#a medium for nearly any men | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diejager · 4 months

Note

Hi! In your Only Human AU what would happen if TF 141 + König and Horangi go into a something like a “rut”? Or is that possible in this universe? If it is would they ask Y/N for help? If possible can it be in the form of a Drabble🥺?

Rut Cw: rut/heat cycles, mention of sex, possessive behaviour, obsessiveness, mention of knotting, implied smut, tell me if I missed any.

Ruts were odd phenomenons, it reduced hybrids and monsters to desperate and horny men, clinging onto the person they considered their mate for relief and pleasure. Some hybrids had ruts, like canid and felid shifters or shifters in general, a monthly cycle that incapacitated them. Others were luckier, having a few ruts per year, sometimes once every few month or once a year; these could range from a dragon to a harpie or from a percht to a gorgon. There, however, were some exceptions, spectral beings and the undead were without ruts, their body long dead and able to function without it, yet they could impregnate and be impregnated as any other hybrid and monster could. They suffered from bouts of occasional arousal, little flares of pleasure when faced with a situation that turned them on or by strong emotions towards someone or something.

You were unfortunately enough to be thrown into a group of rutting hybrids - with the sole exception of Ghost - unprepared and without a forewarning on how to deal with them. You had to deal with a clingy werewolf, howling at the moon and whining in utter heartbreak because you told him off for humping your leg in the rec room, huffing and gasping down your neck. A hissing and possessive tiger, stalking you down the halls and jumping you whenever you were alone to ravage you against the wall, mouthing and nipping at your neck, making sure his scent would stick over the wolf and nagual musk. And a protective nagual, looming over you like a shadow, arm slung around your shoulder and ready to start a fight with the other shifters if they tried masking his scent.

Luckily, their ruts never overlapped, it might’ve been a fortunate coincidence, but one that you wouldn’t take for granted. You had a schedule drawn up in the first year after they accepted you into their pack, Soap’s was always after the full moon, the silver disk being the catalyst to his urge; Horangi had his in the later days of each month, oftentimes beginning on the last day of the werewolf’s rut; and Alejandro took the first week of the month, starting slowly on the third or fourth day and ramping up on the following day.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t put in consideration for the others. Price, Gaz and König also had their moments in the yearly cycle, falling victim to the throes of instinctual need. You thanked your lucky star that Gaz rutted once or twice a year - thrice on rare accounts - with little to no change in his character. He might’ve been more hands, wanting to keep a hand around your waist, to give you soft and loving kisses on your lips as much as he did on your cheek, nose and forehead.

Price and König were a handful, one hoarded you to his office and had you follow him wherever he went, and the other was deathly possessive and deep into his instincts. König was on the extreme side of his type, breaking out nearly six to seven times a year, stuck mid shift with broader shoulders, red eyes and a monstrous appearance, and he had half the mind to stay considerate to other. A danger stumbling on two feet. Price was the medium, a perfect balance with three or four ruts yearly and a the self control to let you go if the situation demanded it. Despite his self-control, he was still a dragon, controlling and possessive, ordering you to come straight back to him whether or not you were knotted to Soap or Rudy was balls deep inside of you.

Despite Rudolfo being considered a monster, he was simply a human with the ability to control cadejos, as vulnerable and as resilient as one. And being human meant that he got aroused, coaxing you into his room for the night and taking care of the heat brewing between your legs. Much like Rudy, Ghost retained his bodily function - human wise - and came back as a monster, but he was a stranger to ruts, scoffing at the neediness and vulnerability of one. That, however, never stopped him from indulging in his sexual kinks and dark fetishes, having you as the subject of his exploration if no one else hit their cycles.

They were a handful, from Soap’s mutt-like character to Rudy’s calm demeanour, they had you exhausted, wringing you dry and panting, always ending up face down or backed against the wall. You were grateful - truly - that the others would willingly jump in and take over for you, helping whoever it was spend his rut. Now, you’d have to redraw your calendar, tired and clinging to your bed to stand up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo

2K notes · View notes

kamiversee · 2 months

Text

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 16 || The Tension

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, fluff, heavy sexual tension, teasing, & taunting.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——OKAY, WELL, A LOT COULD GO WRONG. But of course, you're trying to focus on the positives here. As long as you play your cards right and plan things out properly, nothing will go wrong.

However, that does not stop you from worrying about something going wrong.

Worries aside though, Choso is considered to be medium difficulty, right?

Wait... Are Gojo's levels of difficulty even accurate? Mr. Fushiguro was considered hard but when you really think about it, he wasn't all that hard... At least, not after you planned everything out. As far as Geto goes, well, as of right now you could call the man and tell him to come over and fuck you and he'd be there within twenty minutes.

Gojo himself is obviously the most whipped of those you've seduced so far. Though, you didn't realize just how severe it was at the time-- nor did you care to.

As for your current focus, Choso, the only difficulty in seducing him was how you wanted to go about it. Truth be told, you could probably just call the man over one night and seduce him then call it a day.

But... that's not all you want, now is it?

No, you want something more than sex with Choso. Which was expected, you knew this was going to happen. Sure, you tried to avoid catching feelings but how the hell are you supposed to feel about a man who painted you the day he saw you, drops nearly anything to make sure you're okay, and is just...

Fuck, the guy is everything and more.

You could sleep with him at any point in time. It's kinda cocky of you to think such a way but it's true, you can tell by the way Choso looks at you whenever you're around him and even the way he talks to you over the phone. He's not exactly playing coy about lusting for you.

Even so, whenever it is that you decide to sleep with the guy, you need to plan for the after-effects-- whatever that may be.

Is he going to be clingy? Are you going to be clingy? Will Choso be able to understand that you sleeping with him doesn't lead to an immediate relationship? He should be able to, right? He's a grown man...

Okay, if you're being completely honest with yourself here, it is not Choso you're worried about. It's yourself.

Hell, you're so engrossed in your thoughts of how you're going to go about this that you'd forgotten you have the man in your living room right now sitting next to you and comfortably watching a movie.

Shoko's out and you told her you were inviting someone over, sparing her the details of who, to which she told you that the apartment was all yours for the night. And while that's great and all, every time you turn to your right to steal a little glance at Choso, you get nervous for some reason.

You're excited and eager to have sex with the guy but again, the aftereffect is what concerns you. It terrifies you actually because if he wants a relationship, hypothetically speaking, you'd still have three other guys you have to sleep with.

And hell, knowing Gojo, the asshole would probably make the blackmail worse by threatening to expose your previous actions to the guy you like...

Everything is so fucked. No matter how you think about it.

Maybe you should just save Choso for last? Then, you'd be freed of the list and you'd be able to get with him, right? Then again, would that asshole Gojo even allow that? What's stopping him from blackmailing you further? What if he-

The sudden sound of your name being called makes you break away from your deep thoughts. Your head is slow to turn to your right, meeting Choso's curious eyes.

"You okay?" He asks.

You nod but it's an obvious lie.

Choso raises a brow, "You don't look okay..."

"I... I'm fine. I was just thinking about some things," You hum in response before turning to face forward again.

There's a horror movie on the TV that you'd long since forgotten about. The man beside you leans a little closer to you, "Thinking about what?"

You merely glance at him from out the corner of your eye, "Nothing important."

"Mmh... With the way you suddenly went all quiet on me fifteen minutes ago, it seems pretty important." Choso comments.

Okay, he may have a point there. The two of you were talking about the movie you were watching and at some point, your mind just drifted and you got quiet as the movie continued. Damn him for noticing though, you thought you played it off well.

And to make it worse, of course Choso moves to pause the movie. He then shifts so that his focus is completely on you; sliding a little closer to you and moving to rest an arm behind you along the back of the couch. When you turn your head to look at him, you chuckle at how all his attention is on you.

He probably doesn't realize how cute he looks right now, having gotten all close to you just to hear you talk about whatever's on your mind.

"C'mon, what's on your mind princess?" Choso asks, his voice gentle.

Your heart feels so weird in your chest at the sound of that nickname, a slight smile spreading across your face at the name alone. Your eyes meet his, despite the lack of personal space between the two of you, "I told you, nothing important."

Choso tilts his head, "Okay, tell me anyway."

"Why?" You ask, your brows pinching together.

He shrugs, "Cause' I came over to hang out with you but you're sitting here distracted..."

Another chuckle leaves you, "I was just thinking about school and uh, this project I have coming up."

"Uhuh..." He nods, "Is the project hard?"

"Yeah. Uhm, it's a group project and there's roughly... five of us in the group including me," You begin to explain. It's all a lie but you're going to make an analogy based on your current situation to see if you can get some kind of advice, "I've never worked with three of the people in my group so I'm kinda worried about that..."

