#and then have to contend with others who would try and fail against you

[samcarter34]

You know, thinking about what Asmodeus said about the Pantheon being his siblings, and how mortals must have done something to the Prime Deities because why else would they have turned on their own family...

The Prime Deities probably loved the Betrayers once, maybe they even still do. And they turned on them, their kin, to save Exandria and its people. They loved Exandria and the peoples of it so much that they fought and exiled their own family that they’ve known since, permanently destroying any possibility of there ever being a reconciliation.

All for a world they loved. A world they once all loved.

#critical role #exu calamity #Fighting against your own family for those would would one day think themselves above you #one of whom would kill your brother and take his place #and then have to contend with others who would try and fail against you #culminating in someone freeing your former family #and then having to fight them again #because prison did not make them kinder #just angrier #and then seeing the damage you caused #and then deciding to exile yourself from this world you love so much #to keep it safe #no wonder Pelor's such a hardass

[ericdeggans]

Why hoping Lily Gladstone won an Oscar does not equal valuing race over talent.

Social media is never a great place to have discussions about race and culture. The real issues at hand are way too nuanced and detailed for outrage factories like X/Twitter and Instagram to handle.

Still, I was disappointed to see so many people – perhaps willfully – missing the point online when discussion rose after the Oscars about Lily Gladstone failing to win best actress honors.

No doubt, a win for Gladstone – who would have been the first Native American woman to earn a major acting Oscar – also would have felt like a serious triumph for champions touting the power of diversity in film.

Feeling the love big time today, especially from Indian Country. Kittō”kuniikaakomimmō”po’waw - seriously, I love you all ❤️ (Better believe when I was leaving the Dolby Theater and walked passed the big Oscar statue I gave that golden booty a little Coup tap - Count: one 😉)

— Lily Gladstone (@lily_gladstone) March 12, 2024

Those of us who clock these things regularly knew that Emma Stone’s turn in Poor Things was most likely to spoil that scenario. Stone offered a showy-yet-accomplished performance as a singular character in an ambitious, creatively weird production. A much-loved past winner delivering a career-best effort, she was just the kind of nominee that Oscar loves to reward. And, as Vulture pointed out, modern Oscar voters seem to enjoy turning against expectations in big moments like this.

But when I expressed those feelings online – that Stone was marvelous and more than earned the award, but the Oscar academy really missed a chance to make history by overlooking Gladstone’s more subtle, quietly powerful turn in a better movie – the knives came out.

The gist of most negative reactions was the implication that I and others lamenting her loss were insisting that ethnicity should trump talent. As if the only or most important reason that an indigenous woman could be nominated for such a lofty award, is by people trying to bring social justice to the Oscars. (I guess Gladstone’s wins as best actress at the Golden Globes and Screen Actors Guild awards, among others, were also nods to diversity?)

As if it couldn’t be possible that perhaps -- just perhaps -- some racial cultural preferences were mixed up in Oscar voters’ attraction to the story of a beautiful, young white woman who has loads of sex while learning to define herself in a male dominated world.

What really disappointed me, however, was reading an analysis which reached all the way back to the 2017 Oscars to imply that one reason Barry Jenkins’ masterpiece Moonlight won best picture honors over La La Land was the pressure to bring social justice to the Oscars.

Talk about missing the point by a mile. What I’m driving at, when I advocate for contenders like Gladstone, Barry Jenkins and Jeffrey Wright, isn’t a finger on the scale to make up for past exclusion.

It’s a plea for Oscar voters to see these performances the way I and so many other people actually see them.

I still remember watching last year’s version of The Color Purple in a screening alongside lots of folks from Black fraternity and sorority organizations. And when the moment arrived where Danielle Brooks’ character intoned about her husband, “I loves Harpo — God knows I do — but I’ll kill him dead before I let him or anybody beat me,” it felt like the whole theater said those words with her. That’s how iconic those lines -- first spoken on film by Oprah Winfrey in the 1985 production – have become for Black America.

That same feeling came after I first saw Cord Jefferson’s brilliant American Fiction, centered on a frustrated, floundering Black writer who creates a stereotypical parody of a Black novel as a dark joke, only to see it become a best seller. I felt as if Jefferson had pulled the same bait-and-switch with his movie that his lead character managed onscreen – using the outrageous premise to draw us all into a more subtle and deliberately powerful story of a Black man struggling to connect with his family after huge losses.

I needed three attempts to get through watching all of Gladstone’s work in Killers of the Flower Moon. Not because the movie was so long I had to “get my mail forwarded to the theater,” like Oscars host Jimmy Kimmel joked. But because it was so hard for me to watch a film centered on the historic exploitation and murder of Native American people by white men.

It sounds like a simple idea, but it’s worth repeating: evocative moments in films will speak differently to different people.

Sometimes, when I’m pushing for a win in an awards category, or championing a particular project, it’s not because I’m putting a finger on the scale for the sake of equality. It’s because I’m more invested in that story than some others because of who I am. And I’m challenging some people, who might not see their cultural preferences as preferences, to consider exactly why they love one thing over another.

In many ways, it is sad to see great artists pitted against each other in these contests. Comparing the delightful, dangerous absurdity of Poor Things to the gritty, punishing tone in Killers of the Flower Moon feels like a fool’s errand, anyway.

But with so much that comes from an Oscar win – including proof that inclusion brings success, accolades and a great argument for more equity – it is important to understand why some people value some performances.

And part of living in a diverse society means valuing the wide range of opinions and reactions, not shrugging off those that don’t fit your worldview.

#oscars #gladstone #movies #racism #tv #Youtube

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Elijah Discouraged and Restored (1 Kings 19:1-16)

It is little wonder that Jezebel was furious, when she learned from Ahab of the slaughter of her priests. She vowed vengeance upon Elijah. “May the gods also kill me if by this time tomorrow I have failed to take your life like those whom you killed!” It was a trying hour for Elijah, and for once he flinched.

“So you intend to be a reformer, young man?” asked an old peer of young Wilberforce. “That is the end of reformers,” he continued, pointing to a picture of Jesus on His cross. Those who would contend with error must always expect opposition, possibly persecution, possibly death! To be a bold confessor anywhere is to face enmity, sneers, reproach. Even Christian boys at school or at work will ofttimes have to endure petty persecutions if they remain true to their Master.

We have been accustomed to think of Elijah as a man who would flinch before nothing. But we are disappointed this time in our man. “Elijah was afraid and fled for his life!” Possibly he did right, We are not required always to face danger. There are times when it would be foolhardy to do so, when we would only be throwing away our life. Jesus said to His disciples, “When they persecute you in this city flee into the next.” On several occasions, in the earlier days of His ministry, Jesus Himself withdrew from danger, because His hour had not yet come. There are times, of course, when we must stand and not flee. At the last, when His hour had come, Jesus made no effort to escape from His enemies but quietly yielded Himself into their hands. There are times in every life when to flee from danger would be cowardice and treason to the Master. But we have no right to sacrifice our life unless it be clearly in obedience to the divine call. We cannot blame Elijah, therefore, for fleeing from the wrath of Jezebel.

In what followed, however, we cannot defend the prophet. Not only did he flee but he became panic - stricken. “Then he went on alone into the desert, traveling all day. He sat down under a solitary broom tree and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, LORD,” he said. “Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors!” He was in a state of sad despondency. It was not fright that produced this condition of mind it was discouragement. It seemed to him that all he had done, all the struggle at Mount Carmel, had come to nothing. There are few things we need to guard against more carefully, than discouragement. When once we allow ourselves to come under its influence, we are made weak. Our hope and courage fail.

In every line of life we find discouraged people, and the discouragement takes away much of their power for work. It surely is a sad picture this greatest and bravest of all the old prophets, lying there under a little bush in the wilderness, begging to die!

There are many other illustrations of similar experience in godly men. John the Baptist, lying in prison in the castle of Machaerus, began to question whether, after all, Jesus, whom he had baptized and upon whom he had seen the Spirit descending, was indeed the promised Messiah. Luther, another Elijah in his bravery before rulers, once became so depressed that all joy left him. It is said that one morning, when he was in this mood, his wife came down to breakfast dressed in deep mourning. Luther looked up in amazement, and said, “Who is dead?” His wife answered: “Why, do you not know? God is dead.” He reproved her for her words. “How can God die? He is eternal.” “Yet,” she replied, “from the way you are cast down one would think God must be dead.” Then Luther saw what a wise woman his wife was, and mastered his mood.

Elijah was a man of prayer. He is mentioned in the Epistle of James as an example of a righteous man, whose supplication availed much in its working. Here, however, his prayer for death was not answered. It was well for Elijah, too, that the prayer was not answered. If he had died there what an inglorious ending of life it would have been! As it was, however, he lived to do further glorious work, to see great results, and instead of dying in the wilderness, missed death altogether.

It is never right to wish ourselves dead. People are sometimes heard expressing such a wish but it is always wrong. Life is God’s gift to us, a sacred trust for which we shall have to give account. As long as God keeps us living He has something for us to do. Our prayers should be for grace to bear our burden and do our duty bravely unto the end.

Any discouraging experience, and the things we think have failed us may cast down into despondency. But the things we think have failed us are often only slowly ripening into rich success. Thus the night of discouragement passes away and the day of blessing follows. We have but to be faithful and to wait and in the end we shall always rejoice.

It was only a little bush under which Elijah crept, and its shadow furnished but scant protection from the heat. Yet a blessing came to him there. He slept. “He gives His beloved sleep ,” writes the psalmist. Sleep is a wonderful blessing. God hides us away in the darkness, and while we sleep, he brings gifts of life to us. He fills up again the wasted fountains of life, and we rise in the morning renewed and strong, ready for new service.

It was only a little juniper bush under which the prophet slept that day. There is another tree under which God’s discouraged ones may find real and true comfort the tree of Calvary. Angels come there, too, with their sweet refreshment and gentle ministry. There food is furnished to satisfy the soul’s deepest craving. There all blessings of mercy and grace are dispensed. A story is told of one who fled from a gathering storm, taking refuge under a great tree. He was both hungry and thirsty. On the tree he found fruit for his hunger, at the tree’s roots a spring of water gushed out, and there he quenched his thirst. Just so, under the cross we find not only shelter but also food and drink. When we are in any trouble we should go and sit down in the shadow of the cross of Christ, and we will find there all we need of divine comfort and help.

When he had slept for a time, an angel came and touched him, and bade him arise and eat. Here, again, we see God’s loving gentleness. First, sleep, with its refreshment; then food. God did not cast off His servant because he was so discouraged and depressed. He followed him in his flight and kept watch over him all the way. There is great comfort in this fact for us. God is very patient with us in our weakness and failure. He gave Elijah sleep, and then food, until his exhausted nature was refreshed. Very much spiritual depression is caused by the condition of the body. Ofttimes the best cure for despondency, is sleep and food until the nerves are quiet and the body is restored to healthy conditions.

The prophet was strengthened, and “went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights.” When we have long journeys to take, God prepares us for them. When hard experiences lie before us, we are divinely fitted for meeting them. Whenever God sends us on any journey, into whatever desert it may be He will make provision that we faint not by the way. Many people whose lot in life is hard go through the days with cheerful, songful spirit because every morning, in prayer, God gives them food which makes them strong for the journey. Those who feed upon the Word of God are strengthened for the journey of life.

While Elijah was in the cave in the mountain, God came to him. This was still part of his work of restoration. Elijah was discouraged, and God would bring him back to his usual gladness and hope. He came to him in the stillness and asked him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” When we find our friends in great sorrow, the best thing we can do for them ofttimes is to give them an opportunity to open their hearts. That was what God did here He asked this question that Elijah might unburden himself. Of course, God knew all about Elijah’s discouragement; but it did the prophet good to tell it. We need never be afraid to open our heart to God, telling Him every anxiety, every care. He understands, and will never chide us. It will do us good to speak freely to Him, even if our fears are only imaginary.

Elijah had thought that he was alone in his loyalty and courage in standing for the Lord. He had thought himself the only loyal follower of Jehovah. No other one had had courage to come out and make himself known that day on Mount Carmel. This made it all the harder for Elijah. It is easy to fight in company with other men but to face the enemy alone, is the sublimest test of a soldier’s courage. The real test of a Christian life is not in church services, nor in a Christian home but where the believer must stand by himself. The young man who finds himself the only Christian clerk in the bank or the office, may find his duty hard. But this should only inspire him with fresh courage and strength. He is the only one Christ has in that place, and he dare not fail. Suppose Elijah had not stood for God that day, had flinched and fled, what would have been the consequence? We never know what may depend on our standing loyally and faithfully at our post, even in lowliest places.

The Lord continued to comfort His servant. He did it now in a wonderful parable in nature. A great wind tore the mountains but the Lord was not in the wind. An earthquake followed but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there was a fire but the Lord was not in the fire. “And after the fire a still small voice,” a sound of gentle stillness and that was God. Elijah had been discouraged by the failure of the startling work at Carmel, that it had not altogether crushed Baalism. The Lord shows him that noise is not the most stupendous quality of power, that it is not noise which makes the deepest impression. God works silently, without noise. It is the silent things, the unconscious influences of our lives, that make the deepest and most lasting impressions, and not the things which get advertised in the papers. Jesus was “a still small voice” in this world. He made no noise He did not strive nor cry out, neither was His voice heard in the streets. He did not break a bruised reed, so gentle was He in His movements. Yet that one sweet, quiet life, pouring forth its spirit of love, wrought more than has been wrought by all the armies of conquerors since the world began.

The Lord then sent Elijah on to other duties. “Go back the way you came, and go to the Desert of Damascus. When you get there, anoint Hazael king over Aram. Also, anoint Jehu son of Nimshi king over Israel, and anoint Elisha son of Shaphat to succeed you as prophet.” Elijah was thus assured that other men in their turn would come upon the field, each one doing his part for the destruction of this terrible system of idolatry. No man’s work is complete in itself. Elijah did a part, and then Hazael and Jehu and Elisha, each coming in turn, did a part, until the destruction of Baalism was completed. All we have to do is the little fragment of duty which God gives to us. Others have gone before us and have done a part. Others will come after us and do another part. If we simply do our little portion in our own day we shall please God and bless the world.

[prettyhighforawhiteguyblog]

McNabb didn't "choke" in the Superbowl. And give Andy a break about mismanaging the clock when he did everything else he possibly could to coach the Avengers into nearly defeating Thanos without any deus ex machina bull shit.

Just pure gumption and genius coaching. But nothing beats Brady and Bellichek when Gronk and Brady are in sync. Even as a fucking AARP member with the fucking Tampa Bay Rays he's still formidable and a regular contender for the Superbowl today.

In the 90's The trio was an unstoppable force that just plowed up and down the field and every possession ended in a TD.

The 2004 Eagles kept up with Brady.

And that hall of fame defense fucked him up like the spirit of Reggie White possessed them. They made him cry and throw a tantrum and got dirt on his uniform. And turf in his face mask. Hitting and hurrying Brady almost every down against the very best offensive line money and guaranteed Superbowl rings can buy.

And fucking Brady just got even better.

And yet. And yet with Terrell Owens on a broken leg playing half speed yet doing outrageous plays and a nervous McNabb playing extremely competently using his legs and working well with Westbrook doing his magic and Owens showboating, Andy Reid almost did it. He almost got his offense to keep up with Brady and slow Brady down enough to give Donovan a chance to win.

But McNab let the pressure get to him at the end and stopped having fun. And began to hesitate and second guess instead of just instinctively having fun and playing at his usual superhuman level.

He just got nervous. Probably for the first time in his life. A real chance to beat Brady! And win the Superbowl for Philly at last! With his favorite teammates and coach Andy Reid! (Andy Reid is what Joe Paterno pretended to be.)

Donovan McNabb got nervous because only Tom Brady wouldn't get nervous at the thought of facing Brady let alone hoping to beat him in the Superbowl when he was playing top of his game. So Donovan "choked" and made some shit plays at the end there. But up till then he had danced up and down the field vs the Patriots defense and kept up with Brady blow for blow. McNabb was beautiful that day.

Andy Reid was on his game too and against all odds almost lead the Avengers to victory against Brady.

But Brady and Bellicheck with Gronk on his game is absolutely invincible. Just an unstoppable force where you are hoping for a failed 1st down run and and short second to make for a long third and then some kind of miracle stop or on third and long. The best defense was to try and draw fouls. Because you can't stop the guy. You just have to slow him down and hope for one or pray for two bad throws this 3rd down.

Like, third and thirty five was difficult but doable most possessions.

Eagles actually hit that smug father fucker a whole bunch on his way up and down the field. It didn't stop him. But it was hella fun to watch as my team almost beat Brady in his prime, but nothing could ever beat Brady in his prime. Even on his bad days he was nothing short of perfect and intelligent and creative and instinctual that borders on godlike.

I hate his guts and I just don't know why. He seems hella nice. He's too good looking and dates a model but good for him on all of that. I'm happy to see decent guys win the lottery. But I still don't like him. Such is life. I wish him well in everything but football. Get sacked Brady.

But yeah, no body, no matter how well prepared, trained and superhuman can be perfect for the entire Superbowl. You are going to lose some possessions without having scored.

The Eagles were a true Super Bowl team. Any other decade they would have won any Super Bowl against any team outside of the 2000's Patriots. They made every offensive line in the NFL look silly and picked off future hall of famers every other down.

The Lombardi Trophy belonged to Brady back then. Pure and simple. It was just who is going to lose spectacularly in the Super Bowl after playing big fish in a small pond till now.

Eagles almost beat Brady in his prime, but nothing can keep up with a demigod.

I submit that the 2004 Eagles were a feat of genius by Andy

He was able to cobble together a really good team around his star QB and other key players who are all hall of famers now. And I don't know how he snatched up Owens. Owens was amazing. He just had a big mouth and was a showboat. He backed up every boast too and made the greatest future hall of famer DBs miss every single time. And everyone loved it. Except the fucking racist NFL.

Andy managed to cobble together this amazing 2004 Eagles team and got them working together even though they didn't like each other at first and help them run together so well that he almost took this army of reject NFL superheroes up against Thanos and won.

He had a Lawful Good Deadpool instead of Captain America leading the charge. And Neutral Good Don't Give A Fuck Decent Guy Deadpool With a sharpie up his sleeve carving up the captains of Thanos. And Mysteriously unknown preternatural undersized Black Panther Westbrook conducting acrobatic feats y'all wouldn't believe today. Even still that man's shit was like watching Black Panther dance around dealing broken ankles and first downs out of third and long every time McNabb got in trouble.

Even the Avengers can't beat 2000s Brady.

Give McNabb and Andy Reid their due respect. They almost did the impossible together. Don't give them such trash about minor little lapses in perfection. You aren't the God of Noah.

