, lapping up his sweat and inhaling his dirty scent. After a while, you pull away, panting slightly. Ghost watches as you sink to your knees and lean forward, cupping Ghost's cock. Not to jerk him off, no, but to push it out of the way so you can nose at his musky balls, sucking one into your mouth.

"That's the spirit, just like that." Ghost praises, groaning quietly as you slather his balls in saliva. Ghost truly moans when you lean back and grasp his cock, your hand wrapped around the base, and you take the head of his cock into your mouth.

The way your lips stretch around Ghost's cock, jaw becoming slack to accommodate his size, it has Ghost grabbing your head and slowly pushing you further down his cock.

He feels you choke, feels you swallow as the tip of cock bumps the back of your throat, and you're not even halfway down yet. "Come on, sweetheart, you can take it. Relax that throat for me." Ghost says, his voice gruff yet gentle. "There we go, good job." He praises and watches you shudder, feels the vibrations as you moan around his cock.

His hips jerk at the sensation, thrusting his cock further down your throat by accident. Ghost moans at the feeling of your wet, warm throat struggling, tightening up around him as he's too big for you. "You can take it, love. I know you can." Ghost grunts.

You look up at him with wet eyes, unshed tears in the corners as proof of how much of a struggle it is for you to take Ghost's cock. That fact just gives Ghost an ego boost, makes him feel a burst of pride as he knows that you've taken him fully many times before.

It makes Ghost all the more proud of you as he slowly slides more of his cock into your mouth, your throat relaxing and letting him slip all of his cock inside.

"Fuck." Ghost groans, his head falling back against the tiled wall. "Gonna fuck your face now, love." He warns and pulls your head back slightly before pushing it down, grunting at the feeling. "Doing so well for me, sweetheart."

Ghost looks down at you, admiring the way your pretty lips stretch around his cock, the way your eyes flutter shut each time he pushes you down on his cock, throat contracting as you swallow. "Gorgeous." Ghost whispers as he gazes down at you, brown eyes filled with admiration.

You whine, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment and Ghost chuckles softly. "Alright, I'll stop." He says teasingly, a rare smile on his face as he continues to slowly move your head up and down his shaft, that familiar coil curling in his gut with each pass.

He speeds you up slightly, bobbing your head while also thrusting, pushing you down at the same time his hips press against your face. "Mmm, 's like you were made for me." Ghost exhales heavily as he feels himself getting close to the edge. He pulls out slightly before grinding against your face, his cock forced deep down your throat, making you choke a little.

"Come on, 'm almost there. Gonna cum down this perfect throat." The shower room fills with the sound of shaky breaths and slick noises, your gagging loud and lewd. Ghost grunts on each thrust, his balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

The feeling of your hands snaking up his thighs and resting on his hips is what does it for him. He comes with a moan, cock twitching in your mouth as he spills his thick seed down your throat, forcing you to swallow. Praises spew from his mouth, 'good job's and 'so good' echoing through the shower stall.

After a moment, Ghost pulls your head back, his cock now soft, although it jumps when Ghost looks down at you and sees you looking back up at him, lashes wet with tears and an eager smirk on your face. "Fuckin' insatiable, you are." Ghost chides with a laugh, leaning back against the wall as he catches his breath.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 14

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

at last (i see the light) by @theroyalsavage

Of a tower, a missing prince with the sun in his hair and the ability to heal with a touch, and a terrible-dangerous-very-bad bandit who’s never been all that good at being very bad, dangerous, or terrible. An AU based off of Disney’s Tangled.

IVE BEEN W A I T I N G FOR A SOLANGELO TANGLED AU OMG. and this ATE. was so fucking good. obviously bc its theroyalsavage but still omg. sorry for harrassing u btw. but i LOVE this. nico as flynn pov and just fucking reluctantly smitten from the beginning.....oh i know that's right

2. a letter to the moon (it is not brighter than you) by @theroyalsavage

When his kingdom is plagued by a series of unsolvable murders, Prince Will Solace must confront several things: tragedy, helplessness, and the dizzy-sweet inevitability of falling in love.

is this, like the author's note indicates, reminiscent of bbc merlin? yes. and so i LOVE. rivals to friends to lovers my BELOVED. royalty aus my BELOVED. and honestly yall should be supporting my royalsavage agenda purely by her titles like LOOK at these. my heart hurts like

3. In the darkest grays by @izlaria

[The sun bursts, clouds break.] Nico di Angelo loves in color. This is something that Will Solace has always known.

hi. i am obsessed w this fic. a nico character atudy that is disguised as will character study that IS a will character study........something something they are braided strings of fate something something....also! sally jackson my love!! she is everything to me and of COURSE she would show up here!! i am also obsessed w longtime pining will like is it even a solangelo fic if will has not been in the trenches since he was ten years old

4. eudaimonia by @forochel

Nico watched Percy wave his arms excitedly at Annabeth and breathed through the habitual twisting of his stomach. For a moment, he thought of walking over to them - ever the masochist, he thought wryly to himself - but then Annabeth threw her head back in a laugh, and Nico dismissed the thought. There would be another time and another place. ** Diverges SLIGHTLY from canon in that Nico does not confess to Percy right off the bat - he gets the chance to heal, find himself and a place to stand in camp, and form friendships. Also, attempts to fix the whole Solangelo shoehorning thing.

AUTHOR IF YOU ARE STILL ACTIVE. FOROCHEL IF YOU SEE THIS. I AM BEGGING. KNEES ON THE GROUND HANDS CLASPED ROSARY CHOKING LIKE A NOOSE. PLEASE. PLEASE UPDATE THIS SERIES IM BEGGING. I KNOW IT IS UNGRATEFUL BUT 20K IS NOT ENOUGH. THIS IS N I C O S VOICE. LIKE ACTUALLY. dude it KILLS me this is HIM 😭😭😭 i cannot get over how wonderful this is and how FRESH....like this came out right after boo! it was fresh in ur mind!! and you went CRAZY like this is SO SO GOOD!! this fic is CONSTANTLY rotating in my mind and i am constantly thinking about the path it carved.....hve never gotten over it ever

5. Baby Satyrs and Charming Boyfriends by @biancadiangeno / @fiestiest

Nico di Angelo had absolutely no idea how babysitting works, and Will Solace was having way too much fun teasing him to actually help out.

this fic is so silly and fun. i love it!! and the ending made me giggle will needed that humbling

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[loki-cees-all]

Fiji {James Conrad x Female Reader Drabble}

Cee's James Conrad Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link

Pairing : James Conrad x Female Reader

Summary : A much-needed vacation for you and Conrad leads to nothing but lots of skin, sunshine, and the bluest blue you’ve ever seen.

W/c : 1.5k words

Content / Warnings : Established relationship, skinny-dipping, hurt/comfort (focus on the comfort for a change), some lingering angst, and just a touch of smut.

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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Daylight had only broken two hours prior, but you were already in the ocean. 

The bright cerulean sky overhead blended seamlessly with the crystal blue water below. At your shoulders, gentle and warm waves lapped at your skin, and in the distance, the calls of the local parrot finches provided the perfect soundscape for the island. Deep below the water’s surface, docile sand soothed the aching muscles of your feet, and if you submerged yourself completely in the water, you’d be able to see for almost a mile along the ocean floor. 

That is, if you were interested in thinking about anything besides the gorgeous man wrapped around you. 

Conrad had grumbled when you’d woken him up so early, just barely four hours after setting up camp and passing out on the vacant beach together. The face he’d made while trying desperately, and failing, to pull you back into the sleeping bag was infuriatingly adorable. But once his eyes had opened enough to see you happily stripping for a naked morning swim, his attitude had changed almost instantly. 

“Is this what you had in mind when you demanded a midnight boat ride to Tivoa Island?” Conrad had grinned as he peeled off his t-shirt and began working on his jeans. His hungry eyes were glued to your frame as you pulled your tank top overhead and then shimmied your shorts down your hips; his fingers, not quite as awake as his eyes were at that point, had fumbled with the buttons, struggling to free himself fast enough and catch up with you. 

You had laughed in response, walking backwards towards the water, taunting him with your nude form and an innocent smile on your lips. “I didn’t demand anything, darling. I politely requested that you find someone to give us a lift, that’s all.” 

The water was up to your knees by the time Conrad managed to catch up with you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and lifting you up into a backwards bearhug. And you had squealed with delight as he buried his nose in your neck and began to move you both deeper into the healing waters.

“If I had known that this little excursion was going to include skinny-dipping, I would have found us a ride a lot sooner than midnight, my dear…” he had murmured against your skin, breathing in your scent and running his hands along your hips once you lowered you back to your feet. 

Conrad’s touch was heavenly - his skin was so soft and soothingly warm, his every muscle so steady and strong against your back. At that moment, you were happier than you’d ever been. 

You’d already spent ten whole days and nine entire nights with him - every minute was kept all to yourselves, and there were absolutely no interruptions. But still, neither of you could keep your eyes and hands off each other the entire time. This was by far the longest you’d spent together since that very first meeting back in Saigon, and the entire trip had been nothing short of perfection - exploring new places and cultures along the islands of Fiji by day, and making considerable amounts of love by night. Everything the soul needed to set itself right again. 

Conrad hadn’t been sold on the idea of a vacation when you first broached the subject; he was a working man by birth, a desperate martyr looking for some way to be of use, and never one to turn down a job that needed doing. Whether any particular job actually needed doing was always up for debate, in your opinion, and after the tragedy on Skull Island, you were prepared to become relentless in your insistence that he needed to rest. 

But much to your surprise, he had immediately given in. He acquiesced, without any further struggle or argument, and took you up in your offer to travel for pleasure instead of pain. Because something horrible on that island had finally broken him, and it killed you to see it. 

Initially, he hadn’t wanted to discuss it at all…much in the same way he never wanted to talk about the war. You didn’t want to pry or to push in respect for his privacy, but you knew whatever still haunted him was deep and painful haunting. Even months later, he still had nightmares, and he’d wake up with a start, bolting upright and shouting orders at the long lost ghosts of Skull Island. 

And all you could do was hold Conrad tight, hoping that somewhere along the way, between the sun and the moon and the water, he’d finally be able to unburden himself. 

It was the third night in Lautoka, while basking in the afterglow of the second round of lovemaking that evening, when he finally opened up about the horrors of that place. Conrad wasn’t usually one for being upfront about his feelings, especially the negative ones, but he actually admitted to being absolutely terrified, for what was probably only the fourth or fifth time in his entire life. 

But he wasn’t necessarily scared of the monsters, or of the people - no, he had been frightened of never seeing you again. Of never getting to hold you, or make love to you again - and that fear was something he just couldn’t continue living with. With you, there was just too much for him to lose. And if there was one thing trackers hated the most, it was being unable to regain something precious. 

So now here you both were, standing back to chest in the Pacific Ocean, bathing in the sunlight and letting the waves purge away the aches and pains buried deep within both of your souls. Conrad was feeling so much better; he was smiling and laughing again, he was appreciating the little things, he was looking forward to the future. He was alive, and thus, so were you. 

Because you were loved here, cradled in Conrad’s arms and floating amongst the waves of his heart. And he was safe here, protected by you and the sunshine and the gentle breeze, from every dark shadow and every monster that still lingered in his painful memories. The gentle breeze blew away the ashes of the past, and the graceful waves paved the way for a quiet, simple life. 

Nothing could hurt either of you here, and absolutely everything could heal you. 

Conrad squeezed your hips again as he pressed lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder, and you were suddenly reminded of the time constraints against you both. The boat would be heading back to Lautoka at exactly noon, and the docks were just under a half hour’s walk from the beach. As much as you’d love to spend another week on this remote and exquisite beach, the rest of your belongings and food were still tucked away in your room at the Seabreeze Hotel…

“We should probably get a move on, if we don’t want to miss the boat back…” you murmured reluctantly, even as your heart raced while his lips moved up to your ear. Conrad let out an enticing and teasing hum as he nibbled on your earlobe, and a shiver of excitement ran down your spine as he pressed himself harder against your backside. 

“Yes, and we should probably have a snack before we go…” Conrad’s fingertips dipped between your thighs, grazing you softly with the most delicate of touches and leaving your brain short-circuiting in bewilderment. 

“I think there’s, uh…crackers…in my bag…” you breathed heavily, feeling lost in his touch again. Conrad’s fingers matched the gentle ocean waves as they pushed and withdrew, gathering up any leftover anguish and leaving nothing except euphoria in their wake. 

He continued that motion for a few more moments, winding you up for another beautiful release. Your head fell back against his shoulder and your lips parted with heavy breaths as your hips rolled with his fingers. Just as you were about to come, your fingernails dug into his forearms and you moaned his name in just the way he liked. 