Choso is all too intrigued with your words, seeming as though he's hanging off every syllable that leaves your lips. "Mhm..." He hums, awaiting your continuation.

You have to look away from him due to his intense focus, "Then there's this one person in the group. I've worked with them before and I'd like to say I'm pretty good friends with them but, the project we're going to be working on is something I know they won't agree with."

"Why?" He scoffs, "What kinda project is it?"

"A complicated one." You sigh, "I'd explain it but that's like an entirely different conversation so-"

"I mean, I'm not going anywhere." Choso hums.

Again, there's this little feeling in your heart that you try to ignore. "Yeah, I know but the project itself isn't what I'm worried about, it's the people."

He nods, "Alright, go on."

"Like I said, there's this one person in my group that I know better than anyone else in the group. I think I'm..." Your brows push together as you try to figure out how to word things correctly, "I'm worried about what'll happen after the project. I wanna be friends with this person but I feel like the project will change how they see me or something and when it's all over..." You steadily turn and look at Choso, "They'll want nothing to do with me anymore."

The man blinks. It's clear that what you've just explained is bothering you but the way you're looking at him throws him off for a second. His brain had frozen for just a second as he looked into your eyes.

There was no intimacy in the eye contact you both held with each other and yet Choso couldn't help this alluring feeling you gave off.

After a few seconds of staring, he clears his throat, "So like, do you have a crush on this person or something?"

Technically speaking, yes since the person from your analogy represents Choso but you can't tell him that or he'll think you have feelings for someone and won't want to do anything sexual with you in respect for those feelings.

"Uh, more like a friend crush?" You say meekly with a little shrug.

He nods in understanding, "Ohh, I get those sometimes."

"Yeah, I'm not romantically interested in this person," You definitely are, "But I don't want the friendship I have with them to change after the project is over."

"Right, well even though I don't know what this project of yours is, I'm pretty sure nothing will change," Choso says.

You scoff, "What makes you think that?"

"Cause' it's you we're talking about," He comments simply.

There goes that throb in your chest. "What do you mean by that?" You ask.

"I don't think anyone would want to cut ties with you over some project." Choso clarifies, "I can't speak for this person you're talking about but, I'm sure they know you're too great of a person to cut off over something so small."

You swallow and look away from the man again, "It's not something so small though. It's something that... makes people change the way they look at you, y'know, think about you differently."

"Okay? So?" Choso questions nonchalantly.

You turn to him again, "What do you mean so?"

Choso's still staring at you intently, "What version of you would someone not like?"

The way he words his question only furthers that little feeling in your chest. It's almost as though he were implying that any and all versions of you would be acceptable in his eyes.

"H-Huh?" You breathe out.

"Do you really think someone's going to cut you off just because your views or opinions are different than theirs?" Choso clarifies.

"Uh, yes." You say seriously, trying to calm yourself from those flustered emotions, "A-And it's not just views and opinions, it's actions too."

"What kinda actions?" He quires, the conversations suddenly growing more and more pressing.

"Actions that aren't always considered morally right."

He scoffs, "Like what?? What are we talking about here; Assault? Arson? Robbery? Murder? Theft? I'm confused." Choso blurts out, his voice passionate.

"N-No, none of those things but..." Your gaze wanders back and forth between his left and right eye as you try to come up with a way of wording this without literally telling him everything, "Fuck, I don't know how to explain it."

"You could just tell me what the project itself is." He suggests with a shrug.

Your brain is quick to come up with a slight relation, "It's a social project a-and the things that each of us have to do, especially me as the uh... group leader, they'd make someone see me differently."

Choso rolls his eyes slightly, still feeling confused as to what you could possibly do to make someone view you differently. In the heat of the moment, the man finds his words slipping out faster than he thinks about them, "Baby, unless you're going out here harming people in the name of research, I'm pretty sure no one is going to look at you differently-"

"What if I'm harming people's emotions?" You cut off, not even catching what he just called you.

His brows raise in concern, "Are you?"

"I might be." You scoff.

"I still don't understand." Choso sighs, "What could you possibly be doing that-"

"And wait," What he previously said suddenly clicks, "D-Did you just call me baby?"

"Uh..." Choso looks off to the side for a second as he too realizes what he said. After which he returns his eyes to you and notices the way the name made you slightly flustered, "Okay, yes, I did. But that's not the point here, love."

"S-Stop that." You stammer, turning away from him in embarrassment.

The pet names are throwing you all the way off and you can't even focus on the analogy you were trying to give him nor can you look him in the eyes when he calls you those names.

Choso bites his lower lip at your reaction, finding it cute, "Stop what, princess?"

"That." You emphasize.

"I'm not doing anything, am I?" He responds, his tone innocent.

"Yeah, you are." Your eyes are everywhere except on his, "You keep calling me those pet names and it's distracting..."

"I'm sorry baby." Choso apologizes purposefully.

Your heart skips a beat and you feel heat rush to your face. In reaction, you turn your head away from him, "Fuck, Choso stop."

"Why? Am I..." The man leans closer to you and his voice is low and near your ear, "Am I making you nervous, pretty girl?"

"That amongst other things..." You whisper.

Choso chuckles, "Look at me,"

"I can't now." You mumble. Your nerves are all over the damn place and your heart is pounding like crazy.

"Why?"

"C-Cause' of you, silly." You tell him.

"I didn't do anything," Choso says, "C'mon, we need to get back to our conversation anyways."

"I can't even focus on that now, forget it."

You hear him laugh at you, "You can't focus now?"

"No, no I can't."

"Aww, fuck, that's cute." Choso comments, his voice suddenly low.

You turn your head slightly, only so that you can look at him from the corner of your eye. When you notice he's smirking at you, you raise your hand to his face and playfully push him away.

Choso laughs again from beneath your palm and moves to grab a light hold of your wrist, forcing your hand to stay in place over his face. "You can't focus, huh?" He hums.

You finally turn and look at him, only able to see parts of his face through your fingers, "N-No. And why are you keeping my hand on your face?" You ask as you try to pull yourself away.

Choso's light hold on your wrist grows tighter and he shifts your hand around so that you can see his full face. The man then presses his lips to your palm and carefully kisses your hand, his eyes on yours as he does so.

Was that all it took for the man to have you aroused? Well, with that and all the pet names, yes.

"Did you just..." You blink, "Did you just kiss my hand?"

"Mhm," Choso hums against you before moving to plant another kiss, his eyes trailing down to what he's doing, "...s'that okay?" He mumbles into you.

"I..." You trail off as you watch him plant slow and tender kisses into your hand.

He continues for a little while, nearly losing himself in his simple act before his gaze flicks back up to you. The way your eyes are all widened and you're so clearly flustered has to be the cutest reaction he's ever gotten from you.

Choso slowly pulls away from your hand, still holding your wrist lightly, "Cat got your tongue, princess?"

Yes, actually. You forgot how to speak for a few seconds. "Uh..."

The man decides to give you a second to breathe, releasing your wrist and sliding back away from you a bit, "Sorry," Choso apologizes, "I don't even know why I did that..." He mumbles, looking away from you.

Did you just get him flustered because you were flustered? Holy hell that's the cutest thing in the world. He doesn't even know how to keep teasing you up to a certain point.

"No, it was fine," You finally manage to say.

He just barely looks at you, "Was it?"

"Mhm..." You hum.

Choso then takes his eyes away from you and turns his head slightly, allowing you a moment to see how red his ears are. He was blushing...

Then, he clears his throat, "Uh, a-about that project of yours-"

"Choso," You cut off, causing his voice to get caught in the middle of his throat.

"Hm?" He hums.

You tilt your head and shift on the couch slightly, inching toward him, "Are you... Are you blushing right now?"

The man turns his head all the way away from yours, keeping his face away from your line of vision, "Why would I be blushing...?"

You chuckle, "I dunno, you tell me."

"I'm not." He says, "C-Can we just go back to talking about your project...? I should've never started teasing you."

"Why? I like being teased by you," You blurt out.

Those simple words of yours make his cock unexpectedly twitch inside his pants. Choso clears his throat again, "Don't word it like that."

"Word it like what?" You hum innocently, "And why aren't you looking at me?"

He heaves out a sigh and carefully turns his head to you, almost in slow motion. Choso's face is hued in pink and you can see the flustered shade of red decorating his cheeks. His eyes go wide at how close you are to him, having crawled slightly across the couch to him.

Choso swallows, hard. "There, I'm looking at you. Happy now?"

"Very." You say simply, tilting your head again, "And you lied, you are blushing."

"No... It's just hot in here." He lies.

You scoff, "No it's not."

"Okay well, I'm hot."

"Take your jacket off then," You suggest.

He chuckles, "Right..."