You are an Eagles Fan! And you cheered through fucking Buddy Ryan's bullshit. Andy Reid and McNabb almost took down Brady in his prime! You should celebrate that team!

#ph4wg #ph4wg original #2004 Eagles #Donovan McNabb #Terrell Owens #Brian Westbrook #Andy Reid #The only Superbowl where the Eagles weren't robbed by the refs #Nobody can beat Brady #fuck Tom Brady #Tom Brady is the GOAT #Why God? #Nobody can be Brady #Except Eli Manning #snort #Archies goofball son beat Brady with the fucking New York Giants and Michael Strahan #google eli manning at the beach #THAT guy beat Brady looking like that #i think I'm always mad at myself because i compare myself to the Bradys of this world when I'm just a Terrell Owens #when you compare yourself to perfection you are going to need therapy #when you are measuring how much closer to Brady level you are #how far you still have to go #instead of concentrating on how far you've come #life is about growth and change #life is not about perfection or attempting to get closer to it #that's what's fucking us up #grading everything and everyone against perfect

[silentprincess17]

Sometimes better is only an illusion

Chapter 6: You can never catch a break

Sequel to Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

Chapter 6 summary: Link and Zelda make their way through Goron City, and make haste towards the castle. But even the best of plans can sometimes fail.

Overall fic summary: Link and Zelda have escaped the horrors of the Yiga Clan Hideout, finally reaching a point of safety. Or so they think. After all, destiny is perhaps the bigger warrior to contend with than blood-thirsty assassins, and something darker lies underneath the veneer of normality regarding the Queen’s death. Join our duo as they try to pick up the pieces, seek answers and revenge all whilst trying to fulfil the roles fate has prescribed them.

Chapter 6 Preview:

The Lynel screamed, and burst out into flames, moving to raise its crusher in what Link knew would be a smash against the ground creating a tidal wave of fire, so he backflipped, switching to bow and arrow, for another arrow in the face, and another round of backslashes. 

He spared a quick glance towards the other two– both of them had their heads raised in his direction and that meant he had only a few seconds left before who knew what type of elemental arrow would rain down on him. 

His hands were slick with sweat, his heart rate thundered in his chest and blood rushed to his ears. 

Link had never fought three Lynels at once. 

#zelink #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #zelda #link #zelink fanfiction #zelink fanfic #silent writes #sometimes better is only an illusion

[anchanted-one]

Legend of Lightning Chapter 65 - Lady Kai Arrives

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/115300393

Flanked by her most trusted confidants and bodyguards—and Quinn, who she didn’t fully trust yet—Lady Kairegane Rooks marched to her banquet hall. The doors, which were more than tall enough to let even her through, towered over most humanoids in the room.

“Greetings, my little guests!” Kai called in a singsong voice. “And thank you for accepting my invitation!”

The crowd stood up and cheered raucously. Cries of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARTH KAIMERYN!” poured in from all around.

“Thank you, thank you! And I can see you’ve already started the party without me. As you should, of course. Someone has to screen my spread for poisons.”

There was more laughter all around. Most Sith took measures against poisons. The only way a Sith fell to poison was if they were already dead or dying.

“How long has it been, since we’ve all been together like this?” she asked around. “All of the most powerful Sith in the Empire, all gathered in the same room?”

“Fifteen years,” answered the black-scaled Subutarik Kaygir. The Tayirchids were the only other alien nobles in the room. Few of them were allowed to join ranks of High Nobility. “Not since we gathered to say farewell to your mother. Truth be told, I never expected to see you escape Angral’s grubby clutches.”

“Yet here I am,” she grinned. “And Angral failed to even answer my challenge.”

“Good. It would have been a waste to see the Dracogriff Legions rot under that parasite’s inept rule.”

“You were willing to throw your armies against that man’s holdings?” Lady Svana Tartarid asked snootily. “They’ve still not recovered from the war.”

“My lady would have torn him apart, limb from limb,” Ryuga boasted. “He’s lucky he only had to contend with a half-grown Jedi brat.”

“That Jedi ‘brat’ killed twenty-five Sith warriors,” Kai reminded him. “Most of who were elite combatants. I daresay he might even give me a hard time.”

“There’s a monster in him,” Jaesa whispered with an unimaginably frightened look on her face. “He’s going to be pure evil one day. Just mark my words!”

“Noted. But we’re all monsters here, aren’t we, chaps? Come, my dear friends. Set your arses down anywhere you like!”

While they had started the party, they had respectfully left the head table empty until she arrived. Thank goodness for this modicum of decorum!

The younger nobles remained on the ballroom floor with the servants and escorts, but the seniors and their adjutants took their places.

Kai sat at the head and greeted all of her guests in turn, starting from her left. “Lord Titus and Ladies Octavia and Lucia of House Vergil.” The human male nodded coldly. “Try not to chill my table. Most of this food is meant to be devoured hot.”

“You alone make up for it, Kai,” Lucia assured her. “If anything, you should thank my uncle for keeping your food from spontaneously combusting.”

Kai grinned. The younger woman seemed to be aiming for a girth to match Baras’ one day, but so long as she kept her wit, few would ever complain.

“Lords Philippon, Apollodorus, and Ajax Tekton. I heard about how you crushed the revolt on Mellca V. Bravo!”

Ajax glowered, unwilling to speak, but his Pureblood brothers more than made up for it with their loud boasts.

“Ladies Svarta and Svana Tartarid. I’ve heard about the recent problems you’ve been facing. I trust that the relief I sent has started to reach your territory?”

“It has,” Svana smiled unwillingly. “My husband has already started to oversee the distribution of water and food.” She snorted. “To think you sent premium foods as relief. You always were an odd one!”

“Like your mum always taught us, nothing’s too expensive if the enemy’s paying for it, right? It’s so nice that you could make it all the way out here.”

“It’s not often that one of our number is allowed a Darth title,” Svarta pointed out. “The Council are too worried about our power even without it. Who in their right mind would ignore your summons?”

The refined woman had touched upon the reason why Kai had called them here, but she needed to acknowledge her final guests before getting to it.

“And finally, my rivals and friends, the Hagans of Kaygiri. Subutarik. Nongkye. Kushlaruk. Esulun. And Hochi. I hear your raids into savage territories went very well, even outnumbered fifty to one.”

Hochi’s fingers wove his reply. <What else do you expect? The Kaygiri are Lords of Death. A hundred to one? A thousand? It makes no difference. We will always crush our enemies.>

The Tayirchid’s overconfidence made Kai smirk. “Sure. I’ll bet your sister thought the same thing when she attacked then-Padawan Satele Shan.”

The Kaygiri’s countenance darkened. Except for Subutarik, of course, who was always as cool-headed as he was cold-blooded. The black-scaled Tayirchid picked up a fistful of fried fish and cheese nuggets and plopped them into his mouth. He somehow managed to make his chewing look messy, yet dignified at the same time. “Point conceded, Darth Kaimeryn. We will avenge our humiliation someday.”

“I wonder about that. The Grand Master has gone quite hands-off lately. It will take quite a lure to bring her out of hiding.”

“I already have just the thing. Two of several plots I’ve been nurturing for a decade now. The Grand Master will step out of the rear in a few months. She will have no choice.” He smacked his lips. “I would like the recipe for this after the feast. It makes for an excellent snack.”

“Well, is it time we got to business yet?” Lord Titus asked in his windy whisper of a voice. “What have you called us here for? You’re not the type to brag about your shiny new title.”

“Uncle Titus…” Lucia tried  and failed to stop him.

“We all know it, don’t we? Lady Kai… forgive me, Darth Kai—is always looking for her next mountain to scale. So what is it this time? Do you have a war game planned? Do you want to propose a contest with the Dark Council itself? Or perhaps you want to smash your horns against the Emperor himself?”

Kai rubbed one of her black horns idly. “Well,” she smiled. “You know me too well!”

“Anyone who’s known you for half an hour would know your love of contests,” Subutarik pointed out. “While you do enjoy your parties, it’s only with the common folk. But we are not them.”

“Hmmm…” Kai smiled thoughtfully. “Do I really want to lay it all out before we even have the main course out? Alright then. Consider this a challenge. I have proven that it’s possible for one of our number to earn the Darth mantle. If we prove our strength on a grand scale, not even the Dark Council would stop us.”

“Easy for you to say,” Svana huffed. “You and your family are the epitome of warriors. Even Mandalorians see you as their betters. And even among your house, you are the only Darth in centuries. Do you have any idea how rare you are?”

“I do, actually. I’m one of a kind, even in this beautiful, wide galaxy.” She took a sip from her goblet. “I am powerful, beautiful, and charming beyond most measures. I’m quite intelligent too. And I learn so quickly… I’ve conquered so many of the challenges headed my way, so easily, that I’m starting to feel bored of it all. Power is nothing if you cannot find a good rival to test yourself. To push you to your limits and beyond. I want to feel compelled to pull out every last stop. I want a fight that leaves me sucking wind and bleeding, where I win by such an infinitesimally small margin that it’s unclear if I even won at all! I demand the feeling that I’ve lived. And you lot are my best chance at getting my wish. Prove your strength, then come and face me. Anyone who can give me a good fight gets the biggest prize I have to offer. My hand in marriage.” She looked around. “Or at least, I think that’s a good prize, given how many proposals I turn down on a daily basis.”

“I admit I’m tempted,” Kushlaruk grinned. “I have sent you my own proposals several times now.”

“Win my gratitude, and you win my hand. I will not marry someone I can just push over.”

“Do you really think it’s that easy?” Svarta whined, echoing her sister. “Now that you’re a Darth, the Council will be watching us closely. They’ll be worried that we’re getting ideas.”

Ajax raised his own objection. “There’s a reason there’s so few High Noble families. There were hundreds, once. But the Emperor killed so many for raising our eyes too high. And the Dark Council killed the others.”

“It is our duty to manage our fiefdoms,” Esulun growled. “To raise the crops and herds. To keep the gold flowing and uphold the laws. To put down all threats to the Empire’s supremacy that rise up within our borders. Some of us have been deeply uneasy with your path for years. With you meteoric rise through the ranks. And now, you’ve taken over Angral’s entire domain? You even have a mansion on Dromund Kaas! None of us have been allowed to hold land on the capital before! You’re now close enough to influence the powers-that-be, so they have to be sweating bullets.”

“It’s not like I planned it,” Kai snorted. “Angral was playing rough, and the dozen or so complaints I put in with the Council were summarily ignored. They left me with no choice. I had to show them that I was no lamb. And even then, that greedy little buímuc couldn’t help himself. And when I issued him a public challenge, he failed to respond. If the Council didn’t want me claiming power beyond my station, they should have just done their jobs.”

“Even so, the fact that they couldn’t challenge you must be a troubling weight on their minds,” Philippon argued. “They have to be afraid that they’re losing their grip on us. They will not stand idly by as we follow your example.”

Svanta nodded furiously. “That’s right, that’s right! And who, pray tell, would protect us as we gathered our strength?”

“You’re a Sith,” Subotarik sighed. “In asking for protection, you have already revealed your weakness.”

Both Tartarids shrank back. It was privileged knowledge that their star was on the decline. If any great Sith had made a move on them instead of Kai, they’d have been swallowed up whole. The only reason Angral hadn’t looked their way twice was because they were—by his sole estimation—uncomely.

All they really had going for them was their monopoly of the Imperial markets. But what was wealth to a Sith? The important ones, at least. Most of them had enough personal wealth to build a Citadel-sized Mountain of gold.

“Darth Kai makes a very fine point,” Subotarik went on. “The way forward is now open. I don’t care which Dark Councillor stands in my way, or all of them. I will show the Empire my strength, and no one will stop me claiming the same honor as her. In fact, why don’t I just start right now?” He gave her a grin. “I do not seek your hand in marriage, but I will be glad to fight you after I’m done. As thanks for breaking the glass ceiling. Follow me if you please, my brothers. Or stay and have your fill. But once you return to Khamag Tayir, you will see an intensifying training regimen. We aim for the greatest prize; Master Satele herself.”

Once he and his bodyguards left, Kai turned an expectant grin on the others.

“I do not live for your games, Kai,” Titus shook his head. “I have a duty to my Emperor. The duty he gave me. Everything else is secondary. Congratulations on making Darth.”

Lucia held his hand as he, too, made to leave. “Can we at least finish eating first?” she begged, and Titus sat back down with a sigh.

The Tektons began arguing amongst themselves, more drawn by her offer of marriage than any wish to take a Darth title. Kai almost chuckled when she heard Apollodorus suggest they all three of them marry her, but Ajax shot that idea down, his expression disdainful.

As Kai watched the nobles arguing the merits of her challenge—or simply return to eating. Around them, the rest of her guests made merry. Seventeen-year-old Prokrustes Tekton challenged thirteen-year-old Markus Vergil to a friendly duel. They were of the same size, so the match would be fairly even.

A girl from a cadet branch of the Kaygir had gotten so drunk that she was singing rude battle songs at the top of her lungs. Several younger children started a food fight.

Such minimal hatreds! Kairegane approved.

The High Nobility were different from most Sith. Where the others fought for scraps of power, prestige, wealth, and influence, the five families already had all. The catch was, they weren’t allowed to seek more. Every fight they had gotten involved in, since the rise of Naga Sadow, had seen them gain little more than souvenirs and praise.

And while many of her own ancestors had been content simply to be allowed to fight, their spent resources were never repaid.

Herself, for example: she led a much-depleted army when compared to her mother, Riy’avi. Hundreds of thousands had been killed in the many pitched campaigns of the Great Galactic War. Most of the Muinar were unhorned. Meaning, they were too slow to fight. Horned Muinar were quite rare, and required years of training to be worthy of the Dracogriff Legions. There had not been enough births in the past sixteen years to replenish their numbers.

There was only one reason why so few Sith had dared test her strength during her minority. And that was the unity among the High Nobles. Not only were they enticing targets, they were also isolated from the power structure. Which was why the families always stood together.

Subutarik Kaygir and Titus Vergil had done much to protect her lands for her in the early days, and Svarta’s predecessor, Avarte, had taken young Kai under her wing, teaching her everything she needed to govern her lands effectively.

And since growing up, she had begun to return their kindness. But as a Darth, she could offer even greater protection to her comrades than ever before. And she intended to. That’s what friends do. And no matter what some people might think, the Five families are certainly friends. We stand together or fall alone.

Riya approached her silently as she mused. Kai accepted the commlink in her hand, and the Kage slunk back into the shadows.

She hit ‘Receive’ and waited for the call to connect.

A human woman appeared on the other end. The only distinguishable article she wore was a wide, teasing smile. Her eyes were almost slits.

“This is Lady Kairegane Rooks. Darth Kaimeryn now, I suppose.”

“Congratulations on your promotion, Dark Lord,” the woman bowed. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

“That depends. If it’s bad news, I’m gonna have to ask you to spank yourself for me.”

Her caller chuckled. “Oh, fun! I’m told I have quite a spanking arm. I’m Cipher Nine.”

“Ah, a Cipher. Honored to meet one of you before.”

“I was told you wanted this news as soon as I had it,” she went on. “Jedi Vajra Devarath has received your present. Some of his elders aren’t happy, but he’s started wearing the medallion already. The swords have been placed in his cabin. I believe he means to transport it to Alderaan, where the Queen rewarded his service with a home.”

“Ah, good, good. It’s been months since I sent in that request. Is he that hard to track?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge any more details without Darth Marr’s permission.”

“I see.” Marr was a problem. He was one of the few Councillors who wasn’t intimidated by her.

“What I can tell you, is that he didn’t take any time deciding at all. Just read your letter and accepted your presents for what they were.”

“And how long ago was this?”

“Forty minutes, I think? Hasn’t been long.”

Kai almost shouted. “Wait, what? Why has it taken this long for him to—” she stopped when the agent shook her head. She couldn’t say. “It wasn’t the Jedi Council, was it? Did they keep it from him?”

“No.”

“He wasn’t offworld? Deployed on a mission somewhere?”

“No.”

“Was he wounded then?”

“No.”

“Really? This is quite a riddle.”

“If ever I’m allowed to divulge my findings, I’ll be sure to tell you first, Dark Lord.”

“Ah. Good woman!”

“This is just my opinion, but I think he understood the true meaning of your gift. Whatever that might be. He certainly treated it like there was a hidden layer.”

“That’s good. Very good! Thank you, Agent. If you’re ever on Kouhaush Muin, please stop by. I’ll show you around town!”

Her smile grew even wider. “I’ll be looking forward to it!”

Kai stared into the space long after the holo had vanished. If the spy was right, Devarath had accepted her challenge. Kai tried a smile as wide as Nine’s. “Looks like I’ve secured myself a rival. I wonder what he’s doing right now?”

*

Vajra shifted to move one of his arms into a more comfortable position. Darth Kaimeryn’s token had caused some stir among the senior Knights and Masters, so he’d had to wear it more discreetly.

Doctor Row sat before him, looking through her notes on his journal.

“So, you still feel responsible for Uphrades?”

“If only I’d gotten there sooner. If only I’d thought to protect them—”

“Tell me more about it. Why do you feel solely responsible?”

“Because it was my home.”

“But why solely you? Many people—powerful people—relied on Uphrades too. It provided a lot of the capital’s food. They had a vested interest in keeping it protected. An obligation. I believe the ones who were formally charged with its defense was the 871st fleet.”

Vajra felt agitated. She did not understand!

“Why was I still on Alderaan, when I could have left a week earlier?” he asked. “Why did I not head over to Uphrades the second Kira defeated Ulgo? Why didn’t I Sense the danger sooner? Why did I only Sense it when the hour was nigh?”

“Even Masters of the Council couldn’t do that. Not one of them foresaw the Sacking of Coruscant, an event which—and I’m sorry to put it this way—the casualties were many times higher than Uphrades.”

Vajra fought the impulse to glare.

“I’m not saying their lives are more valuable. What I’m saying is that even that wasn’t enough to trigger a precognition among the Jedi. And that’s not even talking about what Tarnis almost accomplished… it’s true that this was averted… by you,” she added that last bit softly, “But still, the danger alone should have been enough, no? All it did was make the Council nervous for a few months. There was never a concrete episode involving precognition. Those are far too rare.” She looked at another note. “And then there’s the other extreme. Have you heard of the Taris Padawan Massacre? A Miraluka Master named Q’Anilia had a vision that one of their Padawans would nearly wipe out the Jedi. And so, she and her fellow Masters massacred all but one of their Apprentices and hounded the survivor. His name was Zayne, Zayne Carrick. And the irony was that their actions changed nothing. Revan and Malak turned to the Dark Side anyway, along with most of their followers that survived the war. They almost destroyed the Order.”

“This part I know,” Vajra said.

