#if only it was so INTENSE all the time maybe I’d get more active in it again but idk it really sucks ass sometimes
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Free Witchcraft Resources for Beginners
A couple months ago I made a post shouting out the fact that witchcraft doesn’t require any money to get started (or to be practiced, for that matter), and I had a few people ask me about what they can do that’s free, especially as a beginner, so I wrote up this post. I was lost and broke when I was getting started with my craft, and it was really difficult to find tips for beginners that weren’t just “buy these things!” I’m hoping this will be useful for people who are looking for a place to begin.
So. You’re interested in witchcraft and would like to find out more. Maybe you keep seeing those “crystals/herbs/books/etc. beginner witches should have” posts, and you’re frustrated, because you want to begin your practice, but don’t have the money for those supplies. I was once in that spot, and even now that I’m five years into my practice, I have rarely purchased any of the supplies witchtok deems to be fundamental. Here are some places you can begin instead. Let’s get started!
Info continues below.
Foundations
By foundations, I’m referring to things that aren’t explicitly witchcraft, but that I have found very beneficial within my own practice.
1. Before anything, I recommend asking yourself a simple question: why do I want to practice witchcraft, and what do I hope to get out of it? You may not know for sure yet, and your answer will likely change over time, but having some intentions going in can be helpful when you’re in the early stages of research. When I was starting out, I felt very overwhelmed by the amount of info out there, so if you have a bit of an idea of what you’re specifically interested in, that can be helpful to get you going.
2. Meditation: not all witches meditate, but a lot of the skills you develop through meditation can be helpful within witchcraft. You can try out secular meditation (apps like Balance and Headspace, as well as Insight Timer—the former has a mix of secular and spiritual meditations), or you can find a witchcraft-specific guided meditation on YouTube. For neurodivergent folks out there, I recommend looking into active meditation, which I’ve found to be quite beneficial for myself.
For me, it’s always important to remain grounded when I’m doing any spiritual practice, and meditation is a good skill you can work on to help with that. I also find that having a background in meditation can be really helpful later down the line when/if you are attempting visualization and/or astral projection, witch’s flight, and so forth.
3. Journaling: another thing that isn’t specifically witchcraft-related, but is an important skill to harness, on my opinion. To me, it’s crucial to be in touch with what I’m feeling (especially when it comes to doing spellwork), and journaling is one great way to do that. If you’re stuck and don’t know where to begin, look up witchcraft (or general) journal prompts on here or somewhere else. A lot of the ones that come up will be shadow work, which can be intense, so only do what feels comfortable for you.
I’d also like to note that automatic writing/drawing is an entirely free option if you’re interested in communing with spirits or deities. Essentially it involves getting into a trance-like state (usually in a dark room only lit by candlelight or similar—this is to avoid distractions) with a piece of paper and pen, and you write or draw everything that comes to your head without thinking about it. And then you go back and see what sort of messages you may be receiving. It’s a bit hard to explain and I’m not very experienced in it myself, but it’s something worth looking into if it sounds interesting to you!
4. Look at what you have, instead of what you don’t: a lot of beginner witch resources will list specific items that you should have, without really explaining why. And without that knowledge of how/why having an item is important, you might find your Must Have crystal sitting unused on a shelf somewhere. So instead of focusing on the items you want or feel like you should have, look at what you do have. Are there plants or herbs in your house/yard that you feel drawn to? Do you have a collection of cool rocks and stones? How do these items make you feel?
For me, a large part of my craft is my belief in Animism (the belief that all living things have innate spiritual qualities, like a soul, spirit, or specific energy) and this can play into the way you interact with the natural world if it’s a belief you also subscribe to. Try and feel the presence of a plant to see if it gives you any specific feeling. It does? Great! Now you have a correspondance for that plant. And it’s even better than the correspondances you’ll get in a book because it’s based on your own personal connection and intuition. That’s what is most important.
5. When in doubt, use your intuition. You might find a source that says cinnamon should be used for protection. Another will say it should be used for abundance spells. What matters the most is what you think about an herb/plant/stone/colour, or whatever else you may utilize. I recommend to start keeping a list of what you associate these things with. It can take awhile to build up a personalized list, but once you have one, it’ll be a lot more useful than what a correspondances book says to do.
6. Scour your pantry and get cooking: are you wanting to try out a spell but you haven’t bought the ingredients? Look in your pantry. You may be surprised by how many commonly used witchcraft herbs you find in there. And if you have been starting to associate certain herbs or spices with specific feelings or energies, that’s a great way to get started with creating your own spell.
You can do a spell in many ways, but when I was starting out, one of my favourite ways was to incorporate a certain herb or spice into food I made. Say you’re making a soup and maybe you want a bit of protection, so you add some ground pepper with the intention of that pepper protecting you as you stir it into the soup. Same goes for any other ingredient you’d like to use. A little intention goes a long way!
7. Dedicate your actions, time, or energy: if you’re interested at all in working with deities, ancestors, and other spirits but don’t have the time/space to build an altar—or maybe you aren’t sure how involved you want to be with this part of witchcraft—you can devote an action to the entity. This can be simple. For example, when I worked with Apollo, I would use taking my meds and vitamins as an act of devotion to him. This is an offering. And offerings can be anything you want them to be. They don’t have to be expensive or fancy!
It’s also important to note that you do not need to work with deities or spirits to be a witch. You don’t even have to believe in them. Many witches are atheists or don’t work with any deities at all. But for those who are interested, simple offerings can be a good place to start.
8. Practice energy work: in my view, energy work is the most important skill to learn for your craft, since so many things build off of it. And with energy work, you don’t need to spend any amount of money on it. All you need is yourself, your intuition, and anything else—I mean that quite literally, you can practice feeling the energy of other people, pets, trees, buildings, foods, socks, your favourite pen, and whatever else you think of!
Once you get to know the energy of the things around you, you can more effectively utilize them as tools within your practice (this builds off of the intuition point I made earlier).
For example, as a child I lived in a house that was surrounded by cedar trees. It was a place where I felt very safe. To this day, when I see or smell a cedar tree, I feel safe and protected. You can read this any way you’d like—to me it’s both a spiritual and psychological phenomenon—but this is one example of sensing energy.
As a witch, you can practice that skill and use it to get to know the tools you’d like to use within your own craft (the things that connect to you personally, not what you’re told you should connect with). This isn’t an easy skill by any means, so if it doesn’t come naturally to you, that’s perfectly okay!
For more on this subject, I recommend two books: Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Kimmerer (more on animism in particular) and Psychic Witch by May Auryn (lots of exercises to practice working with and sensing energy).
Where to Go for Learning
After you’ve thought a bit about some of the above, or skipped it altogether if it doesn’t suit you, you’re probably wanting some good resources that will actually tell you how to do the witchcraft thing. But before that, I want to reiterate again that this is your practice, and you should only do what you are interested in. So take what you want and leave what you don’t.
I’m going to point you in three primary directions for learning good information: books, podcasts, and YouTube.
But first, I want to issue a massive disclaimer for the YouTube information (and some books, for that matter). You should not have one sole source for your information. Books that have bibliographies are always the most trustworthy sources. And even though I trust the information coming from the YouTubers I’ll mention—especially because I’ve read similar information in several witchcraft books—don’t take their word at face-value. Be critical of what you’re told. Believe what you believe. This is a skill you’ll learn over time. It can be a bit overwhelming at first, but it will get easier to discern what’s good info vs. bad info, over time.
Before you get started, I highly recommend watching this helpful video by HearthWitch with info on how to vet your witchcraft sources: link.
Books
In my view, books are the Best source of information, period. Anyone can publish an article or video online, but not everyone can publish a book. So there tends to be a bit more reliable info in witchcraft books.
As far as knowing what book you should begin with, there are lots of lists out there for beginners, and I recommend just looking at one of those lists and picking what sounds interesting to you. Take what you like and leave what you don’t.
Most of the YouTubers I’ve listed below have videos recommending books for beginners.
If you’re interested in British folk witchcraft, I started out with Folk Witchcraft by Roger J. Horne and it was a brilliant beginners guide that I recommend to anyone who is interested in that branch of witchcraft.
As always, while you read witchcraft books, be critical of the information you are presented with. Unfortunately, lots of witchcraft books (especially the classic ones) can be rooted in concepts like bioessentialism, colonialism, and racism. My recommendation is to not take any author’s word as gospel and to use your critical thinking skills when reading witchcraft books.
Where I live, books are EXPENSIVE. And when you’re just starting out in your practice, you might not have the money or ability to go out and buy a book just yet. Maybe you’re still unsure if witchcraft is right for you. Or maybe you’re in the “broom closet.” Whatever the reason, here are some free places to find books.
1. The public library: a bit obvious, but a great resource to look at, because you never know what your library might have. Libraries are the best. And entirely free!
2. Library apps like Libby or Overdrive: especially helpful if you don’t want to bring home a physical witchcraft book, or if your branch doesn’t have any copies of what you’re looking for. You can also get some audiobooks on there.
3. Archive.org: aka the web archive. Entirely free and entirely legal, this works as an online library service where you can check out a book for a bit of time right from your computer. Sometimes you can download PDFs as well. I’ve found a lot of my favourite witchcraft books on there, so if you have a specific title in mind, search it there.
YouTube
First, as a bit of a caveat before recommending you to watch YouTube videos on witchcraft: in my view, books are the best source of information for any witch, as they are able to contain a large degree of nuanced and research-informed information. But books aren’t a simple solution for everyone, and I’ve learned a lot from informed YouTubers over the years (in fact, like many witches, I was first exposed to witchcraft via Harmony Nice on YouTube!).
I’m including a list here of witch YouTubers that I personally recommend because I have found that their content aligns with information I have read in books and other research-informed sources over the years, and because I find them to be generally reliable.
I want to note here that this list is rather biased, as I tend to watch witchcraft YouTubers whose practices mirror my own in some ways. So most of these practitioners have practices informed by European folk witchcraft, and are not very diverse as a result. If any practitioners have further recommendations to add on, especially for practitioners of colour and practices that are different from mine, please do so!
My recommendations:
ChaoticWitchAunt: folk witchcraft, specifically in the Italian tradition, some great beginner content, info on working with saints and spirits.
TheWitchOfWonderlust: death magic, spellwork, great beginner content, lots of excellent info on working with spirits.
HearthWitch: truly a well of information on British witchcraft, beginner videos on any topic you can think of, q&a livestreams, and there’s even a video on vetting witchcraft sources that I really recommend for beginners.
The Redheaded Witch: folk witchcraft and folklore, spirit and ancestor work, daily witchcraft ideas, some beginner videos.
TheGreenWitch: such an excellent resource for herbal/green witchcraft, videos on spellwork, ingredients, tools, and more.
Mintfaery: lots of beginner information, videos on working with the fae, nature witchcraft, and lots of fun witchy days in the life.
Ella Harrison: German folk witchcraft, great beginner resources, including some more niche traditional craft topics like witch’s ladders.
The Norse Witch: info on Norse witchcraft and Heathenry, Norse paganism, and some content about astrology.
simplywitched: lots of great everyday witchcraft content, pagan witchcraft, more vlog style.
Warrior Witch Nike: witchy book reviews, paganism, deity work, some astrology content.
Mhara Starling: the place to go for anyone interested in Welsh witchcraft and folk magic related to Wales.
Alwyn Oak: lots of witch’s guides, especially relating to sabbats (those popularized in Wicca), forest witchcraft, gorgeous videos.
Ivy The Occultist: chaos magick and lots of interviews with practitioners from a variety of paths/backgrounds.
Shadow Harvest: personal day in the life witchy content, some videos looking at working with dark goddesses and deity work in general.
Note: some of these YouTubers have written their own witchcraft books geared towards beginners, so if you enjoy their videos and want to learn more, check those out.
Podcasts
The Astrology Podcast: not specifically witchcraft, but if you want to learn about astrology in detail, this is an excellent place to begin. Link goes to YouTube.
Books and Broomsticks: all kinds of good info, especially pertaining to folk magic, witch guests invited on to share more about their own practice. Link goes to Spotify.
Southern Bramble: A Podcast of Crooked Ways: a variety of witchcraft related topics, interviews, and discussions, often revolving around folk magic and traditional craft—interviews show different traditions. Link goes to Spotify.
New World Witchery - The Search for American Traditional Witchcraft: what it says on the tin; various topics and conversations through an American traditional/folk magic lens by the author of the (amazing) book with the same name. Link goes to Spotify.
Salty Witches Podcast by Cat & Cauldron: traditional witchcraft through a modern lens, another podcast that has a wide variety of topics covered. Link goes to Spotify.
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As always, if anyone has any additional (free!) resources to add onto these ones, please do so.
Good luck to all of the beginner witches who are embarking on their spiritual journeys, and I hope some of these tips have been helpful! :)
-Em
#been working on this post since october first which is just crazy…it took So Long#I searched everywhere for info like this when I was a beginner but all I found were lists of things to purchase#which isn’t helpful when you’re broke and living through a recession!#I hope this hopes someone out there <3#witchcraft resources#witchcraft 101#witchcraft info#beginner witchcraft#witchcraft#witchblr#beginner witch#folk witchcraft#baby witch#resources#my post
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I'm new to the 911 fandom despite loving the show for years. The reason I avoided the fandom for so long because all I heard about it was how toxic it can get. Luckily I'm only active on 911blr instead of being in other hellsites for content so I haven't directly interacted with any of the chaos myself. It's just really insane behavior to witness. I think someone should do a study on it, maybe write a book asdfghjkl. Could make millions.
From the Sort Of A Vent Post Anon
lmfao kinda same tbh. I’ve dipped in and out over the years and before now I wouldn’t have said toxic (at least on tumblr) more like intense.
there’s always been an element of the fandom that don’t just ship b*ddie but who really believe it’s (and to an extent always has been) happening. I’d see ppl defend against queerbait allegations because “no b*ddie isn’t like those other ships, they’re obviously actually doing it!” which always had me a bit like 🤨? can you cite your sources?
ironically, bi buck seems to be proving the opposite, because surely if b*ddie was the plan then this would be the moment. I think the popularity of bucktommy has shown a lot of diehard b*ddie stans that not only was their certainty misplaced, but not everyone was in the same boat as them.
maybe unpopular opinion but this is why fandom etiquette can be a bit of a double edged sword, ppl don’t want to yuk anyone’s yam so even if something raises an eyebrow they let it slide for the sake of keeping things positive/avoiding drama. which is fine but it means wonky/ill informed (but not necessarily harmful or malicious) takes can fester in little bubbles without challenge to the point everyone assumes everyone else agrees with them…until there’s a reason not to.
yeah we can “agree to disagree” a lot of the time, but sometimes ppl are just wrong, and I don’t think fandom culture has ever really found a way to balance those things.
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OK HERE IS THE PART 2!!!!!
slam dunk boys at the gym pt 2
akagi
If Akagi feels that his basketball practices weren’t strenuous enough that day, he WILL go to the gym right after. And depending on his mood, he’ll drag the rest of the team with him 😂
The boys would hate going with him because of how serious he is about his workouts. Like if you’re going with him, there’ll be NO fooling around. If he takes the team with him, he’d make each of the workouts into a competition. Like increasing the machine weight by 5 lb increments and see who can go for the longest 😂
On his own, I’d say he’d only do a couple machines/workouts per session. But he’d be VERYYY intense about them. Like he’d keep building the weight up and do a shitton of sets. Each day he’d be working on specific regions/muscles and he’d make sure to target only those
HARUKO WOULD DEF TAG ALONG WITH HIM AND HE’D TEACH HER NEW WORKOUTS AND GIVE HER TIPS
The gym bros would think he’s so cool. They’d ask about his workout routine, what his diet is, if he takes any protein supplements. Theyd be so jealous of how tall and bulky he is omfg
sendoh
I don’t see Sendoh going to the gym often. I think he’d go if he doesn’t have practice one day and the weather isn’t nice enough to go fishing or walking.
But when he does go the gym… ITD BE CRAZY. Unlike Rukawa, Sendoh is more approachable and he wouldn’t be very intense at the gym. So more girls would approach him!!!! He would be polite and give them his number but then over text, let them know he isn’t interested. He would NOT wanna humiliate any of the gym baddies in the moment
His workouts would depend on whatever he’s in the mood for thst day, I don’t think he’d have any set routine.