You then watch as he moves to take his jacket off, neatly folding it afterward and pacing it down on the space beside him. After which, when he turns back to you, he sees that you're facing him completely, sitting on your heels with this sudden look in your eyes.

Choso blinks, "So uh, back to your project?"

You shake your head at him, "What if I don't wanna talk about that anymore...?"

"What uh, what do you want to talk about then?" He asks wearily, he then tears his gaze away from you, "A-And why do you keep looking at me like that?"

A light scoff leaves you, "Like what?"

"I dunno, like..." Choso glances at you one more time, "Fuck," He whispers to himself.

You weren't aware but you were giving the man bedroom eyes and since your eyes are the feature Choso loves paying attention to, it doesn't take him anything more than a glance to acknowledge what that look of yours is.

One of his hands rises to his face and he wipes it off as if that'll cleanse him of the sudden thoughts he's having.

"Like what, Choso?" You question again, "Cat got your tongue now?"

He turns his head to you, trying to look anywhere except for your eyes. That only worsens his situation though because of course looking at your lips doesn't make it any better. Gazing at your torso, which is hardly covered up with the tank top you're wearing, only leads him to stare at your tits.

Choso results in shooting his sights up to your ceiling and groans at himself, "Now I can't focus."

Your brows furrow, "Are you okay?" You ask, chuckling slightly at the man in front of you.

He shakes his head, "No."

"What's wrong?"

"You," Choso says seriously.

"Eh? Me??" You blink.

He makes this little gesture with his hand in the air toward his head as if to say he's going crazy, "I can't even have a regular conversation with you without thinking like this."

"Like what?" You ask teasingly.

The man sinks into the couch a little, resting his head back comfortably as he keeps his gaze directed upwards, "You're asking too many questions."

You giggle, "Am I?"

"Mhm."

"I mean, I'm just curious..." You say coyly, shrugging a little, "After all, you had me explain what was on my mind so, isn't it your turn now?"

"You didn't even finish explaining." Choso points out.

"And who's fault is that?"

He scoffs, "Whatever."

"C'mon Choso, tell me what's on your mind." You urge, moving to poke his arm slightly.

"Mmmmmh," He hums in thought, smiling to himself ever so slightly, "You might not like it."

"Unless you're thinking about robbing me, I think it'll be fine." You joke.

"I dunno, my thoughts are..." He trails off for a second before sighing. "Lewd."

You bat your eyelashes at him, "Lewd?"

"Mhm, very lewd."

"Well, now I'm really curious." Excitement is clear in your tone.

Choso finds how intrigued you are cute and he hopes his words will throw you off again, "Stay curious, baby."

You pause. Then you click your tongue, "That's not gonna distract me this time." You hum, almost seductively. You then move to sit closer to him, "Share those lewd thoughts of yours with me."

He shakes his head, "No."

You whine, "C'mon, don't make me beg for it."

"Maybe I want you to."

"Yeah?" You utter, your tone is completely sultry now but you don't care. "How do you want me to beg, hm?"

"Fuck," Choso whispers under his breath. He again turns his head away from you and you just barely hear him speak, "I can't take this..."

"Can't take what?"

"You." He clarifies.

You chuckle, "Can't take me? I'm not doing anything?"

"Yes, you are."

"What am I doing??"

Choso is slow to finally turn his head and look at you. His eyes are all low, lower than normal, lust swirling within his gaze. You don't miss the way he glances down at your lips, shamelessly staring at the way you're smiling at him.

"You're teasing me," Choso voices out, his tone low.

You inch a bit closer to him, "Am I?"

"Yeah, you are."

"Should I stop?"

"Depends." He hums.

Your smirk is constant, "On?"

He pauses for just a second. Whatever this back-and-forth banter the two of you have going on is, he likes it. "Where you want this conversation to go," Choso responds.

You raise a brow, "What if I don't want it to be a conversation anymore?"

"What do you want it to be then, princess?"

"Maybe actions." You tell him suggestively.

"Actions..." He repeats, "What kinda actions?"

You and Choso both pause, staring at one another. His eyes are on your lips and your eyes are on his. The tension in the air is palpable. There's so much sexual tension between you two that you're practically undressing one another through looks alone.

The way Choso licks his lips slowly as he awaits your next snarky response doesn't go unnoticed. He's got a comeback for anything and everything you say to him, ready to keep whatever the two of you are doing going until the other can't come up with something to say or until it leads to something else.

Choso leans in closer to you, his face nearing yours carefully, "Tell me, what kinda actions are you suggesting here?"

You let out a breathy laugh, "Take a guess."

"Nono, I want you to tell me." Choso says clearly, "You can do that, right?"

"You want me to explain to you what I'm suggesting...?"

"Mhm, I wanna hear you say it."

"So you know what I'm implying, you just me to admit it out loud?" You question further, clearly avoiding what he wants.

The male whispers to you, "Such a smart girl. That's exactly what I want you to do."

"Choso," You whisper in response.

"Hm?" He hums.

You stare at him again, refusing to say anything to the man until he looks into your eyes again. It's slow the way he drags his gaze upward along your face before he meets yours.

"...I want you to touch me," You finally answer, keeping your words as vague as possible.

Obviously, you want him to do more than just touch you but dragging it out like this is way more fun.

The corner of Choso's lips twitch and he smirks, "Yeah?"

"Mhm..." You hum innocently.

He raises a brow, the eye contact continuous, "Touch you how?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I want you to explore me."

Choso freezes and he swears his cock is throbbing right now with how unbelievably hard it is. The man swallows, "Explore you?"

"Yes, Choso." You sigh.

He flashes you a lustful smile and finally lifts his head from the couch, moving toward you. Choso's hand goes to your chin and he gently pulls you toward himself. You're quick to follow his touch, your heart at a steady beat within your chest despite how nervous you are.

His head tips to the side and he brings his lips just barely over your own, his breath tickling you as he speaks lowly, "I'm gonna explore your mouth first, s'that okay?"

You try to stop yourself from smiling, "Yeah..."

Choso slides his thumb up from your chin to your bottom lip and pulls it down slightly, "You sure?"

"Choso if you keep teasing me like this, I'm gonna lose it-- just kiss me already." You huff out.

He just couldn't help himself, not with how needy you looked right now or with how tense you were because of his one little touch. The two of you are sharing breaths at this point and it's so slow how his thumb moves and his lips press into yours.

You're quick to push into him and move your lips over his, to which he smiles slightly at how eager you are. The feeling of one of his hands going to your waist makes your breath hitch as you kiss him and you even pull away from him slightly, to which he pushes right back in aggressively.

Your arms carefully move to wrap around his neck as Choso turns his body more. Then, after growing frustrated with the awkward position, Choso simply shifts to pull you on top of him. You don't fully sit down, too engrossed in your slow make-out session to do so.

The man then clasps your bottom lip in between his teeth and pries your mouth open, pushing his tongue in. Fuck, that action made you hum against him and you get straight chills down your spine when his tongue swipes over yours.

An abrupt feeling of a smooth metal ball is felt and you pull away slightly, "Hah, w-wait, Choso..."

He's smiling at you mischievously. "You didn't know?"

You swallow hard as you shake your head and watch the man.

Choso carefully sticks his tongue out for you, revealing a piercing you weren't expecting him to have nor did you ever notice it.

Of course. Of course Choso Kamo has a damn tongue piercing. He tilts his head and his hands latch onto your waist firmly, tugging you closer to him and causing your chest to be flush with his, "Does it bother you?" He whispers.

"What, no." You reply quickly.

He moves to kiss you again, planting one little peck against you before whispering, "Then... Actually, has anyone ever..." He trails off a bit, his face reddening all over again.

You tilt your head, "Has anyone ever, what?"

"Has anyone with a piercing ever given you head?" Choso finally gets out.

You swallow deeply, your arousal thrumming through your body as you look at the man before you. Slowly, you grin at him, "No..."

Choso takes a deep breath and you can feel a throb in between your legs as he finally asks his next question, "Can I change that?"

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ☐

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

??? NAOYA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

621 notes · View notes

i-am-hungry-24-7 · 1 month

Note

Since you open ask box and request, can I get TF141 men (or Ghost and Gaz if you don't feel like to write all of them) reacting to cool, rarely smile, intimidating and stoic reader finally smiling for the first time. Let's say reader has soft spot for certain things (cat, dog, book, flower etc) and they immediately smile when they see them without realize it. Boys just keep falling harder for reader and decide to make it their mission to make reader smiles more often.