“Yes. Revan and Malak left quite a mess behind. Nary a thought given to actually cleaning up afterwards. Five full Jedi Masters, and not one of them capable of realizing they made a grave mistake. It’s why Master Raya enshrined a law decreeing that no action may be taken solely on visions alone. It’s a law the Council follows to this day. So you see, even most Masters admit that Foresight is an unreliable gift.”

Vajra scowled, looking at the Force through his third eye. The many eddies and storms in the flows of the Force made themselves known to him.

Causality, interconnection, omniscience. The Force had it all. He, like most other Jedi, could see its existence. All he couldn’t do—hadn’t tried to do—was to learn how to see what it could show them.

I could have done it, he thought. If I’d trained myself to see through the currents. Why did I bother with the Lightsaber? The Sight is what I should have focused on! In his pocket, the last Keleth stone pulsed, and he had to swallow the irrational desire to chuck it in the trash.

“What would Uupa have said, if she knew your plight?”

Vajra sat up. “She… she’d have told me help out the other villagers if I had time to waste on ruminating.”

“Is that all? She was a woman who loved giving people a piece of her mind.”

“She’d have told me to get off my high horse. That one man can’t change anything alone.”

“See? There you go!”

“Of course, I was too obedient when I was in her care. Pliant, reverent of my elders. Today, I’d remind her that one man really can change a lot. Aparajitha stopped Bellicose alone, and spared the galaxy any more of his depredations.”

“And what about all of your own one-man-army accomplishments? Tython, Coruscant, Taris, Alderaan, Angral?”

“Those hadn’t happened when I knew her.”

“Oh, right.” She gave him a look. “Have you talked about her much? Since she died, I mean? It sounds like you might have a lot you want to tell her.”

Vajra felt a deep sense of loss, all of a sudden. It had been a while indeed, since he’d last thought of his Master. Had he really just dropped her like a used toy? After everything she’d done for him? Sure, she may have sought to ground him rather than train him to be a warrior, but that was no excuse for him to have not even spared her a few moments for remembrance each day!

When’s the last time I really thought about her?

He started to feel very, very cold. “I—”

“It’s not very nice, is it? It’s alright. Most people your age might carry some form of resentment against someone who they perceived as holding them back.”

“It’s been so long,” Vajra said in a small voice. “Since I last bothered to think about her.”

“Ahhh… I see. So that’s where we are, are we? It’s unexpected, but not surprising.”

“Why did I forget about her?”

“Try to think about how much you had going on inside your head all these months. Is it really surprising?”

“It is! After everything she did for me—”

“Let’s start with that. Close your eyes. Try to center yourself. Reach out to your Lightsaber crystal. Listen to its song. Let it fill your soul.” She gave him around a minute before continuing. “What is your earliest memory of your Master? Do you remember how you met her?”

“I met her in Jnanaprastha, one of the major cities of Raudraksha. I was in poor shape. I don’t remember the city at all, or the people in it. Master later told me that they all had felt great compassion for me, that I’d had no shortage of families petitioning to adopt me. One of these, a woman named Sukanya, had been charged to protect me that day. She was already treating me as one of her own, but I don’t remember her at all.”

“And do you feel guilty about that?”

Vajra thought about it. “Yes. From what I heard, she had already begun to love me like a mother. The least I could do is remember. But every face from that day is blurred and cloudy, except for my Master’s.”

“How well do you remember your own mother?”

“Quite well. Her name was Anagha. I also remember Shruti and Jamuna.”

“Who were they?”

“My second mothers. My father’s other wives.”

“Oh, right. I’d forgotten that Raudra are polygamous.”

“Yes. It wasn’t uncommon for Raudra men marry ten women. My tribe elder, the one who killed Bellicose… he had fourteen wives.”

“I can’t imagine having to provide for so many mouths. Imagine having all those children! Who would raise them? Who would put food on the table? Did you have to be rich or powerful to have so many?”

Vajra shook his head. “Life on Raudraksha was communal. There were designated homemakers, caregivers, and breadwinners. Wealth wasn’t a thing… except perhaps in the cities?” Vajra trailed off uncertainly. “Anyway. Marriages weren’t entirely about the bride and groom. She had to get along with her sister wives and second children. It was often more about them than the husbands. My mothers got along much better with each other than they did with my father. And then there were the tribes themselves. How it worked was that vital resources like food were all shared. Anything the tribe caught or foraged would go into a common tent that the cooks would use to prepare meals for the whole tribe. So, there was no stress on sole family breadwinners. So long as the group secured enough food, it was enough.”

“I see. Simply fascinating! But does this mean that all children were raised by one adult, even if it wasn’t their child?”

“Children had to learn some discipline before they could walk. We had to put as low a burden on the adults as we could. Any training was done by our own families.”

Doctor Row added something to her notes. “I think I’ll extend today’s session. We’ll be talking more about this, today.”

*

#star wars #swtor #star wars the old republic #star wars fanfiction #swtor fanfic #sith warrior #emperor's wrath #empire's wrath #jedi knight #hero of tython

[onewomancitadel]

Given the theme of controlling magical powers and the control of magical lineage (the whole thing with Ozpin priming a Maiden successor, Ironwood imitating this) effectively subverting 'the point' of the powers (organic gifts, self-determining, non-gameified) both in-universe and narratively, I think it is an organic conclusion to assume that this was true of the silver eyes. Effectively 'breeding' more warriors (which... gets borderline eugenicist quickly, but that's not really the thing R/WBY would be interested in; it's more the gameification of the power against its actual intended purpose) in the same way that Salem took to simply culling them and later turning them into her pet alchemical subjects.

Actually, that Salem took that approach at all is quite telling; it's the sort of thing you sit there asking, 'Hey, why didn't the bad guy just do x?' when you're not reading the narrative really correctly, but it is intentionally doing something thematically. If Ozpin and Salem have both got it wrong in the same way, then clearly someone else needs a better answer, and it's not simply going to be 'fixed' by doing it his way.

Which is why I think Summer had Ruby to pass on the silver eyes. Summer is the 'failed' heroine (who is a source of inspiration and then disillusionment for Ruby, so that she might grow beyond it) and team STRQ were - well, Raven literally said as much - the team R/WBY of their generation. So I think it is absolutely very likely that in the way that team STRQ failed - includes a failure to ever fix this relationship to magical powers in the story. Of course, it's not like Summer didn't end up loving Ruby (or Yang by extension); the idea here is that she couldn't resist that, and that's part of the conflict. How could Summer stay with her baby, whom she's condemned to being a silver-eyed warrior, when there's Salem to fight? And that was the very reason she had one at all? That is like, actually meaty conflict. Summer having a child borne of ostensibly practical purpose in contrast to Raven's borne of love, where both of them wrestled with it and made different decisions, is actually really interesting. Even more interesting that I was right Raven knew of Summer's disappearance. They both each had to contend with the reality of motherhood in the face of Salem.

As I have gestured to this interpretation in the past, this explains the slightly weird dynamic of team STRQ - and obviously with Volume 9, this explains the implication of subterfuge with Summer's relationship to Tai. Because I do think there is more to Summer on this front, and it wasn't a storybook romance. I'm not trying to say it 'wasn't' real, but we've already been shown it has more tooth to it than at first glance. I also personally think it's fucking weird Tai had a kid with both Raven and Summer, and this feels like the only explanation (rebound and SEW progeny and subterfuge) which tonally fixes it. If it's 'shitty romance with Raven, then pure amazing tragic romance with Summer' it's just... not very interesting to me, both in giving complexity to Raven ('complicated') and to Summer (more than a Madonna). That the emotional dynamics of team STRQ are a total mess is also probably to do with their general protagonist failure shenanigans (Tai and Qrow visibly don't seem to get along much anymore; Qrow and Raven have ostensibly denounced each other; Raven and Summer had a peculiar rapport; etc.) and at least team R/WBY is keeping it relatively straightforward in that department.

But also that Summer's love for Ruby is partly what drives Ruby's power altogether is part of the ironic answer here. It was never purely about having kids to pass on the powers; it is about something deeper and more emotional than that because the power is symbolic. This higher awareness, I want to say, that the characters have of these powers, and the narrative consequences of that, are explicitly being unpacked and redeemed. This is basically the answer to people who write bad theories on Reddit which ignore narrative logic lol.

If Summer really is a Grimm-human abomination still, then the cure - Ruby's silver eyes - will be Ruby recognising and loving her mother, not the mere lineage of the silver eyes. She can't just use them like laserbeams to kill evil monsters. So, in a way, there is an ironic balm to Summer's intentions to pass on the powers. Because her daughter loves her (and forgives her).

I think that this is equally true of the Maiden powers - in that it is never strictly about 'who's the next Maiden?' game that people want to play, that characters like Ozpin and Ironwood literally play and handpick the successor. So we've seen this before, and we'll continue to see it. It's quite telling that Ruby and Cinder both have the potential to redeem (or have begun to redeem) these ideas.

#and set my teeth in the silver of the moon #mother maiden crone

[solarsonicsoda]

The Road to... Wrestlemania XL

Part 3: Jey Uso vs. Jimmy Uso

Who has a longer history than not only brothers but twin brothers? They've been together since Day One (ish) but now...

If you've read Part 1 of this series, you know all about The Bloodline. Roman Reigns' and his family have been on top of the WWE for the past 3 years. The two most prominent members of this faction has long been the team of The Usos. Since debuting on WWE TV in 2010, this tag team of brothers have been one of the leading teams in the whole company. From brightly-dressed faces to more sinister heels, and even determined tweeners, they are 8-time tag team champions as a duo.

Fast forward 10 years from their debuts. Roman Reigns has just returned to WWE and won the WWE Universal Championship. When a match is set up to determine his next contender, there's a surprising winner: his cousin, Jey Uso.

Jey Uso One half of The Usos, now nicknamed "Main Event", and a member of the Anoa'i Family Standing at 6'2'', weighing 242lbs, from San Francisco, California, USA, he is now a 10-time tag team champion and the son of Rikishi Finisher: Uso Splash

Uso was keen to reunite with his cousin and have a sporting match for the title. Despite his tag team success, many never thought he would have an opportunity to challenge for the World Title. However, with brother Jimmy injured, he had earned this shot. He would face Reigns at Clash of Champions 2020, but Reigns was cold and brutal against his cousin, hitting a low blow on Uso. The match would only end when Jimmy Uso threw in the towel, with Reigns raining down strikes demanding Jey acknowledge him as The Tribal Chief.

A defiant Jey would not back down though, and would take on Reigns again at Hell in a Cell for the title in a Hell in a Cell I Quit match. Reigns would try to destroy his cousin, even fighting off officials who tried to stop the match. Jey would never quit from this. When brother Jimmy arrived and begged their cousin Roman to stop, The Tribal Chief appeared to feel extreme guilt for his actions... before ensnaring Jimmy in a Guillotine Hold. To stop this happening to his brother, Jey finally said "I Quit". Reigns would walk out the victor, and be sat at the head of the Anoa'i table.

With all this, Jey finally bent the knee and joined The Bloodline. He would carry on the momentum of his great matches as the "Right Hand Man" of Reigns. In May 2021, Jimmy Uso would return from injury, and despite some conflict, he would shortly join The Bloodline too. In this time, The Usos would dominate the tag team division, winning their 7th and 8th championships as part of The Bloodline. These were both sets of WWE Tag Titles which they held consecutively for 316 days, holding the Smackdown titles for 622 days total.

During this reign, Jey would almost leave The Bloodline over the excommunication of Sami Zayn, but he would turn his back on his friend. It was in the main event of Wrestlemania 39: Saturday that The Usos lost the titles to Zayn & Kevin Owens, and having failed to recapture them, Reigns was losing his patience with them. When he and Solo Sikoa, The Usos' younger brother, challenged for the titles, it would be Jimmy who would cost them the match and leave The Bloodline by superkicking Reigns. Whilst they tried to keep Jey from leaving, he would side with his brother no matter what. At Money in the Bank 2023, The Usos would defeat Reigns & Sikoa with Jey being the first man to pin Reigns since December 2019.

This would lead to Reigns defending against Jey Uso one more time in the main event of Summerslam 2023 in an anything-goes Tribal Combat match. Jey was building up a head of steam when the unthinkable happened. He was pulled from the ring when he had Reigns beat. Who did it? His brother, Jimmy Uso.

Jimmy Uso The other half of The Usos, part of the Anoa'i Family, and son of Rikishi. Standing at 6'3'', 251lbs, from San Francisco, California, USA, he is an 8-time tag team champion. Finisher: Uso Splash

Jey would go on to lose this match, and when he confronted Jimmy, he said he feared what the power would do to Jey's head. Heartbroken, Jey would quit the company, but would eventually return to the Raw show away from his family. It's here where he would establish himself as "Main Event" Jey Uso, challenging for their World Title and being a part of their top tier talent. He would reclaim both sets of Tag Team Championships briefly with Cody Rhodes, and even become known for his use of the term "Yeet".

Jimmy would rejoin The Bloodline without Jey, and he began to get even more desperate as he was under high pressure from Reigns. These two brothers would continue to feud though. They would brawl, Jimmy would cost Jey matches, and Jimmy would even coin "No Yeet". It became obvious that this needed to end, and where else but Wrestlemania?

Tag Partner vs. Tag Partner. Brother vs. Brother. Twin vs. Twin. At Wrestlemania XL Saturday, it all comes down to Jey Uso vs. Jimmy Uso.

WWE have put out a compilation video summing up this feud, and you can check it out here.

#the road to wrestlemania xl #the road to #wrestlemania xl #wrestlemania 40 #wrestlemania #wwe #wrestling #pro wrestling #jimmy uso #jey uso

[drowningworms]

McNabb didn't "choke" in the Superbowl. And give Andy a break about mismanaging the clock when he did everything else he possibly could to coach the Avengers into nearly defeating Thanos without any deus ex machina bull shit.

Just pure gumption and genius coaching. But nothing beats 2000's Brady. Even as a fucking AARP member with the fucking Tampa Bay Rays he's still formidable and a regular contender for the Superbowl today.

Back then Brady and the Patriot offense was an unstoppable force that just plowed up and down the field and every possession ended in a TD.

The 2004 Eagles kept up with Brady.

And our defense fucked him up like the spirit of Reggie White possessed them.

They made him cry and throw a tantrum and got dirt on his uniform. And turf in his face mask. Hitting and hurrying Brady almost every down against the very best offensive line money and guaranteed Superbowl rings can buy.

And fucking Brady just got even better.

And yet. And yet with Terrell Owens on a broken leg playing half speed yet doing outrageous plays and a nervous McNabb playing extremely competently using his legs and working well with Westbrook doing his magic and Owens showboating, Andy Reid almost did it. He almost got his offense to keep up with Brady and his defense to slow Brady down enough to give Donovan a chance to win.

But McNab let the pressure get to him at the end and stopped having fun. And began to hesitate and second guess instead of just instinctively having fun and playing at his usual superhuman level.

He just got nervous. A real chance to beat Brady! And win the Superbowl for Philly at last! With his favorite teammates and coach Andy Reid! (Andy Reid is what Joe Paterno pretended to be.)

Donovan McNabb got nervous because only Tom Brady wouldn't get nervous at the thought of facing Brady let alone hoping to beat him in the Superbowl when he was playing top of his game. So Donovan "choked" and made some shit plays at the end there. But up till then he had danced up and down the field vs the Patriots defense and kept up with Brady blow for blow. McNabb was beautiful that day.

Andy Reid was on his game too and against all odds almost lead the Avengers to victory against Brady.

But Brady and Bellicheck with Gronk on his game is absolutely invincible. Just an unstoppable force where you are hoping for a failed 1st down run and and short second to make for a long third and then some kind of miracle stop or on third and long. The best defense was to try and draw fouls. Because you can't stop the guy. You just have to slow him down and hope for one or pray for two bad throws this 3rd down.

Like, third and thirty five was difficult but doable most possessions.

Eagles actually hit that smug father fucker a whole bunch on his way up and down the field. It didn't stop him. But it was hella fun to watch as my team almost beat Brady in his prime, but nothing could ever beat Brady in his prime. Even on his bad days he was nothing short of perfect and intelligent and creative and instinctual that borders on godlike.

I hate his guts and I just don't know why. He seems hella nice. He's too good looking and dates a model but good for him on all of that. I'm happy to see decent guys win the lottery. But I still don't like him. Such is life. I wish him well in everything but football. Get sacked Brady.

But yeah, no body, no matter how well prepared, trained and superhuman can be perfect for the entire Superbowl. You are going to lose some possessions without having scored.

The Eagles were a true Super Bowl team. Any other decade they would have won any Super Bowl against any team outside of the 2000's Patriots. They made every offensive line in the NFL look silly and picked off future hall of famers every other down.

The Lombardi Trophy belonged to Brady back then. Pure and simple. It was just who is going to lose spectacularly in the Super Bowl after playing big fish in a small pond till now.

Eagles almost beat Brady in his prime, but nothing can keep up with a demigod.

I submit that the 2004 Eagles were a feat of genius by Andy

He was able to cobble together a really good team around his star QB and other key players who are all hall of famers now. And I don't know how he snatched up Owens. Owens was amazing. He just had a big mouth and was a showboat. He backed up every boast too and made the greatest future hall of famer DBs miss every single time. And everyone loved it. Except the fucking racist NFL and some pundits.

Andy managed to cobble together this amazing 2004 Eagles team and got them working together even though they didn't like each other at first and help them run together so well that he almost took this army of reject NFL superheroes up against Thanos and won.

He had Donovan Captain America leading the charge. Somehow we had Deadpool with a sharpie up his sleeve carving up the captains of Thanos. And mysterious preternatural undersized Black Panther Westbrook conducting acrobatic feats y'all wouldn't believe today. Even still that man's shit was like watching Black Panther dance around dealing broken ankles and first downs out of third and long every time McNabb got in trouble.

But even the Avengers can't beat 2000s Brady.

Give McNabb and Andy Reid their due respect. They almost did the impossible together. Don't give them such trash about minor little lapses in perfection. You aren't the God of Noah.

You are an Eagles Fan! And you cheered through fucking Buddy Ryan's bullshit. Andy Reid and McNabb almost took down Brady in his prime! You should celebrate that team!

[stirlingmoss]

XII ​Believers, avoid excess imagination, for some imagination is sin. And don’t spy on each other, and don’t defame each other in their absence. Would any of you like to eat the flesh of his dead brother? You would hate it! So be conscious of God,

{Note Number : 4931 Most kinds of suspicion are baseless and to be avoided, and some are crimes in themselves: for they do cruel injustice to innocent men and women. Spying, or enquiring too curiously into other people's affairs, means either idle curiosity, and is therefore futile, or suspicion carried a stage further, which almost amounts to sin. Back-biting also is a brood of the same genus. It may be either futile but all the same mischievous, or it may be poisoned with malice, in which case it is a sin added to sin.

