#*i do think he's going to be more of a figurehead than anything else but he has to at least gain the PHYSICAL powers of being an Archangel

[topaziraphale]

Hi I still haven't gotten out of bed but I'm already fully armed and ready to shoot down anyone that tries to say Aziraphale doesn't care about Crowley anymore or WORSE, never loved him THAT much in the first place.

Crowley is quite literally his top priority, he made that very clear with how distraught he is when Crowley leaves. Why would he shout "Don't go!" "Crowley, come back!" and "I NEED YOU!" if Crowley wasn't always at the forefront of his mind? Why is he so visibly striken and upset when he gives him that last, longing look, begging for Crowley to come with him and be with him forever, before deciding to step into that elevator? When he gets in there, his entire purpose shifts. He IS going to make everything better, and he IS going to make Crowley see the error of his ways.

I can promise you all Aziraphale is going to stop at NOTHING to get Crowley to come be with him forever, as an angel. He is going to do WHATEVER it takes, now that he is the acting Supreme Archangel. It's Crowley he wants first, Heaven he wants second, and, sadly, due to the Mettatron making this offer, a life on Earth he wants last. And that sets up such a FANTASTIC conflict for S3!!!!!

Aziraphale, our beloved, fussy, STUBBORN Aziraphale, is now compromised. He is compromised with POWER. Power as the LITERAL, SUPREME ARCHANGEL. Is this NOT SUCH AN EXCITING AND HEARTBREAKING PROMISE FOR A WILD S3 EXPERIENCE??

Guys, we ALL know Aziraphale let Crowley down, but you have to see that Crowley let Aziraphale down in his eyes. Just as much. That's what makes this scene so tragic. We know Aziraphale isn't thinking the way we and Crowley thought he would, or HOPED he would despite how the world Didn't End. How despite everything in how S1 ended, he was still left with an uncontested sense of superiority that we were all too elated to see was something Left Behind within him.

This season brought all that stuff out:

"We will win of course. Obviously. Heaven will triumph over Hell. It's all going to be rather lovely."

"You were an angel once..."

"Why, yes, I am a great deal holier than thou, that's the whole point."

(after gabriel/beelzebub leave in s1) "See, Crowley, it's as I said--" (back to what he said in the Bentley in S1E2, how Evil always plants the seeds of its own destruction and Good will always win out in the end)

These types of thoughts, and him spending all of the 6,000 years he knew Crowley separating them as one inherently good and one inherently wicked.... guys, that won't just go away after only 4 years of being on their Own Side. We hoped it would. We wanted it to. But it doesn't make sense. Yes, even if the earthshattering realization Aziraphale had that Heaven never truly cared about what was Good did change his character and essentially complete his arc in S1... it didn't change everything.

His arc in S1 was completed when he learned that Heaven wasn't for him. That they never cared. That only he and Crowley could save this world. But this is where the show deviates from the book - Aziraphale in the book is angry. Bitter. Scorned. Aziraphale in the show is just heartbroken. He mourns for the only ever family he knew. He mourns what he always saw himself to be. That mourning isn't just going to go away after 4 years. What is 4 years to a creature that has lived for a possible billion before the Creation? 4 years on earth to 6,000? That terrible wound he suffered that day is still VERY much fresh. It's an open wound he didn't properly take care of. And the Mettatron noticed, didn't he? Yes, you can understand that someone or Something isn't FOR you, and know all the reasons why, yet still wish you could go back... it's how abusive relationships work. You confuse nostalgia with remorse. You confuse nostalgia for real love.

Of COURSE he would seize the opportunity to get what he felt he lost back. And HE could do it. HE has the power. He can make it ALL RIGHT again, everything he's ever wanted...

...and this is why he completely breaks down when Crowley doesn't want to be beside him to do it. Rewatch it. Look at him. Look in his eyes. The way he winces when Crowley kisses him. His internal conflict (Heaven/Crowley vs. Our Side/Crowley) is externalized through Sheen's brilliant acting. His arms coming up to embrace him, but they never fully commit, they just graze him and hover around his body. The way he launches himself backward, away from the kiss, but his body is still slightly leaning forward. When he brings up his shaky hand to touch his lips, and not crying. Never crying. Because he is an Angel, and Angels don't cry. Not like a Demon would. Crowley is all he wants, but now, Crowley doesn't want him. Not like this. Not anymore.

Because, well, Aziraphale said it, didn't he?

Nothing lasts forever.

#GOS2Spoilers #good omens #good omens s2 #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #character analysis #derpy speaks #*i do think he's going to be more of a figurehead than anything else but he has to at least gain the PHYSICAL powers of being an Archangel #that promotion DOESNT just come with name only. it comes with form. #I think a major part of him in s3 is realizing the true power he has now #despite being a figurehead

[hey-august]

Negotiating with pirates | NSFW (Cross Guild x afab!reader)

Description: After accidentally ending up as a bargaining chip during Cross Guild negotiations, you eagerly accept the chance to protect your captain and end up between Mihawk and Crocodile.

Word count: ~2.6k

A/N: One shot smut. Reader has an established relationship with Buggy. Let me know if you see any errors or typos. ♡

Warnings: Not beta read. NC-17. → MDNI ← sub!reader, cuck!buggy, dom!mihawk, dom!crocodile. Threesome, PIV, oral m receiving, vaginal fingering, creampie. afab!reader, no use of Y/N. All parties are consenting adults.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A Cross Guild meeting was getting heated, more so than usual. A contract that failed under Buggy’s involvement was construed as debt the figurehead clown owed. An increasingly panicked Buggy offered anything to assuage the anger of his furious “companions” and to reduce any debt that they imposed on him.

“What do you have that we can’t get ourselves?” Sir Crocodile asked disdainfully. Buggy floundered. His mouth was faster than his mind, but there must be something he could offer. Propose. Promise.

“I can think of something he has…or should I say someone,” Mihawk remarked. This was an uncomfortable observation. 

The trio rarely spoke about personal matters, and definitely never intentionally, however it wasn’t a secret that Buggy had a hook-up. A dedicated partner. This was a fact that the other two would say they didn’t care about. Truthfully, Mihawk had some thoughts. More like a passing interest in why - out of anyone else you could pick - were you with the clown. Maybe you didn’t know what else the world had to offer and this was his chance to show you.

The rest of the discussion, if you could call it that, happened in a blur. Buggy’s wavering voice was overpowered by the two former warlords negotiating on his behalf. When Buggy realized that he had become an accessory once again, he bounced in his seat, trying to alleviate the nervous energy flooding his body. The two commanding pirates set the place and time, which was not far from this moment. As the clown hurried out of the room, Crocodile called out a demand in a puff of smoke, telling Buggy to pick out your outfit. 

“When we undress her, I want to be pulling off clothes that you picked out for us.”

Buggy’s panic took on a different tone as he seeked you out. You both had spoken about his cuckold fantasies, but never did anything to make them reality. And now…well it was a classic Buggy mistake. When he finally told you what happened, he had tears in his eyes. Even he doesn’t know if they’re from worry about how you’ll react or fear of what Mihawk and Crocodile will do if you disagree. Or maybe the tears held hopeful anxiety that you might go along with the plan.

Relief washed over Buggy when you agreed. It wasn’t his tears or trembling grasp that convinced you, but your adoration for the pirate clown. For once, you had power that could help him. Not only could this garner favor for your captain, but the heat in his shaky hands told you that he had a personal interest in this idea. You could benefit your captain and fulfill your partner’s fantasy, all while getting intimately familiar with some of the most powerful pirates around.

When the appointed time arrived, Buggy walked you to Mihawk’s quarters. He didn’t guide the way so much as herd you. The clown’s jittery nerves had him flitting around, caught in your orbit. Buggy was a one-man surround sound system - apologizing for putting you in this position, professing his love,  telling you to not be nervous or scared, reminding you to say “lighthouse” if you needed to stop, calling you gorgeous, and whining about how hard he was already.

Buggy pulled open the door and let you step into the eagle’s nest first. Partly because you were the visitor they were waiting for, but also to watch how the skirt he chose flounced around your ass while you walked. Crocodile sat back on an ornate sofa, a hazy cloud of smoke circling his head. Mihawk stood nearby, closing whatever discussion they were having before you two arrived. The swordsman held out a hand, beckoning you to come closer. The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Intense. But the attention Mihawk sent your way felt lighter and inviting. When you placed your hand on his, it was the final piece of your confirmation to participate in this arrangement.

A pointed look from Mihawk and a dismissive wave from Crocodile sent Buggy slinking away to a seat on the far side of the room. You turned to watch your captain, but a slender finger on your chin stopped your movement. Mihawk turned your gaze back towards him as his golden eyes looked you up and down.

“Crocodile…” His companion grunted an acknowledgement, already aware of Mihawk’s thoughts.

“Clown, this is really the outfit you picked for us?” Crocodile said, clearly displeased with your attire. 

To be fair, it wasn’t particularly sexy or revealing. It was one of your normal outfits, maybe a little more composed than others. It fit well and flattered your figure. You chimed in before Buggy could speak, wanting to divert negative attention away from him.

“What’s wrong with it?” 

Following Mihawk’s hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand under your top, letting him graze your bare breast. He squeezed firmly, his touch cool against the heat you were radiating and sent chills through your body. Mihawk felt your nipple harden in response to his touch and gave it a gentle tweak, drinking in the sound of your feather-soft sigh and the intoxicating expression he extracted. Your eyes fluttered under your crinkled brows as you tried to maintain eye contact.

Your hand was still on his wrist and you wanted to show him the other positive benefit of this outfit. Mihawk tensed for a brief moment, reluctant to let you control his body before giving in. You moved his hand under your short skirt, slowly drifting it up the skin of your hip. Teasing both yourself and the pirate in front of you.

“I see,” he murmured while grabbing a handful of your ass, your skin soft and supple against his touch, “it’s not about what you’re wearing, but what you don’t have on. Is that right?”

“Hawkeye gets it! Now you’ll always wonder if there’s anything underneath,” Buggy called out proudly, pleased with his contribution. From this moment on, Mihawk and Crocodile will question what you are, or aren’t, wearing. And if this outfit survives, it will remind you and Buggy of how you were shared between the fierce pirates. It’s a win-win-win.

Ignoring Buggy’s remark, Mihawk kept his attention on you. He pulled away his hand and replaced it on the small of your back, guiding you closer to Crocodile.

“Tell us, did your captain adequately inform you about this agreement?” Mihawk questioned, wanting to be sure you were aware of your involvement here. You nodded and acknowledged that your role was to offset any debt Buggy owed the two men in front of you. Mihawk appeared satisfied with your run-down, giving you courage to share an additional thought floating in your head.

“I’d like to add an amendment.” You felt your small flame of courage flicker under the change in atmosphere as you finished this sentence. Crocodile, who seemed to have been looking through you, was now paying rapt attention. There was an uncomfortable stillness from the area of the room where Buggy was sitting - a bad sign, since he usually had trouble sitting still and containing his nerves. With one foot in the door, you pushed on.

“I don’t like seeing Bu- Captain Buggy get hurt. Whatever frustrations you were going to take out on him, I want you to use me instead.”

If you thought the quiet in the room a moment ago was oppressive, this was a new level. If it wasn’t from the smoke still drifting from Croc, you wouldn’t be sure if anyone was breathing. Despite having Mihawk’s hand resting on your back and Crocodile close enough to touch, you felt as though you isolated yourself. Alone and adrift in a dangerous sea, surrounded by danger.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” Sir Crocodile’s deep voice finally broke the spell in the room. In the corner of your eye, Mihawk nodded in agreement. “I don’t think you can take it.” The Desert King spoke his piece as if it was the end of your bargaining. You were not ready to give up, even with his dominating aura threatening to snuff the remainder of bravery in your body.

“I’d like to try.” Four simple words brought a smile to Crocodile’s face. A dangerous look.

“You’re going to regret this,” Mihawk said quietly, with a sliver of hungry anticipation. For the first time since stepping into the room, you felt small. Fragile under the intensity required to become a former warlord of the sea. 

Sir Crocodile extended his large hand. Before you could consider changing your mind - not that they would allow that - you shook, sealing the deal. Before you could release his hand, Crocodile pulled you closer. The way his hand enveloped yours and the rough pull had heat pooling in your core.

“Mihawk’s right. You’re going to regret this deal. Unlike the others, I don’t care about you one way or another. I’m only here for my own pleasure.”

Spurred by false-confidence from your successful bartering, you firmly met Crocodile’s stare.

“If that’s the case, then why are you still talking to me instead of fucking me?”

Your boldness wavered as Crocodile leaned forward and grabbed your chin. Mihawk’s hands on your shoulders sent chills down your spine and made your knees weak. However, it was Crocodile’s cold hook pressing against your slick heat that broke you. A docile lamb at the mercy of two hungry predators.

Time passed in a blur. Hands, mouths, cocks, countless orgasms, kisses, bites, bruises, all of which left your mind spinning. Dirty commands and sweet praises went in one ear and out the other. Heavy moans, groans and whimpers, even periodic commentary from your kind captain filled the room.

“Don’t hold back, she likes it that way.” “Pretty girl, you look so good riding my cock.” “Squeeze your tits for me, dear.” “Cumming on my hand like that makes you look desperate.” “Tell me, does your captain fuck you like this?” “She loves the taste of cum, make her swallow it all.”