But shockingly, right when you were on the edge of an incredible orgasm, Conrad completely withdrew his fingers and scooped you up bridal style instead. You gasped in surprise and your brow furrowed with irritation at the sudden reversal he'd pulled on you. But as you hooked an arm around his shoulder and looked up into his glittering blue eyes, at those irises shining brighter than the ocean and the sun combined, your heart outright stopped in your chest, like you were seeing him for the very first time again.

Conrad’s skin had grown so very tan from the sun, and so very soft from all the salt in the atmosphere. As his skin had grown tanner, new and more impressive freckles had popped up along his high cheekbones and broad shoulders. His beautiful eyes sparkled in the bright light reflecting off the water - the bluest blue you’d ever seen - and you could have sworn he’d acquired several new laugh-lines since this much-needed vacation had begun. 

He was healing. He was whole again, and the ocean had done that for you both. The ocean forces you to let go of everything holding you down, so you could focus on clinging to what was actually important. Nothing else on this planet could ever compare to the ocean’s power. 

Conrad just laughed as he carried you back to shore. “Oh, let me assure you, darling…It’s not food I’m hungry for.” 

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Click here to be added to my James Conrad fic tag list! 💙

[merakiui]

overblot! Riddle nonconning you in front of Ace and Deuce while going on about how this is the only thing a magicless nobody is good for 👍🏼

Omg yes,,,,,,,,

(cw: yandere, gender neutral, nsfw, non-con, humiliation/degradation, public sex)

Amidst a ruined, debris-ridden rose maze, a monster looms. No one dares stray close, lest they find themselves maimed and sent to the grave, and so they can only watch helplessly from the safety of overturned chairs, tables, and uprooted rose trees. The scene was once serene, an almost-perfect Unbirthday. Now it is desolate and bleak, a nightmarish reality that leaves thick, discomforting silence blanketing the grounds.

Riddle casts a grotesquely bone-chilling shadow, and his appearance mirrors that of a creature torn from the pages of a classic horror; that's the only way to describe him: cruel and cold, all sharp, vicious edges and thorns, dripping blot. He's on the verge of a supernova, toeing the line of life and death, a monstrous mage who has reached the consequences of a culmination of excessive magic, spilled over into bitter negativity. The aura that clings to him is, in a word, utterly terrifying.

And you're right there in his shadow, a fragile, caged thing bent down on your hands and knees. Your fingers curl into the grass, tearing clumps. No one dares to speak up, to demand he release you, to fight for your safety and dignity. Hopelessly collared, Ace and Deuce, your closest companions in all of this mess, look on in horror even though they don't mean to.

It's like a tragedy spun right before their eyes. They want to look away, but they can't. It's morbidly ensorcelling.

"Observe!" Riddle's voice booms, commanding absolute obedience and attention. His pallid hips press against your ass while clawed hands dig into your hips, holding you perfectly still. Blood is drawn; it seeps beneath his sharpened nails, leaving painful indents. You feel filthy and fearful, cut down to something small and insignificant and weak. Droplets of blot speckle your backside each time he shifts. It's warm like candle wax, but it doesn't burn.

The betrayal does, though—stains through to your very soul.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut in hopes of drifting off elsewhere. Anywhere that isn't here, speared on his cock for all to see, forced into the grass like you're bowing apologetically before the Queen and her card soldiers.

"You lack the key capabilities all mages must possess, and yet you thought it wise to challenge my rules? Here? When my word is law?" He barks out a laugh, sickly amused. Scarlet eyes narrow with disdain. "Perhaps you're as slovenly as you are disobedient. As expected of a disrespectful, magic-less fool who knows nothing! Absolutely nothing of the order I so carefully uphold!"

He pulls back, seething through grit teeth, and snaps his hips forwards. You collapse on shaky arms, gasping in pain.

It hurts more than heartbreak, more than a bruise, more than a slap. Tears spot your lash line, threatening to fall with one more well-aimed, brutal thrust. Spidery fingers dance along your waist, tracing a line towards your neck. He grips your chin and forces you to look upon a crowd of terrified faces, all ogling with bated breath. Ace is watching and so is Deuce, albeit through the cracks in his hands.

"What did you hope to achieve—to prove—by defying me?" he demands, his grip a deadly vise. "That I could be in the wrong? That all I've worked tirelessly for, all that I've done, is wrong?"

"Riddle..." You wince in your futile attempt to pull away. "Riddle, please... I... I'm sorry, but please... You're hurting me..."

He turns your head towards him, eyes ablaze with a furious tempest, and he leans closer, pinning you with startling ease. His cock presses up against your insides, enveloped tightly in your walls, and you shudder through the discomfort and the agony. A single claw traces dangerously close to your jugular.

"Speak up if you have something to say!"

"It hurts!" You gasp again, outright sobbing now. "It hurts! Please..."

"It's a punishment," he sneers, glaring disapprovingly. "It's meant to impart a lesson—one learned through pain. If you understand this, stop sniveling and respond appropriately."

You're not sure which is worse: humiliation at the hands of someone you considered a friendly acquaintance or the fact that, no matter how villainous he may be, you only wish for him to return to himself. You'd never wish this fate on anyone, but maybe it's your too-big heart that makes it impossible to hate him. You don't hate him. You can't.

And perhaps that's the worst part of all this.

You hang your head, defeated and devoid of hope. "Yes, Dorm Leader..."

And so he teaches you and all those who witness the devastating spectacle a lesson neither will ever forget.

Red is passionate and fiery, a reflection of roses and redamancy. But it is not a pleasant color. Not anymore. Not in the aftermath.

Red is the color of Riddle and Heartslabyul and blood and pain and anger. And every time you spy the slowly healing marks from that day, you feel it all over you. Red everywhere, inside and out. Externally, you may heal with all matter of magical cures, but internally it's not an easy fix.

So red is no longer a comfortable color. You wish you could look upon it and admire it for what it is: a color. But that proves impossible, for a color that is so highly revered as pretty does not evoke pretty feelings for you.

[calirph]

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All sentences on this meme have been taken from Fourth' Wing Novel by Rebecca Yarros. You can change names, locations, pronouns and anything else you see fit. Fourth Wing is a YA Fantasy novel and includes suggestive topics as well the staple of fantasy these days; dragons.

A dragon without its rider is a tragedy.  A rider without their dragon is dead.

There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.

I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself over and over, then I'll do it.

You gave me your heart, and I'm keeping it-

Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.

Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?

I’m going to keep you. You’re mine, Violet.

I’ve been yours for longer than you could ever imagine.

Lies are comforting. Truth is painful.

I am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been. I am infinite.

Oh, Gods.

Which one are you calling out for? Because it’s just you and me in this room, Vi, and I don’t share.

There is nothing more sacred than the Archives. Even temples can be rebuilt, but books cannot be rewritten.

The right way isn’t the only way.

One generation to change the text. One generation chooses to teach that text. The next grows, and the lie becomes history.

I will not die today.

None of this is worth it without you.

You can't make me fall for you and then die.

You’re making us look bad. Stop it.

He cares for you. That’s already hard enough for him.

He cares about keeping me alive. There’s a difference.

You never considered that it was you I couldn’t stay away from?

You’re not going to handle me?

You still love me. It's possible.

I’m just… not as strong as other riders.

It’s hard to love a second home as much as the first.

I fucking love your hair. If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I’ll get the point.

Dragon relationships are absolutely incomprehensible.

You should try a human one sometime. Just as vicious, but less fire.

I appreciate the elevation to deity, but my name will do.

We can live as cowards or die as riders.

Dragons always know.

I'm over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, and you're fucking me with your eyes. That's not playing fair.

Told you to stop staring.

If you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, I would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me. 

You will not fall. I will not allow it.

When did I ever give you the impression that I give a fuck what people think about me?

I thought you said kissing me was a mistake.

Have you always been this tall?

I told you that I was the one who would decide when I'm ready to risk my heart, and I'm saying it.

You want me. And no, I'm not just talking about in bed. You. Want. Me, Xaden Riorson. 

Remember that folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past. If we lose it, we lose the links to our past.

Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need.

They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.

Dragons value strength and cunning and... ferocity in their riders.

And this mouth. All I ever want to do is kiss you, even when you piss me off.

Aren't you a little small for a dragon rider?

If I get my hands on you, really, honestly get my hands on you, I don't know if I'll be able to stop.

They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us. And not all strength is physical, Violet.

Even the most effective poisons come in pretty package.

There is no stronger bond than that between two mated dragons.

Now I take care of you.

We will feast on their bones, Silver One.

I'd have to be a masochist to sleep with you, and I can assure you, I'm not.

The scars are a reminder.

And now I’m a rider. Riders fight.

Dragons pay no heed to your puny gods.

His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion.

We both know this is a bad idea.

The pursuit of knowledge is the key to unlocking the door to wisdom.

Nature likes all things in balance.

In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about.

Your mother has never understood that while riders may be the weapons of our kingdom, it’s the scribes who have all the real power in this world.

At some point, you and I are going to have to start trusting each other.

Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster.

Holy shit. I’m on the back of a dragon.

I can't think when you look at me like that.

Guess everyone wants to be a dragon rider until they’re actually twenty feet away from one.

...power can quickly turn and control you.

If you're looking for a little fun, I'm happy to oblige-

I'm not a damned liability.

When exactly did you decide not to ruin me?

You could command the sky to surrender all its power.

You're overstepping.

He is not sleeping in my room.

Fuck, I'm never going to get enough of you, am I?

Humans have no say in the laws of dragons.

His rider died in the Tyrrish rebellion.

Don't you look handsome.

I've heard healer cadets have a thing for riders.

If I get my hands on you, really, honestly get my hands on you, I don't know if I'll be able to stop.

Stop being so fucking honorable.

I'm not dignifying that with a response. This is an order.

For there, in the land beyond the shadows, were monsters that dwelled in the night and dined on the souls of children who wandered too close to the woods.

But keeping me safe is keeping me from growing, too.

Too heavy. I’m pretty quick with daggers, though.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[spidervee]

in which tangerine and you share an, uh, explosive moment 🌻 18+ for swears, sexual tension and innuendo and implied smut, violence and explosives

“I’m almost out of fuckin’ bullets.” Beside you, Tangerine is reloading his gun, the absolute picture of sin with his hair a dishevelled mess and blood streaked across his cheek and his shirt unbuttoned just outside the realm of decency.

Catching your breath, hands on your knees as you’re crouched over, you try a laugh, hoping to cut some of the tension. “S’alright, love,” you tease, “Fuck the gun, just put those big muscles to work.”

“Fuck off,” Tangerine mutters, but it doesn’t stop him from wiping his knuckle dusters off and readjusting them on his fingers. Just in case. “Just fuckin’ set the fuckin’ charges before I have to throw these bastards through the wall, yeah? Fuckin’ ruined my suit and…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, straightening up, “A tragedy, really. Hamlet, Lear, Tangerine.”

He scowls at you and you reach out to pat his cheek, hand cupping his face for a tender moment before you lean over for a short peck on his lips. “Be careful,” you warn him, all hints of humour gone from your voice. “If you die, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“How goddamn Shakespearean,” Tangerine scoffs, eyebrows quirked to match the upward tick of his moustache.

Thundering footsteps steal your attention and it’s back to business, Tangerine giving your bottom a little tap with the muzzle of his gun as you stand. When you glare at him, he winks.

“You’ve got three minutes,” you tell him. He insists he’ll only need two.

Later, you’ll tease him that, actually, it took him two minutes and twenty-four seconds to retrieve the hard drive you’re there for, but the moment he meets you by the entrance, you’re too relieved to do anything but wrap your arms around him and kiss him hard. But only for the briefest of seconds.

“Run,” you whisper against his lips, grabbing at this wrist and taking off as far as you can from the building that’s about to blow to pieces.

You’ve only just cleared it, ducking into an alley less than half a block away, when the thing goes up in flames. It’s never as dramatic as the movies—a fact that was utterly disappointing the first time you exploded something, but you’ve since gotten used to it.

As if reading your mind, Tangerine wraps an arm around your waist and pulls your back flush against his hard chest. His heart is pounding and he smells like sweat and sulphur, but the action makes your knees quiver. “Fucking spectacular, love,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. “You’re a bloody artist.”

The hand not around your waist snakes down to rub teasingly between your legs, making you whine. You notice there’s still blood on the gold of his rings and knuckle dusters but you can’t be arsed to care.

“People are gonna show up soon,” you warn, but it’s half-hearted. “Burning building and all.”

Tangerine smirks against your neck, biting your pulse point gently. “They’ll be too distracted to see us, love. Burning building and all.”

[rainylana]

A prequel.

Eddie Munson x female reader

warnings: cocaine use, language, sibling lose, depression and grief, angst.

summary: this is short and considered a prequel to a potential series if you guys want it enough. so please let me know! if not, i’ll leave it as is!