I guess that's all for now. Thank you

🦈

hello🦈 anon!! Sorry I wasn't sure you want me to write them separately or together, so I chose the latter lmao. Hope you will like it (or don't hate it), TYSM for the request :) I love this request so much since I'm always a fan of cool reader. tf141*GN!Reader, Reader's kinda tsundere word count: 1.9k

Every member of Task Force 141 saw you as a capable teammate, you went through thick and thin with them, and always have their back. On the field, your shooting accuracy and excellent combat skills saved you and the team many times, quickly clearing any threat so the mission wouldn’t be compromised. You have rarely been scolded by Price, and always dealt with your paperwork impeccably. The only problem was that you’re too stoic, they never saw you smile from the first day you joined the task force. More like a robot than a human, this is how others evaluated you, and you had an aura that made recruits afraid to speak to you.

You even smiled less than Ghost, at least the man still got some dry humor and bad jokes to spit out, but you rarely reacted to greetings except a nod, less to say about Soap and Gaz joking with you, they were lucky if you spared them a crook of your eyebrows to their teasing that day. but this only made your teammates curious —especially Soap — eager to know the person under the facade, even if it was just a little. Soap wrote down what he discovered from you every day in his journal, from how you always have your tea, to trivial habits like you would frown nearly imperceptibly when you see the cafeteria is out of your favorite sandwich. Soap would tell other men about what he finds about you today, and they would keep those details in mind too. Until the day, Laswell brought a big cake which she was gifted by others but she was unable to finish it herself. They saw your eyes brighten instantly, and an expectant smile blooms on your face. Your eyes stuck on the exquisite big cake in front of you, not aware of Gaz gaping at your smile like he saw the sun rise from the west today, how Price immediately stopped his hand while smoking his cigar so he could take a good look, even Ghost’s eyes were wide like full moon behind his mask. It wasn't until Soap’s yelp that dragged you out of your trance, and you turned around just to find all your teammates staring at you like you were an alien. “Any issues, MacTavish?” Confused, you asked Soap who made you stop staring at the cake. “You- You can smile?” “Did I?” “Well, let’s finish this quickly so it won’t left over to tomorrow” Price raised his hand to interrupt the talk before Soap could say other things “The fridge has no place to put this bloody huge cake.” After Price’s command, all of you walked and took a plate and fork. Price sliced a medium size for him, Ghost did the same. Soap took the knife and sliced a slightly bigger one for him and Gaz, but when he was about to cut one for you, you reached out your hand to beckon a “give me” gesture, which Soap obliged and handed over the handle to you. Only for him to see you slice 1/3 of that damn enormous cake and put it on your plate. “Wha- ye sure ye can eat all of ‘em ?!” His jaw dropped at the huge slice of cake that made the center of your paper plate sink, but only received an “huh” face from you. Well, his concern was unneeded, because you devoured the whole thing in 5 minutes, faster than everyone else, and stood up to cut another piece. “you really like cake ain’t you.” Gaz chuckled at the scene where you almost bury your face in the plate. “No.” “Then why are you smiling like a kid who sees their favorite toy?” Frowning, you touched your cheek to check, and oh shit, you truly were. “I-“ your face changed from :D to :| while you tried to find an excuse “It’s just Captain said that don’t leave the cake overnight, so I’m eating this much, not that I love cake.”

Even though your poor excuse, all of them knew their new goal now: bringing you cakes so they could see the pretty smile enthralled them. The first who brought you cake is Ghost, he saw a strawberry shortcake on his way back to the base, he didn’t think twice before he told the staff to wrap the cake for him. and he was sure his decision was right when he showed it to you, and you two sat in the common area. He drank the tea you made for him as appreciation while watching that pretty smile reappear on your face again. “Look who said they don’t love cakes, and eatin’ like a man who haven’t eaten in days now.” He lifted his mask to his nose to drink the tea, so when you shot him a glare, you could see the smirk spreading on his lips. “You bought it and I don’t want to waste it, that’s it.” you stabbed the fork on the cake. Ghost huffed out a laugh at your answer, but when you went back to swallow a full spoon of whipped cream, he took note in his mind to buy you the chocolate mousse he saw at the store next time, so the precious expression.

Gaz bought you an Earl Grey mille crepe cake a few days after, which was the flavor of your favorite tea. “It’s it good?” He gave you a toothly grin that you thought was too dazzling when the “not bad” slipped out your lips whilst you were busy finishing the cake. He sat beside you and ate the slice you cut for him, and he rambled about what happened today to entertain you. You pretended you were not interested, eyes never left the cake, but you memorized everything he said clearly.

Of course, Soap wouldn’t forget to dig into this breakthrough of yours. A big ‘they love CAKES!’ was written in his journal, with 2 circles highlighting the words. He considered you have eaten crepe cake and shortcake from Ghost and Gaz, so he got you a basque cheesecake. “What is this?” You tilted your head when you opened the take-out box. “basque cheesecake. Heard it from the medics.” Soap watched you attentively take a little bite at the cake, and he laughed when your face beamed up in a second. “Not bad?” He knew you just refused to admit you love cakes. You answered with your cheeks stuffed with cheesecake. “NAOW BAA” After he waved goodbye to you, he came back to his barrack, he opened his journal. a big ‘Basque cheesecake ✔️’ had been added under the circles.

The captain hadn’t let the chances to see your face gleam with happiness slip by too. As usual, you came to his office with a flawless report, and for some debrief about the next mission. When it was over and you were about to leave, he called your name to stop you from exiting. “Is there anything I forgot to tell you, Captain?” Your face was serious, without any improper or unprofessional, but it didn’t last long because Price took out a fresh cream Swiss roll. “You’re going to drool all over your shirt, sergeant.” He teased and received a little scowl from you, but the harmless scowl was unable to stop him from fixating on and mesmerized by the satisfied grin that lingered on your face when you made both of you some tea and started consuming the whole roll.

You got pampered by all 4 men of your team for months. Thanks to the high amount of exercise, you didn’t gain belly fat, and getting lots of cakes from them had you started gifting them things too. You got Ghost some nice whiskey when you came back from leave, which he gladly accepted and invited you to drink together. You gave Soap some snacks from your hometown and stationeries for journaling, and almost get squished into a dough by his tight embrace. Gaz got some game cards from you, and when he surprisingly asked you why you knew he wanted those games for a while, you just shrugged and walked away, there was no chance that you were gonna tell him you had been listening to him and Soap chatting about them. Price entered his office one day morning, and saw his box of favorite cigars and tea being placed on his desk. He realized it was you in the blink of an eye, only you would choose to secretly put gifts and refuse to leave a note indicating who you were. He just patted your head and thanked you when he met you in the training room.

Times flew fast when your life was occupied with missions and training (and cakes). Tonight you went out for a while to buy something for your teammates, since they still insisted on feeding you cakes frequently, recompensing them with gifts they loved had become your habit too. but when you searched from the common room to Price’s office, you couldn’t find any of them. Odd, you thought, you hadn’t heard them leaving the base too, you even searched each of their room, which still lacked their figures. Furrowing your brows, you decided to go back to your room, maybe you could give them tomorrow. What you didn’t expect was when you opened the door of your room, you were welcomed by Soap and Gaz’s exciting voice. “Happy birthday!” “Jesus… I was searching for all of you…” Your eyes rounded “Wait… It’s my birthday today?” “Don’t tell me ye didn’ remember!” Soap, who standing closest to you and with a birthday cake, shoved you playfully with his elbow. “I…” You glanced at the calendar hanging on your wall, unable to form words when you realized it really was your birthday today. “Come take a seat, love.” Price’s words help you fill the silence. You slowly closed the door behind you, and your gaze traveled from the elegant cake, the flames dancing on the candle, to your teammates — the people you trusted with your life. “A cake makes you stupid, sergeant?” You heard Ghost chuckle at your reaction, but you didn’t glower at him this time, because you felt tears welled up in your eyes, uncontrollably. “Oh no, lovie’s going ta cry!” Gaz joked at you while he led you to your seat. You blinked away tears before they could escape, and smack at Gaz’s bicep. “Shut up, Garrick.” The laughs and jokes filled your little room with joy, you sat there listening to Gaz and Soap banter with Ghost about how he was so selective about the cake so they could give you the best one, and as Ghost retorted back, a plate was handed to you. The biggest slice among others, full of whipped cream and fruits decorating it. You picked up the fork and started eating, the sweetness spread inside your mouth, with the fruit neutralizing it and taking the taste to a whole other level. “Ye always smile when ye eatin’ cakes, you know? really like cakes don’t ye?” You raised your head from the plate, and finding everyone looking at you, with such softness you questioned yourself if you were able to reciprocate, and you touched your cheeks, you could feel the corner of your lips curling upwards. but this time, you deepened your grin, warm and fascinating, before you picked up your fork again. “Maybe I do.”

240 notes · View notes

writingoddess1125 · 6 months

Note

loving reading Buggy's saga with his children, but I confess that I felt sorry for his balls being crushed in the last post😭

please help our dear Buggy recover from this illness 🥹

Of course sweety! 🍭 we shall cure the Muggy Buggy Balls!