Only flashes stuck in your hazy memory. You recall one particular moment stuck between the pirates. Despite being on your hands and knees, you were barely able to keep yourself steady. Instead, you chose to lean into Mihawk’s hold on your hips as his eager cock bullied your dripping cunt. Your mouth ached as Crocodile languidly slid in and out, caressing your jaw and enjoying the vibrations from your endless moaning.

One poorly positioned thrust from Mihawk had him slam into you uncomfortably - nearly painfully. Your body rocked forwards, almost instinctively, trying to move away from the discomfort. Unfortunately, this pushed Crocodile further down your throat, which constricted around him as your gag reflex kicked in.

“Aw poor thing, you’d rather choke on my cock?” Crocodile rumbled as he wiped the tears from the corner of your eyes. “You know I won’t hurt you accidentally, hm? Unlike Mihawk, I know what I’m doing.”

His comments only served to spur on the swordsman, who directed all his attention to making you feel good. An accomplishment he felt satisfied with when you cried his name the loudest during your orgasms.

Eventually, you could tell that Crocodile and Mihawk were becoming worn out. Their movements were sloppy, far less intentional or calculated. They had trouble keeping their strength restrained as they grabbed you and maneuvered your weary body, leaving bruises that formed quickly. Each load they left in or on you felt less heavy than the last. The click of Crocodile’s lighter and the scent of tobacco filling the room were the white flags that signaled the end. Your body relaxed, sinking into the sticky sheets underneath you.

“You should tell your captain thank you,” Mihawk murmured against your ear in between soft kisses. 

He pulled his body away from yours as you tilted your head to face Buggy, who was already standing at the edge of the bed. Mihawk hooked a hand around your knee and tugged, easing your sore legs apart. The gesture pulled Buggy’s attention to your beautiful cunt. Cum trickled from your overused hole with each breath and heartbeat, a pool collecting under your body.

Buggy’s hand was furiously pumping his own deprived cock, which was weeping for you. His attention snapped between the glistening treasure between your legs and your face, which was flushed with lust and pride. Words poured from Buggy’s mouth as he poised himself to decorate your heaving chest.

“You did s-so good, you’re such a good little slut.” “I watched the whole time, my little star.” “Just lay there, beautiful, m’so c-close…”

His cum felt hot against your cooling skin, carrying the warmth of his passion and care for you. Buggy leaned in and captured your mouth in a kiss full of emotion. Adoration, appreciation, and a slightly bittersweet hint of an apology for spurring on these events, even though you both clearly enjoyed things.

Buggy expected Mihawk to be upset about the state of his personal belongings. His obviously expensive sheets were beyond saving and it’s very likely that some fluids leaked through to the mattress below. But there was a softness in Mihawk’s eyes as he surveyed your exposed body draped across his bed - a sensual, albeit lewd, work of art. Buggy let Mihawk commit this vision to memory before mentioning that you’d need help cleaning up.

Before Mihawk could tend to you, Crocodile’s hook stopped him. You could barely make out the enigmatic look on his face through your half-lidded eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh, which quivered under the weight. His attention traveled upwards until his fingers brushed against your swollen, sensitive folds. A careful swipe of two fingers scooped up some of the cum that trickled out, which he then eased back into you. You gasped at the intrusion as your body fluttered helplessly around Crocodile’s large fingers. Weakly, you grabbed Crocodile’s wrist as he curled his fingers, already knowing your body inside and out. It only took a few choice movements and a swipe of his thick thumb against your clit to have you shaking under his touch, succumbing to yet another orgasm. 

Satisfied with your encore, Crocodile took a towel from Mihawk and wiped his sticky fingers before moving onto your body. The pirates made quick work of caring for your worn out body, cautious of your aching muscles and tender skin. Finally, Buggy wrapped you in his embrace to carry you back to his quarters for a bath and additional tender care.

---

It seemed that everyone’s expectations were fulfilled. The two former warlords upheld the end of the bargain they struck with you, as Buggy rarely returned with injuries. For a time.

About a week later and even you could feel emotions rising. Agitation and tension carried through the air behind each of the three pirates, with a breaking point close behind. Once again, a meeting behind closed doors was escalating. Threads of an argument trickled through the closed door, a warning for others to stay away. A warning you chose to ignore.

A knock on the door interrupted the meeting and before Sir Crocodile could dismiss the unwelcome visitor, you stepped in with a tray of refreshments. You ignored the blush dusting your cheeks as Mihawk’s eyes swept your body, clothed in an outfit he was intimately familiar with, and placed the tray on the table.

“Perhaps we are due for a break. Why don’t you join us?” Mihawk disguised his command as a question. Choosing to take the statement at face value, you turned towards your captain and feigned innocence.

“May I?” Your request was quickly answered with a nervous but expectant nod, Buggy's hat nearly tumbling off his head from the movement. Following Buggy’s agreement, you chose to settle down on his lap before turning your attention to his companions. The bemused looks on their faces told you that they knew you were toying with them.

“Get the fuck over here.”

#cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #mihawk x reader #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #one piece crocodile #one piece sir crocodile #one piece mihawk #buggy smut #sir crocodile smut #mihawk smut #one piece smut #one piece cross guild #x reader

[grandlinedreams]

monster trio reactions when reader got pms and gets really sensitive and angry?

Ooh, absolutely!! I hope that this is okay!!

[Heads up!: afab/fem aligned reader, period talk, mood swings, the boys are good boys if not a lil confused]

Luffy ㅡ probably the most confused of the three when you go from your usual cheer to irritable, wants to know what's bothering you. Apologizes for things you didn't even know he did ㅡ like eating the last of the cheesecake or stealing your pillow and replacing it with his. Thinks it's him that you're mad at, and when you tell him no, you're just generally upset with everything right now, he offers a solution in either wrestling with him or flat out yelling at the top of your lungs from the top of the Sunny's figurehead. He does it all the time (usually out of excitement) and it makes him feel better, so why shouldn't it work for you?

"Won't the others get mad?" You ask as Luffy helps you up onto the lion's head, his hand still curled around yours when you settle beside him.

"Nah, why would they? Not like anyone else can hear us. C'mon, try it!" He grins at you, squeezing your hand in encouragement.

It feels strange to do something like this and it takes a couple tries to be loud enough that Luffy thinks it'll help ㅡ but he does end up being right. Even though now your head hurts a little and your throat is sore, you do feel better about the churn of hormone fueled irritation.

"See?" Luffy beams as he reaches to help you down, using it as an excuse to hug you. "I told you it'd make you feel better!"

ㅡ

Zoro ㅡ probably the worst of the three in handling it. Not because he doesn't care or isn't worried, but because he has a hair trigger temper and his first instinct is not to figure out what's going on, but to fight fire with fire. Which leads to arguments, which leads to ㅡ

"Stop yellin' at me, damn it! Not my fault you woke up and decided to be like this!" Zoro shouldn't be yelling at you, he knows that ㅡ but you started it. You've thrown him for a loop the last couple of days because of your attitude, and now you're about to throw him for another. You sniffle, and it's with absolute bafflement that Zoro realizes you've gone from pissed off to crying. "Whㅡwhy are you crying?"

Your response is garbled, and he panics a little as he pulls you to him, and you hiccup. "Come on, stop cryin'. What's with you, anyways?"

"Don't feel good," you mumble into his chest and Zoro wants to point out that picking fights isn't the way to go about feeling better, but he bites his tongue.

"C'mon, let's see if Chopper has anything that'll help and then nap, okay?" He's gruff but gentle, and when you do end up falling asleep with him for a much needed afternoon nap, he has no complaints.

ㅡ

Sanji ㅡ somewhere in the middle between baffled and concerned, but also the most likely to figure out what's actually going on as far as why you're so irritable about everything. Goes out of his way to fix things that will help ease cramping/more than happy to fix something if you're craving it.

"Here you go, mon petit chou." You blink as Sanji hands you a steaming mug of something, and you give it an experimental sniff.

"Chamomile?"

Sanji nods. "I read somewhere that it's good for cramps," he says, then eyes you. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you answer, and he watches as you take a tiny sip, humming at the taste. "Thank-you, Sanji."

He beams. "Anything for you, mon petit chou."

#ㅡanswered. #one piece scenario #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #ㅡmine.

[dorianbrightmusic]

i'm seeing a lot of Pokémon SV DLC analyses where people say 'Oh, Kieran's fixation on Ogrepon is because he sees it as a path to strength; Carmine's bullied him long enough that his shield against admitting his weakness to himself is adoring a legendary creature'. And don't get me wrong – these interpretations certainly hold water – but I've actually been working from basically the opposite angle for all this time.

By all means, Kieran idolises strength, but he inhabits Carmine's shadow – he's the weak sibling, and probably has been for a long time. Yet, rather than fixate on the fantastical power of the Loyal Three, he identifies himself with Ogrepon – the downtrodden, ostracised creature cast out to eke out a subsistence. A terrible demon that wasn't quite terrible enough to cause anyone any lasting harm. The creature defeated by heroes, rather than the perfect, heroic figureheads themselves. He's enamoured with the downtrodden; he sees himself in its grief, in its being cast out and excluded. He's been cast out and excluded all his life (and he can't be a bad person, right? It's not fair – he's hated senselessly, surely, rather than for some reason?) – he sees himself as harmless; so the ogre, too, must be harmless, mis-blamed. Strength is thus in resistance; in growing a shell to tolerate others' inexplicable cruelty. So Kieran looks to Ogerpon, and he thinks that the meek shall inherit the earth, and it gives him the strength to tolerate long nights with poor company. Others are villains – not him, not this creature – and he's safe in the knowledge that at the end of the day, at least an ogre can go down in mythology as the putative sole survivor of its trials.

In this sense, Kieran's like Penny – he finds himself in a position of weakness, of being victimised, and forms himself an armour of being an underdog, of being the thing that bites back. Yet while Penny's position is that the underdog might muster the strength to bite back and restore justice, Kieran's view is that at least the underdog was worth loving. He's inert and preoccupied with his inertia. He can't understand that maybe he could be a human, with the capacity to grow, the capacity to sin. And when Carmine is cruel to him, he reaffirms his own contrarian mindset more – she says I am worth little for my weakness, so my weakness is all I am worth; my weakness is my strength.

And yet he chases strength, because he has to to survive. So when the player comes by, and supports him, maybe he has the safety to walk away from his preoccupation with being an underdog, to enjoy strength for strength's sake. And then, he starts losing, but this time, there are stakes, since he can't just withdraw and be consoled by the fact that withdrawing is right, is right, is right. Thus, he must get stronger. And then, when Ogerpon turns out to favour Juliana, who's become Kieran's idol for all that strength means, rather than Kieran, who's Kieran's selfsame designated weaklingpatheticscumidiot——well, what can Kieran do but fracture, since his whole ideology, his whole premonition that he might have the right to inherit the earth, has been fractured? And, under stress, he pivots from one extreme to the other. All he knows is that weakness is now unbearable. He must get stronger. Must get stronger. Must get stronger—because otherwise he's doomed, he's nothing. He has no myth to dissolve his identity in any longer, so he reshapes himself around the only other standard he's ever known. And it twists him and it breaks him into tiny pieces, because suddenly, the last thing he can bear to be is Kieran: Kieran, the downtrodden and meek boy. He has to flip on his axis; he must become the designated villain of his story by popular imagination, or else be subsumed in the fact that he's going to die someday without any place in the world. He has to play a part, because he's been consigned to one so long, and he can't think of anything other than heroes and villains, enemies and martyrs. He can't be the bad guy. Strength is now goodness; weakness is now evil. And he can't reconcile who he thought he was with who he must become, and as a result, all he can do is try to destroy the person who's destroyed his ideology.

#ngl the more i dive into kieran's character the more i worry about his mental health. #i do have a specific diagnosis in mind but it's not one i have and it's a stigmatised one so i wanna be really really careful here #still: let's just say 'black and white thinking' 'mutable identity' 'abandonment phobia' 'very rash when angry' 'emptiness' #and 'very verrrry reactive mood' – well if you know you know #anyway. he's my blorbo and he breaks my heart #pokemon sv #teal mask #the teal mask #kieran #pokemon kieran #pokémon #scarvio #scarvi #SV #scarlet and violet #pokémon scarlet #pokémon violet #pokemon scarlet #pokemon violet

[dodger-chan]

Did I procrastinate by writing steddie fic again? Maybe. In my defense, I think this is very funny. Also on AO3.

Warning for non graphic but frequent discussion of sex.

Like a good number of things, it was Wheeler’s fault.

Under normal circumstances, Eddie would have no problem sitting back in his throne and staying above the fray while his little sheep had their silly arguments. Talking is a free action, etc. etc. And they’d wrapped for the night, were only delaying clean-up. But Wheeler, pressed by his friends to join in the defense of their favorite paladin, had gone with a very explicable but awkward choice of phrasing.

“I mean, Steve doesn’t suck.”

Eddie bit down on his tongue. He wasn’t going to say anything. He was not.

Unfortunately, something about the tepidness, the lackluster nature of Wheeler’s tone only encouraged Gareth.

“Au contraire,” he said, standing and making a gesture that Eddie chose to interpret as homage rather than mockery. “Harrington most assuredly does suck.”

Eddie bit down harder. He couldn’t say anything.

Gareth then began to list a number of harms done to the members of Hellfire that were, for the most part, merely tangentially related to the actions or existence of one Steven Harrington.

Perhaps it had always been a little unfair, to blame the social strictures of highschool on one individual who had no part in designing them and had done little more than anyone else in the way of enforcement. But what was the point of a figurehead if not to take the blame?