Note Number : 4932 No one would like even to think of such an abomination as eating the flesh of his brother. But when the brother is dead, and the flesh is carrion, abomination is added to abomination. In the same way we are asked to refrain from hurting people's feelings when they are present; how much worse is it when we say things, true or false, when they are absent!}

XI ​Believers, people should not ridicule other people; these may be better than they are. And women should not ridicule other women; these may be better than they are. And don’t defame each other, or call each other insulting nicknames. Evil the name of impiety after faith; and any who do not refrain are doing wrong.

{Note Number : 4929 Mutual ridicule ceases to be fun when there is arrogance or selfishness or malice behind it. We may laugh with people, to share in the happiness of life: we must never laugh at people in contempt or ridicule. In many things they may be better than ourselves!

Note Number : 4930 Defamation may consist in speaking ill of others by the spoken or written word, or in acting in such a way as to suggest a charge against some person whom we are not in a position to judge. A cutting, biting remark or taunt of sarcasm is included in the word lamaza. An offensive nickname may amount to defamation, but in any case there is no point in using offensive nicknames, or names that suggest some real or fancied defect. They ill accord with the serious purpose which Muslims should have in life. For example, even if a man is lame, it is wrong to address him as "O lame one!" It causes him pain, and it is bad manners. So in the case of the rude remark, "the black man".}

II

X ​The believers are one brotherhood, so make peace between two brothers of yours, being conscious of God so that you may receive mercy.

{Note Number : 4928 The enforcement of the Muslim Brotherhood is the greatest social ideal of Islam. On it was based the Prophet's Sermon at his last pilgrimage, and Islam cannot be completely realised until this ideal is achieved.}

IX ​If two parties of believers contend with each other, make peace between them. Then if one of the two acts unjustly to the other, fight the side that transgresses until it goes back to the order of God. Then if it goes back, make peace between the two fairly, doing justice, for God loves those who do justice.

{Note Number : 4927 Individual quarrels are easier to compose than group quarrels, or, in the modern world, national quarrels. But the collective community of Islam should be supreme over groups or nations. It would be expected to act justly and try to compose the quarrel, for peace is better than fighting. But if one party is determined to be the aggressor, the whole force of the community is brought to bear on it. The essential condition of course is that there should be perfect fairness and justice and respect for the highest principles; for Islam takes account of every just and legitimate interest without separating spiritual from temporal matters. The League of Nations failed because these essentials were absent and today the United Nations fails for the same reason.}

VIII ​as a favor and a boon from God; and God is omniscient, perfectly wise.

VII ​And know that among you is the messenger of God: were he to obey you in most matters, you would certainly come to grief; but God has made faith dear to you, and made it pleasing to you in your hearts, making atheism, immorality, and rebelliousness odious to you. Those are the righteous ones,

{Note Number : 4925 The messenger of Allah [peace and blessings be upon him], if he consults his friends and associates, should not be expected to follow their advice in all matters. The judgment and responsibility are his: he sees farther than the rest, and he is not swayed by personal feeling as others may be.

Note Number : 4926 Fortunate indeed was the generation among whom the Prophet of Allah walked in his daily life. His example was inspiring. Their inner Faith was dear to them; it was a thing to be proud of in their innermost hearts; and they loved discipline, obedience, and righteousness. No wonder all their other disadvantages were neutralised, and they went from strength to strength. Nothing but the Grace of Allah could have brought about such a result.}

VI ​Believers, if a vicious person brings any news, try to get at the facts, lest you afflict people ignorantly and become regretful for what you have done.

{Note Number : 4924 All tittle-tattle or reports-especially if emanating from persons you do not know-are to be tested, and the truth ascertained. If they were believed and passed on, much harm may be done, of which you may have cause afterwards to repent heartily. Scandal or slander of all kinds is here condemned.}

V If only they would be patient until you come out to them, that would be best for them; yet God is very forgiving, most merciful.

IV ​As for those who call to you from outside the private chambers, most of them are not prudent.

{Note Number : 4923 To shout aloud to your Leader from outside his Apartments shows disrespect both for his person, his time, and his engagements. Only ignorant fools would be guilty of such unseemly behaviour. It is more seemly for them to wait and bide their time until he is free to come out and attend to them. But, with the Messenger of Allah, much is forgiven that is due to lack of knowledge and understanding. In an earthly Court, ignorance of the Law excuseth no man. If a man behaved in that way to the General of an army or the Governor of a Province, not to speak of an earthly King, he would be laid hands on by the Guard, and could never gain the access he desires.}

III ​Those who lower their voices in the presence of the messenger of God are those whose hearts God has tested for conscience; there is forgiveness for them, and a tremendous reward.

{Note Number : 4922 The essence of good manners arises from the heart. The man who really and sincerely respects his Leader has true piety in his heart, just as the man who does the opposite may undo the work of years by weakening the Leader's authority.}

II ​Believers, don’t raise your voices over the voice of the Prophet and don’t speak loudly to him as you speak loudly to each other, lest your acts be in vain without your realizing.

{Note Number : 4920 It is bad manners to talk loudly before your Leader. Some ill-mannered people so raise their voices as to drown the voice of their Leader, in conversation or in Council.

Note Number : 4921 Such rudeness may even destroy the value of such services as they may otherwise have been able to render, and all this without their even realising the harm they were doing to the Cause.}

I ​Believers, don’t put yourselves forward before God and the messenger of God; be wary of God, for God is all-hearing, all-knowing.

{Note Number : 4919 Several shades of meaning are implied: (1) do not make yourselves conspicuous in word or deed when in the presence of Allah (e.g. in a Mosque, or at Prayers or religious assemblies): (2) do not anticipate in word or deed what your Leader (Allah's Messenger) may say or do; (3) do not be impatient, trying to hasten things before the time is ripe, of which the best Judge is Allah, Who speaks through His Messenger. Be reverent in all things, as in the presence of Allah: for He hears and sees all things. (4) Look to the Qur-an and the Sunnah of the Prophet (peace be on him) for guidance and let nothing else take precedence of them.}

#49:1-12 #The Private Chambers

[chronicparagon]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄,    his  dark  eyes  rest  with  her  alone.  his  shining  light.  his  little  dahlia.  miss. harmony  halcyon  who  now  stands  against  the  snow-white  pillar  &  with  a  weary  smile  attempts  to  dismiss  yet  another  contender,  only  to  fail;   the  man  is  much  too  persistent,  much  too  audacious  &  forward.  ohh..  she  really  is  a  handful,  the  young  serial  killer thinks  while  approaching  them  slowly,  weaving  like  a  black  mamba  among  the  carefree  masses.  he  never  even  sees  him  coming.  not  until  envy  pauses  right  beside  &  preening  over  the  man’s  shoulder,  proceeds  to  stare  right  into  his  bright  blue  eyes.

          ❝    . . . . .    ❞

the  sheer  proximity  makes  the  male  stumble,  spilling  his  drink.  he  instantly  opens  his  mouth  to  bite  back  but  as  soon  as  their  eyes  lock  together,  all  those  fearless  &  fiery  words  just  die  in  his  throat.  envy  doesn’t  even  blink  in  turn.  in  fact,  he  didn’t  even  straighten  up  as  the   '  last  christmas  ’  song  plays  on,  painting  quite  a  stark  contrast  between  the  dancing  crowd  &  his  very  own,  motionless  frame  ──  so  incredibly  tall,  dark  &  charming,  yet  strangely disturbing all the same  ──  looking  just  like  a  pale-faced  demon  beneath  all  the  neon  lights.

the  man  throws  harmony  a  confused  glance  but  as soon as he does, envy  suddenly reaches  out  &  shoves  him,  most  nonchalantly straightening up to take   the  empty  spot  for  himself.  now,  looking  back,  those  dead  black  eyes  land  on  harmony  again  &  along  their  wicked gaze  comes  a  wide,  boyish  smile.  after  all,  she  must  have  noticed  it  by  now...   right?  they  are  standing  directly  beneath  a  mistletoe  &  while  the  young  serial  killer  isn’t  much  of  a  believer,  he  still  steps  closer  &  wrapping  own  arms  around  her  waist,  proceeds  to  worship  her  without  words;

      a  most  slow, devouring  kiss. 

Harmony didn't mean to stay away for too long. She came to this party with Envy, mainly because she asked him to go with her. They parted ways when she admits that she needed to go to the women's room, but promised to come back. Unfortunately, this man made a beeline for her while she was returning to the corner of the room where she left Envy. He stopped her and the girl quickly learned that he wasn't there just to say hello. He wanted something more.

The man is certainly handsome with his blue eyes and charming smile, but she doesn’t want him. She wants her Envy, the moon of her life.

"No. I came here with my boyfriend and I need to go back to him." Though she's tired of his persistence, Harmony smiles just to be polite. Her answers to the man's advances were rehashing the same things: "I'm sorry, but no. I don't want to leave with you." He didn't seem willing to accept that she was not single. As much as Harmony wants to push him away, she doesn't as she's sure that Envy is seeing this.

“May you please let me go?”

There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn't let the other man get away with this. Her eyes would turn away from the man before her, searching for any sign of him. Even when she searches for him, Harmony fails to find the Little Killer. He is a master of sneaking in the shadows, silently weaving through the crowd that continue to celebrate over drinks and music. They are unaware that danger lurks among them. 

Silver eyes widen and a soft gasp follows to see the tall figure in black suddenly appear from the festive scene. Harmony didn’t know her dark knight was approaching until just now. It seems the stranger had no idea until he notices Envy peering over his shoulder.  

Harmony watches on, though she’s relieved that Envy put an end to the other man’s flirting, she fears Envy would inflict that worst punishment for trying to steal her. Not that he had any chance to do so in the first place. She’s not interested in the newcomer. Not one bit. 

Still, she fears that this date will end with blood spilled and she silently pleads that Envy will not go that far. Harmony flinches when Envy finally moves, shoving the man away before moving into his place. Relief washed over her to see that Envy won’t escalate the situation further.

He should consider himself lucky. Envy could have done far worse than that. He seems far too scared to challenge Envy. That would certainly be the best choice.

The girl tilts her head back, smiling back at Envy, but her eyes widen in surprise to see what’s above them. How could she not notice the mistletoe hanging above them? Thank heavens the other man didn’t notice! She would still refused if that was the case. But when it comes to Envy...

Well, how can she deny him? That wouldn’t be fair, would it?

Arms wrap loosely around Envy’s neck as he pulls her close.  Lips meet his in a slow kiss. Surely, he must taste the vanilla bean lip gloss she put on before leaving the restroom. It would be a nice little surprise for him and him alone. 

@s-talking

#s-talking #s talking #answered #thank you!! #thank you thank you!! #I love this #forever bound to darkness (EnvyxHarmony)

[newsnigeria]

Video: Netizens react over a full-blown Goat offered as a Sacrifice for the late Queen of England, the Anglican Church!

The video below was share on social media and caption with "Goat rituals for the dead--the head of the Anglicans--the Church of England. Ìbòrí fún òkú ni ìlú Gẹ̀ẹ́sì. I hope you faithfools Yorùbá are watching this. A common practice among the awo in Yorùbá kingdoms". Rotimi S. shared his opinion, he wrote If it's African or Yoruba that did this, they will call it ritual or sacrifice Badmus Saheed who disagreed with Rotimi's statement said; Ordinary military mascot Don turn wahala for our people. Abiodun Rufai Badmus Saheed Olaide replied Badmust Saheed and wrote; What do you expect them to say it is to defend their modernize traditional practice? Abiodun Rufai tried to defend the motion, fairly in support of the copied tradition of the Oodua peope, he wrote Mascot or parade disguise, the goats perform roles in British army which some of them are classified and only the colonels know the little, believe it or leave it the goat is meant for sacrifice just our balogun offer dog to Ogun and their warriors wear red and black as traditional worriors, how many of you see them on war with those outfit not because of their traditional practice 

Ajewuyi Babatunde Ayoola, a more lenient netizen was against what Abiodun Rufai wrote above, he shared his opinion below. Not everybody would believe you when you are saying the glaring truth. Since many of us have been watching ceremonial outfit matches or parades of the British we have never seen them matching with ram or goat. Sensible people would question how come with ram or goat since we never witnessed this. The truth is what we are seeing now. It is part of their culture or traditional heritage whether we read meaning to it or not. Sensible people would never contend this. If you like to embrace your culture if you like do away with your culture because you don't want to go to hell fire. Culture is almost the same everywhere in the world. You don't have to argue, crucify or abuse people for telling others the truth they saw. After all no one can fight for God. God knows those that worship him truly. JonathanOlusegun trying to mock the video wrote They said it's service goat and not for rituals. Akingbile Toyin replied JonathanOlusegun, she wrote; Ko buru, everything they say, in the beginning they say, when they turn Esu to satan they say, everything they say they say, ohun abi won bi ki wu won ohun they say ni ya won lara, we must back to our roots JonathanOlusegun replied Toyin; I'm aware that they kill animals and humans for sacrifice. There is even this thing called Adrenochrome they claim that the queen does, that it seems it failed this time around, reason for her demise. Emi o mo oooo. Won nipe, won nipe ni oooo. Read the full article

[opedguy]

Biden Drives Russia into Iran’s Arms

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), July 22, 2022.--Traveling to Tehran to meet  83-year-old Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, 69-year-old Russian President Vladimir Putin dispelled Ukrainian intelligence reports that he was suffering from a terminal illness and on his last legs.  Even CIA Director William Burns took notice saying it was “wishful thinking” that Putin suffered from a life-threatening illness.  Meeting Khamenei and Iran’s conservative President Ebrahim Raisi, Putin was in Tehran to make deals or at leas coordinate economy strategy in the era of =crippling U.S. and EU sanctions for the Ukraine War. Khaemeni gave Putin a full-throated endorsement of his Ukraine War, saying the United States instigated the action by supplying Kiev with advanced lethal weapons.  Russia and Iran have much in common surviving U.S. sanctions.  Putin’s found a way to circumvent U.S. and EU sanctions, selling cheap oil to China and India.

Putin and Khamenei discussed a full range of regional issues, including the ongoing war in Syria.  Putin was greeted in Tehran by NATO member 68-yea-old Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, who has his own interests in Syria, where an 11-year-old civil war has decimated the country. Only after Putin got involved in 2015 in Syria, did the Kremlin beat back U.S.-Saudi-Turkiish proxy war that cost Syria over 600,000 lives, driving 15 million citizens into exile.  “War is a violent and difficult issues, and the Islamic Republic is in no way happy that civilians get caught up in it, but concerning Ukraine, had you [Putin] not the initiated, the other side [U.S.] would have taken the initiative and caused the war,” Khamenei told Putin. Khameni agrees with Putin that NATO has been a bullying force in Eastern Europe, now encroaching on countries like Iran in the Middle East.

Khaemeni sees that if Russian didn’t invade Ukraine, there would be no way to stop NATO encroachment in Eastern Europe and the Mideast. “NATO is a dangerous entity.  The West is totally opposed to a strong independent Russia.  If the way is opened for NATO, it will recognize no limits.  If it hadn’t been stopped in Ukraine, it would have later started a similar war in Crimea,” Khaemnei said.  Knowing Khamenei’s words, it’s hard to believe Biden actively seeks a new Iranian Nuke Deal, trying to reverse former President Donald Trump’s May 8m 2018 termination of the Iranian Nuke Deal.   Biden’s response to the Ukraine War has caused so much damage to U.S. and EU financial markets, sparking the worst inflation in 40 years.  Biden didn’t anticipate how a boycott of Russian oil [10% of the World supply] would cause shortages and skyrocketing prices, prompting Biden to beg Saudi Arabia for more oil.

Whatever happens to the Ukraine War, it’s going to be a cold day in hell before Biden reestablishes  pragmatic relations with Russia.  Biden’s done many things to provoke Russia and China, watching the worst relations in post-WW II history. Biden’s March 26 gaffe in Warsaw, Poland, telling the world that Putin must go, shocked world leaders, realizing the Ukraine War had morphed into a U.S. proxy war against the Russian Federation.  So, instead of resolving a border dispute between Ukraine and Russia, the world must contend with the U.S. seeking to topple Putin’s government. Biden’s foreign policy drove Russia and China into a close economic alliance. When Biden boycotted the Beijing Winter Olympics, Putin made certain that he would have the backing of Beijing.  Biden tried but failed to get 69-year-old Chinese President Xi Jinping to public denounce Putin.

Putin’s latest visit to Tehran indicates that Iran backs the Kremlin’s fight against the United States.  Tehran wants no part of any war against the United States but backs Russian Ukraine War, accomplishes the same thing.  Biden no longer has pragmatic relations with Russia and China, leaving the U.S. isolated on the world stage. All Biden can do is boast about his relations with the European Union and NATO, leaving Iran to seek membership in the BRICS economic bloc, including Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa, all of which remain neutral on the Ukraine War.  Biden can’t get his coalition against Russia to extend much beyond the EU, leaving Putin plenty of opportunity to sell Russian oil into world markets.  Biden won’t admit that he’s lost the Ukraine war on the battlefield but, more importantly, the economic war he planned against the Russian Federation.

Biden has more complications in U.S. foreign policy, watching 68-year-old Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan join the meeting in Tehran.  Erdogan, a member of NATO, likes to play both sides against the middle, taking a benign position on the Ukraine War.  Erdogan has no love of U.S. foreign policy since Biden supports the YPG Kurds in Syria, a group Erdogan considers a terrorist grioup like the PKK, a group Turkey’s been at war with for 100 years.  Erdogan practically scuttled Finland and Sweden’s entrance into NATO because of support of Kurdish groups, considered an enemy of the Turkish state. Ukraine’s war has caused U.S. adversaries to join together in a coalition against the United States.  China is close to breaking off diplomatic relations to the U.S., coming to blows over Taiwain.  Unless Biden ends the Ukraine War soon, the world will look like a different place.

About the Author    

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Hestia

This is another eternally virgin goddess, so we're doing another pseudo-demigod by adoption (like we did with Athena).

Demigod MC: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon, Ares, Hestia

Hestia is the goddess of the Hearth, Home, Architecture, Domesticity, Family, and the State. She's high up there (firstborn of Rhea and Cronus), but several factors have led to her falling into the background when compared to the other (flashier) Olympians. She swore to never marry, rejecting proposals from both Poseidon and Apollo, and is something of an antithesis to Aphrodite.

Lucifer

Honestly? He thought they were exactly what they were after. A weak human with no experience in the magical world what-so-ever.

Well… He was half-right.

On the surface, this is a pretty weak human. They don't have super flashy powers or a divine birth from the gods… but they do have a very protective adoptive mother.

The brothers had just settled in for their first dinner with the new human when the goddess herself strolled into their dining room, asked who was in charge, then dragged Lucifer away by the ear!

