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fvsm4x · 4 months

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#MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE? [Gojo Satoru] part III

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

— C.W: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , geto suguru x reader , dark themes , suggestive , hurt no comfort.

— WORD COUNT: 4.2k+

— A/N: I wonder what happens next..😋

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Moved on? No..that can’t be true.

The sight before him felt like a nightmare, a cruel twist of fate that tore at his heart. His ocean blue eyes stared deep into his best friend's darker eyes, searching for any sign that this was all a terrible mistake. But his best friend only glanced back at him, devoid of any emotion, as if their actions held no consequence.

This was a betrayal of the highest order in Gojo's eyes. His best friend, the person he had trusted and confided in, had slept with his ex-girlfriend, the same ex-girlfriend who gojo had left for someone better. The pain was like a knife twisting in his chest, leaving him breathless and shattered.

Gojo wiped away the tears that streamed down his face, his mind swirling with a mixture of anger, sadness, and disbelief. He turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer, feeling a deep sense of loss and abandonment. It was as if his entire world had crumbled before his eyes.

As he walked away, his mind wandered back to the past, to the moments when he and you were still together. He remembered the warmth of your presence, the way you fit perfectly in his arms as you lay in bed together. Your bodies intertwined, your chest rising and falling with every breath, and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeat. It was a moment of pure bliss, a moment he had taken for granted.

His eyes were wide open, gazing at your peaceful face. Your eyes closed, your mouth slightly open, and a small droplet of drool escaping from the corner of your lips. Without hesitation, Gojo gently wiped it away, his touch filled with tenderness and love. He pressed you closer to his chest, wanting to protect you from the world, to shield you from any pain.

But now, those memories only served to intensify the agony he felt. He had promised you the world, vowed to be the person you needed and deserved. Yet, he had failed you, repeatedly breaking your heart with his thoughtless actions. He had kissed other women in front of you, disregarding your feelings and causing you immeasurable pain. And yet, you forgave him every time, always giving him another chance, always saying, "It's okay. I forgive you."

You were an incredible person, too good for him. Most women would have walked away, refusing to tolerate such mistreatment. But you saw the good in him, the potential for growth and change. You believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself. Your kindness and forgiveness were boundless, and he took advantage of that.

And now, he had left you for someone he deemed "better." He claimed that this new person had a stronger mind, a better physical appearance. But those reasons seemed shallow and insignificant compared to the love and devotion you had given him. He had discarded your heart, your everything, for someone who later betrayed him.

The pain of it all was overwhelming. The tears continued to flow down Gojo's face, his heart heavy with regret and self-loathing.

The weight of his actions bore down on Gojo’s shoulders, a heavy burden that threatened to crush him. The pain he felt now mirrored the pain he had inflicted upon you with his thoughtless words. As he walked out of the room, his steps heavy and slow, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of remorse and regret.

The hallway stretched before him, a long and seemingly endless corridor that mirrored the vast expanse of his guilt. Each step he took felt like a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused, the trust he had shattered. As he reached the front door, he paused, his hand trembling as he grasped the doorknob. It was as if he was standing at the precipice of a deep abyss, unsure of what lay beyond.

With one last glance back at the room, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and sorrow, Gojo closed the door behind him. The sound of it resonated in his ears, a finality that echoed through his soul. The outside world greeted him with a torrential downpour, raindrops falling heavily from the sky, as if the heavens themselves were mourning the loss of something precious.

The rain soaked through his snow-white hair, clinging to his face, mingling with the tears that streamed down his cheeks. The droplets cascaded down his body, drenching his white dress shirt, the fabric becoming slightly translucent under the weight of the water. But Gojo paid no attention to his appearance, his focus consumed by the turmoil within his heart.

As he walked through the streets, the rain continued to pour, washing away the remnants of his pride and arrogance. Each step he took felt like a penance, a physical manifestation of his remorse. He stopped and turned around, his eyes fixated on the apartment where you and his best friend now resided. The desire to apologize, to make amends, burned within him like a flickering flame.

The pain of being left for someone else, the feeling of abandonment, was a sensation he couldn’t bear to imagine you experiencing. He longed for the chance to rebuild a connection, to salvage what was left of the bond he had foolishly shattered. The thought of being friends, of starting anew, provided a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that engulfed his soul.

Yet, doubts lingered in his mind, fueled by the harsh words his best friend had spoken. Could it be true that you had moved on, that you had forgotten about him? The possibility seemed unfathomable, but he couldn’t deny the consequences of his actions. The pain he had inflicted upon you was immeasurable, and he questioned whether forgiveness was even possible.

The realization of his own wrongdoing hit him with a force he had never experienced before. The magnitude of his actions, the way he had left you for someone else without a second thought, haunted him. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who had treated him in such a callous manner. The guilt gnawed at his conscience, a reminder of the monster he had become.

But despite the darkness that consumed him, Gojo couldn’t bear the thought of losing you completely. He yearned for your presence, your love, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. The fear of being alone, of facing the consequences of his actions without you by his side, gripped his heart with an iron vice. He was not ready to let you go, to accept that he had destroyed something beautiful.

In his heart, he knew he had been a horrible person, a monster who had taken away everything he had once given you. The stability, the security, the love that he had provided when your life was falling apart had been ripped away, leaving you vulnerable and alone. The realization of his own cruelty left a bitter taste in his mouth, a bitter taste he was determined to change.

But even in the depths of his remorse, Gojo held onto a sliver of hope. He wanted you to stay, to give him a chance to make things right, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. He was willing to fight for your forgiveness, to prove that he could change, that he could be the person you deserved.

As Gojo continued his solitary walk in the pouring rain, his mind raced with thoughts of the past and the future. The weight of his mistakes pressed heavily upon him, but he couldn’t help but cling to the hope that he could somehow make amends.

The memories of your first meeting flooded his mind, a stark contrast to the present. He had offered you a lifeline when your world was crumbling, providing you with a roof over your head, nourishing meals, and a sense of security. But then, in a moment of weakness, he had torn it all away, leaving you with nothing.

The guilt gnawed at his conscience, reminding him of the pain he had caused. How could he have been so thoughtless, so selfish? The realization of his own actions being mirrored back at him was a harsh reality he couldn’t escape. He knew that he had been a horrible person, capable of inflicting unimaginable pain.

But the desire to do things right burned within him, a flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished. He couldn’t bear the thought of you moving on, forgetting about him, as his best friend had claimed. The doubts lingered, but he clung to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for redemption.

The rain continued to fall relentlessly, the droplets merging with his tears as he walked through the deserted streets. Each step brought him closer to a decision, a determination to rectify his mistakes. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, that rebuilding trust would take time and effort, but he was willing to do whatever it took.

He vowed to find a way to help you regain your independence, to provide you with the means to support yourself once again. It was the least he could do, a small step towards making up for the pain he had caused.

As he walked through the rain-soaked streets, his thoughts consumed by the desire to make amends, Gojo couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for forgiveness, for a new beginning. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he was determined to earn it.

Back in the apartment where you and Geto had spent the night together, the scene was serene and peaceful. As you lay there, still deep in slumber, your body nestled against his chest, a sense of tranquility filled the room. Your thumb found its way into your mouth, a comforting habit that you had carried into adulthood, and your eyes remained gently closed.

Geto, unable to resist the urge to admire your serene face, gazed at you with a mixture of tenderness and longing. He delicately brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen across your face, his touch gentle and affectionate. As he did so, his arm instinctively tightened around you, as if to protect you from any harm that might come your way.

His gaze shifted from your face to your neck, and he couldn’t help but lean in closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. It was a gesture of intimacy, a way for him to feel even closer to you in that moment. As he did, your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, cradling them with a tenderness that only deepened his affection for you. Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, creating a soothing sensation that brought a slight smile to his lips.

But that smile quickly faded when he heard you utter a name in your sleep.

„S’toru..“

It was his best friend's name, a name that held a power over your heart that he could never compete with.

The weight of that realization crashed down upon him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of self-doubt and heartache. How could he have been so naive to think that he could ever replace the one who had captured your soul?

A bitter taste filled his mouth as his grip on you tightening. The pain of knowing that your heart would forever belong to another pierced his soul, leaving a deep, irreparable wound. He couldn't help but question his own worth, wondering if he would ever be enough for you.

The thought of you, still yearning for his best friend, tore at his heartstrings, leaving him feeling hollow and broken.

In that tender moment, as Geto’s ears caught the gentle melody of your soft breaths and he felt the comforting weight of your slumbering body nestled against his chest, a wave of bittersweet emotions washed over him. It was in this very moment that he couldn’t help but question whether he would ever summon the courage to release his grip on you, to let you soar freely into the vast expanse of the world. For he understood that true love meant granting you the freedom to pursue your own dreams, even if it meant relinquishing his own happiness in the process.

A deep sigh escaped his lips, as if carrying the weight of his internal struggle, and he slowly closed his eyes, savoring the precious connection between your beings. In this fleeting moment, he knew that he had to cherish every second, for it might be the last time he would experience such profound intimacy.

As you slowly opened your eyes, the sight of an empty bedspread greeted you. Gradually propping yourself up on your elbows, you pushed yourself up from the bed, feeling a sense of disorientation. You looked around, attempting to restore clarity to your vision by rubbing your eyes gently.

After finishing the brief moment of eye-rubbing, you opened your eyes again and surveyed the room. It was devoid of any presence, with the curtains drawn wide, allowing the warm sunlight to filter in. Your gaze shifted to the end of the bed, where a small pile of clothes caught your attention. Carefully removing the blanket, you prepared to rise to your feet, only to find your legs betraying you. The lower half of your body ached from the events of the previous night.

Wincing at the pain, you instinctively held onto your stomach, where the most intense discomfort resided. Determined to ignore the discomfort, you summoned the strength to stand up, taking hold of the pile of clothes and proceeding to get dressed.

The aroma of freshly cooked pancakes filled the air, instantly making your mouth water. The tantalizing scent seemed to beckon you towards the kitchen, where you found Geto standing by the stove, his skilled hands expertly flipping golden brown pancakes.

As he heard your footsteps, Geto turned around, a warm smile spreading across his face. He greeted you with a soft “Good morning,”

You returned his greeting, taking a seat at the kitchen island. The smooth surface felt cool against your fingertips as you watched Geto meticulously arrange the pancakes on a plate. The sight of the fluffy stacks, topped with a generous drizzle of maple syrup, was enough to make your stomach growl in anticipation.