Of course no part of Gareth’s speech addressed the one way in which Steve truly did suck dick: literally. Steve had taken to oral sodomy like a duck to water. Eddie would love to claim credit by citing his excellent tutelage - largely by example - but he suspected his boyfriend was a natural.

Eddie tasted blood in his mouth. He couldn't keep biting his tongue. But he also couldn't set the record straight, so to speak. Even if he could tell all of Hellfire that he and Steve were dating, it would be beyond inappropriate to discuss Steve's cocksucking acumen with the freshmen.

“It's an interesting linguistic phenomenon, wouldn't you say?” Eddie interrupted Gareth’s spiel. “You are debating the merits and acceptability of one Steve Harrington, but using as shorthand a term that refers to oral sex. A phrasing that suggests people who give head are lesser than those who do not.

“Without making too many assumptions, I feel safe in saying that most of us would like to enjoy a bit of oral sodomy in the future. Now, I may not be the smartest guy in town, but it seems to me that preemptively insulting the people who might suck your dick is a good way to ensure they never will.”

He gave them a moment to digest his speech.

“So I should have said Steve doesn’t blow?” Mike asked, tentatively.

“Blow comes from blow jobs, so that’s the same thing,” Dustin corrected. A little less confidently, he went on. “Bites, maybe? Biting’s not a sex thing, is it?”

Eddie sighed. Surely there were insults that didn’t reflect some aspect of his sex life. Though biting was, at minimum, not related to oral. And it would probably be easier not to brag about the number of little bruises he’d left on Steve’s neck. And shoulders. And chest. All over Steve’s body, really.

Who was he kidding? He needed to shut this whole conversation down yesterday.

(this now has a sequel)

#steddie #stranger things #short ficlet #my fic

[southerngothicchic]

𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑴𝒆?

18+

You attended a party at the estate of the CEO of the corporation you worked for. It was mandatory for all employees to attend, as it was a retirement/coronation party for the outgoing CEO and the ushering in of his son as the new figurehead.

You rolled your eyes at having to go to something like this, as you'd rather spend your time doing literally anything else than socializing with a bunch of snooty elites and nepo babies.

The savior of the evening was the open bar, as you took advantage of it. The last thing you wanted to be was sober at something like this. Because of your slightly inebriated state, you were inclined to entertain the advances of a handsome young man, that found you wandering out on the balcony.

It was a chilly night, and the thin sleeves of your dress didn't provide much warmth. You rubbed your bicep with your free hand, while you took a sip from your drink in the other.

"Its a little cold to be out here, don't you think?" A voice asked from behind you.

"Its too stuffy in there for me, so I needed some air," you replied, turning towards him.

"I know what you mean, that's why I came out here myself," he continued, taking a step closer to you. "I've never been one for parties, at least not ones like this, with people I don't even like."

He then stood next to you, and leaned against the small, stone wall that enclosed the balcony.

"Although, sometimes I meet someone that makes the night bearable," he continued. "And I think I've just met that person."

He smiled, as his eyes met yours, making you blush.

You chatted with this mysterious stranger for a while, before he couldn't stand the sight of you shivering anymore. He quickly took off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You tried to protest, but he insisted, so you accepted his chivalrous gesture. He stood in front of you, his fingers still clutching the jacket's collar, as he gazed affectionately at you.

You weren't sure why he was looking at you like that, as you were still practically strangers. His hand then cupped your cheek, as he used his hold on you to pull you closer to him.

"So pretty," he whispered, before leaning in for a kiss.

You didn't reciprocate it, at first, prompting him to pull away.

"Is something wrong?" He then asked, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"No, I just..." Your voice trailed off when you met his gaze, suddenly feeling foolish for speaking.

"Its ok, honey," he assured. "I know."

He pressed his lips to yours once more with you kissing him back this time. Your head was spinning from his pet name, reeling from how personal, how intimate it was. He slipped his arm around your waist, pushing your body against his.

"You're still shivering," he breathed, against your lips. "Are you still cold or do I make you that nervous?"

"Both," you replied, your hands resting against his chest.

He grinned.  "Let's go inside then, and I'll make sure to get you all warmed up."

You bit your lip as you nodded, allowing him to lead you back into the house.

Instead of rejoining the party, he led you up a grand staircase, to his room. It was in another wing of the house, away from the sounds of drunk socialites and prying eyes.

You were amazed at the gothic opulence of your surroundings, as you followed him into the room. Once the door was closed and locked, his arms were around you. He pushed his jacket to the floor and pressed his large hands against your back.

"I just realized I never asked your name," you breathed, as he leaned in to kiss you.

"Its Steve," he revealed, before pressing his lips to yours.

You start to tell him your name, but he stopped you.

"I already know yours."

"How-?" You questioned, until he cut you off with more kisses.

"They'll be time for questions later, angel, and I promise I'll answer them, but right now, is about us..." he cryptically explained before kissing you deeply. 

Confusion temporarily ruled your mind, before it was replaced with overwhelming lust.

"I've waited so long for you," he breathily confessed, against your cheek.

You were already too dazed to question him again, as his closeness clouded your senses. You then felt him unzipping your dress. It fell to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you in your matching black bra and panties, which were concealed by black, opaque tights.

He sharply inhaled at the sight of you, biting his lip as he knelt in front of you. His hands traveled up your thighs, before settling on the waist of your tights. His eyes met yours as he pulled them down your legs.

You stepped out of your heels first, before stepping out of your tights. He tossed them over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours. His hands were on you again, grasping your thighs, as he pressed kisses to them.

"I'm going to worship you tonight, and always," he breathed, nuzzling his nose against your skin.

You stood there, stunned, still unsure what exactly was happening. Despite your uncertainty, you had the overwhelming urge to run your fingers through his hair. Your hand hovered above his head, as he continued pressing wet kisses to your thighs. You slowly lowered it and gently combed your fingers through his sculpted locks. He seemed to purr at your touch and glanced up at you, his warm eyes somehow brighter.

He rose to his feet and slipped his arms around you, pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

"Go lay on the bed, angel," he softly instructed, his heavy gaze meeting yours once again.

You nodded and promptly did as you were told. He smiled at how obedient you were already.

He sauntered over to the bedside, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He quickly discarded it then unbuttoned his pants. You watched as he pushed them down his thighs, revealing his tight underwear. It left nothing to the imagination, as you could see the perfect outline of his already hardening length.

He smirked when he caught you unashamedly staring at him.

"See something you like?" He then jokingly asked, making you blush.

"Don't worry, angel," he began, crawling onto the bed, then hovering over you. "Its all because of you..."

His lips were pressed to yours again, in another heated kiss.

"I'm gonna give you all of me tonight," he breathily promised, as you whimpered into his kiss.

His hand then slipped between you and  cupped you through your panties.

"And you're gonna give yourself to me, aren't you, angel?"

"Yes," you answered, wanting him more than you've ever wanted anyone before.

"So compliant," he praised. "I really lucked out with you."

You pulled him into a kiss, this time, further exciting him.

"Do you want to feel my fingers, angel?" He asked, against your lips, relishing your desire for him.

"Please..." you whined, hating how pathetic you sounded.

"And polite, too. You're fucking perfect," he lamented before kissing you again.

He pushed your panties to the side and eased two fingers inside you. You sighed as he pushed them in, up to his knuckles, as well as writhing underneath him. He pumped them in and out of you, torturously slow, at first, while kissing you deeply.

You gasped his name when he added another finger and increased his pace.

"I want to make sure you're ready for me, honey," he breathed.

Your head fell back, against the pillow and your eyes closed, your body pulsing with an aching need for him.

He turned his attention to your neck and sucked several purple marks into your skin as he continued to pleasure you. He then felt your legs tremble, and slowly withdrew his fingers.

You actually whined at the loss, while he softly laughed.

"So needy, aren't we?" He teased, before placing his fingers between his lips. He wasn't prepared for just how sweet you tasted, as it had him moaning.

His eyes met yours and you gasped when you saw how they glowed a bright yellow.

"What are you?" You finally managed to ask, as he settled next to you.

"The short answer is that I'm a demon, technically an incubus. Well half demon, actually, I'm still half human, too," he casually explained.

You looked at him, wide eyed, as you waited for him to divulge more.

His hand cupped your cheek, as he continued, "I know how unbelievable this sounds, but stay with me, it'll all make sense in the end.  My father's also an incubus. He met my mother decade's ago and then had me, of course. You see, when a demon mates with a human, the child is only half demon, until he or she, meets and mates with their...soul mate, for lack of a better term. Then, they become their true self, a fully fledged incubus or succubus, if you will. Are you still with me?"

You nodded, still processing everything he's told you so far.

"It was prophesied that you were, essentially, going to be the love of my life. The only downside was I had to wait, like, a fucking eternity for you," he paused to kiss you. "But, so far, you were worth it."

He kissed you again, and your body naturally responded by reciprocating his kiss and pulling him closer. Your mind, however, was screaming for you to stop, to get out and get away from him.

He knew you were afraid of him now, that you wanted to leave.

"If you don't want to stay with me, this is your one chance to leave," he said lowly, pulling away to look into your eyes.

"Because once I- once we have sex, we'll be bound to each other forever..."

"Seriously?" You asked, finally finding your voice again.

"Yeah, it'll complete my transformation into my true self, after that, your soul will be bound to me for all eternity," he explained, as his fingers lightly caressed your cheek.

The nonchalant way he explained everything infuriated you.

"Something tells me you wouldn't let me leave, even if I wanted to," you surmised, your eyes now challenging his.

His lips then spread into a grin.

"So perceptive, and you're right, I wouldn't let you out of this room. I've waited too long for you..." he said, leaning in close again. "And I'm going to take what's been promised to me."

You actually gasped when you felt his nails dig into your flesh.

"And really, does the thought of me fucking you disgust you that much?"

You hated how it didn't. How you still wanted him, despite everything. Despite what he revealed himself to be. Despite whatever you would become afterwards.

"No," you quietly answered.

"That's my girl," he praised, before pressing his lips to yours, for a searing kiss.

His hand slipped between your legs and felt how wet you still were for him.

"Fuck, you're just begging to be devoured," he breathed, into your mouth, before slithering down your body.

"Eyes on me, angel," he commanded, while gazing up at you.

He then tore your panties off, fully exposing you to him.

You then watched in awe as he flicked his serpent like tongue over you. You wanted to close your eyes, already overwhelmed, but felt his nails digging into your thighs, prompting you to keep them open.

He then languidly licked and sucked making you writhe and reach for him. Your hands settled in his hair and pulled, illiciting delicious moans from him. His strong hands then held your legs open wider as he brought you closer to the edge.

His eyes were glowing, seeming to change with his growing lust.

You sighed his name, as he crawled back up to you, his lips and chin glistening.

Before you realized what you were doing, you pulled him in for a kiss. You even surprised him, making him ache for you even more. You tasted yourself on his lips and it had your eyes rolling back.

"You want me..." he breathed, before sucking on your bottom lip. "You want me to fuck you now, honey?"

"Y-Yes..."

"Tell me how much you want it, how much you want to belong to me," he continued, into another kiss.

"I want to be yours, I want you to make me yours..." you dreamily said, while gazing into his golden eyes.

He grinned darkly. "Do you?"

You nodded. "Please..."

You pressed your lips to his again, desperately. He was truly loving every minute of this.

"Please what...?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"I need you..." you breathily answered, before kissing him deeply.

"Remember, once we do this, you're mine forever," he cautioned, pulling away to gaze into your eyes.

You saw how his shimmered, not glowing as brightly as before, but still beautiful.

"I know," you simply replied.

"And you're ok with that?" He questioned, his brows furrowing.

"You haven't left me much choice, but yes, I am." You then pulled him close, so your lips brushed his ear, as you added, "Make me yours, Steve."

He sharply inhaled before pinning you to the bed, below him. He then kissed you roughly, his hand reaching underneath you to unclasp your bra. After slipping your arms out of it, he threw it to the floor.

He then attached his mouth to your breasts. He breathed praises into your supple skin, as he licked and kissed.

His hands kept a firm grip on your wrists, as you whimpered for him. He licked the valley between your breasts, before releasing his hold on you. He left the bed only to take off his underwear.

You couldn't help but gasp when you saw how he was throbbing for you. He sensed your apprehension as he resumed his place on top of you.

"You can take it, honey, I know you can," he cooed, gazing down at you, so affectionately.

You instinctively spread your legs wider as he nestled his hips between them. He briefly teased you by rubbing his tip against you, making you shiver all over again.

He kissed you passionately, as an effort to distract you from the sting of him easing himself inside you. You gasped into it, feeling him stretch you like no other man had before. Your eyes watered as you felt every inch of him.

"Steve, I don't think I..." you breathed, when he was only half way in.

"Yes you can, angel," he assured, pressing kisses all over your face. "Just spread your legs a little more."

You did as he said, and he was able to push himself all the way in, his hips meeting yours.

"See? I knew you could take me..." he gasped.

He didn't move, as he wanted you to get acclimated to him. You were already dizzy from how deep he was and how full you felt.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He asked, breathless.

You nodded, unable to form words.

"You feel fucking incredible, angel," he continued,  breathless.

He then slowly pulled out of you before thrusting back in. You whimpered his name as he fucked you slow, to start. His moans echoed in your ears while your nails clawed at his shoulders.

"Wrap you legs around me," he then instructed.

Once you complied, you each moaned at how he managed to fuck you even deeper.