She's not even his mother, yet he felt the intense urge to apologize and put himself in his own room… Oh, the humiliation… at least she did the same to Diavolo…

The Prince was only able to calm her down by promising absolutely NO harm would come to her child… on their heads...

By the time the goddess finally let him go, Lucifer was about ready to shackle the MC to his wrist so nothing could touch them but he settled on keeping them with him like an assistant of sorts. They were in charge of helping him with the paperwork so he could keep an eye on them. 

What he didn’t expect was for them to be so… good at it? They could keep his offices clean, they managed his daily schedule, fixed up the House, and still have time to bring him tea and sweets every night!

They could even reign in his brothers somehow… They weren't strong or intimidating, but one or two mildly unhappy words out of them and everybody would be on their best behavior.

Was everyone positive they're only human...?

As much as he hated to admit, he may have a slight deep case of falling for the housekeeper… He would make a move, but well…

He has Beel to contend with first.

Mammon

Okay so, watching Lucifer get dragged out by the ear just like Raphael used to do to him was hilarious!!! The whole room got a good laugh! 🤣

Until Hestia glared at them and suddenly they all felt like they'd disappointed someone important….

And all that fuss over some dumb human??

So what if they made amazing food?

So what if they could clean the entire mansion in a day?

So what if they were the walking equivalent to a warm cup of cocoa on a winter's day??

So what if they were just the kindest, sweetest thing in this godforsaken hellscape and he would throw himself in front of a bus to keep them safe-

-Wait, when did that happen?!?

Seriously, Mammon's attachment to the MC came out of NOWHERE to him. One day, he was threatening to eat their soul and the next he's freaking out when they stub their toe!

He swears they have to have some kind of magic about them! A charm, or a spell, or… their lovable smile and warm, loving hugs...! 😊

Damnit!! They're too cute!! He needs them to go away but also never leave, thanks. 😒

In all seriousness, though their kind nature puts Mammon's tsundere self at a bit of a disadvantage, his protective instincts shoot through the roof whenever they're involved.

Naturally, that means his day is spent running them away from hungry lesser demons or shielding them from Beel and Lucifer's tug-of-war matches… He's a busy guy these days. 😖

Leviathan 

They're so… so… MOE!!!

That was his immediate thought when Mammon brought them home. He was expecting a defenseless human, but not one that could have stepped out of one of his slice-of-life manga!

To be honest, his instant thought was try and find a place to sit them on his shelves with the rest of the adorable characters he loves… 😅

And that was before they even opened their mouth! Five words into their introduction and he was ready to get their face on a t-shirt!!

Honestly, combine their natural cuteness with their household skills and they made for perfect waifu/husbando material… 

Not helped by the fact they found one of his maid/butler outfits while doing the laundry one day. Not only did they ask if they could wear it, they actually non-ironically liked it and started wearing it around the House!!

Oh he got cornered by Beel, Lucifer, and Mammon separately that day because they thought he was using them for fetish fuel… But it was their idea, he swears!!

I mean… He didn't discourage them or anything either but still…

If Beel hadn't claimed them on Day One, Levi might have eventually thrown his hat in the ring too... Oh well… he can pine from a distance… What else is new? 😔

Satan

He has a video of Hestia dragging Lucifer out of the dining room on his phone and it's one of his most treasured possessions now. 😌

He is perhaps the only person in the House who was not at all impressed with their little human.

So they could cook? So could he. So they can clean? That's not impressive. They could manage a household? Big deal, he's more or less been in charge of the same thing for centuries!

As far as he saw it, there was nothing the MC could do that he couldn't do as proficiently or even better. There was nothing remarkable about this human at all!

… except for one thing.

That maid/butler outfit of Levi's? The one they like to wear around?

It has cat accessories…

Either they don't notice or they don't mind it but they essentially walk around the House cleaning things with little kitty ears attached to their head and a bell on their collar…

Dammit… Why did Levi even buy that?!?

Satan ended up getting in trouble for enchanting their outfit to give them REAL ears and a tail "accidentally..." Lucifer strung him up by his toes, Beel gave him a black-eye, and Mammon still calls him a "perverted cat freak" but it was worth it, he says, worth it!!

Asmodeus 

Oh Beel…

Asmo saw Beel's feelings for the MC coming from a mile away. He didn't even need to confirm it with a sniff check, he had them scented by the end of their first night!

Lucifer, on the other hand, now that was a surprise... 😏

Ask him a century ago if Lucifer would ever consider a human lover, godly mother or no, and he'd have laughed! Yet here he is, giving gifts and sneaking whiffs of their adorable new housemate!

Of course, that's causing some commotion because they're pitted against each other, but Asmo finds it kind of cute honestly. 

Beel and Lucifer aren't fighting, not for real. The whole house knows Lucifer would win in a real brawl, but neither of them actually want to hurt the other… They're far too close for that.

So Beel tosses Lucifer around with kid gloves and Lucifer holds back considerably against Beel. It's pretty much just two brothers who love each other squabbling over the same toy… 🤭

Honestly, Lucifer might have bowed out by now and just let Beel have them but now his pride's on the line… thus an endless tussle between family and the sweet MC is in the middle, clueless to it all!

Tragic, is it not? But it certainly makes things more entertaining around here! (Good thing too since Beel beat him to the punch… If it's a fight against those two, he'll have to keep any of his own affairs with the MC under the radar... 😏)

Beelzebub 

He has claimed this one. Full stop.

For a bit of perspective: when Barbatos needs cooking tips, he calls Hestia. Hestia, the Divine Master of All Things Cooking. Hestia, the goddess who raised this MC… 

Needless to say if they have any magic at all, it's in the kitchen.

If food is the way to Beel's heart, this MC has claimed his heart, soul, and probably all of his vital organs. Their food is astounding!! Always perfect every time and so good it brings him to tears!

It started the night of that first dinner, prepared by MC. He was too busy scarfing down the table to even notice a goddess showed up and then he proposed to the MC with their own pig roast by meal's end!

They said no to marriage, but an instant pact agreement suited him just fine.

Beel didn't waste a single moment before he started treating them like a potential mate, territorial aggression and all, but there was a bit of a catch… He kept the MC totally oblivious to it.

Surprisingly, Beel's can turn the "They're MINE" part of his brain on and off pretty well. He's nothing but sweet and cuddly to the MC when they're around and even with his brothers!... as long as they don't try anything.

The moment he caught whiff that Lucifer might be pursuing them too, it was on. Suddenly the two brothers who almost never fight were in competition against each other! But of course, both have an unspoken rule to never do so in front of MC.

And now poor MC believes it's common for demons to "play wrestle" like puppies and hugs are traditionally supposed to be so hard they could snap spines… 

And it doesn’t look like they'll be backing down any time soon… Oh dear...

Belphegor 

You know what? For once, everything goes exactly to plan for Belphie!

No really, this MC has no hidden powers, no magic horses, not even Demon Nip. They are a helpless, trusting little human who just wants to help their big teddy bear get his twin back!

So, you know how it goes. The charm, the lies, the treachery and all of that. He even gets to kill them!! Oh, happy days!! 😁

Come to think of it, they did smell an awful lot like Beel… But who cares, as long as Lucifer suffers right?? And this whole "living together in harmony" crap fails, right?!

Wrong. 

Beel went ballistic. Lucifer did too, but Beel was what really hurt…

Belphie can safely say that in all of his life, Beel has never physically attacked him. Not once, or at least, not with intent to kill… 

But when the sixthborn's fist went crashing through the wall right by his ear that day, he knew his brother's first instinct was to aim for his head… and his second was to miss, as he still loved him, but only by just a little.

What the hell did he just do??

Thank their father for Barbatos and all the funky time stuff he can do because bringing the MC "back" snapped his angry brothers right out of it. 

Things should have been smoothed over at that point but as everyone was finally settling down for tea, Hestia made another appearance in the House… this time carrying a butcher's knife!

Time fix or no, Diavolo had promised her no harm would come to MC and at least one continuity of them DIED… so punishment was now on Lucifer and the Demon Prince himself!

Belphie, in a rare case of guilt and an expression of brotherly love, offered to take their place since it WAS kind of all his fault. His gesture softened the Goddess of Family juuust enough to lighten his sentence from execution to hard labor.

And thus, the MC had their own housekeeping assistant for a whole year, complete with bitter reluctance and a matching maid outfit! Cat-theme and all!!

He's sending nightmares to anybody who laughs… guaranteed. 😒

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me demigods

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

If you leave - bodyguard/royal au part 2

^ that counts as a request right? Angst below, I don’t know what fluff is anymore but I think there’s a sprinkle of it somewhere... I think.

Prev | Next

————————————————————————————————————————

“Baby let’s dance.”

If you closed your eyes you could almost imagine it was Jimin’s voice, but you don’t want to think about him now, that’s not why you’re here in blinding lights and deafening music, you want to forget, you need to forget.

“Not with you,” you say to the man that approached you, walking away to the bar for another drink. Stupid fool didnt realise he unlocked another memory of them, you’d need something more in your system to get it out.

But when you closed your eyes you could see him, reaching out his hands to you, eyes disappearing with how much he was smiling. “Dance with me princess.”

Memories that made you feel warmth now bought you so much pain, since that day you both felt hollow and as if there was a heavy weight on your chest, you didn’t know how to explain it. It just hurt, and you thought it would get better with time but it didn’t. It got worse.

So you didn’t mind the hands on your body when you danced into the night, you didn’t mind the hangovers in the morning, the pain in your head dulling the ache in your heart just a little.

You feel arms wrap around you from behind as you take another swing of your drink. Whoever he was he felt muscular, tall, but you don’t care. It isn’t until he rests his chin on the top of your head you realise he feels like Jungkook and your heart beats back to life again. You close your eyes and let them hold you, pretending for a second that it was your Kookie, that he’d move to rest his head on your shoulder when you ignored him like he always did, squeezing you harder, pouting until he got your attention. You let yourself dream for a second, even though you knew when the illusion shattered the black hole in your chest would expand tenfold. Like it always did when you let yourself pretend.

You could feel tears start to form in the corner of your eyes, you couldn’t do this, the man behind you must’ve felt your discomfort because he suddenly backed away. You hear a ruckus behind you but you don’t give a shit, he’s not Kookie, he’s not any one of the men that can make this go away.

You’re about to take another sip of your drink until you feel the weight of a hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. You know that hand, your eyes are fixed on it, your breathing becomes shallow and rapid as your gaze follows the hand to the body it’s connected to.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” What’s he doing here, he’s the one that decided to leave you, why does he care what happens to you?

You don’t know if you’re refusing to speak or if you can’t with how much his presence has put you in a daze, you can see the way his jaw is clenched the way it always did when you tested his patience. Good, let him be angry, let him feel a little of what you were.

He pulls you to stand and follow him, grip unrelenting and pace unforgiving. You try to get out of his hold but Joon pissed was a different force of nature, you wonder what he was doing in a place like this.

It isn’t until you’re outside you see Yoongi standing with his back to the car, they’re both in uniform, they must’ve been on their new job when they found you. You pretend that doesn’t sting, you don’t care it’s their job how dare they replace you when you felt their absence each and every day.

“You’re not my bodyguard anymore Namjoon, let me go,” you’re quiet but you’re seething.

He slams you back against the car, the only feeling coursing through his system was rage and it mixed with every other emotion he was feeling at this moment; worry, guilt, his heart breaking.

“Where the hell are your bodyguards Y/n?” When he finds them he’s going to put a fist in their faces repeatedly for letting you get into this state.

“Don’t have any,” you’re smiling now but it’s unnerving, it’s fake and it’s nothing he has ever seen before on your face.

“What do you mean you don’t have any?” Yoongi sounds calm, but that’s how you know he’s as angry as Namjoon.

“Why the hell do you both care? You left me,” it shouldnt sting the way it does when the words are out of your mouth, but it somehow manages to hit all three of you.

“Princess, answer the question.” Why does your heart hurt more when Yoongi calls you that? Why does it feel like he’s taking your breath away and suffocating you with his calm demeanour, like he really doesn’t care even though his words should prove otherwise.

“I’m not your burden anymore, so leave me alone,” you glare at them both with all the strength you had left, feeling your body shake from the cold and the anger seeping under your skin. “I dismissed my bodyguards but that’s none of your concern.”

“You did what?” Namjoon is trying to control his rage but your words are causing it to grow. “How could you be so stupid? Do you have any idea the amount of danger you’re putting yourself in? Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep you safe and you’re throwing all our effort in our faces by being so fucking reckless!”

You always hated it when he told you off, you could feel the tears start to form again and Namjoon watched as your doe eyes looked up at him with the anger fading and the hurt revealing it’s way through. Shit, he was too harsh, but you were being an absolute idiot. All of them have been worried sick since they left you, unable to perform the best at their job, they all agreed after you no more long standing positions, so they only did small security gigs or transferring a client for a day. They missed you so much and here you were throwing yourself into every danger like a big ‘fuck you’.

“Why did you leave me?” Your voice is so small and the sheer hurt in it caused his anger to drop out of his body. Yoongi had to look away, he hated it when you cried, they all did.

They didn’t feel like they could hold you the way they used to, so much had changed, and yet all the feelings were the same.

“Princess we had to go,” he tries to explain. “We couldn’t keep you safe because of how much we lo- w-we cared about y-”

“No Joonie if you cared about me, you wouldn’t have left!” You were so angry and upset you were crying but you still yelled your words, you needed them to hear you and you’d make sure they did. “I thought I meant more to you than just a charge but you proved me wrong the day you walked out, because if you cared about me you’d fight to keep me safe, but you didn’t.”

You don’t care if you’re a sobbing mess in front of them now, you don’t care if you look weak, they had to feel what they did to you, see the consequences of their desicion.

Namjoon can’t say a word, how does he explains to you the guilt he felt that day, the only rational choice was to leave you in the hands of someone who could protect you the way he had failed. You came above all else, he couldn’t trust himself to keep you safe anymore.

“Do you know how hard it was for us to go,” it’s Yoongi that finds his voice. “We didn’t want to leave you Princess, we didn’t feel like we had a choice.”

“Bullshit!” You contended. “There’s always a choice and you made yours.”

You hug yourself to keep yourself together because in front of them both you can feel yourself begin to shatter.

“You left me when I needed you the most, and I won’t forgive you for it.”

If you tore into their chests and ripped out their hearts it would’ve hurt less. Yoongi sighs in defeat.

“Okay Y/n,” Namjoon could feel his eyes go red with the way he’s holding back his own tears, he and Yoongi were not ones to cry but he can’t miss the telltale glistening in the older man’s eyes, and how they mirrored his own with regret. “Let’s just get you home.”

“No I haven’t had enough to drink,” you move off the car and try to make your way back but there’s a strong hand holding you back by your arm.

“I think you’ve had plenty to drink,” Yoongi says while opening the backseat door.

How do you tell them you needed more so you’d black out tonight, otherwise your dreams would be filled with them.

——————————————————————————

The ride was quiet, no one wanted to say a word. The only break from silence was when Namjoon called Jin to ask him to meet you all at your place with a medical kit and you insisting it was not necessary.

They didn’t listen, but what was new?

It’s not Jin that meets the car running, but the youngest of your ex bodyguards with Jimin very close behind.

“Princess?” Jimin couldn’t believe your state, you looked like a mess. He helped you out of the car swallowing his own emotions.

Jungkook stared at you with his big eyes in shock, and you wanted the ground to swallow you up. You couldn’t meet his eyes, you could see a his own concoction of emotions swirl in them like a cocktail from the glimpse you got. Disbelief, anger, sadness, his Princess looked so broken.

When the decision was made to leave Jungkook was the one to fight it, he was the one that tried to convince the others it wasn’t a good idea, that you needed them and they needed you. He looked at Namjoon with so much anger but that could wait, he needed to make sure your were okay first.

He strides his way to you, picking you up like the Princess you were when you struggled to stand and carried you to the house.

“Kookie I can walk,” you mumble, but you felt so warm in his arms, you didn’t want him to let you go. You missed him so much, you missed them all.

“What the hell happened?” Jimin’s voice when he was angry was nothing like his usual tone, his voice became deeper and lost its musical ring.

Yoongi waved him off, starting to get a headache from the whole thing, “later.”

They take you to your bedroom where your life was turned upside down, Jin, Tae and Hobi were waiting for you there. They must’ve tidied up, you left the place in a tip.

Jungkook doesn’t place you on the bed, he sits on there instead not letting you out of his arms. The glare he sends the others is very clear, try to take her off me.

You’re starting to feel drained, the earlier screaming match completely wore you out, and you were feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. You don’t even realise how you’re leaning into Jungkook, but the position is familiar, like a key in a lock, and you can feel yourself drifting.

“Princess we need you to stay awake just a little longer okay?” Tae crouches down to meet your eyes, you can see the sadness in them even though he’s keeping a straight face. He can’t help but reach his palm out to feel your flushed cheeks, he wants to tell you he’s missed you, that they were all lost without you, but he knows it would hurt you more than they already had.

“Tae I’m tired,” you whine a little, the defences dropping now your body felt safe, your brain couldn’t catch up with the fact that you were still angry with them, you could almost pretend the last few months didn’t happen.

“Let her sleep, we’ve put her through enough,” Hobi sounded so serious from where he was watching you, back leaning against the wall, arms crossed like a teacher waiting for the class to settle. When Hobi was angry it scared you the most. Tae nodded at his hyungs words, offering you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes before moving away.

“First take these Princess,” Jin holds two pills in his palm and a glass of water, he brings them both to your lips, gently coaxing you to swallow. He wipes away the little spill you made down the side of your mouth, letting his fingers linger there for a second. He hasn’t been this close to you for so long, he doesn’t want to move away, but he does.

You nuzzle closer to the body holding you, clutching onto his shirt as you finally succumb to sleep. You can feel a cheek pressed against the top of your head, a promise written in the way he holds you tighter against him, but you were too far gone to decipher the words in the warmth of his arms, so you let your dreams take you instead.

#bts au #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #taehyung fanfic #bts scenarios #bts royal au #BTS bodyguard au #bts poly!au #bts polyamory #poly bts #bts poly #namjoon au #yoongi au #taehyung x reader #jimin au #seokjin x reader #jungkook angst #hobi au

[hoe-imaginess]

vanilla | dabi

very alpha!Dabi x fem omega!Reader 

summary: Dabi isn’t aware that the LoV has an omega up for grabs, not until he accidentally comes across you in heat. 

word count: 11.7k

contains: dub-con elements, scent kink, humiliation, masturbation, hella dirty talk, mentions of blood/burns, Dabi being an all around bastard

a/n: commissioned by K to share part of my ABO fic. Most ABO stuff makes me squeamish so I leave out token tropes (aka knots) another private fic that I didn’t plan on posting so it’s kinda uhhhhh bad lmao. will possibly post more but idk. 