If he sees someone having a hard time with a specific machine or their workout form is off, he’d go up to them and be like “Hey, can I give you a few pointers?” He wouldn’t want to be annoying about tryna correct them, but legit just to help them out
He’d laugh to himself at any of the gym crackheads 💀💀💀
If there’s something extra at the gym, like a swimming pool or track field, he will do those leisure activities. He’s moreso at the gym to destress and enjoy himself than body building
sawakita
He’d go to the gym super often, mainly with his teammates (especially Fukatsu and Masashi). If he has a game coming up (or jus doesnt want to go home yet OR HES BORED), they’ll all go together.
I like to think that their school funded those boys a gym membership to a really nice gym, with extra things like a basketball court, track, and maybe a pool. AND THEYD TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT. Like this boy will have fun!!!!
Sawakita wouldn’t be super serious about weightlifting/his other workouts… but Masashi would try making it a competition as to who can lift the most/do the most sets. AND SAWAKITA AINT TRYNA LOSE
He’d be like Akagi in the sense of doing specific workouts for specific days. He’d def push himself but also take breaks and to not overdo things. He’d be scared about pulling a muscle or being too exhausted the next day
He would have SOOOO many admirers at the gym. Like this guy will have girls practically breaking their necks jus to look at him. But nobody would approach him because he’s surrounded with his scary and intimidating looking friends (mainly Masashi)
I think he’d go alone a decent amount too. Especially if he was feeling sad about something and wasn’t ready to talk to it about it to his parents/friends. Or if he was jus socially drained that day and wanted alone time
Now when he does go alone…. It’s a total switch up 😂. This boy got girls approaching him, asking him for help on their workout, EVERYTHING. He’d be so smug about it to Masashi too, like “The one day I go without you is the day all the ladies talk to me. What a coincidence,” (and then get his ass beat LMFAOOO)
#slam dunk#スラムダンク#headcanon#slam dunk anime#anime and manga#blog#akira sendoh#sendou#sendoh akira#sawakita eiji#eiji sawakita#eiji#sawakita#takenori#takenori akagi#akagi takenori#headcanons#gymlife#gym#slam dunk hcs#hcs#my hcs#my man <3
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first post! hope this reaches some people who are interested:)
about a week ago i drank some prune juice, and it was quite the experience lol. i know prune juice is known to rile up your stomach, so i really wanted to try it hehe
and omg it did, my stomach was a giant bloated gurgling mess for the whole night and even into the morning. i really loved it though, my stomach was really turning me on and i wished someone was there with me😩
now i did cut a lot of clips in here because i know not everyone is into the scat/diarrhea, maybe in the future though if enough people want it i can do it! i also am not showing my tummy for privacy reasons, but i may sell or even trade some! i do have all of the clips from night this with my stomach in them, so if you want these in specific or something different just message me!
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i was at work for 10 hours and didn’t eat anything at all. i was hungry, but i saw the prune juice i’d bought for a special occasion and i thought this was the perfect opportunity to get the full effect. i told myself i would drink half, but i pussied out after about 2 cups bc it was really really gross😭. (maybe it’s a good thing i did bc who knows how it could have gone if i did half lol)
and quite literally only about 30 minutes after drinking i started to feel something going on in my tummy. it just kinda felt like gas building up, not a whole lot of gurgling but definitely pressure.
then at the hour mark is when i knew it was working, my stomach started to gurgle like crazy and it felt like water was rushing through my intestines, it was kinda crazy. my belly was starting to bloat like a balloon, it was getting really big which at the time was surprising to me because the prune juice was the only thing in there lol. it wasn’t really uncomfortable yet, just super active lol
but then as time starts to pass it gets more and more uncomfortable, the bloating was a lot and making my stomach literally HUGE. it started to cramp up a lot, and about another hour later i knew that all that built up gas/diarrhea wanted out. i tried to hold it for a little while, but it was pushing really hard and i could only clench for so long 😭
the first bathroom trip was surprisingly the easiest, once the first round came out i did feel a lot of relief, but i knew it wasn’t over. i went a couple more times and then went to lay back down thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. but about 10 minutes later i was proven very very wrong lol
I was just laying in my bed when literally my entire abdomen cramped up and sent a very deep gurgle that told me i had to go right then. i barely even grabbed my phone in time to record and unfortunately didn’t get any of the gurgles before i went the first time because it was just so urgent and sudden lmaoo, and after that it was more so a lot of diarrhea and not a lot of gurgles so the videos for that trip weren’t the best sorry lol
after that second trip though i thought i might’ve gotten most of the diarrhea out maybe just some gas left, but again was proven very wrong lol. i again was laying down when i got another cramp that felt very urgent, so ran back to the bathroom and my stomach definitely let me have it this time. this one was probably the worst, the cramps were so intense and my stomach just felt like it was getting squeezed until everything came out 😭 i stayed there for a while, because i didn’t wanna have to keep running back and forth. i spent about 45 minutes sitting there and i spent a lot of it just clenched at my stomach because it was quite painful, but i still really enjoyed it 😅 but you could definitely hear some of those cramps in the video, they were crazy lol
then i was finally able to relax for about 45 minutes, until i felt another deep and urgent gurgle. i was surprised i still had anything left in me😅 but this time it was a bit less painful, and i was really really enjoying the gurgles. there was one point during this one where i pushed right on my lower belly and it created a huge gurgle and a push of diarrhea, it felt soooooo good😍 but the diarrhea didn’t last long and it was about 2am at this point so i was really tired, and my stomach stopped hurting enough for me to fall asleep.
i did wake up once around 5am to go to the bathroom again, but since i was woken up by it i didn’t grab my phone sorry:( it was really kinda hot though how i immediately woke up to this giant gurgle from my stomach and i just knew i had to go lol, i wish i had it recorded😅 but then i fell back asleep and woke up in the morning to just a very gassy tummy, but no more diarrhea. i felt the effects all day though, i was super gassy and my stomach definitely still felt a little heavy and bloated. i didn’t feel completely back to normal until the day after that lol, so it definitely sent my stomach for a ride.
overall though, it was such a fun experience and i really wanna do it again. the gurgles from this were like no other and i could feel them throughout my entire abdomen, it was so hot😍 i don’t really mind the pain that much, i especially like it if someone is there to help ease the pain:) but yes, i will probably be doing this again hopefully soon, because i loved this experience and i hope you guys love it too!
#bloated stomach#stomach gurgles#stomach rumbling#diarrhea#belly gurgles#belly noises#tummy ache#tummy rumbling#belly pain#gurgling belly#stomach sounds#stomachache
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Hey there you’ve broadened my understanding of alec greatly through your posts. I kind of skimmed over his stuff previously cause he didn’t seem like a deep character but he is!
Anyways, I’m going to ask a question to wash down the praise. I’d like to see if I can get any more alec stuff out of you by telling you what I used to think (I say I, maybe this take has come up before, but I haven’t seen).
Basically I used to think that alec really was emotionless, unless he was controlling other people. But he only knew what negative emotion was like because the people he controlled weren’t exactly willing participants until Aisha. Through controlling hwr consensually he experienced positive feelings and this is want inspired his “passing taylor on the opposite track of the morality rail” and his eventual sacrifice for Aisha. Thoughts?
he's a shallow puddle but he's My favorite shallow puddle and there are actually 5 inches of water in the puddle when most people only think there is 1 inch.
anyway yeah that's basically not correct, alec's power is about (among other things) intense dissociation/literally only being able to feel emotions from a distance. presuming him to be 'emotionless' (<- this is kind of a vague term that seems like it comes with loaded connotations) is simply not correct because his entire thing is that he's had to cope/psychologically protect himself from his trauma by completely shutting down his ability to notice/'feel' or interpret his own emotions. all that hurt he felt as a smaller kid got packed into a box and chained up and tossed into the basement of his mind, because he just literally could not process it without completely crashing and becoming unable to keep himself alive. and he's still not in a safe place to start unpacking any of it, so he still remains almost completely oblivious to when he's, e.g., upset or nervous.
the other thing about his power is that it's got the irony of meaning that he can force people to protect him or act like they care about him, but he can never make them actually care about him. it speaks 2 the deep deep loneliness he felt as a kid and the way he was coerced into a cycle of abuse centered in large part around the notion that he would never receive love or physical affection or emotional intimacy or respect or anything unless he violently took it. so he can Pretend people want to be with him using his power, but he knows it's an act, and he can feel their palpable hatred the entire time. (<- the way his power enables incredibly deep and intimate understanding of other ppls emotions is also deeply indicative of what he's desperate for.)
with aisha, using his power consensually, it's letting him understand the first friend he's ever had in the closest way possible. he's actively Feeling that she cares about him & trusts him & wants to be close to him, and gaining a mental map for powerful emotions that have been rare in his life until then. it's not the first time he's ever Had Any Positive Feelings but it Is the first time he's ever had a connection like this. and it Is something he's been desperate for since he was very small and little. a lot of his worst behavior is driven by anger and hurt over being lonely & traumatized that he has no understanding of how to parse or vent appropriately, so i do think having a second person to bounce off of helps him sort himself out in a way that lowers the chances of him having another joker moment. so you could say his friendship w aisha contributes a bit to his improved moral compass. but we also do see that he's overall making slow upwards progress either way, and his joker moment is more of a backslide due to varying factors than his Usual.
the part where it's literally the only positive close connection he's ever had in his entire ass fucking life is why he kills himself for her though yeah. he has very little to live for other than Little Treats and the vague idea of being better than/getting revenge on his father prior 2 meeting aisha, and he ultimately realizes that her friendship is so meaningful to him that his life would just feel worthless without her in it, and he would rather die for the chance that the best person he's ever met will get to keep going. it's sad as hell. guy who gets one (1) friendship in his entire life and just genuinely does not have much of anything to live for outside of it. my alec essays tag isnt perfectly up to date but it gets into the explanations for a lot of this if you havent read it all already
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freeze or fawn (2/2)
words: 4,110
hey, god! if ao3 going down right as i finished this was meant to be you trying to tell me something, i am simply not listening <3
(on ao3)
You watch your mug spin in the microwave, the day-old coffee inside steaming to gelatinous perfection. There’s a sort of ridiculous camaraderie to it; you watch the coffee, and in the reflection in the glass door, Springtrap watches you. You can feel the cold intensity of his gaze, gooseflesh on the back of your neck.
The microwave whirs on, and you pick nervously at your cuticles.
“Thirty years is a long time,” you say, mostly just to fill the silence.
“It's a very long time,” he confirms dryly.
“And what is remnant, exactly?”
He sighs. “That explanation would also be very long, and I doubt you would even understand most of what I could tell you.”
“Try me,” you offer.
“Later,” he says firmly. “Are you quite done yet?”
“Almost,” you tell him, “I just, hold on—”
You cancel the rest of the time and grab for the mug, burning your fingers a little and half-dropping it onto the countertop with a quiet “ow, fuck". You don't even want to consider what the reaction would be if you started pulling out pans to cook a proper breakfast, so you fish a box of cereal out of the cupboard and resign yourself to eating it dry.
Something occurs to you, and you turn to Springtrap, tucking the box under your arm.
“Do you want anything? Can you, like, eat? Other than, uh—” You clear your throat. “—you know.”
You watch the change in his posture as the implication of your words sinks in. He pinches two fingers against the bridge of his muzzle, like he’s staving off a headache.
“I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”
You laugh a little deliriously, because you can’t not. Does he really think you're not still afraid of him? You’re terrified, but, well. He’d just eaten you out on your aunt’s kitchen floor, you thought maybe you could establish a rapport.
It’s just impossible to get a read on him, is the thing, to know where your bearings lie. All that threatening anger and violence, and then he’ll catch you off-guard with these stunning little moments of gentleness, of kindness or comfort or affection. Brief little pops of warmth that pass as quickly as they come and leave you stumbling after him for more, your adrenaline on a wildly oscillating loop. No safe place to land, to rest long enough to recalibrate.
“Sorry, I’m still a little—” You make a vague, waving gesture near your head. “I thought you were gonna kill me, so. Taking a while to adjust.”
“I may well still kill you,” he tells you without heat.
“I—okay." How are you supposed to respond to that? “I’d rather you didn’t, for what it’s worth.”
He makes a sort of shrugging gesture. “As for your question, I don't believe I am capable of digestion in my current state, no.”
That doesn’t surprise you, you guess. From your cursory, stolen glimpses you’d be surprised if there was enough left of his digestive tract left intact to begin with, never mind how any of it would still be functional. Honestly now that you’re thinking about it you could probably say the same of anything under that suit—only, you’ve definitely heard him breathe, haven’t you? Did his lungs somehow miraculously escape the damage that befell the rest of him? Does he need to breathe? He’s not constantly bleeding out, so you assume whatever blood might be left in there isn’t actively circulating, but you can’t do it with any real confidence.
On that note, though, does it even matter? You don't understand how he's still upright at all, you can't even begin to guess the rules his body might follow now. If it’s—whether it’s all still connected, or if it should work, does that count for anything one way or the other? And if it doesn't, or if it is, could he—
Oh, no, no, are you insane? You're absolutely not thinking about that right now, you are shutting that line of speculation down immediately.
“You’re ready now, I take it?”
You startle, feeling caught, grab your coffee and nod. Just gonna…let all of that go, for now, then.
"Yep. What are we looking for?"
"Tools." He's entrusted your superior knowledge of the house's layout with tracking down what he cagily referred to as 'necessary supplies'. "A toolkit, if there's one to be had, but I can make do with a screwdriver and my wits, if needs must."
Your mood soars; you've got good news for him.
"I don’t think they’ll must,” you say. "I’m pretty sure I remember seeing all my uncle's old tools in the garage when I parked yesterday. Not that I doubt your wits,” you add, and the absurdity of attempting to flirt with someone who has expressed a passing interest in your death isn’t lost on you.
Springtrap stills like you’ve surprised him, looks you up and down.
“Well, then. In that case it seems like the least I can do not to doubt your memory, hm?"
That's a risk at the best of times, but thankfully, this time, your memory does comes through for you; you flick on the yellowy garage lights to reveal a sturdy black workbench pushed into the far corner, collecting dust beneath neatly organized rows of hammers, wrenches, pliers, and a few very specific-looking tools you don't recognize that hang from a pegboard bolted to the wall. Excitement and relief fizz through your veins, and you turn to Springtrap with a grin.
“Will this work?” You’re angling for a sign of approval, and it’s probably painfully obvious.
He scans the room and laughs, not entirely kindly. You flinch a little when he reaches out, but it's almost reverent when he takes your face in one huge hand, strokes a thumb along your cheek.
“Well done,” he says with feeling.
You had absolutely no hand in acquiring any of the tools in question, and even less in making sure that they stayed around for him to find, but fuck if the praise doesn’t get under your skin and flood straight down.
“Happy to help,” you reply weakly.
He taps you slyly under the chin. “That’s the spirit. Come along.”
You follow him down into the garage, edging around the nose of your car. Leave, comes the thought, sudden and unbidden, get in the car and get the fuck out of there, but how would you even do that? Even if you wanted to leave, your keys are in the house, and anyway Springtrap needs you—he told you that he does, sort of.
Maybe he’d find you again, your brain suggests, and you think about that hand on your face, that glow of praise, pressing your own palm against your cheek as you feel heat rising into it. This is not the time, you tell yourself firmly, to say nothing of whether or not there should ever be a time at all, but it doesn’t do much to relieve the nebulous desire reforming in your belly.
By the bench, Springtrap fiddles with the latch of a dented red toolbox. You’ve noticed before, but he seems to have trouble with movements that require any higher degree of fine motor control in his hands. He is also very clearly irritated by this fact, so you keep this observation to yourself. Eventually he lets out a snarl and rips the latch off the box altogether, chucking it over his shoulder to vanish into the nooks and crannies of the garage.
“May as well make yourself comfortable,” he tells you, leaning in to examine the newly revealed contents, “I imagine we’ll be here for quite a while.”
“Aye aye.” Carefully balancing your mug by the wipers, you hoist yourself up onto the hood of your car, pressing your legs together self-consciously. For a while you just sit there, sipping the now-lukewarm coffee and picking at your cereal, watching Springtrap work. He peels back a section of matted fur to expose the joint of his wrist, measures out an inch of a clear liquid, and dips the corner of a rag into it. The cloth turns black with the grime of years, blood and rust and who knows what else as he rubs it into the protesting metal. When he’s satisfied, he sets it aside and positions the head of a screwdriver against a screw you can’t quite see, and then adjusts the whole limb under the lamp clamped to the bench, out of your view completely.