Fever pt. 1

Buggy x FemReader + Buggy Twins

Old Men Series Masterlist

Wanna buy me some cup noodles? 🍜

After what was deemed the Nutcracker Arc, Buggy had been down a bit- He had wanted to have more children with you eventually but after the doctor saw the damage from the wooden sword and apparently damage from a previous incident that Buggy still refused to tell you about- The doctor essentially said his nuts were done for.

"I wanted daughters so bad..." He groaned into the pillows, still in his pouting faze as you sat next to him rubbing his back. It had been 2 weeks since Dee had taken the wooden sword to poor Buggys balls.

"I know honey.." You say softly, trying to comfort the man. Truthfully you had seen the damage and had a fairly confident feeling he was done with any baby making- Buggy was knife proof but not blunt force trauma.

"Hey it won't be that bad Buggy, You have two beautiful sons who will carry your legacy and besides we are heading to the island for the rest of our '60 day' vacation" You say softly, at this point the 60 days were no better then a joke- it had already been well over a month on the ship and with Buggy, you two just used the '60 days' as a way to tease one another over how silly it was. And an excuse for a vacation.

Buggy looked up st you, his makeup smeared on his face and he sighed in defeat. Nodding in agreement at this point.

"Yeah Yeah- Two destructive boys with devil fruit powers on an island unsupervised, What can do wrong" He said as he leaned his head against you his arm wrapping around your waist.

"Why would they be unsupervised?" You question with a raised brow, Buggy looking at you with a crooked grin.

"Well we will be busy of course" He says in a flirtatious manner- You playfully shoving his face away while blushing making both of you laugh.

"Land Ho!" A loud voice sounded through the ship, Snapping both of you from your thoughts as you your giggles.

Buggy getting up and offering a hand to you with a smile.

"Ready?" He asked, you could t help but feel your heart flutter at this. Grabbing his gloved hand and nodding, heading upstairs you saw the coming shores of land.

"Look!" Dee yelled from the crows nest, that being were he preferred to stay it seemed- Bee jumping around on deck like the hyperactive child he was.

There was a lush island that was filled with beautiful forest and a small village nestled there. It didn't take long for you all to dock at the island- Buggy happily escorting you and the boys through it.

The island he had picked was absolutely lovely, it was like a strip of paradise tucked nearly in the corner of the East Blue, a small village on the north side of the island and on the southern side was were Buggy had claimed for himself. It seemed Buggy was well Acquainted with the place as well since the locals were familiar with the crew and held no real fear of Buggy either.

"Wow! It's so big!-" Bee cheered loudly at seeing the Island, Dee nodding in agreement as they looked at the village.

"Hehe that's what your mo-" "Medium" You deadpanned, immediately taking the wind from Buggy's sails as he pouted at you taking his joke away.

"Here" Buggy said reaching in his pockets, handing the twins some change and telling them to explore the island and giving them the key to the Inn room they were in.

"This island is you're to explore, Just don't be stupid and go into the water" He said with a grin, the Twins smiling in delight at this before rushing off with their new found freedom.

"Buggy are you sure?-" You question as you watched them run away cackling like little demons.

"This place is totally safe- Besides I'm sure they are just gonna raid the candy shop anyway" You couldn't disagree with his decision and nodded.

Buggy excitedly lead you to the inn you all would be staying in while the details to the cabin was set in. It was a small tradional inn and had a hot spring attached, truthfully you thought it was quite adorable but beautiful non the less. Taking a seat on the massive futon bed you smiled at your Partner.

"I gotta admit, you did a really good job Buggy" You say earning a wide smile from the Clown Pirate.

Buggy was clearly proud of his choices, the praises from you and boys definitely fanning his ego. Especially since you didn't disagree with him that this was a terrific spot or that the inn was quite beautiful.

"I'm going to check how long till the cabin is complete-" He said with a grin kissing your lips before leaving.

The boys were out exploring the island, Buggy was checking on the cabin. You had the room to yourself? Oh how the stars aligned- jumping up you quickly grab a bottle of wine and open the back sliding door to see the amazing hot spring in the back. This was heaven-

Buggy returned after an hour, having picked up some dinner for the two of you to try and have a date night in- He knew he was still new to the whole romance thing but he was trying, aka using books to figure out.

"Hey (Y/N) yhe Cabin will be completed in a few days" Buggy said calmly, walking into the room expected you there- But was met with silence, raising a brow he walked in the room fully and opened the back sliding door that lead to the private hotspring.

That's when his world froze- There you were standing in the hotspring, it looks like you were grabbing a cool rag for yourself and just bend in the perfect angle to see everything.

You turned quickly hearing the noise of the door opening and saw Buggy there with his eyes as wide as saucers and clearly very pleased to see you. Not even having to say anything you turn and face him fully.

When the house was finished you and your small family all moved in. Buggy talking about this would be a safe house for you and kids anytime after the '60 days' or if you wished to just move here and he would return regularly.

Blushing as you stood in the hot water, Buggy catching the look in your eyes starting to strip and sliding into the water after you. His eyes never leaving yours as he closed the space between you two in moments- his hands wrapping around your waist quickly as you two smiled at each other.

It seemed Buggy was right, you and him would be busy.

Truthfully it was pure domestic bliss.

And it was this way- For a little over a month till one morning. You woke up and everything just seemed terrible, The bed made your back hurt, the lights were too bright, the twins already up and too loud.

You heard Buggy trying to talk to you excitedly but his voice was muffled and difficult to understand. Truthfully you didn't even remember making it to the kitchen and making yourself a cup of tea-

It was like you blinked and you were there, the boys chattering loudly as Buggy tried to get them to sit the fuck down as well as telling you something you didn't understand. You felt a hand finally touch your head, seeing Buggy in a different shirt and the twins gone... how long had you dozed off for?

"You look flushed-" Buggy muttered, his eyebrows crunching up as he got way too close to your face. You didn't know why but his face seemed to irritate you, or was it the smell of the apple shampoo? Or possibly-

"BLECH!" You vomited, right on the front of Buggys shirt.

Buggy's face turned red, like he was going to yell but held back and took a breath. See how you had been out of it most of the morning and fairly unresponsive despite him asking repeatedly if you were okay.

"Let's get you to the doctors.."

He said finally, Sighing as he peeled off the shirt and helping you up.

It was a short trip to the doctor in the village, Buggy being too loud in demanding you be seen right away- You wanted to choke him..

In a few minutes the doctor arrived and gave you a routine check-up, You sitting their while Buggy talked some more about random stuff as the Doctor stood back with a surprised smile on his face.

"I see what's going on-" The doctor said with a smile, both you and Buggy staring at the doctor as he set his tools to the side.

"Congratulations! You're pregnant" He said with a joyous voice- you and Buggy freezing at this.

"W-What but- I thought I was done for!?" Buggy said first as he pointed to his pants- The doctor shrugging at this.

"Well it sees you still gad a chance, but a chance non the less- If you keep trying eventually something can take root" The doctor admitted calmly. You sitting thinking back to different moments in your life... mainly your labor with the twins... 36 hours for both.. the diapers and all that 'fun'.

"How far?.." You manage out, still feeling shell shocked at this news.

"Hm I'd say 5 weeks along give or take?-" the doctor said calmly as he tapped his chin.

You both looked at each other, the thoughts swirling in your guys head as it clicked. 5 weeks is when you guys arrived at the island and..

"The Inn Hotspring-"

You guys said in unison. Buggy staring at you in total shock like the puzzle peices were still formulating in his brain- before he broke out in a wide smile, started loudly cheering and jumping.

"YOURE PREGNANT HAHAHA!"

You sitting there in shock as your partner jumped around the room... did 60 days just turn into 9 dog damn months?

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader

535 notes · View notes

heavencanbeaprisontoo · 2 months

Text

Strip Me to My Bones

Slowburn!Tommy x autistic!fem!reader Prologue: An Odd Woman

Summary: Tommy meets you in 1919, the beginning that feels like an ending in hindsight. Among betting men there is a vibrant culture of superstition and mysticism. It was in this industry you found your trade as a “psychic,” and met a man with a Red Right Hand.

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, contextual use of g-slur, Canon-typical violence, author is autistic, spoilers for series one possibly, slow burn, Tommy is shallow and confused at first. WC: 1.6k

1919 was an odd year for Mr. Shelby. His eyes were still bright, the boy who died in the tunnels still clung to his ankles as he stalked the roads of Birmingham. In those days, Tommy was still starving for money. For any sort of gain in power. He still slept on an old mattress with his drug of choice within reach. He still delivered his horses to mystics and magicians to psych out the competitors of the next day’s race. It was this Thomas Shelby who brought himself to the door of your flat. You, the newest little medium in Small Heath.