DON'T let the title mislead you ok Dabi is anything but vanilla 

⤰

When he found the safehouse, Dabi knocked at the front entrance.

For a long time there was no response, and he tried again, louder this time and with more exasperation.

“Coming,” he heard a shout finally, muffled across the steel door.

Dabi rubbed his eyes to put some pressure behind them, in hopes it might too take that same pressure away from the sting in his nose.

Some heady omega in the area was in heat, and a bad one; the entire neighborhood reeked of the tantalizing aroma.

He groaned, jaw tensing, and with practiced composure put the fire down in his body. He had enough of it running under his skin every second of the day in the form of his quirk. He didn’t need any more. But it was getting worse the longer he waited there with that smell tiding in the air.

He didn’t even know why he was there, doing such a chore, in the first place.

Maybe it was because this League of Villains business was a promising crusade; he’d heard good things and seen for himself some profit in the affiliation, even despite how profusely he disliked the weird hand-guy, or how awkward the black fog in a suit could be. 

The other recruit, Toga—who he found as equally disagreeable as the rest—had all but blindsided him that evening as he exited the dainty bar which they called headquarters.

Could you do me a favor, Dabi? she’d entreated with an attempt at innocent, girl-like charm: a tactic which, as it usually did, failed. The manic grin on her face had only made him want to be away from her company all the sooner.

No, he’d said, and pushed past her.

But she’d skipped after him, steadfast. 

Tomura had asked her to run an errand in one of the more dangerous parts of the city, she’d said, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She was just a girl, after all. Couldn’t Dabi do her this one favor and take the responsibility off her hands? She was too nervous to take a trip like that, and so late in the night.

Bullshit, he’d said, but instead of protesting in defense of herself, she’d just giggled like a lunatic, dropping her pretense.

Still, when she said it was a delivery which needed to be made to you, the only member of the League he had yet to officially meet, curiosity pinched him.

Indifferent as he was to comradery, he was undeniably interested in unearthing the particulars of this would-be villainous syndicate, which included being at least somewhat familiar with his allies. He knew you had been an original member even before he and the psycho schoolgirl came into the fold; but little else. 

You needed a delivery to be made to one of the League’s safehouses? Well, maybe he could oblige, if only to snoop around. Shigaraki was particularly fastidious with the information he willfully shared, and Dabi would take any opportunity to filch information under the boss’s nose in stride.

After all, if Toga, a new—and undoubtedly incompetent—recruit was being tasked with these deliveries, why not Dabi? Why not Kurogiri, who could make the shipment with ease given his quirk?

What was going on behind the scenes that Dabi wasn’t seeing?

Underwhelming as his first task as a newcomer would be, he saw it as an opportunity. He could be a good and useful asset to the League just for the night, he’d decided, when he told Toga he would do it. He was headed to that side of town anyways, he’d said. 

So there he found himself, his foot tapping impatiently on the ground as he waited outside the safehouse. 

That goddamn scent that wafted around the building... Why did he feel as though he’d smelled it before? And why did it smell so… sickeningly sweet?

He tried to distract himself by musing over what might have solicited these late-night deliveries, for example: what was in this suitcase he was meant to give you. 

Toga had handed it to him with such a twisted, giddy smile on her face that he was half-convinced it was a bomb ready to blow and scatter him into pieces for her sick delight. Once he’d found it locked, he’d given up on guessing the contents after he shook the thing and the rattling inside gave no indication of the secrets it held.

More distraction, he entreated himself. 

He thought of the itch of his staples, the uncomfortable tingle on his ridged skin when the air brought heavy wind against it. He thought of anything that might take away from the smell of raw heat in the area, but it was an instinctual pull that left him fidgeting where he stood.

He was about ready to leave the suitcase at the door and hit the road, when there was a commotion from across the threshold.

The aroma that burst from the opening door completely smothered him, made every bone in his body feel like smoldering steel; made lightning shoot down his veins and a low breath catch in his lungs.

You blanked when you saw him there, your pupils blowing wide with shock, then, if he read it correctly, fear.

He sniffed hard, his body scrambling for a source to the scent that begged his alpha inclinations to go wild. The inhalation sent pinpricks of warmth down to his feet. The smell was overwhelming now, almost dizzying.

And it was coming from you.

“Fuck,” he spat, and covered his nose with his arm, backing away from the door.

You slammed it shut, your heart racing.

“What are you doing here?!” you demanded.

“Came to give you this goddamn shit,” he snapped, throwing the suitcase at the door. It landed with a violent thud. His limbs jerked with frayed nerves, like the sun was heating his skin and crawling down to his center. “Are you an idiot!? You know I’m an—”

“I do that’s why I wanted Toga to bring it—”

“She had me do it,” he shouted, and backed himself against the opposite alley wall, a hand clenching and unclenching against his clothed thigh.

Goddamn your smell. Goddamn it. Like vanilla. Horribly sweet. So fucking potent.

He threw his head back against the wall, ignoring the throbbing pain it kneaded into his skull, and breathed hard.

He wanted to bust down the door. His legs twitched at the impulse; fingers tensed and flames licked their tips.

It would be easy. Kick it down. Burn it down. Burn the whole goddamn place down if need be. He wanted to force his way in, wanted to claw at your clothes and shove himself inside you—

Instead he took another deep breath, and loosed it on a shaky sigh.

He’d handled omega heats before, why was he like this now? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was too much.

“You need to leave,” you muttered from the other side of the door, so resolute and aggrieved that he would have never guessed you were keeled over on the floor, legs shut tight and body shivering. His alpha smell was nauseating you; it was strong and dominating and demanding that you open yourself to him. “Now.”

“Yeah I’m goin',” he snapped angrily, storming off down the alley once his legs restored their loyalty to his head, and not what was between his legs. “Fuck."

⤰

Dabi stroked himself hard and fast and rough, nose pressed into his sleeve, breathing in the sweet tang of vanilla that lingered between the fibers.

He growled out his next breath, and it sputtered off into a wobbly sigh as he closed his eyes and thought of you: those perfect tits he was sure you were hiding under your clothes; your ass, which would look like nice, he knew, with his handprints burned onto the skin; and then your cunt—fuck, he could almost imagine how tight it was, how hotly it would grip him and milk every last fucking drop of his cum—the mere vision of it pink and twitching and spread out for him was like an explosive punch to his gut.

He came in thick, hot spurts, some rolling over his knuckles as he quickly twisted his fist over the cockhead, others staining the brick wall in front of him with ropey, white streaks.

“Fuck,” he panted, chest heaving, limbs trembling. A hand shot to the wall and braced himself there for balance, kept him upright while his quivering knees threatened to fail him.

When was the last time he’d even had to rub one out like this? In a dirty fucking alley? And least of all because of some stupid omega?

Goddamn you, he thought.

⤰

“Dabi!” Toga squealed when he returned to the bar later in the morning. She sniffed the air, breathed in his smokey scent, and flashed a hungry smile, tongue dipping out to wet her eager lips. “You smell so strong. Are you worked up?” Then her eyes were bright and thrilled. “Oh? Oh?! Did you see _____-chan? Did you?"

“Yeah, you crazy idiot.” Dabi slammed the bar door shut behind him. "You just forget to mention that she was in heat?”

Shigaraki, who’d been previously uninterested in the debacle, now looked up from his game. “What?”

Toga giggled. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Did you smell her? Oh, it’s so nice, isn’t it?” The girl’s eyes twitched and rolled back loftily in ravenous remembrance. “_____-chan smells so sweet. So sweet—”

“You caught her in heat?” Shigaraki asked, accusative but curious. “Are you stupid?"

Scowling, Dabi jerked a thumb at Toga. “Dipshit over here had me take some stuff over to that safehouse you got. I didn’t fuckin’ know."

“You dumb girl,” Shigaraki snapped, turning on her now. “Are you brain dead? Or do you really not get why omegas hide from alphas during heats? Why do you think we have a beta like you go do deliveries now?”

“I know what happens!” she contended. “I thought she could use some company. She smells so delicious. Was it fun, Dabi? Was it fun and romantic and—”

“Try infuriating,” Dabi spat, then set his anger on Shigaraki. “You’re no better. Either of you.” He nodded his head at Kurogiri behind the bar. “Would’ve been nice to know you had an unmated omega in your group.”

“Thought you’d noticed by now,” Shigaraki replied, now somewhat subdued, and tending to his game again. “What, your nose doesn’t work?”

“It works fuckin’ fine. Just didn’t realize that scent you got around here all the time was hers.”

In recollection, he put his sleeve over his nose. The sweet smell had vanished, but the memory of it still haunted his senses, made every nerve in his body flutter with excitement. It was driving him fucking insane.

“How the hell do you two work with an omega?” Dabi asked. “That gets heats like that, no less.”

“We’re not animals,” the leader replied. “Some of us can handle it.”

“My ass. Guessin’ that’s the reason she’s never around, huh? You don’t seem very disciplined. Bet you catch one whiff of that slick and go completely ape shit.”

Shigaraki scowled, affronted.

“It was our mistake not warning you,” Kurogiri conciliated the blame, clearly nervous, and possibly displeased by the crass talk. “We were under the impression that you knew. We’ve taken steps to lessen the risk in our years together. We are somewhat… desensitized.”

“Good for you,” Dabi muttered. “I ain’t. A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“Now you know,” Shigaraki said, scratching peevishly at his neck. “Stop complaining. You’ll get used to it.”

Dabi tsked. “Yeah, you better hope I do.” Then he stalked off.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Shigaraki asked Toga once the other alpha had departed.

Toga keened happily, still enamored with Dabi’s untamed scent. Alphas were so delicious when worked up.

“I forgot,” she insisted dreamily. “Honest, I did.”

“That was a very risky mistake,” Kurogiri was saying, black vapors flitting nervously about his frame. “As a beta, you may not be aware of the risks that both alphas and omegas face when it comes to positions of power–”

Toga pouted and whined, like a child whose gleeful imagination had been thwarted. “I don’t get it. I was just doing them both a favor. Alphas are supposed to take of omegas in heat, aren’t they? What’s the big deal?” She had a stupid smile on her face again, rapt with thoughts of desire. “It must be so nice as an alpha, getting to take any little omega you want… they’re so needy.”

“The big deal, you damn idiot,” Shigaraki started, “is that a guy like that is too selfish to put our objectives before his prick. There’s a reason we don’t mess with that heat and rutting crap here. Complicates things. Makes everyone go crazy. Like you.”

She tittered like a lunatic, proud of her indignity. “She smells so good, Tomura. It’s not fair. Not fair at all.”

⤰

After your heat, once you’d returned to the bar, you ignored Dabi to the best of your ability.

At first, he seemed content enough to reciprocate the caution. You both treaded carefully: any eye-contact made would be swiftly curtailed with averted gazes; you cleared a room whenever he entered, and vice versa, he acted as though you were invisible to him.

It would be fine, you’d told yourself. You’d dealt with the ugly dynamics your omega lifestyle wrought countless times. You could do it again. Dabi was a new recruit, after all. Promising—albeit coarse—according to Tomura. His contribution to the team far outweighed the plights of your personal struggles. You would be fine. It would be fine.

But those lofty self-reassurances were short-lived.

You were sitting in one of the bar’s empty rooms when he sought you out. You smelled him before he rounded the corner, and fear gripped you when the alpha bouquet invaded your senses. But then something else came to seek your submission: an instinctual calling on the wisps of his scent, bringing an anxious and conflicting nostalgia back to you.

God his smell had followed you for days: a smokey aroma, but something so fresh underneath it, like cold mint. You’d never been so enthralled by a scent before, never been so tempted to give in to carnal desire and offer yourself to a being nature had designated as your superior: an alpha.

He stood in the doorway of the room, just looking at you; you stared back, frozen, and made yourself small in hopes that you might avoid whatever confrontation was to come.

“Your heats always that stupidly strong?” he asked.

You blanched and took a deep breath to quell your unease. You wished to anything that the world would swallow you and take you away from what was undoubtedly going to be one of the worst, most uncomfortable confrontations of your life.

“Yes,” you said. “That’s why I have to go away.”

“Why? I mean, most omegas do it. Usually to work it out themselves, right? Bet that little delivery I made was a bunch of toys, wasn’t it?” 

“No,” you said, feeling embarrassed by the mere speculation. “It was a suppressant. They don’t usually work on me... I’m trying to find the right one.”

The broad smirk that shifted his scarring tissue made you shift uncomfortably. “Suppressants are useless if your heat is too strong. That shit was bad. The smell is ridiculous. You clearly ain't doing somethin' right if it’s always that potent.”

You shivered at the mention of your scent. It was always what they mentioned—the alphas. They always raved about your scent: like sweet candy, some said. Most often, vanilla. The sniff of it on your very nose was nauseating after so long: an inescapable quality that put you in the crosshairs of nearly every alpha you’d met, made you frightfully easy prey to their predator.

“I’ve...” Shit, should you be sharing this with him? Normally you did, with most alphas you were acquainted with. Especially those you trusted. But you didn’t trust him. You barely knew him. “I’ve never... been rutted properly. So, they’re stronger. The heats.”

“Never been rutted through a heat?” he asked, scoffing. “Sounds miserable. You’re all backed up, aren’t ya? That’s why you struggle with your scent so much.”

You were quiet. You met his interrogation more confidently than you previously thought possible, given how successfully he’d intimidated you up until now. But your fear was draining away slowly, giving way to some sense of adeptness.

Memories of his scent had haunted your every bodily cell since the moment you’d first experienced it. Although facing it again now was overwhelming, you’d steeled yourself since then.

It would be okay, you reminded yourself. Conferring with allied alphas was only a necessary tack if you were going to keep the peace.

“I have, obviously,” you answered. “I’ve been rutted through a heat. But, it’s not the same if it’s not with… well—”

“An alpha?” he finished, and couldn’t help the surprise on his face. “You’ve never been with an alpha in your heat?”

You shook your head. And then there it was, the returning frailty so thick that it seized the room. Why were you so humiliated to speak your truths? They were truths, after all, under his harsh gaze or not.

“…I’ve never been with an alpha at all.”

He actually laughed. “Nah. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Never even fooled around a bit?”

“No."

A wry, callous grin stretched his staples. He tilted his head and hummed curiously. “You afraid? Of alphas?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Omegas are normally dyin’ to get laid when they’re in heat. Especially when they’re surrounded by alphas they actually know, like you are. Would be one thing if you were locking yourself up to hide from strangers, but you’re not. Gross as that hand-guy is, he seems like he’d rut for ya."

“I just don’t... want it.”

“Nah. You’re scared. I can tell. Should’ve seen that look on your face the other day, damn near terrified—like I was gonna jump on you any second.”

You bristled with agitation, frustration invited back in full bloom now that your confidence was weakened. “Sorry if I don’t trust you,” you returned with grim sarcasm. “You’re not very… decent, to put it plainly.”

“Decent? Nah, I’m not. Alphas aren’t supposed to be. But that’s why you’re all nervous, right?”

“I don’t…” You shook your head, thoughts tripping over one another. “My quirk makes it difficult,” you admitted, and bit your tongue shortly afterwards.

”Your quirk?”

You swore it was his pheromones making you talk, clouding your judgment and wringing admissions from you. “Alphas and omegas dealing with ruts or heats… it compromises their quirks sometimes, I’m sure you know. Makes them uncontrollable and disorderly. I don’t want that to happen to me. Heats are bad enough on their own. Actually getting rutted through one…” You shrugged, vulnerable to be sharing your fears. “I don’t know. I heard it can go wrong. It would be too much.”

“Oh.” He snickered. “Afraid you’re gonna get too horny and flip out or something?”

Heat primed your cheeks in a blush. “No. I mean… In a way. But, thats not what I really meant–”

“So you just run away whenever you’re in heat? ‘Cause you don’t know how to handle it? That’s sad. Bet you wouldn’t be such a stuck up mess if you just let someone rut you through it, at least once. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Forget suppressants. Not just that,” he snickered, and smirked slyly, “it’s awfully unfair of you to be such a prude when you’ve got a bunch of alphas around."

You shivered, not simply noticing, but feeling his eyes pore over you. “They’re not interested.”

“Fuck that. Don’t know if you heard sweetheart, but omegas are made for us to fuck and breed.”

“No,” you said, almost indignantly, “they aren’t.” To be reduced to something so primitive and incidental put anger in your veins. It was a sore, but inevitable topic you were unfortunate to suffer so often.

“Yeah. They are. Don’t know how that hand-creep hasn’t tried to jump your bones yet. I sure as shit would have, by now.”

Then, considering his words, he made a curious frown. “Unless you hide to keep away from that guy.” As he thought of these depraved illustrations in his head, put pieces of his own mused puzzle together, the grim smile returned. “Yeah. I can see that. Putting your own sanity on the line because you don’t wanna provoke your boss. You’d rather scurry off than deal with that guy. You really are scared of alphas, huh?”

“No,” you spat. “Tomura is…“ God, you hated this, hated how his smell was driving you crazy, making you pliant. “Tomura doesn’t need distractions. He’s not very… well-equipped to handle these sort of things.”

You wouldn’t mention how the visual of Tomura’s hands gripping you with alpha-driven need, unwittingly cursing your skin with his quirk, obliging your flesh to break away under his clutches and slowly split you open was a terror that kept you awake some nights.

“I stay out of the way for both our sakes,” you said, shaking the fearsome thoughts away. “Everything works out fine the way it is. We want it this way. We know how to focus on our mission and that only."

He shrugged, unconvinced. “Sure, gotta keep the peace or whatever. Don’t wanna turn the League into a rut fest. Puttin’ the greater good over their alpha needs, over what’s in their pants."

You frowned at him, displeased with the vulgarity.

He snickered to see it. “Commendable of them and all that. But…” He pushed from the wall he’d leaned against and came towards you. You inched away, heart beating fast at the sudden approach. “I’m a little more radical about this stuff, I guess you could say. I think you’d be much more useful if you weren’t so pent up.”

When he crouched down in front of you, you backed into the wall that you sat against, but there was no room for escape. He wasn’t smiling now, only perusing you with expressionless intensity. You tried to suppress a shiver when his eyes rolled down your body.

“Never really been all that concerned with this sort of stuff, not gonna lie. I’ll rut when I need to. Otherwise shit starts getting complicated and I can’t think straight.” He shrugged. “But in case you haven’t noticed, my body ain’t all that suited for frantic ruts. I try to take it easy, if possible. But… I always thought it was a little dumb that we’re engineered to think with what’s between our legs, most of the time.”

And so saying, his warm had slid between your partially opened thighs, which shivered at his touch and clamped together quickly to deny him.