Eddie remembered your screams. He remembered them everyday. That was why he couldn’t sleep now. It was raining slightly, a soft sprinkle that wasn’t strong enough to put out his cigarette. He sat on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, eyes tired and drained, dark circles under his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a decent nights sleep.

He was sleeping on the couch tonight, after a fight he’d had with you, but it wasn’t giving him much comfort. Nothing did, these days. The only real joy he got was when he visited his uncle. He loved you very much, but the spark was disappearing day by day. And maybe that wasn’t fair to say, he couldn’t begin to imagine what you were going through. He absolutely could not. Eddie was lonely, he missed you and what you once had, but his girl was nothing but a shell anymore. He missed you terribly. 

It had been two months since your sister, Meredith had died, two months since that dreaded night that haunted everyone. It was like the world had stopped turning on its axis completely, like everyone had stopped breathing.

The friend group was trying it’s hardest to heal and move on from the tragedy of loosing their friend and the state that Max was in, but it was hard when they knew how much you were suffering. Eddie didn’t want to move on without you.

You weren’t doing well. You didn’t eat. All you did was sleep and drink. You were angry, a shell of who you once used to be, so vibrant and bright, now dull and hallow. You didn’t think it was fair that Max had lived and Meredith had died. Even though Max was only living by the machine, her body was still living, her heart still beat, even if her soul was lost somewhere. Max was still here and Meredith wasn’t, and that just wasn’t fair.

Eddie put his cigarette out on the wood railing, hurrying up when the rain started to fall harder. He shook his hair like a wet dog when he came inside, squinting his eyes in the darkness of his home. He went back to your shared bedroom, gently climbing back into bed and resting his arm above his head.

You were snuggled against the pillow, lips parted as you breath in deeply. You must of been having a peaceful sleep, he figured. You didn’t get much of it, as you were usually awakened by night terrors. He brought up his finger to swipe your lip gently, sighing in exhaustion.

“I don’t know how to help you, baby.” He whispered, practically mouthing the words as if you could hear him. He just didn’t know what to do. You were becoming grey, lifeless. Your hair was matted and your face was drained, skin pale and bruised in places.

A wave of ptsd came over him, hearing your screams and your sister’s lifeless body torn to shreds by the demobats. He swallowed harshly, blinking away tears so he wouldn’t wake you up. He missed Meredith so badly, everyone did. It practically killed him for you to go through this pain, killed him because he couldn’t understand it.

He didn’t know how to help.

•

“Where the hell have you been?” You snapped, pacing back and forth wildly. “I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“I know, I know!” He apologized quickly as he rushed inside. “I know, I’m sorry, baby, there was a hold up. The guy-”

“I don’t give a fuck! Just give me my shit!” You barked, stomping toward him and grabbing the bags he carried, turning the upright for the contents to spill on the floor. You rummaged through it till you found your ziplock bag of coke, rushing to the table to dump out a little. Eddie watched as you lined it with a credit card, catching his breath against the wall. You huffed out a breath of relief as you snorted the little white lines, wiping your nose after the second one. You shakily sat down, hands shaking from your intense withdrawal.

“What?” You locked eyes with him.

He shook his head, pushing himself off the wall as he bent down. “Nothin’.” He started picking up his stuff.

“Looks like you got something to say.” You challenged, pushing back your unbrushed hair.

Eddie signed, zipping up his backpack as he tossed it to the side. “Y/n, it’s nothing, honey.”

You glared at him before you decided to drop it. “How was your day?” You asked, starting to feel calmer.

“Was just fine.” He sat down across from you. “Another day at the office.”

You nodded, placing your hands on the table as you stared off into space. Eddie very much regretted letting you get into his stash, but he’d been so desperate for anything to help you. He didn’t realize what kind of hole you’d fall into. You were hooked and it was his fault. It had been a few days since he was able to get more, so you’d been extra worked up. You took anything he had, but cocaine was what really had it’s grasp on you. Being high was the only joy you could really fathom.

“Don’t you think you should watch what you’re doing?” He looked at you through his lashes, nodding down to the bag between you.

You knew what he was talking about, but you raised a brow. “Huh?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He said. “Your becoming too dependent on this. Don’t you think it’s time you slow down?”

You looked at him in hypocrisy. “You’re the one who fucking gets me this shit, Eddie.” You scoffed, voice sore and hoarse from previous crying sessions. “I can’t stop. It helps me, you know that.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes. “But maybe you should consider stopping. You’re becoming..too…I don’t know, you just need to stop, y/n. We’re all worried about you.”

You shook your head, a lump building in your throat. “So, what are you saying? Not gonna give me what I want anymore? You’re just gonna let me suffer. You know I need it!” Your voice cracked with tears and he looked down guiltily.

“Angel, please,” He pleaded, fisting his hands on the table. “Please, you need to get some kind of help! Anything! Just not this. I’m sorry for getting you started, it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. I just wanted you to feel better, but I should of realized what it would do. But baby, it’s been two months since she died.” He begged you, shaking his head with every word, hoping to get through to you. He reached out to grab your hands.

“Please, open up to me.” He begged. “Please, tell me what I can do.”

The mention of your sisters passing made you shed a tear, pulling your hands away from Eddie’s. “Just get me what I need. That’s what you can do for me.” You got up and left him at that, disappearing into your room.

Eddie stared at the table, allowing his eyes to burn with tears as he choked on his breath.

•

The weight of your sobs was causing you pain, your chest was on fire and you felt like the contents of your stomach would come up any moment. You couldn’t breath. You tried again and again to get air into your lungs, but you couldn’t. This feeling, this ache of grief in your heart was the single worst thing you’d ever felt in your life. If it wasn’t for Eddie, you’d surely kill yourself.

Your eyes were wide and you knelt down to the wood steps below you, gripping your chest as you hyperventilated. You were so loud that the neighbors dog was staring at you, pulling back it’s ears in confusion. You cried and you wept with your broken heart, shaking and sobbing as it started to rain yet again, but you couldn’t move from your spot.

She was too young, too sweet and too innocent. She was only sixteen. She had her whole life ahead of her. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. Eddie had dragged you away as the upside had caved in on itself. Her body was still there, a rotten, soulless corpse. You had no family, only Eddie, but you still felt alone.

You didn’t hear him burst outside in the pouring rain, grabbing your shoulders as he hurried to get you out of the weather. You sobbed as he wrapped his arms around your wet body, lifting you into his arms as he carried you inside.

He sat on the couch with you in his arms, holding you like a newborn baby. He rocked you, closing his eyes as he laid his head against yours, the weight of your heartache hitting him like knives to his heart. He didn’t shush you, didn’t tell you it would be okay or give you promises of false hope. He just held you. He’d done this time and time again, and holding you was the only thing he could truly do.

[bookcluberror]

I'm obsessing more than I should be over the whole "Kacchan" thing.

Deku's name for Bakugou has always reminded me of how my bff and I had sweet little child-like nicknames for each other in college. We were the Day One, ride or die, overflowing sexual tension that neither of us would ever acknowledge even though everyone else around us had to shoo it away with giant hand fans, type of bffs. We were the only ones who called each other those names. To this day I go jelly in the knees if I hear either of them, even though he and I parted ways a lifetime ago.

Guys. If he had ever introduced himself to someone by that nickname while we were hanging out, let alone someone important, I would have fucking died. Even if he had just referred to himself using that name, instead of it coming from my own mouth. I would have dropped to my knees, or ran and jumped into his arms, or simply erupted into flames ala spontaneous human combustion.

The fact that Katsuki said that... I can't even find the right words. I love all of the bkdk stuff that's come out the last few weeks. So much of it is heavily HEAVILY lined in sexual tension, and is giving bkdk shippers (which I do not consider myself one of... or at least maybe not until like a day ago) a lot to go on. ...But even with all of that development, there was still a voice in the back of my head saying "nah, we're just hoping. This is probably just symbolism and timeline parallels. Showing off deep friendship bullshit. Making the climax more intense and intimate with these personal connections. Blah blah blah" but this one hits differently for me because of how I relate that name to my own personal relationships.

Now it's become... I don't even know. Like, a confirmation not just of their love, but for the unspoken love I once shared with someone as well. Bakugo and Midoriya aren't just a fandom ship for me anymore. Their relationship is *so different* from my own friendship that I described above, but the fact that I still see myself and that personal bond reflected in Bakugo's "Kacchan" declaration... Someone needs to help me put this feeling into words, because I'm at a loss.

It hurts. It aches and throbs and feels like someone stuck a knife in my chest, reminding me of what I lost so long ago.

And it's beautiful, glowing radiant, and feels amazing, like someone has lifted my heart into the sky with cheers and fireworks and *overwhelming* love, from what could be!

And it feels fresh, brand new, yet tragically old and worn. It's warm and comforting, but cold and devastating at the same time.

Why? Why is this? What is it doing to me?? It's filling my mind with fear that this fictional relationship may also never reach its way to the summit of its potential. That I'll lose it, however fictional it may be, just like we've all lost someone before. A few days ago, I would have been bummed but not surprised if the series used all these moments to reflect on, and showcase, strong lifelong friendships built on growth and tragedy... But now it feels different. Like my own heart break (knowing that there is absolutely no way a very popular and mainstream Japanese manga will actually showcase and confirm a homosexual main character couple) is impending.

I don't know how to end this post, because I honestly don't know what I'm trying to say with it in the first place. I guess just that I'm confused. I'm happy, and I'm hurting, and I love this moment so much. It means everything to me, and will no doubt destroy what little grasp I still have on my sanity.

[delta-pavonis]

Ficlet: Wake Up My Body

So I was at a drag show with live piano and singing this weekend and there were a whole slew of Broadway songs and this idea hit me like the broadside of a barn (strongly influenced by @ginoeh's piano-playing Hob in Strains of a Melody). Absolute tooth-rotting fluff songfic for you here. Might continue with a second bit that gets to the spicy stuff, but what is below is just idiots in love and Hob in drag. Oh, and here is my new favorite version of the second song Hob sings, from Wicked. Dreamling || Rated T || 2k words

Hob had told Dream – insisted really, multiple times, in that one evening of re-acquaintance – that he was welcome to visit at any time. Day or night. Weekday or weekend. Whether Hob was at work (absolutely come see me lecture!) or at home (it isn't much, but I would love for you to see it) or at another location (usually right here at the New Inn, but occasionally I get out more, I swear). 

Ergo, this must be something Hob is okay with Dream seeing. 

Then why does Dream feel like he is intruding? 

Perhaps it is because Dream has never seen Hob look like this, or sing like this, or create like this (never even conceived that he could). 

Hob (and it is Hob, of that Dream has no doubt) is standing stage left, facing center stage, behind a keyboard set-up, in what might be the tightest and shortest black dress Dream has witnessed on a Waking person. If the ruching is any indication, the garment could be pulled down to Hob’s knees, but that would cover the garters that hold up his stockings at mid-thigh and wouldn’t those be a tragedy to cover up. The stockings are a rich grass green to match the shades of lipstick and eyeshadow on Hob’s face and the color of the satin beneath the black lace of his fingerless elbow-length gloves. Around his neck is a similarly green leather choker, large polished brass ring in the center matching the hardware of the garters and the finger-thick chains that serve as straps over his shoulders. Said chains hook to another large brass ring that sits between his shoulder blades, off of which comes a half dozen more chains venturing down to loop into fabric and keep the dress from falling off of him, especially considering that the open back dips down almost to Hob’s ass. The front of the dress scoops low and might as well be painted over Hob’s nipples as his chest hair gleams with a thin sheen of sweat from the stage lights. Hob’s hair is tousled and styled to look intentionally messy, the soft waves curling under his chin.

There is another human male in feminine attire, this set all pinks and whites and sparkles, across from him, belting into a hand-held microphone while Hob’s is a headset that loops around the back of his neck. 

Though I do admit it came on fast I do believe that it can last! And I will be loathing For forever loathing Truly deeply loathing you My whole life long!

The duet ends to raucous applause and whistles, many people waving money in the air, which the person who is not Hob gleefully collects, dancing around on precariously high heels. 

Dream is going to make his presence known, step out of the shadows, but then Hob is laughing and speaking to the audience as they continue to scream and cheer. “You know I can’t resist that song when I have my Elphaba on. Thank you Candy Baa, ewe are always such a bleat-ing pleasure to work with.” Everyone laughs as she sends kisses Hob’s way and walks off stage. Hob, meanwhile, turns to the audience. “You want another one?”

The volume of the audience increases and Dream can’t help but smile at how Hob clearly has everyone eating out of his hand. 

“Well good! Because I am gonna do another one whether you like it or not!” Laughter intermixes with more cheering. “Hey, my darling Aaron, get your little twink arse up here and take the mic.”

