#(and i mean even just the bad precedent to set of 'you did something that hurt me so i have the right to take it out') | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingforatwistedworld · 2 years

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Ahem ahem Feel free to delete if it's forbidden to do this. I swear making you add a rule against this isn't my aim imma just a tinny bit worry that I won't have the chance to ask a continuation for this ask before a long time. But I understand if you don't want this to set a precedent. I wish to continue the player is a Disney princess ask but with different boys this time.

Could I ask how would Malleus/Kalim/Azul react to a player that is the definition of a Disney princess ? Animals flocks to them, they sing and dance, they're sickeningly sweet, pure and naive, and to top it off they're Neige level of beautiful and charming. The whole Disney protagonist™ package, of which everyone know that they should be in RSA.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, religion, unhealthy relationship, hints at war, poison, overall just toxic relationships

Azul Ashengrotto/Kalim Al-Asim/Malleus Draconia-Player is the definition of a Disney princess

First of all, it's bad for his business

Imagine, all kinds of animals in a place that serves food (and I am not talking about beast men)

Not exactly hygienic...

But outside of that?

Sign him up!

You are just so easy to *cough* manipulate *cough* protect

You really are the ideal target for his manipulation

And worst of all?

He doesn’t even realize what he is doing

The second you seem to distance yourself he a internally panicking and asking you “if his company is so unbearable”

And thanks to you being so naive you don't snap at him but rather think that he is nothing else but hurt

Yeah, he is hurt... you “monster”

And don't even get me started about how things go once he witnesses the encouraging side of every single typical “goody two shoes Disney protagonist”

Oh boy, you are stuck

And if he can't manipulate because this has gone on for so long that this has become normal for you and you don't even realize it anymore that something is wrong?

Well it seems like he needs to roll up his sleeves and get to work like the sea witch did

Tho is a world with Alchemy and you can't tell me the judges over there don't have regularly cases in which a family sued someone because their member is the victim of a love potion

I would like to say that we now have two cinnamon rolls but no, we only have one

And it's not the one who is rich... I can already see the luxurious imprisonment...

Ok but there you are, putting some animal which was just walking in the parade he just held (Jamil is about to cry because of the work in that corner over there)

That was when it was even more over for you

Of course everyone knew that the kind Overseer was going to their school but actually meeting them was another thing

But there you are, right under his nose

Oh dear Overseer, how radiant you are!

It is as if he is someone lost in the desert and you are the Oasis he is seeing in the horizon

Yeah, he whipped for you

But that also means you need protection!

As much as wholesome Kalim usual is, he has experienced attempted assassination even from his closest family members so... at least we can somewhat see where he is coming from

Suddenly Jamil isn't only preparing food for the heir of the Scalding Sands but also for someone who is considered holy in some places

(Believe me when I tell you, his hands were shaking when he was putting the salt into the food)

And whoopsy, seems like he has prepared a room too much, do you want to stay

Yeah... you aren't leaving that room is all I can say

But hey, you are probably one of the safest people in their world... at least until the Valley of Thorns hears of this...

Are you seriously asking? Of course this would end in a tragedy (at least for you)

Ok, what do we have? Oh? A dragon and oh? Literally Aurora 2.0??!

Ok so, the first time you two met he would have probably thought that you are Silvers sibling or something by that by seeing that the whole forest is following you

But nah, he is literally in a religion that is about you so that was until you turned around and he saw your face

Cue one of the few times his chin hit the floor

He probably also accidentally slipped out his tail

But ok, you just made the literally fifth most powerful person in this world "a bit too interested" in you, so what?

I'm telling you “so what”, you, my dear friend, are about to be treated in a very luxurious manner

In other words, one kingdom, one room, a ton of followers who are capable of living very long

Nope, no way out, only one way in

But of course you wouldn't just run away from those hopeful eyes, staring with excitement up to you without blinking

Even if you had enough one day and couldn't take it anymore you wouldn't be able to escape

Malleus made sure himself that you can't escape him no matter what

You know that voiceline which says “easier than spinning threat”? He about to repeat what his ancestor did

At least his tail is nice to pet... cool and smooth

But yeah, prepare to sleep a looooong time

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total-drama-brainrot · 9 days

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Saw this somewhere and wanted to throw it your way, sorry if you’ve been asked this before but what do you think of the concept of Noah always having been an assistant (even before the first season)/never playing as a contestant would look like?

The thing about Noah as a contestant is that he's, for all intents and purposes, kind of useless. And by that I mean Noah as a character isn't important to the plot at all in the grand scheme of things. He's barely important from an episodic point of view either; Noah does very little throughout Total Drama in terms of story relevance, and just in general. (Lazy king 👑.)

So taking him out of the equation wouldn't really affect too much in the grand scheme of things, save for probably preventing his friendship with Owen and, from a fanon standpoint, the rest of team E-scope. He'd be pretty much the same person, just behind the camera instead of on it.

But that's kind of a boring answer, and not at all what you were looking for, right?

So, let's say that Noah lands himself a job working as the personal assistant for some hot-shot A-list celebrity through one of his many siblings' various contacts; is it nepotism? Probably. But who's Noah to look a gift horse in the mouth? A fairly easy job following some pretentious asshole around all day and grabbing him the occasional coffee sounds like a pretty sweet gig, especially with the salary and various benefits that come with the job description. So Noah takes the job without question.

And that's how he finds himself stuck in the middle of nowhere, Muskoka, on an undisclosed island owned by said A-lister whilst he films the first season of his new Reality TV show, Total Drama Island.

Being Chris' personal assistant was supposed to be an easy pay check. "Supposed to be" being the point of interest there; Noah didn't anticipate Chris being as sadistic or as childishly needy as he was. If he wasn't running around like a headless chicken trying to accommodate for Chris' oftentimes outlandish whims and fancies, he was stuck answering to the producers in the host's stead- and the producers were pissed with Chris more often than not for his frivolous use of the show's budget. Something about having a genius level IQ and enough snark to make grown men cry apparently made him qualified enough to deal with the industry big-wigs. Noah was far too overworked to question it.

So much for an easy pay check.

Noah's not bad at his job by any means. In his professional opinion, the whole show and Chris' career would be in the dumps without his personal input keeping everything afloat. That doesn't mean he doesn't loathe his job with every sleep-deprived inch of his being.

And, inevitably, Noah ends up spending a lot of time around the campers themselves. Mostly as a consequence of always having to remain "on set" so to speak, since Noah's pretty much contractually obligated to linger around Chris' vicinity and wait for his boss to assign him some menial task to do. Most of the campers are just as egocentric and insufferable as he'd first assumed- and honestly, what else would he expect from people who singed up for a Reality TV show?- but a select few turn out to be decent company; namely Owen and Eva (and Izzy, but Noah refuses to admit that the "Psycho Hose Beast" is actually bearable to be around).

He'd even go so far as to claim they were friends good acquaintances.

Of course, his job takes precedent over frivolous things like relationships, platonic or otherwise, so Noah doesn't exactly have the free time to hang out with them. Which is probably for the best considering if he did spend a lot of time around his friends acquaintances, the other contestants would have a solid enough foundation for accusations of foul play in the competition, and that's a headache Noah really doesn't want to deal with.

Consequently, Noah floats through the filming of Island, and later on Action, maintaining cordiality with his little group and cold indifference towards pretty much the rest of the cast. Not that he doesn't keep close tabs on the campers; of course he does, not only is Noah incredibly observant by nature, but he's also the one in charge of accommodating for these weirdos... plus, Chris is oddly invested in his "prize cast of ratings jewels", whatever that means. So Noah knows these people, probably more than some of them know themselves, thanks to a combined sixteen-ish weeks of observation and forced proximity.

In turn, the competitors know of Noah, though for the most part he's regarded as little more than a spectre on set- Chris' elusive personal assistant who the cast will occasionally see the barest glimpse of, usually hidden behind an impassive pair of mirrored sunglasses and, more often than not, rushing off to do whatever it is a PA does. Chris does get a little lazy in Action and on a few occasions does get Noah to make a "guest appearances" on screen- mostly just to deliver him a coffee and a gluten free muffin during the downtime of that day's challenge- but he's still practically non-existent to he majority of the cast.

Which is fine by him.

What isn't fine by him is the surprise addition of two people he knows nothing about, come the third season.

One of those contestants happens to know a lot about the cast, and a concerning amount of information about him. It's uncanny, just how much Sierra seems to know about everyone around her, even more so because of the way she practically worships the ground they walk on. Sure, Noah's encountered the odd super fan here and there- not fans of himself, of course, but in this time as Chris' assistant he's had to chase off more than enough rabid fans from trying to sneak their way onto the set of whatever show Chris was working on (or more accurately sic the on-scene security on them)- but Sierra's brand of crazy takes it to a whole new level. Noah doesn't like her on principle and is both incredibly vindicated and incredibly concerned when her stalkerish behaviour rears its ugly head. Not that he's allowed to do anything about it; the producers are adamant that Sierra's outlandish behaviour is entertaining enough for the audience to ignore the immorality, and given how much Chris has been allowed tog et away with in the past Noah's inclined to begrudgingly agree.

And the other new contestant? The one who qualified for the apparently non-existent Total Drama Dirtbags (and Noah totally isn't salty about that show being an elaborate ruse that he spent countless sleepless nights working on)? Noah's just as concerned about his friends acquaintances ignorance to Alejandro's inherent sliminess as he is about Sierra's blatant disregard for others' privacy, but again it's not like he can do anything about it. He's not even supposed to be on the show, so any sort of interference would be a big no-no.

Oh, what's that? They want him on the show?

Fuck.

Turns out, Noah's brief appearances during Action (characterised by his usual level of sass and snide comments) really resonated with their audience; they like him for some inexplicable reason, and want to see more of "Noah, Chris McLean's mysterious personal assistant".

So he's pretty much forced into acting as a co-host of sorts, much like Chef had done for the first two seasons, all whilst carrying out his usual tasks. Is he happy about this? Not a chance in hell, and he lets the producers know exactly how he feels about the sudden change in his contract. Not that it changes anything.

And the best part? World Tour is a musical themed season. If they expect him to sing, they've got another thing coming.

But, as a small part of him chimes in, spending more time on camera would give Noah plenty of opportunities to spend time with his friends acquaintances. There's a non-zero chance that he could have fun, even if it's at the expense of his valued privacy.

His new status as part of the show does allow Noah some opportunities to skew the competition in the favour of his friends acquaint- no, screw it, his friends. That's one silver lining of the whole situation.

Better yet, he can tilt things out of Alejandro's favour, since the former Dirtbag seems to have a knack for manipulating the competition anyway- Noah might as well make things more challenging for him, as it seems this game is too easy for him thus far.

#that's just my take on it i guess #in short: noah's a tad bit more isolated and a lot more vindictive. mostly against the producers though.#i imagine a noah who didn't sign up for total drama would value his anonymity a lot more. THIS noah isn't looking for fame or notoriety.#he's just looking for Cash Money.#as such being forced into the limelight would make him grumpier than usual.#he spends the majority of world tour trying to get alejandro eliminated because he's the producer's favourite. no other reason.#al the while being as unhelpful and outright antagonistic as possible as a “co-host”.#mostly to make himself as unmarketable and unlikable as possible so the audience don't want him to stay around.#ironically this only makes him more popular. noah hates it.#he also spends the majority of world tour trying to prevent sierra from leaking people's private information to varied results.#noah's a voice of reason in a cacophony of screaming. no matter how loud he shouts he'll never be heard.#can't decide whether i want him and blaineley to team up post-merge or for them to be enemies on sight.#total drama #td noah #assistant noah au #others' ideas #silly ideas #ophe's ranting in the tags again #long post #replies #kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)

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mypoisonedvine · 8 months

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I hate hate hate having to talk about this stuff because I know 98% of y'all are not the problem, and the remaining 2% are probably not going to care in the slightest. but I need to set some boundaries and explain why I'm getting frustrated before any more resentment builds.