"Oh, S-Steve..." you sighed, never feeling pleasure remotely close to this before. "Its so, you're so..."

"I know, honey," he breathed, against your neck.

He gently licked the little bruises that littered your skin, before kissing them.

"You're doing so good for me...taking me so well..." he praised, as you squeezed your eyes shut, soft moans escaping your lips with every thrust.

You noticed his voice seemed deeper now, though you weren't sure if you were hearing him correctly, considering how hazy your mind was and that this was already the best sex of your life.

"Is it ok if I go a little faster?" He then asked, getting your attention.

"Y-Yeah..." you whimpered, as you gazed up at him.

His eyes were glowing again, brighter than before. You were transfixed by them, as you reached up to touch his face. His hips slowed as he watched you press your palm against his heated skin. He was so hot to the touch, you thought you'd actually burn yourself.

No one had ever touched him like that, so gentle, so affectionate. He was already falling in love, a feeling so new and foreign, he was meant to finally experience with you.

He then let you pull him into a kiss. It was slow, romantic. How he wished he could be kissed like this all the time.

He started moving his hips again, as you sighed against his lips.

"I wanna stay like this forever," he breathed. "Would you like that, honey? To stay with me, as I fuck you better than any mortal man ever could?"

You whimpered, before actually forcing yourself to respond, "Yes..."

He grinned. "I wanna try something..."

He sat up, pulling himself out of you, for a moment. You watched as he placed your legs against his chest, with your feet at his shoulders. His chest hair scratched the backs of your calves as he positioned you how he wanted. His large hands held your hips as he eased himself back into you.

You each moaned as he was able to push himself in much easier now. He began thrusting into you, while keeping a tight grip on your hips. You glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails had been replaced with claws. They lightly scraped your skin with his movements.

You knew this should frighten you, but it didn't faze you. You merely acknowledged the change before your vision blurred, as the familiar euphoria took over.

"Still good, angel?" He breathily asked, as his hips snapped against you.

You nodded. "Steve, it's so..."

Your voice trailed off into a moan as he kept hitting the right spots.

He then leaned over you, bending your knee and pressing it to your chest.

You gasped as you felt him even deeper.

Your hands settled on his shoulders, but instead of feeling his tan, freckled skin, leathery scales met your fingertips. You almost recoiled at the feeling, but the intense pleasure coursing through you made you think otherwise.

You opened your eyes and saw his whole body was covered in dark scales. His face still hadn't changed too much, he was still just as handsome, though his complexion was starting to match the rest of his changing appearance.

"You truly were made for me, honey," he praised. "The most beautiful, perfect woman I've ever seen that I get to fuck until the end of time..."

His praises sent your head spinning.

"I can't wait to start our life together...I'm gonna give you everything you've ever wanted...we'll get married and then you'll have my children...it'll be the perfect life..." he breathed, as he fucked you hard and fast.

You were literally coming apart underneath him. You felt as though you were undergoing your own transformation, as he roughly claimed you as his.

"Does that sound good to you, honey?" He asked, his lips ghosting over yours. "Being my perfect, little wife and having our own little family?"

You nodded, as tears streamed down your face, from intense pleasure. You also found his vision for your life oddly heartwarming.

"I need to hear you, honey," he chided, emphasizing his statement with hard thrusts.

"Yes, I'll...I'll be whatever you want," you rasped, feeling like your body's melting into the mattress.

"I'm definitely gonna use that against you, in the future, " he darkly laughed.

You barely registered his words, as you felt you had transcended to a new plane of existence. A place where only you and he existed. A place just for you to worship each other.

His lips against yours brought you back to reality. You struggled to kiss him back, making him laugh once again.

"I know you're close, angel, I am too," he breathed, his lips moving to your cheek. "I can feel you squeezing me..."

An obscene moan escaped his lips as he fucked you, chasing his own release.

You sighed his name over and over, as you arched your back when he kept hitting that spot.

"I'm gonna fill you up, angel...its gonna be dripping out of you...you'll be so full...fuck" he breathed, his lips now at your ear.

"Tell me you want it...to feel my seed dripping out between your legs."

"I want it, Steve, please..." you whined, your hands grasping for whatever they could.

After a few more thrusts, you came undone around him. Tears flowed from your eyes and your moans echoed throughout the room, while he kept grunting above you. He kept fucking you until he reached his own climax. Inhuman cries of ecstacy left his lips, forcing you to open your eyes long enough to see his turn completely black as he rode out his high.

You wanted to look away, but you couldn't. You watched and winced as he kept thrusting into you, making sure he gave you every last drop of him.

When his hips finally stilled, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His heavy breathing now filled the room, while you struggled to breathe with him practically crushing you.

You then reached up to smooth his hair, gently combing unruly strands behind his ear. You glided your other hand over his shoulders and was relieved when you felt his skin had returned to normal.

You softly said his name, getting him to glance up at you. His eyes were glowing once again, but there was a new warmth within them.

He raised his head, so he could capture your kiss swollen lips for another kiss.

"You were definitely worth the wait," he breathily confirmed, making you laugh.

"I'm glad I lived up to your expectations," you replied, still with a laugh.

"Oh, you exceeded them," he smiled. He nuzzled his nose against yours, before kissing you again.

"You're everything I've ever wanted, angel."

"Steve..." you breathed into another kiss.

His hand cradled your face as he kissed you, deeply.

Sometime later, you and Steve lay curled around each other, under the sheets. Your head rested on his bare chest as he lightly glided his fingertips up and down your arm. His touch was so soothing, it had almost lulled you to sleep until you heard his voice.

"Do you think you could ever love someone-something like me?"

You raised your head, your eyes meeting his even in the darkened room.

"I know we just met, but I already feel like I'm falling in love with you," he added, his vulnerability surprising you.

You moved closer to him, so close the tips of your noses touched.

"I know I could love you, Steve Harrington," you smiled.

"You knew this whole time?" He asked, also with a smile.

You nodded. "It wasn't that hard to figure out."

"I thought I was being properly mysterious," he replied, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"You did make a valiant effort," you laughed, before he pulled you closer, so your lips connected.

"It worked, though, because you're here."

"True, though your little confession made quite the difference..."

"Usually does," he grinned.

Your lips brushed his before kissing him again.

"So, you're really ok with all this?" He asked, while his thumb caressed your cheek.

"Strangely, yes," you answered. "Knowing what you really are, makes me want you more."

His eyes glowed once more as his lips curled into an excited smile.

"Oh, angel," he breathed against your lips, "we're gonna have so much fun."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut

[odinsblog]

In the coming days/weeks, you’re going to hear a lot about how Ukraine should accept the terms of surrender (as that’s what they are) offered by Russia—how they’d be “stupid” not to, how Zelenskyy should “do the right thing for his people” and prioritize saving lives, how peace should be the priority and we can’t always get what we want.

Make no mistake: even if Russia intends to uphold these terms once Zelenskyy accepts them, this is a terrible deal for Ukraine and a terrible deal for the world.

First of all, there’s no guarantee that Russia will respect a cease fire or peace treaty. Obviously that’s always the case with war, but it’s especially the case when they’ve already violated multiple cease fire agreements by firing on and murdering evacuating civilians, including children. So there’s your peace treaty.

Second, the terms that Russia has presented include virtually all of Putin’s actual goals for this illegal invasion (obviously “de-Nazification” and “de-militarization” were just lies à la “weapons of mass destruction,” a rhetorical tactic that really ought to be familiar to any self-respecting American leftist). Ukraine would forfeit its claim on the territories Russia has already illegally annexed/recognized, it would be forced to change its constitution (!!!) to commit to never joining any “pacts” (EU, NATO, anything else that forms in the future), and it would retain Zelenskyy as a figurehead while installing a pro-Russian actual government leadership.

This is—and I cannot stress this enough—not a “compromise” or a “peace treaty.” It’s terms of surrender. And the lesson learned here is that Russia can continue invading and terrorizing sovereign states without any actual consequences—remember, Putin doesn’t personally care about Western sanctions. He doesn’t care if his people are plunged into poverty as long as he and his cronies aren’t, and they won’t be. He’s furious about the sanctions because he finds them personally offensive and because they confirm his victim complex, not because he’s legitimately worried for his people like Zelenskyy is.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, Putin has made it extremely clear that he seeks to rebuild a Russian empire. He will not stop with Crimea, Luhansk, and Donetsk. (And make no mistake—Luhansk and Donetsk are not independent sovereign states like Ukraine; they’re simply Russian satellites.) He will not stop with forced regime change in Belorus, Georgia, Syria, and Ukraine. (And even if he did—isn’t that awful enough?) He is not “concerned about Russia’s security” or “worried about NATO’s encroachment” or whatever his extensive social media operation has you believing. He’s not concerned or worried about anything. He’s a dictator expanding his empire. He is exactly what you all feared Trump was.

I believe that this “offer” from Russia to Ukraine serves two purposes, and neither of them is to establish a lasting peace and autonomy for each country. One is to give Putin a potential way to back out of a war that has already gone much worse than he expected and cost him significantly in terms of personnel and equipment. (Not the sanctions—like I said, I don’t think he personally cares about the sanctions and in fact sees them as a political tool to use to his advantage.)

The second and more important goal is to create a way for the international community to blame Ukraine for the continued war. “If you’d just accept the terms, you could save your people and prevent nuclear war.” It’s absolutely classic DARVO tactics that, again, any progressive activist should be familiar with. “Sure, it’s not your fault he attacked you, but you shouldn’t have reported it, made a big deal of it, gotten him ‘cancelled,’ made it public, etc.”

It’s not Ukraine’s responsibility to “prevent nuclear war.” Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons in exchange for protection—protection that it has not received, although Western aid and military assistance has undoubtedly been helpful. Placing responsibility on Ukraine to accept unjust terms and illegal annexation of its land in order to “prevent nuclear war” only lends credence to the claim that only nuclear weapons can keep a country truly safe—after all, it would mean that Putin’s nuclear threats have allowed him to invade his neighbors, terrorize their citizens, destroy their resources, replace their democratically elected leaders with his own puppets, and steal their land—without even having to make any concessions himself.

So here’s my plea to my American progressive/leftist siblings. Please question what you think you know about Putin, Russia, and Ukraine. There are certainly far-right and neo-Nazi political forces in Ukraine as there are in any country, but Zelenskyy is a progressive, democratically elected JEWISH president. NATO and the EU have their (serious) issues, but they have not pressured or forced any former Soviet states to join—in fact, prior to this war, it seemed unlikely that Ukraine would be admitted. Ukraine WANTED to join to protect itself from Russia, which had already illegally annexed its land, empowered far-right groups within its borders, and forced regime changes in surrounding countries.

Putin is not an anti-imperialist revolutionary; he denounces American imperialism because it’s convenient for him politically and it keeps the American left from putting pressure on our government to divest from Russia. Sure, maybe the Democrats oversold Russian election hacking as an explanation for Trump’s win (although the more I learn about the extent of Russia’s disinfo campaign, the more I question this common leftist talking point), but that doesn’t mean that Putin isn’t bent on conquering Eastern Europe and subduing Western powers by any means necessary. This goes far beyond American electoral politics, and the answers here do not conform to American party lines. Do not fall into the trap of dismissing politicians’ statements about Putin and Russia just because you disagree with the rest of their stances.

Putin is a dictator. Sometimes it really is that simple. A former KGB agent, he came to power by staging the modern Russian version of the Reichstag fire (look up “Russian apartment bombings”), using that as an excuse to start a war and win it, and he has maintained his power through strong-arming and terror. The State Duma is entirely symbolic at this point; anyone who goes against Putin knows that they are likely not only to die, but to die horribly, just like Alexei Navalny almost did not long ago (look up “Novichok” and prepare yourself for some body horror).

I could go on. I won’t right now. But in truth, I deeply regret the fact that I haven’t done more over the past 8 or so years to disrupt the blatant Putinist propaganda I hear from a lot of my fellow progressives. I had other priorities and I didn’t give it the attention I should’ve. To be clear: nothing America or American progressives could’ve done would’ve stopped this war, only delayed it or hastened it. The war was inevitable because Putin wants to conquer Ukraine, and beyond.

So I’ll just say—please, please listen to people who fled Russia/the Soviet Union, and to experts who study Russia. The most likely threat here isn’t a nuclear WWIII; this isn’t about you. The thing people like me fear most is simply that Putin will continue subjugating, terrorizing, and ultimately conquering innocent citizens of sovereign states, and that the West will eventually just accept this as the price of nuclear deterrence.

I’m not a political scientist; I don’t know how to stop this war. All I know is that Ukrainian surrender isn’t it. Listen to Ukrainians, anti-Putin Russians, and other experts, form your own opinion, and most importantly, keep your wits about you. Not everyone in this world is a good faith negotiating partner. Some people are, unfortunately, just evil. Hitler was, Stalin was, Putin is.

(source)

#politics #tankies #ukraine #budapest memorandum #russia #darvo #russian imperialism #russian colonialism #russia is a terrorist state #darvo putin #vladimir putin #vladimir putin go fuck yourself #adolph putin #little putler

[themojaveexpress]

Bethesda wanted to go personal with fallout 4, but then they didn't put in the time and thought that going personal requires!!

Where are the articulate, grown-up conversations (multiple conversations, not just one!) with adult Shaun about why he's made certain choices, let us talk about what he believes in!! Like, what he actually believes in. There's interesting arguments that could've been made in this scenario and they just never go there! (Arguments that go beyond the very surface level reasonings we hear from nearly every Institute NPC.) They could've done anything.