There is clapping and whistling as a man in very tight black leather pants and heeled boots emerges from the crowd and hops onto the stage, long blonde ponytail glinting in the lights. He wears a deep indigo tank top that also might as well be painted on for all it conceals as he bows theatrically low to Hob. “What do you wish of me, my dear Elph-Rob-a?” There is a collective groan, but Dream can only see the playful, familiar body language between the two people on stage, making him frown. 

Hob plays a series of descending notes as he goes, “wah-waaah,” then adjusts his own mic. “Make that joke again and I will smack that smirk off your pretty face.”

Aaron stands up, laughing, leaning towards Hob and arching an eyebrow suggestively. “Promise?”

A flash of… something… burns in Dream’s chest when Hob chuckles in response, shaking his head. “Such a fucking slut, my god. No wonder you like playing Fiyero so much.” More laughter from the audience. 

“Hey, you are just as into this shit as me, Robbie.” He turns to the audience. “Besides, y’all are in for a treat tonight… We have sung this song many times together, yet Robbie here blew me away in rehearsals. Seems like he has a special someone who he is thinking about when he sings this one, now.”

There is a definite blush that blooms on Hob’s cheeks beneath the rouge, but he doesn’t seem fazed by the teasing, just rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Like a schoolgirl with a crush. Blah blah blah. I won’t deny it.” He plays some opening chords. “Now let’s do this before I age out of the part.”

As the music builds, Hob hums along wordlessly for a bit, eyes sliding closed, then starts singing, a sweet and joyful hunger already infused in every note.

Kiss me too fiercely Hold me too tight. I need help believing You’re with me tonight.

Dream inhales sharply. Aaron was correct about how Hob is inserting himself into this song, Dream can feel the daydream coalescing around him. 

My wildest dreamings Could not foresee Lying here beside you With you wanting me.

He has to grit his teeth as the daydream strengthens, pulling at its Lord. Dream does not want to intrude on his friend in this way. And, further, he does not want to know who Hob wants in such a way, should not risk it given his sudden desire to send them minor nightmares. 

And just for this moment, As long as you’re mine, I’ve lost all resistance And crossed some borderline. And if it turns out It’s over too fast I’ll make every last moment last. As long as you’re mine.

This was a terrible idea. To stay after he saw that Hob is busy. Dream should have gone. But now he is rooted to the spot and realizing that, first off, his friend has a powerful voice that commands attention, and second, that it would be oh so easy to imagine being the person Hob is singing to. Singing about. Dream had not thought… well, it no longer matters what he used to think he felt about Hob, does it? Because this, this right now, is most definitely not friendship.

Hob opens his eyes, gentle smile on his face, as Aaron begins to sing.

Maybe I’m brainless, Maybe I’m wise, But you’ve got me seeing Through different eyes. Somehow I’ve fallen Under your spell. And somehow I’m feeling It’s up that I fell.

This specific story is one that was written while Dream was caged, but the beats are familiar for the form is old. Unexpected love, accepted with abandon, with full knowledge that it might end and even so it would be worth it, just to experience the other person fully and be changed by them in turn. This is the kind of love Calliope would inspire into one of her epics. Dream aches for remembering how such a thing feels and yet knows that he would do it again without a second thought.

Hob’s daydream continues to gain momentum as they start to sing together.

Every moment As long as you’re mine I’ll wake up my body And make up for lost time Say there’s no future For us as a pair And though I may know I don’t care!

Dream can admit that the two tenors compliment each other. He can admit it. He would just probably never do it out loud. He can hear Matthew calling him petty even as he thinks it. The problem is that Matthew would likely say that with no little amount of pride in his voice. 

Hob stops playing and steps around the keyboard, continuing a capella. He and Aaron are certainly playing the parts, eyes only for each other. In a moment that Dream will later claim is temporary insanity, he sinks into the shadows at his back and emerges within the shadows of one wing of the stage, directly behind Aaron, so that now Hob is facing him, too, although he is careful to remain unseen.

Just for this moment As long as you’re mine Come be how you want to And see how bright we shine!

He realizes his error immediately. Dream cannot remain separate from the daydream this close to its source, not one that pulls upon him this strongly.

What Hob is seeing flickers to life, overtaking Aaron where he stands, superimposing someone taller, if just as thin, with similar boots and tight blank pants. As Dream’s eyes travel upwards they take in the bottom of a black peacoat, the tailored waist, the collar melding with the wild black hair atop the daydream’s head.

Dream cannot look away as the pair sways with the emotion in the lyrics and then he sees them both in semi-profile and that confirms it beyond any shadow of a doubt. Something inside Dream lurches.

Hob is imagining himself singing opposite Dream.

Borrow the moonlight Until it is through And know I’ll be here Holding you. As long as you’re mine.

As the song comes to a close, Hob looks down and they lapse into a small bit of dialog, Aaron’s voice coming out through a mirage of Dream’s lips. “What is it?”

“It’s just for the first time, I feel…” Hob huffs a laugh and looks up with a spark of fire in his eyes, “wicked.”

Aaron leans in as if to kiss Hob and – with a flood of relief Dream studiously refuses to look at closely right now – his friend avoids at the last minute, ending up with their cheeks pressed together. 

The entire place erupts into screaming, hands with money flying into the air. 

From here, Dream can hear Aaron speak away from the mics as the daydream fades around him. “Man, you always kiss me at the end of that. You must have it bad for this guy.”

Hob’s chuckle is very self-deprecating, “Aaron, you have no ideah!” 

That’s when Dream realizes that the shadows that were once around him have receded slightly as the spotlight moved to track the singers. His friend is staring right at him.

Hob is in front of Dream in three long strides, which he does not note causes the skirt to slide higher, absolutely not. “Dream!” He reaches up to his ear and drops the mic to around his neck, clicking it off in the process. His voice is a breathless whisper, “My friend, how long have you been here? I can’t believe you get to see me like…” Hob motions to his body and Dream doesn’t even try to stop himself from looking, all the way down to his stiletto heels and back up to his face that is a solid half-foot higher than usual. He doesn’t seem embarrassed, just amused.

“I have…” Dream looks into Hob’s warm, welcoming eyes and finds himself unable to lie. “I have been here long enough to see the daydream you created while singing that last song.”

The black eyeliner and fake lashes make Hob’s widening expression look even more dramatic. “You… daydream…”

“I am the King of all dreams, Hob. All of them.” He brings the tips of his fingers up to just barely brush Hob’s cheek. “And I think we need to… talk…” Dream trails them down to Hob’s lips, brushing across them with gentle pressure. A thrill shivers through him as Hob’s pupils dilate. “... about who you want to be holding you.” He traces down Hob’s throat and lingers for a moment above his collarbone before his hand wraps around  the side of Hob’s neck in a tight grip, forcing a moan past painted lips. “Because the song is right,” Dream has to increase the heels on his own shoes to bring his mouth close to Hob’s. “We need to make up for lost time.”

[beneathashadytree]

I love ur imagines especially the One Piece ones!! Would it be alright if you could make a scenario of a g/n reader who's an Ancient Weapon and like they're afraid of getting close to anyone since everyone they get close to dies. They're a part of the Heart Pirates and then suddenly the crew is hunted down relentlessly because of the reader and they decided to leave the crew. While they're about to leave after an argument with Law, Law stops them by kissing them and then they try to reason things out! Hopefully this works! Lubsss uuuu

NEVER A HOME - TRAFALGAR LAW X READER

Warnings : mentions of death and injuries, probably some abandonment issues sprinkled in, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : angst to fluff (I think)

Word count : 3.4K words (holy shit—)

Additional notes : I… have no words to say—but apparently more than enough to write 😭 I got so carried away while writing this. Honestly, I just absolutely ADORED this request, so I couldn’t help but write this much. Aside from all this, please make sure to check my bio! My requests are actually closed now. I do hope you like this, though! Much love to you💗

Requests : Are closed.

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

They don’t know when they’d decided to let their guard down. They don’t know how that constant nagging feeling; that creeping thought that ate away at their mind, was reduced to nothing more than a dull ache at the back of their head.

Born so different, and living so isolated—truly, they were destined to lead a cursed life that they couldn’t run away from. The circumstances under which they’d been brought into this world dictated that; after all, an Ancient Weapon instilled terror and carnage in every place it would set foot on. The fact that said Weapon was in the form of a human being was a tragedy scripted by the cruelest deity.

Something so horrifying, someone so overpowered, could only prove as a threat to everyone’s safety. Perhaps it was out of selflessness and a will to protect others from that gruesome fate of being tracked down and hunted for their relationship with them, or perhaps it was out of innate selfishness because they didn’t want their company and happiness pulled out from underneath their feet and leave them wanting—for whatever reason, they swore to never let a single creature in. To never stay for too long, to never speak too often.

But since stumbling upon that unruly group of pirates that seemed to follow the beat of their own drum, they’d found themself settling in. All ties to the wretched history of the world felt as though they were severed the moment they stepped on board, facing their carefree smiles and lively talking. The Heart Pirates, if someone looked too closely, were like a rowdy balm to soothe all the aches that the years of utter loneliness had left in their weary bones.

And, if they dared to admit it, the main contributor to that fact had been none other than their captain. Ever-enigmatic, nearly-always brooding, and startlingly sharp-witted Trafalgar Law. The man whose wicked smile and nimble fingers were famed across the entire Grand Line, and the name that struck a certain chilling fear in pirates and marines alike, had a startling calming effect on them.

They couldn’t exactly put a finger on how or why that was. All they knew was that Law was equal parts scary and endearing, with his bloodstained hands that still held the soft fur of Bepo at night, his cold demeanor that melted away when he directed his words to his crew (and by extension, them), and his own self that carried the past he never spoke of, in his tattoos and his clothes.

A mix of intrigue and genuine fondness had gradually grown inside them towards him, and they soon found that maybe that wasn’t so one-sided. A small, selfish part of them was reveling in the fact that he often sought them out in the midst of the crowded rooms of the Polar Tang, knees knocking and skin brushing. Tingles went down their spine whenever he called them into his office, with reasons that even they could see through as flimsy excuses to have them within close proximity. Even his guarded eyes turned a warmer shade of molten gold that had their heart thrumming in their chest.

With the new-found stability they’d found with Law and his crew, their fear of having everything ripped away from them, that was always very much there, had somehow become just background noise to them. And that was probably their first mistake.

That false comfort came shattering down on them the very second Shachi slammed the door to the cabin open one normal day, a frantic look in his eyes that was anything but normal.

“Marines?” Law swiftly got up, hand reaching for his sword at the same time they gripped the sheath of theirs, already alerted by the loud presence and thumping of feet outside.

“I’ll go outside, check if we’ll need you to interfere,” they said, turning back to Shachi who now had an uneasy expression on his face. “Spit it out. What’s wrong?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t advise you to go out.” He swallowed thickly, his eyes flitting between his captain and the person that was considered closest to him. “They’re… sorta looking for you. Something about… weapons?”

Their face blanched instantly, all color draining from their face at the realization that their past and identity had finally caught up to them in the absolute worst way possible. Shachi was saying something about him not really understanding what the Marines wanted with them, but they couldn’t register a single word that was being said. Their blissful days spent on the Polar Tang were nothing but borrowed time, and fate had sent a harsh but much-needed reminder.

Flashes of images seared into their memory finally resurfaced, reminding them of what had happened the last time they’d allowed themself to indulge in someone’s presence. As Law rushed onto the deck and began to shout orders that Penguin rapidly relayed, they remained stuck in the loop in their head.

As the loop played, they watched people they’d grown to care for get sliced and gutted so brutally that the ground seemed to soak up their blood and gore—sometimes meeting a much worse fate, plainly vanishing off the face of the earth without leaving a trace behind, as if their existence had never been.

The reel was only snipped clean in half when Law huffed back into the room, an unreadable expression on his face as he called their name and snapped them out of it.

“Yes, Captain?”

He clicked his teeth. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d remind them that there was no need for stiff formalities between them when he’d been as honest with them as his tentative heart could allow him to, but he said nothing this time, and only pinned them with his piercing stare.

“What’s that they were saying about you being an Ancient Weapon?”

Say nothing, reveal nothing. That had always been their policy as they jumped from ship to island to ship. And besides, it was impossible for them to open their mouth and speak when it suddenly felt like dry sandpaper.

“I vaguely know of some of them,” he went on to say as he gestured for them to take a seat on the worn-out sofa, “But I’m sure that I’ve never heard of a single mention of your name—and considering the circles I’ve been in, that’s unusual. Why’s that?”

Swallowing thickly, they tried once again to push past that barrier and speak. This time they succeeded, but their words still came out very stilted. “Because they’ve all been… eradicated. Everyone outside of the Marines who knew, that is.”