I've been writing for cillian murphy characters since july 26 when I posted 'thoughtless', since then I've released well over one hundred thousand words of content for him. I'm not exaggerating, I counted. it's been five and a half weeks and I've posted 14 full-length one shots which means I'm posting more than twice a week. that's not even including drabbles/requests.

I'm getting concerned that this has set a precedent that people are holding me to and I'm getting annoyed by the entitlement in some of my asks and comments.

first things first, and I know nobody means anything bad by this but it's pissing me off: stop using the phrase "full smut" in your requests, it's driving me crazy. this started abruptly after I posted a bunch of drabbles in one sitting based on y'all's ideas and requests. I did that as a way to try out new ideas and appease people who hadn't had their concepts written about yet. instead of people being happy with what I wrote for them, people got frustrated that the drabbles were drabble-length and not thousands of words long like my full fics (which take me several days to write, rather than an hour or less which is the point of short requests). ever since, people won't stop coming into my inbox talking about making a "full smut" for a certain character or idea as if they're terrified that I'll only post something short. I usually don't post short things. I feel now like those drabbles were a colossal waste of time because all they did was make people afraid I wouldn't write longer stuff; I wanted to open requests again because I had fun, but now I feel like it's a bad idea because it'll just leave people frustrated when they see it's not whatever a "full smut" is and then tell me it's incomplete and I need to write more. a short drabble can very well be a complete story. stop asking for "full smut" PLEASE. just tell me what you're interested in reading and trust that, as the author, I will tell the story in the correct length of time.

secondly, the way people are asking for stories about new characters is getting out of control. I think you guys don't realize that I only post less than half of the asks I get, because they are so repetitive and constant. I have literally over 2000 unanswered asks currently. if I answered all the asks I received, I would lose followers because it clogs the dash and half of them are the same questions.

and I'm just gonna say this one explicitly: please stop asking me to write for cillian's character in the movie 'anna'. I'm not saying that I won't or that I don't want to. but I need you to understand that I get easily 3-5 asks a DAY about this character and I am exhausted. I'm not particularly interested in watching the movie. not only does it look like it's probably just not that good, but on a very personal note, I am in recovery for an eating disorder (and relapsed recently) and I just... don't wanna watch a movie with a runway model in the leading role right now. I'm sorry if that feels like body shaming or something but I've been waiting until I feel like I can watch it without feeling sick or enraged. it should come as a surprise to no one who is familiar with my work that I'm not a particularly mentally healthy person. but that's only part of it; I answered asks about this character for a while saying I wanted to write for him eventually, but I had to stop because people just asked about him every day anyways without reading my very recent posts with the same question. I'm still not ruling it out. I'm just warning you guys that it will be a while.

people are now commenting requests for new characters ON MY CURRENT FICS FOR UNRELATED CHARACTERS. how entitled and dense do you have to be to do that? I can't believe this has to be said, but comments on my fics should be... related to the content of the fic you're commenting on.

to be clear, I'm not mad at anyone for doing this stuff (except that last one, that's unforgivably ridiculous) because I think the intentions are pure. but now that I've explained why this stuff bothers me, I'm asking you to put a little more thought into how you phrase your questions and comments. to be clear: for the most part I feel incredibly supported and appreciated here and I've been very impressed by this fandom's ability to not be morality police and manage their own content consumption. a lot of you have reached out with concern about the speed at which I was producing and I totally understand and value that. I honestly think I can keep up that pace for a little while longer... I just wanted to explain why I'm getting a little irritated and hopefully decrease the amount of asks I get repeating the same two or three things.

so, tl;dr -- I've been having a lot of fun writing and I plan to keep doing it as much as I can. some people are spoiling the fun for everyone by being (usually unintentionally) entitled and impatient. I don't mind you guys showing enthusiasm for things you'd like to see from me, in fact it's helpful because it tells me what might get a good reception. but please be thoughtful in how you make these requests and please support what I've already written if you want to see more. I think non-writers have a hard time understanding how inspiration works (hell, even writers don't really understand it in ourselves lol) and so it kinda just seems like if I can write about one thing I can write about any thing. but I only write so much and so fast because I write what speaks to me and not other people's ideas. again, thank you so much for all the love and support this past month!!

p.s. I also get asks multiple times a day asking when I will post a fic, especially if I've announced it. I always post fics between 4 and 5 PM central US time. I would recommend calculating when that is for you and I promise you'll find me posting very reliably at this time on days I have fics announced. hopefully this saves us all some trouble in the future lmao

#long post

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shirohige-pirates · 2 months

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Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Tag List: @clumsyraccoon @mfreedomstuff

Chapter 33: Options

Waking up was rough. The strange sensation of your dream clings to you and it takes you a minute to realize you’re even awake at all. The pain in your body is foreign because you didn’t feel it while you were in the Library - or the dream Library - and the sheets cling to you in a way that feels too heavy. Like they mean to consume you in retribution.

It takes a moment longer to realize you did not sleep in your bed last night. That the odd feeling of the sheets was because you were in someone else’s bed. Confusion shifts to understanding as you piece together the events of the night before. Pain zings through you when you move too quickly and you let yourself sink back into the mattress.

Marco took you to his family’s home because it was closer than your home. He’d used his devil fruit’s powers to ease your wounds, but it had sapped what was left of your strength. Even so you still hurt, but that was a testament to just how roughly you and Teach had clashed. At the end of things the only thing keeping you moving was adrenaline, and with that gone even rest couldn’t stave off the ache of your one-sided fight with Teach.

You stared at the ceiling and wondered idly if he was really dead.

It was true that you didn’t know much about your own devil fruit because of your fear of getting caught. You never shared the Library with anyone else, never mind throwing someone in there on their own. You didn’t know if that space really would eat someone to incorporate their knowledge or not.

You only even knew you could turn into an owl because you felt the need to do something and had ducked into the Library to test things out. Past actually changing into the shape and changing back, you’d never done anything else.

You’d spent years trying to make sure no one even knew you had a devil fruit, and while that hadn’t worked out for you, you’d like to think you at least mitigated the risks.

A soft knock at the door precedes Marco entering. He smiles when he sees you’re awake, tray of food in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure if you were still sleeping, yoi.” He explains, setting the tray down nearby. “And I didn’t want to come in without warning.” He sits down on the edge of the bed. “How’d you sleep?”

“Well enough.” You answer, wincing as you sit up.

“Hey, no, hold on.” Marco’s hands are on your shoulders, but you shift and give him a reassuring smile and he helps you sit up instead of trying to get you to lay back down.

“I’m just stiff from sleeping.” You reassure him. “I mean, things still ache, but nothing feels too bad.”

“After you eat we’ll need to change your bandages anyway.”

You start to remind him he’s a veterinarian, and then you remember that he spent years as the doctor on an Emperor’s ship. “What time is it?”

“Close to ten,” he answers, setting the tray across your lap. “It was after one when we got back here, yoi. Ivan wants you to call him once you’re up for it. He’s been coordinating with Vista about getting us to Drop Island without anyone noticing.”

“Vistaaaah- ah, one of your many brothers.” You nod as you begin eating. “I remember you talking about him. I…” You stop, looking down at your food. “You never mentioned Teach, I really should’ve known better.”

“I should’ve told you about him.” Marco insists, sitting at the end of the bed. “I knew he was focused on his goal, but I didn’t think it was going to be to such an extent.”

You shake your head. “With how everything came together for him, it was probably for the best it unfolded the way it did. I don’t want to think about how poorly things could’ve gone if they’d happened differently.”

Marco concedes the point, checking his phone as you eat and moving the tray aside once you’re done. He takes your hand, leading you into the hallway and down to a nearby bathroom. You realize quickly how large his family’s estate must be when an auxiliary bathroom has as much space as this one.

Marco helps you strip, and carefully removes the bandages from you. He strips as well, and gets the shower running. It’s certainly big enough for both of you, and the lip edge is set low.

“Pops and the nurses stayed on this floor while he was still alive,” Marco says, answering questions you haven’t even asked yet. “This bathroom was made for easy access for Pops and the nurses. Afterward I used it when any of the kids got hurt. The room right across the hall is set up as a small clinic space.”

“This place is bigger than I thought.” You laugh nervously as Marco moves you both into the warm water, and starts carefully cleaning you up.

“Yeah, it’s 248,000 square feet.” You freeze in place and Marco nearly snorts. You look at him and his control breaks and he laughs.

“Are you-.”

“I’m not kidding, yoi!” He insists, laughing more despite it. “The Moby was over two million square feet, the house is small comparatively. We couldn’t convert the entire ship, and the manor only has five floors.”

“Only.” You nearly choke the words, letting Marco help you wash up. You’d be more useful if he hadn’t nearly broken your brain with statistics about the house. “I knew this place was going to be large, I guess I just didn’t realize how large.”

“Well, the entire estate is almost a hundred acres, and there’s a few smaller houses.” Marco says, grinning and you put your face in your hand. “The manor’s only home to a few of us, and some of my married siblings live in other houses on the land.”

“You weren’t worried about your brothers,” you begin, as Marco starts to rinse you both off. “You were worried I’d see the size of this place when you came here to grab your clothes and a toothbrush and have an existential crisis.” You tease.

He laughs, giving you a quick kiss before trading places with you so he can clean up. The shower area is so large there’s a little ledge you can sit on while he washes up.

“Honestly I hadn’t thought about it,” he admits sheepishly. “I was worried about my brothers so much I didn’t even think about the impact the manor would have, yoi. We’ve been here for a long time now, and there’s so many people it just doesn’t feel fancy.”

“It feels like home.” You say and Marco pauses for a moment before smiling and nodding.

“Yeah.”

You lean against the wall as Marco goes through his own routine. You grin after a moment and tilt your head a little.

“Don’t rush on my account.” You say, biting your bottom lip when he looks over his shoulder at you.

With a smile he turns and faces you. “You can look, mi cielo, but until you heal you’re not doing much more than that.”

Your grin breaks into a wide smile. “If I work up enough of an appetite I might actually keep you under me for once.”

You see a few small flames lick Marco’s skin as blush rushes to his cheeks. His expression is mostly unchanged despite the other things he’s not controlling well, and he returns his focus to cleaning up. You take the win for what it is, stretching slowly and trying not to let the aches in your body ruin your brightening mood.

The shower cuts off and Marco gives you a hand up. It’s frustrating how much you ache, but considering how things could have gone, this was a small price.

He’s careful as he dries you off, and you barely twitch or flinch.

“I knew when I healed you as much as I could last night that I wouldn’t have to worry while you slept, but this is worse than I thought it was.” There was anger in his voice, and you could feel the heavy warmth of his flames. The pains and aches ease, and for a brief moment almost vanish entirely.

“I can’t sleep all day again.” You warn softly.

“Aye,” he replies, leaning forward and kissing the back of your shoulder. “I’m not going to exhaust you. You swelled up and bruised bad while you slept, I’m just going to do enough to lessen it before we wrap you back up.”

There’s a long quiet moment before the warmth of his flames fade, and you can feel the leftover pain settle back into your bones.

“I’m going to throw him into the ocean.” He growls through grit teeth, fingers tracing very carefully over your back. You tense, thinking about your dream and Marco’s hand rests a little heavier against your back. “Sorry, pretty bird, it’s not a pleasant topic, I know.”

You shake your head. “That’s… not it.” Breathing in slowly you let it out and turn so you’re facing him. “I had a dream last night, and… I don’t… I don’t know how to say this, but I think Teach is already dead.”

Marco’s brows raise, and after a moment’s consideration they furrow a little. “What makes you think that?”

“I dreamt the Library ate him.” You admit, looking up at him sheepishly. It sounds wildly improbable when you say it out loud.

The look of shock on Marco’s face almost makes you smile despite the heavy topic. “Ate him?” You nod. “… It does that?”

You shrug. “I don’t really know what it does. I rarely used it, and when I did it was just to read. I used it once to transform just so I knew what that was like, but I’ve been trying to live like I don’t have a fruit for ten years. I don’t really know what it can do.”

Looking away from him you start to speak and stop a few times before sorting out what you wanted to say. Marco waited patiently, as he always did.

“It’s not: What if I killed your brother,” you finally explain. “It’s: What if he only died because I didn’t learn how to control my ability?”