He had heard many things about you. How you seemed to just “know,” things. You weren’t gypsy, but there were whispers that you could see inside hearts and minds like no other. For a reasonable fee, you would read a person like a book tell them the next chapter of their life without hesitation. He was not normally the sort to seek your kind out. Thomas Shelby could see ahead just fine without the guide of psychic, genuine or charlatan in nature. Until, of course, a crate of guns came into his possession and an Irish woman sang to him from atop a table. Even the devil needs direction, sometimes.

That morning, the devil had sought you out.

Your flat looked the same as any other. There were green vines and a purple curtain blocking his view inside your window. Plain bricks on the outside. Gutter hanging off slightly from your roof. Thinking it best to just get it all over with, he knocked. You answered. And he froze.

When he first saw you, there was nothing extraordinary about you. You didn't wear a silk turban or line your eyes with black to convince your customers of some supernatural gift. You were just a young woman dressed comfortably in her little flat. A long, thick robe suited for the winter chill was tied around your body and sensible slippers on your feet. Nothing overly frilly or fanciful. Tommy would almost call your presentation "dowdy." However, what had made him freeze were your eyes. He knows the power of his own stare. Your stare was something truly unique. It was something he couldn’t quite put into words. The color of your eyes was not exceptional, nor the size of your eyes or their shape. There was a force behind the stare that had him fixed to the spot. The sound of your voice was all that put him back into the world.

“Can I help you?” your tone is flat, but he can’t decide of its intentional.

Tommy takes a glance from the corner of his eye to ensure there are no onlookers. The roads are empty. He looks into your eyes once more and says, “You see the future, I hear.”

“I see people, for a price. Not the future. Nobody can do that. It’s rather early, so I hope you’ve got money in that big coat,” you step aside to let him inside. He almost hesitates. Second thoughts are not something Tommy likes to entertain. To falter, to ruminate, is to dance at the edge of cowardice. Tommy pushes onward and crosses the threshold of your home. Thus begins the start of a most unusual affair.

The lighting was dim in your little flat, and on the walls were dozens of shadowboxes were every assortment of insect on display. In fact, nearly everything in your home appeared to be some sort of collection. Orderly in their presentation but crowded due to lack of space. All the furniture looked inherited rather than new, but that was typical. There was the scent of lavender and cedar in the air. As he passed by two sticks of incense burning on the mantle of your fireplace, he found the origin of the fragrance.

‘No trace of any other resident in the home. No husband. How modern’, he thought. As he made his observations, Tommy was painfully aware of your eyes on his back. You guided him silently to a small room with two sofas facing each other. He sat opposite to you, not bothering to remove his cap. As you sit across from him, your eyes are everywhere but him. Roving about the room as you tap your thumb to the tip of each finger on your hand. By the way you were sitting, someone just entering the room might assume you were a guest by how stiff your posture was. Back completely straight, both feet firmly planted on the floor. This was your home, your time, and Tommy looked more at ease sitting on your own furniture.

“I normally have tea prepared, but you don’t drink tea anyway, so I won’t bother with the kettle this time,” you say as your bottom hits the sofa cushion. He hears you. He hears you make a correct assumption about him, but he does not show his acknowledgement.

Tommy threads his fingers together on his lap, “They say you can see inside of people, tell them things about them that even they don’t know.”

Blinking owlishly at him you reply, “My, that’s a lovely review of my services! Should put that on a sign outside my doorway. Though I would rather know why you came to see me, Mr. Shelby. You are Mr. Shelby yes?”

“That I am,” he nearly laughs, “and I am not entirely sure why I came to see you either.”

Your eyes snap onto his own and again he feels caught off guard by it. Slowly, you lean forward, “It’s not like you to need help. You avoid seeking it. Something has happened to you that has never happened before, you do not know how to carry on because you cannot fall back on learned tactics to navigate the storm.”

He says nothing. Tommy finds you don’t require his input to carry on speaking as you tilt your head and continue. As you speak, you never break eye contact. Your gaze is one that leaves him feeling stripped to the bone. Flesh peeled back and pinned so that you may inspect him further with an objective, curious eye, "One of the walking wounded, soldier come home from war. You don't sleep well. None of you do. But, you hide it better than most."

"Quite the assumption," he deadpanned.

You carry on as if not hearing him, “A Catholic without Christ. Guilty but without remorse. You only follow yourself and yet you have lost faith within. So, you act out of your own character to try to find a solution to a problem you’ve made yourself. A problem with solutions you can't commit to.”

Tommy’s heart is beating faster in his chest. The plain-faced woman who greeted him at the door has been replaced. Your face seems to change, the sir around you shifting. There is a thrill in being seen. A thrill, but also annoyance. “And what would you do to solve such a problem?”

“It wouldn’t help you to know what anyone else would do. Even if my way was best, you wouldn’t obey it. Obedience is not something you do willingly,” there’s a smile in your eyes that makes his hands tighten around each other. “Is your greatest problem above, below, or beside you?”

His face remains stoic as he mulls over your odd question. He thinks of those beneath him, the factory workers who riot and cause him distraction. Beside him, his brothers in arms and brothers by blood. Ada. Freddie…. Grace. And then he thinks of Campbell and Kimber. “Above me, always.”

You nod, “There was no need for you to come see me. You know the answer to the question before you asked it. The greatest woe for you is that there are matters of the heart keeping you from stabbing upwards to the enemies who stand over you. You aren’t used to having that sort of obstacle... You need to decide what you want more and act accordingly. To have both things will end poorly, but I can't stop you. Nobody can but you.”

For a moment, he feels a sense of relief. It had been many years since the words of a stranger had done that to him. This feeling was overtaken by an immediate realization. He had come to you under the assumption that you were gifted by second-sight. Yet… You had no cards, no crystals, did not say a prayer or even a hymn in a nonsense language.

“You’re no medium,” he states it as fact. Not as a question or accusation. Though, he watches to see how you take it. Tommy likes to see how people respond to being caught, he finds it to be the most revealing time for most. For the third or fourth time since he laid eyes on you, you defied expectation.

With a slow shrug you say, “I’ve never made the claim that I was one. Everyone started saying so one day and I decided not to correct them. I just read people.”

‘What an odd woman,’ Tommy leaned back in his seat. Face still as stone. As he looked at you, your posture returned to that stiff, nearly-too-straight, position from before. He could see why the average man would see you as something beyond the natural. Ordinary to otherworldly. An odd woman indeed. You stand from your couch with a small, crooked smile, “That’ll be ten quid, Mr. Shelby, a discount for a first-time reading. It'll be thirteen for the next time.”

He pushed the money into your hands and said, "Won't be a next time." You gave him no audible response as you walked him to your door and released him from the dreamworld your home had trapped him in. Tommy did not look back as he walked three paces from your door and lit a cigarette. No one had seen him and he had a feeling you wouldn't share his visit with others.

Tommy pushed you from his mind to focus on what may come next.

The rest of the day moved quickly and slowly all at once after he left your little flat. He swore to himself that he would never go back. Swore that he hated every instant spent in your dark home that smelled of lavender and cedar. Swore that he despised the way you peeled back his skin with that glare so sharp. No, he couldn't feel them on him. Not at all.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x you #Thomas Shelby x autistic!reader #autistic!reader

284 notes · View notes

tangibletechnomancy · 4 months

Text

The (Personal) Is (Political)

~7 hours, Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, generated under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

Or, Dear Microsoft and OpenAI: Your Filters Can't Stop Me From Saying Things: An interactive exercise in why all art is political and game of Spot The Symbols

A rare piece I consider Fully Finished simply as a jpeg, though I may do something physical with it regardless. "Director commentary" below, but I strongly encourage you to go over this and analyze it yourself before clicking through, then see how much your reading aligns with my intent.

Elements I told the model to add and a brief (...or at least inexhaustive) overview of why:

Anime style and character figures - Frequently associated with commercial "low" art and consumer culture, in East Asia and the English-speaking world alike, albeit in different ways - justly or otherwise. There is frequently an element of racism to the denigration of anime styles in the west; nearly any American artist who has taken formal illustration classes can tell you a story of being told that anime style will only hinder them, that no one will hire them if they see anime, or even being graded more harshly and scrutinized for potential anime-esque elements if they like anime or imply that they may like anime - including just by being Asian and young. On the other hand, it is true that there is a commercial strategy of "slap an anime girl on it and it will sell". The passion fans feel for these characters is genuine - and it is very, very exploitable. In fact, this commercialization puts anime styles in particular in a very contentious position when it comes to AI discussions!