Law inhaled sharply. “Pirates?”

“And civilians alike.”

Silence at that moment wasn’t one that they welcomed, as they often did while being in their captain’s presence, but instead an oppressive thing that snaked around their neck and squeezed their airways.

Luckily, Law saved them the trouble of having to miserably fight for words. An inked hand rubbed over his face for a second, and it took them that second to glance his pure exhaustion. “I think I get the general picture.” He sighed, opening his eyes again as he moved to sit behind his desk. “You’re on watch duty tonight.”

They could tell a dismissal when they heard one. So with no more words left to say—and none that they were able to, anyways—they nodded curtly, taking themself out with the weight of their sword heavier than usual.

***

That was the first of many, many times in which they’d directly endangered the Heart Pirates with their presence amongst them. It wasn’t just one time they’d find themself scurrying on deck despite Law’s exasperated yells for them to stay protected inside and let the rest of them handle things; wasn’t the last time they’d gotten into a heated argument with him over how keeping them sheltered was insulting to them.

The raw fury had flashed in both their eyes multiple times, subordinate and captain blurring the lines into something else entirely. The immense care and worry was plain to see in Law’s golden eyes, and were what fueled his anger, but all they felt was indignation and a deep sense of shame at the fact that he and his entire crew were fighting for them and their safety.

After all, hadn’t their very presence been the exact reason why they’d risked their capture in the first place? Hadn’t the fact that they’d been born that way condemned them to become targets for the rest of their lives, simply for associating with them? They could only dread what would befall the Heart Pirates when the Marines found out just how close they’d grown to the crew, and particularly Law.

It was that fear, deeply ingrained into their bones, that had them clenching their fists after another angry back-and-forth with him that ended with him slamming his office door with a curse. Enough damage had been done already, and hearing the small crack in his voice as he demanded that they let him do his job instead of recklessly throwing themself into danger, was the last straw.

It was time they begged for forgiveness from the Heavens and tried to undo the sin of getting too greedy.

***

The sixth time it happened by the half-year, they’d already come to the final decision, and nothing could deter them. Maybe they’d managed to fight off the Marines this time and leave them worse for wear than they were, with far less injuries on their side busying Law, but that did nothing to dispel their worries. It did nothing to calm that storm of guilt tearing up their insides.

And that’s precisely why they’d taken the chance to sneak past the bustle of the infirmary and into their room. With Law distracted like that, they could quickly pull a backpack out of their locker, and begin to stuff it full of what few possessions they had (after having spent so many years on the run and jumping from place to place, they learnt to keep the things important to them scarce and close by at all times).

Once they’d crammed it with everything that seemed of value (whether sentimental or monetary), they scrambled out of the room as fast as their feet could carry them without making their disappearance known to everyone on deck. They were currently moored to a mild-tempered island with enough inhabitants to deem it well-lived in and populated.

If they got off the Polar Tang now, they could stay at the inn in town until sunrise. By then, the Heart Pirates will have sailed away, and they could do some miscellaneous jobs to earn enough cash to carry them for a while. Once they deemed their savings enough, only then could they hitch a ride with any pirate group without feeling like they were a burden.

They’d successfully slipped past the scurrying feet in the hallways and frantic yells for helping hands from the infirmary without attracting any attention to them. Light on their feet, they hopped off the railing and landed on the grass on the other side that muffled the sounds. A light hiss followed them, and before they could get further than five steps away, they stumbled in their tracks as their (now ex-) captain materialized right in front of them.

Their eyes widened for a second, having not foreseen this. After all, wasn’t Law supposed to be holed up in the infirmary, stitching up his injured crewmates? They’d predicted a disappearance of at least an hour or two, even with his otherworldly medical skills and Devil Fruit. Their stunned expression vanished just as quickly as it crossed their face, and they stiffened in place as he trained his hardened eyes on them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Visiting the village, obviously,” they simply replied, not bothering to divulge more. It was better to stay quiet.

However, it seemed like he wasn’t buying it. Not in the least, if the skeptical look he gave them was anything to go by. Pointedly glancing at their stuffed backpack, he folded his arms across his chest.

Part of them grew angry at the demanding stance, while the other part absolutely crumbled in their chest as they thought of how familiar that sight was. Only before he’d been scolding them for spilling booze and not cleaning it off the counter, instead of catching them escaping.

They fumbled for another excuse, settling for a lame, “Restocking,” as if that would explain their overflowing bag.

“Funnily enough, I thought it worked in reverse. You go with an empty bag and come back with a full one.” His tone was icy as he snorted, probably at the idiocy of the entire situation.

A warm blush made its way on their face, partially out of the humiliation of getting caught in such a stupid lie. Gritting their teeth, they contemplated their options for a few seconds. Another fancy lie would only seem ridiculous and would never add up to their already-falling-apart excuses, and telling the truth would risk angering the captain and having him try to stop them.

Law had already crossed the distance between them by the time their thoughts had come to a halt.

“I’m not daft,” he snapped. “You’re leaving.” They opened their mouth for a second, and he interrupted before they could utter a word. “And don’t get smart with me and tell me that that’s what you’ve just said. You know what I mean.”

His eyes had always been intense, but now they were burning holes into their face, and they almost forced them to turn away. “And if I say that I don’t know what you mean?”

“Then I’ll call you a fucking coward,” Law barked a snarky laugh. “For running away again from the possibility of staying in one place.”

“Am I a coward for wanting to keep you guys safe?” they hissed, eyes burning with either unshed tears or anger. “Wasn’t it cowardice to force me to hide every single damn time we got chased down?”

“That’s not cowardice, that’s common fucking sense. Or did you want to announce your presence to the entire world?”

A watery laugh made its way out of their throat, and they had to clench their hands into fists and dig their fingers into their palms to stop themself from crying out. “Oh, please, as if the entire world doesn’t already know. The Marines have been tracking me down for years now, and—”

“And they’re not stupid enough to release a statement as to why.” Law interjected, clicking his teeth in annoyance as he read the stubbornness on their face that prevented them from thinking logically. “They wouldn’t want anyone to know more about the Ancient Weapons.”

Shaking their head, they took a step back, and it seemed that they were escaping this conversation on purpose—because they knew that if they stood there for any longer, they’d have to listen and believe in him. The body language wasn’t lost on Law, whose keen eyes tracked their every movement, and only grew harder with determination.

“We can protect you from their shitty attacks. We’re not weak.” He spat the final word out, as though the mere idea was an insult.

“Well, neither am I. And that’s why I’m taking the decision to walk away because it’s better for both our stakes.”

His hand flexed around the sheath of his sword, and he lowered his hat over his eyes for a second. They knew him well enough to know the signs of him shoving his feelings down and hiding them from others, and it hurt to know that he was doing this in front of them for the first time. But before they could wallow in the misery of being pushed out of his heart, Law had already looked up with an almost-cruel smirk on his lips.

“Is it really that easy for you to walk away from someone you love?”

His words felt like a punch to their gut, and it left them almost gasping for air. After having spent so much time running away from the reality of the situation at hand; trying to deny the very core of the problem that had them wanting to flee in the first place before things could get worse, hearing the words spoken out loud terrified them more than anything could.

It scared them; not knowing what to do with the feelings they knew endangered him. Law was incomparably strong, yes, but he wasn’t immune to the curse that followed them and wrecked everything in its wake. And to make matters worse, the fact that he’d already known of their feelings frightened them even more.

After all, no matter how much they liked to believe that they’d snuck into a crevice of his well-guarded heart as a close companion, they didn’t know what he truly made of this secret of theirs (if one could even call it a secret, after seeing the way they looked at him behind closed doors, or the lopsided smile they gave him when he shared a small piece of him with them).

If anything, it only triggered their fight or flight instincts—and at the current moment, they were leaning much further towards fleeing. In fact, their feet already took position to run off, heart hammering in their chest.

Law’s expression hardened as he observed their reaction, but before they could take off towards the town, his hand had gripped their wrist firmly enough to still them without hurting.

“Fuck off,” they snarled, in a last attempt to stave off any tears that might betray them. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. If you’d only listen—”

They snorted, eyes as wild a as a caged beast’s as he got close enough for them to see the beginnings of his unshaved facial hair. In their panic, their reply only confirmed his words. “Listen to what? You enjoying making fun of my feelings, when I’ve only ever respected yours? Listen to you get cocky and hold my feelings as leverage over me?”

One step was all it took for Law’s long legs to entrap theirs. Rough, calloused palms reached out to cup their cheeks, and before they could wrench their way out of his grip, a pair of soft lips landed on theirs. Rooted in place, they didn’t even dare to move a muscle as his lips brushed against theirs in a firm kiss. Only seconds before he pulled away did they regain their senses, and the fact that Law was actually kissing them finally registered in their brain.

Tentatively, their eyes fluttered shut as they began to kiss him back, leaning into his touch that contrasted against his demanding mouth—warm and soft, and everything they’d ever dreamed of but had never dared to take for their own. It was sweet yet bitter; forceful yet gentle. It was all shards of Law’s soul pieced together against the tattered remains of theirs.

All too soon, he’d pulled away, though his bright eyes remained trained on them. It almost felt intrusive; the way he seemed to be reading something in them that they couldn’t see. Breathing heavily, they couldn’t find it in them to utter a word amidst that fragile moment. It was as though a string had been pulled taut, and threatened to snap in half at the lightest pressure. Carefully, carefully, they both had to be.

“Come back,” he gruffly said, thumb daring to brush against the flushed skin of their cheek. If they strained their ears a little, and if they put faith in what they knew about him, they’d know just how damn close those words were to begging. “Sit with me in my room. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Swallowing thickly, they blinked back the tears that they knew they had little control of anymore. How could they, when he’d wrenched their heart open and left it beating out in the open like this? They mustered what little strength that remained, and nodded. “Yeah,” they croaked out, allowing themself a selfish moment of letting him take their hand in his.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t kindness. Trafalgar Law wasn’t kind. He was all rough edges and charred pieces, and he was infuriatingly stubborn. What he was was selfish. And if nothing else, they had faith in that selfishness that drove him to caring too much. They could, at the very least, believe in him at that moment, and believe that whatever came next they’d brave through together. All they had to do was just jump back onboard with him.

And so they did.

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @livwritesfics

[atropalugosi]

Made a sequel to this post for y'all 😌 was gunna actually write smut but backed out at the last second whoops. Hope y'all enjoy a tiny bit of spice with our lovely Donna 🖤

"Take a break," Donna commands rather than asks. Valeria complies easily, arching back in her seat and humming contently when her poor spine pops and cracks. After the... complete fucking fiasco beforehand, the two florists got right to work on dollmaking. Donna seemed very in her element here in the workshop, and over their last break she had confided in Valeria about her family business. It broke the younger woman's heart to hear about the tragedies of the Beneviento family, but she was happy to be there to comfort Donna.

And she had to admit, she was having a good time learning a new skill with Donna's help. She was a good teacher, giving concise instructions and genuinely helpful advice whenever Valeria appeared stuck or unsure. It made the redhead feel very good about her first attempt at working with porcelain. Her doll was absolutely novice, not nearly as detailed as she imagined Donna would be able to make, but for a first go at something new she was proud of herself.

"I suppose I could use a rest," Valeria sighs. Making a pillow with her arms she lays her head upon the crafting table, watching the older woman inspect her work intensely. She checks over the joints and looks for any blemishes that may lead to breaks down the road, but finding none, she gives a content little 'hm!' and sets it down gently.

"You're a quick learner," she offers kindly, making Valeria preen. The girl might be embarrassed at how easily she took to praise if she weren't in such a good mood.

"Thanks Donna, but honestly, I think you're just a really good instructor."

"Don't cut yourself short," Donna tuts. She looks deadly serious, gaze locked with her mentee, making the young woman swallow harshly. "I mean it, you have a real talent for the arts. An eye for beauty, I suppose."

"You're beautiful," Valeria responds breathlessly. The brunette furrows her brows, looking away stiffly and Valeria quickly sits up, worried she overstepped. "I-I'm sorry, I just, you were saying such nice things and you look so pretty and serene in your element and-"

"If you keep this up, I'll never be able to let you go," the dollmaker husks, bringing colour to Valeria's cheeks.

"What if... I don't want you to either?" She asks tentatively, leaning closer to her mentor. Donna looks back at her like she'd said something most outrageous, but Valeria simply offers a smile, setting her hand across the table for her to take. And she does, slender fingers intertwining with Valeria's as she steps closer to the girl until she's looking down on her.

"I do not think you understand just what you're offering," Donna huffs, a bit of a dark look in her eyes. It sends a thrilling chill down the redhead's spine. "I'd want to keep you all to myself, far from the leering eyes of my neices or anyone else that's tried to steal you away."