Fascinating though the process promises to be, you’re pretty sure you’d only be in the way if you ask him to move so you can watch what he’s doing. You lean back against the windshield instead, and exhaustion crashes into you the instant you’re in something resembling a reclined position. It’s been a long morning, and the caffeine you just ingested hasn’t begun to work its magic quite yet. Plus, your night on the sofa hadn’t exactly been a restful one. You’ve been running on nothing but adrenaline for hours now; sleep, when it comes, hits you fast and hard.
You wake with your neck at an angle that barely feels survivable, flooded with impotent panic from a nightmare you barely remember. The back of your head smacks against the glass of the windshield as you jolt back into consciousness, and you cradle it gingerly in one hand, pulling yourself upright.
Springtrap looks over from where he’s leaning against the workbench, fighting something at his hip with a pair of needle-nose pliers.
“You fell asleep.” It isn’t anger, but there’s something odd in his voice that prickles along your skin like being too close to a fire.
“Sorry.” You have no idea why you’re apologizing. “I didn’t realize I was so tired.”
He tilts his head to one side, eyes flat and sharp in a way that sparks a cold, guttering fear in your chest.
“I could’ve done anything to you,” he informs you, still with that strange, keen edge to it.
“Sorry,” you say again, because you’re not sure what else to say. “Did—can I help at all?”
Backlit by the bench lamp, his unchanging smile seems to grow in shadow, longer, hungrier.
“If you’re offering.” He twists his wrist, and a section of suit paneling by his pelvis comes loose and swings open. “Come here, give me your hand.”
You maneuver your way back to the floor, careful to avoid upsetting the remnants of your makeshift breakfast. You do want to help, to be useful to him, but placing your hand in his feels like putting it in the mouth of a lion and trusting it not to bite.
Laughing softly, Springtrap reels you closer, muzzle butting your face as he takes several hot, gulping breaths against your skin. His other hand abandons the pliers to press at the small of your back, fingertips biting through the fabric of your shirt.
“You smell afraid.” He says it like an endearment.
“I—” you stammer, “I'm—oh, oh.”
Your line of thinking stalls hard, that rising tide of fear dissolving in the wake of the long, low groan that all but pours out of him as he guides your hand to his cock. Shock, bitten-back and swallowed, the simmering desire in you rising like a white-water tide. Your knees tremble traitorously beneath you.
"Is something wrong?” he purrs. “I thought you wanted to help."
“I do,” you say breathlessly. His hand at your back feels like the only thing that’s holding you upright.
Springtrap’s fingers fold over yours, inhuman and irresistible, and he growls into the crook of your neck as he pumps himself lazily with your fist.
“So help.”
Well, you suppose, there's that question answered, at least.
He feels huge in your hand, only half-hard and already too thick for you to get your fingers all the way around. Your pulse pounds in your ears, between your legs, in the palm of your hand. Springtrap shifts forward as you move experimentally, twisting your wrist to cover as much of his shaft as you can.
“Harder,” he hisses encouragingly. “My nerve endings aren’t what they used to be, you know.”
It shouldn't be sexy, that reminder, but he runs a claw up your spine as he says it, little sparks along a willing fuse, and you shiver and tighten your grip until his hips stutter forward and he lets out a loose, throaty moan.
"There you are, darling. Just like that."
The endearment makes a molten mess of your insides, all the blood in your body rushing downwards so quickly that it makes you dizzy. You're still wet from earlier, and between that headstart and the way Springtrap's cock twitches in your hand, you're mortifyingly close to leaking down your own leg like you're in heat.
As if noticing, Springtrap presses a merciful knee between yours, chuckling when you immediately begin to grind against his thigh. The suit catches and pinches at your shorts, your skin, but that matters far less than the welcome pressure against your clit.
"You want my cock that badly?" He catches your chin in his hand, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your mouth drops open. It's all you can do to nod in response, bearing down against his thigh as you work him with long, sloppy strokes. You imagine that girth on your tongue, heavy and hot, and you feel your mouth start to water, drool pooling hungrily in its stead.
"Filthy," Springtrap murmurs against your hair, his tone warm with dark approval that throbs between your legs.
"Please," you try to say, or "yes" or "god", but it comes out a needy, open-mouthed mishmash of sound, wordless and hoarse. Pleasure builds like syrup, thick and slow, hips and hand rocking at the same mindless, driving rhythm. You can feel the wet spot you’re leaving on his fur, clutching at his arm to keep your balance as your legs start to shake. You feel—god, you feel empty.
Metal screeches and smashes to the floor as Springtrap clears the workbench with one swift swipe of his arm. You jump back, startled, swallowing a frustrated whine at the interruption.
Reaching out, he drags a claw slowly, slowly along the line of your throat, and when he speaks, his voice is calm, but brittle, fast-flowing water under very thin ice.
“Normally, I would take my time with this, but I’m understandably a bit pent up, so if you wouldn’t mind.” He pats the surface of the bench expectantly.
Heat floods your face when you realize what he’s asking, eager anticipation buzzing in your blood. You move to obey; he catches you by the waistband of your shorts.
"Take these off," he says. "Quickly, before I tear them off you."
Oh, you are not opposed to that idea, at all, actually. Your eyes flick up to his, breath catching, and your expression must give you away, because his grip on you tightens, and he laughs, low and amused.
"I might’ve guessed."
The fabric of your shorts pulls apart like paper. Even though you know it’s coming, it still startles a cry out of you. Springtrap crowds you back against the workbench, hands bracketing your hips and moving upwards. Your shirt rucks up around his wrists, and he dips his head to nuzzle against your temple with a pleased hum.
“This too,” he says, which is all the warning you get before your shirt goes the same way. Your skin, newly bare, fever hot, prickles in the cool air of the garage, and for a moment you feel like you should cover yourself with your hands.
Then Springtrap hitches you up and drops you onto the bench, fingers divoting your thighs as he pulls your hips flush together. Your head falls back, and you bite out a soft moan as the full length of him slides against you, slick with your arousal. He feels even bigger between your legs than he had in your hand.
“Look at me.” It’s clear from his voice that he’s trying very, very hard to hold himself together.
You look. His eyes burn at you, at this angle almost mirrored. The visible muscles of his neck tense, shoulders taut as he draws himself over you and stills. Beneath that gaze, the broad shadow of his body, you feel cracked open and bare, something soft and helpless shucked from a shell. He rolls his hips forward once, twice, and a shudder goes through you.
“Tell me you want this.”
Without meaning to, your eyes fall, pulled to where his cock parts your folds. His skin is the same mottled purple here as everywhere else, blotchy and dark, and the fluid that leaks from the tip is cloudy and pungent and thick. You imagine it pressing into you, and the ache of desire is almost matched by a sudden, urgent fear. Your words stick in your throat, and he tilts his head to the side, sneering.
"Don't play coy with me now, you were gagging for it a moment ago."
That does something twisting and strange to your stomach. You don’t want him to stop, but you realize you don't entirely believe that he would if you asked him to.
"I want it," you say weakly, then surer, "I want it."
He leans even closer, forcing your legs apart until it edges on painful, lowering his face as if he's about to kiss you.
"What do you want?" Sweet as spun sugar in his terrible wreck of a voice.
You whimper, rocking your hips upwards desperately. “I want—hn!—I want your cock, I want—please, I want it so badly.”
Springtrap touches your cheek with his fingertips, feather-light and fond. He shifts back, and you feel the blunt, solid pressure of him at your entrance, barely enough to tease, and it's already so much and nowhere near enough, you need, you need—
“Go on, then. Beg for it."
You think you could come like this, untouched, to nothing but the sound of his voice.
You would really, really prefer to be touched, though.
"Please," you sob breathlessly. Your cunt clenches on empty air. “Please, god, please fuck me, I’ll do any—anything, please, I need you inside me, please, please.”
Springtrap’s teeth glint behind the mask.
“Now what man could resist, when you ask like that?”
A brief burst of pain, and then gutted, boneless pleasure; you clutch at his shoulders as he fucks you open, needy, gasping moans shallowing your lungs. The slow stretch floods you with warmth until you're drunk with it, liquid and loose. Heavy, hazy heat, the contents of your skull bleeding soupily together, your whole world nothing but that hungry, spreading fullness. Your body, reshaping itself to fit him.
"Fuck, you're so big." The thought tumbles out as it occurs to you, and Springtrap snarls and hilts himself in one harsh, sudden motion, muzzle pressed so tightly to your neck that it bites into your skin.
You suck in a breath through clenched teeth. It's just the wrong side of too much, too fast, but he gives you no time to recover before he starts moving again. Both paws dig a constellation of bruises into your hips as he pins you to the bench, skin slapping yours as he bottoms out on every thrust. You feel shattered, cracked apart, bleeding light into his palms. He sets a brutal pace, driving into your eager cunt with untiring speed until you’re mewling beneath him, overwhelmed with sensation as discomfort cedes again to building sweetness.
"That's right,” he coos. “You'll take it for me, won't you?"
You gasp, nodding through shocks of pleasure. “Yes, yes, please.”
“Yes, yes,” he mimics, teasing—then lower, as you arch up to meet him, “yes.”
That rough syllable echoes in the cage of your ribs. Springtrap rolls his hips forward, deliberate and slow, rutting blissful friction against your neglected clit. A thin, keening sound falls from your lips, and you hook your ankles around his back, closer closer closer like the twin of your rabbiting heartbeat.
Breath rumbling low in his throat, Springtrap curves forward, pulling your hips off the bench entirely. The new angle draws him in impossibly deep, and his cock brushes something that sings bone-deep through you, your whole body fizzling like a live spark. You grasp for purchase around his neck, and his even rhythm falters and fails.
“Please don’t stop,” you beg, canting your hips desperately upwards.
Springtrap bites down hard against your shoulder, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming hungrily back into you. The force of it wrings a hoarse moan from your lungs and shoves the whole workbench back a screeching inch. You wonder distantly if you’ll be able to walk after this.
“Oh, darling,” he chuckles. “That was never an option.”
You feel yourself clench around him, and Springtrap groans, hips stuttering. He moves against you, picking up speed, breath ragged and hot against the crook of your neck. Higher and higher, rushing pleasure climbs your spine like the swell of a wave as he fucks you full of helium and heat, of him and him and him, until it feels like there’s no room in you for anything else.
“So tight for me,” he growls, voice rough. “Only for me.”
“God,” you whimper. Maybe part of you wants to protest the possessive words, but most of you is busy feeling like you're about to burst out of your own skin.
“You like that thought, do you?” he asks, and you nod frantically.
"I—ah!—yes." You're close, you're so fucking close—
Springtrap grinds into you, steady, unrelenting pressure, building and building without relief. He lets out a harsh breath by your ear, but his voice is soft and confiding when he speaks, like he's sharing a secret.
"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
He doesn't even slow as you come, howling, around him, fucking you through the aftershocks at that same merciless pace until you’re trembling and spent. You feel like you’ve been split apart and thrown in a thousand different directions, like it’s only his hands on your skin keeping you together. Weakly, you take his face in your hands and kiss the ruined nose, the corner of his grinning mouth; he turns to butt his muzzle against you with a sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob.
“Take it,” he hisses, and understanding hits you a beat too late.
“Wait—” you manage limply; Springtrap laughs like nearing thunder.
"Shhhh. Whatever I want, remember?"
You sob a feeble “fuck” as his hips hit yours, and your cunt fills with spurts of warmth. It's a foreign, electric feeling, and you rock against him mindlessly, the last of your breath escaping you in a weak, panting moan. His cock twitches and throbs, emptying into you as you shudder in his arms, held up easy as a doll. The sound you make would be mortifying, if you had a single brain cell to spare for it.
Springtrap pulls out just as pleasure edges into overstimulation. You wince at the strangeness of the feeling as he sets you down, the soreness already blooming, the sticky wetness that seeps out to pool on the bench beneath you. A huge hand palms high up on your thigh, the gaze behind it lazy and appraising. Then two fingers stroke a line from your ass to your entrance, and you let out a hiss of discomfort as they press a generous amount of come back inside you.
“What a mess,” tsks Springtrap, presenting the fingers to you. You open your mouth dutifully, but he seems to change his mind, instead wiping his soiled hand ineffectually against your leg. “You really ought to get yourself cleaned up. There’s still work to do, after all.”
You don’t know why you’re surprised, it’s the same one-eighty he pulled on you last time, already back to business while your brain is still leaking out of your ears. You let out a frustrated huff, and he tilts his head to the side, eyes glittering curiously.
“I—would you, just, like, come here a second? Please.”
He pauses at your request, then hovers closer, and you have to close your eyes against the bright scalpel-blade of his gaze. The new smells of hot metal and grease sit thick over the smoke and decay, stinging your nose as you bury your face against his shoulder and take a deep breath. You wet your lips; they taste like blood.
After a moment, you feel Springtrap wrap an arm around your waist, then your shoulders. If you lean into it just so, it even feels like an embrace.
#springtrap x reader#springtrap fnaf#springtrap#fnaf springtrap#just a silly little bonus chapter where you get railed#my fic
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I do believe that Pan needs to be the next Mr Satan.
It goes like this: Pan sort of floats around for a while and doesn’t know where to put down her roots.
She feels bad about it, and wasn’t expecting this of herself - she was an opinionated and willful child, and she can’t believe that she’s lost now that she has the volition to go far.
Her parents are settled and set. Her uncle and Trunks seem settled - Goten had told her, as to soothe her, that “hey, I was a floater for a while too. I knew I wanted a family but I didn’t know what I’d do for work - and then Trunks approached me with the sword-fighting dojo idea, and now I’m here. He was a wandering soul himself, even. It took him a while to find the sword thing. So don’t sweat it. You’ll figure it out.”
But Pan is not mollified by this at all because it does not help her now. She’s lost NOW - and doesn’t know how to get to the supposed future where she isn’t.
Gohan, who has seen horrors unimaginable, cannot understand her attitude. There is peace. She can do anything she wants.
“But WHAT do I do?”
“Anything.”
“But WHAT?”
“Anything! There’s potential for anything! Don’t you see how that’s wonderful?”
But Pan almost wishes for another apocalypse so that her life journey would be clear.
Videl has always wanted to give Pan many options for conducting her life, and she’s affronted like Gohan when that is now somehow to Pan’s detriment.
She encourages Pan to try teaching at her martial arts school, and Gohan encourages her to be a tutor at his university - and neither feel right to Pan.
Meanwhile, Bura’s path has always been clear. She’s thrived in the environment of Capsule Corp. She has enough training by her father to hold her own against any Earth-borne foes, and she’s free to be a fashionable and intelligent powerhouse, even more intense than her mother. A career somewhere in the structure of Capsule Corp was imminent, and when Trunks finally abdicated the President’s chair, Bura knew precisely where she was to go. She became the second youngest Capsule Corp president at 21, and she’s on course to being the CEO after her mother.
Meanwhile, Marron has never had issues with feeling lost. Maybe it’s because she was always in an environment of ease at home, where lounging about at Kame House was a preferable and regular activity. She moves on to do something sweet and docile with her time, like becoming a dance teacher, or doing something with flowers, and she lives calmly and peacefully away from the spotlight and off of the radar.
Oh, but Son Pan just cannot find her roots! She snubs the footsteps of her parents, which feel right for THEM, but their place is not her place. She abhors the drama and show of her Grandfather Satan, which is dire to him, and something that he thrives in, but is only FRIVOLOUS to her. She needs something REAL. Her other grandfather, good lord - she could never compare if she wants to have hobbies other than fighting. Besides, fighting is only fulfilling when there is someone bad to fight - and how often will that come up? Is she meant to spend her life training and waiting?
Lastly, her grandmother is a commendable woman, but after her children grew and flew away, she had nothing much to do. Pan sees her own youthful lack of direction mirrored in her grandmother’s late age, and she is not keen on living a life where she is doomed to repeat that era again. Even if she is already pretty good at keeping a house structured and clean.
So ... what does she do?
With Goten away at the dojo, Pan is eventually encouraged to step in on the Son family farm. Her father especially encourages it, as he thinks that it will benefit her to get in touch with the reality of wild nature. Furthermore, if she is trying to find roots, then Mt. Paozu is the place to find generations of them.
So for a while, Pan lives like her father, uncle, grandfather, and grandmother have; with the elements, organic and true. In this time, she helps to take care of her grandmother, works alongside her, and spends a lot of time with her. Chichi teaches her recipes, she tells her true tales of the epic adventures of years past, she teaches her how to haggle at the marketplace; she teaches her the value of a dollar, and Pan learns how much it pales compared to a drop of rain.