And while I'm here, actually reward the player for having a good relationship with Shaun. And when I say that I mean specifically the relationship with Shaun, not just your Institute standing. Let us bring him gifts (or some game mechanic that lets us raise his affinity without siding with the institute), in order to access more personal conversations. Why can't we have a deeper conversation with him about what it really would've been like if he hadn't been kidnapped. Would it have been shitty? Good? A mix of both? Plenty of opportunities for role playing here. Why can't we break down the barrier between our characters? Why isn't it a choice? If you don't care about Shaun you get Father, you get the cold figurehead who doesn't give a shit about anything but the Institute. But if you bother to talk to him, to find out how he feels? You can have something close to a parent/child relationship, you can find out how he actually feels about his life and what he's doing. Come on Bethesda, if you want it to be personal don't just rely on the players ability to imagine it being deeper than it is. I honestly think a lot of players aren't giving themselves credit for how much they themselves bring to the story with their own thoughts and ideas. If it was deep to you, then YOU brought that to the table.

My point here isn't just about Shaun either. Same goes for companions. For the love of god Bethesda, let your writers actually think about what they're writing. I know they can! We see glimpses of it all through the game, especially in far harbor. But whether it's a lack of time, or poor direction, or both, or something else.... idk. I don't mind games "going personal", but that cannot be shorthand for "we've given up".

#okay that's my bi annual fo4 rant ✌ see you in 6 months #fallout 4 #mojave express announcement #the institute

[hyperanaemia]

Sorry, I don't mean to disappear for months, but I've been getting back into reading comics after taking a super long break to play bg3. So, I've finally gotten around to reading the Knight Terrors: Robin issues that have been sitting in my 'to read' box months after they've been relevant. I’m sure everyone else had a bunch to say when it came out but here’s my two cents. 

The issues just really fall flat to me. Like, I wasn't expecting a two-shot to be a deep dive into Tim's dead-dad trauma or anything, but I do feel like it misses what the core fear/horror that surrounds Jack's death is. 

Like, the KT issues posset that what Tim fears the most is failing to save people, with his dad's death being the figurehead of that. That this failure is what makes him unworthy of being Robin. I'm not going to say that isn't true, that reasoning definitely factors into Tim's trauma. But it also just feels basic to me.

Like, 'failing to save a loved one' is one of the most basic superhero tropes at this point. I'd be hard pressed to think of a hero who hasn't failed to save someone they know. It might as well be a rite of passage.  

(In fact, here's a panel of Tim thinking as such about his parents in an issue literally called Rites of Passage.) 

Also, Tim has already had a 'crisis of faith' arc after failing to save someone with the character of Eldon Adams (Young El). It had a very big impact on Tim and the fallout of that lasted for several issues.

Identity Crisis certainly has its flaws and at times I question the need to kill off Jack in the first place. But, to me anyway, Jack's death is beautifully written and manages to tie his and Tim's decades-long storyline off in an interesting way. 

The important point to make about Tim in relation to all this is that he chooses to be Robin. He was never picked, he was never fated, he was not born to do it. Robin is something he actively chooses to be. At first, it's an easy choice to make. Tim reasons that since his parents are off doing their own thing it won’t be an issue if he’s gone all the time. But, as time goes on, Jack starts spending more time at home, wanting to spend more time with Tim. The issue "resolves" in this instance by having Jack's time get taken up when he starts dating Dana Winters. But this tension continues to be a major subplot throughout Tim’s series. Tim and Jack’s already strained relationship is constantly made worse by Robin.     

Tim feels guilty that his duty as Robin keeps getting in the way of his relationships. Tim's friends like Ives and Ariana are constantly stood up or brushed aside. Anything that ties Tim to the normal life he used to have is always being balanced against Robin. And for as much as Tim tries to maintain it, for as much as he says his normal life is what keeps him grounded when push comes to shove Tim always ends up choosing Robin.  

The thing that makes Jack's death different from all the other parental deaths in the Batfam, and the Identity Crisis did right, is that they made it a direct consequence of Tim choosing to be Robin. Bruce's parents were killed at random. Dick's were targeted in a situation outside of his control. Jason's mother was killed for her involvement with the Joker, which started before he even met her (and his dad with Two-Face).  

Jack was killed because his son was Robin. In Identity Crisis, Jean Loring targets the family members of heroes. She never would have hired Captain Boomerang to kill Jack if Tim wasn't Robin.  

(Obviously, none of this is to minimize any of these characters' pain or to say one is worse than another.)   

The added twist of the knife is that Tim had been spending that week with Jack instead of helping everyone find the killer. It's the one night that Tim chooses to go out as Robin again that Jack is killed. If Tim had stayed just one more night, even just one more hour, he could have saved his dad. And Jack lets him go because he knows how important Robin is to Tim.

This is more of an aside, I love this sequence of Tim ripping off his Robin uniform. Like obviously the intention is that Tim can't be seen wearing it when the police arrive. But the subtext to me reads that Tim is ripping Robin off, this thing that's come between them at every moment. Tim, before he even knows if Jack is alive or dead, doesn't want Robin to come between them anymore.

And Jack's death is something of a 'point of no return' for Tim. Before this, many of the people who know Tim is Robin have pointed out that he could always return to a normal life if he wanted to. Tim himself believes that he'll probably retire being Robin at some point. (I have my own thoughts that aren't relevant here about how that's more about him being practical as opposed to his genuine wish for his future, but I digress.) But after this, Tim is locked into the vigilante life. There's nothing normal he could return to. If he can’t be good at this, then what was the point? 

KT Robin just feels uninspired. It doesn't try to extract what makes Jack's death unique or interesting. It just picks the most surface-level takeaway you could have from it. Like, it's not just about being not good enough for the job. It's losing everything because you chose to do this job and you still don't know if you're good enough to do it.

#sephs comic reading tag #tim drake #jack drake #my 'in order' reading list has me around the start of Cataclysm right now #and it's been a few months since I've read Id Crisis so forgive me if I'm misremembering anything

[creweemmaeec11]

The Queen Rises at Witching Hour

Here it is! I've been working on this piece on and off for months, but it's finally here! It's a tad different and much longer than my normal stuff, but please read it and let me know what you think in the comments! I'd really love some feedback!

"I'm so excited!" The hero cheered with a smile, his soft short hair bouncing slightly as they walked down the hall. "You're finally getting to meet the city's mayor!" he glanced over at his sidekick, who seemed to be off in her own world, "Is everything okay?" he asked when he didn't immediately get a response. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course! Just lost in thought," She replied, shaking her head a bit. The two walked down the long elegant hallway with marble floors quietly for a moment before the hero spoke up again. 

"It's okay to be nervous," he said, trying to be reassuring. 

The problem with that was the hero didn't know the real reason she was a tad nervous, so his words did little for the fizzling tension building at the base of her spine, nor the dreadful emptiness in her gut.

"Besides," He continued, "I'm sure he's looking forward to meeting you and getting the chance to thank you for all the help you've provided the city. You definitely deserve it. It usually doesn't take this long," 

"Why *did* it take so long this time, then?" The sidekick asked. The hero was right; it didn't usually take this long for the new recruits to be introduced to the mayor. This had put quite a kink in their plans, pushing them back a whole month behind schedule. 

"I heard there was a mutant problem at the gates he had to deal with or something, but you don't need to worry about it," he dismissed with his usual disarming smile. 

"Right..." 

There was another beat of silence, the only noise being the quite padding of their feet as they walked.

"He was caught up fighting Witching Hour, right?" 

The hero went rigid, "Yeah- I- how do you even know that name?" 

"She's become pretty famous lately. I mean, she is kind of leading the mutant uprising, isn't she?" 

"Yeah, they call her "the queen of mutants," but don't worry. We won't let them win. You're getting stronger by the day, and together, I'm sure we'll be able to stop them," 

Something in her heart sank at that notion. A blow to a foolish hopefulness inside her that she'd been trying to ignore. 

"Do you really think mutants..." she trailed off, unsure if she actually wanted to ask. 

"Do I think mutants what?" the hero pressed uncertainly.

"Do you really think mutants deserve to be thrown out of the city into the tangles? I mean, I'm sure you've heard the stories of the beasts that roam around out there," 

The hero suddenly stopped in his tracks. 

"Okay, whatever you do, you need to make sure nobody around here hears you say anything like that. Of course mutants deserve to be sent out of the city. They are dangerous, sidekick." 

"Right, of course, sorry. You're right," she assuaged. 

They continued walking. 

"I mean... take Witching Hour, for example. She might look normal, but she can manipulate dark matter, for crying out loud!" He threw his hands into the air to emphasize his point. 

His sidekick nodded as they approached the two large doors at the end of the hall. They could already hear the racket of the party on the other side. 

"Alright, let's go," Sidekick smiled, pushing open the door before the hero could say anything else. She didn't want to give him the chance to ask her where the question came from. 

The party turned out to be more fun than Sidekick had initially imagined. For being almost entirely full of self-righteous idiotic snobs, she was actually enjoying herself. The two of them made their rounds, shaking hands as the hero proudly introduced her to the different members of the council and other figureheads at the party. She already knew who they all were, of course. But she played along. Smiling when they thanked her for all she'd already done for the city. 

They had no idea. 

She and hero had fallen into their usual rhythm, laughing and bantering between the moments of seriousness. She was actually so caught up in the party, that when it finally happened, she was momentarily surprised. 

"Did you see his face!?" Hero snickered quietly while sidekick laughed.

"I did," She smiled, "He was so shocked I was the one who saved the bus last week," 

"They have a habit of underestimating sidekicks," the hero admitted, though he continued smiling, "But you're one of the best I've ever had. You're talent and skill have grown so fast! You'll graduate to hero status in no time. But... I admit I'll definitely miss working with you. ," 

Before she could offer any response to that, a loud cry from the back of the room had everyone's attention. 

"MUTANTS!" 

Then, all hell broke loose. 

Two building guards appeared behind the two heroes before they could even react, cuffing their hands behind their backs. Hero looked over his shoulder to see one's eyes shift colour while the other seemed able to control gravity, forcing them to their knees under a crushing weight. 

"Hey-!" Hero yelped as he was pushed down. 

"Don't move, and you won't get hurt," The guard interrupted. 

Sidekick didn't struggle, unlike the hero, who would never go down without a fight. But he couldn't do much but wiggle with the insane weight of the air above him to hold him down. He was struggling to breathe now under the crushing weight. 

She made eye contact with the guard behind her, but the interaction remained unseen to anyone else. 

"hero, stop struggling!" sidekick whisper-shouted, "Please just trust me!" 

The hero met her eyes before complying, he gave up his struggle, and almost immediately, the weight on his shoulders eased up. He sucked in a desperate breath. 

"Good boy," The second guard replied mockingly, "She's a smart one; you should listen to her if you don't want me to end up having to kill you," 

More chaos was erupting in the room. A few guards were trying to fight, but more and more guards were shifting, using mutant powers to overcome them. Hero felt gutted and helpless as he watched. The entire embassy had been infiltrated! 

Fire, water and everything in between seemed to sling around the room.

Slowly, more and more guards and party-goers were overcome, being apprehended and forced to kneel with their hands cuffed behind them. 

Finally, the guards that had been protecting the mayor, began losing the battle. One by one, they went down until a single, large mutant who'd been posing as a guard walked up. The mayor dropped to his knees, cowering under the sharp blade that was suddenly a hairs width away from his windpipe. 

He looked pathetic on the floor in front of what anyone else would call a throne, sitting at the head of the room. The giant chair he sat on during parties so people could come to introduce themselves one by one. 

"My queen would like a word," The mutant said in a low voice. There was a moment of silence, when suddenly, sidekick stood up. 

"Sidekick, what are you doing!?" Hero whisper-yelled at her in a panic. 

She glanced at him. She felt terrible, but it was too late to turn back now. Not that she would have, but he was a good guy. 

Something about the apologetic look in her eyes made it dawn on him. 

"Well done, boys," she complimented the guards as the cuffs fell to the floor, revealing they'd never actually been locked. She didn't even sound like the same person. Before, she had been a quiet, gentle-mannered but polite girl. Now, her voice seemed to encompass the entire room effortlessly. It echoed through the air eerily.

She reached up, pulling the pin out of her long black hair, letting it fall back over her shoulders and revealing the purple streaks that had been hidden within her updo. 

All eyes were on her. 

She tossed the large spike-like clip onto the ground and began walking forward. A powerful walk, making sure to step on the pin on her way. The second it crunched under her heel, the spell broke. The transformation started at her shoulders, clothing morphing and shifting as it fell, revealing her famous, skin-tight assassin armour and purple cape. Her heels seemed to grow, clacking on the hard floor as she walked. Dark matter began to spark at her fingertips, only to start growing a second later. Electric purple and black swirled until she held her signature short dagger, which she twirled through her fingers almost casually. Her violet eyes flared.

Even her walk was different, the hero noted. 

"I have to say, Thomas, I like what you've done to the place,' Witching Hour smiled as she walked, using the mayor's real name, "there really is no place like home, huh? Man, it feels good to be home~," 

Sparking purple electricity seemed to randomly fizzle and crack throughout the room as if it was a giant creature encompassing its surroundings. 

"This is not your home," The mayor replied shakily, clinging to the fragments of bravery that lay shattered at his feet. 

Witching Hour laughed at that, before smiling with teeth that seemed sharper than they were earlier in the evening, "It was once; before you and you're soldiers came along, was it not? It was all of our homes," she gestured around the room, to all the mutants who had come out of their disguises. 