Dark-skinned boy with platinum and pink [and blue] hair - Racism and colorism! They're a thing, no matter how much the worst people in the world want you to think they're long over and "critical race theory" is the work of evil anti-American terrorists! I chose his appearance because I knew that unless I was incredibly lucky, I would have to fight with this model for multiple hours to get satisfactory results on this point in particular - and indeed I did. It was an interesting experience - what didn't surprise me was how much work it took me to get a skin color darker than medium-dark tan; what did surprise me was that the hair color was very difficult to get right. In anime art, for dark skin to be matched with light hair and eyes is common enough to be...pretty problematic. Bing Image Creator/Dall-E, on the other hand, swings completely in the opposite direction and struggles with the concept of giving dark-skinned characters any hair color OTHER than black, demanding pretty specific phrasing to get it right even 70% of the time. (I might cynically call this yet another illustration against the pervasive copy-paste myth...) There is also much to say about the hair texture and facial features - while I was pleased to see that more results than I expected gave me textured hair and/or box braids without me asking for it, those were still very much in the minority, and I never saw any deviation from the typical anime facial structures meant to illustrate Asian and white characters. Not even once!

Pink and blue color palette - Our subject is transgender. Bias self-check time: did you make that association as quickly as you would with a light-skinned character, or even Sylveon?

Long hair, cute clothes, lots of accessories - Styling while transmasc is a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation, doubly so if you're not white. In many locations, the medical establishment and mainstream attitude demands total conformity to the dominant culture's standard conventional masculinity, or else "revoking your man card" isn't just a joke meant to uphold the idea that men are "better" than women, but a very real threat. In many queer communities, especially online, transmascs are expected to always be cute femboys who love pink (while transfems are frequently degraded and seen as threats for being butch), and being Just Some Guy is viewed as inherently a sign of assimilationism at best and abusiveness at worst. It is an eternal tug-of-war where "cuteness" and ornamentation are both demanded and banned at the same time. Black and brown people are often hypermasculinized and denied the opportunity to even be "cute" in the first place, regardless of gender. Long hair and how gender is read into it is extremely culture-dependent; no matter what it means to you, if anything, the dominant culture wherever you are will read it as it likes.

Trophies and medals - For one, the trans sports Disk Horse has set feminism back by nearly 50 years; I'm barely a Real History-Remembering Adult and yet I clearly remember a time when the feminist claim about gender in sports was predominantly "hey, it's pretty fucked up that sports are segregated by sex rather than weight class or similar measures, especially when women's sports are usually paid much less and given weirdly oversexualized uniforms," but then a few loud living embodiments of turds in the punch bowl realized that might mean treating trans people fairly and now it's super common for self-proclaimed feminists - mostly white ones - to claim that the strongest woman will still never measure up to the weakest man and this is totally a feminist statement because they totally want to PROTECT women (with invasive medical screenings on girls as young as 12 to prove they're Really Women if they perform too well, of course). For two, Black and brown people are stereotyped as being innately more sporty, physically strong, and, again, Masculine(TM) than others, which frequently intersects with item 1...and if you think it only affects trans women, I am sorry my friend but it is so much worse and more extensive than you think.

Hearts - They mean many things. Love. Happiness. Cuteness. Social media engagement?

TikTok - A platform widely known and hated around these parts for its arcane and deeply regressive algorithm; I felt it deserved to be name/layout/logodropped for reasons that, if they're not clear already, should become so in the final paragraph.

Computers, cameras and cell phones - My initial specification was that one of the phones should be on Instagram and another on TikTok, which the model instead chose to interpret as putting a TikTok sticker on the laptop, but sure, okay. They're ubiquitous in the modern day, for better and for worse. For all the debate over whether phones and social media are Good For Us or Bad For Us, the fact of the matter is, they seem to be a net positive-to-neutral, whose impacts depend on the person - but they do still have major drawbacks. The internet is a platform for conspiracy theories and pseudoscience and dangerous hoaxes to spread farther than ever before. Social media culture leaves many people feeling like we're always being watched and every waking moment of our lives must be Perfect - and in some senses, we are always being watched these days. Digital privacy is eroding by the day, already being used to enforce all the most unjust laws on the books, which leads to-

Pigs - I wrote the prompt with the intention that it would just be a sticker on the laptop, but instead it chose to put them everywhere, and given that I wanted to make a somewhat stealthy statement about surveillance, especially of the marginalized...thanks for that, Dall-E! ;)

Alligators - A counter to the pigs; a short-lived antifascist symbol after...this.

Details I did not intend but love anyway:

The blue in the hair - I only prompted for platinum and pink in the hair, but the overall color palette description "bled" over here anyway, completing the trans flag, making it even more blatant, and thus even more effective as a bias self-check.

The Macbook - I only specified a laptop. Hilariously ironic, to me, that a service provided through Bing interpreted "laptop" as "Macbook" nearly every time. In my recent history, 22 out of 24 attempts show, specifically, a Macbook. Microsoft v. OpenAI divorce arc when? ;) But also, let us not forget Apple's role in the ever-worsening sanitization of the internet. A Macbook with a TikTok sticker (or, well, a Tiikok sticker - recognizable enough) - I can think of little more emblematic of one of the main things I was complaining about, and it was a happy accident. Or perhaps an unhappy one, considering what it may imply about Apple's grip on culture and communications.

Which brings me to my process:

Generated over ~7 hours with Dall-E 3 through Bing Image Creator - The most powerful free tool out there for txt2img these days, as well as a nightmare of filters and what may be the most disgustingly, cloyingly impersonal toxic positivity I've ever witnessed from a tool. It wants to be Art(TM), yet it wants to ban Politics(TM); two things which are very much incompatible - and so, I wanted to make A Controversial Statement using only the most unflaggable, innocuous elements imaginable, no matter how long it took.

All art is political. All life is political. All our "defaults" are cultural, and therefore political. Anything whatsoever can be a symbol.

If you want all art to be a substance-free "look at the pretty picture :)" - it doesn't matter how much you filter, buddy, you've got a big storm coming.

#ai art #generated art #dall-e 3 #bing image creator

227 notes · View notes

muddyorbsblr · 10 months

Text

a sizing mishap

See my full list of works here!

This story (and in turn this entire collection) wouldn't have happened if I weren't inspired by this comment from the amazing @lokischambermaid. Thank you for the thot!! 💖🫡

Summary: You hand Player #6 his uniform but it's the wrong size…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ | smut-ish at the end (minors & pearl clutchers, don't try me. not today); language; side-eye worthy behavior from less than minor character at the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: trust the process, and let me know if you caught on to the hints 😉

It was slowly and surely getting a touch too stuffy in this tiny room you were stationed in for the day. You knew that it was the misfortune that would befall the newbie on the crew but it didn't ease your frustration any. No amount of guzzled water or time spent holding your handheld fan down your shirt could help the fact that the entire room felt like you were slowly being cooked sous vide.

And as if your predicament wasn't uncomfortable and mentally taxing enough, you had to do an inordinate amount of moving about from scouring through the piles of jerseys and shorts to hand off to the various players because most of them hadn't even bothered to fill out the order forms with their size weeks prior to today. To make things even more interesting, some of the men thought themselves charmers and attempted to flirt with you while you were already under enough undue stress.

Your therapist was definitely going to hear about your exchange with that former tatted up boybander who answered your question of "Size, Sir?" with an overconfident "More than big enough for you, luv."

At least you were proud of your deadpanned response of "Somehow I highly doubt that" that made him grumble out his actual answer of "Medium". Another uninterested look that carefully examined his torso and legs and you made the executive decision to hand him some sets in a size XS instead.

"This isn't a Medium. Can you even read?" he snapped at you, waving the uniforms in his clenched fist.

"It's your size, sir," you shot back, your tone still deadpanned and unwavering despite the temper he was showcasing. "If you don't believe me you're more than free to try it on behind that curtain there. If I'm wrong then I will gladly assist you and hand you a set in the next size up."

It only took a few minutes for him to stomp behind the curtain, try on the uniform, and then stomp all the way out of the tiny room without another word. Guess you handed him the correct size after all.

You had a few minutes to breathe after that first wave of players walked through, allowing you to prepare yourself for the sweat-inducing task of moving about the piles once again when the next batch came in and told you they didn't input their sizes, either. At this point, you jokingly told yourself that you'd outright kiss the first one who actually had a size next to their name on the sheet.

"Name?" you called out when you heard the door open again, already facing the surplus of extra unlabeled uniforms to thumb through the piles.

"Douglas," the woman answered, chuckling when you let out a sigh of relief finding a size next to her name on the chart. "I take it some of my teammates didn't give you their sizes in the form?"