Pan vacillates in her opinion of the farm. She finds it useless, she finds it endless, she finds it secretly wise, she finds it mysterious, worthwhile, important, temporary, stifling, healing, not for her, the greatest gift, or just boring.
Her grandpa Goku, always warm yet ever absent, stands as a paragon of answers to her still. He’s a wise man to her, and she wonders more and more if she shouldn’t train with him for a maintained period of time. Then she hears his stories from Chichi, and she realizes that Goku had many wise old teachers in his day: from Korin to King Kai, he was always enabled by another. Goku himself is not a contained pinnacle of greatness, but the product of many teachers and warriors coming together and contributing their wisdom.
Pan is not prone to placing any one person on a pedestal anyway - and this is a Son family virtue in of itself - but the realization that the journey made the man and not the man the journey sinks in like new to her. Without realizing it, and without intending to follow any particular footsteps, Pan does set out on a journey like the one that Goku has in the original dragon ball. She packs a bag, and with no real agenda but to travel and see, she leaves Mt Paozu and starts walking in one direction.
She ends up being a bonafide wanderer for a few years. Trudging about with a walking stick. Swimming across rivers. Eating what she catches. And most importantly, solving problems from town to town.
It’s a big world outside of her big city. Every town has its own customs, traditions, beliefs, realities, and it doesn’t take long for her to forget all about the small world of global fame and space-traveling that she’s come from.
And it really is a fucked up world out there. Demons. Creatures. Pirate coves and booby traps. Man-eating gourds. Bullies and con-artists alike. Pan finds herself in some real situations, much like when she was in space, and exactly like the ones that the young Son Goku found right here on Earth - just some fucked up shit that takes some creative and quick thinking to get out of. Pan learns to love and admire and venerate the Earth based on the suffering and discomfort that it forces her to persevere through.
It’s a big world out there, and every anthill is rich and every fossil a book. Every town has its own mysteries and she does what she can to remedy their woes when applicable.
As she gets more and more capable at hunting, she comes to refuse all monetary payment. She expects nothing in return, but is more than grateful to accept clothes, tools, good food, good company, a warm place to sleep, good advice, and good conversation.
Son Pan becomes the Wandering Hero. She strengthens her moral center and finds only fulfillment in navigating - and sometimes failing hard at - the difficult ethical questions and circumstances that arise. It’s nothing that she could have accomplished reading her father’s philosophy books or listening to her mother preach passionately about justice - these are lessons that she can only learn herself, in action. Her mistakes cut deep and vindicate her reality; her regrets never leave and always steer her straight; and her successes are defined by the harmony of due comeuppance that sings in all parties.
In this time, she learns of what honor and justice are really, and she comes to dedicate herself to the virtue of balance in all contexts. This is something natural to her blood, but not something that she was to come into on blood alone. She becomes more a martial artist in this time, in head and spirit, then she ever would have training in the city.
She travels the globe and finds the definition of beauty in every corner. All the actions of her predecessors in the fantastic stories she’s heard make perfect sense to her now, and she realizes not that she comes from a group of rational or well-opinionated beings, but that she comes from a group who is astute and perceptive enough to read the overt truth: that there is no choice, there is no room for opinion - the Earth NEEDS to be protected at all costs. She comes from a group who’s been courageous enough to face that.
When she reflects back on why she had first embarked, she feels silly. A quest to find her place - it’s shallow. Her place? She’s alive on the planet Earth, isn’t that enough?
In this way, however, she does come to find herself. In searching the coves and corners of the Earth, she finds herself in all of it, and realizes her consummate place to be a denizen of it.
After this, she is inflamed with the necessity to strive to protect the Earth. Whereas before, waiting to defend it seemed dull, now she sees that the point isn’t in the success, but in the time spent preparing. To spend time not working in favor of the Earth is to waste time. She does train with Goku - and all of the rest who are willing. She spends a year with Roshi, even, running milk and plowing fields, and she leaves only because she becomes self-realized and noble enough to deign it fit to strike him HARD for his lecherous attempts at her.
She dares to train with Vegeta for a moment. At first he wouldn't have her, but she proves her determination and pride enough that he allows her to disappoint him properly. She spends a time with King Kai, and she has tea with the Kaioshins, and suddenly it’s looking like her space-traveling days again.
She eventually returns home, which is the point of it all, and her Grandpa Satan is getting old. He would like to spend the rest of his golden years watching the Golden Girls, and the stress of operating as the soothe-sayer and rallier for the world has begun to weigh on him. During these late years, Uub has begun to shoulder some of the responsibility, and he fights for Mr Satan as one of his pupils in the tournaments. Mr Satan still maintains the World Champion title, though at this point it is mostly honorary, because it is Uub who actually makes an appearance on the ring.
Uub is wicked strong, he brings fame fortune and honor to the human name, he has fought alongside Goku and Vegeta and I think at this point has even made a trip to Beerus’s world once - but he is a shy lad all the same, and he doesn’t necessary want world fame as much as he wants good friends. He’s happy to lead if he must, and will find great responsibility and satisfaction in the role, but, yknow, he likes eating and laughing with Goku, and training with Vegeta, and watching The Golden Girls with Mr Satan. He gets nervous on camera. And he’s not a good yarn-spinner. He’s a sensitive, genuine, and honest kind of person; he is nothing if he can’t find a place in and serve well his community, but there are other things he is more fit to do than be World Champion.
Pan and Uub have no doubt trained together. And TBH they’re not that far apart in age I feel like they could be gal pals. They could definitely talk. Oh they could definitely call each other on the phone and chat it up. Oh they would just understand each other so WELL. They’ve both spent time away from family and have a reserve of pain dedicated to that. At the same time, they’ve made the whole world their family. They are both dedicated to protecting it and serving it well. They have both humbled themselves before the endeavor of self-improvement.
They are both honored to be of service, but they get to talking, and Uub, in the name of paying comeuppance for the grief he’s caused himself, must lay bare his nature: he doesn’t know if he can be the World Champion after Mr Satan. He absolutely will if he must, but he scares himself when he thinks of how he’ll go about it. He can’t help but to think that he won’t inspire much confidence, that his character isn’t luxurious enough to rally an audience, that maybe it’s an ostentatious position that ought to fade from existence, that maybe the Earth doesn’t need talkers but walkers. He’s struggling at differentiating between when doubt is harmful vs when it’s a saving grace. He relents that - if his journey is to be perilous and perplexing and strenuously difficult, he will accept it with grace and graititude and stumble along. If he is to be handed the torch, the honor bestowed upon him by that action will carry him through, and he will become built for it out of necessity. He makes clear that he will be beyond humbled and will know the highest enjoyment if the Earth is to trust him with its delicacy and he is to take it in his hands, and he will conduct himself with valor, and he will believe in himself if the world does, because he would never forsake its opinion.
He’s made all the world a teacher, and he will never stop improving himself by it.
But. Well. It’s just that. He can’t help but to think. Well - he wants well for the world. And wouldn’t the world be better off with with a leader who was already fit for the job? So that it wouldn’t have to sit through a learning curve? No one can replace the King Lion that was Mr Satan, but, like, it’s just that, well Uub has been getting really into realty TV these days, and he would like to have the downtime to watch that, and also he hasn’t seen his mom in a while, and he starts sweating when you point a camera on him, and if he had to wear that hot and heavy World Champion cape he may just faint, and, like - all the world’s a teacher, and he feels that there is harmony in that, and if he has to go up on stage and rally a crowd for no good discernible reason, just to maintain a title, well, what’s the point of that?
When Pan was young, she made clear that she did not want to be the next Mr Satan. Then she moved farther from her parents’s paths, and now in a circuitous way, she’s arrived closer to all of them than where she’s started. In the interest of finding a role, in placing roots, is there anyplace more pertinent than the life of her grandfather, whose life work has been to unify and heal the hearts and minds of the people on Earth? In studying tight niches to find herself in all of it, in traveling far to find herself in the blood she’s always carried with her - the role of her grandfather Satan is the one role of her kin that she hasn’t yet indirectly and inexorably pursued.
It’s the role to tie it all together. At a few key points, Earth would not have persevered, or navigated with much health or success, through dire circumstances without the spokesman unifying all of Earth’s various, small, beautiful corners. When the Earth at large is at stake, all the forces therein need to join their efforts together to protect what they love, and there is a necessary catalyst for that, a unifying voice that all can sing to.
The Earth has warriors looking out for it, training far in space in order to maintain Earth’s place in the broader order. There are warriors training within the Earth to enable a good cause, in swordfighting dojos and schools that bear a family name and significance. There are business leaders, presidents and CEOs, doing what they were born to do and wearing what they love to wear. There are farmers and mothers, there are scholars, there are people adding to destiny by doing what they enjoy.
And there’s a symbol for all of this, one individual who can stand at the top with solid feet and a confidence that reflects not just inner strength but the strength that comes from serving, and being loved by, others.
It’s in her blood. It’s in her roots. She’s when the unstoppable house of Goku meets the dazzling house of Satan, where the soul is of pure passion, where humility embraces confidence, where love and and devotion is multiplied beyond count.
She couldn’t have become the next World Champion when she was young. Though she was photogenic and flamed with showmanship when inspired, that was all the merit she saw in the job, and that was not enough for her; ibso facto, she was not enough for it, all the symbolic meaning being lost on her.
Now, she can do it, and may be the only one who can. It all comes together. Everything that she’s learned, seen, heard - all the values that have been endowed upon her since the cradle - can come into play.
She loves her Grandpa Satan anyway. She would be so happy and honored to take the torch, and to make him happy.
And she loves the Earth, and she loves the people on it. There’s power and hope and potential in every soul, no matter how small of a corner one hails from, and Pan would find actualization in harmonizing them all into one consolidated force. This is the Earth loving itself. Consider this her Saiyaman phase.
As World Champion, she would be very different from the lion Mr Satan was. Mr Satan had his beginnings in a genuine passion for the martial arts, but he is also grandiose and self-important by nature, and so he took to fame as fate expressly bid it. He is sustained by the veneration and adoration of others, and this served him well as he always sought to communicate to the public a version of a story that was both believable and that inspired confidence, comfort, and excitement. Despite it all, Mr Satan is still the most in-touch with the average human out of all of the Z fighters, and this has made him an effective leader. He is also a very gifted yarn-spinner. As in big fat liar. And that’s fine. It all worked out perfectly in the end. But.
That’s not how Pan is gonna be World Champion. She has no interest in lying, or gloating, or extolling, or embellishing, or fabricating. The job does require some small ... re-identifying of certain events, and Son Pan will not be too good to lie by omission. But she’s not here to make up tales. That was her grandpa’s job. Her job is to walk, not talk.
Her presence on stage is much less for the benefit of the audience. Rather than giving them what they want to hear, SHE tells THEM what they want to hear - she steps out on stage in heavy boots, heavy belt, heavy cape and says “Alright, listen up-” and tells them what they need to hear and what she needs them to understand.
This presence of course commands so much respect, and it still runs well on camera. This is an aesthetic and presentation that the magazines can run fine with.
If Mr Satan was the King Lion, she is The Sergeant - all the command of her grandmother, all the competence of her paternal grandfather, all the conviction of her mother, and all the commitment of her father.
Despite this look, she is not into the cigars like her grandfather and mother are. She prefers to not compromise herself with substances, and when she does, it is with sweets and treats and ice cream delights.
She doesn’t humor dumb questions at interviews, and she is incredibly perceptive, knowing what’s being asked better than the interviewer - she will ascertain what REALLY wants to be known, and she won’t hold back when delivering.
She is succinct, effective, and at times laconic. She’s stoic when she needs to be, but she’s also comfortable on camera, and she knows when and how to have a little fun. As a fighter in the tournaments, she likes to prolong the battle for a while, and teach as much as she can in that time.
As a leader, she inspires obedience and confidence, and all the world can feel that she loves them more than they know. May they never know, and never have to see her fall for them.
But hey. It’s just the family business, right? Everything will always return to this, because nothing else has ever actually mattered.
And she still has Girl’s Night with Uub and Bura and Marron and you know she’s buying. After all, a dollar’s value pales when compared to a drop of rain, and its best use is when buying for friends.
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I never thought I’d see a creepy pasta t-word blog :0. Can you maybe do A-Y (unless someone already asked) for Tim/Masky? He really needs to smile more :’)
Yeah, unfortunately there aren't many out there 😞
He certainly does! I love the idea of Masky losing his shit lmao.
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A: Aftercare | What is their aftercare like after a heavy round of tickling?
If you just got wrecked by Tim, chances are he'll feel enough morality to at least give you a sweet pat on the head in silent commendation for surviving his attack.
Masky, however? You'll be lucky if he even stops before you pass out entirely. He'll utter some snide remark to remind you why you should never screw with him, then he'll walk away to go on about his business.
B: Bondage | How do they react to bondage, do they enjoy it and if yes, what is their favorite pose?
Bondage? Uh-uh, absolutely not, no thank you. Tim gets exceedingly anxious when he's unable to move, and Masky is just... He likes being in control of the situation. Which is why neither man will ever ever ever enjoy being restrained in any way.
C: Chase | What are their chances in a chase, both as a lee and ler?
Considering both of them are the ones usually doing the chasing, I'd say they'd be naturally inclined to keep that up when they're looking to pounce on someone. They're rather good at it, too—the ler would be doomed.
On the other end of the stick, however? I imagine Tim would be able to find a place to hide without much trouble, due to his history of running from imminent death. Masky would refuse to be chased at all and then proceed to gut-punch whoever was attempting to pursue him in the first place.
D: Death Spot | What is their most ticklish spot?
Thighs, no questions asked. A close second would have to be the neck. Either of these areas targeted will have them writhing in 10 seconds or less.
E: Expression | How do they express their wish to tickle/be tickled?
Tim has to be feeling very playful to get the urge to tickle someone, and since he isn't exactly a physical person by heart, chances that he'll actually go through with it are unlikely. The same goes for when he desires to be tickled, which, dare I say, is even rarer than the latter. If he craves it badly enough, he'll probably just outright say it. With reluctance and awkwardness, sure, but he doesn't like beating around the bush.
'Violence' is the one word that goes through his head on repeat throughout the day; it is the solution to every problem he can think of. It really is no surprise that touching someone without intending to cause them intense agony is a foreign concept to him, and an unappealing one at that. Simply put: the only reason on this earth that he would ever consider tickling someone is if he actually cares about them and wants to bring some form of torment that won't result in serious injury. As for the being tickled, aha, never in a million years will this man let his guard down long enough for someone to be successful, nor will he want to be touched in that regard. Try it and he will commit homicide.
F: Fight | What is their behavior in a tickle fight like?
Tim is a strong dude, so unless his weakest spots are being honed in on, he will have the upper hand. Thankfully, he practices mercy, so it usually isn't a time to panic—plus, he'll let up every now and then so his opponent feels like they're actively contributing to this 'fight'.
With Masky, there is no fight. There is just plain torture. He will pin you solidly and not relent until he is satisfied. 'Nice' is not in his vocabulary, apparently.
G: Gentle | How do they react to gentle tickles?
This man— He will snort if you brush your fingers against any remotely ticklish spot. He'll also squirm, which is an amusing sight.
Pretty much the same reaction as Tim, but he's much more aggressive with his squirming.
H: Habits | As a lee/ler or both, do they have specific habits when it comes to tickling?
This only applies if the two of you are romantically involved; if Tim's feeling affectionate or clingy, he'll nuzzle your neck or any sensitive, accessible area with his beard just to hear the giddy sounds you'll emit.
Pure roughness. He's left bruises on every lee he's ever gotten his hands on and lingering pain for sometimes hours, but somehow this violence is equally effective at drawing the rawest shrieks and highest-pitched laughter. It's unbearable in literally every way. This is a talent he doesn't even consider a 'talent'.
I: Interrogation | How well would they handle a tickle interrogation?
Tim would have the capability to last quite a while, even if his worst spots are targeted. But he would break eventually, and quiet, half-stifled giggles would break into full-blown cries for mercy. He tried.
Masky doesn't beg. Like whatsoever. But he also wouldn't put a lot of effort into hiding his raspy laughter, no. Instead, he would writhe relentlessly and spew threats at his progressor while losing every ounce of self-control he formerly possessed. He's a very loud lee.
J: Joy | Their absolute favorite thing about tickling?