As Geto carefully placed the plate of pancakes in front of you, you couldn’t help but admire his attention to detail. Each pancake was perfectly cooked, with a delicate golden crust and a fluffy interior. The aroma of the warm maple syrup mingled with the buttery scent of the pancakes, creating a symphony of flavors that danced in the air.

You picked up your fork and knife, ready to dive into the delectable feast before you. The anticipation grew with each bite, as the soft texture of the pancakes melted in your mouth, leaving behind a sweet and satisfying taste.

You glanced up from your plate, catching Geto’s gaze fixed upon you. His expression was vacant, devoid of any emotion. It was as if a wall had been erected between you, separating the intimacy you had shared just hours ago.

„How are your legs?“ he asked, while you flushed red as you remembered last night‘s events.

Placing your fork down on the plate, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, avoiding Geto’s penetrating stare. The soreness in your legs served as a physical reminder of the intensity of your encounter. “I- uhm… They’re sore,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

Geto’s face contorted with guilt, his voice barely a whisper as he apologized. “Sorry,” he uttered, his voice filled with regret.

You tried to reassure him, your voice tinged with a mix of understanding and self-blame. “Ah- It’s okay, don’t worry. It was also kinda my fault,” you replied, the words escaping your lips almost involuntarily.

You reached for another pancake, attempting to distract yourself from the discomfort of the conversation, stuffing it into your mouth to fill the awkward silence.

But Geto’s next words pierced through the air, shattering the fragile peace that had momentarily settled between you. “Listen… I don’t want to make things awkward between us, but I think it’s best if we just forget about what happened last night,” he spoke, his gaze averted, avoiding the intensity of your gaze.

Your eyes widened at his words, a mixture of shock and hurt flooding your being. It felt as if the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you unsteady and uncertain. The vulnerability and connection you had shared now seemed to be discarded, deemed insignificant and disposable. Your lips trembled slightly as you struggled to process his request.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself amidst the storm of emotions raging within you. The word “okay” slipped from your lips, barely audible.

But as you uttered that single word, a whirlwind of thoughts and questions consumed your mind. Did you do something wrong? Was your presence a burden to him? Did he regret sleeping with you?

Your gaze shifted towards Geto, who still avoided your eyes, his own turmoil evident in his body language. The pain of his words reverberated within you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. In that moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were nothing more than a temporary distraction, a regrettable mistake in his eyes.

—

Days had passed since that fateful night when you and Geto had shared a passionate encounter. In the aftermath, you found yourself retreating to the confines of your room, seeking solace in the familiar walls that surrounded you. Occasionally, you ventured out to the grocery store, trying to distract yourself from the whirlwind of emotions that consumed your thoughts.

But amidst the mundane routine of your days, you began to notice small gifts appearing by your door. They were simple tokens, accompanied by a note that simply read, “I’m sorry.” The identity of the sender remained a mystery, leaving you perplexed and intrigued. You couldn’t help but wonder who was behind these gestures of remorse and what they were apologizing for.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to confront Geto about the mysterious gifts. His reaction was puzzling, as he glanced at the note with furrowed eyebrows before simply stating, “I don’t know.”

As the days turned into weeks, you couldn’t help but notice a shift in your relationship with Geto. The once easy camaraderie and shared activities seemed to fade away. Eating meals together, watching TV, playing board games - all those moments of connection became a distant memory. Every time you suggested doing something together, Geto would find an excuse to avoid spending time with you. The distance between you grew, leaving you feeling isolated and confused.

You had convinced yourself that sleeping with Geto would help you move on from your lingering feelings for Gojo. You had hoped that by giving yourself to Geto, you could erase the memories and emotions that tied you to Gojo. But it didn't work. The feelings remained, stubbornly clinging to your heart, making you question the choices you had made.

Guilt washed over you, a heavy weight that settled deep within your being. You realized that you had used Geto as a means to an end, using him to distract yourself from someone else. The realization left you feeling remorseful and remorseful. Why hadn’t Geto spoken up before? Why hadn’t he expressed his reluctance to engage in such intimacy?

As you stepped out of your room and made your way towards the kitchen, the anticipation of cooking a delicious meal filled your thoughts. However, as you entered the kitchen, you were met with a surprising sight. A woman, unknown to you, stood by the stove, engrossed in her cooking. Her back was turned towards you, hiding her face from view. Yet, even from this angle, you couldn’t help but notice her captivating presence. Her long brown hair swayed with each movement, accentuating her graceful hips as she hummed a melodic tune. It was clear that she possessed a beauty that was hard to ignore.

Summoning your courage, you approached the woman and stood behind her. Your shyness threatened to overwhelm you, but you managed to find your voice. “Uhm, excuse me… but who are you?” you asked, nervously twisting your hands in front of you, attempting to conceal your timidity.

Upon hearing your question, the woman turned around, her gaze meeting yours. In that instant, your confidence evaporated, replaced by a mix of awe and unease. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of light blue that bordered on gray, locked onto your own. Her flawless skin and overall radiance only added to her undeniable beauty.

A warm smile spread across her face as she responded, “You must be Suguru’s roommate, if I’m right?” Setting down the spatula she had been using, she extended her hand towards you. “Nice to meet you! I’m his girlfriend, Hime!”

Your eyes widened, and your mouth fell slightly agape. It felt as if the world around you had come crashing down. The once inviting warmth of the kitchen seemed to dissipate, leaving you in a cold and desolate space. Hime’s revelation echoed in your mind, and a sinking feeling settled in your chest. You managed to muster a strained smile and a barely audible acknowledgment, but inside, a tempest of emotions raged.

The reality of Suguru having a girlfriend hit you like a cruel blow, shattering the hopeful anticipation that had filled your heart. Deep down, you knew that you still harbored feelings for your ex, Gojo. Yet, despite this knowledge, an overwhelming sense of jealousy consumed you. You couldn’t help but envy the happiness that radiated from Hime.

Why couldn’t you be happy? Why did Gojo have to find someone else and seemingly snatch away all the joy that was once yours? The pain in your heart was unbearable, throbbing with an intensity that seemed to overshadow everything else.

A torrent of thoughts and doubts flooded your mind. Perhaps you weren’t deserving of happiness, destined to be denied the same contentment that others seemed to effortlessly possess. You fought to conceal the sadness brewing within you, nodding politely as Hime continued to speak. However, each word she uttered carved deeper into your conflicted feelings. The once cozy kitchen, a space that had been filled with shared moments, now felt like a lonely battlefield where emotions clashed and waged war.

“Oh, there you are… it seems like you already met her,” a voice from behind you chimed in, interrupting your thoughts. Startled, you turned around, locking eyes with Geto, his darker gaze meeting your own. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you as you processed his presence.

The realization dawned on you that perhaps Geto had asked you to forget about that fateful night because he already had a girlfriend. Maybe he regretted what had happened, considering it a mistake. Your eyes dropped slightly, a pang of hurt piercing your heart at the sight of him with someone else. Part of you wished you could be Hime, but another part resented the idea. It was a tumultuous mix of emotions that left you feeling lost and uncertain.

However, you knew deep down that you had no right to be jealous. Geto was an amazing and caring man who deserved all the happiness in the world. You should be happy for him, even if you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. You mustered a smile, determined not to let your true feelings show. After all, you had no right to claim any ownership over his heart.

Looking down, you muttered a small, “Yeah…” in response to Geto’s comment. Hime rushed over to him, jumping into his arms as he caught her. They shared affectionate kisses. It was a sight that stabbed at your heart, a reminder of the happiness you longed for but seemed forever out of reach.

Why couldn’t you experience that kind of happiness? It wasn’t as if your ex, Gojo, hadn’t showered you with attention. The problem was that you weren’t the only one receiving that kind of affection from him. He had cheated on you multiple times, and yet, you forgave him time and time again, despite the pain it caused you.

But you couldn’t let him go because your love for him was so strong, so all-consuming. You held onto the belief that he would eventually change, that he would realize the error of his ways. But that moment never came. Instead, he left you before any change could occur, leaving you broken and questioning your worth.

“I’m going out…” you spoke.Turning around, you made your way towards the door that led to the outside world, craving the solace of fresh air.

Geto turned to look after you, his eyes filled with concern and confusion. “But it’s already late. You shouldn’t go out now,” he spoke, releasing Hime from his embrace and following your retreating figure.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need some fresh air,” you replied, slipping on your shoes and jacket, preparing to face the world outside.

“But… fine. Just be careful, and call if something’s the matter,” Geto said, his hand nervously resting behind his neck as he watched you intently.

“Okay,”

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@3zae-zae3 @sexeyess @silkija @dancinhhillary @musicarose @vanevafu @labelt-san @cl16void @feellaaya @animechick555 @nanmiik @ichikanu @cupidszvlvr @pinksaiyans @phoenix666stuff @coffeeluvr96 @alpha-mommy69 @isaacdaholi @xx-rfg-xx @3sodoney @ambalikadubeyy-blog @certainduckanchor @r0ckst4rjk @xxemmarldxx @starrylibras @lady-cryptstone @sparklydhokla @hoeforchoso @sweetlilhoshi @getou0309 @n8mareee @integers @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @skittleabyss @softnorth @maliakealoha @avalordream @dazaisfavgf @thebacksack @darkphoenix3432 @mwtsxri @nothisispatrick300 @andioopsworld @sup-hoes-its-me @yihona-san06 @s3r-en-d1p-ity @mandysfanfics @adanfore @rainydayssmokescreens @luvvmae @aquamarine001 @chilichopsticks @tinyjeo @adoretaylor @girlsvvish @misfits1a

A/N: I guess nothing bad happened yet😋

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odinsblog · 6 months

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When I was a little boy, the Japanese military attacked Pearl Harbor. It was a surprise attack, and thousands of U.S. servicemembers perished. As a nation, we were stunned. And we vowed to strike back. Revenge was understandably on everyone’s mind, including many Americans of Japanese descent who opposed the emperor and were peaceful and law-abiding U.S. citizens and residents.

In its zeal to exact that revenge, however, the U.S. government overreacted, out of fear and bigotry. They targeted everyone who happened to look like the people who had carried out the attack. Those of us who had done nothing wrong were forced to pay the consequences for the decisions of others far away and disconnected from us. We were interned for years, in open-air prisons, while America went off to fight Japan, Germany and Italy.