Marco leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest your head against his chest. His embrace is careful, gentle where it needs to be, and holding onto you as tightly as he dares to in the places he can. He kisses the top of your head, mindful of the cut that’s going to be healing for a few days yet, even if he tends to it every day.

“What you did brought you to me,” he says quietly. “Every choice, yoi. Whether Teach is alive or not doesn’t matter to me as much as your being here right now does.”

“But -.”

“You didn’t kill him.” Marco interrupts, leaning you both back so he can look into your eyes. “Whether the Library did, or we have to later, you’re not at fault.”

You know he’s trying to console you. You don’t doubt that he means what he’s saying, but the weight of it all is too heavy. You’ve done a lot to keep yourself alive, but you’ve never had to make such a choice. It’s never been a matter of someone else’s life or your own.

What gave you the right to put yourself above another? Teach had certainly done things you couldn’t see as being right, but by the letter of the law you were the one with a bounty on your head. Was it immoral for him to turn you into the Government? Was it immoral for you to want to live peacefully regardless?

Was the only way to answer that with someone’s death?

“There had to be another way!” You finally shout. Marco’s fingers slip between your own and you can feel the building turmoil inside you subside a little from the gesture.

“Wasn’t there?” You ask quietly. “Isn’t there?”

“There are always options, mi cielo.” His face is twisted with painful understanding, and he caresses your cheek with a warm hand. “Living is deciding what options you can live with.”

“I didn’t pick this, though.” You press your lips together, holding back tears of frustration.

“No, you didn’t. Teach did.” He insists, leaning down and kissing the tear that escapes your eye. “We’re heading to Drop Island later today.” He explains, kissing your forehead. “I’d rather you stay here, but-.”

“No one else can open the Library.” You interject, nodding and leaning against him.

“I don’t mind losing… ta’ someone like that.”

Teach’s words echo in your mind from the dream, that crooked smile burned into your senses. It was like he was at peace, like he knew that such was the possibility of his choices, and if he was going to die then at least he was dying in a way that didn’t bother him.

“I’d want to be there anyway.”

“Oh?”

You nod, staying tucked against him. “Whatever is decided, whatever’s happened or not, I want to face it with you.”

Marco rests his chin carefully on top of your head, keeping you close for a minute before re-bandaging your wounds. You’re both quiet as he works, and you don’t complain when he helps you get dressed. No matter how the day goes, it’s not going to be easy.

But at least you won’t be alone.

#Birds of a Feather #Marco x reader #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #marco the pineapple #modern au

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ivymarquis · 6 months

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Character Study: Stitch

Pairing| König x Stitch* Rating| T Content/Warnings| Angst, mentions of PTSD, allusions to The Bad Thing(tm) that happened to Stitch, needles, stitches, the author is not an NP nor in the military and thus some wild inaccuracies.

*Stitch is one of those OCs with no physical descriptors because it's impossible to tell a story with an actual plot without some sort of character development so she can easily be read as a reader insert :)

My contribution to @glitterypirateduck's 141 Challenge! Stitch will eventually be making an appearance alongside Honey- this is just a lil interaction between her and König to get the creative juices going!

141 Challenge:

König

Thunderstorm | Forced proximity | How did this happen? | Trust me

It’s hard to miss the way that blood is steadily trickling in rivulets down König’s neck, much akin to the rain running down the glass of the windows outside.

Given he wears a makeshift sniper hood and covers any other potential exposed skin- it’s only obvious because his shirt is torn to hell so the blood is actually visible.

She sits nervously, debating with herself for a moment. The man is a myth made flesh, his reputation preceding him by a landslide. But surely he’d be reasonable to someone who means to do right by him?

Every rumor she’s ever heard bounces in her head as she approaches, her sense of duty rises above all else. The operator did his job, and now it’s time for her to do hers. Fair’s fair.

“You’re bleeding,” she starts bluntly. “Do you need help?” Any sort of head wound can bleed fairly heavily- it might be something he’d prefer to deal with alone, or it might be the sort of thing that she needs to intervene. Does he even realize he’s bleeding? Or is he still coming down from the firefight and numb to everything?

His attention switches to her and she can’t help but stiffen ever so slightly. Those pale eyes are intense when she’s his soul focus.

“It is nothing. They can stitch it when we get back to base.” Typical. Some of these men could have their arm hanging half severed and would act like it’s no big deal.

“They don’t call me ‘Stitch’ for nothing,” she half jokes, “We don’t know when they’ll actually be able to get us back. I can take a look at it if you’d like? The sooner you’re stitched up the better you’ll heal- less chance of scarring.”

He snorts at the wrong part of her words- the idea of lessening scarring is funny to him.

“I do not think that will help much,” there’s a bitter bemusement to his tone that she’s not privy to- until he takes off his mask.

Oh. Her immediate attention is on the laceration that’s bleeding across his cheekbone, but as she takes stock of the situation she starts to realize why he found humor in her words.

His face is covered in scars. Some thick, some thin; his nose clearly has been broken and poorly set a time or two. Extensive doesn’t begin to cover it- across one eyebrow where he likely almost lost an eye, across the bridge of his nose- down his jawbone and neck disappearing down the collar of his shirt. The part that is torn revealing another that goes across his collar bone.

There’s a lot of information to process at one time- the injury, the scarring, and of course she’s used to having a base full of soldiers for whom it is a big deal to see their face. Likely very few know what the Austrian operator looks like under his hood, and Stitch is probably one of a privileged few.

Injury first.

“How did this happen?” she asks; a standard question to be asked by a health care worker.

He’s silent for a moment as she’s opening her kit and pulling out the needed supplies.

Stitch is admittedly nervous, eyes flicking between the soldier looming beside her- how is he so massive, even when sitting down?- and the raging storm outside. The power is flickering every so often and she just hopes she can finish before it goes out entirely. The pair of them are separated from the rest of the group and waiting for further orders as directed.

The vibes are a little spooky, if she’s being honest with herself. But then she’s also just unsettled by everything that has happened in the past 48 hours.

Stitch is not a soldier. She isn’t even a field medic for crying out loud. She’s a civilian NP, and one trying to navigate a situation that’s a bit off putting for her given her history.

The silence stretches a beat too long, and it’s just as the thought Okay, I guess I’ll go fuck myself, then flicks across her mind that he answers. “There was an enemy soldier who thought he caught me off guard. He was fast. I was faster.”

She doesn’t quite know what to say to that. The wound is from a knife then, given the context and the nature of the injury. “Oh,” she starts lamely, not entirely sure what to say given König just told her he killed a man. What does one even say to that? Good job?

She’s not oblivious. They do what they need to do to come home. Death and violence follow the soldiers everywhere they go, and Stitch and those like her can only hope to piece together the ones who make it back in one piece. “I need to clean this first. The antiseptic might sting.”

It’s his turn to watch her silently, the consent implied as he holds still and lets her work flushing and cleaning the wound.

“I have lidocaine if you want it,” she offers while getting ready to actually stitch the wound.

“That is not necessary,” he rebuffs, continuing to sit still in the chair.

The lights flicker, the sound of the rain pounding harder as the storm worsens outside. Thank goodness they’d managed to get to the safehouse- it would be absolutely miserable to be caught out in the havoc outside. Guaranteed pneumonia.

While her exposure to the soldier in question is limited- always on the fringes and knowing of him but the interactions themselves being surface level, that dynamic is completely upended by the sudden proximity of being in the safehouse together.

But then, she’s always a little gun shy when in grabbing distance after what happened to her. Even though she’s the one with the weapon on her hand as she prepares the needle.

It must be obvious, the way she’s cautious in handling him. It’s not him- it’s not even the man who had put his hands on her. It’s the inability to discern the danger because the perpetrator himself didn’t know he was going to do it until he did it. It’s the inability for her to read who is safe and she is working with her therapist on it but God maybe she’s not making as much progress as she thought.

She just wants to do her job.

It doesn’t help that the specific soldier in front of her has quite the track record. He’s the battering ram sent in when someone needs something handled without the red tape of an official, enlisted soldier who has reports to fill afterwards. The PMCs have their uses, after all.

She decides it will be easier if she stands- and if the way that places their heights also assuage some of her anxiety, then that’s her own business.

“Take a breath for me,” she instructs, waiting to see his ribcage expand before lining up the needle. “Exhale,” she tells him, beginning the first stitch as he does.

They continue on, pausing as the lights flicker- if this is how she gets her first needlestick injury she’s going to throw a fit.

Normally she’s a chatterbox, especially when nervous, although the conversations with König have been so cut and dry it’s stayed her tongue a bit.

Idly she wonders if her own reputation precedes her- gossip travels like wildfire and God knows she’d given everyone something to talk about. König has been exceptionally cautious of every move he’s made in the safehouse, watching her and gauging her reactions. She doesn’t know him well enough to know if that’s just how he is- ever conscious of being the bull in the china shop- or if it’s for her benefit.

No one can promise that what happened before won’t happen again. She’s pleased that her hand is steady though as she works.

Those eyes, no longer framed by the sniper hood, follow her as she moves. Trust me, they implore her.

For tonight at least she has no other choice.

#könig x reader #141challenge #König #cod x reader #König x Stitch #my writing

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humunanunga · 1 year

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Project: Eden’s Garden prologue just dropped and here’s my thoughts on the cast so far 👀

Damon: Oh, so we finally get to play as a tool. Just a total trashman. It’s almost like if we went into the first Danganronpa playing as Byakuya LMAO. Can’t wait to watch his guy slowly figure out he was being a gatekeeping prick just to feel self-important and not have to think about having an identity apart from his talent.

Eva: I love her. I already liked her design when the voice cast was announced, which I also really like, and now I’m really looking forward to how her arc pans out. I like how a lot of her dialogue consists of questions/guesses, directives, or observations you wouldn’t need to take her word for. I also like that, assuming it’s true-- and so far, I’m willing to bet it is-- that, while hesitant, she was honest about being the Ultimate Liar. Imagine how that’d blow up in her face later if she tried lying about what kind of Ultimate she was. She knows it’s a lot to ask for with her talent, but she definitely acts like she wants to be trusted. I already said this in Youtube comments, but the contrast against Kokichi really makes a point for why she’s the Ultimate Liar: a good liar knows when not to lie. For one, a bad liar tells lies they can’t get away with, and for another, if your reputation precedes you, all it takes to deceive everyone is to tell the truth and let their suspicion do all the work.

Grace: Uncalled for, but Damon kinda earns it later.

Wolfgang: A polite boy. A lad, even. Save for how riled up that “demo” got him. Wondering whether he’ll be Damon’s Kaito or his Kokichi... Right now, it seems like Damon’s set himself up to be Wolfgang’s Kokichi. Yikes.

Toshiko: We haven’t seen her mouth yet... curious. Could mean nothing... but if this fangame also includes a plant among the killing game participants, she’s my first guess. Danganronpa loves red herrings, so I don’t think it’d be Eva, but Toshiko? Her color scheme would also fit, everyone woke up in pairs, and a lot of those pairs seem to work well together or at least balance each other out.

Eloise: Hello, so you have red eyes, huh? Is there something you’re not telling us? What was that about analyzing your opponent and predicting their next move, almost like you would in chess? Sorry, you seem very sweet, I just know how these games go.

Desmond: Oh no, you’re gonna get a lotta heat for your talent later, aren’t’cha. I am so sorry, you seem like a real chill dude.

Jean: idk, guys, he's jacked and reliable, and beefcakes with integrity tend to strike out on the fourth case in this series...

Ulysses: Another design I loved from the get-go. I get the impression his habit of note-keeping could be important later... I’m rooting for his survival, but that journal could easily be evidence later.

Ingrid: We love a beefsteak.

Kai: I could see the Ultimate Influencer being a traitor or mastermind and using their talent to gather an audience for their killing game, cuz the games are always streamed and he has a lot more black and white in his outfit than Cassidy, but I... kinda doubt it’ll be him unless they’re all revealed to play roles as the mastermind.