If he had to choose something, it would be the way it bonds him with his loved ones. Before all the Slenderman crap went down he'd always use tickling to connect with his little siblings and cousins, and occasionally for his friends. He and Brian got into it a few times in college; the former won, but Brian was a worthy opponent.
Masky absolutely does not care.
K: Killer Move | As a ler, do they have special skills to use against their lees and drive them crazy with?
This isn't really a skill, but he'll start to laugh along with his lee after a few moments and that always seems to heighten the lee's nerves so they laugh even harder.
Like I said previously: stone cold force. He will attack your weakest areas without a bit of remorse, and he'll do it till you're on the brink of passing out.
L: Laughter | What does their laughter sound like when they are tickled?
Normally, it's pretty raspy due to all the smoking, but there's this sweet—extraordinarily rare—kind of giggle you can pull from both of them, but it takes incredible precision and the exact amount of pressure. Go for the side of the ribcage with firm yet tender claw-like scratching and watch them unravel in an instant.
M: Mornings | Their tickle behavior during mornings?
If you are anyone other than his romantic partner, do not try this or he will straight up bitch slap you. If you are dating him, however, feel free to wake him up with benign pokes to the stomach and/or tickly neck kisses. It will put him in a blissful mood for the rest of the day and he may reciprocate, even in his sleepy haze.
Do not touch Masky. Seriously. The only thing keeping him going right now is a mug full of coffee. If you even threaten to do something he will snap your finger in two.
N: Nights | Their tickle behavior during nights?
At this point in the day, this man is completely exhausted and is looking for some downtime. He would need to be exceedingly close to a person to participate in tickles, and it wouldn't be for long periods.
Masky is done, man. He's so freaking done. He's put up with everyone's shit the whole day and dealt with his own problems and is not in the mood to be all physical and lovey-dovey. You best pray he doesn't strike at this interval because he's probably out for blood.
O: Online | Text messaging and social media, do they have some kind of online tickly behavior to tease their lee or ler with?
Not...really? Both of these dudes kinda just live in the moment. Tim might shoot a text every once in a while for shits and giggles but that's about it.
P: Partner In Crime | If they were to go after a lee and accept the aid of a tickle partner, who do they prefer to join hands with and why?
For Tim, it would probably be his s/o. If he doesn't have one, he'd go solo.
Masky also typically works alone, but if he's feeling vengeful enough he'll get Johnny to join him.
Q: Question | Their response to the question ‘are you ticklish’?
"Um, heh... Isn't everyone?"
"You'll never get close enough to find out."
R: Role | Lee or ler, what is generally their main role?
Both lers to the core, but if either of them were to be swayed it'd be Tim.
S: Safeword | If they were to suggest the safeword for a tickle session, which word will it be?
Tim is the kind of person that has always been very serious about safewords and consent in general. He will deadass go completely still if you say 'stop', not wanting to push boundaries.
Safewords are not a real thing to Masky. He will go for however long he wants to go and there ain't no arguing with him.
T: Teasing | Their most favorite methods of teasing their lee/ler?
Sometimes he'll drum his fingers against their torso with a certain mischievous sparkle in his eyes that drives the lee crazy.
Rapid, harsh scribbling, especially when he figures out what spots make you scream. No mercy.
U: Unusual | Do they have some unusual tickle spots? Where?
Their thighs. Also sorta ticklish on the upper back.
V: Victim | As a ler, who is their favorite lee and what makes this person their ultimate victim?
His s/o or Sally, but only occasionally.
Masky just targets whoever decided to royally piss him off. Though he must admit, Liu is quite a satisfying victim.
W: Word | What is their reaction to the T-word? Can they say it out loud or do they get embarrassed?
Tim moreso than Masky, but that only applies when he's asking to be tickled.
X: X-Over | In a crossover AU, which other fandom character would be a fitting tickle fight opponent for them and why?
Luna Lovegood and Tim I think would be a blast to watch. Luna would be super sweet yet good with her hands (plus there's the whole 'magic' that would definitely come into play), but she'd play fair too. She would push him out of his comfort zone to the point where he would be comfortable actually fighting back but it would all be in good fun.
Bahloo would be perfect for Masky because he's a literal bear and could just pin him down effortlessly and teach Masky some life lessons.
Y: YOU | Any personal self or reader-insert tickle fantasies/headcanons to share with this character?
Tim hated being tickled as a kid cause it was always a way to "make him feel better". It was nurses and the people keeping him in the hospital that would mostly initiate it.
Then he met Brian years later and realized how much of a playful person he was. His friend was the one that made him okay with receiving that kind of treatment again.
#creepypasta#t-word#ticklepasta#creepypasta tickle#masky headcanons#masky tickle headcanons#tim wright#tim wright headcanons#marble hornets#tim wright tickle headcanons#the tickly alphabet#marble hornets tickle
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Hello! I love all your Everlark fics so much! You’re legit one of my favorite fic writers ever! Basically, my queen of Everlark smut 🥹❤️ I’m not sure if you’re accepting prompts right now, but if ever you decide to again, I have one I’m dying to see played out! 🥰
Okay so, we all know Katniss has a problem with authority in general but I lowkey believe she has a praise kink if its coming from a certain blond baker 😉
so basically, my prompt request is: Post-MJ, Pre-Epilogue (after the night of “Real” maybe) and Everlark are becoming more intimate and open in the bedroom. Katniss finds out Peeta can be quite ~dominating~ in bed and Peeta discovers Katniss’ praise-kink (although she denies it sometimes)… I think you can see where this us going 😉 so kinda just dirtytalk!Peeta saying things like “Good girl” and Katniss is just “Yes, Peeta” and it just gets really, really HOT because after all, she is the girl on fire 😏🔥
So yea that’s it HAHA I hope you see this!! ❤️❤️❤️
Ok, so I've only dabbled a little in dominant!Peeta smut before, but this request was so sweet I decided to give it a try. Hope you like.
This is just straight-up smut, so anybody not into that need not read.
We discover it almost accidentally, lying in bed one afternoon atop the rumpled sheets, trying to catch our breath as the sweat dries on our naked skin.
“Where did you learn that?” I ask him turning my head to peer at him from across our bed.
He’s gloriously sweaty and flushed, his chest still rising and falling swiftly, his pink lips and over-kissed mouth hanging open and pulling in the air like a man winding down after running a mile.
He’s beautifully, perfectly undone, and best of all, he’s mine.
He turns to me, lazily, eyes dropping with tiredness and the leftover rush of pleasure that’s still humming through both our veins. He still has enough energy to smirk, though.
“Learn what?” He asks in a mock-innocent tone that makes me roll my eyes.
“You know what,” I say, with a little more grit in my voice because I actually want to know the answer and he’s being annoying. He chuckles in delight at the discomfort in my voice.
Peeta knows by now that while I’m very enthusiastic about our activities I still have trouble discussing certain things in blatant detail. He thinks it’s hilarious that after all this time and after all the things we’ve done together that I can still get flustered discussing sex with him.
“Oh, you mean the thing that made you scream?” He asks, trying to continue his innocent charade but the slight smug quality of his words ruins the intended effect.
I narrow my eyes at him in warning, but he doesn’t even blink.
“Or, was it that thing that made it impossible for you to speak at all?” He adds, lowering his voice and stretching out his hand to trail one lone fingertip down my ribs to my hip. The action makes me shiver with want, even though my body is still quietly pulsing with the aftereffects of his love.
“The second one,” I answer quietly, reaching out and twining my fingers with his, stopping his indulgent touches before things heat up between us again and I lose my train of thought.
He gives a quiet, “Hmmm,” in response and moves in closer. Then I’m gathered up in strong arms and my head is pillowed on a strong chest. I listen to the soft drumbeat beneath my ear and I relax into his embrace.
“I didn’t really learn it from anywhere or anyone. I just had a feeling you might like it.” He replies thoughtfully, all traces of teasing gone now.
“But how did you know I’d like it when you called me a—” I break off, unable to repeat the phrase for some reason.
Which is silly. Because there’s actually nothing outwardly crude or sexual about it. But the way Peeta had said it, and the way I had responded to it, was intensely erotic.
“A good girl?” Peeta offers, finishing my thought for me and I inhale sharply. My heart skips a beat and I feel myself involuntarily clench around nothing. I feel a blush creep up my neck.
Peeta’s arms tighten around me as if he knows how much his words affect me and when he speaks next it sounds deep and rumbly.
“Because you are, Katniss. You’re such a good girl.” His voice takes me back to a few minutes ago when we were joined and Peeta was moving in me with that perfect rhythm and his words vaulted me over the precipice and hurtled me to perfect ecstasy. I had loved it, and despite just having my hunger for him sated, I greedily, selfishly, wanted more.
“Peeta,” I plead, not fully knowing what to ask for. I have no idea if I want him to continue in this vein or stop.
“You’re so good, and so sweet, lying here naked in our bed, writhing and biting your lip to keep from asking for more, after I’ve already filled you to the brim.” His voice takes on a decidedly dirty edge and I know I’m already lost. There’s no way I can hold out when he gets like this.
I let out a strangled little moan and in the next second, he has us flipped, with him on top of me, hands holding my wrists above my head, as he spreads my knees with his own. He looks down between us, eyes dark and nostrils flaring.
“Look at you, still dripping with me but you want more, don’t you? Do you want me to fuck you again, sweetheart? Does my good girl need me to make her come again?” His warm breath ghosts first over my lips, then my throat, and collarbone, and the words are uttered against my skin like a secret before his lips close over a nipple and I cry out as he sucks.
“Yes! Peeta…please,” I beg and he lets go of my breast with a wet pop before releasing my wrists and slowly sliding down my body.
“Keep your hands up. You’re not allowed to touch until I tell you.” He commands and it sends a dark thrill through me. If people knew how much I liked this side of Peeta they might be surprised. I know a lot of people think of me as the dominant one in our relationship, but that’s because they don’t see us behind closed doors. When it's just us, all of the trappings fall away. And I’m free to admit that I need Peeta in this way. For me, it's not so much about submission as it is about freeing me from the burden of having to be in control all the time. That and I trust Peeta unlike anyone else. I know he will never abuse my trust or hurt me purposely.
We are so past that. And here in the privacy of our bedroom, the only thing that exists is me and him.
I nod frantically at him, eager all over for him, again. I don’t think I ever won’t be. It's been years since we became intimate like this, and I still get the same rush when I think about sleeping with him. He lets out a little growl and nips at my skin when I unconsciously start rocking my hips against him.
“Patience, sweetheart. All good girls know how to wait.” He tells me and our eyes lock. I’m practically panting for want of him, but I hold myself still. We both know what the other is thinking, what is needed.
There’s a magic in the way we fit together like this. Sure of ourselves and each other, neither of us questioning our love anymore. There’s only the heat of reassurance and desire that passes between us and curls in the air around us as we begin again.
His mouth moves over my hipbone, hot, wet, and fervent. His strong arms pin my legs apart, my knees kiss the mattress as he lowers his face down to peer at my center.
“So swollen and messy,” He says, a finger dipping in to play with the puddle of fluids seeping out of me. “So beautiful. You should always be like this. Full of my come. Begging for more.” He says with a sigh before swirling his fingers, gathering it, and then pushing it back in.
I whimper loudly, loving the feeling of him filling me up, even if it's just his fingers. I love his hands. I love his touch. I love him. Plain and simple.
“I love you,” I say out loud because I try to make a point of saying it whenever I can now. So that he always knows. So that he never has to question it again.
He peers up at me from between my obscenely spread legs. His pupils are so dilated, I can hardly see the thin sliver of blue iris.
“Love you too, sweetheart. I’m going to eat your pussy so good, you won’t be able to form a full sentence for hours.” He promises, pecking my clit with a soft, short kiss that sends electricity racing through me.
Then he starts to lick, softly, around my sensitive flesh, and down to where his fingers are pumping into me.
“Mmm, you still taste delicious, even mixed with my come.” He states between licks and all I can do is groan in reply.
I can feel his self-satisfied smile again on the skin of my inner thigh.
“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you, darling.” He teases before diving back in and flicking my clit with his tongue, not even giving my muddled brain a chance to try and form a response.
‘PEETA!” I scream as the orgasm washes over me, sharp and sweet, and sudden.
He laps up my release, holding down my shaking thighs and murmuring sweet little praises that I can’t make out because my ears are ringing.
Then I’m being flipped over again and he arranges me with strong, firm hands until I’m braced on my elbows, lower half lifted up and legs spread for his benefit as he situates himself behind me.
“Fuck, this ass. I’ve always loved it.” He says, one large palm cupping and kneading my cheek possessively as his other hand tilts my hips up.
He notches himself at my entrance but doesn’t sink in. Instead, he slides through my lower lips, coating himself carefully, even though I know he wants inside me. He’s fully hard again, and more than ready.
“Hands, sweetheart.” He says in a quiet, strained tone.
I know what he needs, so I carefully shift my weight from my forearms and link my hands behind my back, letting my forehead sink into the bed, my nose and mouth angled in such a way that I’ll be able to breathe even if he pounds me into the mattress.
“Good girl,” He whispers, and I whine pathetically, distressed at my own emptiness. I need him to fill me.
“Shhh, baby.” He coos, and then with one well-placed thrust, he sheathes himself up to the hilt.
My moan is swallowed up against the bedsheets, but Peeta’s grunt of pleasure rings out loud in the room and fills my ears, making me press back into him.
“Still so tight, after I ate you out, fucked you, and ate you out again. Perfect little pussy, just for me. Feels, so fucking good.” I hear him say, as he plunges in, moves his hips in a circle, pulls back, and plunges back in again.
I’m making noises, desperate little sounds that do nothing but spur him on to take me harder. It’s glorious. He feels amazing, even after all the pleasure he’s already given me. I know he’ll give me more. Because he’s so good. Because he’s my Peeta.
“Sweet girl, taking me so well. Taking my cock and letting me fuck you however I want. You’re so good Katniss. You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me. I always knew you would be.” He says, breathless and strained, his hips knocking against my bottom with the force of his thrusts.
“Yes!” I shout, and I can feel the way I tighten at his words, I can feel the way my body winds up and grows taught, waiting for release.
“I always knew it would be like this. Incredible. You, sweet and desperate. Begging for me. You’re so cool on the outside, but inside you’re pure heat. All fire. All mine.” His voice is rough and his thrusts take on a punishing edge, the kind he knows really gets me fired up.
I turn my mouth to the side, blowing stray hairs out of my face.
“Yours, Peeta. All yours. Forever.” I promise him and he moans, his fingers gripping my hips tightly enough to bruise.
His right hand loosens its grip and he brings it around my front to slide between my legs and rub small, firm circles around me.
I let out a broken, choked noise.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Wanna feel you come on my cock. Be a good girl and come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up—”
His words, his beautiful, filthy words are what tip me over the edge.
I clench around him and come, sobbing his name, and clutching the sheets.
I hear him swearing behind me and feel his hips stuttering before he lets out a low groan and plunges as deep as he can.
Warmth pools inside me, with the ghost of my flutterings and the last of his twitching pulses, and we collapse, exhausted and much sweatier than the first time.
We can only rest a moment because Peeta is heavy on my back, and it's uncomfortable, but he rearranges us quickly enough until we can spread out comfortably.
“How was that, sweetheart? Was there anything you didn’t like that time?” He asks, quiet and inquisitive now.
I shake my head. Brushing my lips across his bicep, back and forth, wanting to kiss every inch of his skin in happiness, but my body is so tired and sated that all I can manage is this.
“I liked it all,” I reply as I move to get more comfortable.
He moves his arm under my head so I can use it as a pillow. One of his hands brushes a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His brilliant blue eyes are searching mine for something more.
“It was good,” I tell him with a simplistic finality that makes him smile, and sleepily close his eyes in contentment.
“So good,” I repeat to myself as I close my eyes and drift off, warm, sleepy, and safe in the arms of my love.
#everlark prompts#lemonluvanswers#lemonluvwrites#everlark smut#fanfiction#everlark fanfiction#thg fanfiction#thg#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#the hunger games#post-war smut#dominant!peeta vibes#nothing too crazy
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Hello! 💚 21+, she/her, looking to write fandomless, dark dove content!
(This is my second attempt at sending — I didn’t see one of the ‘newer’ rules! Sorry, mods! It’s been a while since I was here last, haha!)
I want to do fandomless MxF RP with me in the part of the female character for all of these plots. I am not looking to double. I can play any role, but I am looking to either play submissive or switch. Bonus points if you contact me with a specific faceclaim in mind for me. (I am suffering from some intense burnout, so having a partner who likes to make decisions would be great!)