It’s so important that we carry the lessons of the past through to today. Merely because one group commits atrocities and acts with depravity does not mean vast hundreds of thousands or even millions of others should be lumped together with them and made to suffer. We must never paint with the brush of justice and retaliation too broadly, or the toll of human suffering will rise immeasurably.

—George Takei

#politics #palestine #gaza #israel #george takei #collective punishment #ceasefire #israel is an apartheid state #bds #boycott divest sanction #benjamin netanyahu is a war criminal #never again #never again to anyone #ceasefire now #war crimes #genocide

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teyamloving12 · 4 months

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𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫l

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Miles Quaritch x F!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content, large age gap, cursing, mentions of violence, implied sex, dub-con, abuse of authority, unprotected sex, etc.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: He was always watching. He saw you grow up into who you are now and only chuckled at the snarky remarks you made towards him.

He was vigilant, at least that what his mother would say when he was young. He was always wary of the people and things that dared to breathe around him. Maybe that is why he was held in high regard-- no, people didnt show him any regard or esteem. They were not at ease as a consequence of his barbaric tactics. The excruciating demands from his mouth when he bellowed commands to the inferior was immeasurable.

"𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞."

His lean muscles become tense whilst he caught a glimpse of the imbeciles that bowed before him. The little bastard of one of the recombinants would only amuse herself with the teddy bear that had a broken button as its eye in the corner of the meeting room.

His eyes would turn to then look at the little girl and she would express tenderness. A smile meritorious of millions, a piece of treasure that would glisten when polished. She was the ripest fruit upon the tree.

He softened for once in his life but he regained his composure and scoffed at the little, joyful creature. She is pathetic like her father. Always smiling and galavanting about the place. "No wonder Sully killed him", he said in a low-pitched tone. The fool left his little bastard after conjuring her up in her mother's womb. Is that what a man is? What whore of a woman opens her legs during war?

From a mere babe to a woman, he watched with keen eyes as you matured. He knew you despised his existence. He knew you picked up your father's soft and wimpish heart and mind. He felt a glare full of disgust from across the room. He only chuckled. Inadequate. You were pathetic, however, how could he resist that malevolent glow in your eyes?

The meeting room was packed like sardines and as loud as a clap of thunder. Shouts and cries of annoyance and protest echoed across the meeting room. Quaritch tilted his head at the sight of his team at each other's throats. "Jake Sully is a traitor that must be killed immediately", he roared. His ear-splitting voice boomed across the room.

"I beg to disagree", _____ said with an iron hand. "You come to their home demanding control and honor.", ______ started. Not a hint of apprehensiveness came from your tone. "This is their home and you came to disrespect it, therefore Sully chose the right path to leave rather than to stay.", _____ continued, fearing not the consequences that came after. "You got your mother's smart mouth huh?", Quaritch chuckled.

Though his hair was gray with white streaks on both sides of his head, his body was still muscular and strong. He had the ability to strike fear in anyone that he came across, young or old. "You are a fool to think that the Navi will give up their home for you. How confident do you have to be?", ______ clapped back at his supposingly insult.

No one in this world had the capability to wipe a petulant expression from his face. The Colonel's grin fell from his face. His eyes narrowed at the woman before him. "A fool, did you just call me a fool, little girl?", he focused your attention on his last two words. "I'm not your little girl.", _______ uttered. He then had the nerve to turn his back to you showing that your words had no significance to him.

He didn't care. He never did.

The little bastard that would play with her teddy bear has finally grown up. So grown, she had the effrontery and impudence to disrespect him. Quaritch faced you but his face was not of stone, almost as if he was laughing at your remark.

"When your whore of a mother decided to spread her legs in the middle of war, I gave her pity. She was lucky enough to give birth and she was lucky that I had not killed you.", he mouthed. You heard a few giggles from the recombinants in the room." This is the same place where you were raised, where you are fed. This is where you were grown and you will remember who you're talking to, little girl", he finished, emphasizing the last two words once more.

"Colonel or not, you will not dare to insult my mother like that.", _______ retorted. "The dead has no power, she's dead and so is your daddy. What will they do?", Quaritch snickered. The recombinants made comments on how your mother would have attacked him spiritually, earning a chuckle from Quaritch.

"Leave", he stated. The recombinants began to leave, confused by the sudden command. "You, stay", Quaritch demanded. You glared at the disgusting man that stood tall before you. "What do you want?", ______ mumbled. Quaritch grabbed you by your chin. "Do you hate me?", he asked with a smirk. After a moment of silence, your eyes met his. "More than ever", I responded. He scoffed at your remark. It was not what he had expected.

Out of rage and frustration, he pushed you back. Your figure collided with the edge of the meeting table causing immense, nerve-wrecking pain. "What the fuck is wrong with you?", ______ yelled, holding your side. "It's funny.", he deadpanned. "Funny how I wasted my resources on a bitch who claims she hates me.", He said, walking towards you. "Your glares won't kill me.", he added

Quaritch grabbed you by the nape of your neck. You attempted to defend yourself by slapping him across his face. He threw you on the meeting table with ease. Your breath hitched as you felt your back make contact with the stern, glass table. "You will learn that ungratefulness and disobedience come with a price.", he declared. Your glares were vicious until you heard it.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone...

Your heart dropped. "No", _____said, denying his advances. "You're still denying me, little girl", he cringed at your refusal. "You are abusing the authority that you have.", ______ exclaimed in fright. "Scream. Tell them. Tell them how you hate me.", Quaritch snickered. Tears streamed down your face, stopping at you chin. "You and I both know that this room is soundproof. They won't hear you", he whispered the last sentence.

The worst happened. You closed your eyes, praying to God in your head. You hoped you were just dreaming. Unfortunately, you were wide awake, living in a nightmare he had created. He towered over your frozen figure. "You had so much mouth just now.", Quaritch smirked. "Sometimes that nasty ass attitude hides your pretty face", he added. You closed your eyes, refusing to look at his bulging member.

The tip was rubbing against the soaked spot on your panties. Your head was spinning. On the verge to faint, Quaritch began to speak up. "Why are you wet if you hate me?". His forehead was dripping in sweat. His swollen cock was in his fist whilst he teased at the tip, spreading his precum on your underwear. Quaritch thought about you. He thought of how he would shot what makes him feel heavenly. He knew you learned fast and would care for him like he wanted.

"Do you still hate me?", he asked again. His cock twitched as he slid your panties aside revealing a soaked slit. Your eyes fluttered open instantly. He attempted to push him away but he was clearly stronger. The veins on his cock bulged like a beast. It was hungry and ready to strike. "I absolutely despise yo-ahhh", you were met with his cock half way inside yet you felt full.

He groaned. "Fuck. Should've done this earlier.", he muttered under his breath. Your pussy was squeezing him, tight enough to cut off blood flow to his lower body or maybe he was just too big. "Take it out!", you exclaimed throwing punches at his chiseled torso. Your command was a clearly a joke. He trailed his fingers to your clit and places them into your face to show you the truth. Your body wants it. It was obvious.

"Admit it little girl, you always wanted it", he declared. Did you? Did you really want it? "I-", you were caught up in your words and thoughts. You hated him, he was unjust and cruel. So why is your body betraying you at this moment?

“f-fuck—” Quaritch breathed, and his voice lets out a shaky call of your name. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he groaned. Quaritch bit his lip, fighting back a moan as he pushed himself slowly into you even more. Your back arched as you let out a shaky moan.

He grabbed your hips as he thrusted inside you with no mercy. “are you mine?”, Quaritch asks and the rough, deep tone is such a turn on for you. You hated yourself for moaning like a common slut for him, your colonel. The one you hated all your life.

“Don’t cover your mouth. No one can hear you. And even if they could, who do you think would help you, hmm?” Quaritch said. "I-I don't know" ______ whimpered. He quickened his actions further. You could feel your orgasm building deep within your core.

A lustful feeling, taking over every last rational thought your brain had left to offer. "P-please slow down." ______ begged. You whined in response, sparks of pleasure shooting from your dampened core. The unbearable sound of squelching filled the space around you. A small moan escaped from your lips.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t. But as the pleasure became so unbearable you became unsure. You felt yourself clench down on Quaritch's hard, throbbing cock. Your orgasm overtook your shaking body, ripples of pleasure coursed through you. You cried out from the aching pleasure.

Although he hadn't finished, he pulled out. He stared at the face you had. He fucked you dumb. Now you will know your place. "Do you hate me?", he asked with a smirk. "Never~", you moaned, your pussy still sensitive from his cock.

Good little girl.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader #jake sully x reader #avatar imagine #jake sully #neteyam smut #avatar smut #aonung x reader #quaritch x reader #na'vi quaritch #quaritch smut #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar 2

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sicklyseraphnsuch · 7 months

Text

Simon is sad.

Ice King is a joke.

Winter King is a threat.

So, I kinda love how much further we explore into the differences between Simon and Ice King and all the parts in between.

With the Crown, Simon's personality gets injected with boundless, reckless, thoughtless confidence - which appears to have its roots in Evergreen or specifically, Gunter's perception of Evergreen.

However, Simon also infused the Crown's influence with his weird quirks, his desperation for love, and his immeasurable grief.

In a different post, I wrote that the root of the Crown's curse latched onto Simon's love, which in its own way is his grief as well. These powerful emotions were decentralized so that even if Ice King couldn't quite understand the source of them, he felt them hard. And moreover, these emotions clouded his capacity to function.

So aaaaaall that infinite confidence tempered and sabotaged by Simon's sorrow, making Ice King into a joke. Oh, sure he's manipulative liar like the way he lied to Finn when he was trapped in the spirit world. But he's quite incompetent.

His intentions aren't any less selfish or destructive but he's just So Bad at the follow through. Absolutely dysfunctional. That makes him easier to laugh at even when he's doing stuff like slapping tape on PB's mouth as she's sleeping because he "breaks up with her" in the next minute.

Winter King wouldn't need tape. That's the difference. Winter King is frightening because he can in fact follow through on all of his selfish and destructive impulses. When he lies, he can get away with it because he's a *good liar*. He's charming without being sad. He's confident without being annoying.

Winter King has Evergreen's strengths and Simon's charisma and wields it with deadly intent because he also lacks Simon's conscience and Simon's fixation on love and connection - true love and connection that isn't something he made in a lab. The fact that Winter King can be satisfied with hollow dolls that resemble his loved ones is TELLING.