Diana: tbh I’m really hoping she’ll be one of the killers. There’s a lot of potential for a makeup artist to cover their crime, like concealing or faking injuries. They did say she’s done makeup for cinema, I’m just saying. I’m just saying! At the very least, even if she’s cleared, I really hope she’ll be a suspect.

Jett: Don’t know what I expected, but I’m loving his energy. He is doing his best.

Mark: What was with that leer on the train? Did he recognize Damon?

Cassidy: Ohhh boy, are she and Wenona gonna duke it out at some point?

Wenona: Damon... my guy... I woulda thought you’d get along with her. You are a certifiable hypocrite if you’re gonna judge her for being an Ultimate elitist.

Cara: Oh, this wasn’t Eden’s first killing game, was it. I’m surprised none of them pointed out after the practice trial how Cara was an Ultimate too... Wolfgang was right. Asking why would’ve been just as important as asking how. We’re gonna circle back to this case later, aren’t we-- hold on... was... was the point of doing this... did... could Cara’s killer have won a class trial?

Tozu: Did... did he sound like Dr. Frank-N-Furter to anyone else or is that just me? Great voice either way, interesting that it looks like he’s wearing a grey body suit under that coat that'd make him look more like an unnamed Danganronpa culprit. Interesting.

Mara: idk, she yoked tho.

#project: eden's garden #project eden's garden #fanganronpa #danganronpa #tldr #etc

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katyspersonal · 11 days

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What are your opinions on our Lord and Savior Gywn?

He didn't save SHIT!! He took the perfectly (?) functioning humanity and ruined it! Look at it, it got Hollowing!!

Okay, I am making the 'Marika is a MILF Gwyn' jokes here and there, but 1) Marika is a bit more of a straight up cold and mean person, all things considered 2) Yet she still has enough nuance, and a lot of her actions might be written on reasonable fears and 3) Gwyn is even MORE nuanced than Marika, from what I have concluded so far! Laurence is a similar kind of sinner too. Comparison of the characters that share a trope is helpful for my thought process, so bear with me a little! With Marika I see a more direct disdain and fear before the very nature of life, cyclic and treacherous, uncontrollable, being meant to perish one day but with new life sprouting from it, and thus doing lovely things like shunning Crucible-related lifeforms. With Laurence, we have enough evidence so far that beasthood was not created by Healing Church but something already lingering in the human code after Pthumerians and Loran, so ambition to seize and control it it was risky but understandable!

But with Gwyn, we are confirmed that human nature itself is dark, undesirable an terrifying, as well as how he sorta had the chance to see it 'in action' during uniting with humans to take war on dragons. And also in Dark Souls the cyclic nature of Ages is just a fact, and it would make sense that should Age of Dark come, he and his family would be the first to go as beings of Light. It is a combination of things: his kind being in true danger and not just "risking to lose power", the treacherourness of how political allyship simply works (your today's ally country against the common enemy could tomorrow ally with someone else to start the war on YOU) and simply the not-so-metaphorical horrors of the Dark itself! is not a speculation, the dangers are RIGHT here!

Gwyn messed the natural order of humanity in a way that I personally dislike and express it on multiple occasions: trying to get rid of what's barbaric and dangerous yet natural and not accepting that there is no light without shadow, or life without death. But I also feel sympathetic because he had a legit reason to fear the darkness within men. In is not as much philosophical but a literal concept in Dark Souls lore. He acted out of fear, backed up with a precedent, and it brought the ruin to himself and everyone else. Writing this I'd say he sorta falls for the type of a person I can only like in fiction but resent in reality. I guess I don't need to explain what kind of people this is, paranoid "but for a valid reason", being "preventive" with their drastic measures.. Good intentions path to hell self-fulfilling prophesy blablabla. His specieism doesn't help his case in the slighest. Ironically, all extremely human behavior of him!

(LOL thank you based Goldmask as usual xddd) At the same time, he is not entirely corrupt with the power he seized and used to strip humanity of what was natural for them; he, in the end, committed to what he believed was better for everyone and sacrificed HIMSELF too. I can respect the cunning and machiavellian person who, in the end, is above the vanity of a 'savior' and can give themselves too, not only others. He also did share his power with some humans, showing that he can take kinda benevolent choices even with those he fears. Yeah, part of calculated risk could be there; dude gave the city and his daughter to the Pygmy to, again, preemptively avoid some animosity. But in the case with the four kings, did he HAVE to? Or Seath for that matter, who is a dragon, another species he doesn't like?

I find it hard to detect 'truly' corrupt people in Soulsborne setting in general, and yeah we can fiddle with 'nuanced character' and 'everyone is morally grey' forever and never discover THE big bad we'd love to hate. But, out of those big bads, I think he deserves the benefit of being seen as a way more nuanced character than the corrupt leader the most! It is the case where he should not have done anything, but also should not have NOT done anything.. Soulsborne is eager with placing characters in a position and knowledge where every choice is wrong and they just pick a poison for themselves (and everyone else xd). Jokes about "haha people in power moment" are still mostly jokes for me. He is sympathetic in a way not like I think I'd have done the same (let's be real, I revel in darkness gfjjghk) but in a way where I understand too much to feel negative 🤔

#though you can NOT take my word since I apologize aldrich and mico lmao #dark souls #dark souls 1 #gwyn lord of cinder #I say all this but after writing all this I feel like liking him more xd #closer examination helps!#also sorry this is not my average infodump essay I just need more time!#i try to cram more DS lore in my brain but it gives me 'STORAGE FULL REMOVE SOME BB/ER LORE' error gghhh #again I just need (more eyes on my brain) time xd #also am I tripping or I had ask about Gael too?#i need to fix my inbox its so broken #but also yes advantage of asking my DS opinions is that they're ACTUAL opinions #and not autism xd #ask replies

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febreze-bottle-without-febreze · 1 year

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Tank/Darlin and Asher headcanons

I was going to post some ansty headcanons but I've had a change of heart after rewatching the Asher and Darlin video [Darlin They/he/it]

TW: cursing

Asher and Tank have four matching piercings

when Tank and Ash were in middle school they got suspended for starting a food fight the only reason they got caught was cause they started throwing food at people in class

These two are the reason Marie has grey hairs

every time these two hangout they make these drinks that taste like how you imagine battery acid to taste like and they'll chug it like it's nothing

Tank and Ash were in a band all throw high school

Tank did all of Ash's tattoos and piercings

they like watching people argue in public, they bring popcorn and everything

you can't leave these two alone together for too long you have to check on them once in a while, cause these two will start sharing brain cells and usually nothing good comes out of these two sharing brain cells

Tank: ya think I could build a sword

Ash: what?

Tank: I mean I know how to weld and I've built things out of metal before so how hard can it be

Ash: have you tried it before?

Tank: nope *long pause* yo ash want to help me build a sword

Ash: sure!

these two love dragging their mates into their dumb ideas

someone could be taking a cute picture and you look in the back to see Tank looking like something from hell, there's a pic of Baabe and Asher kissing, and right behind them is Tank with one glowing red eye setting something on fire with the biggest smile on his face

Wall Tank was in Washington Asher kept them up with the pack drama

Tank has nicknames for everyone in the Shaw and Keaton pack, Ash's is masher, no one really knows why out of any nickname Tank chose masher

Arden "ay Tank, I been meaning to ask why do you call ash masher"

Tank "do you remember that time when we were in college and someone dared ash to eat a dozen donuts at once so he mashed all the donuts together into some type of sandwich that was the size of a burger and it looked like he unhinged his jaw-like a fucking snake then preceded to eat the donut sandwich whole, no you don't cause I do." *stares into Arden's soul*

Ash, Tank, and Chrissy used to be a trio before ash became pack beta but Christain got kicked for obvious reasons

Christain may be Tank's friend but that didn't stop Tank from almost stumping his chest in for disrespecting ash

Tank had the biggest crush on Asher's mom when growing up and ash couldn't stand it

Asher was the only one who Tank really talk to well they were in Washington but they would text him the most random and out-of-pocket things

Tank: yo some asshole just ripped out my eye 😡

[m]Asher: which one, your good or bad eye?

Tank: wowww not even going to ask me if am okay if you really want to know it was my bad eye😒 *sends a pic of their eye*

[m]Asher: ewww🤢 have you tried putting it back in?

Tank: that's not how it works dumbass

[m]Asher: you don't know that

Tank: it didn't work.

Tank has been struck by lightning more than once and Ash has been there to witness it each time

#redacted asher #redacted tank #redacted darlin #redacted shaw pack #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted hc #redacted headcanons

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vicvinegarandhughhoney · 1 month

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Can I lay by your side?- Prompt: Seizures

Fandom: That '80s Show

Pairing: Corey Howard/June Tuesday

AU where Corey has epilepsy, and Tuesday comes to terms with what that means when she witnesses a seizure for the first time.

Read here or below the cut

Corey's been staring at the same Metallica record for nearly two minutes. Tuesday knows this because she's been watching him for that amount of time, studying the glazed look in his eyes with concern that only builds the longer he remains like this.

Her first thought, admittedly, is that he might have taken something. After all, he's been staring at the same spot for a while as though he isn't seeing the same thing there as she is. Maybe he's hallucinating? Maybe he chanced his luck on a few more magic mushrooms than usual before his shift, and voila! Spacey Corey! Hell, it could even be that he smoked a little too much weed- he does look almost stoned…

When Corey’s zone-out session officially reaches the two minute mark, Tuesday decides that whatever it is, she needs to intervene somehow. She sets down the pile of records she was organising and hops over the counter, suppressing the urge to wrap him in an embrace from behind (if he's tripping, it's probably not the best idea) and instead placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, babe?”

Nothing. It's like he didn't even hear her. His eyes are still fixed on the Metallica vinyl, expression emotionless.

Tuesday swallows back a sudden surge of panic. “Corey?”

He blinks, and at last turns to meet her gaze. Something in his eyes just… isn't right, though. It's like he isn't all there.

“Core?”

At his name being called again, he blinks. Snaps back into reality from whatever void he's been floating in.

Except… no. This isn't Corey zoning out. Tuesday can tell immediately by the slightly panicked look in his eyes when he meets her gaze that something isn't right.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” She urges.

“I…” He inhales sharply, then runs a shaky hand down his face. Even this one syllable seems slurred. “I can’t…” His sentence goes unfinished, trailing off into a deep sigh, so deep that his eyelids flutter closed and Tuesday is worried for a moment that he's about to pass out. “M… s-shit… seizure.”

Her stomach drops at his words.

“You’re gonna have a seizure?”

Corey nods, and Tuesday well and truly panics.

She's known Corey for six or so months now, and it's only during the last of these that they've been dating. They’ve had discussions about all sorts- aspirations, favourite flavour of ice pole (her lemon, him cherry), their respective childhood- usually laying in bed together or drowsily watching TV. Casual talks just like Tuesday’s heard are normal between couples.

There was one chat, though, which was explicitly more important than the lazy discussions they typically had. Corey had sat her down one evening, pretty early on into their relationship. He looked nervous. Like he thought she was about to bolt out the door the moment he started speaking to her.

“I, uh. I have a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah. A brain thing. A disorder. Illness. Whatever you wanna call it.”

“I… like what? Like- like a cancer?”

He’d rouged. “Oh, no. God no. I don't think so, anyway. It's- it’s epilepsy. It isn't… it isn't some big bad degenerative disorder, but that doesn't mean it isn't… messy… sometimes.”

“Messy?”

“Yeah. Complicated. Difficult. D’you… do you know anything about epilepsy?”

Tuesday had shaken her head. God, she wished she could have been more informed for him. She wished she could have made it easier, saved him the task of laboriously explaining everything to her.

By the end of their talk, though, she'd been a little more confident about the subject. She knew that epilepsy was characterised by seizures, and though Corey did have the scarier ones (tonic-clonic, he’d called them), they were usually preceded by smaller ones.

“It’s like the wiring sparking before the whole system shuts down. It's localised. Focal.” His voice assumed a vaguely professorial air. Tuesday listened, enraptured, to his lecture. “In my case, it looks like I’m just zoning out. They’re called absence seizures. Like ‘absence’, but French, I guess.”