By now, she was standing a few feet in front of the man, the previous mutant guard having stepped aside, "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you but..." she smirked, eyes glinting purple dangerously, "You already know my name."

"But let's not get off on such an unpleasant foot, hm? I'd just like a word, if you will?" She gave an overdramatic bow, but the light of her tone made the action mocking, "I apologize for the entrance, but you're quite a hard man to get ahold of when the request comes from one of my kind," 

"I have nothing to discuss with the likes of you," the mayor stammered, trying and failing to sound intimidating from his cowered position in front of his throne. 

"Thankfully, this is more of a "you listen while I discuss the non-negotiable" type situation," Witching Hour smiled gently, as if talking down to a confused child, "You see, I have great news! The other mutants and I have decided that you've done such a good job governing this place that you deserve some time off!" She cheered, her tone dripping in joy so bitter it could burn, "In fact, today marks the beginning of your early retirement!" 

"You can't be serious-" 

"Oh, but I am," the villain replied, humming in a satisfied tone, "You're nothing but a power-hungry kitten playing lion, and our kind is done being preyed on," suddenly she swung her dagger forward, stopping only centimetres away from the mayor's throat, forcing him back against his chair, chin tilted up away from the blade. The fear on his face had a twisted satisfaction to it as he flinched back violently.

"G-go on," the mayor said, swallowing, the movement causing his throat to inch infinitesimally closer to the blade before it, "It won't do you any good. Show everyone what you are." 

It was pathetic how big of a bluff that was, but she was almost impressed he had the guts to bluff at all, the insolent man he was.

Witching Hour smirked, but her tone dropped to a chilling cold, "I'm not that kind,"

With that she stood up, taking a few steps back, sheathing her dagger and looking at two of her guards, a smile still gracing her lips, "Throw him into the tangles," she commanded.

The mayor's face seemed to drain of any colour it still had left, "NO! No no, please! Surely we can reach an agreement of some kind!?"

The villain laughed, genuinely amused, "I seem to recall you saying we have nothing to discuss," she smirked, watching as the two guards wrestled to get him by each arm. "We never got the chance to bargain. You always acted like you were so much better, stronger than us-"

Witching Hour raised her hand, and suddenly the mayor's wallet flew out of his pocket towards her. The instant it was in her palm, it burst into deep purple flames of dark matter, "Let's see how you fare in a world where money means nothing," she explained, sprinkling the soot remains onto the marble floor.

"You won't get away with this!" Hero suddenly called out. His voice was full of anger, but the hints of fear and hurt slipped through, "I trusted you! You-!"

He gasped, unable to breathe as the guard behind him pinned the hero with increased gravity yet again.

"What do you want done with him?" The guard asked indifferently, "Should he follow the mayor-?"

"No," the villain replied coolly, "Secure him in my room, I will deal with him myself,"

Hero gasped as air finally flooded his lungs. He was left coughing as two guards took him away as well.

---------

About three hours later, Witching Hour finally reached the mayor's bedroom. It was well into the early hours of the morning now, and she was truly exhausted.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she collapsed back to lean against it with a sigh, eyes closing and hands going to her forehead.

"Long day?"

The disdainful voice seemed to startle her out of her trance. She flinched, causing small sparks of purple to crackle throughout the room.

Right. The villain had forgotten about hero.

He was on the couch, hands still in handcuffs, with a rope attached to the back of the sofa. He had clearly been trying to get out of the cuffs, based on the redness around his wrists and the disarray of the couch cushions. His upper lip and nose were bloody, having run down his face and dried.

Witching Hour took a deep breath, steadying herself before she stood back up straight. "Yes. Yes, it has been a long day," she replied, taking a few steps forward, "who did that to you?" She asked, gesturing to his injuries.

"Does it matter?" He bit back, glaring.

"Of course it does. I instructed them not to hurt you,"

The hero simply scoffed at that, letting his head fall back against the arm of the sofa.

The villain didn't reply, eyeing him momentarily before turning and heading into the connected bathroom. After a few minutes of digging, she reemerged with a medkit.

Without stopping she began walking toward the couch.

The hero flinched at the sound of her approaching footsteps, looking up. He shrunk back, curling up on himself slightly, "don't even think about it," he ordered, "get away from me,"

She stopped.

The villain would be lying if she said she didn't feel a painful stab in her core at that reaction. Not trusting her was one thing, but to be afraid of her? That hurt so much more than she was expecting.

"Seriously hero?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, "I've patched you up how many times before?"

She had lost count of the amount of times she'd patched up the hero in front of her. After learning she had medical skills, hero always much preferred having her see to his injuries than going to a hospital.

"The real you hasn't patched me up once," he replied coldly. He continued shrinking back as she began approaching again, "I'm serious!" He snapped, growing more frantic.

"Hero I'm not going to hurt you," she said softly as she set the first aid kit down on the side table next to them.

"How can I trust a word you have to say!? For all I know, everything you've ever told me could have been a lie! I don't even know you!"

"How about this," Witching Hour started, "You let me patch you up, and while I do, I'll answer all the questions you want to ask honestly, as long as they are about me,"

"How can I trust you to tell the truth?" The hero asked, eying her warily. Despite his nerves, getting answers seemed to pique his interest, as the villain knew it would.

"What good would lying now do me?" She asked.

"I don't know," he replied, "that's the problem,"

Witching Hour gave an exasperated sigh, glancing up at the ceiling. "I'm going to go get a wet face cloth; I'll be right back,"

When she returned, she kneeled down on the ground next to the hero, who was still shying away from her slightly. After laying the face cloth down on the table, she reached forward and began unzipping the front of his costume to clean up the blood that had run down to his chest.

An outsider might have thought this was an awkward action to perform, but after so many past patch-up jobs, it came naturally.

She hadn't even thought of it until the hero gave a sharp inhale, which she did her best to ignore as she reached for the cloth to begin wiping off the blood.

Silence fell between them for a few moments as the rain began lightly hitting the window outside. The mayor's room smelt of wood and old books, and the vintage, antique furniture felt a stark contrast to the white marble and gold trims of the hallways. Most of his walls were covered in shelves, books and other trinkets, filling them all to the brim.

The hero watched her as she worked, eyes tracing her still familiar features like he had from this angle so many times before. It was this uncanny valley of familiar and unknown. Her face looked just as he'd always known it, eyes concentrated on her task. The only difference was the long hair with purple streaks falling over her shoulders.

"What's your real name?"

The noise seemed to shake her concentration, but the question itself almost startled her more. Her eyes flicked up to him in surprise. Of everything she expected him to ask, that certainly wasn't it.

"Valerie," the villain replied after a moment, before continuing her ministrations, "Valerie Rivera. I only lied about my last name,"

"You said is was Raven. You never strayed very far," hero commented.

Witching Hour simply hummed.

"How long have you been a Mutant?"

"About 5 years," she replied as she finished with his chest and moved up to his face, "I'd just turned twenty when it started, only about a year after the overgrowth first began,"

Mentally, the hero noted that meant she hadn't lied about her age. She was the same age as him.

"Was everything up until this a lie?"

She paused again at that, at something in his tone, eyes flicking over to meet his, seeming to search for something, before going back to cleaning the last bits of dried blood off his face, "What do you mean?"

"The sidekick act, wanting to help people, our- our friendship!" He snapped, the hurt more evident than ever in his voice, "Was *any* of it real?!"

The cloth fell away from his face, and their eyes met again, "of course it was." Witching Hour said softly, "I never lied to you about anything I didn't have to. Yes, we may have met under false pretenses, but that doesn't mean everything was fake. My goal was to get a meeting with the mayor. That goal didn't include getting lunch with you on the weekends, or helping you move furniture at 10pm on a Monday night,"

The hero remembered that incident. He had been so excited about the new sofa that had just been delivered he couldn't wait to get it into the living room. He had called his sidekick to ask for help to move it. She was the first person he thought to ask.

"That goal didn't include protecting you from injury, nor us talking for way too long about our favourite movies." She reached into the first aid kit for a sterile strip for the hero's lip, "All I needed was this party tonight. Everything else was my choice,"

"So what's your choice now, then?" The hero asked as she finished applying the strip, "We may have been friends, but that doesn't mean I'll let you get away with what you're doing,"

Suddenly, Witching Hour's dagger materialized in her hand. Before the hero could even react, it swung, slicing the rope that bound his handcuffs to the couch.

"Right now, I'm choosing to go to bed," the villain replied as she stood up, "You've got ten minutes to get ready for bed before I'm reattaching you to the couch. We've got a long day tomorrow,"

"Excuse me?" the hero sputtered, "*We* have a long day tomorrow? What is that supposed-"

"Nine minutes," she chimed as she began rooting through the mayor's closet, "I suggest using the bathroom while you can,"

The hero huffed, before getting to his feet and heading to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the washroom to find that his old sidekick had shed her assassin suit and had since slipped on one of the mayor's oversized dress shirts, wearing it as a nightgown.

"What?" Witching Hour questioned in amusement, smirking slightly, snapping him out of his previous staring, "Don't act like you haven't seen me in my underwear before. How many thousand times have we had to change into our hero suits behind dumpsters when trouble breaks out during our time off?"

The hero sputtered, "Yeah but that- that wasn't-"

He trailed off when she simply raised an eyebrow at him.

What he wanted to say was that he was always in the heat of the moment! In the chaos of everything he'd never actually stopped to think about how casually and comfortably they'd done something so... arguably intimate. Sure, it's not like they had ever been naked in front of each other, but frantically changing was much different from... she was just standing there!

Instead of that, however, the only thing that came out was a "nevermind, whatever," as he looked away and walked back toward the couch.

"If you're uncomfortable I can-" the villain began in confusion.

"No, its fine; I'm not uncomfortable, I just wasn't expecting it after everything today," he dismissed, sitting back down on the couch. It's not like his thoughts were drifting anywhere uncivil, but the realization of how comfortable he'd been around arguably the biggest supervillain since the overgrowth was a startling revelation. But the more he thought of her as his sidekick, the less weird it seemed.

He remembered an event from a few months ago, where he was too injured and tired to make it home from Sidekick's apartment, so he slept in his boxers on the couch, having shed his bloodstained clothes to put in the wash overnight. Neither of them had batted an eye at the situation. He hadn't even thought about it being weird to an outsider.

It felt weird to him now. To be so vulnerable around someone he didn't know as well as he thought. She could have killed him in his sleep that night.

She hadn't.

Suddenly a swath of fabric hit him in the face.

"Three minutes," Witching hour stated, "Do us both a favor and don't do something stupid while I'm in the bathroom, yeah?"

The hero blinked, looking at the blanket in his still cuffed hands, "y-yeah,"

That threat seemed to snap him back to reality. He should have been doing something stupid, like trying to escape! It must have been how tired he was, thinking about sleeping in the same room as a killer!

He shed his hero uniform as best he could while handcuffed and threw the blanket over himself. She wasn't trying to kill him. He could use that to his benefit. Take advantage of the opportunity being offered to regain his strength, and then keep an eye out for his opportunity tomorrow.

Even if they had been close friends. He wasn't about to let her get away with this. She still had to be stopped.

A moment later, the villain in question returned. Without warning, she made a vague gesture towards the sofa, and Hero felt a sharp tug on his wrists. Out of nowhere, a purple chain materialized, linking his handcuffs to the couch once more.

He gasped, eyes wide, staring at the glowing chain in front of him. The hero only encountered magic a couple times, and never this close-up, especially long enough for him to actually examine it.

For curiosity's sake, he gave his wrists an experimental tug, but the partially translucent chain had no give, behaving as though made of solid steel.

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?"

The hero glanced up, noticing Witching Hour watching him.

"It's... something." He huffed stubbornly.

The villain laughed, flopping herself down onto the mayor's bed on the other side of the room before flicking off the lights.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, until hero had to ask.

"What happened to all the human guards?"

"Depends," Witching Hour replied, "if they were injured in the fighting, they were sent to the hospital. If not, they were escorted out the front door and told to go home. There were a select few who are our friends who are still here,"

Of all the responses the hero could have gotten, that wasn't the one he was expecting.

After a few more moments of silence, the villain spoke again, "We're not monsters hero. Despite what your bosses would have you think."

That was the last thing either of them said before going to sleep.

#writing #NOT A PR0MPT #Hero x villain #villain x hero #Heros and villains #heroes and villains #hero x villain snippet #hero #villain #hero x villain drabble #hero x villain snippets #snippet #ficlet #short story #snippets #my writing #my work #creative writing #Crewes writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #drabble #story #writer #writers of tumblr #stories #Crewe

[shinyhappydigistar]

So who wants to listen to me ramble why an Empire reestablished by Grand Admiral Thrawn would be an “Empire” in name only? Nobody? Well that’s too bad, because you’re going to hear it. ^_^

Whether you like how it’s being portrayed or not, Thrawn’s ultimate goal as of the events in Ahsoka is to reestablish the Galactic Empire, all to help the Ascendancy against critical threats like the Grysks. Timothy Zahn has even stated this as such.

But it’d be an Empire in name only, as I just don’t see him being Emperor, nor do I even see him having someone in mind to be his figurehead/puppet ruler. After all, Thrawn is shown in canon (or the books at least) as being terrible at playing politics, which Palpatine was a master at thanks to the Force. I don’t even know who he’d even choose as Emperor, as ultimately what Thrawn wants is an overwhelming military power to crush the threats to the Ascendancy and his people, over anything else.