Winter King and Ice King are fundamentally separated by their levels of lucidity and competence. And that's pretty much it. Even Winter King's memories remain frosted over and nothing like the original Simon Petrikov's

Which leads me to the original Simon Petrikov. I truly enjoyed the way Simon is differentiated from Ice King and Winter King simply by showing his compassion - which both lacked. Simon immediately plead for Bubblegum's life whereas Winter King was like Nope.

That was so good. Just emphasizing how the Simon and Ice King aren't a 1 to 1 reflection or transformation. Or in other words, that Ice King is not entirely Simon and Simon isn't entirely Ice King.

Also the subtext of Simon secretly resenting Winter King, being unsure if he wanted to be just like this weirdo who just goes around calling himself radical. This chuunibyou motherfucker. He really wants to be that? Really?

But again! Simon's vindication at learning that the Crown can't be fought! Because also fighting is such hardwork and he spent a thousand or so years trying to do it, failing to do it. The way he almost whined at the Winter King, "but it's just so hard to fight the Crown", and he's just so tired. He's just too sad.

In the same way that Fionna wanted an easy, fun, no consequences adventure - Simon wants an easy, quiet, no consequences solution to all his depression. Simon doesn't want to be happy because happiness takes hardwork. All the shit that the Winter (Willpower) King was shilling? That's a lot of elbow grease.

Simon just wants to opt out of existence. Let the Crown take the wheel. He's done driving.

But therein lies... his curse. Winter King is euphoric because it came at the cost of the compassion that defines Simon Petrikov. Love and compassion is at the root of Simon's sorrow, but it's also the thing that keeps him here. Because Simon simply can't *not* help someone - even Fionna who has been a straight up dick to him this whole time.

Simon thinks that there's a "right way" to be cursed because he's holding onto the belief that he could stop existing and not hurt or harm anyone by choosing to do so. And this will keep him on the search. This will keep him as himself for another sad and hurting day, until he can find a way to run - flee without hurting anyone.

Spoiler: It's impossible.

#simon petrikov #adventure time #fionna and cake

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spider-stark · 29 days

Text

JEALOUSY

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Dealing with the consequences of making Aegon jealous

Warnings - MINORS DNI, abusive/toxic relationship, definite masochism, choking, brief mentions of blood, brief mentions of blades, targcest

Word Count - 1.6k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

Stars cloud your vision when he shoves you against the wall, your temple slamming into the rough stone.

You hiss at the pain splintering through your skull, throbbing so much that you hardly even acknowledge the accompanying ache in your shoulder, your arm contorted awkwardly as his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, pinning it in-between your shoulder blades.

He leans in close, pressing his weight against your spine and knocking the air from your lungs. His other hand comes up to tangle itself in your hair, keeping your cheek pressed firmly against the stone.

You try to use your free hand to push back against the wall, desperate to give your chest enough space to expand, to allow oxygen to fill your needy lungs.

A dry laugh rattles his chest at the sight, amused as he watches you shove helplessly. Then, after listening to your pathetic pants for a few heartbeats, his grip slackens enough to let you catch a full breath—but not enough to give you an opportunity to escape his hold.

Though, even if you could free yourself, you would’ve had no intention of actually doing so.

“I bet you think you’re a clever girl,” his lips are nearly grazing against your earlobe as he speaks, the warmth of his breath fanning down your neck. “Don’t you?”

Aegon’s tone is sickeningly sweet, and the saccharine taunt offers a distinct contrast to the violent grip he still has on you. You can still feel the sharp sting of his nails clawing around your wrist, digging into the flesh so deeply that you wonder if he will draw blood.

It wouldn’t be the first time that Aegon had made you bleed—and you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last.

Panting, still trying to catch your breath, you say, “I haven’t the slightest idea as to what you’re on about, brother.”

Brother—the title elicits a guttural sound from him, a low and heavenly sound that has your body acting of its own volition, your thighs squeezing together in search of friction.

Aegon knew that, in this particular instance, your choice of wording had been a deliberate move. A reminder of what you were to him; his youngest and sweetest sibling, a girl that he was supposed to want to protect from evil men like himself, the kind that wished to ruin you in ways the Seven would never forgive.

But you enjoy feeding into his sinful and insatiable desire to defile his sweet sister. And, in spite of the pain—from your head, from your shoulder, from your wrist—there’s a sly smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. A sudden sense of power rushes your veins, dulling the pain you’re feeling and replacing it with immeasurable satisfaction.

You had control over Aegon—always.

Even now, with a hand pinned behind your back and stone scraping your cheek, you held the most power, because you were the one that had worked to painstakingly orchestrate this entire situation; using today’s tourney as an opportunity to entertain a few pathetic men from House Greyjoy, going so far as to offer one of them your favor during the joust, and giving up a dance to another after the banquet.

You had taken advantage of your brother’s innate jealousy, as well his own deep-seated insecurity that eventually you would find another body to warm your bed, another man to satiate your desires. Cruelly, you had taken advantage of him in hopes of eliciting this very response.

You wanted him like this—frustrated and enraged, so irate and possessive that the only way he could possibly relieve the tension was like this; shoving you against a wall, hellbent on forcefully reminding you that your body had been made for him.

“You’re insufferable,” his moan is laced with such animosity, such raw ferocity, “you think that you can do whatever you wish,” his head dips lower, nuzzling his nose against the side of your neck, “that you can flirt what whoever you wish,” your breath catches in your throat as you feel his tongue quickly swipe along your pulse point before growling, “without consequences.”

His finger’s knot themselves further into your hair, keeping you from thrashing away from him as he sinks his teeth into you. A wave of pleasure and pain ripples through you at the sensation of his sharp cuspids pricking at the sensitive flesh.

“Aeg-”

More calculation, more deliberation—you knew how much Aegon loved to hear you whine for him, knew that it would cause another moan to slip from his lips, effectively loosening his jaw and relieving the pain of teeth prodding into your throat.

He doesn’t stop, though, continuing to nibble and suck until there’s a bruise blossoming beneath his lips, always refusing to pass up on an opportunity to mark you. You writhe against him, further feeding into his fantasy of sullying his little sister by trying to squirm from his grasp.

But, with his body still pressed so firmly against yours, caging you to the wall, you find yourself grinding against the firm imprint of his cock straining against his trousers. The subsequent whimpers that fall from your lips are not purposeful, instincts taking over once again as you try and shift your hips, rising on your toes and attempting to poke your ass out, doing everything you can to feel him against you.

A thin bridge of saliva trails from your marred neck to his lips as he tuts softly, “So needy,” he presses a kiss to the growing bruise he’s left behind, the action so tender and doting. The hand he had raveled in your hair falls to rest in the curve of your waist, squeezing slightly as he asks you, “Tell me—do you truly think that those Greyjoy boy’s could have gotten you like this?”

“Perhaps,” you tease him, intending to see just how far you could push him, “I’ve heard rumors about the Iron Islanders. Baela tells me that the Grejoy men are well-known for their fat cocks-”

The crude claim has just hardly left your mouth before Aegon whirls you around, sending your back crashing into the stone this time, his hand enclosed around your throat. It’s nearly impossible to tell whether the sounds slipping from you are from pleasure or pain, but Aegon doesn’t particularly care.

“Speak one more word about their cocks,” he snarls, his lilac eyes turning predatory as they narrow at you, “and I will carve your tongue out.”

Your own gaze travels to his waist, settling on the dagger sheathed at his hip. Indolent as he was, you knew that your brother was capable of making true on his threat. For all the discipline he lacked, he still had the sort of temperament that makes a man deadly—with or without a weapon.

But you trust him—more than you should—and you immediately recognize his threat as being an empty one. Aegon had no intention of ever pulling a blade on you; though he had certainly succeeding in implanting the thought in your head, your mind suddenly running wild with all of the ways that you might encourage him to use it on you later, wondering how it might feel to have him fuck you with the hilt.

Aegon shakes you from these fantasies, though, squeezing your throat tight enough that your vision is going hazy again, leaving you blinking stupidly at him. “With only a few chaste kisses I’ve succeeded in turning you into a writhing whore,” he spats at you, the harshness of his tone making you flinch, “could the Greyjoy’s have done that?”

There’s a wobble in his voice as he speaks the same, giving away his need for reassurance. You almost consider giving it to him, nearly finding yourself the victim of his soft, pouty lips, your body urging you to lean in and taste them—but it seems that your silence has a more desired effect, earning an entitled huff before his other hand is gliding down your abdomen, bunching up the silky fabric of your dress.

“No,” he mutters, perhaps to himself more than you. “They could not satisfy you! No—they could not possibly know all of the right ways to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you!”

You’re biting your tongue as his hand finally slips beneath your dress, his fingers swiftly diving between your thighs, curving so that he can make quick work of removing the smallclothes beneath—only to realize that you’re wearing none.

He stops—his chest rising and falling in a series of many short, shallow breaths. His rage grows exponentially, his intrinsic insecurity leading him to believe that you had abstained for their benefit and not his. There’s a muscle feathering in his jaw and, for the first time in this encounter, you nearly consider searching for a means of escape, your eyes beginning to grow wide with fear.

But then his lip trembles, lilac eyes growing glossy as he growls, “You are mine–” his palm is flat against your throat, squeezing tight enough to make you wheeze, “only mine.”

His mouth is on yours before the declaration has even fully rolled off of his tongue, uttering the final word against your lips as he kisses you harshly, fervently, desperately—trying to prove himself to you, prove that he’s capable of making you feel a type of euphoria that the Greyjoy boy’s never could.

Later—you would soothe his pitiful little mind, promising him that you had never actually taken an interest in the Greyjoy’s. Later, once you had been thoroughly bruised, bitten, and fucked, you would tell him the truth; that you had only ever wanted him.