“So how do I know whether you're actually zoning out or whether it's one of these seizures?”

Corey smiled sympathetically. “The aftermath is a pretty strong clue. I’m told that once you've witnessed a few, you get an eye for them.”

Tuesday hasn't witnessed a few. She hasn't witnessed any, until now, and the fact that Corey is probably about to have a ‘big one’ right in front of her is frankly terrifying.

She breathes in deeply, pulling herself back to the here and now. “Okay. Okay. What- what do you need me to do? You should- you should lie down, right?”

“Mmm…”

“Are you- are you gonna go to the break room? It might be a little easier but-”

“C-can’t.” He murmurs in response, already lowering himself shakily to the floor just a metre or so away from the shelves. His blinking is growing more and more languid as he adjusts ever so slightly to get comfortable, and Tuesday remembers him telling her something about cushioning his head during that long discussion they had. She shrugs off her green jacket and rolls it up.

“Here,” she says, kneeling down next to him and gently lifting his head to place the jacket beneath it as a makeshift pillow. “Is- is that good, Core?”

He hums and it's clear she isn't going to get much more from him verbally- especially because his eyelids are starting to flutter.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s… it’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

A small, pained whine bubbles up from his throat. His neck is starting to twitch a little. As are his hands.

It must be terrifying to lose control of your body like that. To know that for the next few minutes, there's nothing you can do except let things happen.

When at last his eyes fall closed completely and consciousness leaves him, Tuesday can't help feeling almost relieved in spite of the accompanying harsher motions. The fear in his eyes had been too visceral for her to stomach. This unnatural shaking is hardly easier to witness, of course, but at least he doesn't appear to be as aware of his situation as before.

The bell on the door tinkles and Tuesday realises she's neglected to shut customers out for the time being. She curses and lifts herself up just enough to spot someone beginning to browse the shelves on the other side of the store, completely unaware of the medical incident occurring mere footsteps away.

“Margaret!” she shouts to the back office.

“What?”

“Can you- can you come out here please!”

There's the sound of footsteps from the back office, and Tuesday looks up to see Margaret standing in the doorway. She’s wearing her typical ‘one is not amused’ expression that is usually eye-roll worthy (except in situations like these, of course, where a little care and attention is definitely needed).

“What?”

“Corey’s having a seizure.”

Tuesday's never seen a person's entire demeanour change so quickly. In an instant, Margaret’s features are softening, and she hurries to escort the single browsing customer out of the door with not a snide remark in sight. She seems genuinely concerned.

“Okay,” she says as soon as he's gone, pulling the shutters on the door down. “Are you timing?”

“T-timing?”

“The seizure, are you timing how long it's lasting? We need to time it, Tuesday.”

Right. Of course. Corey definitely told her about this during that long conversation they had, and Tuesday flushes with shame at forgetting it. Thankfully, before she can even apologise, Margaret is pressing a button on her watch and turning her attention back to Corey.

“You’re okay, Corey. It’s going to be alright.”

Her voice is so gentle. So gentle. The hand that she usually disgruntledly shoos customers away with now comes up to rest on his shaking shoulder, her brows knitted with motherly attention.

“We’re both here with you, Corey. Nice and easy. It’ll be over soon, sweetheart.”

Tuesday hopes she's right. It's only been a minute or so, but to her it feels like a lifetime- God knows how long of an eternity it must feel to him. His cheek is flush to the floor now, eyes closed but lashes fluttering. Every so often, a low whine escapes the back of his throat like that of a wounded animal, the convulsive motions making it sound even more pained, like he's choking on his own fucking saliva.

“Keep his head tilted up.” Margaret says calmly. “That’s it- just like that. Makes it easier for him to breathe.”

Easier? God, when did it get difficult for him?

She finds out quickly, her eyes moving to Corey’s chest. Amongst the jerking movements she makes out the irregular rising and falling for each breath. Starts to count them just to give herself something to do until all this is over.

A second passes. Then another. It feels as though everything is moving aside from his-

His lips are a little blue. Tuesday's only just noticed that. She reaches out a hand to rub against his trembling shoulder, waiting to feel another choking exhale before-

The breaths come in quick succession, and for a moment Tuesday sighs with relief. Until… silence.

She waits another second. Two. Three. Still, amidst everything, she can't make out the movement of his chest. Her eyes widen with concern and she looks up to Margaret, only to find hers flash with panic as well before it's hastily concealed.

“Corey?” Margaret calls. “Corey, sweetheart, take a breath for me.”

She reaches around, making a fist and rubbing against his sternum as if to encourage the reflex herself.

“Come on, Corey. Breathe. You’ve got to breathe.”

Tuesday joins in now, too- her hand comes up to his jaw, her cheek to the ground in front of him so she's at his level. Desperation makes her voice tremble.

“Breathe, Core. Breathe. Please.”

The rigidity dissipates for a second, and Corey takes a breath. Tuesday and Margaret immediately exhale theirs.

“Good boy, Corey.” Margaret manages, smiling a little in a way that hides how close she was to tears. “There we are. Nearly over now.”

Tuesday’s gaze flits to the watch. “How long?”

“Nearly three minutes. It's starting to slow down now.”

If Margaret hadn't pointed it out, she would never have noticed, but it's true- the violent jerking motions are growing more and more infrequent with each second that passes. They fade into twitches, ones that Tuesday feels beneath her palm as she strokes his back, then stillness. Blissful, blissful stillness.

She waits for him to wake up, for the lucidity to suddenly reappear in his eyes, but instead she's met with yet more unconsciousness. The only difference is that this time it almost resembles…

“Sleep, Corey. That's it. We’re going to be right here when you wake up again.”

His breathing is slow and even now, a far cry from what it has been. Tuesday’s hand moves from his jaw to his forehead, brushing the sweat-damp hair back as she raises her eyes to meet Margaret's.

“He’s… he's asleep now?”

“Mhm. Will be for a good few minutes. Then he’ll wake up. Then he'll probably go back to sleep again. He won't be back with it for a few hours, and even then he'll be exhausted.”

Oh.

“I’m going to call Katie to come pick him up- I know you'll want to take him home yourself, but she's got a lot of experience with post-ictal Corey. You can always come with them.”

“Post… post-ictal?”

Margaret smiles faintly. “Yeah. Post-seizure.”

This is evidence enough that Tuesday is wholly unprepared for taking care of Corey right now, as much as she might wish otherwise. She sighs, and nods.

“Alright. I'll come with them.”

“Thought so.” With a small grunt, Margaret pulls herself up from the floor she was kneeling on. “Right, I’m going to make that call.”

Tuesday doesn't quite know why her heart skips a beat. Perhaps it's the sudden responsibility. “Is- is there anything really important I need to do?”

The reply she gets is simple.

“Just talk to him, Tuesday. Talk, and comfort, because when he wakes up, he's going to be confused and scared half to death.”

With these words, Margaret leaves her alone with only the faint sound of music playing in the background of the store and Corey’s almost-snores. She settles back on her haunches, heart still racing in her chest even as she observes this new stillness.

“It’s… it’s alright, Core. I’m here.”

Her hand begins to rake through the curls hanging limply over his forehead, soothing both herself and (hopefully) her boyfriend with the familiar motion. It's hard to tell whether it's comforting for him, of course. It's hard to tell anything at all when he's so unnaturally quiet.

Distantly, she can hear Margaret's voice on the phone.

“Just over three minutes… no… not as far as I'm aware… no, he didn't throw up… mhm… yeah, Tuesday's with him right now. We’re just waiting for him to come round.”

As if on cue, a small groan issues from the floor in front of Tuesday, she looks down to see Corey’s brow furrowed as if in pain.

“Hey,” she greets, voice soft, ministrations softer. “You had a seizure, sweetheart, but you're okay now. You're alright.”

He sighs deeply, nostrils flaring. Shifts until the palms of his hands are pressed against the floor like he's about to attempt lifting himself up.

“Easy, Core, easy. Don’t try to move just yet.”

Usually, her efforts to subdue him physically would be pointless- in the weeks they've been dating, he’s lifted her up for fun multiple times- but now it only takes a single hand to his shoulder for him to sink back down, exhausted and defeated. He looses another little groan, and Tuesday realises that he's trembling. Her heart plummets right to her feet.

“Hey, it's okay! I promise you're alright, sweetheart.”

Slowly, she lowers herself to the floor beside him and moves to face him, taking a slightly-too-cold hand in hers while her other hand continues to card through his hair. His eyes open half-mast, frightened though still a little glazed.

“Just talk to him, Tuesday.”

“You’re- you’re at Permanent Record right now.” She tells him, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. “And Margaret- she’s in the back calling your sister so she can come pick you up. I’ll stay right here with you, if- as long as you want me to, Corey, okay?”

He blinks slowly. Hums.

Draws his free hand shakily up to his face to wipe his mouth, then lets it flop back down to the floor. Even this small movement has him breathless. Shaking again.

“It’s okay, Corey. I’m here. Your sister’s on her way. You’re safe, sweetheart. Everything’s okay. I’m right here.”

His eyes don't leave hers the whole time she speaks, and Tuesday can only hope that he's understanding some of it. What she knows for sure, though, is that Margaret was right.

Corey’s terrified.

Aside from the trembling- almost shivering, now- there are tears beginning to form in his eyes. Tuesday hasn't seen him cry like this before. Ever.

For a moment, her mind races trying to conjure up a solution from her conversation with Corey, or perhaps something Margaret said could help. There was a pamphlet she read too, and maybe… God, if she could just remember-

Fuck it.

As gently as possible, she sits up and begins to manoeuvre Corey towards her, tentativity dissipating the moment he begins reaching for her with the same desperation she feels. It takes a few moments, but soon he’s laying against her, her arms wrapped around his middle while she whispers reassurances into his hair. It feels good to hold him, to feel the tension in his muscles loosening within her embrace.

“Shh, you’re alright. You had a seizure, but you're okay now. I’m here. Your sister’s coming. Everyone's here to look after you, Corey.”

After a few minutes, Margaret emerges from the back room. She smiles when she spots the two of them.

“See? I told you he'd fall right back asleep.”

Tuesday hadn’t even noticed, but now that she peers round, she sees that her boyfriend’s eyes are closed, and he's breathing deeply and evenly. Fast asleep in her arms.

“Katie’s on her way.” Margaret continues. “Won’t be long now.”

Tuesday hears Katie before she sees her. The bell attached to the door tinkles urgently, and then there are hurried footsteps across the tile until golden curls and a concerned face follow them into her eye line. Usually the very picture of politeness, Katie doesn't offer a word to Tuesday before kneeling down at her brother’s side, and frankly? Who could blame her.

“Oh, Corey.”

There's more conveyed in those three syllables than could be contained in a thousand-page book, especially when they're immediately accompanied by her hand smoothing back the hair on his forehead just like Tuesday had done.

“We're gonna get you home, alright, Core? Nice and tucked up in bed before you know it.”

The smile she levels his way is wobbly. Of course it is- Corey’s so still in sleep that it would shake anyone's resolve. She spends a few more moments soothing him, then turns her attention to Tuesday.

“The car’s parked just outside, so all we have to do is get him out there and into the backseat. Daddy's at home- that means we don't have to worry about getting him out of the car and into bed.”

“I think I can help lift him if you can get his legs?”

“Deal.”

Somehow, with their combined effort, they manage to lay Corey out in the back seat of the car. Katie takes the driver’s seat (‘I sure am glad my licence came through’) while Tuesday sits with her boyfriend’s head settled in her lap. The drive is thankfully only a short one- the easy commute is one of the things that drew Corey to the job in the first place- and soon they're pulling up into the driveway. To his credit, RT’s already standing outside waiting for them.

“Alright, Corey.” he says, gentler than he's ever been as he leans over to lift his son from the back seat. “There we go, my boy. Your Dad’s got you now.”

In the months that she's known Corey, she's come to dislike his father. He's stingy, lazy, and all the ‘ists’ rolled into one- misogynist, racist, chauvinist etc etc. He doesn't look after his son often enough, because as a woman that's Katie’s job (and before her, it was his ex-wife who bore the task). For a moment, though, while she watches RT gather Corey in his arms and slowly retreat to the house, whispering assurances all the way, she doesn't hate him as much as usual.