But he wasn’t deterred, and shoved against the resistance, slipping the invading hand under your skirt.

“Stop,” you demanded, breath automating into nervous pants. In sudden fear of being happened upon by the others, you glanced around feverishly, your feet shuffling on the ground to push you back against the wall.

“Stop, now.” Your hands were on his arm, trying to push him away. “Dabi,” you insisted, trying to sound firm. But it did little to deter him.

“See? Bet if you weren’t so damn skittish you’d be putting up a real fight.” His hand finally broke through the tight resistance of your thighs, and his fingers pressed against your underwear. They were damp to the touch.

He laughed, and stroked over the wetness with his knuckle, making you keen and try to pull away.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, looking down between your trembling thighs. “Unless you were playing with yourself before I got here, I’m guessin’ this is because of me?”

He took the wet fabric between his two fingers and rubbed together. “And what’d I do for you to get like this? You’re not even in heat. And I’ve barely got a scent on me right now. We’re just talking, ______. You really that hot for me, sweetheart?”

At the sound of your name coming from his mouth, gravelly and low, you shuddered, and put an arm over your mouth to keep in a stammering moan. But his other hand came and pulled the limb away.

“Please,” you stuttered out. “Stop.”

“Am I the first alpha who’s touched you like this?” he asked, ignoring your plea.

Your thighs tightened around him again, and one of your hands went to his collar, squeezing into it in meager resistance.

That too he ignored, and looked at you with plain impatience. “Am I?”

You whimpered and nodded, unable to form words when your lips were stuck harshly bitten between your teeth.

“Yeah, thought so.”

Then his thumb worked its cruel intentions and circled your clit. The pathetic gasp he received in turn made him chuckle.

“Nah. See, this isn’t supposed to happen.” His thumb pressed harder and your head knocked back against the wall. “I’ve seen some pretty slutty omegas, but this is plain stupid.”

“I’m—” You practically hiccuped through a whine, and squeezed your eyes shut, your quirk threatening to reveal itself, answering the calls of your panic and ready to defend against his assault. “I’m not a slut—”

He brushed up on your clit hard and you whimpered, defense all but surmounted.

“Okay, fine. You’re not a slut. You’re just damn sensitive because you’ve never given your body what it needs.” He grinned his wicked grin. “An alpha.”

You shook your head. “No—”

“Yes.”

You shook it vigorously now, and your hands came back to life, pushing at him. “No.”

“Yes, _____,” he breathed, laughing. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Alpha, omega, whatever—those instincts make your brain all mushy if you don’t get it under control. You’ve got some dissonance going on in your head. You’re really letting yourself go because of it. You wanna be a good ally for your boss, but you can’t, because you’re too scared to—"

“I’m not,” you insisted, eyes wrenching themselves open to look at him. He was amused, depravedly amused, but still remarkably composed for how ruthlessly he was teasing you. “I just don’t want it–”

He snorted loudly, and you were sure the sound would echo and bring someone upon the spectacle. “You don’t want it? Seriously? Now you’re just in denial.”

His fingers coiled around your panties and shoved against your bare skin; your pussy was wet and warm to the touch.

“I can smell your slick, holy fuck,” he muttered. For the first time, though everything up until this point had been cruelly entertaining but not entirely stimulating, he felt his cock twitch, and his mouth water. He hummed. “Bet you taste like vanilla, too, don’t you?”

“St-stop,” you stuttered, face going hot with embarrassment, hiding it against your shoulder as if it would help mitigate the fluster.

He let go of the arm he’d been restraining, put a hand on your knee, and tried to push your legs open. He was surprised when met with resistance; you kept your thighs locked together like a vice, making it substantially more difficult to move his fingers on your clit the way he wanted.

He scoffed.

“Open your legs,” he demanded of you, and felt your body twitch at the command.

He looked at you, and was pleased to find you staring back, wide-eyed and jolted. His blue eyes narrowed autocratically.

He spoke his command slower, but with more authority, “Open them. Now."

And when you did, he let out a breathy laugh of satisfaction, and admired the mess of wetness between your thighs. “See? See how easy that was?”

One hand gripped the soft flesh of your thigh—shit, the skin was practically begging for his teeth to sink in, to make you bleed, to mark you—while the occupied continued its ministrations, fingers jerking quickly over your pink clit.

"What if I were some enemy tryin’ to get some information out of you, huh? You’d probably spill everything about the League to another alpha the second he gave your pussy any attention. Shit,” he laughed, head cocking curiously as he played with the folds of your cunt, “I’m just teasin' you a little and you’re already dripping, for one. For two, following my every command like a good little whore.”

You shook your head, wordless in your denial. You thought you could taste blood in your mouth from your own lips, teeth digging in harshly to give your body any sensation to distract from the burgeoning pleasure. Your nerves were trampling over one another, all of them somehow alight with fire, but numb all the same.

“Imagine what I, or any other alpha, really, could get you to do with a cock inside you. Ever think of that? And if you were in heat?” He scoffed. “Forget it. You’re pretty much a liability at this point. Don’t know why the hell your boss keeps you around. It’s pathetic.”

Bracing both hands on his shoulders, you loosed a strangled moan of frustration, fingers biting into his clothes, pressing against the lean muscle beneath. He didn’t seem to care, too focused on the pink, twitching flesh now turning red from his fingers' abuse. He swiped his pointer and middle across your clit in a dizzying pace, until the tendons in his wrists burned and his knuckles ached. But your scent… fuck, the fucking scent—

He prided himself on his practiced fortitude against alpha instincts; his body, wracked by the toll of his quirk, was vulnerable as it was. Willpower was necessary to stave off the feral hunger that often made him forget his own fragility and indulge the fierceness of ruts and heats. It always ended with loose staples and bloody rivulets along his skin. Self-aware as he was of his own limitations, he so rarely let himself indulge his body’s desires.

But fuck if you weren’t testing him.

You were close, you knew, your body spasming and breath catching in every interval. You panicked, tried to fight it, but it was as though his fingers had caged your volition somewhere in the back of your mind, and instead propagated all senses to pleasure.

“Fucking tease,” he muttered under his breath, but you barely heard him above the frenzied din in your brain.

Just as you felt something in you stirring irrevocably, both his hands left you, and he stood to his feet.

You nearly toppled over, and spilt over yourself awkwardly to try and catch yourself on the ground. The wet slide between your thighs was horribly palpable, and horribly embarrassing.

You panted as you gathered yourself, looking up at him in flustered awe as you shut your thighs and protectively shoved your skirt back into place.

He was admiring his fingers, the wetness coating them, and when he noticed your gaze, waved them at you teasingly. “See this?”

So wet, you thought, humiliated, as a sticky strand started to spill from his finger. You shivered, your face sweltering and flushed.

“This is your body’s way of telling you that it’s beggin’ to be filled.”

You shuddered, and held yourself miserably, trying to fight the unsatisfied heat in your veins with calming breaths. “You’re horrible,” you whispered, your mouth dry.

“Nah. I’m being a nice guy. The only smart one around here, too, looks like.”

He licked at his fingers, a shudder going down his spine when he tasted the sweetness. It was unreal. “This is ridiculous. You wouldn’t have to worry so much about scurrying away from alphas if your smell wasn’t so strong. If you’re heat wasn’t so strong. And none of it would be, if you just did what you were made to do. You’re repressed. Backed up as hell—”

“I wasn’t made to do anything,” you argued, frustration returning.

“You can keep sayin’ it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, honestly. Got everyone jumpin’ through hoops for you because you’re so damn sensitive. I ain’t gonna do that.”

You sat there in a heap, fidgeting uncomfortably and fighting for any sense of self-determination you could. He’d said his scent was scant, but you swore it was filling the room, pulping your thoughts and dizzying your nauseous head.

“Clearly you’ve been stuck with some pretty underwhelming alphas until now,” he said. “So I’m gonna do you a favor. Next time you’re in heat, find me, and I’ll do something about it.”

He wiped his dirtied fingers on his shirt, then left you there.

⤰

A month later, Dabi got a call.

“What?” he answered curtly, thinking it was Shigaraki from a burner number. The boss did that sometimes, despite there being little need for throwaways. It was theatrical and annoying.

“It’s me.”

After a pause of non-recognition, you sighed, “It’s ______.”

“Oh?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

In the alley, Dabi admired the burning body he’d just finished off, the corpse kindling his blue flames nicely as it crumbled to ash.

He laughed lowly. “Yeah. Been about a month, hasn’t it. You had some time to think sweetheart?”

From the other end, you bit your lip. “I have rules.”

Something seeped into his blood and swelled within him. Like a breeze carried from somewhere far off, he got a whiff of your sweet scent, just a ghost of it, and licked his lips.

“Seems a little over the top,” he said. “But I’m listening.”

There was a sound in the alley behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder.

You took a deep breath on the other end, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt. “I’ll be at a different place tonight. Another safehouse, down by the docks. The first rule is that when you get here, you have to—”

Dabi heard the cocking of a gun. The disdainful comrade of the dead, scorched man had the weapon raised and trained on him, spouting some threatening nonsense of vengeance. The flame-wielder huffed in annoyance.

“Can’t really talk right now,” he spoke into the receiver, his hands brightening with his quirk. “I’ll find the place. Better not get cold feet.”

“Dabi—”

But he hung up before you could say more.

⤰

You waited for the better half of the evening shot to pieces with doubt.

You’d gone over the situation a dozen times, and twice that number decided the uncontrollable confusions weren’t worth second-guessing; dictating right and wrong left you light-headed when your body was already a frenzied playground of sensation thanks to your heat.

You started to text him the address when midnight rolled around, just in case he’d gotten lost—then thought better of it. The uncertain doublet came again: You couldn’t do this. It was dangerous. You hadn’t witnessed Dabi’s brutality firsthand, but the hearsay was worrisome enough. He would break you. It would end horribly. Your quirk, or even his, would lash out—

Then the other half of the fretful analysis: Yes. You could do this. It was natural. It was true what he’d said, about you neglecting your body’s desires, and in turn leaving room only for self-sabotage. The thought of him drove you wild with uncertainty, but so did the notion of not doing this; your body was raging at the absence of touch. One which he was apparently willing to give.

Finally you called him, nerves scattered and patience thinned, deciding that whatever he had to say to you on the other line would determine whether or not you should carry on with your plans.

Almost as soon as you heard the ringing from the other line, so too did a chirpy noise come from right outside the safehouse door: a phone.

You blanched. Before you could make toward the door, the metal lever twisted with a creak and opened. He was there on the other side with his phone in hand, and lifted it teasingly when his eyes found you in the dim room.

“If you’re callin’ to give me directions, waste of time,” he said as he slunk inside. “I can smell you across the damn street.”

You shivered, smelling him, too: he radiated a warm scent, then that icy undertone which always perplexed you in the most enticing way.

He shut the door behind him, locked it, and inspected you. He huffed in amusement to see how nervous you were.

“You said you had some rules,” he started, coming towards you. Your heart started skipping. “Sounds like a lot of bullshit, so I wasn’t gonna remind you. But I guess if it’ll stop you from chickening out halfway…”

His hands were on you in an instant, at your sides, squeezing and kneading the flesh underneath your shirt. You froze. The dumbfounded look on your face had him smirking.

“Not that you’ll be able to once I get started,” he went on. “Or even want to. Probably gonna forget you even had rules once I stick it in you.”

The hands went down, gripped your ass, and brought your bodies together. You braced yourself against his forearms, stuttering when he wasted no time and pressed his face into your jaw, licking, kissing, teasing you with teeth.

Your eyes fluttered closed, mouth hanging open as he traveled down. At his touch, your mind slowed to blind submission. The excitement was stroking a fire in you that you hadn’t even known was there.

Fuck, it was too much. Already, too much.

“You gonna tell me?” he asked between kisses. "Or you already forgot?”

As he moved to your neck, he inhaled sharply through his nose. The sweet scent stirred a frenzy in his gut.

“Fuck.” The hands at your ass squeezed so hard that you gasped. “Goddamn girl,” he laughed breathily, grinding against you. “That shit’s good.”

“I—" You choked on your next words when he spread your thighs apart from behind, fingers curling under your skirt to feel for your panties. “The rules, I—”

“You better spit it out,” he warned, coming up to look at you, eyes fixed with hunger. “I’m not a patient guy. I’m really gonna pounce on you in a second if you don’t get on with it.”

It struck apprehension into you. You breathed out the words hurriedly, “Don’t mate me. Don’t give me a mating mark—”

He laughed in your face, making you blush, then went back to kissing at your neck.

“Didn’t plan on it. Don’t want a mate. Probably never will.” He kissed hard at your neck, breathed in your scent again with a hum. “Besides, even if I did, you’re not bad looking and I know your cunt’s gonna be nice and tight, but you’re not worth mating. You’re high-strung. It’s annoying.”

You bristled with anger, but his warmth was making every other sense dull to you. When his teeth teased the skin at your shoulder, you were wrangled back to focus.

“No marks,” you warned, just as his teeth sank in, and nudged away gently to dissuade him. “Don’t leave any. Kurogiri and Tomura can’t see–”

“I don’t give a fuck who sees,” he replied harshly, coming up to look at you. “Who cares? They were dumb enough to leave you unmated and practically dyin’ for a fuck, so forget them. I’m doing you a favor here, remember that. You can have some rules, but I’m doing whatever the hell I need to do.”

His fingers rubbed hard at your panties; they were wet to the touch. "Not like you’re gonna run out now. You’re fucking soaked.” With a pleased growl he went to your neck again, biting hard.

You squealed, but before he could start sucking at the skin, you reeled back and moved away from him. You pushed at his forehead with a hand, and he smacked it away.

“Then no,” you sighed out shakily once you’d gotten his attention. "We’re done here.”

You spoke it with such confidence that it actually earned you his consideration. He stared at you, half-impressed, but mostly, furious.

“If you can’t listen to me,” you muttered, braving his piercing eyes willingly, "then… then fuck off.”

He was scowling at you now, and without warning his fingers pinched your clit.

You gasped sharply and raggedly at the feeling, melting into his touch with weak legs. He had to hold you upright to prevent you from collapsing, and against your ear, he huffed angrily.

“That’s what I fucking thought, stupid slut.”

He shoved you down onto the mattress at your feet.

You were too dizzy to make a protest when he climbed over you, and had no voice on which to loose it when he ripped—literally ripped—your shirt apart and attacked your chest with harsh bites and licks. Your nipples got the worst of it: he went for them with a growl in his throat, claiming the peaks between his teeth, biting down so hard you squealed and kicked.

“You really don’t have a goddamn clue how this works, do you?” he was breathing out harshly. “What an alpha does to an omega?” He looked up at you. Your eyes were watery and trembling as they gawked down at him. “What I can do to you?”

His lips went down, and he shoved your skirt off of your legs, the panties going too. You had enough sense in you to shut your thighs, which made him scoff, and yank them apart painfully.

“Don’t you fuckin’ try it. This is mine right now. You and your little cunt, mine. Like it’s supposed to be.”

He knew even as the words came from his mouth like venom, that your scent, coupled with his long-unreleased pheromones, were pushing him to a point of brutality. He’d never been so prone to complete and utter dominance like this. And now looking between your thighs at the pink, swollen, shaven pussy twitching for him, he knew there was no chance you’d be getting any mercy.

“Look at this shit,” he muttered, dropping to his knees, and as a protest died on your lips, his own pressed against your wetness, breathing in your scent as he did, growling loud and wildly in his throat.

His hands went to your thighs and pulled, bringing you closer against him, ignoring the fingers in his hair that feebly tugged. A shaky whimper came on every one of your breaths, your mouth sputtering through frail pleas he didn’t understand and didn’t bother trying to.

He indulged one harsh, long, angry suck on your clit, and released with a wet smack. You cried, actually cried when he went back in and dug his tongue harshly against you.

“Dabi, Dabi—no, please–”

Your scent made him light-headed, made him forget for a split second where he was, made him forget the constant and residual pain from his quirk, the itch of his staples—made him forget it all.

You came on his tongue without warning, a loud screech dying in your throat as you arched off the mattress. He was too shocked to lick up the sweet cum that received him. His eyes shot open and he looked up at you; you were an absolute wreck: flushed, sweating, shaking, and seized with pleasure.

He tried to count in his head. How long had it been? A minute? Barely? Fucking ridiculous.

He sucked and sucked until you were writhing. He wanted to punish you, wanted you to see how fucking weak you were, how badly you needed this.

“Dabi—” you sobbed out, tears itching your eyes and rushing down your face.

He pulled off finally with a loud breath, smacking his lips, then went back down to lick up your pussy one more time to clean you with his tongue. You jerked and twisted miserably. Then he was climbing over you again, forcing you to face him.

“You see?” he panted. "See what I just did to you? See how fuckin’ quick you were to cum for me? That’s what you’ve been missing. You’re not in the position to be making demands or rules here, _____. This is what you deserve. This is what you need. You need an alpha, you need me, you need this—”

He took your hand and forced it to rub between his legs. You stuttered a pitiful breath when you felt the bulge there, so hot, so inhumanly hot, waiting for you. Under your touch it twitched, greedy to be inside you.

You shook your head, unable to keep your eyes open; the blinding pleasure made a transit to numbing warmth, and your lids were heavy with drowsiness.

Your lip trembled. “Please, I need a minute, please—"

“No. Fuck no.”

He shred his clothes quickly, pulling his jacket off, kicking his shoes off, clawing at his belt and throwing that off too—but getting no further than shoving his pants down his hips so his eager cock could spring free. He didn’t have the time for anything else. He didn’t have the fucking time.

“I was gonna go easy on you,” he muttered. "Just a little."

Manhandling you to a spread position beneath him, he was almost ready to shove into you—then he had an exhilarating idea, and flipped you over, slapping your ass hard and making you yell in surprise. He wanted to take you like this: dominating, and utterly primal.

He forced your hips up, ass out, pussy spreading for him. He took his cock, flicked the head mercilessly against your clit until you were keening. A firm hand on your hip prevented you from squirming away.

“Please,” you sobbed again, gasping, body trembling. The heat. The heat. It was too much. Your skin crawled with euphoric pinpricks of fire. You needed it. You needed it. “Please, Dabi—”

“Please what?” he snapped, fire in his veins, vanilla flooding his head. “There’s no way in hell you want me to stop, so you’re beggin’ me for more. Use your words then. Say it.”

Your shook your head, mouth dry and gaping. “I can’t—”

He smacked your ass again and you jolted, unable to stop from curling into yourself as you orgasmed; the scent of your slick invaded his nose and he realized what you’d done. A dangerous, slow, ragged laugh bubbled from his throat.