But, for now at least, you would take all the pleasure you could get from the dangerous, predatory touch of your jealous boy.

a/n - idk, i was bored at work and just ended up with this. not sure if i even like it, but i'm trying to get better at just posting the things i write instead of letting them die in my drafts

also if anyone wants to talk about hotd (writing about it or just watching it lol) please message me, i'm desperate for hotd friends before season 2 <3 <3

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idyllic-affections · 7 months

Text

achilles heel ii.

summary. love is a sin. the regrator is a sinner.

trigger & content warnings. threats of physical violence, nightmares.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. found family (moreso than the first post), fluff, slight angst. pantalone & young teen!reader, slight arlecchino & young teen!reader. 2.6k words. they/them pronouns used for [name]. this fic is divided into six drabble-like sections. this fic is the second part of achilles heel; please read the first post before reading this one.

author's thoughts. teehee pantalone....... he is never dad-ified enough i swear. he has so much dad potential. look at him. silly rich guy (<- he is a criminal and is NOT silly).

i. a slip of the tongue ♡

Their enrollment into the House of Hearth came with two specific conditions:

One, Arlecchino would not have ultimate authority over them. They didn't disrespect her regardless, but Pantalone was insistent that her authority should not exceed his over them. He was their caretaker, after all. They were a special case in the Knave's orphanage—an orphan but not quite an orphan.

Two, that they returned to his residence on weekends, which wasn't something they or Arlecchino has any qualms with. She didn't exactly get along with the Ninth, but oddly, she didn't argue either of his conditions.

(They felt immeasurably guilty, however, that they had a home to return to. That was a privilege unique to them. The orphans of the House of Hearth did not have such a luxury; hell, those children could not even dream of a home outside of the orphanage.)

This was one such weekend. Upon returning home, they let themselves into Pantalone's office—of course, not before ensuring he was not occupied with another Harbinger or other business partners of his. Had he been, they would have only entered once he was done.

"I'm back, Father."

...

Immediate terror stuck their chest. Admittedly, their reaction once they processed what had just come out of their mouth was a bit dramatic, but still! Had Arlecchino's children somehow rubbed off on them? All of her children tended to call her 'Father', but they only ever called her by her name...

The Regrator paused what he was doing, wordlessly setting his pen down.

"...Sorry, dear, could you repeat that? I didn't quite hear you."

"Um. I said I'm back."

"After that."

"..."

"[Name]."

"I didn't say anything after, I swear." They were completely flustered now, hand shyly fidgeting with the strands of hair securely held back by what had once been Arlecchino's hair clip while their gaze settled anywhere that wasn't on the Harbinger. "I didn't..."

"You are a terrible liar."

"I'm— I'm not."

He smiled at that, gingerly shedding his gloves and rings.

He thought it was a bit cruel of him to create any kind of distance between himself and the little thief he brought into his home, especially in what was such an important and vulnerable moment.

It was then that he beckoned them closer. They obliged, albeit hesitantly. His hands gently smoothed down some wild strands of their hair—presumably caused by whatever the Knave had put them through that day. His tenderness seemed to calm them down a little bit.

"Do you see me as a father figure, [Name]?"

They pouted. "I don't know. Maybe. It just came out. I didn't think about it. Sorry."

If Pantalone was any more morally correct, he might worry about who they were looking up to, but...

Their immorality was inevitable, really, so he tried not to concern himself with it too much. It was the one consequence associated with taking them in. It was one that simply couldn't be avoided.

Pantalone had come to terms with that fact some time ago.

"Don't apologize. I don't mind if that is the case."

"...Okay."

He held himself together with skillful grace that was only to be expected of someone like him, but the second they left his office, he slammed his head on his desk, resisting the compelling urge to just sob.

(...He was probably the reason they had become a tad dramatic.)

Oh.

That day, the Ninth learned two things:

One, [Name] had adopted a more formal method of speech, which was good. It would be useful in the future. His lower priority business partners, the general nobility of Snezhnaya and other nations... those people would all expect his child to take on a more refined demeanor. It was good that they already were.

Two, which was objectively more important in his mind (because really, he did not care for the opinions of people who had never struggled a single day in their lives), he had unexpectedly become an actual father. Not just a caretaker, but a father.

Oh, fuck.

ii. third time's a charm ♡

"Can I keep him?"

"Absolutely not."

��"Please? Come on. He won't cause any trouble!"

Pantalone pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, sighing deeply. How could he have possibly gotten himself into this situation a second time? Perhaps he really was spoiling them just a bit too much. "[Name]. You cannot continue bringing wild animals into our home."

They pouted, holding up the little feline in their arms. It may have been small and harmless at the moment, but a snow leopard such as the one they snatched up from the streets would surely grow impossibly bigger, provided enough time and proper nutrition. "Father..."

He shot them an annoyed look. They could only smile innocently.

"Don't 'Father' me, [Name]."

"I've taken good care of Winter thus far!" Said fox chirped upon hearing her name. "Look, see—she's perfectly healthy. I can handle another pet!"

"You named her Winter?"

They shrugged. "It's always winter in Snezhnaya, so..."

He couldn't help but chuckle fondly, teasing, "Clever."

"I doubt you would have came up with a better name, Father," they huffed playfully. "Anyways, come on! Look, how can you say no to a little face like this?"

Neither of the two said anything for a moment. [Name] held up the little squirming cat with one hand, supporting its hind legs with the other.

It was clear to Pantalone that they would not budge.

A deep sigh left his lips.

They knew they had won.

Once again, Pantalone welcomed another unexpected guest into his household.

He could unflinchingly deny Il Dottore further funding for his experiments. He could ruthlessly send out the agents employed under his command to collect the debts of those foolish enough to leave them unpaid without so much as a second thought.

Somehow, he could not deny his child another exotic animal.

Oh well. At least the feline would eventually grow into a suitable bodyguard for [Name], he supposed.

iii. ultimatum ♡

Whenever Pantalone had free time during the work week—which... wasn't very often—he had grown into a habit of visiting the House of Hearth.

His darling child was there. How could he be expected to stay away?

(The Knave grit her teeth, clenched her jaw, and ultimately bit her tongue when he kept showing his face in her territory again and again. As much as she didn't like the Ninth... she would have to tolerate it, she supposed. He was too preoccupied with [Name] to bother her the majority of the time, anyway.)

The children were all polite and respectful with him whenever he came around, often pointing him in the direction of their sibling-in-arms. They were typically lingering around the younger children, engaging with them and entertaining them in a way that a doting older sibling might, but for some reason...

They weren't there that day.

"One of the matrons wanted to talk to [Name], sir. I don't know why," one of the younger children his child typically surrounded themselves with had told him.

He was surprised to find that, rather than wanting to speak to [Name], one of Arlecchino's employees seemed to have forgotten just whose child it was she was speaking to.

"We are raising soldiers," a woman harshly spat, "not regular children. It would be in your best interests, Mx. [Name], to quit teaching them to be soft."

They blinked.

"...Um. They're five."

"Are you even listening?!"

"Listen," they began, shifting their weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "They're barely five, okay? They'll learn. They can't even wield a sword properly yet. Half of them can't read mid-level literature yet. For now, I think they deserve attention from someone they can trust who won't hurt them. I mean... if I were really doing something wrong, Arle surely would have told me—"

"You rich little brat."

That stung, admittedly. With nervous fingers, they plucked at the threads of their sleeve.

"By the Tsaritsa, if the Ninth himself weren't so enamored with you, I would have your head mounted on the wall for the disrespect you have shown not only us but our Lord."

She raised a hand, and they flinched back, and then—

Nothing came.

"Fa— Father... hi."

The Regrator's grip on her wrist was crushing, rage barely concealed behind a tight-lipped smile.

"Hello, dear." Pantalone's eyes were kind when they were on his child, but glazed over with an unsettling iciness upon facing the woman. He leaned down, head tilting slightly as he observed the tense matron who so boldly dared to raise a hand to his child. "Now, I'm certain this was a one-time incident, unless of course you would be interested in taking a... leave of absence to see the Doctor, hm?" His grip tightened slightly in a wordless threat, a promise of a fate more vile than death itself. "A permanent leave of absence, that is."

Tension weighed heavily in the air.

Of course, the matron relented. She would have been foolish to not when the fate promised to her would be undoubtedly worse than death.

"...No, of course not, sir. It won't happen again."

He released her trembling wrist, adjusting his rings nonchalantly.

"Good. Go on, then. Leave us."

"Yes, Lord Ninth."

She turned on her heel, bowing her head respectfully to both the Regrator and his child before rounding the corner of the hall. Just like that, she was gone.

Instantly, all his attention shifted to [Name].

"Are you alright?" he murmured softly, only for their ears to hear. He kneeled down to their level and gingerly tilted their chin upwards to check if Arlecchino's matron left any wounds behind.

"Yeah, I'm— I'm fine..."

He was quiet for a moment, thumb gently rubbing along their cheekbone and wiping away the beginnings of tears. The Knave would not like to see them in such a state. The Ninth didn't particularly care for her opinion, but he knew very well that his child did, to a certain degree.

"...Don't cry, dear. Do not allow yourself to be pushed around. You are worth infinitely more than any agent among our ranks. Do you understand?"

"Mm-hm. I'm just..." They gnawed on the corner of their lip. "I guess I'm used to it."

He was quiet for a moment.

"That will change," he concluded. "You will never be treated so poorly ever again."

iv. bonding ♡

"Were you never given the opportunity to bake?"

They hummed thoughtfully, lips pulled into a calm and content smile as they observed their father knead the bread dough they took part in making.

Indeed, a man as prestigious as him could just have one of his employees do this... but what kind of parent would he be if he refused to bond with his child alone? No genuine bonding would take place if he was not the one engaging with them.

...

Baking also happened to a special place in his heart as a child of poverty, so he didn't mind doing it.

"Not really. I couldn't afford to. It was too expensive," they mused, trailing off briefly. Pantalone was quiet—patient. He didn't interrupt them or urge them to speak. He simply waited for them to go on. "I didn't get paid well when I was taking thievery commissions. I was small and weak, so it was easy for those older people who commissioned my work to scam me out of what I was owed."

The Regrator made a mental note to investigate those people further.

For now, though, his focus was on them.

"I understand," he reassured. "Baking is indeed an expensive hobby. There was a time where even I could not afford it."

"I really wouldn't have believed you if you hadn't told me," they said, stealing and snacking on some of the fruits spread across the counter. The Harbinger chuckled fondly, pinching their cheek.

"Stop that. If you keep that up, we won't have anything to put in the bread. Now, for the next step..."

v. nightmare ♡

It was the middle of the night when they jolted awake, skin dampened with a cold sweat and fingers relentlessly shaking.

The House of Hearth's hardwood floor was cold against their bare feet, but it really didn't bother them. It wasn't anything they weren't used to, anything` they hadn't experienced in their past. It was with quiet and purposeful steps that they snuck out of the room they shared with a handful of the younger kids that bonded closely with them.