For a brief few seconds, he's simply a father carrying his son to his bedroom, just like he used to when Corey was tiny and fell asleep after a long car ride.

Tuesday stays sat in the car for a while, the ghost of her boyfriend’s warmth still lingering in her lap while she tries to grapple with the day’s events. It's only when Katie comes out from the house after following RT in that she blinks herself out of her stupor and opens the car door.

“You okay?” Katie asks. It’s a testament to her personality that despite the worry she must feel for her brother, she's still taking time to enquire about the welfare of his girlfriend.

Tuesday plasters on a fake smile and nods. “Yeah. Is… is Corey alright?”

The answer she receives is delayed by a few seconds that only deepen the pit in her stomach.

“He’ll be okay. It’s just… well, he was seizure-free for a month or so and I think this one coming out of the blue has taken its toll on him a little. Physically and mentally.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Katie smiles, a sliver of the usual bubbly joy she exhibits, but an expression of quiet gratitude nonetheless. “He’s exhausted, but I think he'd appreciate you being there. Why don't you just go up to his bedroom and stay with him a while? It would be nice for him to know that this whole thing hasn't scared you away.”

Tuesday frowns. “Scared me away?”

A sad nod. “Unfortunately some of his… previous girlfriends… weren't super understanding. They're ready to accept him when he's just a cute guy with nice hair, but the moment he starts becoming a real human being with real struggles, they leave. He's ‘too much’ for them.”

“Oh God.”

“One of them- Hannah, I think her name was- well, he was at her place and they were watching a movie when he realised he was about to seize. She freaked out and kicked him out of her apartment because she didn't want him to ‘puke on her carpet’ and he ended up having the seizure out in the hall completely by himself. Luckily a neighbour heard some commotion and came out to see what was going on. She was the one who phoned the number on his bracelet from her apartment and told us what had happened- well, what she knew about it, at least. He’d hit his head during it as well, probably when he first lost consciousness, and when Mommy and I got there we ended up taking him straight to the ER. He needed stitches.”

“Jesus.”

“It was a good thing we went there as well, because he had another seizure at the hospital. They think it was stress-induced, you know, because of his girlfriend's reaction. He ended up staying the night.”

Tuesday swallows, heart sinking. “I had no idea.”

“I know- now come on, go and cheer my brother up so he knows you’re way better than any of those… unkind ladies.”

Katie takes her by the hand, marching her through the front door and up the stairs to the right until they reach Corey's bedroom. The curtains are closed, and nobody is in there except him. Tuesday takes a step in.

“If you need anything, just come downstairs.” Katie whispers, disappearing before Tuesday can ask a single question more- not that any immediately spring to mind. The room settles into a silence only interrupted by the sound of Corey’s gentle snoring.

It's odd to hear. He’s normally quiet as a mouse when he sleeps, but the knowledge that post-ictal (is that the word Margaret used?) Corey isn’t doesn't really surprise her. She's sure she would sleep a little differently after the medical equivalent of an electrical short-circuit in the brain.

There's a seat pulled out at the side of the bed- perhaps it was where Katie was sitting while Tuesday was having a short existential crisis in the car. She lowers herself into it and watches Corey sleep for a few seconds. Brushes the curls from his forehead.

Her presence must register somewhere in his unconscious mind, because he soon begins to stir, tired blue eyes opening to look at her.

“Hi, sweetheart.” she greets, still stroking his hair. “How are you feeling?”

He swallows. Opens his mouth then closes it like he's remembering how to speak properly again. “Mm… tired.” His voice is hoarse.

Tuesday hums. “I’m not surprised. Just take it easy, alright?”

His eyes close briefly. “Takin’ it… easy.”

“You need anything?”

There's a pause, before he exhales a deep sigh and presses his cheek deeper against his pillow. “Just… you.”

Tuesday feels a swell of pride. “Me?”

“Mhm…”

Reluctantly, she pulls herself away from stroking his hair and instead crosses to the other side of the room where she can slip beneath the covers of his bed. The side sans Corey is of course cold, but it smells like him, and the moment he feels her shifting towards him he rolls over and envelopes her in a slightly shaky bear hug.

“Mm… love you, Tuesday.”

She swallows past the emotional lump in her throat and strokes his hair as he settles with his head beneath her chin. “Yeah… I love you too, Corey. No matter what.”

The trembling strengthens for a moment and Tuesday can feel dampness seeping into the top of her shirt- right where her boyfriend’s face is pressed, conveniently buried away from her view.

“It’s alright, Core.” she whispers, like it's a secret between only the two of them. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

They remain there until the trembling begins to subside. Until the gentle snores start anew.

Until Corey is sound asleep in her arms without fear that she'll loosen her grip.

#bad things happen bingo #that 80s show #corey howard #whump #seizure whump #med whump #glenn howerton

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vro0m · 5 months

Note

Bernie Ecclestone said in March of this year that he knew of the scandal in 2008, but didn't say anything because "We wanted to protect the sport and save it from a huge scandal." So why say anything now? He went on to undermine Lewis in that same article, saying that Massa did everything right, while Lewis had "all the luck in the world." I don't understand why you don't believe that the FIA is corrupt after everything they've done so far....

Okay so. I debated even answering this but we're all bored anyway so let's indulge. Recap : you think the FIA orchestrated Massa going public about suing over the 2008 WDC to prevent Merc from doing it over AD 2021.

Let's break this down :

"The FIA"

Who? Who in the FIA? The whole association? The whole-ass association that oversees 200+ national motorsport organizations? All of them are corrupt for some reason? Now in this ask you mention Bernie. You are aware that Bernie doesn't work for the FIA, right? Do you think they had a meeting somehow and decided that Massa suing them would be the best course of action about something that Merc had decided not to sue them over in the first place???

"Orchestrated Massa going public about suing over the 2008 WDC"

What did they do exactly? Pay Massa to sue them? Pay Massa so he'd PUBLICLY sue them? First of all, how would it be good for them to get sued? Second of all, aren't court proceedings generally public anyway?

"It prevents Merc from doing it over AD2021."

HOW. Just HOW. If anything, if Massa wins his case, it sets a precedent for Merc to do the same thing, because he shouldn't win due to the statute of limitations. Also again : not everything is about AD21. Please. The only people still talking about it are a subset of Lewis fans and Toto. Move on. Don't forget, but move on.

"Why is Bernie talking now?"

Because he's a fucking idiot who thinks he's untouchable. Why? Because of the statute of limitations I've just mentioned. When he realised it did have consequences he pretended he never said it in the first place.

"He went on to undermine Lewis in the same article."

First of all if you're gonna cite an article CITE THE ARTICLE so I can read it. Second of all Bernie never needed a reason or an excuse to undermine Lewis, he's been doing it for years, because he's a racist piece of shit. Third of all what does that have to do with it? Because Bernie badmouthed Lewis it means the FIA orchestrated Massa suing them? PLEASE.

"I don't understand why you don't believe that the FIA is corrupt after everything they've done so far…"

Me not taking your unsourced unbased and overall absurd conspiracy theory seriously doesn't mean I think the FIA is good or whatever. It just means I don't think conspiracy theories are worth my time. But yeah, I also don't think such huge organizations are black or white good or bad. This is called nuance. Have they fucked up numerous times? Sure. Why don't we focus on these documented times they did fuck up rather than make up new ones that don't have any basis? Like. Idk. The time they knew about crashgate and didn't do anything about it?!

And now tell me Anon, why does it bother you so much that I don't agree with you that you needed to send me two asks about it? If you believe in your theory, what does it matter to you that I don't?

#f1 #2023 winter break #To be clear I'm not gonna keep indulging every conspiracy theory you drop in my asks #This is a one time thing #So don't bother trying to convince me of things you don't have any sources for I'm not interested #vro0m's asks

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gallawitchxx · 1 year

Text

ficlet tuesday: birthday edition 🥳

today is a most blessed day, the birthday of my sweet anna of @rereadanon, who has never failed to fill up my prompt cup & is a constant source of joy & inspiration. she has also planned the weddings of most of the au boy dolls around these parts, which is delightful. her tropes were slow burn + dom/sub undertones & well, they definitely become overtones, but i did my best!

enjoy 1.4k words of a quickie au for my muse on her birthday below or here on ao3!

- - - - -

The first time Ian Gallagher laid eyes on Mickey Milkovich, he was waiting to meet with his parole officer for the first time since he’d been released. He had no priors and a Bipolar diagnosis, and yet they gave him three years for blowing up a van. Something about endangering lives, and setting a precedent.

He was out in two for good behavior.

Milkovich was the only other person in the waiting room. He was slouched in a chair, picking at the fraying threads surrounding a rip in the knee of his jeans, his bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth. The energy between the four dingy walls of the office was fraught—even the receptionist had snapped at someone over the phone—and as Ian’s eyes traversed from tattooed knuckles to cut arms lightly dusted with hair, up towards piercing blue eyes and ink-black hair, an extra jolt of electricity shot through him.

It felt both dangerous and incredible.

“Ey,” a voice said, breaking Ian from his reveries.

Shit, Ian thought, his head snapping towards the stained ceiling. He’d been caught staring, in just about the worst place you could get caught staring—besides prison, which he’d already survived—and by a guy who looks like he would ruin his face before he’d ever let Ian bend him over and ruin him for anyone else.

“You like what you see?”

Ian exhaled, bringing his gaze back down to his fellow parolee, who’s eyebrows were cocked high up on his forehead, steam practically pouring from his ears.

“I wasn’t…“ he stammered. “I mean, I don’t—”

“You don’t like what you see?”

“No, that’s not what—Sorry, I just—“

“Milkovich!” bellowed the gruff receptionist. “You’re up.”

Thank fuck.

Milkovich slapped his hands against his thick thighs before standing, and Ian looked away again, trying to keep the desire to scratch, and bite, and lick, and soothe at bay.

“Too bad,” Milkovich said, his scent of cigarettes and soap wafting egregiously into Ian’s space, and filling his mouth with spit. “I like what I see. Kinda wish I’d gotten to see you in cuffs, big guy.”

He was through the door and into the belly of the office before Ian’s brain came back online.

- - - - -

The second time he saw Milkovich, he hadn’t even made it into the building, stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of smoke curling around plump, pink lips. It was enough to warm his frostbitten fingers, heat spreading from his dick through the pockets of his bright orange-lined coat.

Milkovich was bundled up tight in an oversized coat, a black beanie, and fingerless gloves, which hid his ink, but still allowed him to cradle a cigarette tenderly between his digits.

Ian wanted to unwrap him like a fucking present.

“Staring again, Gallagher.”

Ian short-circuited. “How did you—Have we—“

“Christ, do you ever finish a sentence?” Milkovich huffed, taking another drag.

“Yes,” Ian answered with finality.

Milkovich smirked, scratching his nose with the tip of his thumb as if to hide his growing smile.

“We got the same PO. Seaver? Saw your file on the desk.”

“Oh.”

“Arson, huh? Kinda sexy.”

Oh.

Ian had thought he’d imagined it before—how overtly this hot, brash criminal had been flirting with him. But now it was undeniable, and that made Ian fucking weak. He wanted to get this guy on his knees. See how he would respond to a little authority; figure out if he’d get bratty or willingly submit.

Worse, Ian kind of wanted to feel how he’d respond to it, too. Wanted to know what would happen if Milkovich were the one barking orders, telling him what to do, encouraging him to keep going, don’t stop, open up…

But then the guy was finishing off his smoke, pinching the cherry from the tip and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. He chucked the butt into a nearby trash can, and opened the door to the office, either oblivious to Ian’s gaped expression or delighted by it—a master chess player who’s just a few moves from victory.

“You comin’ in, hot shot?”

Ian cleared his throat and followed.

- - - - -

Ian has lost count of how many times he’s seen Mickey.

Mickey, the supernova that had blasted his life wide open.

Mickey, the wildfire that had chosen him, sure from day dot with certainty that perked his cock right up and screwed with his other head too.