“My god you’re so fucking pathetic. Look at that.” He kneaded his hand hard into your ass, pulling and stretching the skin, keeping your pussy fleshed out for him. “Look at this shit. It’s dripping. I want you to admit how pathetic you are.” He started to jerk himself hard, precum spilling over his fingers in messy streams. “Say it.”

You shook your head, pressing it hard into the mattress below. His hand went for your hair, yanked it backwards, and a tight yell tore out of your throat.

“Say it right now or you’re not getting my dick. I can shove it in your throat and get off just fine.” Oh, but how fucking badly he needed to put it in your cunt... “Say it. Say you’re pathetic, and that you need an alpha cock. Say it.”

“Dabi, please—“ Your hips arched upwards, begging, completely overrun with need. He shoved you back down, dismantling your sanity with every second went without feeling him inside of you.

“Say it now or I swear I’m gonna leave you here, _____.” He yanked your hair tighter, his hand flying on his cock. Everything felt so good. Too good. Too fucking hazy. “I’m gonna use your mouth or these tits to get off, and then I’m gonna leave you here, dripping and fucking pathetic and alone. Alone in your heat like you always are, you stupid whore.”

The thought made you whimper despairingly; in turn, he groaned loudly as he worked precum out in rapid strokes.

“Say it. Now. Now.”

“I’m—” Needy sobs wracked your voice, your hands clutching the mattress. “I’m a—I’m pathetic, I’m pathetic—”

“Fuck,“ he moaned loud and heavy, pinching the base of his cock to hold off release, then going back to stroking again, unable to go without stimulus. “What else? What else, _____?”

“I’m pathetic and I need your cock!” you cried out, too desperate for pride, too desperate for anything else. “I need an alpha cock, I need it—Dabi, damn it, please!—”

You practically screamed when he rammed into you, a loud shout tensing out of him as he let go of your hair. He put both hands at your hips to hold you in place for his violent thrusts.

Your mouth was open in vacant stupor, eyes rolling, feeling another orgasm ripping through you almost instantaneously.

“Fuck… fuck,” he breathed, feeling you tighten around him. He growled angrily, biting his lip until the burnt, abused skin swelled and bled. “You fucking—fuck—” Your slickness was in such abundance that little specks flew with every one of his thrusts, making his cock spear in and out perfectly and without restraint.

Every muscle in his body screamed for release, so soon, so quickly. His balls ached for it, spittle flew from his mouth with every ragged breath he took. Your back arched so nicely underneath him. You were such a perfect fucking omega he almost couldn’t stand it.

He shut his eyes tight, hand going to fist back into your hair and wrench upwards. You didn’t protest, didn’t even let a sound leave your throat despite the pain it brought. It didn’t take away the pleasure; nothing could. Nothing could ever take this away: the stretch of his thick, long cock pounding into you, hitting that spot over and over again until you came once more, then twice, then a third time.

He was breathing so raggedly that it branched pain into his lungs; his fingers dug into your hip so harshly that blood spilled from beneath his nails.

“Fuck,” he breathed, almost like a whisper: an angry, desperate, hissing whisper. “Oh fuck, _____...”

Everything was too much: your scent, the sight of you, your perfect cunt gripping mercilessly with every thrust. He bent forward, stuttering his hips into you as his orgasm approached. Copper met his tongue when he bit harshly into your back.

Beyond his control, his quirk joined the fray of pleasure, blue flame flickering faintly along his palms and burning you. But fuck, it didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered but the wet slap of his hips ramming into you, the painful bite of his belt at your thighs, his teeth at your back, sharp alpha canines digging in.

He felt the flames on his face rising; along his jaw, in his hair, they had a mind of their own. He had the sense, just a sliver of it, to back away from you, saving you from the heat that licked parts of his face, even as his hand burned char into your hip.

His rhythm was going; he was close. It hurt. It fucking hurt. He needed to let go. Needed to give you his cum. Needed to pump it in your eager little omega cunt.

“I’m—shit,” he choked, swallowing the dryness in his mouth and moaning long and low. “Tell me you want it baby girl,” he panted. “Tell me you want this cum. Tell me.”

“I—” You coughed miserably, body beyond your muscles’ command. “I want it—”

“What? What do you want? Say it, sweetheart—fuck, tell me—Tell me you want my cum and I’ll fucking give it to you—” You squeezed him tight, too tight, and he keeled over with a grunt. "You feel so damn good. Fuck I’m gonna give it to you, gonna fill this tight pussy come on, come on—”

“I want your cum!” you sobbed, tightening around him as if on instinct. He grabbed your hips with both hands, fucked into you primally now, an angry, seething growl in his throat that was far from human.

Flames on his back, on his arms, on his neck. The skin where his hands held you steamed and you moaned in agony, or maybe pleasure—maybe both. He didn’t care. Neither did you.

“Fuck!” he shouted, just as his hips stuttered and fire shot up his spine. He threw his head back, tendons on his neck flaring, arms and legs shaking as he came inside. “Fucking shit—”

He panted for air, felt staples pulling in places all over him, felt his balls burning with pleasure and heard your mangled cry as he gave you what your body needed, what it had always fucking needed.

He didn’t stop fucking into you until his body couldn’t physically answer his brutal needs, and he bent over you, one last and hard thrust sending you flat against the mattress. His searing body pressed flush against you, met your nipped skin in an overwhelming contrast and forced a whimper from your throat.

He bit into you wherever his mouth could reach, claimed you in any way he could without irrevocably mating you. Lost in the heat of it all, in the pleasure that burned up his spine and gave him vertigo, he wanted nothing else but you: to dominate you, make you submissive, fucking own you until you knew nothing else but him and his cock and his seed inside you—but he couldn’t mate you. Wouldn’t. 

Maybe not yet. 

His flames subsided on their own, leaving smoke to rise all over his skin like overworked geysers; a steaming form on top of yours. The pungency of the expelled fumes would have surely made you nauseous any other time, but your senses were dulled to discomforts and pains alike.

You panted heavily beneath him, quivering under his weight. He lay his head against your back and breathed.

Wanting to push himself upright he twisted a hand into the cushion next to your head, tried to work himself up, but unable to with the debility of his worn muscles.

“Goddamnit,” he rasped, then, forcing strength into his limp limbs, pushed up on a shaky arm and righted himself dizzily. He had to close his eyes, reclaim his vision from the black spots encompassing it, then blinked the room back into focus.

You made some mousy noise beneath him. Then you squirmed, tightening around his oversensitive dick and making him grunt.

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly, every inch dissuaded by the tight squeeze. Wetness made a sleek mess of it all, slick streaks down to your knees, on his own skin, too; splattered against his pelvis, dripping down his balls and his thighs. He shivered. All of this, all of this mess for him, because of him.

His seed spilled out of you when his cockhead, red and twitching, released itself. His cum was hotter than what should have been normal. As it dripped down your thighs it felt like a simmering stream.

The mess, primal though flattering as it was, was quickly something of an agitation on his sweltering skin, and he wanted to be rid of it. A hand was at your back to steady himself, and he pushed at it again to keep his balance—that was when he noticed the full scope of the burns he’d left on you. The burns, the bruises, the blood. He looked upon the violence he’d done with careful regard. He knew from a simple glance, and from experience, that the burns were so severe they would be beyond full healing. You’d have them there forever. A token of his brutality, of his lust.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh to steady himself.

“Oi.”

He pushed at you, and your limp body moved jointlessly beneath him. He wet his mouth to alleviate some of the dryness. His heart raced and his ears felt stuffed by warmth.

“Oi, you bring a towel? Something to wipe this mess up?” Your cum on his skin was cooling uncomfortably. “Oi.” He shook you a little harder when you kept to your silence, and a quiet whine answered him. “C'mon.”

There was a tiny movement: you attempting to push on your arms. But they were utterly useless to the command of your body. A raspy sound came from your throat, like you were trying to speak in murmurs.

He leaned in. “What?”

You tried again, to little betterment. He tsked, impatience entering his body again despite how languid it felt, and smacked your ass lightly, making you jump.

“I can’t hear you dummy, speak up."

You gave up, and trying to muster what little forte you could, moved a shaking arm and pointed to a bag off to your left. He understood, reached for it, his muscles screaming at him in ache, and set about cleaning himself with a towel he found inside.

He thought better of doing the same for you, but was again drawn to the wounds he’d left on you. Provoking an alpha-like possessiveness in him as they did, they were unsightly, and some far away part of him regretted what he’d done. He cleaned you carefully, in the smallest form of apology he was capable of evoking.

When the rough towel wiped over your sensitive clit you shivered miserably, and he huffed a quiet, weak laugh, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Such an omega.”

He tugged his pants back up his waist and sunk down into the mattress at your side. He’d mastered his breathing again, though there was a heat in his lungs, like smoke, which made every breath feel powerful and choking. The smoke had all but gone from his skin, however, extinguished by his mind returning to lucidness.

But there was still a trace of the ferocious alpha in him there, his legs and depleted cock twitching when he breathed in and smelled you, a warmer vanilla now: something changed and unpure now that you’d been rutted. And he knew, possessively, with a shot of primal instinct going down his spine and making fire roll through him, that he’d forever changed you.

He looked over at you, realizing for the first time that you’d been completely inanimate. You barely looked to be breathing; your inhales came in irregular, heavy intervals, as if each breath taken succeeded a reminder that you were still alive, awake.

He knew it was the adrenaline still rushing in his veins that made him do it, but he reached out, pushed at your head gently so you would look his way, and brushed the matted hair from your face.

Your skin was flushed with sweat. A damp spot in the mattress must have been tears, and probably drool. It wasn’t particularly nice to look at, but it stirred something in him nevertheless. You were a mess. An utter mess. His mess.

Your eyes were closed, pupils fluttering beneath the lids like shaking leaves.

“Open your eyes,” he said, for no particular reason.

But they shut tight at the command, and your breathing picked up, as if you were debating between obeying or not.

“Open them,” he told you again, no firmer, but apparently, it was persuasive all the same. Tears slipped from your ducts when you complied, eyes shining and trembling.

He ignored the part of him that ached to fall into his greedy impulses again. It was alluring. Not just because you were an omega, but because you were you. And he’d fucked you. He’d taken you. He was your first alpha.

Without further instruction to do otherwise, your eyes started to close again, and the hand that still held your hair from your forehead tugged lightly, entreating your eyes to stay trained on him.

“Nuh uh, wake up. Talk to me a little, before you pass out.”

You hummed groggily in response, your mouth open but too dry to form around words. You sealed your lips together, swallowed the dryness.

“Can’t move,” you managed raspily, staring at him, looking exhaustedly vulnerable and knowing you did, too.

He watched you, debating leniency, and decided he’d give you some, just for good measure.

You made an uncomfortable whine when he took your forearm and dragged you to him. He didn’t try to hold you, or keep you against him. Instead when you curled into your little ball against his side, moaning as you did at having to stretch your body’s abused muscles, he let you. What he didn’t deny of intimacy, however, was the arm he draped over you leisurely, just to feel you as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

His thumb brushed over the flesh of your hip, and felt the corrugated, slowly cooling flesh there. The sensation made him grimace. It was so like the gnarly, repulsive texture of his own skin. Not as severe by a long shot, but nevertheless, unpleasant to the touch.

“Hurt?” he asked.

You blinked lazily, his voice sounding like a waning echo to your numb ears. “What...?”

“Your hips. Look at them.”

You forced your eyes open; they rolled themselves into nausea when you shifted to look. When you noticed the pinkish, creased wound on your burned skin, you froze, then started to shiver in your dismay.

“You… I…” Your unsteady hand moved, a finger traced over the rough, still raw skin. Clearly, the pain was lost on you, lust granted. But the sight had your stomach twisting, its emptiness sloshing uncomfortably at the sight of your own damaged flesh; you could even smell it, strong and sickening like cooking meat.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did,” he muttered, selfishly flippant. “And you’re lucky I did it there.”

You took a shaky breath, and shut your eyes, resigned to your body’s lethargy. “Asshole.”

He humphed. “It’ll heal,” he lied. “I’ve had worse, clearly. Done worse, too. It won't get infected.”

You were quiet afterwards, volitionally so, barely keeping your hostility in check. He was more than aware of your chagrin, and didn’t particularly care. If you started feeling it later, he’d go get you meds for the pain. But he’d known omegas to be particularly resilient in their heats. There was very little that registered above the natural pleasure of being filled by an alpha.

“I’m…”

He glanced down at you, saw your mouth opening and closing in determined hesitation.

“I’m not a whore,” you managed croakily, and irritably.

He started laughing. “You gonna hold that against me?”

“I’m not a whore.” You scowled, resentful of his carefree ribbing. “And I’m not”—you sputtered, breathing hard through a phlegm-choked cough–“a slut.”

His laugh subsided into a low chuckle in his chest. You didn’t see the wry grin on his face, but heard it.

He shrugged. “I say shit when I’m high on fucking. Don’t take it so personally.” But he couldn’t stop now that the warmth of craftiness was twisting in him. “Besides…” The arm draped over you shifted, found your ass, and gave a generous squeeze. You whimpered in objection. “You basically are my whore, now.”

You shivered with frustration. Despite the wild—incredibly wild and earth-shattering sex, you were conceiving a poorer and poorer image of him the more he gloated. With renewed strength, you rose on your arm and pushed his hand off.

“I’m not,” you insisted testily.

“I get you don’t know how this shit works,” he started, “so guess I’ll explain it to you.”

There it was again: the possessive, ravenous wildfire in his veins that coaxed his arm to reclaim its spot at your back, bring you closer to him. Adjusting his position, he let your head rest on his stomach; your legs curled comfortably around his own for comfort. He watched your head rise and fall as he breathed steadily.

“May not have mated you,” he went on, anticipating your griping, "but I’m your alpha now.”

You tensed at the declaration, he noticed, but no more than that.

“And it’s gonna stay that way unless you let some other one take you in a heat, which I don’t see you doing. Unless you’re just so dick hungry after this that you let any guy fuck you.”

One of your feet dug opposedly into his calf and he snickered. “Didn’t think so. To the last part, I mean. Trust me…” His hand smoothed over your ass again, and he smirked when you moaned quietly. “You’re gonna be hungry for it.”

“I can’t handle anymore,” you muttered, breath puffing against his stomach. Even those giddy times you’d imagined your first alpha taking you, envisioned a night of passion that would end in ardent nurturing, wrapped under your dominant’s embrace, protected and warm and wanted—you now balked the indulgent, cherished ideal of it. This was not what you had expected. Dabi was not what you had expected.

“I can’t,” you started, lacking the confident breath to loose your doubts on. “I don’t even… feel it. It’s gone.”

“You’re still in heat. It’ll pop back up when your body’s ready. I’m hoping you don’t need a biology lesson for this shit, but point of a heat is to get you knocked up. You get that, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he mocked. “And obviously since I’m not tryin’ to make you a mother, I didn’t do that. Your body’s gonna keep beggin’ for it until I give it to you, and I won’t. So you’ll get your heat back once your junk down there realizes it’s empty and wants to try again, except it’s gonna be a lot crazier this time, since you’ve finally had a taste. Told you that you were only hurting yourself by holding out this long."

You started to follow the logic. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before. But to hear it fleshed out like this, by the alpha who had taken you, felt somewhat like a hazardous warning.

“I just… “ You shook your head against him. “We did it. You said that would be enough. That it wouldn’t be so bad, now…”

“You thought one fuck would fix it?” he asked, condescension taking an amusing slope in his tone.

You didn’t answer, and he grinned.

“You got a lot to learn, sweetheart. Gotta get you through the whole heat, first. Life would be easy for you omegas if one fuck could take care of your problems.” He hummed. “No, you’re gonna be dyin’ to get bred up until your heat is over. I’m not gonna do that, but I’ll fill you up for a little relief.” Something about his own words made him twitch in anticipation, and he put a hand on your head, pinched a handful of hair gently in his fist. “Until you need it again. And again.”

You heart was beating fast. He felt it against his side. “We don’t have to,” you said.

“Don’t have to what?”

“I’m too tired,” you insisted, feeling your body lag into the mattress. “I won’t want it anymore. I’m done. This will be fine. I don’t need you.”

He laughed with such smugness that your cheeks went hot.

“Now you’re just being dumb… But fine. Think what you want. Give it a couple hours. You’ll be clawing at my dick before morning.” He picked idly at the drying blood under his nails, frowning to see it, but too amused by the prospect of your ignorance to regret his violence anymore. “And now, I’m gonna make you work for it.”

“I won’t. You got what you wanted. And I… you made your point.” You shoved off of his body, pushed away from him scornfully on limbs that were seconds from giving out, and sat yourself upright.

Your spine curled and straightened enticingly as you arched up; he watched with covetous appreciation, then saw the red blood drying on your back. He tried not to put out a spiteful laugh.

Let you find the mess he’d made later, he decided. For now, a more urgent matter was making sure his dick didn’t get too hard before you were ready to go again. But you stretched so nicely like that, reminding him of how your body had dipped so obediently for him when he’d bent you over and fucked you cross-eyed.

“You need to leave,” you said.

Snorting, he went back to picking at his nails. “I’m stayin’ right here. Even if I didn’t still have a job to do, this is a nice bed. Better than the couches at the bar, ya know. Nice little nest you’ve made for yourself."

“Then… I’m leaving.” You tried to stand, and failed, legs sliding out from under you and giving your body back to the mattress beneath.

“No you ain’t,” he snickered. “Even if you could find another place to wait off the heat before it came back again, you’re gonna run back to me.”

“I don’t need you,” you insisted decisively, angrier now.

“Yeah, you do. I’m your alpha now, remember?” He saw your shoulders rise with a heavy, angry breath. “You said it yourself. You’re pathetic, and you need an alpha cock. And right now, that’s mine."

“…Fuck you.”

He cackled patronizingly, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, giving no stock to your anger at all.

Indignation compelled you to your feet, wobbling, a hand going between your thighs to feel the hot throbbing there.

That was when you noticed the blood, and some of the bruises. You shook your head, infuriated with yourself, and with him.

“You’re… sick,” you muttered. “I can’t believe I let you… You’re a sick bastard."

He chuckled dismissively, and stopped himself from reaching out to grab you like he wanted to—that attitude of yours made you really fuckable.

Instead he rested back into the mattress, forcing his hands to keep busy on his nails, on his staples.

“Keep it up sweetheart,” he muttered. "When you’re wet for me again in a few hours, I’m gonna remember you said that."

“Fuck you,” you said again, too disillusioned to think carefully on the foreboding, and found your clothes.

Then, forgetting he’d torn them, you threw the tattered garb at him.

He ignored you, unfazed, flicking the ineffectual shirt off his chest as you rummaged through your bag for a new one.

You pulled it over your head, then, with a final glare of indignant reproval, walked off.

He didn’t bother asking where you were going. He knew you would be back.

#dabi x reader #bnha #dabi shtuff #dabi