Realistically, any government led by Thrawn would be a military junta, where he works alongside other high-ranking Imperial military and regional governors to maintain order.

It makes the most sense, when you think about it: he can work behind the scenes to guide them and manipulate situations to best suit his needs. Like someone who can speak to the people on his behalf, someone who can play politics (but doesn’t outwit him), someone with charisma who can pacify the public, etc; It’s possible even other non-humans will be part of this council, if he deems them beneficial. (Which some of the more hard-lined, anti-alien council members wouldn’t like, for sure!)

All the while, he gets to operate in the background, where he works best. This makes him more a military dictator than an emperor, as he’s still the center of the council—he just doesn’t openly rule.

Would this be a fair system? Hell no, juntas are awful governments that oppress people and commit atrocities on the regular. Despite Thrawn’s best efforts to avoid this, he’s still cultivating an authoritarian regime that has shown in history to be built on sand and innocent blood. There’s going to be too many bad apples that he can’t—or feels he shouldn’t—cull from the system. They will do horrible things to people and some of those things he’ll allow as a lesser evil.

And there’s the fact he won’t live forever. He’s up there in age, and unless he’s okay with cloning—and we know trusting Imperials is not good—the paranoia is going to amp up. Who can he trust to keep up the system he’s so carefully crafted? Potentially none of the Imperial Shadow Council can be trusted outside of Captain Palleon, and maybe some of the humans he’s sent to the Ascendancy for aid. Somewhere down the line, someone will destroy what he built out of greed and egomania. And he knows this. Paranoia could be his ultimate downfall if he allows it.

This won’t happen, clearly, because the sequel trilogy (and the Legends Thrawn trilogy) indicates he won’t succeed. But I wanted to give you folks a more realistic vision of what the political makeup of galaxy would be like if he did. 🤔

#star wars #headcanons #speculation #star wars ahsoka #star wars rebels #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #ramblings #political speculation #i think too much #who agrees #galactic empire #maybe ‘imperial military council’? #i dunno

[losojos-decupido]

negative feedback loop? no way, i’m not negative!: fogado, anxiety, and a face more likable than himself

fogado is one of those characters that can easily trap Real Life Fans with his own facade if you’re not careful enough. most of the time, he’s very chill and fun-loving; most of his interactions with people reflect that in some way. 

HOWEVER! 

a lot of it is lies! lies i tell you!!

…well, okay, maybe not lies lies. i don’t think fogado’s ENTIRE personality is a front. but at least a large portion of it is fabricated to be in line with what fogado believes his “role” is. he only reveals this with people he 100% trusts with this information, but once you’re able to eke it out of him, the prince looks a lot more… Not Together.

to start, before we get into supports: his ally notebook entry. specifically, the B support rank blurb about his backstory:

this being the only information we get about solm’s king notwithstanding, it appears fogado’s role as a covert operator started when he was a child. when traveling with his father, he was taught the necessity of hiding himself for the sake of solm—as the country is a queendom, the identity of the prince is lesser than the identity of the princess. he has to keep secrets to protect his mother and sister.

parenting 101: teach your young and developing son that his identity SHOULD be whatever benefits his country. bound to have no repercussions!

kicking off supports with this line that sums things up pretty succinctly:

fogado leans on the idea of remaining a static character to the point where he hates the idea of being caught with his act down. he tries to make partying and having fun the only character traits people know him for so they won’t suspect him of being anything else. even the idea of him training, which is something that everyone ever does in these godforsaken games, is something he wants to keep locked down.

fogado sees his carefree attitude as a necessity to keep the peace. he doesn’t do it because he likes it so much as because others like it. concealing his identity is important, but so is being a figurehead that people can turn to in stressful times. being an amicable partier is something he’s found favor in, so that’s what he turns to most often, and he’ll go for as long as it’s needed.

however, fogado has anxieties. very very big ones. he keeps them under wraps a lot and rarely ever talks about them (because ‘i don’t want to be a burden’ means ‘i will never talk about my problems ever in my life’ to him), but there are times where they’re so big that they’re stifling, such as in his pandreo support:

he later divulges the source of his bad mood in the a support:

and… well. certainly not fun nor carefree thoughts.

one will find reading through his supports that he constantly says his personality is his “job.” he has to smile, he has to party, he has to be so visibly perfect that nobody worries about the big phony that’s leading all of them to war. the only time he lets a fraction of his guard down is when he's with the people he trusts most, and even then the only reason he says anything is because he’s caught in the act. he feels obligated to the entire world to be the one thing everyone needs all the time but hardly has anyone that will do the same for him. he has his retainers, but he tries to lie to them first. he has his sister, but he tries to lie to her as well:

fogado tries to be kind to everyone but at the same time he trusts absolutely nobody to be okay if he is not okay. he assumes that if he, the pinnacle of easygoing-ness and freedom, feels like the sky is falling, everyone else will feel the same way and everything goes to hell in a handbasket. he cannot possibly conceive of a reality where people can reassure him like he reassures them simply because he’s the one constantly watching over solm and its people.

the worst part: IT WORKS!

fogado puts on an act so impenetrable and tough that people DO fall for it. to be fair, that’s what he wants, but it must be difficult knowingly lying to people who consider you their friend BECAUSE of the fake self you’ve planted in their minds. it only adds to the stress fogado feels about keeping up the farce—not only is it important to keep people placated, but also everyone won’t like you anymore if you stop being the funny guy they know you are!

fogado lives in a constant state of fear and stress whilst simultaneously ensuring that nobody ever knows how he feels other than “happy” or “funny.” how much of it is genuine and how much of it is fake is difficult to parse because even fogado believes that his joy is all just for show. if his worries get strong enough he cracks, so he tries to lie himself into a hole in hopes that nobody questions him when he’s having an off day. remember, fogado: you may never tell people who you truly are and you may never show them your true self. if you do, everyone will freak out, nobody will like you, and then everyone will die and it will all be your fault. have fun!

conclusion: this dude needs to go to build a bear or something.

#☼ ooc #☼ meta #[ i like him your honor. but he needs help ]

[trickscourse]

Are you okay?

No, not really ngl.

Two extremely hypocritical people ( @redtailfatfish & @transfemmes ) have been riding my ass based on lies for the past few days, I had to cut off a longterm friend of 6+ years because she used me as a figurehead to harass people and someone who is a more obsessive freak than I could've imagined is trying to convince a majority of my friends, mutuals and my side of tungle I blamed them for their CSA while under the same breath they've mocked mine, repeatedly.

Someone, probably Jack has been roleplaying as me to get people to purposely break my boundaries so almost everyone in their circle can do. something. I don't know. I'm so anal or paranoid about people screenshotting me because people on here have put my face onto CP before, or edited my skin white or just edited my messages to say the most vile shit possible.

I've been saying this for weeks. I don't care about Jack, I barely know Jack. I may not like her but I wouldn't go out of my way to mock her trauma or blame her for it, something she can't do to me apparently. In the messages sent, I wasn't sure if the entire situation was true and Jack phrased it as if she was blaming herself if anything.

All I heard was that Jack lied about her teacher committing suicide, nothing about her being in any sort of inappropriate relationship with him. On my end, I thought it was a crush and a kid during 2016 being overdramatic.

Nobody said at any point she was in the wrong for being abused, nobody knew it was abuse because of the minimal information we had about anything involving it and the conversation moved on later on to something else.

All the information we had was that one person said she had a crush on he teacher and she used to write fanfic about him. Most kids have crushes on their teachers, at least I and a few friends did growing up. Since everyone was 15-16 around that time we mostly didn't know what grooming was, and we only knew one part of the story from someone else Jack tormented and hurt badly.

Never, ever would I blame a victim for being abused by someone who holds power over them when I'm a victim of CSA myself and have attempted to get a profession that stops predators from continuing to hurt others.

I've been running away from two different stalkers for the past maybe 6 years and nobody takes them seriously for one reason or another or they outright dismiss all of my trauma with them because of one reason or another. Mostly it's just personal bias.

This entire time I've been begging Sunny and Jack to respect my boundaries (not talking about me, taking screenshots or mentioning my family) and to just leave me alone.

If Jack wants to lie and ignore the fact she spammed my friends (I have no access to the blog and it blocked it from my main, @haupkmn and they will occasionally reblog things from me that I can't see in my notifications) with very, very graphic self harm pics and dozens of threats about my family.

By no means do I want to "silence" anyone nor do I think "doxxing" Jack was right. It wasn't right of me to ask someone else in the chat for any information on how to get a restraining order, even with public information.

By some means or another I thought it was "even ground" since she's admitted to downloading videos of me trying to find where I work, after shes contacted two of my jobs already to harass them and lie about me.

I want a restraining order or a non-contact order. I want her AWAY from me. I want Sunny, who keeps joking about the accident that forced me into a wheelchair for life and made DISGUSTING comments about the woman who raised me who's sexually abused to stop talking about me.

Even when all of this that's happened, I will still repeat again and again that I'm in the wrong and my actions weren't okay. I never said they were and I'm not proud of them, even with Jack manipulating the situation to her advantage for pity points when there's several screenshots of her admitting to getting my family's contact info via a third party and mailing things to them.

I'm asking to be left alone because my sibling figure got dragged into this, and people are going out of their way to harass my IRL friends and family. Tbh I doubt anyone's going to read this and will just say "wow that's crazy" or accuse me of yapping but. I'm not innocent. Please leave me alone.

#text post #cuppytowncity #haupkmn #tricksterexe

[missmungoe]

Seeing as you're getting asked a lot about live action, which characters outside of Makino and Shanks are your favourite to write about? Hancock? Buggy? The Straw Hats?

All of the above! You can usually tell which characters I love to write the most by how often they show up in my fics, like when I write the Straw-Hats, it's often from Nami's perspective, because she hits that sweet spot between 'extremely intelligent character with 100 contingency plans' and 'idiot who's never too proud to go along with the other idiots' shenanigans'. I also just love writing the Straw-Hats; they add a necessary levity to the more dramatic moments in my big fics, and their scenes together are always some of my favourite to write. I've yet to do a Straw-Hat centric fic, because my interests lie with a certain captain and barmaid, but they show up a lot in my writing for a reason.

My love for Buggy and Hancock came about a bit accidentally. I first started writing the latter through my Mihawk x Hancock fics, and I found her character incredibly compelling, the way she's so driven by her feelings while at the same time giving an appearance of being completely unfeeling. She's also a great foil to Makino for that reason, who's also driven by her emotions but who has no qualms about showing it, and after Mnemosyne, I loved their friendship so much I've started including it in the other Shanties timelines. Luffy might have taught Hancock what romantic love is (or what she believes it is, anyway), but at least in my stories, the one who taught her what it means to love is Makino. You'd also think my love for Buggy came about through his canon association with Shanks, but that was Makino, too. Their combative dynamic (read: Buggy's poorly-handled crush) first started in Andromeda Unbound, but is now a Shanties staple. I also just think he's a fascinating character, having spent his childhood and career in the shadows of others, Shanks more than anyone else, and yet he's got the exact same ability to drum up loyalty that Shanks does, and Luffy. Honestly, Buggy for Pirate King.

Another character I really love to write is Roger. Outside of Peony and Silver, his only major role is in Tideswept, but he's always such a delight to write. Like Nami, he strikes that perfect balance between 'knows more than everyone else in the room' and 'unrepentant agent of chaos'. (I also can't not mention Blackbeard, my villain among villains, who I love writing for the same reason that I love writing Roger, except with an added dash of evil.)

And of course, there are the marines - Garp and Tsuru and Sengoku (and Sengoku's goat), although my favourites are the random recruits in the various navy bases and New Marineford just trying to do their jobs. The bureaucracy and administration and everyday goings-on of this giant military organisation that is so much more than the powerful figureheads at the top.

But more than anything, it's Shanks and Makino, although their lives and stories are about more than just each other, which is something I hope my writing manages to convey<3

#I sometimes get asked why I don't write about certain characters and it's not (usually) because I don't like them #I just have my favourites<3 #although there are some who I'd love to write more about - like Smoker who's getting a bigger role in Salt Vows #and to the ones who've requested more Ben: I hear ya ;)

[heliads]

okay, hopefully you have room for more than one request from me !! this time, could i pretty please request billy rocks with a gender-neutral reader, since you know i have to send in my obligatory magnificent seven request ? the reader is a member of the seven and their resident medic, in charge of patching up everyone else’s injuries after a fight. they’ve had a kind of flirting banter thing going on with billy for a while, but neither of them are planning on really doing anything about it anytime soon, until the reader collapses after a battle because they ignored their own injuries in favor of helping the others and billy completely freaks out. when the reader finally wakes up, the others tell them that billy hasn’t left their side the entire time they were out, and after billy soundly scolds them for ignoring their own health, they finally confess ?

again, obviously you don’t have to right this if you’d rather not, but if you do, thank you so much in advance, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'living, surviving' - billy rocks

masterlist

He will die tomorrow morning, but now, while the town of Rose Creek is still quiet and dark, Billy Rocks is alive. Alive and alone. No one sees him, no one knows him. He remains invisible, curtained by deep shadow. He looks around him at the wavering lights of candles in windows, and wonders, depressingly, when they’ll get blown out by gunshots. When every glass pane shatters, when every roof collapses, when each body falls and friend goes missing, Billy will remember this night, back when nothing had gone wrong yet.