I am literate and detailed, but I’m looking to write a little less because of aforementioned burn-out. I can only reply when I have time, so if you need someone who is rapid-fire, I’m not your gal! I only write on Discord, and you can either like this post or just directly add me at: aven.writes — let me know what plot(s) you are interested in when contacting!
1) Strangers — TW: potential noncon/🍪 | My girl is driving when she sees your character hitchhiking. Even though they only have limited time together, they decide to use each other for some relief. I was thinking she could either live that van life so they use that, or she gives your character a handjob — whether he forces it on her or not is up to what you want and how we want to plot. If he’s a gentleman and offers to drive, maybe she teases him until eventually giving him roadhead. Things like that!
2) Siblings — TW: incest/🍪 | They can be full siblings or step — whichever you prefer! If I play the younger sister, I want it to be that her older brother came home from college to help house-sit and spend time with her as their parents are on vacation or a business trip. She’s be younger and hormonal, and this could lead to him taking advantage of that fact, or maybe she’s more bold and wanting to actively try and seduce her brother because she wants that relief. If I play an older sister, I want her to be very full-on with her younger brother. He’d just be reaching that age and interested, and she’s a relentless tease who is gonna push him until he breaks.
3) Babysitter — TW: 🍪 | Kinda like the one above, but without the incest parts. My girl has been hired as a babysitter to your younger male character. While it’s mainly just to make sure he’s getting food and doing his homework as his parents are gone for the week, she notices he has another problem she can solve. I can play her as more innocent or more forward, but was looking to write her as the instigator.
4) Milk — TW: possible 🍪 | My character is a brand-new single mom who overproduces a lot of milk. It’s really painful for her, and she’s tried to find other ways to take care of it. In this, she hires your character as a babysitter for a few hours so she can tend to the house/job/other chores (so she’ll still be at home with the baby, but just be able to concentrate on those things more), and somehow, whether your character is younger and out of curiosity asks, or if you want to play an older male who notices she’s struggling, they discuss her problem. She is very doting and motherly, and she would love to jump at the chance to let a man or boy cuddle up to her for comfort and drink directly from her breasts. And, if he gets excited…she’s fine with someone putting another baby in her. 💚
5) Fantasy — TW: noncon/potential 🍪/monsterfucking/beastiality | I want to play as either a princess or a warrior who has been captured and is locked in a stockade in an opposing kingdom/monster den where she is used solely for the purpose of men/monsters/beasts fucking her over and over until she breaks. She’s just a fucktoy for them, and will be treated as such. I’d need a partner who is cool with playing a revolving door of characters to break her down until she becomes a breeding toy. This one is super dark and I want it to be pretty unrealistic, if at all possible! We can discuss further in DMs. I can be swayed into either sci-fi or apocalyptic, if those are preferred.
6) Anon — TW: potential noncon/potential 🍪 | Our characters somehow meet and have anonymous sex. Whether it’s willing and it’s a gloryhole or meeting up somewhere unconventional, or something more messed up. Either my girl is in a compromised position (being stuck in something is great!!), or public transport, or anything else. Just the idea of sex in public is kind of the thing I’m most interested in for this one!
Thank you for reading, and I look forward to hearing from you!!
like if you're interested and op will reach out
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You have described yourself as "NOT a masochist" but enjoying rough (often very rough) sex. You have described your Husband as not only a Dom but a sadist as well. This is very similar to my relationship.
How does one balance the desire to [consensually] inflict pain on someone who is not completely wired to receive it? Conversely, how far will/do you let him go before limits kick in? Is that limit based on your desire to please or your personal, physical limit?
I have been with masochists before and the flow was very natural and easy. But with someone who is also self described as "not a masochist" AND me being a sadist who would not want to hurt anyone outside of a BDSM consensual agreement, I sometime find myself treading especially carefully.
Any thoughts are appreciated.
Hi Anon. I’m glad you wish to tread carefully! I want to give a thoughtful answer. Before I get to your question, I feel I should define my husband and myself a little better for clarity’s sake.
I say I’m not a masochist because I don’t enjoy the actual sensation of pain. I do however really enjoy that my trusted partner is either turned on or finds some other positive from inflicting those sensations on me when he knows he’s making me uncomfortable . For whatever reason, it’s the ‘he likes that I don’t like this’ that I enjoy. Does that technically fall on the masochist spectrum? Maybe??? It depends on which definition you’re working with. I’m just not a pain puppy. I don’t dream of physical pain and I don’t get off from the actual sensations of pain.
Now for the Hubs. Another writer used the term “sensual sadist” on here before and I feel that applies to him. If there were a sadist spectrum he’d be Sadist Light. He doesn’t desire to push me to see how much pain I can/will take for him. He does enjoy taking his pleasure from me in ways that are emotionally complex for me (us?). I get the great subby feelings that feed my soul, he lets loose the sexual side of his dominance. He does seem to be growing and exploring this side of himself. I wrote in another post that he’d probably have trouble answering the question “Do you like face/throat fucking me so hard that it hurts me?”. I wrote that I assumed my sweet hubby would struggle with how he feels about it, but I asked him the question a week or two ago and he answered with “YES”. I must admit I really liked his emphatic answer.
Ok, now that you understand us a little better, I’ll try to answer your question. For us, the balance is struck from years of growing into this together. He’s not the kind of sadist that simply wants me to suffer more and more for him. (There’s no judgement here for other types of sadists.) He has studied my immediate and long term reactions to the uncomfortable and painful. We have awkward conversations about us each being happy I hurt for him. He cares about my pleasure a great deal and has done an AMAZING job at exploring what feels good to him, turns him on, fits inside my pain tolerance, feeds my subby heart, and brings us closer together.
In our situation, our desires just seem to line up. We lucked out on that one. He hasn’t expressed any interest to explore inflicting more pain on me. If he did, I’m sure we’d talk it out a lot. I’d do my best to give him whatever I’m capable of. In our relationship, he does have the freedom to explore and push a bit, safeword at the ready. I’ve told him many times that I’d rather be in a situation where we need to talk about maybe reeling in a certain activity or intensity level than for him to ever feeling unable to express himself and explore. I encourage him to try new things and he welcomes honest feedback. I guess that last sentence might be the takeaway here.
I fear our situation may not be of much help to you, sorry about that. We’re all so different when it comes to this stuff, but I suppose there’s always something we can learn from each other.
Again, it’s good that you know yourself and want to tread carefully.
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Trust Fall | Ch 6 нарны гэрэл
ARC reactor image by Eury Escodero
Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Summary: Tony/OC, 'terrorists made us fall in love;' IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Tony realizes that a situation where he's practically required to kiss this woman to keep her alive is a blessing and a curse-- because he really, really likes it. so much kissing omg
Length: 5,170
I’m shy as hell about saying this but if anyone wants to be tagged or ask me to write something please do! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon
Excerpt:
“Tony,” he says. She opens her eyes and looks at him, confused. “My name,” he explains. “I like to be on a first-name basis with a woman I’ve shared kisses with.”
He’s trying to charm her, and that is honestly pissing her off. She’s not here to be enticing, she’s trying to stay alive! Inside her somewhere, the place that keeps trying to get her to relive the way he’d traced her lip with his tongue the day before, a voice calls her a liar.
She suspects she’s going to get a lot of practice ignoring that voice.
“Shared, is it? I don’t recall there being much sharing. Taking, maybe,” Emory says. Only after the word ‘taking’ leaves her lips does she really examine its use, and her eyes fly up to Stark’s in a kind of horrified curiosity.
He’s grinning.
“Interesting choice of words.”
She’s committed now, so as usual when cornered, Emory stands her ground. “It’s true.”
Very carefully, Stark lifts the paper he’d been lining up on top of his palladium contraption, setting it on top of the stack of pages instead. Then he stands up, leaning his palm down on the table to angle his weight sideways. He tips his head the other way and regards her thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I’ve been greedy.”
Chapter Six: нарны гэрэл
After an hour of avoiding the book by practicing her scales at a low hum (so as not to disturb Stark’s intense focus), Emory pulls the blanket back off of her head to find that Yinsen is already walking over. He crouches down, speaking in a low whisper.
“I am concerned that if you and Stark do not interact today, your safety will be at risk. I have spoken to him multiple times, but he is engrossed.”
She sighs. “Can’t you try again? I could come up with a pretty comprehensive list of things I’d rather do than walk over and interrupt Tony Stark so I can tell him to-- Well. You know.”
“I do not think it will take much persuasion if that is your worry,” Yinsen says. His steady gaze doesn’t reveal his thoughts, but what he’s said is enough.
“Okay,” she says, biting her lip.
“Cleaning the dishes will be a loud, solitary activity during which I will be unlikely to hear anything,” he says, standing up.
“Absolutely do not imply that we need privacy. That’s-- Just don’t.”
All Yinsen does is chuckle very softly, and walk away.
That leaves Emory with the task of walking over to a very busy Tony Stark and trying to persuade him to kiss her so she can stay alive. Her life has become so much more strange than she ever expected.
Stark has the pencil in his mouth and is resting one of his pages on top of the circular metal tray he’d placed the cast palladium into. She waits nearby for about two minutes (she counts 106 seconds before he looks up, and she’d started counting pretty soon after stopping beside the table) before he notices she’s there.
“Hey. What’s up, J Rabbit?”
He doesn’t even turn to look at her.
“That’s a new one for me, but that’s probably because she’s really tall, there, Stark. Glad to know you see me as just boobs and hair though, I guess?”
“Hmm?” he says.
Emory almost laughs. He’s created the perfect situation for her to actually do the thing Yinsen told her she should do. Because if he’s not listening very intently, if he’s so caught up in his project, he probably won’t even be phased.
“I need you to kiss me for Yinsen’s quota of ‘Emory Shouldn’t Die If We Can Avoid It,’” she says.
He looks over at her with interest. “Emory, that’s your name?”
All of his attention is suddenly on her. Whoops.
“Yep,” she says briskly. “So if you could--”
“Emory Autumn,” he says.
He looks like he’s savoring the way the words taste, and the fact that he’s been so busy all day with something he clearly cares about but is willing to pause for this is really affecting her. Emory closes her eyes tight, trying to reset her sense of what’s important at the moment.
“Tony,” he says. She opens her eyes and looks at him, confused. “My name,” he explains. “I like to be on a first-name basis with a woman I’ve shared kisses with.”
He’s trying to charm her, and that is honestly pissing her off. She’s not here to be enticing, she’s trying to stay alive! Inside her somewhere, the place that keeps trying to get her to relive the way he’d traced her lip with his tongue the day before, a voice calls her a liar.
She suspects she’s going to get a lot of practice ignoring that voice.
“Shared, is it? I don’t recall there being much sharing. Taking, maybe,” Emory says. Only after the word ‘taking’ leaves her lips does she really examine its use, and her eyes fly up to Stark’s in a kind of horrified curiosity.
He’s grinning.
“Interesting choice of words.”
She’s committed now, so as usual when cornered, Emory stands her ground. “It’s true.”
Very carefully, Stark lifts the paper he’d been lining up on top of his palladium contraption, setting it on top of the stack of pages instead. Then he stands up, leaning his palm down on the table to angle his weight sideways. He tips his head the other way and regards her thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I’ve been greedy.”
Oh holy fucking hell, Emory thinks in her own head, looking down at the floor in complete desperation. It’s as if his words have left his lips to connect to some sort of conduit in her gut that has been overloaded with electricity. Greedy, God. She could get behind greedy, not that she ever intends to let him know that.
“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.
“Nothing. I’m--” she lifts her eyes to his chest, wishing she were brave enough to shift them higher. “The rabbit sparring with the fox. Wholly without the experience or the vocabulary to hold my own.”
“No one flirted with you at any of Rory’s parties? At events?” He’s coming closer, and she really is the rabbit, now. Emory’s paralyzed, knowing she has to stay still and let him flip all of her switches, even if he only needed to tap on a single lamp with the brush of a finger. She’s always been activated by touch. There has to be a way she can fake callouses for just long enough to fool him.
“Don’t you want to get back to your work?”
“I needed a brain break,” Stark says, coming closer still. He reaches over and shifts the battery as if to show her he’s committed to his course of action.
“What kind of break would you call this?” Emory asks impulsively, finally meeting his eyes.
“Nice,” he says. “I stand corrected.” He shifts his gaze to the far distance as if thinking. “They really did name her after you, didn’t they? Rory Fall, Emory Autumn. How are you not suing them for likeness rights, at this point?”
“Mr. Stark--”
He reaches out and stops her with a heavy thumb against her lips. It directly reminds her of what he’d done the day before, which is why she stays still and stares at him instead of slapping his hand away or backing up.
Well, that and she kind of needs this so they don’t come back and kill her.
That’s the only reason.
“Tony,” he corrects.
All Emory can do is make a skeptical face. He’d said she should use his given name because they’d shared kisses, after all. And they hadn’t. As she’d said.
He doesn’t have the reputation of being a genius for nothing.
“You really do work in the recording industry. You’re giving me snarky eyes because you think you’ve found a loophole, aren’t you? Think I can’t make you kiss me back? I can.”
Yep, all the switches.
She feels the blush grow up her neck and across her cheeks, with a completely different heat spreading downward. In self-defense, Emory grabs his hand and moves it away from her mouth, but Stark twists it in her grip, shifting to hold her wrist. He then uses that new hold to pull her close.
He’s infuriating as well as sexy, because the more she obviously resists him, the more persuasive he’ll be, which is exactly what they both know she won’t be able to handle.
“You are in dire need of someone to puncture your ego,” she bristles.
Stark leans over, laying his lips against her ear. “Do it with your tongue.”
Emory’s response to this is to reach out and rest her hand on his battery, pressing down on the corner that’s extending over the edge of the table. The weight of the thing starts to shift. She’s absolutely not strong enough to get it to fall before he'd stop her, but it’s not stable, either.
“Power play, eh?” he asks. “If you’re going to fuck with my wiring, sweetheart, do it at the source.” Stark closes his hand around hers and to her complete surprise, he drags it underneath his shirt. The intimacy of it is shocking, but so is the place he forces her fingers to slide against. The metal of the electromagnet housing isn’t conductive, but every other place he's compelling her to touch is. She’s slowly attuning to his charge, and it’s exhilarating.
His warm hand shifts hers sideways and flattens it out on his pectoral muscle. Emory shakes her head, overwhelmed, and that’s when he dips his head down and captures her lips with his. Instead of rough, this is persuasive, which is much more drugging and insidious. Stark’s got her touching him in a way that implies a deep intimacy they’re nowhere near actually sharing, but her traitorous body doesn’t understand that. Despite herself Emory leans toward him when he breaches her initial resistance and sucks her lower lip into his mouth.
He breaks the kiss for a second and she tries to pull back.
“No, no,” he says. “I just need--” and suddenly the hand he’d been using to hold hers to his chest slips out from under his shirt and he’s lifting her up onto the table directly beside her. Stark’s got a hand on her hips and the other resting on the table, supporting him as he leans into her.
“You don’t-- This is--” she protests, but before she can vocalize ‘too much,’ he tips his head as if he’s about to kiss her, but doesn’t.
“They can’t see at this angle, I don’t think,” he whispers. Stark’s lips are a breath away, and she’s still got her hand on his bare chest under his shirt like a lover.
“You don’t have to be an overachiever at everything,” Emory mutters, pulling her hand down and away from him. It’s difficult, with how close their bodies are to each other.
“I didn’t succeed yet, so no,” he whispers in her ear.
He means she hasn’t kissed him back. Emory’s actually relieved, because it feels to her like he’s replaced the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins with the wanting of him, and if he can’t tell that’s happening, she’s grateful.
She’s still the prey to his predator, but she knows some tricks, at least.
“There’s always next time,” she promises.
Stark draws back to look at her, his brown eyes searching hers. He nods.
Tony has to force himself to back up so Emory can get down. He doesn’t offer to help her slide down because if he touches her again, he’ll bury his hands in her hair and do just what he’d promised to do in the first place: compel her to kiss him back.
Things are getting way out of hand, he knows, but being denied something he wants always has made him dogged about getting it, and he wants her. She feels it too, whether or not it’s as strong (if there was any chance it was, they could escape this goddamned cave just with the force of energy they’d be capable of giving off, he’s entirely sure). That’s good, and not just in a selfish way, either. Tony doesn’t want to be the person he implied to the terrorist he was. He doesn’t want to use her, he wants to please her, wants her to please him in return. He’s rocketed past ‘cute girl at the party, ask Hogan if she’d be willing to drop by the hotel’ territory straight into ‘pull cute girl away from dance floor against darkened hallway and see how loud they can be before they get caught’ -land.