Valeria shakes her head slightly at that. Couldn't Donna see yet that she had no interest in anyone else? Least of all Cassandra Dimitrescu and her playboy persona. Pulling the other woman closer until their knees are touching, she keeps eye contact so Donna can really read her.

"I only have eyes for you anyway," she confesses with heated cheeks. "Professor Dimitrescu wasn't wrong calling me your pet, I'd follow you anywhere Donna."

And with that, the botanist is upon her, pulling Valeria to stand and feverishly kissing her. The girl squeals at the suddenness of the kiss, but quickly reciprocates, hands finding their way around Donna's strong shoulders. Donna responds in kind, taking hold of her hips and pushing her back into the workbench gently. After only a few moments the two seperate to catch their breath, Valeria smiling like a fool at the older woman's flushed face. She wouldn't in a million years have expected Donna to make the first move, but she absolutely was going to enjoy it and pray this confidence lasted.

Leaning in for another kiss garners unexpected but not unappealing results as Valeria finds herself lifted and sat upon the table, Donna standing pressed between her legs, and she can't help but squirm and bite her lip at the closeness. Donna plants her palms on the girl's thighs, squeezing them gently and looking delighted at the gasp it gets her.

"I would like you to refer to me the same way you did in front of Alcina. Can you do that for me?" she asks sweetly, looking at Valeria through her lashes.

"Sì mammina," she squeaks, fighting her embarrassment and losing. Donna pecks her on the nose though and suddenly her slip up from earlier isn't so mortifying.

"Brava bambola."

Valeria is pretty sure her entire brain short circuits at that. Fuck being her kitten, hello to a life of being Donna's personal doll to be toyed with whenever. Would she actually treat her like a precious porcelain doll? Dressing her in fancy clothes and touching her oh so gently so as not to break her? Or maybe she would joyfully destroy her knowing she has the expertise to piece her doll back together seamlessly? Or-

"You're lost in that pretty head again," Donna laughs lightly, bringing Valeria back to earth. "Is this okay, or? We can stop, I got a bit carried away."

"No! No, I- we," Valeria shakes her head clear and pulls Donna closer, wrapping her legs around her hips. "I want to keep going, really! Fammi tuo mammina."

Like a switch flipped within her, Donna pushes Valeria back until she's flush against the tabletop and crawls over the redhead, straddling her. She kisses her again, hands exploring the girl's torso like an expert craftsman inspecting a fine piece of art. She runs her palms over her ribs and stops teasingly just below her chest, thumbs brushing along the curves. Tentatively the dollmaker cups her love's breasts, carefully massaging happy little moans from the girl beneath her.

Valeria for her part is feeling up Donna's arms and back, relishing in the strength she finds there. Knowing that Donna could probably do whatever she wanted to her, but seeing how restrained and gentle she was being made her heart swell with warmth. This woman truly made her feel so safe and cared for and good god was she going to do everything in her power to make her feel the same. Donna's lips stray from hers, kissing a path from her cheek to her jaw to her neck, and the redhead sighs contently until-

"Ow!" Valeria hisses, being rudely interrupted from her sweet thoughts by a foreign feeling in her neck. "Did you just bite me?"

Donna doesn't look sorry in the slightest, kissing the offended patch of skin before teasingly nipping her again.

"You asked me to make you mine," she breathes against the girl's neck, eliciting goosebumps. "I'm just making sure everyone else knows it."

[petalouda85]

Promise

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 3.4k

AO3 link: x

Concept: victory over the Ash Empress quickly turns to tragedy. Tw: character death, use of alcohol to cope with grief, s**cidal thoughts

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations, @liviusofpella, @starlight-starfury, @megas-choices

A/N: not the fic I thought I’d finish first after Book 2 ended but I also wouldn’t be me if I didn’t write something absolutely heart wrenching once in a while. Rest assured, next fic will be a lot happier.

In case it was missed: TW for character death, alcohol use to cope with grief and s**cidal thoughts. If these make you uncomfortable, feel free to skip; I understand that these can be difficult topics for people.

When Tyril opened his eyes, he winced, the bright sky and sun causing the ache in his head to pulse more strongly. He covered his eyes but smiled ever so slightly; he had not not expected to see those beacons of hope above him. Throughout the battle, the Ash Empress had cast a dark cloud overhead, frightening the warriors of Morella and spurring on the Ashen army. It had flickered in and out of existence as she was attacked and retaliated but with one burst of power, the darkness seemed permanent. But the dark blanket was now gone without a trace.

Upon adjusting, he sat up, looking out over the wide expanse of the battle field, a small smile quirking at his lips.

The Ashen soldiers were scattering, running through the portal back to the Shadow Realm while the Elves, Goblins and Dwarves spurred them on.

As the last of the Ashen disappeared, a deafening silence fell over the battlefield, only the screeches and caws of the ravens and crows above breaking the silence.

He spotted a figure dressed in priestly robes lying in the grass nearby, slowly getting up and clasping at her head, blood streaming down her face.

“Nia.” He whispered, quickly dashing to her and dropping to his knees, examining the wound, a deep gash above her eyebrow. Nia looked at him with weary and dazed eyes.

“I’m alright, Tyril.” She said assuringly. “I just bumped my head.” He quickly held his hand over her cut, the skin closing underneath his magic.

“That’s better.” Nia gave a faint smile.

“Thank you. Where are the others?” She quickly asked.

“Alright, up you get.” Tyril turned his head in the direction of Imtura’s voice. She was not too far away, sporting many cuts on her arms and a few on her face. She had swung Mal’s arm over her shoulder and helped him stand up, which is when the elf spied the rogue’s broken leg. Slowly, the two made their way over to the elf and priestess, relieved smiles on their faces.

“Hey elf boy, priestess. Glad to see you still among the land of the living.” Mal smirked but his jovial expression immediately fell. “Where’s Kassandra?”

Tyril’s head snapped to attention, turning to the last spot he had seen her, the images he saw before being knocked out flashing before his eyes. The golden armor dulled, hands grasped onto the Empress’ face, an impossible stream of Light emanating from them, face twisted in pain and determination as the Empress’ hand smashed past the armor and into her chest before an explosion of Light had blinded and thrown him and the others back, his vision going black moments later.

In the same space was now a spot of black charred grass, a pile of ash gradually blowing away with the wind, and laying nearby, face down in the grass, was a body encased in gold armor, unmoving.

“No.” He muttered desperately, struggling to remain on his feet as he ran to the body, his chest filling with dread. “No. Please. Not like this.” He fell to his knees adjacent to it and turned it over, the sight making him gasp.

Kassandra’s face was marred with cuts and bruises, a trail of blood trickling out the corner of her mouth. Her hair was matted with blood and dirt. The runes on her armor had faded, the enchantment gone with them, and a hole where the Ash Empress had dug her claws in was left behind, blood and Shadow rot dripping out from the gaping wound on her chest.

“NIA!” He cried, finding the Priestess already running towards them, the others in tow. Nia dropped to her knees and immediately, her hands began to glow with healing light. But the blood didn’t stop flowing, the Shadow still permeating. Tears formed in the Priestess’ eyes.

“It’s not working.”

Tyril placed his hand over the wound, concentrating and willing the wounds to be healed but they remained.

“No. Why is it not working?” He whispered.

“It must be the Empress’ doing. It must be.” Nia wept, holding her hand desperately over the wound once more. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, Tyril sensing a magical but invisible energy surround them. She concentrated and concentrated, her jaw tight, her teeth grinding but the wound remained unchanged. She released the magic, a tear running down her face.

“No.” She whispered, shakily placing her hand to Kassandra’s throat. Immediately, Nia’s eyes widened. “Kassandra?” She gasped. Ever so slowly, Kassandra’s eyes opened, her gaze soft but unfocused.

“Kassandra?” Tyril whispered, cupping her cheek with his own bloodied hand.

“Tyril?” Kassandra’s voice was soft and weak. She turned her head to face him, though her gaze remained unfocused. “Is that you?” He nodded fervently.

“Yes. I’m here. We all are.” Gently, he lifted her up, supporting her head in the crook of his elbow so she could see their companions stand by her. Injured but alive. She smiled weakly at them.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Kit.” Mal teased, leaning heavily on Imtura. “How you holding up?" Kassandra looked down at the hole in her chest.

"I've had worse." She joked, a few snickers emanating through the group. She looked up at the sky, seemingly surprised to see the blue color. “Is it over?” Tyril nodded.

“It’s over. You did it, Kassandra. You won.” She looked at him and smiled.

“No. We won.” The elation on her face quickly faded. “The barrier… I can’t close it. And Valax can’t close it alone. The world will stay as it is.” She lifted her bloodied hand, gazing at it before looking once more at the hole in her chest. She let out a breath, leaning her head into his chest before letting out a small sob. “I wish I was in Undermount.” She wept softly. “I would’ve loved to have seen it one last time.” Tears forming in his eyes, Tyril gently turned her face so she looked at him again, forcing a calm face for her sake.

“Then let’s imagine it. Let’s imagine our return to Undermount.” She looked up to the blue sky, briefly closing her eyes as the sun’s warm beams shined down on her wan face.

“I think it would be a warmer welcome this time. No trouble at the gate and the streets flocked with elves wanting to see the heroes of Morella. We’d push through the crowd to your home. It’s restored and renewed, shining in the light. Beautiful.” She smiled faintly at the image as she struggled to take a deep breath. “Your father and sister at the door. Adrina would hug us and she’d tease you so much.” The thought made Tyril chuckle.

“Relentlessly.” He caressed her cheek, her skin cold and clammy. “I’d take you to the Masquerade and I’d dance all night with you.”

“And kiss me on the floor?” He nodded.

“And declare you my Dinvalir and Kilvalir. The scandal we’d cause.” She giggled at the thought, her smile still so beautiful.

“And drink honey wine?”

“So much that we’d make Threep jealous.”

“Not that difficult to do.” She chuckled though a tear ran down her cheek. The light mood quickly became heavy once more. “You have to keep going. You all do.” He shook his head, tears finally rolling out of his eyes.

“I can’t do it without you.” He said, his voice shaking. The year she had been gone was torture for him. There had been days where he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, her absence having left a dark void in his heart and mind. Hope that she was still alive had kept him going. Now, such hope was not possible. She was slipping away from him and he couldn’t stop it, no more than he could stop water from slipping through his fingers. Slowly, she reached up, briefly cupping his cheek.

“Yes, you can. You’re so strong, Tyril. So much stronger than you realize. You still have so much to give to this incredible world we live in. Travel, learn, protect those who can’t protect themselves.” She dropped her hand to her chest, clasping his hand weakly and bringing it over to rest over her heart. “Promise me, Tyril.” She whispered. “Promise me. Promise me, Uluvalir.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, a few of his tears dripping onto her cheeks when she barely returned the gesture. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, letting out a shaking breath.

“I promise.” He whispered before pulling back. She tried to reach up her hand again but it soon fell back to rest on her chest, her strength waning.

“Take care of the others for me. And take care of Kade. Tell him that I’m sorry.” She took a deep, quivering breath, looking at Nia when the priestess took her hand. “Live.” She said, forcing herself to speak louder. She took in another breath, shallow and quick, before looking to Imtura and Mal. “Live for me.”

“Of course, Kassandra.” Nia nodded.

“Always.” Mal responded, nudging Imtura. The two hobbled closer, getting down on their knees next to their companions.

“It’s been an honor fighting with you.” Imtura said with a quivering voice, laying her hand over Nia’s. Soon, Mal’s hand joined as did Tyril’s. Kassandra’s eyes seemed to gaze through them but her smile remained warm.

“What a beautiful family.” She whispered before a faint gasp escaped her lips, her eyes losing focus, her chest becoming still.

For a moment, all was silent, the friends unmoving. With a shaking hand, Tyril reached up and closed Kassandra’s eyes, letting out a strangled sob; she looked so peaceful, he could almost convince himself she was only sleeping. He felt a hand on his shoulder, finding Nia’s eyes red, her composure cracking. She opened her mouth, likely to try to say something comforting but nothing came out and she bowed her head in grief. Mal’s face was stoic but it too was breaking, a tear forcing itself out while Imtura seemed to shake, her fists clenched, her jaw tight.

“Kassandra!” A familiar voice cried.

The four friends turned their heads to the noise, finding Aerin bounding up the hill, Valax on his heels. They skidded to a stop, staring at the scene, horror clouding Aerin’s face.

“Is she…?” His voice shook. Tyril found himself staring at the former prince’s face, finding traces of the love and affection he’d sent in Kassandra’s direction when he thought no one was looking. Another rush of tears flowed from the elf’s eyes as he shook his head; he could hear the prince’s gasp just barely over the sound of his own shattering heart.