Their years of thievery still benefitted them, it seemed, as they effortlessly snuck out without awakening anyone else.

"What are you doing up at such an awful hour?"

They practically leapt out of their skin, heart hammering in their chest at Arlecchino's sudden appearance.

"I, uh—" they began, taking deep breaths in the hopes of calming themselves down. "Um, sorry. You frightened me."

"Oh? My apologies, then, [Name]."

Whether or not her apology was sincere was debatable. She seemed to derive very slight amusement from their fright, but gave them a firm pat on the head. It was comforting in its own way.

"...I had a nightmare," they reluctantly admitted, "so I can't really sleep. Sorry."

"It isn't uncommon for these things to happen," she replied. "Your apology is unwarranted. You aren't the first and I doubt you will be the last to be unable to sleep."

"Arle, um... I know I'm not supposed to leave again until tomorrow, but..."

Arlecchino's eyes were trained precisely on them, and perhaps she might have looked irritated, but in reality, she could not find it within her to be frustrated. They were strong and smart and excelled in the things that they needed to excel in. There was no reason for her to be frustrated with them for something so simple. It was normal for children to seek out their parent following a distressing experience.

"I will take you back to the Regrator's residence, then. Consider it a reward for your high performance this week."

"Ah, really? Thank you, Arle."

"Go get your things. Meet me outside."

vi. found family ♡

"You're home early, [Name]."

When they entered Pantalone's office (he lamented the fact that he was still working at such a late hour, but such was unfortunately his obligation as a Harbinger), he was pleasantly surprised, quietly setting down his pen and offering them his full attention.

"I know." They nodded. "Arle said I performed well this week, so she brought me home a day early. I guess she probably had something to do elsewhere anyway, since she offered."

"I see."

A silence settled for a moment.

The Ninth instantly knew something was wrong when their fingers reached up to their sleeve, absently picking and pulling at the threads. He'd noticed that habit of theirs back when he first put them in the public eye.

"If there is something troubling you, dear, you are more than welcome to tell me."

"It's stupid," they murmured, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Maybe they should have just stayed back at the House of Hearth.

"If it's bothering you, it is most definitely not."

"I had a nightmare."

"Ah, I see. Is that why you've come home so late?"

"...Yes."

"Do you want to stay with me for the time being, then?" When they nodded, he smiled kindly, opening one arm for them so that the other could be free to finish what remained of his paperwork.

They were secured in his arms the second he made his wordless offer.

His fingers tenderly carded through their hair, mindful to avoid his rings catching uncomfortably on their locks.

Love is a sin.

In Snezhnaya, love is a sin.

For his child, Pantalone was a sinner.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion writes 🌸#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #genshin platonic #platonic genshin #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #pantalone x reader #arlecchino x reader #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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yatima · 6 months

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A propos of nothing in particular I wanna talk about Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake from my other favorite TV show, M*A*S*H. Henry was based on a historical person who seems to have been pretty shitty, and in the sitcom he starts out as a terrible leader and kind of a hateful jerk. Over time, though, he demonstrates competence, shows real growth and, thanks to a terrific performance from a gifted actor, becomes a beloved character.

In the final episode of the third season, Henry gets his much-wanted honorable discharge from the Army and is given a hilariously chaotic send-off from his unit in Korea. Just as we think he's going to be safe for the rest of his life in Bloomington, Illinois, Radar comes into the OR and speaks the words that are engraved on my HEART: "Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors."

My God. People were SO MAD at the showrunners. Henry worked so hard! He went through so much! He deserved an endless retirement full of fishing! He didn't deserve a random awful sudden death! We loved him and how he interacted with all the other characters and we missed him for the rest of the show!

My God if the rest of that show wasn't immeasurably changed and improved. After Henry died for real, everything had stakes. Profound tone-shift from wacky hijinks to still incredibly funny but character-driven and insightful. Frank and Margaret went from flat caricatures to - well, at least in Margaret's case - one of the best and most complex women on TV at the time. (Team Let Frank Be Trans can still win.) The shallow nihilism that the early seasons shared with the novel and the film was replaced by a hard-earned melancholy that set the comedy in high relief. Henry's death underscored one of the most memorable exchanges in the show, that came two entire seasons later:

Hawkeye: War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.

Father Mulcahy: How do you figure that, Hawkeye?

Hawkeye: Easy, Father. Tell me, who goes to Hell?

Father Mulcahy: Sinners, I believe.

Hawkeye: Exactly. There are no innocent bystanders in Hell. War is chock full of them — little kids, cripples, old ladies. In fact, except for some of the brass, almost everybody involved is an innocent bystander.

M*A*S*H isn't just a show about war. It didn't just define the modern workplace comedy, it did so by making the point that the modern workplace is where most of us viewers spend our lives trying to reckon with the violent empire in which we are embedded. At its best, M*A*S*H showed us that the resistance lives and endures in pockets of unconditional love and mutual aid.

Henry wasn't being punished for anything, and his death wasn't a statement on the part of the writers that people like him don't deserve to live. The writers loved Henry too. People, unfortunately, die. We are all going to die (cue Sufjan Steven's Fourth of July), some of us old and surrounded by people who love us, and some of us way too young and unfairly and not infrequently as a direct consequence of the aforementioned violent empire. The randomness and cruelty of it is what makes love and resistance so utterly necessary and beautiful.

Rest in peace, you lovable jerk.

#ofmd #our flag means death #con o'neill #ofmd s2 #mash #izzy hands

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ishcliff · 20 days

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the more of moby dick i read, the more i think it's kind of interesting that a lot of the criticism i see for canto V is actually in the ways where it's an extremely faithful adaptation in spirit.

dante seems to be intended to be the book!ishmael to ishmael's book!ahab. dante is the inquisitive one to ishmael's cold dismissal, and they are the one who is drawn into the tale of the hardened, half-mad sailor whose pain is immeasurable at the hands of an entity that stole something important from her. they are the narrator and the witness to the rest of the crew contemplating the safety of their lives with her at the helm of this journey.

in limbus, the journey meanders a bit and explores how people live and die on the great lake. culture and worldbuilding are a focal point, to a degree – if anything, i think even more time should have been spent exploring what it means to live in such an environment.

this meandering of course echoes moby dick. one of the main themes of the novel is how it's human nature to rebel against the cold, harsh, uncaring realities of the world. some people like to joke about it, but the pages on pages spent detailing the structure of ships and the mechanics of the whaling industry is entirely related to the plot. in fact, i would go as far as to say they are one of the most important parts of it.

these ships exist in spite of the ease of simply staying on land, making the unsurvivable survivable. the whaling industry is representative of the collective growth of humans in a technological sense, as whales were integral to many aspects of modernization.

compare this to the laws of the lake – the ways in which nature, the world, or god in moby dick ultimately cannot be defied, even with the power of human nature. as ishmael says, human logic does not apply to these rules. and, said rather than shown, each part of the lake possesses its own culture and identity relative to the others based around that region's specific almighty laws.

the collective whole of the great lake divided into smaller sections resembles the way moby dick is often referred to as "the great (us)american novel". moby dick is also about the importance of diversity, and goes to great lengths to celebrate the different cultures of each state or even city meaningful time is spent in. it's a character study, where the united states itself is the character, and the ways in which social expectations divide but also unite others. and, unfortunately, defiance of that order has its own consequences.

despite the title of the novel, the whale itself is not the focal point of the story; the actual encounter is towards the very end of the book, and is written in a few paragraphs. of course, this echoes the nature of the dungeon at the end of the canto, where we finally get what we were under the impression we'd get.

i dunno. i think it kinda fucking rules, tbh, and is an extremely creative way to adapt the story while staying true to limbus's setting and main idea/message.

in a way, canto V is secretly something of a "fix-it fic" for moby dick's ahab, but in ishmael's name.

this post is getting pretty long for something i didn't intend to be a more formally structured analysis, but i have been thinking about it for a while. so for now, cheers, and PLEASE share your own thoughts!

#lcb ishmael #limbus company meta

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bg-brainrot · 7 months

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Hello, I am writing Astarion fanfic with no signs of stopping 👋

Note: All Astarion x Tav, all written with gender-neutral pronouns and from second-person POV. Will continue to update this! This blog is all BG3 + Astarion

Love at First Knife

Rogue!Tav and Spawn!Astarion

This series is based on my double-rogue playthrough. Tav is an assassin rogue, chaotic neutral, chooses mostly good options but a ton of options just for the laughs or the money. Astarion remains unascended. Everyone shows up sooner or later, though main group includes Karlach and Shadowheart.

The Trap is Set: Two 8 strength rogues get stuck and need to wait for rescue; one of those rogues doesn't like being trapped underground

Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You: the gang plays Truth or Dare and Tav starts to realize their feelings

Healing Threads: Astarion is an expert at embroidery -- Tav finds this out through an injury. They later find out *why* he’s such an expert

NEW! The Night They Slept Together: Tav pines, and their relationship with Astarion shifts ever so slightly. (They literally do just sleep) [Tumblr]

One Small Bedroll, Two Confused Hearts: oh no, one bed! But both Astarion and Tav are scared to admit they're catching real feelings

Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder: Astarion POV, he begins feeling some new feelings. It's only after Moonrise Towers that he can put a name to them. [Tumblr]

Stolen Hearts: Tav "picks" Astarion over Karlach (Tav and Karlach were never really together but oh well, semantics)

A Stolen Moment: Tav and Astarion are on a thief date

The Rogues that Slay Together Stay Together: Tav goes down protecting Astarion, Astarion has never been this worried

A Pair of Penguin Pebblers: Both Astarion and Tav love stealing, they steal through a shopping episode and go on a date afterward

The Smut Peddlers of Sharess' Caress: the group finds smut written about Astarion and Tav [Tumblr]

A Bad Counterfeit: Tav is replaced by a doppelganger and Astarion immediately notices something's wrong, some angst as he comes to term with being a "hero"

Hugs for a Vampire: Rogue!Tav and Astarion's romance as told through hugs [Tumblr Masterlist]

More than Vampiric Charms: After some banter between Jaheira and Astarion goes too far, Rogue!Tav reassures Astarion [Tumblr]

Would You Still Love Me?: Rogue!Tav asks the question everyone wants to know the answer to "would you still love me if I was a worm?" [Tumblr]

Of Bets, Bluffs, and Briefs: The gang plays strip poker, though it seems like not everyone (Astarion) is playing by the rules [Tumblr]

Brawls Fair in Love and War: What starts out as a scuffle turns into a full out tavern brawl for the gang [Tumblr]

Alone in a Crowded Camp: Astarion reflects and realizes that company isn't so bad. [Tumblr]

Their First Winter Together: Astarion and Rogue!Tav enjoy a lot of winter firsts in this fluff-filled extravaganza [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12]

Unraveling Plan Meet Immeasurable Insecurity: Tav tries their damnedest to propose, only to be rebuffed by Astarion at every single turn. [Tumblr]

(smut) The Thousandth Time: Astarion and Rogue!Tav make love for the thousandth time. In a bathtub. [Tumblr]

Random post-game rogue!Tav headcanons

A Star in the Dark

Evil!Dark Urge and Ascended!Astarion

Evil!Dark Urge and Astarion have a tumultuous relationship, make dubious choices, and become a power couple. *This playthrough scares me so I'll update this sporadically hah

(smut) In My Head: Dark Urge has an all new kind of daydream after Astarion approaches them

(smut) A Bloody Sacrament: Astarion licks Dark Urge clean after they bathe in a pool of blood [Tumblr]

Other

Tav x Astarion fics that don't belong to a series

IN PROGRESS When He's all but Forgotten How to Love Again: Elf-Tav reincarnation story, they dream of him in their reverie, and go out to find him once they reach maturity [Tumblr Masterlist]

IN PROGRESS The Consequences of Convenience: Tav enters a marriage of convenience with their unromanced, best friend Astarion-- feelings ensue.