Mickey, the hurricane that had felt familiar like his past, that had ripped his way into his present, and was now barreling straight into his fucking future.

Even now, as Ian’s tied to the headboard with some fancy silk scarves that he’d splurged on—neither one of them actually interested in being cuffed outside of a law enforcement setting—he can’t take his eyes off the man in front of him, who’s grinning vulpine and holding a remote control between fingers that had immediately stolen his attention, and have since been in his mouth, his ass, and wrapped around his dick, his throat, and his heart.

“Look fucking good like this,” Mickey says, his baby blues roaming with heated pleasure. “Bet you’ll look even better when—“

His thumb pushes a button that has Ian vibrating from the inside. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth falling slack with a whine that has Mickey chuckling.

“Yeah,” he groans. Pleased. “I was right.”

They don’t always need to play like this, but they’d be lying if they said it hadn’t provided some of their favorite orgasms, the two of them riling each other up, pushing, and pulling, and teasing, and commanding until they both fall the fuck apart.

They’d earned it: this comfort, this trust. For as quickly as they’d fallen into the sack—four meetings at Seaver’s office enough to have them jacking each other off in an alleyway near the L train station—the emotional aspects of their relationship had been a trudge. Two Southside felons with a slew of daddy issues didn’t provide the firmest of foundations for commitment. But they’ve made it work. They’ve been bold and brave, and when necessary, they’ve allowed for their wild physical connection to keep them afloat.

The court order to stay inside the city limits helped too.

“Mick,” Ian mewls, his prostrate almost numb against the pulsating plug.

“What’s that, tough guy? You want more?”

A few more clicks of the toy and Ian’s about to explode all over himself and the bed. But he also knows what would happen if he were to do that.

Disobey.

So he grits his teeth and lets his gaze go fuzzy over the light trail of hair that leads to Mickey’s thick, stiff cock. God, he wants to taste him, his tongue almost reaching for his length as his own dick dribbles against his stomach.

Mickey saunters over to the bed and climbs on, tossing the remote to the side.

“Goddamn Gallagher, look at you,” Mickey praises, doing absolutely nothing to help Ian come back from the ledge he’s so precariously teetering over. “Think you’ve been good enough for me to ride this monster?” he asks, running a finger up Ian’s reddened hard-on.

Ian nods, reeking of desperation, barely able to squeak out a, “yes.”

“What was that?” Mickey asks, gripping him at the base.

Ian sighs with relief and tries again, finding his voice. “Yes, sir.”

It’s Mickey’s turn to nod, his other hand disappearing behind him to remove the plug he’d been wearing all night; the bulbous bung keeping Ian’s afternoon release warm inside of him. His eyebrows pinch as he pulls it from his body, throwing it towards the abandoned remote. Then, he straddles a quivering Ian and lines them both up, smiling lazily as the head of Ian’s cock pushes at his loose rim.

“Hold on tight,” he instructs, sinking down with practiced ease. Taking what’s his.

Ian knows what he means, understands that he’s both warning him about the wild pace he’s about to set, and alluding to the fact that Ian can’t go anywhere if he tried, but it’s more than that too.

Even without the directive, Ian doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon.

#anna anna anna #i love you anna #happy birthday you queen!#i hope you love this & it ticks many boxes!#ficlet friday #shameless #shameless fanfiction #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #bee writes 🐝 ✍🏼

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robininthelabyrinth · 2 years

Text

@flowerchildasriel said in a comment: I really wanna see LQR and the cat he didn’t really want but is now his secret bff (wwx) doing stuff together

And then I laughed and wrote a fic

Bagatelle in E Minor - ao3

(series: Variations on WWX & LQR in Assorted Keys)

“We are not getting a pet,” Lan Qiren said firmly.

“There’s no rule against it,” Lan Xichen said. He looked earnest and hopeful, and the small puppy in his arms matched his expression perfectly, tail wagging furiously, as if it wanted to help convince him to buy it from the equally hopeful-looking merchant selling it. “Shufu, just give me a chance! Look how soft and sweet he is, and of course, I’ll take care of him in every respect…you’ll won’t even noticed him, I swear!”

Lan Qiren highly doubted that.

His nephew was adorable and well-meaning, serious and studious and responsible, but…a pet? While it was true there was no sect rule against it, and naturally there were always servants to help with maintaining any living creature they wished, Lan Qiren just had the distinct suspicion that the person who was going to end up with responsibility for the creature was going to be himself. Moreover, if he permitted this, what sort of precedent was he setting – was Lan Wangji going to ask for something next?

“Please, shufu?”

On the other hand, his nephew asked for so very little. He’d grown up far too early, long before he should; normally, he was quite mature, even overly mature…it wasn’t really that bad for him to be showing a bit of childishness, was it?

“…fine,” Lan Qiren said. If Lan Wangji showed up with an inappropriate request, he’d hold the line and refuse at that later time. “You may keep the dog.”

Lan Xichen really did take care of the dog, or at least he did for the first few months. It was only – he explained apologetically after a little while – the dog really did seem so very drawn to Lan Qiren in particular, and it seemed unwontedly cruel to keep separating them. The dog was always spending time in Lan Qiren’s quarters, napping at his feet, accompanying him on his morning patrols, running to fetch things that Lan Qiren threw in a fit of temper, playing cute to try to soothe said temper, being quiet when he was truly busy…surely this was simply meant to be?

“Fine,” Lan Qiren sighed. He’d expected this from the start, hadn’t he? And the dog – an energetic and rotund little piggy named Zhuzhu – was rather more pleasant company than he’d expected when the idea of a pet had first come up, having actually lived up to the merchant’s promise of being housebroken and being really quite clever. Lan Qiren had to admit he liked the dog much more than he expected. “Fine, Xichen. It’s fine.”

Anyway, Lan Qiren was used to managing things for other people. What was one more?

“No more pets.”

“But…shufu…!”

Lan Qiren glared fiercely.

“…is this about Yunyun?” Lan Xichen asked meekly.

“No, but you should visit her more often,” Lan Qiren scolded his elder nephew. “You’re the one who insisted on adopting a cat in the first place, but now she lives at my house! Just like the dog, and the fish, and –”

“You said you found the fish peaceful! You built them a pond they could stay in without even asking!”

“That’s not the point.”

“And it’s not my fault Yunyun loves you so much! She purrs whenever you’re around, and cries whenever you’re not!”

“…she does not cry.”

“She meows piteously, shufu. Piteously. Like her heart is breaking. Even Wangji will tell you! She waits by the door, too – it’s as if she thinks no one will feed her if you’re not there.” Lan Xichen thought for a moment. “Zhuzhu does it, too, except he’s more excitable about it.”

Lan Qiren was well aware of how excitable Zhuzhu could be when he was worried about someone leaving. He was starting to suspect the dog had abandonment issues.

“And I’ve seen you petting Yunyun –”

“The point is not that the cat is soft,” Lan Qiren said, endeavoring not to get distracted from what he was saying, even if Yunyun was in fact extremely soft and cloudlike, her warm quietly purring presence in his lap remarkably soothing and helpful to meditation. She got along very well with Zhuzhu, too, and to his pleasure, neither of them bothered the fish – they were exceedingly intelligent animals, clearly superior to others of the same kind. “The point is not that the dog is loyal. The point is that they were supposed to be yours, and now they are mine. This ends here. No more pets.”

Lan Xichen pouted.

“No, Xichen. Do not disrespect your elders.”

“All right, all right, shufu, you’re right, I’ll obey…what am I supposed to do with these songbirds, then?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Qiren said, exasperated. “Give them to Nie Mingjue to take home or something. Maybe someone in the Unclean Realm will appreciate them!”

“Rabbits,” Lan Qiren said, and rubbed his forehead.

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said. He had a mulish expression on his face as if he expected resistance and was firmly committed to fighting through it with every last ounce of strength he possessed.

Lan Qiren was almost tempted to try, but he’d been too indulgent with Lan Xichen to be firm with Lan Wangji now, and he did try to avoid hypocrisy.

“You’re taking care of them,” he warned, and Lan Wangji brightened like the sun. “You can recruit junior disciples to assist you, if you wish, but I’m not getting involved. I had enough of that with Xichen. Is that understood?”

“Yes, shufu. I understand.”

“Good.”

“Should we do something?” some junior disciple whispered to another. “I’d remove them, but…Teacher is finally sleeping, and I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Leave them where they are. We’ll pick them up later.”

Lan Qiren wasn’t actually sleeping, the pricking pain of his still-healing wounds tormenting him too much to manage it. He could have called the junior disciples over to take away the small group of rabbits that had, for whatever ridiculous reason, decided that he was, however big, one of them and decided to nestle themselves by his side for a nap.

Just as they’d done in the terrifying aftermath of the burning of the Cloud Recesses, when Lan Xichen had been missing, Lan Wangji had been taken involuntarily to the Nightless City for indoctrination, and Lan Qiren himself had been trapped in his sickbed, unable to move but still continuing to work without cease, trying desperately to keep his sect together and start salvaging whatever they could. That had been when the rabbits had first come to hide next to him, right alongside the cat and the dog he’d had for what seemed like forever by now, seeking shelter from the storm – shelter he couldn’t provide to his nephews, to his sect, to himself, but which he could provide to these little helpless creatures.

…whatever.

He didn’t really need the junior disciples to take them away. That would only disturb their rest, and his, and anyway it wasn’t like they were bothering anyone. They were surprisingly cute, for rabbits…

Lan Qiren closed his eyes and drifted back into sleep once more.

“Absolutely not,” Lan Wangji declared.

Lan Qiren blinked owlishly up at his nephew, who had come into his rooms rather abruptly and without introducing himself. What’s more, Lan Xichen was there as well, following a step behind him, and most unusually of all, Lan Xichen was smiling – a rarity after the events of the Guanyin Temple, although not completely unheard of now that he had re-exited seclusion and rejoined the sect once more. A smile that broad was especially rare, though, and a pleasure to see, even if Lan Qiren didn’t entirely know what was motivating it.

“Hey, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, raising his hand in a jaunty wave. “There you are! Teacher Lan and I were just going over some musical notation together – I’d been looking for you, but then it turned out Teacher Lan was sorting through some really interesting documents and I offered to help. I must have lost track of time…Were you looking for me?”

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji said to Lan Qiren, rather uncharacteristically ignoring Wei Wuxian. “Shufu, this is unacceptable.”

“What is?” Lan Qiren asked, utterly bemused. He had assigned himself the work of sorting through everything in the forbidden section of the library after what had happened with Jin Guangyao, wanting to make sure there was an index and a record, but also curious to know what other songs might lay in there – it had been the latter that had drawn Wei Wuxian’s attention, of course. No surprise, really, given that Wei Wuxian, although a complete rascal, was an expert of musical cultivation in his own way; they had been having a very productive conversation. It was almost enough to make Lan Qiren think that living with him in the Cloud Recesses wouldn’t be a complete disaster.

Anyway, he’d thought that Lan Wangji always been quite hopeful that his uncle and his husband would start improving their relationship…?

“It was one thing when it was Zhuzhu that you ended up raising on xiongzhang’s behalf,” Lan Wangji said solemnly, and behind him Lan Xichen raised his sleeve to cover his mouth to (unsuccessfully) hide his growing laughter. “Or when it was Yunyun, who likes you best, or the fish, or even my rabbits, which I have always taken care of by myself but which seem to prefer you regardless. But you are not permitted to adopt my husband!”

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan xichen #lan wangji #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #variations

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maxwell-grant · 2 years

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Sooo... The Penguin: One Bad Day?

...Honestly?

Considering the genuinely abysmal precedent set by the prior two One Bad Day stories? I'm just glad this didn't push Penguin absurdly far into complete monster territory. I'm glad it didn't assassinate the character, like the other one that should go unnamed. I wasn't even gonna touch it until you dropped this ask. I kept reading the entire issue waiting for the other shoe to drop with some twist like, oh he's gonna kill all his associates in the end because he doesn't care for them or, oh he's gonna have some awful new detail added to his backstory like they did for Joker's Asylum or Pain and Prejudice but, no.