As Adrina and the rest of their allies climbed the hill, Tyril watched as Valax turned briskly on her heels and ran towards the portal, the elf spying sorrow and hurt in her eyes in the brief moment he saw her face.

As the Ash princess disappeared through the portal, Adrina had reached the top of the hill, gasping at the sight that greeted her. The siblings exchanged a look; nothing needed to be said, the heavy air conveying the tragic news to her.

Tears in her eyes, Adrina lowered herself to one knee, laying her weapon down and bowed her head reverently to Kassandra. She was soon joined by Cherta and Willow and Aerin and slowly, one by one, the entire army kneeled before them; the sight would’ve been beautiful in any other circumstance, Tyril told himself bitterly as he tightly embraced the body of his lost love.

The days passed in a blur. Seconds became hours, and hours felt like weeks.

A funeral occurred only days later. It was an elaborate ceremony, no expense being too great for the noble hero who sacrificed herself for the realm. The king and many others spoke eloquently and gratefully about her, exalting her virtues and praising her bravery and sacrifice.

“They could never do her justice.” Tyril thought bitterly after the king finished speaking. “She was divine, celestial. She outshone the stars and now, the stars will bow to her for she is greater than them all.”

He forced his way through the ceremony, keeping his jaw tight, fists clenched and shaking slightly; his friends remained close to him, placing supportive hands on his shoulder and whispering words to spur him through the remainder of the ceremony.

After the funeral, he shut himself in his room and he finally let the overwhelming, raging anger out. Smashed vases, broken mirrors, ripped sheets, chipped and charred wood. When there was nothing left to receive his anger, he had collapsed onto the floor, clawing at his head and hair, tears soaking the carpet. He must’ve been loud because shortly after, Adrina had found him in his pathetic state. He didn’t remember much of what happened after. He had a vague recollection of being guided to the chair by the fireplace, a crackling of a spell in the air, restoring the room to its correct state, and a blanket being placed over his shoulders. There had been a muffled voice and a warm hand holding his but he had not reacted, staring at the flames in the hearth.

He remained there, still as a statue, ruminating, not moving even after his sister had given up on pleading with him. After an eternity, she had left, a whisper of a promise to return on her lips as she shut the door.

Somehow, he snapped out of his catatonic state enough to summon a servant to his room. In a monotone voice, he requested wine to be brought to him, a deep craving for alcohol forming in him. The servant returned with the requested item soon enough, Tyril glad that the human had enough sense to bring the bottle too.

It didn’t last the night.

Another bottle was brought the next night and it too was soon empty, the liquor bringing him the numbness he desired. With every drink, another tear fell, his mind repeating the same thought over and over.

First his mother, then Kaya, and now Kassandra. Why were they the cost for all he’d done?

The empty bottle was placed on the table next to his chair, it quickly removed by the servant when they brought more of the requested drink. He didn’t move much from the chair, not that he had the energy to do much else. The days had become a blur, night turning into day and back to night in a matter of seconds. His sister and his friends came by at times, bringing food and water and taking away the untouched plates and cups. They spoke to him, though he never listened to them enough to hear what was said. One word answers in the same monotonous tone were all he could manage.

For days, he remained in the chair, the cycle of friends visiting and servants bringing him his requests continuing. Briefly, he thought that he must’ve been a sight to behold in this stupor. Hair disheveled, clothing wrinkled, eyes red with large bags underneath, wine never far. It was a far cry from the proper lord he once was.

He downed the glass of wine he had in his hand - he wasn’t certain how many he had had already that evening; he stopped counting after the third glass. The liquor went down with ease, adding another delicious layer of numbness. Once the final drops were out of the cup, he placed it down on the table next to him and turned his gaze to the ornate box adjacent to the glass.

He had discovered it on top of one of the dressers many moons ago but it had not crossed his mind until more recent times; in a brief moment out of his catatonia, he had retrieved it and placed it near him. Slowly, he undid the clasp and lifted the lid.

Inside was an ornately decorated knife, it lying beautifully on top a pillow of velvet; another display of the king’s wealth, meant to be admired, not used.

Gently, he took the blade out of the box, it staying loosely in his hand. He turned it in his hand, examining the details on the hilt and the blade itself. It was very beautiful, he had to admit. He continued to stare at it, the firelight reflecting in the blade, the sharpness looking rather inviting.

You have to keep going. Promise me, Tyril. Promise me.

“Why would you make me promise something like that?” He muttered, no tears coming out; he had run out hours ago. Memories flashed across his mind, the happiness in them mocking him. That fateful first meeting in Port Parnassus, the conversation by the railing on the Sun Maiden, their first kiss in the Deadwood, dancing in Undermount, the balcony in Whitetower, the wonderful moment he held her again after that long and lonely year.

His grip on the knife tightened as the memory of the final fight against the Shadow Court flashed before him. That one final moment before opening the door to the ritual chamber. He had kissed her, convinced that it would be the last one.

“I want to live, Kassandra. I want to live for you.” He had told her in that moment. “What is there to live for now?” He mumbled, his grip loosening.

Another memory came to him as he continued to stare at the knife, the flame reminding him of the heat of the moment and the desert they had been in. He replayed it a few times in his mind, every whisper of Dinvalir causing yet more aches. He clawed through the memory once more when a moment within gave him pause.

Sometimes I hate my sense of duty.

I love your sense of duty.

He froze, the knife slipping from his grasp, the tip embedding itself into the floor. His lips began to crack as a smirk made its way to his face, a realization hitting him.

“Clever Kassandra.” He whispered. “Clever, clever Kassandra.” She had known him so well. Even as she lay dying, she thought of his well-being and his future, appealing to his sense of duty in her final moments. He would’ve given her anything, she had known that; ask for a star and he would’ve gifted her the night sky. She had asked for him to keep going, had him promise to keep going and in doing so, she had made it his duty to keep going.

He retrieved the knife from the floor, the sharpness no longer as inviting as before. He stared at it for a few more moments before placing it back on the pillow, slamming the lid shut and placing the latch back in place. He felt discomfort in his knees as he stood up, taking the box off the table and slowly walking to the nearest dresser, opening the top compartment and shoving the box in, slamming the compartment shut once more.

He shuffled to the table and turned the cup upside down. He stared at the chair for a moment but he turned away, going to stand before the fireplace, leaning one hand on the mantle. He stared into the fire, an unexpected tear forming in his eye.

Promise me, Tyril.

Her voice sounded clear in his mind and his imagination played a beautiful trick as he felt a ghostly touch on his shoulder, the sensation eventually moving and embracing him from behind, the phantom ethereal touch beaming with reassurance. It made him smile so slightly, imagining that the touch was her. He let out a long breath, imagining the ethereal hand being placed over his heart as a lightness he hadn’t felt in some time rushed through him.

“The path ahead won’t be easy.” He whispered like a prayer. “The road was much clearer with you beside me. I don’t know what’s next for me. I don’t know what the future holds. It’s all obscured in a thick mist and traversing it without your guiding light terrifies me.” He paused, the imagined hands embracing him more tightly. “I will traverse it and I hope that you stand by me when I do, even when I can’t see you or feel your touch. I know it won’t be easy. But for you? I will try.” He placed his own hand over his heart.

“I promise.”

[francis-writes]

As I said, I made first chapter!

Summary: Frollo is resurrected and back to Paris, seeking revenge.

You can also read 1st chapter here:

I'll be back I guarantee

Then they all fell to their knees and begged that drifter

Begged him please, as he raised his fist before he spoke

I am the righteous hand of God

And I am the devil that you forgot

And I told you one day you will see

That I'll be back I guarantee

And that hell's coming, hell's coming

Hell, hell's coming with me

Hades kept massaging his temples.

"It can't be like that" he muttered under his breath "I dealt with a lot of shit during last millenias but after I met him, I have enough of immortality"

Gaston shrugged.

"I may beat him up. Man makes me ashamed to be French"

"I thought you out of us all would like him" Maleficent raised her eyebrow "After all you both got rejected by a girl. Same tragedy" she said in tone suggesting that this specific tragedy is the greatest source of amusement for her.

Gaston snorted.

"I am NOTHING like him. He's an old man with a stick in his ass. I am the most popular man in the village, I have looks-" He flexed his biceps proudly "-and a whole wall of my hunting trophies"

Before anybody managed to comment Gaston's desirability as a potential husband, Jafar raised his palms to calm the room.

"returning to the most important topic, we need to get rid of that whining priest. The question is: how we do it?"

"Off with his head!" Yelled Queen of Hearts.

"It would be a good idea" Jafar said with mockery "if not the fact that he's already dead. He can't be more dead"

Hades raised his head, suddenly smiling.

"He can't be more dead but he can be alive again"

Everybody looked at him in utter shock.

"You're gonna bring this asshole back to life? Out of all of us? He doesn't deserve this"

"Listen" Hades stood up "either living have to deal with his shit or we. And I won't spend one moment more listening that I am a false God and I shall burn in Hell. I am already burning here, I am ruler of this place, remember?"

The room fell silent, villains were considering Hades' proposition. No one liked the idea of giving Frollo chance for revenge, but having him around was even gloomier idea.

***

Sun was shining in Paris. It was a beautiful spring morning and Frollo could already feel the smell of flowers blooming on the trees. He looked around. It was one of the less frequented districts of the town and there were almost no people on the street. Now that he regained life and freedom - because, as those wizards and demons said, he didn't deserve damnation (which was absolutely true) so they decided to help him have a new chance - he had to make a plan for what he was going to do. This time there could be no option of failure. He was going to get his revenge on all the traitors and whores who pushed him into flames.

There a few obstacles in the way. All the town thought that he was dead and they probably chose new minister of justice. It could be hard to convince his old guards to listen to him but there was always a chance of intimidating some of them. Or maybe it would be better to avoid drawing attention. Perhaps he wasn't young anymore but he still had some strength in him. And what’s even more important, Frollo had his mind full of grand schemes. Killing someone wasn't that hard in itself but he wanted them to suffer.

For now, he was going to rent a room and hide in the town, collecting informations about what his enemies were up to recently. He already got some new clothes to better mix in the crowd. Claude felt weird without his robe, he had an impression that those tight pants were a little too revealing and immodest but after all, most well-dressed men wore them and he didn't want to stand out. He even put on a loose shawl to hide his face, after all, rather well-known in all Paris.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Rose, Lemon and Berry from the HC ask game with all three of your boys <3

Thank you for requesting, dear anon! I hope you like what I came up with :)

Rose: What part of falling/being in love do they get the most joy out of?

Ahhh this was a hard one to fill but I really enjoyed it :) I wrote 2 things for each because I’m indecisive! 

Frank

There’s so many things that he enjoys about being in a relationship, this man is not looking for simple notches on his belt. (I know he has had one night stands but CMON y’all. Taking Beth’s kid out for breakfast? If the Amy stuff never happened, he wouldn’t have left.)

I think he enjoys two things most: having someone in his life to protect and take care of, and being able to imagine a future again. 

Frank is obviously an Acts of Service™️ kinda dude, but like he clearly enjoys doing things for others just because! 

If there is a way he can help someone, especially someone he cares about, he will. I think it’s just as much to make him feel good as it is to make you feel good. He wants to do something kind with his hands rather than cause more hurt. 

Also, he just loves being a husband and having a family. (Helping Sarah and the kids, taking Amy in, it’s so clear he wants the family thing again)

I don’t know if this is a consequence of his own tragedy but he’s so willing to play the father figure. I don’t necessarily think he’d want to have more kids of his own, but I think domestic life with a significant other would be so enjoyable for him and allow him to heal. 

Matt

Companionship and trust. 

This is absolutely a symptom of his trauma but he is so overjoyed to have someone who actually enjoys being around him. 

He cannot understand why, but the fact that you keep coming back despite all his flaws makes his heart happy every single day. 

He just enjoys the idea that someone out there is thinking about him, waiting for him. 

Also, the idea that someone trusts him wholeheartedly after finding out what he can do and what he’s done, he can’t fathom it. And once he’s obtained it, he could cry. He’s not used to someone having so much faith in him. 

Sure, you worry about him, but you still want to be with him despite his work after hours. It’s more than he could ask for. 

Mikey

Having someone to care for him and expose him to life outside of his family. 

It sounds really selfish, but we all know he’s anything but a selfish partner. 

It’s been so long since comfort was something within his reach and you just make it seem so simple. Every time you wrap your arms around him, it feels like his knees might give out. 

It’s like you can read his mind, you’re always there to hold him but you can tell when he needs space. If he’s not ready or is unable to talk about something, you never pressure him

It’s a genuine love he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

And the weight of the family business gets heavier by the day, so having someone who isn’t wrapped up in all that constantly is such a breath of fresh air.  

He gets caught up in celebrating the little things with you. Like a good cup of coffee or a pretty sunset. 