Spicy Astarion Headcanons (both A!A and Spawn!A)

If you're looking for some more fics, check out my fic recs here!

If you're wondering which Hozier songs fit which pairings, check them here!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3

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tinyundercover · 1 month

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pepper & felix

part three

this is my fav chapter so far :D word count: 2.4k

Pepper was in trouble.

It had been a risky decision to try and grab some spinach from the human’s leftover salad— and right now he was suffering the consequences. He trembled behind the mug on the counter, which had been the quickest hiding spot for when the human had entered the room.

It had been ten minutes, and the human was still doing dishes. With the setback of the bowl breaking, it was taking even longer.

Pepper winced. When the bowl had cracked in half only a few inches from his hiding spot, it had been so immeasurably deafening that he couldn’t help but shriek out loud. Somehow, the human hadn’t seemed to hear him.

His soulmate, however, had noticed his sudden terror, and after a few moments Pepper bid him farewell. It was nice to talk to his soulmate for a few minutes just to take his mind off of the situation, but after the bowl incident he was starting to feel too stressed to focus on anything but the human two feet away.

He glared down at the piece of spinach in his hands. This was so not worth it.

A shadow crossed over Pepper, and in that moment he realized that his chosen hiding spot had been a mug… while the human was doing dishes.

“Fuck—!” He muttered under his breath, spinning on his heel, trying to decide if he could make it to the wall without being seen—

The mug was lifted off of the counter in a terrifying display of strength, and Pepper’s heart dropped into his stomach, an icy chill settling over his spine.

“Wha— oh—!”

Pepper only caught a glimpse of startled blue eyes, high above him, before cold adrenaline seized him. He sprinted, dropping the spinach.

He didn’t have a definite escape route, he just knew that he needed to get the fuck out of there. His heart pounded as he made a beeline for the toaster, which he could hide behind, maybe—

Wham.

Pain rocketed through Pepper’s body as he slammed into something and stumbled back, bringing a shaky hand to his forehead. Within seconds, heat and pressure closed around his miniscule frame, and suddenly Pepper’s feet left the counter. No— NO! The world spun around him.

When the movement and vertigo subsided, Pepper gasped for air, arms pinned against his sides. Massive fingers surrounded him.

He was in a hand.

He was in a hand!

His heart dropped past his stomach into the floor down below. Cold realization settled over his spine that he was completely trapped.

Pepper’s parents had drilled one single rule into him from the moment he was born to the moment he moved out. Never, under any circumstances, should you let a human get their hands on you.

Now he was trapped, and there was nothing he could do.

“Woah…”

A voice, low but overpowering, filled the air. Pepper stiffened, staring up at the human whose massive form took up the entirety of his vision.

Blue eyes scanned Pepper’s body, wide and curious. Blonde eyebrows disappeared under a mop of matching blonde hair, and the human’s voice was filled with disbelief when he asked, “What are you?”

Pepper’s heart pounded against the massive thumb pressing into his chest. He barely processed the human’s question, too focused on glancing around, hopelessly trying to find some sort of escape route.

“Can you talk?” The human pressed, either not noticing Pepper’s panic or ignoring it.

Beginning to thrash and squirm against the overpowering hand, Pepper elected not to answer. There was no way he would willingly talk to a human.

Aside from his soulmate, he thought briefly, and in any other situation he would have laughed.

Pepper froze as the human’s second hand approached. A massive finger the size of his body touched the top of his head, ruffling his black hair with a surprising gentleness. After a moment the finger withdrew, and the human leaned forward, squinting at the small borrower.

“There’s no way you’re real,” the human muttered, seemingly to himself.

Pepper couldn’t see very well, but he was fairly certain that he was only being held a few inches above the counter. If he managed to squirm free of the human’s hand, he would probably survive the fall with minor injuries. Then he could escape behind the toaster, where he knew there was a hidden crack in the wall…

The human suddenly seemed to acknowledge Pepper’s thrashing, and he carefully loosened his grip, just enough that the borrower could breathe without gasping for air. Pepper continued to jerk around to the best of his ability.

“Here, little guy, don’t hurt yourself– ah!”

With a sudden determination, Pepper sunk his teeth into the human’s thumb.

The hand instantly snapped open in shock, accompanied by a sharp gasp from the human. Pepper instinctively yelped, throwing his hands out as if to stop the sudden free fall.

Slamming into the counter sent cold pain rocketing through Pepper’s body, but he barely acknowledged it, too focused on getting away. He was on his feet in an instant, bolting towards the wall, the world spinning around him.

“Shit—!”

The massive hand reappeared, attempting to block Pepper’s path, but the borrower was prepared this time. He dodged around the human’s grasp, lightly grazing the fingertips, and dug his heels into the ground to further his stride.

The toaster was only a few inches away when Pepper slammed into something solid for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Expecting to be trapped in a hand, he staggered back, lifting his arms—

—and stared, dumbfounded, at the wall of glass surrounding him.

He spun on his heels, heart still pounding with adrenaline. The human’s face was slightly blurred through the glass, frowning down at Pepper.

“Sorry,” the human murmured, leaning closer to peer in at the borrower. “I don’t want you to bite me again.”

Pepper stumbled back, falling against the glass wall behind him. Pain was beginning to settle over his ribs and arms, his body finally acknowledging that he had been knocked around far too many times in the last ten minutes. Considering he had just been gripped in the hand of a human, Pepper decided that he was alright with a little soreness. The alternative had been death.

The glass cup around Pepper was solid and unmovable. Dread filled his stomach, and he slid down, pulling his knees close to his chest.

“See? You’re okay, little guy,” the human said softly, leaning against the counter. Pepper sent him a miserable glare. Being called “little guy” was so dehumanizing.

He hated being under the scrutiny of such a massive being. After years of hiding in shadows, he felt sick underneath the bright overhead light, trapped inside a glass cup like some sort of bug.

“What the hell are you?” The human wondered, crossing his arms on the counter.

Pepper wasn’t listening. All he could think about was his beautiful sister.

She’ll never even know what happened to him.

Fresh tears began to flow before he could stop them. Pepper choked on his breath and buried his face in his arms, shoulders shuddering with each gasp.

“Oh… you’re crying. Uh, okay, I didn’t mean to scare you, little guy, please don’t—“

“Fuck you.” Pepper’s small voice was thick with tears when he snapped his head up, sending a tear-filled glare up at the human.

The human’s face went blank at Pepper’s words, and silence fell over the two of them. After a few seconds he jerked back, lips parting in shock. “Wh— you can talk?” His words were quick, filled with a sudden panic.

Pepper momentarily regretted his words, but decided that he was already caught, who cares if the human knew he could talk? He huffed, dragging his shaky hands through his sweaty hair. “Fuck. You,” he repeated, more firmly. “You— you don’t own me.”

The human went still, staring down at him through wide, blue eyes. His face was pale.

After a moment his massive hand appeared, slowly closing around the glass. Pepper inhaled quickly, jumping to his feet, ignoring the soreness in his ribs. “Wait, wait, I’m sorry,” Pepper said quickly, fear flaring up in his chest. He stared, wide-eyed, as the glass was effortlessly lifted away and set aside.

He locked eyes with the human, his brief confidence vanishing with the lack of a barrier between them. He hugged himself, feeling smaller than ever, unsure if he should apologize or run away or just cuss the human out.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” the human said hollowly. “I didn’t mean— I— I wasn’t gonna trap you, I promise, I just wanted to see you. I’m sorry.”

Pepper ran his hands over his arms, at a loss for words. His gaze danced around, lingering on the human’s nearby hands.

“Are you hurt?”

Pepper’s lips thinned. After a moment’s consideration, he glanced down at his body. He was wearing a jacket and pants, and he couldn’t see his skin, but he was very confident that he would have heavy bruises in the morning. (If he lived to see the morning.)

His joints ached, and a soreness filled his entire body, but he didn’t think anything was permanently broken. Considering the circumstances, this was getting off easy.

“I’m… alive,” Pepper said simply, frowning up at the human.

The human exhaled. “Okay, that’s good, I just wanted to—“

“Are you gonna kill me?” Pepper cut him off.

The human blanched, jerking his head back. “Kill you? Dude, wha—? No! No, of course not!” Genuine hurt filled his voice, and he blinked several times, staring at Pepper in concern. He swallowed. “Why would you think that?”

Pepper nearly laughed. “You just grabbed me and then trapped me in a cup,” he pointed out, voice wobbling. “And— and I know humans kill people like me all the time.”

“People like you?” The human echoed. “So… you’re not human…?”

At Pepper’s ashen face, the human continued quickly, “Nevermind. Um, if it makes you feel better, I don’t think most humans even know you exist, let alone would want to kill you.”

Pepper pursed his lips. “That’s good,” he said carefully, keeping an eye on the human’s hands. “I’m… sorry that you found me. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me,” the human said hurriedly. “I promise. I’m sorry about everything. I shouldn’t have grabbed you, or— or trapped you. I didn’t realize that you were, well, a person.” He frowned apologetically. “What’s your name?”