He walks back over to his chair and grips the back of it, pretending to look at his papers until Emory goes back to her cot. What he needs to do is come. It’s been forever, and he needs steady hands for the welding he’s going to do tomorrow. But Tony Stark is not a sexual exhibitionist, not among people who don’t want to watch. He’ll have to wait till evening, and be discreet. It probably won’t take long, not after he made the monumentally stupid decision to put her hand on his chest.
He can kind of still feel it there. That’s directly related to the need he thought about earlier, if he’s honest. Tony’s always been a heat sink for sexual thoughts the longer it’s been since he’d had an orgasm. Right now? He could probably melt what’s left of the palladium just by holding it in his hands.
Channel the energy, he reminds himself. The suit he’s designing is something out of a comic book, something out of a sci-fi novel. Something out of his most inventive daydreams. Tomorrow he’ll start making it a reality, with his father’s long-time dream of a miniaturized ARC reactor the first item in the agenda.
Tony lines up the pages he’s been sketching on all day and presses them together with a quick swipe of his hand.
It’s bulky, but its beauty doesn’t lie in the lines of metal he’s realistically represented here. This is Mark I. Its purpose is to get Tony back home where he can design its sibling, using the technology he aches to lay his hands on again.
Tony groans inwardly. Even his metaphors in his own mind are about tactile gratification. He’s the most predictable man on the planet.
Soldering goes well the next day, but his hands ache by the afternoon. The precision Tony needs is going to require that he take the second part of the day off and finish in the morning, instead of what he’d been hoping, which was to finish by nighttime. Hooking the reactor up to power will undoubtedly make the lights dim as it takes in the power the first time, and Tony doesn’t want to do that while there will be eyes on their video feed. It also means he needs to get everything to do with Emory taken care of long before evening that night, so no one will get the idea that there will be something to watch after hours.
It’s a perfect reason to establish that whatever they’re up to, it should happen earlier in the day (training the goons observing them that there isn’t anything to see once it’s night), but it’s mostly a rationalization.
True rationalizations are the best kind, anyway.
“Hey, Chenoweth, can you come here?” he calls out to her, standing beside the worktable. His soldering project is at the other end, protected by a box and a few other objects that ought to prevent it from shifting or being knocked over. Tony sets the heavy battery down on the table, away from where he’s cleared things away.
Emory comes over after putting her bookmark in, but her body language is closed-off and defensive. He supposes calling her a known petite Broadway star instead of her name might have done it.
“Sit.” He pats the table. She looks dubious. “Plan is, you sit, I scoot in close, keep my hands out of sight. They can fill in the blanks.” Tony smiles at her, knowing she’s not immune to his charm, as much as she pretends not to be. Hardly any woman is. “Just throw your head back in ecstasy every so often, and you’re off the hook.”
“Fine,” she says, taking his proffered hand to help herself up. “Why am I not surprised that the plan involves stroking your ego?”
He leans over and is impressed by the way she automatically leans toward him and tips her head sideways as if they really were kissing. “Don’t say ‘stroke’ unless you’re going to,” he says.
Emory throws her head back to laugh. Tony has to hand it to her, the expression on her face could easily be misinterpreted. He pays more attention to her when she lifts her hand and rests it on his neck.
“Spread your legs a little, scoot back,” he tells her. His voice is a bit deeper than he had wanted to reveal; he’s turned on by this, who wouldn’t be? But she doesn’t really need to know that. When Emory does scoot back, Tony rests his palm on the small inverted vee of table visible, his fingers curled around the edge of the table. Emory presses her lips together and nods a tiny bit when she realizes why. It could look like he was, well. Stroking.
“So what are you building, or are you still keeping that from us?” she asks.
“An energy source,” Tony says. His hand is getting warm. It’s distracting. “To replace the battery.”
Emory slides her own hand from his neck to the front of his shirt, pulling the fabric out and then gripping it, as if she’s holding on in the throes of passion. It’s effective.
“That’s why it’s round. You’re going to replace the whole thing, aren’t you?”
He leans over and pretends to kiss the top of her head. “Exactly,” he says. Without meaning to, Tony runs his nose along her hair. He steadies his other hand on the table beside her hip. “The design’s kind of inherited. My father built a building-sized one years ago. It powers my factory.”
“I hope he gets to see what you’ve done, when this is all done,” she says, moving her hand to squeeze his upper arm encouragingly.
“I hope not. If there’s going to be a zombie apocalypse, I think we’re safer in here,” Tony says, mentally biting down the residual pain that always springs up when he acknowledges his parents’ deaths. Her hand on his arm freezes for a second, before she removes it.
“I’m sorry,” Emory whispers. She looks like she feels guilty; she hugs her arms to her chest and closes her legs on his hand before gasping and moving them back the way they were.
Tony lifts his hand and holds it up to prove he’s not adversely affected by the move. The truth is he hadn’t thought about how his father might have felt about what he’s doing. Pride was something Howard Stark didn’t seem to glean from outward sources, particularly not from his son. Growing up, Tony had been confused by the way the other boys at school would talk happily about their fathers. Sure, he built machines with his dad sometimes, but unlike the friendly games of catch he’d hear about, the instructions on how to change the oil in the family car, and the like, Tony’s build sessions were full of admonishment and frustration on his father’s part. After a while, they’d ceased entirely.
“Don’t be sorry. He’d probably be more interested in my brain as a Zombie than he ever was when he was alive,” Tony says. He means it as a joke, but the truth of the statement sinks into his skin like radiation, against his will, with no defense available. He supports himself on the table with his fists on either side of her hips, looking down at the fabric of his black pinstriped suit pants she’s wearing.
“Oh, Tony,” Emory says, resting her right hand lightly, gently, on his left one.
He’d secretly wanted to hear her say his name. Tony had been hoping to hear it in a gasp, a broken moan, a way he didn’t have a right to want, in a context that should be abhorrent to him. He’s unaccountably angry with himself for being so very disappointed, and with her for once again setting herself aside for someone else’s comfort. He’s mostly been a pleasure-seeking asshole to her, and yet she sounds completely sincere in her sympathy. It’s not right.
“Stop that right now,” he says, his voice harsh and rough. Tony waits for her to look at him, but she’s frozen, eyes downcast, her hand snatched back. “Look at me.”
Emory shakes her head. “I won’t use it again,” she says in a frightened whisper.
Tony feels like the absolute worst person on the planet. She thought he was angry at her use of his name? He grabs her chin to lift her head, trying to be gentle even though he’s upset with her and himself at the same time.
“That wasn’t it,” he says, willing her to meet his gaze. She’s shut her eyes. “Emory.” Tony can see that she’s closing herself off, and he won’t allow it.
Tantalizingly, he knows how to get her to open back up. “Goddamnit,” he says before leaning down and kissing her, thumb stroking against her neck, lips as gentle and persuasive as he can.
She grabs his hand as if to pull it away, and he pushes in closer, cups her face with the other hand, doubles down on making her respond.
“I was trying not to-- but you drive me crazy,” he says between kisses. At that, Emory’s whole body seems to yield to him, her grip on his hand softening as she slides it up his arm and into his hair. Tony remembers her saying she’d kiss him back next time, meaning this time, and that ramps up his desire to conflagration levels. With a rough hand he pushes her knees apart to press his hips close, fingers scrabbling against the smooth fabric that she fills out so nicely with her curves.
He’d enjoyed kissing her when she was merely acquiescing but now that she’s participating, Tony’s gone. She’s pure electricity, everywhere she touches him. Her small fingers drag energy through his hair as her mouth opens to his, her tongue teasing his and retreating, drawing him deeper. As in everything, this unexpected, lovely woman is generous to a fault. Tony knows he would have-- probably did-- overlook her in a crowd of women, and he’s not the only one. More fool he.
Emory’s brand of radiation is even more powerful than the guilt and grief from earlier, rewriting the guilt in his DNA and replacing it with pleasure. Just like before, he’s powerless, and Tony wonders if she can even comprehend how effortlessly she’s managed to consume his thoughts. With great effort, he ends the kiss, holding her face between her hands again.
He’s got her attention now, and she has to hear him.
“You are your priority, from now on. Do you hear me?” Her grey eyes confused, she tries to shake her head or pull back, but Tony holds her still. “Who are you, without someone to support?”
He lets go. Looking flustered, she scoots back away from him, up onto the table, rather than push him away.
“There, that,” Tony points out, moving farther forward. Now she is sitting on the table with no way to back up, as there is a stack of missile carapaces behind her. “How will you get down?”
“Why are you--”
“Because I haven’t seen you do a damned thing for yourself this whole time!”
“Stark!” Yinsen says, coming over.
“Tell her she doesn’t just exist to make things easier for everyone else,” Tony says, his anger rising as he thinks about the years she’s probably spent kowtowing to Rory Fall. Yinsen picks up his battery and rests a hand on his arm, and Tony allows himself to be moved away from the table.
“I get it,” Emory says after she gets down. “It’s inconvenient for you, is that it? That I care about--”
“Caring isn’t the problem. Selflessness to the point of subsumption is. Who are you? Do you know? Tell me about yourself, but leave out all the parts where you’re the caretaker for someone else,” Tony practically shouts at her.
“Why does it even matter to you? Why should you care?”
He grabs the battery from Yinsen and marches over to her and towers over her on purpose, filling her entire view with his body, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me why I shouldn’t care.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Emory protests, glaring up at him. “You’re-- you’re you. A billionaire. Why would you ever care what some random woman does?”
“You’re not random anymore, Kitten. You’re someone I have to figure out how to save. And I can’t do that if you’re not going to value yourself.” Tony points at the doors. “If they came in here with a posse of people and told you to pick someone to die, what would you do?”
She rolls her eyes. “Is this a comparison thing? You’d choose someone other than yourself, so everyone should? Yinsen has a family. You have a company to run. The choice is clear.”
“It’s not. You’re young. You--”
“Your logic goes against conventional morality and you know it!” she screams at him.
“So argue that. Not that you aren’t worth saving because you have a messed-up sense of your actual value! That’s my point.”
Emory sidesteps him and stomps her way to her cot, every step punctuated by a huge amount of angry effort. “I didn’t sign up for a fucking Ted Talk on selfishness,” she says over her shoulder.
“If you’d learned something other than selfLESSness you wouldn’t be so screwed up now!” he calls after her.
“Explain to me how you are both so angry?” Yinsen asks Tony. “Preferably before you throw your battery?”
Tony looks down to see that he’s got both hands on either end of the thing, his fingertips curling in as if he wishes he could crush it.
“I sexually harassed her in the hum-vee,” Tony says, his voice rough with frustration. “I basically told the terrorists I wanted them to keep her alive so I could fuck her. She has zero reason to comfort me.”
Yinsen flinches at his language. “Your agreement with them saved her life. You are angry with her for showing you compassion?”
“No!” Tony protests. He thinks a little. “Maybe.”
“Your bargain benefits you more than you anticipated, and your guilt is leading you to be defensive.” Yinsen’s words are blunt. “That’s personal growth, for you. It’s supposed to be uncomfortable.” He takes Tony’s battery and starts walking, forcing Tony to keep up. When Yinsen stops, it’s at their supply of beans. “You measure a third of a cup per person. Go on.”
“You’re teaching me how to make food?”
“You think it should be the girl you just said does too much for others?”
It’s as much of a verbal slap as Tony’s ever been given, and Yinsen didn’t even use anger or profanity.
Tony does what he is told.
Emory actually takes her blanket and pillow and goes to sit behind a pile of empty missile cases. She doesn’t want to see Stark’s stupid face and his stupid hands and his stupid arms that she keeps staring at without meaning to.
The man has absolutely no right to lecture her on her behavior! Of all the people in the world to object to her tendency to put others first! She punches the pillow. It hurts more than a western pillow might have, because of what it’s made of, and her knuckles start aching right away. She’s glad.
It wasn’t fair that he knew that the way to get her to listen to him is to kiss her. It shouldn’t work, but he’s good at it, and the few seconds of kissing him back still has her body thrumming with sexual energy in a way she wishes she could satisfy without him knowing about it. There’s essentially zero privacy in the cave, though, and if anyone in the solar system doesn’t need to know that she’s touching herself because of him, it’s Stark.
Emory lets out a silent groan of deep frustration. She’s lonely, and talking to him just that little bit had been great. At least until he’d decided to moralize at her. Yinsen’s conversation is too convicting for her-- he always seems to have some insight that makes her feel like she’d behaved poorly or has a lesson to learn. Stark didn’t seem that way, but then she’d mentioned his father, which she absolutely should have remembered had died many years before. Shit, Emory thinks. Twenty-five years at least.
She crosses her arms. Feeling bad about that was completely justified, in her mind. It was in no way ‘subsuming’ herself, or whatever his stupid argument was. If her memory is correct, Stark had lost his parents at 17, the same age she was when hers started their divorce. She’d had to make do with a new school and new friends, but he’d had a whole company to consider, and all of his father’s property and assets. It had probably been pretty traumatic. It was no wonder he has lived such a hedonistic lifestyle.
Basically, Stark’s parents had died and he’d indulged himself, gone overboard with it. And his argument is, what? That at some point in her past, she’d done the opposite? Gone overboard with her friend, had become the exact wrong kind of indispensable, to her own detriment?
There is a ring of truth to the sentiment, much as Emory hates to admit it.
“Ughhhh,” she groans, pulling the pillow onto her knees, covering it with her blanket, and dropping her head onto it.
“Food,” Yinsen calls.
“Not hungry!” Emory responds.
She’s worked her way through Rent’s ‘Take Me or Leave Me’ and Wicked’s ‘No Good Deed Goes Unpunished’ and is searching through her mental musical theater archives again when she sees a man’s shoes walk up into her space. Emory lifts her head to see Stark holding two bowls.
“I don’t--”
“Well I do, and I won’t unless you do, so eat it,” he says, holding out the bowl.
“I thought I’m supposed to think of myself first? If that still holds, my not wanting to eat anything should trump your attempt to guilt me into it by denying yourself, shouldn’t it?” Emory points out.
Stark sets her bowl next to her and sinks down to sit on the floor against the wall opposite her little shelter made up of rocket parts. “That’s clever. I am hungry though, so I’m happy to be persuaded.” He lifts up his spoon, then puts it back in. “Except, I don’t believe you. I think you’re hungry, you’re just too mad to eat. I’ve been there.”
“I just think it’s rich, pun intended, for you of all people to tell me I need to be more selfish.”
“Why?” Stark asks, brows furrowed. “I’m one of the most selfish people in the world. I would know.”
Emory slides her legs down and puts her hands back to support herself. “Have you tried, like, not being so selfish?” she asks, putting on a Valley Girl accent.
“Uh, yeahhhhh,” Stark says, fully committing to the bit. He points to her bowl.
She tries not to smile at him, but it’s a losing battle. Somewhere inside her, sparklers are going off, lighting up all the reasons she could really, really like this man.
“We’re at an impasse, though,” Emory says, lifting a brow.
“Oh?”
“One of us fails at the task, no matter what. If I eat, I’m sacrificing my needs for yours. If you eat, you’re being selfish.”
“Yeah, but one of the options means we both get to eat, so it’s the superior one. Eat up.”
“Fine,” she concedes.
In the next chapter, Tony creates the ARC reactor, and Emory offers him something heartfelt, despite her situation.
#tony stark#tony stark fanfiction#tony stark x oc#tony stark x original character#iron man fanfiction#iron man#iron man x oc#iron man x original character#mcu#mcu fanfiction#mcu fanfic#marvel#marvel fanfic#tony stark imagine#series: autonomy#ocfairygodmother#fyeahsuperverseocs
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Nervous Young Inhumans
Masterpost
Chapter Eight.
“So, uh, you remember when Mr. White didn’t want to let us be partners in chem?” Jesse chuckled between waffle bites.
Ellie laughed, “he said I’d let you do nothing all year. Which was true. I just wanted to sit next to you.”
“I got so lucky you liked that class,” he poured more maple syrup on his plate.
“God, if we’d been seeing Biochemistry I would’ve actually enjoyed it. Inorganic chemistry was never my thing.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You know,” she took a bite of his waffles and he took some of her pancakes, “one’s concerned with four elements mainly, and with organic processes. The other’s a mess only Walter White enjoys.”
He laughed.