Lemon: What is something seemingly inconsequential that can put them in a bad mood for the rest of the day?

Frank

Missing breakfast. 

I think on some level he’s used to it, living in strenuous conditions overseas for so long and everything, but it never fails to piss him off. 

This man is hungry all the time. He’s not picky, but food is a must. 

He also thrives on a strict routine. 

So missing the very first meal of the day is just that much worse than any other meal because it also throws his routine completely out of whack. 

He will be so grumpy, drinking his coffee on an empty stomach with a scowl firmly planted on his face. 

I think he’d be easily appeased though. If you brought him takeout or a snack, he’d get over it pretty quickly. 

Hangry Frank, my beloved. 

Matt

Unseasonably bad weather. Especially snow and big storms. 

He can sense it coming, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty on his senses. 

Snow makes things muffled and I would assume rain is just a lot. If it’s loud to someone with normal hearing, it must be unbearable to him some days.  

As an autistic person, rain, wind, and snow are just the fucking worst to be out in, even for a short little walk to work. I imagine it would be similar for Matt. 

He spends the rest of the day so miserable because of the cold or his damp clothes and it just ruins everything. 

He would definitely give you the sad puppy eyes when he got home and just open his arms for a hug. 

His bad day would be forgotten if you wrapped him in a soft blanket and pet his hair. Hair pets solve most of his problems. 

Mikey

Being forced out of bed urgently. 

This one is a lil generic but hear me out. 

I feel like Mikey’s morning routine has become a little safe haven for him, and it’s a huge indicator of his stress levels as well as a designated time for relaxation so he doesn’t trigger a seizure. 

If he wakes up late or is immediately forced to handle some family BS, it just immediately forces him into an anxious spiral about his own health. 

If it does end up causing a seizure, I think his self-consciousness and justified grumpiness would last the whole week at least. Poor thing. 

I think some comforting actions that he’d appreciate would be assisting with things he didn’t want to do the rest of the day? Maybe refilling his meds or making/ordering food. 

He’s absolutely a quality time and acts of service guy, so showering him with attention and helping him out however you can would definitely get him through his bad mood. 

Berry: What makes them happier than perhaps it should? Do others know about it?

This is peak HC, outta left field shit. But I am so confident about them 😂

Frank:

Seeing a dog get really excited over something silly. Like chasing their own tail, or seeing a shadow. 

Frank just enjoys dogs and their innocence so much. Anytime he sees one of them get genuinely excited for next to no reason, it brightens his day. 

I think very few people get to see Frank’s real smile but his partner definitely would. And he might not verbally express how happy dogs make him, but it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. 

Matt

This man enjoys hearing the birds in the morning. 

This is absolutely me projecting bc I love looking at birds but they have such beautiful and unique sounds, but I think he would love distinguishing between them. 

Any day he gets to walk past a green area with some songbirds is a good day. 

I think he would definitely share this with someone he cared about, but he might have to work up to it. (Y’all know how he is with vulnerability.)

Mikey

Little things that make Michael happy? Romance novels and soap operas

They’re so cheesy and he loves it. His life is so dramatic that sometimes it’s nice to just be dropped into a whirlwind love story that moves at lightning speed. 

Not to mention the drama in soap operas far outweighs his life. At least he’s never fallen down an elevator shaft!

I think he’d be too embarrassed to tell his SO but would love to read/watch with them if they asked.

[jodjuya]

Bryan Cranston is my favourite actor of all time.

I've never seen "Breaking Bad" and I likely never will.

But I'm up to season 4 of my "Malcolm in the Middle" rewatch, and my admiration for any other actor has never been higher.

Season 4, episode 18, "Boys at Ranch" puts Lois in the fridge for a whole episode, and without her antagonism we get a whole episode where all of the men and boys get to share the spotlight, and it's such a beautiful love letter to them all. So so so much wholesomeness and the payoff of four seasons' worth of character-growth, and it never stops being breathtakingly funny throughout.

AND THEN it ends on one of the best special effect sequences ever put to film.

Top! Tier! Television!

One of the show's strongest pre-opening gags too.

The absolute pinnacle of sitcom as an art form.

---------------

This episode REALLY drives home hard how Lois is *the* antagonizing force behind her entire family's dysfunction. It's really stark in a greek-tragedy kind of way. 😬

In two days under in the restorative influence of Otto und Gretchen away from Lois' presence, we see Hal, Francis, Piama, Reese, Malcolm, and Dewey instantly self-actualising into their best possible selves.

We see that Francis' season 3 spent at the isolated Alaskan logging camp was restoratively foundational to his growth as a person. He became a better person (a strict, disciplined, reliable, dependable, responsible, intelligent , resourceful (handsome👀) Capable Man) because ALL of his miserable conditions there were directly connected to personal accountability, rather than to abusive sadomasochistic discipline to force him to comply for the pure sake of authoritarianism.

(eg. Military school, and before/during/after that: his mother's parenting)

We see Dewey connect with his feelings, and actively being taught how to reconcile them, using Gretchen's amusing Germanic silliness to ritually link one's emotional healing to the physical pain of disciplined suffering—such that the energetic outburst from you being overwhelmed by your negative emotions is harnessed, instead, for productive pro-social behaviours of Cleaning The House So Hard It Hurts (In A Good Way 🥰) rather than by you merely lashing out in violent destructive behaviours

[¡and all of this initially triggered by an honest discussion about hurt feelings and accidental mistakes without appointing blame OR shame!]

AND then linking the positive endorphins from the physical pain of your frenzy:

bleeding knees, sore muscles, exhaustion, cramps, and so on; (including inhaling chemical fumes)

to conceptualising freeing yourself from your shame and guilt; explaining that hard work _causes_ you to feel better.

Show, don't tell, all the way to the motherfucking bank by the way.

Diagetically, as Gretchen to Dewey;

and also non-diagetically, as the show's writers to its audience; as all of this stuff just /happens/ without *any* of it being explained.

All this to say, is that after Dewey thoughtlessly broke Gretchen's

"this is VERY personally valuable to me, it's so special and important PLEASE do not touch it, but I have told you so, so now I blindly trust you completely okay byeeee"

Hand-Carved Cultural Artifact Doll;

that after that destructive, harmful, thoughtless act (after *explicitly* promising not to do) caused these two side-characters to become so deeply and lovingly connected to each other on their very first day of meeting each other that Dewey earnestly considers Gretchen to be his grandmother and now affectionately refers to her as such.

(to clarify their initial relationship: Dewey's eldest brother, Francis, is Gretchen's employee. She's his second-boss; co-owner of the dude ranch where Francis is foreman (because her Eccentricly German husband fell in love with the aesthetic of wild-west cowboys))

And because Dewey is a nine year old boy who put the doll into his pocket, and then his two malevolantly-stupid older teenage brothers maliciously conspired to defraud the ranch; where Francis is now Mr The-Capable-Man Foreman; to get Dewey to ride an ATV with no approval or supervision of any sane adult; the legs broke off the doll.

Gretchen was heartbroken by this when Dewey confessed (because he's fundamentally a very good little boy).

and so Dewey was feeling very hurt and miserable and ashamed without Gretchen needing to yell at him about it to cause that, because for Gretchen, her emotions aren't on her sleeve, they ARE the sleeve;

and seeing her hurt is like watching someone kick a puppy.

She is only consoled by Otto reassuring her that he will simply make new legs to replace the legs which got smashed off, "and then he'll be even better than he was before! …just like my eighth cousin!" 😂

[Early foreshadowing: you feel better when amends are made; positive action (in both senses of the words) for the sake of fixing things.]

Later, Dewey comes back to Gretchen. He's really upset by how bad he feels for what he did, and so this time he's coming back to her for comfort and reassurance.

She talks to him about what he's feeling, and gives Dewey the vocabulary to talk about what he's feeling and why, and how to talk about what those feelings feel like, without shame or blame or hostility; let alone whether or not he 'deserves' to feel so bad.

And then continues right along with "and THIS is how you make it feel better"—in the unarguable tone of voice an adult uses when they are imprinting some declaration or another about the definitive nature of reality directly into an impressionable young mind, along the lines of "that thing in front of us is called a tree"—with her little speech about how suffering by doing really REALLY hard work *causes* you to feel better!

AND THEN! she continues right along with "I still feel bad too, so this is a perfect time to teach you how to do this, come with me and we'll do it together!!"

And then she does. Lovely montage of Gretchen and Dewey side-by-side doing a sitcom-level of Cleaning So Hard It Becomes Transcendental; her teaching by example exactly what to clean and how, and giving Dewey excited encouragement the whole way.

"oh my god this is such good penance I'm unlocking and healing flashback trauma from when I was a nine year-old!' [AN: Gretchen is in her 50s??]

Like, "fuck yeah, my knees are bleeding! This is so fucking radical! look how fully sick it is that my knees are bleeding from how much I've been kneeling on them while we scrubbed the floor together! Feel the burn baby! 🤩"

Afterwards they're done and the ranchhouse is so spotless you can eat off the floor and they're surfing the endorphin rush together and talking about how amazing they felt after using self-directed scourging to purge their own sins. (people who like Spicy Sex know what I'm talking about 😏)

So that in the end, instead of screaming abuse and vitriol back and forth in *coercing* Dewey to injure himself cleaning too hard for the sheer purpose of corporal punishment for domination, shame, and humiliation;

After Dewey thoughtlessly smashed Gretchen's priceless and highly beloved doll, the two of them ended up with a MORE loving relationship than they started with!! They *both* feel AMAZING,

AND the entire ranch is SPOTLESS!

&&&&&&&&&

We see Malcolm and Reese further engaging in maliciously-stupid destruction, but this time for wholesome loving reconnection reasons.

They steal Hal's no-limit credit card to buy the sitcom-level of Too Many Fireworks, which they plan to set off in an alluded-to Sitcom Evil Prank Scheme to "get back at Francis" after he was Mr The-Capable-Man serious about how much they fucked up with the ATV thing. His brothers seriously endangered their own lives and the lives of other people, and they did so at the place where Francis is employed to literally live out the perfect life of his dreams, and to top it all off, his own dad was the one so stupidly reckless as to blindly sign paperwork without bothering to read what the fuck it actually was that he was signing; so Francis yelled at them all, taking the role their mother always takes, the role that Francis hated so much he literally had himself legally emancipated so that he could run away from school to an incredibly isolated Alaskan lumberjack camp.

Well anyway, the scheme plays out (which resolves Francis torment over escaping his mother only to become her), which also serves to reconnect Hal's independent plotline back to everyone else's.

&&&&&&&&&&

Hal lost in the desert with Otto, both of them INCREDIBLY drunk, having scared off their horses by Doing Stargazing via using their Authentic Cowboy Guns (Otto has the semi-automatic Luger he mentioned in passing in a previous episode) to point out stars; and with Otto bleeding out from a self-inflicted bullet wound in his butt cheeks. ("...I finally hit something! 🥴🥳🥴".

(Because Otto was like "how about a big bottle of scnapps??🎵? I know what's the nice sugar to get nice boys to take their nice medicine of taking about their 🎶~feel~ings~🎶??")

But all that aside, they had finished talking about Hal's feelings and his crisis of confidence in his fatherhood:

"You've only had him for two months! And he's... and he's a MODEL CITIZEN now! I had him for EIGHTEEN YEARS and it was nothing but horrible every single day for every single person!! What did you DO?! How bad of a father must *I* be?!?!"

Otto cuts through Hal's anguish by chiding him for not seeing that the acorn of Francis had NOT fallen far from Hal's tree; that Francis had ALWAYS been a good hardworking honest dependable reliable upstanding man all along, and that these traits came directly from Hal:

"What? You think he suddenly picked up these traits one day because he just found them lying on the side of the road? No! They came from you! And besides, I didn't do a single thing to teach Francis what wasn't already there inside him: I'm definitely no Super Male Role-Model Genius Guy, remember? I am is the guy who is incredibly drunk and lost in the desert dying because of my own bullet in my arse!"

So then Hal becomes bouyed right back up again, and very-drunkenly reassures Otto that there's nothing for them to worry about at all, because Francis is actually so amazing that he's about to rescue them RIGHT NOW!

Literally Cue The Fireworks

(because of Malcolm and Reese's evil scheme paying out: malicious Sitcom evil-genius prank involving Too Many Fireworks directly above the workplace of their has-legal-duty-of-care foreman brother who's personally responsible for the safety of many inexperienced tourists (including grandmas and preschoolers, and his own wife) who are surrounded by and interacting with many heads of livestock, horses, and Cosplay Cowboys); to "get back at him" lol)

And then yeah, one of the greatest special effects ever put to film; depicting the Too Many Fireworks.

Just a fucking masterpiece of television!