The wind whistles through the slots in the door out back, bringing with it the vague lilts of laughter and conversation from a few doors down. There are people here who still harbor hopes of walking out of tomorrow morning’s fight alive, and they’ve gathered around fires or drinks to convince themselves that it’ll happen. Not Billy, though. Billy, as per usual, is alone.

He likes being alone, though. It lets him see what others don’t. Billy remembers being a child once, a long time ago in a place that was not this one. A schoolmate of his, a friend, maybe, had shown him a print of an ancient warship in the book with a proud figurehead at the front cut out to look like the head of a god. It was meant to guard the ship, apparently, and keep it from harm.

It had always struck Billy as a rather lonesome thing. One god, brought down to land in the form of a wooden carving, always staring ahead sightlessly and separated from the crew. Forever bond to solitude. Watching out for the men aboard that would never look it in the eyes.

Now, though, Billy thinks that he quite understands it. He is alone now, hidden comfortably in the shadows such that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Tucked away in a dark corner, he can see the various inhabitants of Rose Creek nervously passing the time before they’ll likely lose their lives. Lost in drink or card games, doing their best to do too much so their minds can’t sit and think about how little time they’ve got left, nobody has the patience or nerve to check for things hiding in the shadows. They certainly don’t look hard enough to find him.

They wouldn’t if they tried. Billy has had a lot of time to perfect the art of remaining out of sight. He shows off when he wants to, twirling a silver knife just right so the lithe blade reflects the sun like an arc of pure light, but he prefers being quiet. He’ll let Goodnight do the talking, or Billy’s knives. When he’s quiet, he can watch. When he’s quiet, he can learn the secrets about people that they aren’t aware they’re telling. He can guide his crew from the shadows. He can lead them from his place alone above the stormy water.

Usually, no one can find Billy unless he wants them to. The exception, of course, is Goodnight, because as business partners, it became somewhat of a necessity to find Billy when need be, so he’s let that slide. Tonight, though, with Goodnight gone and everyone else highly strung due to the battle looming ahead, Billy doesn’t think he’ll be found.

That makes it even more surprising when he is. Billy sees this new arrival coming, of course, but he assumes they’ll veer off towards the bar, or that they’ll go laugh with the drinkers or the dancers like everyone else sees fit on this restless night. Instead, their path stays true, and they not only find Billy at once but pull up a chair next to him. Like the only thing they want to do on what may be their last night alive is to spend time with him. Like Billy is the only person worth seeing at all.

Ordinarily, Billy Rocks has no problem holding his tongue. He’ll whisper a few biting jokes here or there, typically never above the volume of a sigh, but he’s never had a problem with keeping his peace. Tonight seems to be a night of surprises, though, because Y/N L/N, their resident medic, has hardly sat down before Billy’s asking them cautiously, “You don’t want to be with the others, then?”

Y/N glances towards him, surprised, as if they hadn’t even realized this would be an option. “Now, why would I do that when I’ve got such pleasant company here with me?”

Billy chuckles in spite of himself. “It’s not the most entertaining of company.”

“Mmm,” they hum, “but I like it better that way, I think. Tonight’s not a night for shouting. Seems wrong that way.”

Billy lets out a slow breath. He can feel his fingers curling at his sides, readying themselves for triggers or blades come the next morning. “No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.

Quiet falls. Billy waits for them to leave, but they don’t. They stay, and they smile at him, warm in the lamplight from across the room, and say, “You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“Of course not,” Billy replies hastily. “Besides, what sort of man would I be to kick out our medic the night before a fight? I can’t risk upsetting you now, sweetheart. You might do something wild, like sew me up with pink thread.”

Y/N laughs. Billy finds himself glad for the isolation again– out there in the main room of the bar, the sound of Y/N’s laughter might have blended in with the stomping of heels, the creaking of wood, but out here, with nothing else to disguise it but his own bated breath, Billy delights in it entirely. The sound curls around him like music, and his fingers twitch again, this time not to reach for a weapon but to hold their laughter. To hold them, maybe. It’s a good thing he knows better. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want that more than anything, because if he did, he might do something foolish like try.

“I’d never mess with you,” they grin. “Promise. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t just ruin your reputation, it would ruin my skin,” Billy grumbles, but he’s smiling again.

Y/N knows it too. They always seem to smile all the brighter when he’s smiling too, like it’s a bet they’ve won. “I wouldn’t dare,” they promise. “Besides, I can’t go threatening one of our best shooters the night before I fight, can I? What sort of friend would I be? I need you on my side to keep me safe.”

Billy arches a brow. “I’ve seen you with a gun, darling. I’m pretty sure you can keep yourself safe all on your own.”

Y/N’s lips curl suggestively. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Something hot rushes through the back of his neck. “I leave it to you to find the fun in a gunfight,” Billy says hoarsely. Changing the subject is the safest thing to do right now. It’s safer than leaning closer, than returning Y/N’s fire with fire. Safer than touching them, which is what he wants to do right now most of all.

This is not the night for that, Billy reminds himself. They’re going to die tomorrow and he won’t cloud either of their judgment. So, even though he wants nothing more than to keep testing this theory and see where they break, he forces himself to pull back and resume a normal conversation. He encourages Y/N to get some rest before everything goes to hell tomorrow, and hopefully, they will. Y/N’ll have a lot of hard work headed their way by dawn. He doesn’t want them any more stressed than they need to be.

The sun rises, bringing trouble with it. Bogue brings a lot of men, too many by Billy’s estimate. He grits his teeth as he watches them ride in, and prepares himself for a long, bloody morning. They’ve set up a small medical center in one of the better protected buildings where Y/N can practice their craft. If Billy can only make sure none of Bogue’s thugs make it to them, he’ll die a happy man.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to like the idea of sitting pretty while their friends die. Ordinarily, Billy wouldn’t blame them for that, but he can’t deny that his heart starts racing whenever they sprint out into the streets to tend to the wounds of their fallen friends. Once Goodnight turns up, the other man wastes no time in teasing Billy about his obvious partiality to the brazen medic, but Billy’s only half listening, anyway. He can’t both partake in snide comments and keep Y/N alive, and he’s really only interested in one of those things.

The battle rages on, then, startlingly enough, quiets. Bodies line the streets, both the dead and the injured. Y/N has been moving non stop almost the entire time; how they haven’t passed out from exhaustion, Billy has no clue. He sees them swaying slightly on their feet as they move from patient to patient, and mentally reminds himself to make sure they’re doing alright. He just needs a little more time to clear the enemy from the town, then he’ll be free to check on them.

Once the final thug has been killed or chased off, Billy starts scanning the area for Y/N. A couple friends mention that they saw the medic recently, but none of them can point him in the right direction. He checks the medical center, but it’s only inhabited by the groaning injured, not sunny would-be doctors with a spark in their eye and a quick joke on their tongue. 

Heading outside again, Billy completes a slow loop around the building, but he can’t find them anywhere. Panic starting to grow in his chest, he pulls aside Sam when the other man walks by.

“You haven’t seen Y/N around, have you?” Billy asks hastily.

Sam gives him a slow, worried look. “Now that you mention it, I’m not sure that I have. They were keeping plenty busy while the fighting was hot, but it’s been a while since they crossed my path.”

Billy nods, not even sparing the time for a thank you before continuing on his careening search through the city. As he paces down the streets, some of his friends make to approach him, but he brushes them all off. Nothing matters except finding Y/N. Nothing matters except finding Y/N.

And then, almost by accident, he does. It isn’t how he’d expected. Somehow, some naive part of him was hoping he’d find them in the tavern, already with a drink in hand, or surrounded by some awestruck sharpshooters, dazzling them with their wit. Anything that would guarantee their safety. Anything that would keep them out of harm.

In reality, when he finds Y/N, it’s no different than finding any of the other fallen bodies. They’re slumped against the wall of a building, a roll of bandages fallen loosely from their hand. There’s a man unconscious next to them, a friend of theirs who’d evidently suffered from a gash across the arm. Billy spots Y/N’s expert handiwork in the form of a clean wrap across the injury, but the one who seems to need medical care now is Y/N themself.

Hurriedly, he crouches by them, lifting a hand to check for a pulse. “Y/N?” He asks, his voice wavering.

Y/N stirs slightly, their eyes half-lidded. “Billy? That you?”

“It’s me,” he confirms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

They move slightly, grimacing in pain, and that’s when Billy notices the dark splash of red seeping out of their waistcoat. “Sweetheart,” he repeats unsteadily, “Don’t tell me you got shot, now. You can’t just bleed out like that without getting yourself some help.”

“I had to help him,” Y/N whispers. “That’s what mattered.”

“No, you’re what matters,” Billy hisses. “Fuck the rest. You were supposed to put your health above theirs.”

Y/N manages a slight slip of a grin, not even a half-smile, and the obvious pain it causes them makes Billy’s heart clench in his chest. “Now, what kind of medic would I be if I did that?”

“A safe one,” he sighs. “Now, come on. I’m going to pick you up and get you some help, alright? Don’t you dare close your eyes. I need you to stay with me.”

“I like staying with you,” Y/N mumbles as Billy picks them up.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he tells them. 

Y/N feels deathly still in his arms, and Billy doesn’t want to give that a single moment of his attention. All that matters is sprinting back to the medical center; calling for someone, anyone to help him; carefully setting Y/N down on a clear bit of space. He has to be moved away from the table so the doctor can treat them, so intent is Billy on staying within reach, and the second they tell him that Y/N’s going to be okay, he’s right back by their side.

Y/N will wake up soon, they tell him. Just a bit of exhaustion and blood loss. Y/N’s made of tough stuff, they’ll be alright. When they open their eyes again, Billy will be right by their side. This time, he has something he’d like to tell them, and this time, there isn’t anything holding them back from the love they were always meant to share.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#billy rocks #billy rocks imagines #billy rocks x reader #billy rocks oneshot #magnificent seven #magnificent seven imagines #magnificent seven x reader #magnificent seven oneshot #magnificent seven fanfic #billy rocks fanfic #the magnificent seven #the magnificent seven imagines #the magnificent seven x reader #the magnificent seven oneshot #the magnificent seven fanfic #the magnificent seven (2016)

[oc-aita]

AITA for lying to my fiance to get to know her better?

I (26 NB) am the Archon of a citystate, a position which comes with the ability to see the future sometimes. Technically it's the ability to see specific events that will protect a tree (6000+ genderless) in our palace gardens, but we figure that if the tree gets destroyed the whole nation is screwed so I do my best to follow these visions.

About a year ago I had a vision in which I was marrying the princess (27 F) of our neighboring empire, and during our wedding night she would save my life during an assassination attempt. Since I obviously don't want to be assassinated (and also she's very beautiful and seemed lovely from the brief moment I saw her) I reached out to the empire to begin courting this woman.

Here is, perhaps, my first misstep: I failed to realized just how backwards this empire is. What I had thought would be a courtship quickly spiraled into negotiations and an arranged marriage. As the weaker negotiating party I had little control over the final result of the arrangement, which was that this woman would be sent to marry me without even meeting me first! Can you even imagine?

Despite this all I desperately wanted to get to know her before we were wed. As close as I try to follow my visions, I would never force someone into a relationship, even at the cost of my own life. As such, I came up with a plan: I would simply claim to be an advisor to the Archon, and that the Archon himself was away at the time of her arrival. This was made easier by the fact that I use He pronouns as a public figure and They pronouns in personal settings. A few weeks after her arrival I would dramatically reveal my true identity at our yearly masquerade ball, and confirm that she still wanted to go through with the wedding.

A number of my friends and advisors informed me that this would be "kind of a dick move and completely on-brand for you" but I chose to go ahead with it regardless. My fiance arrived miserable and unhappy to be wed to a stranger, but quickly warmed up to me and my culture as I showed her the wonders of the city. We spent our weeks before the ball wandering the markets, playing chess in the gardens, and discussing anything from noble gossip to taxes. Though I'd hesitate to call us soulmates (she has some...interesting beliefs about imperialism, and has killed at least five people in active combat) I truly believed we could build a wonderful future together, and went ahead with my plan to reveal my identity.

The ball was both fantastic and disastrous. My dramatic reveal involved a concerto composed specially for this occasion, the release of live doves throughout the palace halls (our mages talk with them individually to acquire their consent for the performance) and an incredible outfit. So even if people think I'm an asshole at least I looked great.

My fiance, however, fled the ball with no explanation. When I finally was able to speak to her she was distraught and struggling to articulate why. My childhood friend/head of staff (31F) suggested that she felt betrayed due to me lying about my identity. I feel as if I've hidden nothing from her save my title; in fact, I've been very clear that I handle the day-to-day operations of my citystate and am far more than just a figurehead. I've been able to be more genuine with her than perhaps anyone else I've ever known.

After a while my fiance finally spoke to me again, but is now cold and distant. She still claims to want to go ahead with the wedding but... I don't know. Rumor from the servants via her handmaiden is that now she only wants to marry me to please her country, which is EVEN WORSE than how we started! I just wanted to get to know her without the pressure of an arranged marriage! And also do a cool musical number!

AITA?? Is there any saving our relationship???

TWO MONTH LATER UPDATE: turns out the reason she was upset was that she was sent to assassinate the Archon, but had fallen in love with me before knowing my identity. So she's both the assassin who attempted to kill me AND the woman who saved me because she felt guilty. I hate this stupid fucking prophecy tree.

#original character #am i the asshole #aita #murder tw #unreality tw #(blog runner comment: this is unnecessary but the 'I hate this stupid fucking prophecy tree' made me giggle)