“Ugh, and he wanted to pair me with that girl, what was her name?” El asked.
“Rachel,” Jesse laughed, “and you hated her because you thought we’d slept together.”
“C’mon! It’s been years now, admit it! It was before me!”
“Ellie-“ he shook his head, took a sip from his orange juice, “El, you were my first.”
She was genuinely confused. Her face showed disbelief, but Jesse nodded.
“You said-“
“I wanted to impress you, we were sixteen.”
She nodded, smiling.
“Well you know you were my first,” she shrugged, “actually, you’ve been my only.”
He looked at her wide eyed.
“No way.”
She nodded.
“I don’t know,” she took another bite of food, “everyone else I always pictured you there and I knew we’d make fun of them together. I never met anyone that made me feel that way. Like we were laughing at the same part of the joke.”
He smiled.
“Yeah, but it’s just sex, right?”
“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to say you also stayed chaste. I should sleep around more.”
He shook his head, furrowed his brow and made a disgusted face. He mouthed a no.
They ate breakfast, like he wanted.
Then she dropped him off at his aunt’s house and went back to work, thinking, hey, maybe we can be friends and one day we’ll laugh about being each other’s firsts.
Then laughing at that thought alone, knowing there was no damn way she’d ever stop feeling something this intense for him.
***
They kept texting, but they didn’t see each other for the next few days.
Ellie focused on work, which wasn’t hard, considering how demanding it was. Your life had to be pretty chaotic to be relevant besides a medical career.
Jesse was getting kicked out of his aunt’s house, trying to figure out what was next and refusing to tell El - he knew she’d agree to let him stay with her, but what good would that do? She’d not only worry about him then, but also see no way to justify what he’d been doing if he was fucking homeless.
Even when Walt suggested it, he just snapped harder at him.
Those days she was more actively involved in work than she’d been since she’d seen Jesse again.
Meanwhile, Jesse was touring through all his contacts trying to find a place to stay or a way to make his life work without making it obvious how much he needed El.
The messes that boy went through to avoid calling.
***
Jesse called her after a few days of ambiguous texting. She picked up in the hall of the hospital.
“Hey,” his voice came, “so, uh, how are you?”
“How are you? I drove by your aunt’s house,” she hesitated, “you’re really selling it, huh?”
“Oh, uh, yeah - figured it was time to get my own place.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m in my new crib,” she heard him moving around in the background, “it’s actually sick, yo.”
“So you found a place! That’s so great, Jess!”
“Yeah, yeah, uh,” he hesitated, “uh, so - would you like to see it?”
“Yes,” she knew he could hear her smile on the other side, “I’d love to see it.”
“Come over, yeah, we can uh, cook or,” she heard something fall, “shit…”
“Jess?”
“Yeah, or maybe takeout. I need to buy like furniture and kitchen shit still.”
“Takeout’s good.”
“Tonight at eight?”
“Hmm, I finish really late. Does tomorrow work?”
“Yeah! Yes, tomorrow works.”
“See you then. I gotta get back to work.”
“Same, same. Keeping busy, yo. I’ll see you later! Bye!”
He hung up.
***
Shit. He looked at the broken bong on the ground he’d dropped while playing with it, distracted by talking to El.
Jesse sighed, sweeping up the glass with his bare hands.
***
He was taking off his white hoodie when he opened the door.
“You found it!” he called, throwing it behind him and walking out to give Ellie a hug.
“Is this your car?” she asked, pointing.
“Yeah, uh,” he shrugged, “not the bouncing wonder but it gets me there.”
She smirked playfully.
“Ahhh,” he shook his head and laughed, “c’mon let’s get inside.”
There was no furniture anywhere, but the place was nice. Like decent-people nice.
“How’d you get this? Did you fake credit scores?”
“I, uhh, just talked to them. The owners renting the place.”
“Huh,” she looked around, taking her jacket off and finding nowhere to put it, dropping it on top of his on the ground. “It’s nice. Really nice, Jess. I’m happy for you.”
“Hell yeah,” he gave her another half hug.
“So what d’you wanna order?” he asked.
“Pizza?”
“Let’s do that.”
***
They were eating on the edge of his mattress on the floor, pages strewn around.
“How’d the last one turn out?”
“Check it,” he showed her the drawing, the edges stained with pizza grease. In it Ellie was wearing the bottom half of her scrubs and a sports bra, holding a gun towards the viewer.
She burst out laughing. “I love it,” she pointed to the gun with her pinkie while holding a pizza slice, “but I wouldn’t know how to use that.”
“Yeah, well, you learn.”
They smiled at each other.
She wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back on the mattress.
“We need to get you a couch,” she said.
“I have a whole plan, feng shui, you’ll see,” he leaned back with her.
They stared at the ceiling, but she felt him turning every few seconds to look at her. It lasted almost thirty seconds.
Ellie turned to face him. Jesse turned and stared into her eyes, down at her lips, than back at her eyes again. They stayed that way for a moment.
“You want a beer?” she snapped out of it, standing up.
“Uhh, yeah,” he sat up and rested his arm on his knee, “sure yeah.”
“‘kay. Be right back.”
#bcs fanfiction#bcs fic#brba fanfic#brba#brba fic#jesse pinkman#jesse pinkman x reader#jesse pinkman x oc#bcs#saul goodman#saul goodman x reader#saul goodman x oc#brba imagines#brba fanfiction#jesse brba#jimmy mcgill#brba oc#jimmy mcgill x reader#jimmy mcgill x oc#multi chapter#fic
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Treachery (willnotbefinished)
a/n: I've never been a huge fan of having children of my own but I thought of this idea for angst a couple of days ago and just said why not, y'know? This is also a good chance to practice my writing for Ijichi since I've yet to write for him.
a/n2: sorry if the ending seemed a little abrupt. I wokred too hard on this and went into a writers block but I needed to get some content out or my page would be too dry
ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): Ijichi x Fem!Reader
𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): Reader has a child (toddler 3-5), Angst, Argument between characters
"How would you like to be the father of my child?"
The clearest memory he had of you was the first time he'd officially met you. Of course he'd been warned- informed of your interesting nature but he hadn't expected that to be one of the first things you'd ask him upon your meeting.
He violently shook his head, embarrassment taking the shape of a light pink on his cheeks, "I couldn't possibly do that! You don't even know me and I have little to no experience with children," He glances down at the small child clutching the side of your pants, "Of that age."
__
Pushing the stroller down the store's isles would've been easier if there were only a child in it. Instead, it was attached to a cart with various toddler necessities including the toddler themselves who shouldn't have been inside of the cart in the first place. Though the child smiled at him he couldn't help but frown.
"Hey. Cheer up, alright. I know I said we'd leave soon but I really do need to get all this stuff." You reassure him.
Ijichi turns his head your direction, not looking directly at you, "That's not a problem. I don't exactly mind being in this store with you, it's just this cart is um- a little heavy." He gives a particularly hard push to turn the corner from a wheel spinning in the wrong direction.
You laugh, lightly hitting his shoulder with the back of your hand. "Sorry, guess we got unlucky with our cart but I'm sure you can pull through. Don't you work out at all?"
He turns his head back to the cart, suddenly finding the label of pull-ups strangely interesting, "S-sometimes of course but nothing too... intense. I go bike riding from time to time if that counts?"
"Really?"
"Yes?"
"Sorry, I just can't really picture you being active." You snicker, "You just don't look like it at first but now I can definitely see it. Like bulky helmets and knee pads too. Maybe even a bell."
"I don't see what's so funny about me taking precautions when doing something dangerous." He states, rolling his eyes.
"You think riding a city bike on the sidewalk is dangerous?"
__
Ijichi sat on the soft couch with his legs glued together and his back unreasonably straight. His butt sank into the couch making it harder to maintain his posture. If it wasn't already obvious how deeply uncomfortable he was, his forehead broke into a cold sweat and his mouth tugged upwards into a thin line. His proper demeanor was really emphasized and a lot more evident than normal.
"Is something wrong? I promise I won't force you to stay if you don't want to. Your shift is over." You worry, walking towards the man and setting a cup of water on the coffee table in front of you.
"No, no! Not at all! I have nowhere to be really. I would've just been laying at home by myself anyways. What makes you think that?" Ijichi manages to say whilst mentally scolding himself for over sharing.
"I'd say your whole," You circle your hand around in his general area, "stance that you've got going here. I mean, who sits on a couch like that?"
Letting his back slouch, he looks over to you, "Is it bad that I sit like this?"
"Not necessarily."
"..."
"Besides that, Bubba's sleeping now or at least they should be. They've been fighting to stay up past eight lately."
Ijichi smiles softly, "That's good I'm glad to hear that."
You return the smile and take a seat next to him, making the couch sink slightly. He stiffens, although having already been stiff, and involuntarily leans towards you; his balance now off. You crane your neck to gaze at the man, studying his appearance. Your eyes land on his hair, usually a calm bedhead in a barely noticeable middle part but today it looked neat. Or shiny per say, had he put grease in it, maybe? You almost fixed your mouth to compliment him but he suddenly spoke.
“W-was there something you needed my help with?” He asks, “A-and correct m-me if I’m wrong but it didn’t seem like you needed help with your child. You were already putting them down for bed when I got here.”
“No, no. You’re right.” You admit. “I’d actually called you here to ask you something if that’s fine with you.”
“Yes, of course. Ask away.”
“Did anyone tell you about... why you’re actually here? For this job I mean.”
Ijichi’s shoulders rise and fall, somehow relieved your question is work related. “Yes. I’m here to take care of your child while you go off on temporary missions.”
“Yes, exactly. What I do believe they haven’t informed you of is the fact that you’ve been training all this time. For the real deal. In about a couple weeks from now, I’ll be going on a long term mission. It’ll be just like today. I’ll put Bubba down for bed but I leave for a flight right after.” You explain. Ijichi’s brows furrow as you talk, not out of confusion but of how much he understood what was being told to him.
“So you want me to babysit while you're gone. How long do you plan on being out for the mission?”
“Unfortunately, that’s not up to me. It depends on how well the curses hide.”
Concern begins to take shape on his face, “What level are the curses?”
“I-I don’t know. They don’t know. The highest level is thought to be a special grad-”
“A SPECIAL GRADE!” Ijichi yells. You quickly shush him, gesturing to your child’s bedroom.
“I’m sorry but do you see how outrageous and dangerous that is. You are a second grade sorcerer and you aren’t invincible.” He reasons as he turns his body to face yours.
“You know how the higher ups are about moving sorcerers up the ladder, Ijichi. I’m sure I rank at least a first grade if not a special.” You reason although it didn’t seem like he was actually listening.
“Y-yes, I do know but we both know that even special grade sorcerers d-die from curses all the time and way more than normal lately.”
“Which is exactly why they need me, Ijichi. Innocent people will die if I don’t.”
“And what if you d-die?” He asks as he scoots closer toward you. “You might think you’re being considerate a-a-and empathetic but your being m-more selfish than those higher ups.”
__
Although Ijichi verbally fought with you, the stubbornness within you never went away. Despite him being drastically concerned, he didn’t wish to over step his boundaries more than he already had. The relationship between the two of you was and always has been employee to boss with him being the employee and that fact he was well aware of.
Just as you said, you left for a flight around a month later.
#jjk ijichi#ijichi x reader#ijichi#ijichi x you#ijichi x y/n#jujutsu kaisen ijichi#ijichi jujutsu kaisen#ijichi angst#ijichi fluff#ijichi kiyotaka
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Tag 9 People You Want to Get to Know Better
I was tagged by @nixie-deangel!
Three ships: Mmm, if I had to pick only three to sustain me forever—Xena/Gabrielle, Bruce/Clark, and Garak/Bashir!
First ever ship: Probably also Xena/Gabrielle, tbh. My family didn’t have satellite or cable TV for a pretty long time, but once when we were on vacation somewhere that did, I caught like half an episode of XWP and I was ENTRANCED—I didn’t ship them ship them, I didn’t know what that meant, but the emotional intensity about each other was the thing that grabbed me, so it was definitely the first, like, wordless shipping impulse I felt.
Last song/album: I’m an Old, I still have mix CDs I’ve burned for myself in my car’s CD changer (the car is also an Old :’D), so the song was “Come with Me Now” by the Kongos, but the “album” was “Susie’s favorite songs either directly off the Lucifer soundtrack or just more generally about the devil”, because that is that CD’s theme. :D
Last movie: Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings! I’d seen it when it came out, but my mother hadn’t, so the last time my sister and I were at the house for dinner, we all watched it together.
Currently reading: ... Long story, but at my last appointment, my dental hygienist gave me a copy of her husband’s self-published novel, and I need to read it before my next cleaning, so that’s what I’m working my way through right now. (It’s about a mountain man in the Old West and his survival in the wilderness, which is, uh. Not really my jam. /o\)
Currently watching: I’m actually working my way through a couple different groups of things, because what I watch depends on the activity I’m doing while watching. Work project that’s also eating up my off-hours = I need something to listen to, but I need to have already seen it before so I can concentrate = Campaign 1 of Critical Role on Youtube (for about the fourth time), S1 of Legend of Vox Machina, and Better Off Ted. Crocheting = I can actually look up sometimes and also have enough brain free to absorb new things = CW Stargirl, S2 of Legend of Vox Machina, NCIS: Hawai’i, and Clarkson’s Farm.
Currently consuming: A big mug of chai (like, Oregon Chai mix out of a packet, not real tea :’D) because it snowed all day yesterday and part of today and I need some c o z y.
Currently craving: ... I honestly don’t know, tbh. My usual cravings are for chocolate, Chinese food, and pizza, but I’ve satisfied all of them within the last week, and pretty generously, too. Maybe the true answer here is NAPS—I’m always craving sleep a little bit, but the time change last weekend definitely made it worse than usual. /pulls blanket over head
If you see this and you want to do it, consider yourself tagged! ♥
#susie does memes#once in a blue moon or so#when she has her brain together enough to actually compose answers
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I love arospec Finduilas! I’d love to read your thoughts on it if you’re interested in writing them! Your blog is great 💚
-@outofangband
Hi thank you! Honestly I see Finduilas as either quoiro or freyro (I do have a short freyromantic Finduilas fic I wrote for aspec arda week a couple years ago). Partially because I find it compelling that Elves are very big on monogamy and all and Finduilas is I think the only Elf we see actively fall out of love with someone. So I really like the idea of Finduilas either being unable to recognize romantic feelings, or having romantic feelings that come and go, it would add an additional sparkle of angst to her story to have her confused by her own feelings.
I also see Finduilas as being fairly young when she died, kind of the equivalent of 20 years old or so, and having not yet had time to figure out her identity entirely by then. I do think she cared a lot about Gwindor, possibly being attracted to him in some way, and him being captured would have been devastating for her. However, this also gave her... I don't want to say an excuse not to examine her feelings further, more like that grief is grief and she would have had no reason to pick apart if what she felt had been romantic or not.
Then when Gwindor came back there was Turin too. If we go with freyromantic Finduilas, her developing a crush on Turin could have been in her mind more of a reason for not loving Gwindor anymore than simply falling out of love. She could have told herself she hadn't just stopped loving him, she just had a new man she was attracted to. Plus for freyromantics feelings fade once you have established an emotional connection to someone, and we know what Turin was like, he was too busy running from his past and being secretive about it might have kept him from developing his relationship with others in Nargothrond. Despite technically knowing him, he might have remained the mysterious brooding semi-stranger for ages, and that could have meant Finduilas kept her feeling longer.
Now if we look at quoiromantic Finduilas instead, in that case she might have felt curious about Turin or felt a strong more platonic attraction to him, and not recognized what she was feeling. Maybe her interest in Turin, who was a new person she didn't know, could have felt more intense than her affection for Gwindor. She might have even felt kind of the same way about Gwindor before they had gotten engaged. So she just mixed things up.
And now I'm also thinking of lithromantic Finduilas that would be very neat too.
Anyways I'm also a fan of Finduilas finally getting the life she deserved once she comes back from Mandos. She can grow a bit wiser in Valinor, get to know herself better, understand her orientation. Not to mention, Finduilas was born and lived in a war, and I'm sure that also gave her a sense of urgency and of having to hold on to what she had while she had it. Getting engaged to Gwindor young because they both knew they could be killed any day and all of that. In Valinor she can get to relax and slow down, and that could also give her the chance of thinking more deeply about herself.
#ask#outofangband#finduilas#sorry if it's a bit all over the place i just had many thoughts to dump#anyways finduilas is precious and deserves so much
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your the one that I want.