I did like a fair deal of how it depicted Oswald, I was rather shocked by it. It passes my "I can hear Paul Williams reading this" test and that's pretty damn high praise coming from. I did like spending some time with Penguin at his lowest and how this does the "Oswald claws his way to the top" set-up but without violence being his biggest asset, more so his ability to negotiate and manipulate and even beg his way into assembling just enough of a crew and just enough firepower to scrape by. I kinda liked Tiny Homeless Trash King Penguin as a concept (I figure Spamton fans who are also Penguin fans might get a kick out of this story).

I like that it establishes that Oswald's relation with his henchmen is that he thinks he treats them significantly less shitty ways than he actually does, which still makes him several tiers better than most other Gotham rogues even if not, great, and in the end he will in fact try to make amends. I like that it establishes Oswald's history with being lonely and ostracized as a reason why he treats his goons a little better and why he employs people that would be otherwise discarded, and this is ultimately why he wins (you can argue that this comic represents said people poorly and, you'd be right, but, it's a Batman comic, if you're in too deep in those, at some point you kinda have to settle for the less-abysmal depictions of mental illness / physical deformity / race / gender / etc when given such)

It didn't shy away from showing many of Oswald's character faults, but it also played straight the idea that, overall, he is indeed a better class of criminal and significantly better than your average mobster, if nothing else it also gets major points with me also for the lengths it went to avoid the misogynistic Penguin cliches others default to. It even goes so far as to state that Penguin played a significant hand at both ensuring Gotham's rogues had the tools necessary, as well as secretly kneecapping them so that the game between them and Batman would never escalate too far, to the extent that Penguin thinks of Batman as "a piece in his conglomerate". Honestly? I'm still not sure this is an idea that works, but I don't hate it? In fact it's kind of something I always wanted to see explored, even something I'd toyed with on my personal Batman or superhero-related ideas?

If nothing else, this does go someway towards explaining why Batman tolerates Penguin to the extent he does. Not because Penguin's good at looking legitimate or because he makes for good intel, but because Batman pretty much always has someone or something worse than Penguin to stop, and because wasting time with Penguin inevitably means turning his back on worse problems happening at Gotham (I feel like the Reeves film continuity is kinda heading in this direction as well). And Batman hates it, he hates that Oswald knows this, but this story also points out what happens when Penguin's removed from the picture to be inevitably replaced by some far worse scumbag with no interest in theater or balance. This idea wouldn't work for any other character in Batman's Rogues Gallery, except for Penguin. Granted, this also kinda means that Oswald's purposefully kneecapping himself but, at least it acknowledges this as part of the set-up required to make mob boss Penguin work.

Even the fact that Penguin resolves the battle by going full beast / Returns, I don't mind that much here, it's played for contrast of Penguin spending the entire issue powerless or being played as a gentleman (if a deluded, cutthroat criminal one) for most of the issue. Honestly? I like this as a display of monstrousness way more than "ruins your life for coughing within earshot", I'd have little to complain if Penguin tearing out the throats of mob bosses with his teeth was the lowest he'd be willing to go, in fact I think he should do that more often. I do like some savagery in him.

I mean, yeah, the whole reocurring animal thing, and it culminating with him thanking his former bully for instilling the idea on him that he's just "a little animal", has some whiff of that "the bullies get it right" awfulness from Frank Tieri's one-shot but, it's not going that far. There's some issues in this story and especially from a plotting perspective but, I'm not sure how much I liked this because it was a good Penguin story that utilized the character in an interesting way or even a good story in general, or how much I liked this because it wasn't as aggressively dogshit as I was expecting and how much better it was than so many other modern Penguin stories but, I'm pretty lenient on this, I liked most of it well enough.

I don't know how this relates to the current continuity that I'm not reading, and I don't care either, but between this, what little I've seen of other recent Penguin moments and the upcoming show, I'm feeling pretty good. It's kinda seeming like the character's getting some of his groove back. I'm pleasantly happy with it.

#replies tag #dc comics #dc #batman #the penguin #penguin #oswald cobblepot #comic books #honestly I've kinda given up on most superhero comics in general #unless they're written by someone I really like #or I get recommended to check them out #I'd rather just sit by and let others inform me of the dumpster fires #but thank you for pushing me to read this so I could reply to you #about-faces I am so so sorry that they did this to you #what an awful thing that was

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roninkairi · 10 months

Text

And Now, for Pride Month, A Story I Have Always Wanted To Tell But Never Had The Time To Do So Until Today. And There Is A Toaster At The End.

She laid back on the plush red chaise longue sofa with a sigh. The situation she was in was something someone of her intelligence was not used to, but she was going through a bit of a identity crisis and right now, Velma could use all the help she could get.

Velma Dinkley, youngest member of the 5-member team known as Mystery Inc (Or the Scooby Gang for the general public) had a lot of this going for her: she was a highly motivated young woman, excelled in many different fields of study (and surprisingly enough, hockey and pro wrestling), had gained numerous awards in her academic pursuits and had even developed a large following of admirers over the years.

However, there was one thing that was a mystery to many: her love life. Or rather at this point, her lack of one. She had been spotted with many a potential suitor, but she barely showed any interest in anyone beyond a romantic one. She even admitted to one possible man she met that her work with the team had taken precedence over the matters of the heart (he was kinda cute in his own boorish way, she had admitted to herself afterwards).

That all changed one year ago after the latest case.

Velma’s first glimpse of the career criminal known as Coco Diablo (the woman responsible for just about every costumed villain the team had encountered over the years) had set off an immediate chain reaction of emotions that she was not properly ready to comprehend rationally in a coherent sense.

“In other words, as Daphne would probably put on it, I was going gaga for Coco big time!” Velma explained to the therapist she was with this day. “I’m not used to having affection for another person like that…especially another girl! It was just so SUDDEN and I’m still trying to deal with it!”

“There there Velms. It’s perfectly natural to feel anxious about this sort of thing. If you didn’t I’d be worried it was going to be a sign of something WORSE. I mean really bad, like Ivo Shandor level kind of worse.”

The therapist in question was someone that no one ever expected Velma to seek out but for the sake of plot building, we will say this was both done at the behest of Daphne and a certain caped crusader. Sitting in the seat behind Velma, holding a notepad was one Dr. Harleen Quinzel, aka Harley Quinn. Despite her most recent crimes and misadventures, she was still a very good psychoanalyst/therapist. Pushing her glasses up, she said to Velma patiently “I’m still surprised Daph and Bats referred you to me though, especially since I thought the Justice League had a good support group. But that was before a certain incident. Maybe they thought this would be good for both of us, hard to tell with them.”

“You think?”

“Believe me, I have gone through odder things. But we’re getting off track. This is about you. How are you adjusting these days since you met Coco?” Harley wanted to know how Velma’s mind was assessing her current situation. Keeping her focused was step one.

“To put it bluntly, it’s been a very taxing time,” Velma sighed. “I’ve found myself thinking a lot about Coco, more so after the case was finished. She’s got this very self-confident vibe going for her, and she knows how to take control of a situation when she needs to. Her deductive skills, proficiency in engineering and advanced mechanics, the way she can describe the molecular components of a basic combustion engine—”

“And her smoking booty.”

“Oh hell yeah her smoking booty—wait I mean her physical attributes---you did that on purpose didn’t you?”

“Totally,” Harley snickered. “Having a physical attraction to her is something you should not be ashamed of, you two are both young and healthy adults. Seriously, I still can’t get over people still calling you all meddling kids. At least two of you are legal drinking age now.”

“Anyway, I do think about her a lot. I kind of hope when she does get out of prison we could have some real quality time together but, well, this is still something I’m trying to navigate. I still can’t believe Daphne was able to catch on faster than me that I’m…well…”

“Still having a bit of a hard time admitting it, huh Velms?”

“Yeah.” Velma sighed.

“It’s ok. You’re here with me now and believe it or not, that is more important than you realize. Not everyone awakens to certain aspects of their psyche and it can come out in different ways. Some people try to distract themselves by throwing themselves head-first into a task. Take me for example. Believe it or not, I had started collecting a shit load of Beanie Babies when I tied to deny having feelings for Denise Whitbourne back in my days of high school.”

“Wait, I thought your first female crush was—”

“No. Technically speaking, Ives was my 3rd. My second was Tall Dark and Amazonian.”

Velma nodded her head. She could not blame her.

“So, accepting that part of yourself is very crucial because if you don’t, it can hurt ya in many ways, trust me. At the worst, you could date someone and try to trick yourself into believing it’s the best thing for you.”

“Yes, I ALMOST did that with Shaggy,” Velma admitted.

“Really? I never really could see you two together, I’ll be honest. If anything, I would have bet you’d try to hook up with Daph at least ONCE.”

“I know, I know,” Velma agreed, rubbing her temple “and while the occasional naughty thought did go through my mind, I don’t think she is my type. Maybe a one-night stand at best, but it would probably get AWKWARD the day after. And then there would be the temptation to resist thinking about her in that one nightgown over and over.”

“Do tell.” Harley smiled, eagerly scribbling. The notes she had for her Daph x Velma fanfic were getting juicier.

“This…just feels natural all of a sudden.” Velma admitted.

“GOOD! Progress. See, all it takes is just one good day.”

“I recognize that but…people…”

“People can suck, I know,” Harley picked up a can of soda and drank from it quickly as she continued “Sexual identities are still a hot button topic no matter what era we are in. There will always be someone who thinks they can speak for everyone and try to make them conform. Those are the kind of people I like punching in the face really, REALLY hard. They’re like, number 5 on my list!”

“You have a list?”

“Oh yeah. I know what you’re thinking and yeah, Bats is on that list. Also, on said list is my loser ex-boyfriend, Nazis, drug dealers, pedos, Amanda Waller, Puritans, Nazis again, Proud Boys, conservative extremists, That Orange Bastard, Nazis because why not and that bitch who works at the local Cinnibuns. SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE DID.” Harley shook her hand in the air at that last part. The sins that woman committed could never be forgiven.

“I’ll make a note not to go to that Cinnibuns. But yeah, people becoming aware of this now is still new to me. Believe it or not I’ve gotten…popular with a lot of ladies. And maybe a few guys.”

“You were ALWAYS popular. Believe me, there are people who like academic types. I’m an academic type, believe it or not.” Harley pointed out.

“But you’re very attractive You can get away with looking hot in a tube top and denim shorts.”

“And you can’t? When was the last time you were in a swimsuit?”

“Uh, last summer at Camp Little Big Moose.”

“Ok. And did a lot of people stare at you in that time?”

“Yeah but…I always thought it was because I was with Daphne.” Velma observed. The wheels were slowly turning in her mind…

“Understandable. But did they stop staring when you weren’t with her?”

“…No, actually they didn’t.”

“Mystery solved.” Harley chirped. “Congrats, you just realized people think you are HOT.”

“I’m surprised it took me that long to address that revelation,” Velma said in amazement.

“See, progress! Now we can take that important next step. And you gotta vocalize it. It’s best to get it all out.”

“Do…do I have to?” Velma was beet red. It was quite cute, Harley thought.

“Yup! This session can’t go on to the next step until we pass that hurdle.” Getting up, Harley grasped one of Velma’s hands and said in a very assuring tone “Now take a deep breath there Velma…and say to me what you need to say.”

She gulped. She was even more afraid than the time the gang took on Mamba Wamba and Mano Tiki Tia at the same time in Samoa (oh you just HAD to be there for that one, really man, it was NUTS!!!). But she needed to get it out there.

“Come on, you got this…”

One deep sigh later…

“My name is Velma Dinkley…and I…really…REALLY…LIKE WOMEN.”

“Well, I was hoping you say ‘I’m a lesbian’, but what the hell, YOU DID IT!” Harley gave her the thumbs up and handed her a toaster as she sat up.

“Why a toaster?”

“Its an Ellen gag. Trust me, someone somewhere knows the meaning behind this. Now that we got that out of the way, we need to get you out on the field. There’s a girl I think you should spend some time with. Her name is Marcie Fleach…”

#fanfiction #scooby doo #velma dinkley #harley quinn #pride month #pride fanfiction

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