Pepper was startled to receive a genuine apology. He turned the question over in his mind several times before saying flatly, “Pepper.”

“Pepper,” the human repeated. The sound of his name on a human’s tongue made his stomach squirm. “That’s a nice name. I’m Felix.”

“Okay,” Pepper said simply. After a moment, he added, “Can I leave?”

Asking a human for permission to do anything made him sick to his stomach, and judging by the human’s uncomfortable expression, he wasn’t fond of it either.

“Well, yeah! You don’t have to ask. But— do you need help… getting to the door…?” He gestured vaguely to the front door, way across the room. It would take Pepper probably thirty minutes to get all the way over there. “And… I feel weird to ask, but… where exactly are you gonna go?” His gaze danced over Pepper’s tiny form.

The borrower hummed. Right. The human didn’t know that there were more than six entrances for Pepper hidden all over the apartment.

He debated his options. He could be honest and admit that there was a crack in the wall less than six inches behind him, but that might lead to more questions from the human.

Or… Pepper could accept the human’s insane offer to carry him to the front door, placing him inside of a human’s massive hand once again, and then deal with surviving outside of the apartment with barely any belongings, most likely ending in his immediate death.

“Actually…” Pepper sent Felix an awkward smile, inching towards the wall. “There’s an exit right here.”

The human’s eyebrows lifted and he followed Pepper’s point to the toaster. He seemed somewhat confused, and Pepper said heavily, “There’s a crack in the wall, behind the toaster. That’s how I got here in the first place.”

“You live in the walls, then?”

Pepper’s mouth opened, then closed several times. “Um…”

The human— Felix— seemed to understand that Pepper was apprehensive to respond. He nodded quickly. “Uh, it’s okay, nevermind. Here, I’m just gonna…”

Pepper watched in amazement as the human suddenly backed away, hands raised. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

The borrower blinked, then slowly nodded.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Pepper.” Felix sent Pepper a quick, encouraging smile before turning around and exiting the kitchen.

Pepper blinked several times, wondering if that had just happened. He stared around the countertop, locking his gaze on the discarded glass cup a few inches away.

Did the human just… let him go?

There was no time to dwell on it. Heart pounding with adrenaline, Pepper spun around, booking it for the wall, making sure to snatch up the piece of spinach as he went. (This can’t all have been for nothing.)

He stumbled through the crack in the wall, mind wandering. Did that really just happen? Was he just caught by a human, only to be released with a couple of bruises?

Felix had actually seemed apologetic, too. A massive, terrifying human had actually felt bad for trapping Pepper. The borrower let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his tears, unable to believe his luck of being caught by a nice human. He almost felt disappointed, knowing he would have to move out now, according to the borrower rules.

He supposed he could just move to a different floor, or to an apartment further down the hall. He wasn’t quite sure how big this building was, but it might be fun to explore a little more. After tonight’s ordeal, he was just happy to be alive.

He was trying to remember which floor Felix lived on when a familiar voice entered his mind.

“Hey– the craziest thing just happened to me.”

The borrower lifted his eyebrow, bringing his interlocked fingers to his chest. “What’s that?”

His soulmate’s next words made Pepper freeze in his tracks.

“I just met a person the size of my finger.”

-----

they finally met!!! probably not in the best way, but....... they met!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! pepper and felix still have a lot in store for them :]

#g/t #g/t writing #gt #gt writing #pepper & felix

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synergysilhouette · 4 months

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A lot of people like to rewrite Asha as Magnifico's daughter, but what if Star was his son?

Walk with me here: Magnifico's traumatic past and working hard to learn magic and protect others was rewarded by the stars giving him and Amaya a son who was born with immeasurable magic power (think Elsa's origins in "Frozen 2"). Afraid that he'd be coveted for his gift, Star (a nickname) is kept away, but is always watching. He's very intelligent, but his sheltered life has made him naive--similar to Rapunzel. When he starts granting wishes and upsets the balance of power (making people codependent and greedy and not realizing for everyone who gains something from a wish, the wish could potentially harm someone else), Magnifico suffers from mania and stress, vowing to retrieve him (similar in personality to Gothel and Claude Frollo), while Amaya becomes cool and cynical, much like Lady Tremaine and the Evil Queen. They have to save their son and their kingdom. But what are the consequences of this, as well as Star's negligent wish-granting? They're good people who are NOT good in a crisis, particularly one involving their son. It goes to show how smoothly Rosas was run before, and how quickly it spirals out of control when the scales tip out of anyone's favor. The kingdom is basically a metaphor for parenting: when the king and queen spoil the kingdom with Magnifico's magic, they become very attatched and entitled to it, especially since magic is difficult to learn, and it's become a dying craft, with it being more likely for someone to be born with magic than actually be trained in it--but that's like comparing a 5% chance to a 3% chance, so...

#disney #disney animation #magnifico #king magnifico #disney princess #wish #rapunzel #tangled #elsa #star #amaya #queen amaya

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matan4il · 5 months

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Daily update post:

A 70 years old Israeli farmer has been killed by Hezbollah rockets fired from Lebaon at Israel. May his memory be a blessing.

The death toll of the IDF ground operation in Gaza is now at 87.

Following the US congress discussion on antisemitism, where the presidents of prestigious universities couldn't clearly define calls to genocide the Jews as bullying and harassment, an Israeli professor at Standford, Jonathan Levav, who has lived there for years, and who said he's raising his two kids as typical American teenagers, was interviewed by his journalist friend in Israel. He talked about the fact that since Oct 7, he has felt antisemitism in the US and on his college campus in a way he never has before. "I would rather be in Israel right now," said the professor. "Really!?" asked his journalist friend, his voice making it clear that he's completely astonished. After all, our lives are currently under threat from several fronts. The professor reaffirmed the sentiment. "It's better to be hit by rockets in the face, than by knives in the back."

Here's another reminder that "Free Gaza from Hamas" isn't just a slogan, we're actually listening to people in Gaza who are pleading for a better life, and to even have a future:

And while some Gazans suffer immeasurably under Hamas, this terrorist organization's leaders and those affiliated with them live like kings. Better than most Israelis, in fact. The IDF revealed receipts for purchases made by Hamas people of luxury items, including jewelry. A single receipt was sometimes for a sum of money equivalent to two years worth of work on Gaza's average salary. Among the receipts found, were ones for purchases made by the son of Hamas's leader, Ismail Hanyieh. While Gazans suffer the consequences of Hamas' massacre of innocent civilians in Israel, Hanyieh is living in a luxury hotel in Qatar. Hanyieh's personal wealth is estimated to be 4 billion dollars, roughly 4 times greater than Taylor Swift's (Google says she has a net worth of 1.1 billion dollars).

Dozens of men in Gaza turned themselves over to the IDF today, they were arrested, not killed, a reminder that all Hamas needs to do for everyone to live is surrender.

The following infographic is a bit outdated (from roughly 3 weeks ago, I think), but it shows how much more attention the dead in Gaza get, than the dead anywhere else in the world, in conflicts far bloodier. Even more than in the conflict between Russia and Ukraine. So what stands out about this, what makes everyone pay more attention to dead Gazan civilians than to dead Ukrainian civilians? My personal guess is that it's not the Gazans themselves. When Palestinians are killed by other Arabs in Lebanon, Syria or Jordan, no one pays attention to them. When Palestinians are killed by their own leadership, whether Hamas or the Palestinian Authority, no one talks about it. What changes suddenly, when Israel is a part of the picture? My guess is that it's the fact that then, it can be used to attack the Jewish state, excuse the massacre of Jews, and inspire attacks against Jewish people all over the world. Even on the campuses of the most prestigious US universities.

Why do I bring this up now?

The UN secretary general had been silent on the rape of Israeli women for almost two months following the Hamas massacre, had barely talked about Hamas' war crimes, had failed to talk about Hamas' use of Palestinians as human shields, and his workers had collaborated with Hamas for years, in turning a blind eye to Hamas' use of UN schools and hospitals to attack Israelis from, as well as since the Oct 7 massacre, in holding an Israeli kid hostage without providing him with enough food.

This man is now invoking article 99 of the UN charter.

This article allows him to call a special session of the UN security council, based on his concern for world peace.

He did not use this article during any other conflict, no matter how bloody. Not during his years in office while the civil war in Syria continues to rage for over a decade, with hundreds of thousands killed, and millions displaced. He did not invoke it during the war between Russia and Ukraine, which has claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands of people on both sides in less than two years.

Or let's put aside at the number of victims, and look at the possible risk to world peace.

The global power that is Russia is in the middle of a war, with all the allies it has, and the places where it exerts its influence, such as Syria, and all the countries that are looking at Russia, waiting to see what they can learn from the war's results, and that doesn't make the UN secretary general concerned enough for world peace to call a special session! I'm not even going to talk about the geopolitical results of the war in Syria, which was a training ground for Islamists from other countries as well (for example, we know Hezbollah's terrorists returned from the war in Syria with more military experience than anything they got before). But that wasn't concerning enough!

There's so much that was said over the years about the UN's anti-Israel bias, but it feels like this one really takes the cake.

Once again, the only conflict involving the one Jewish state is also the only one getting disproportionate attention, which essentially (please excuse my language, but I am angry) fucks over every other victim of every other conflict. Never forget that antisemitism doesn't just hurt Jews, there are non-Jews who pay the price for it as well.

On the first night of Hanukkah, there will be 138 hanukkiot (Hanukkah menorahs) lit at the Western Wall, the same number of the hostages who are still being held in Gaza. (this is a small reminder that Hanukkah is a Zionist holiday)

This is 25 years old Gal Meir Eizenkott.

It was published just minutes ago that he was killed in the fighting in Gaza. Gal is the son of Gadi Eizenkott, who is currently an Israeli minister, and the former IDF Chief of Staff. NOBODY in Israel is sending the soldiers off to fight without a care in the world. Pictured below is Gal with his dad. May his memory be a blessing.

These are 3 years old Emma and Yuli Kunyo, twins.

They were held hostage by Hamas. We know now that at a certain point, Yuli was separated from the rest of her captured family, and kept alone. The two girls were released in the hostage deal, together with their 34 years old mom. Today, these girls were discharged from the hospital. They still don't have a home to return to.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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