"Try nearly all of them so far," you huffed to confirm. "It's been so bad that I was telling myself that I'd kiss the first person who actually had a size next to their name on this damn thing." You waved the printed papers of the chart around to punctuate your point, making her laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Well I think you'd be better off saving that promise for the one coming after me, assuming that he filled out the sizing form. Trust me, you'll probably want to pass on lil ol' me. Then again he might not be up for it considering he does have a very pretty lass that--come to think of it, from what I know about her, kind of looks like you…?"

"Now I'm intrigued," you teased, turning around to the comparatively small pile of labeled uniforms and handed her the one with "DOUGLAS" written on the top. "There you go. Good luck out there."

"Thanks. And good luck to you too it's like a brazen bull in here, bloody fuck."

You waved her off, already holding your tiny fan down your shirt again and just trying to take deep, slow breaths to try and lower your body temperature somewhat. The sound of the door opening again nearly had you whining to any deity listening to give you at least fifteen minutes to cool down before having to deal with another conveniently forgetful soul. "Name?" you all but sighed out.

The effort it took for you to fight back a face splitting grin at the name and buttery smooth voice that reached your ears should have gotten you some form of accolade in the realm of sheer Herculean level restraint. "Hiddleston."

You perused the charts, pursing your lips to keep yourself stoic upon seeing that the field beside his name was, in fact, not blank. "Just a moment, Sir." There was a very faint mumbling coming from the towering man a few feet from you while you retrieved his uniforms from the pile of labeled bundles, an expression nearly as stoic as your own on his face when you handed him the parcel. "There you go."

He gave you a soft smile, holding you captive in an oceanic gaze that you had to practically pry yourself away from and at least pretend to busy yourself with the paperwork on the little desk.

Suddenly all the bravado you had facing all those hubristic men from earlier melted away, as if karma had literally deflated it out of you as some warped retaliation for your earlier behavior. He didn't even have to do fuck all anything and you could feel your pulse skyrocketing and your body overheating that had nothing to do with the current climate of the even more seemingly cramped and overcrowded room.

But then he spoke.

"Erm…I truly hate to be a bother but…this isn't the correct size."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, showing him your visible shock. "That--That can't be. This came straight from the suppliers, they're the ones that labeled these all."

"I understand that but…these are a size Small. I distinctly remember leaving instructions for y--For my partner to input a Medium."

Another look through the chart had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. "It…it says Small," you choked out, visibly struggling to meet his eyes again. "I'm--I'm so sorry, let me see what I can do, I'll make a few calls and-and--"

"No no no, hey hey…" he called out, placing the parcel back on the table before placing his hands on your arms in a gentle hold. "Calm down. It's alright, just breathe." He started running his hands up and down your arms, the motion calming you almost instantly, before sneaking a glance at your little nameplate on the table. "Y/N, just breathe for me, sw--Breathe for me, alright?"

The motions of his hands began to guide you through your breathing, feeling your racing pulse begin to mellow down. "I'm--really sorry about that, it's just I'm new here and this is gonna get me in some serious trouble if I end up fumbling and blundering like--"

"You're going to be alright, it's not that big of a deal, really," he told you in a reassuring tone, squeezing your shoulders lightly before letting go and picking up his jerseys and shorts again. "It's only one size down, I'll make it fit." His free hand twitched toward you briefly, some bizarre part of you instinctively itching to reach for him in turn, but your more rational mind decided against it and sat back on your little seat.

"There's something off about you," you rambled, shuffling the papers of the chart once more and reaching for a pen. "You're way too understanding and mild-mannered for this industry."

He hesitated before taking the pen from you, holding your hand in his as he asked, "Would you mind if I tried it on? Just to be sure." There was the slightest twitch in his eye, as if he was about to wink before he made the split second decision not to, and all you could do at that moment was look up at him with the most foolishly dumbstruck look on your face.

"N-Not at all. Go--Go right ahead, there's a curtain over--Ohh okay then that…works…too," you mumbled to near incoherence as he proceeded to undo the buttons on his thicker overshirt, shrugging the garment onto the floor before giving his light blue button down the same treatment.

Get a hold of yourself. Pick your jaw off the ground you're embarrassing yourself, you hissed inwardly, reminding yourself that you were about to be in the presence of a lot of shirtless men this entire weekend throughout all the practices and promotional events, not to mention the game itself on Sunday. But none of those guys look like this. Look like a literal god among men.

All the while he never broke eye contact with you, holding you hostage in a stormy gaze as if daring you to look away while he effortlessly pierced through the plastic that contained the jerseys. You did your best not to fixate your eyes on the sinewy, well-defined muscles that were moving fluidly with every minute movement of his hands, holding his gaze with all the confidence you could muster.

He made a show of unfolding the shirt in slow, deliberate movements, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a smirk when he noted the visible movement of your neck from a strained effort in swallowing and calming yourself. It was only then that he put the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric stretching taut across his chest and threatening to burst at even the most minute flex of muscle.

The internet is about to have a field day and I am about to get kicked out of this committee, you thought to yourself. And on your first year, no less. You should've known it was a bad idea to agree to the invitation just because your boyfriend encouraged you to.

"It's not too bad, is it?" He swung his arms around to test his range of motion, before raising his hands above his head in a stretch, causing the borderline illegally tight fabric to ride up on his abdomen, exposing his lower stomach.

You could barely hold in your composure as you choked out, "It looks…manageable." You held out your pen in his direction again. "You just uhm…need to sign on the chart."

He approached you with a certain sway to his step that vaguely reminded you of a wolf stealthily assessing its prey, fingers slowly brushing across your skin as he took the pen from your hand and uncapped the pen by placing the cap between his teeth. When he finished signing his name on the chart, his eyes never left yours as he recapped the pen and placed it back into your hand, his large palm engulfing your entire hand in a warmth you couldn't even bother to complain about despite the stale humid air of the room.

"There you are, darling," he rasped. "No harm done. You won't get into any trouble with your superiors because of me, don't you worry your lovely little head." You watched with bated breath as he turned around and bent at the waist to pick up the discarded shirts, putting that ass that the internet shamelessly thirsts over and stares at for hours on end mere feet before your naked eyes.

I have no idea if my job is cursed or if it might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, you thought helplessly to yourself, watching as he stood back upright and turned again to face you, giving you a small wave as he exited the room.

You fought the urge to hold your tiny fan down your pants after that exchange.

The sound of your phone chiming with a new message brought you out of your stupor, a smile finding its way onto your face as soon as you saw your boyfriend's name on the screen.

"Are you alright? Have you eaten since you got there? Make sure you're drinking lots of water, I hear it's going to be sweltering today. I love you and I miss you already, goddess."

Just the mere thought of how he'd taken the time to type out the message despite how busy you knew he was had you biting your lip to try even slightly to prevent yourself from letting out a stream of giggles like you were back in school all over again. You could feel the ache in your heart as you began to feel your own yearning beginning to intensify after his message.

"I just have a few more people to hand off their uniforms to and then I'll go get some food. Thank you for checking in on me. I love you and I miss you more than you know."

The rest of the day was thankfully a bit more merciful towards you. Once you'd handed out all the uniforms and put all the surplus jerseys and shorts into a merch pile for audience members to purchase before entering the stadium proper and perhaps have the players sign at the end of the game, the hours up until training was over were spent outdoors coordinating with press photographers, making sure that security was on peak alertness in case anyone managed to sneak through the cracks, and confirming that everything was in place for some hot sauce challenge that would take place tomorrow.

You also made a note to take one of those bottles home since you were running low. Only if you could, of course.

When the fields were empty and you were locking down the press room for the night, you heard someone walk into the otherwise quiet room. "I had the most interesting conversation with some of the other players today." The sound of the man's rich, velvety voice had your heart violently pounding in your chest. "About you."

You took a few steadying breaths before you addressed your unexpected visitor, your back still turned to him as you finished writing down the names on the media passes for tomorrow morning. "And what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Hiddleston?"

The sound of his footsteps slowly approaching you had a thrill running up your spine, making you abruptly stand to attention when you felt large hands rest on your waist. "One of them told me about how you were tempted to…what was it again? Ah yes…you said something about kissing the first player that actually had their size on the chart?" You bit back a smile, looking out the window to double check that nobody was lurking and trying to peer into the room as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Now Douglas told me that allegedly it was her, and she passed it on to whoever came next. And if memory serves me right…I believe that would mean that immensely fortunate player was…myself."

He'd leaned in so close at this point that his lips were grazing the shell of your ear. "This is highly unprofessional," you mumbled, barely able to contain your smile now.

"I don't care. I've been thinking about you all day." Fingers ghosted up the length of your spine while his nose traced a line from the shell of your ear down to a very specific weak spot on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You went nearly limp in his hold the second you felt him press a soft kiss to that same spot, his free hand deftly undoing the ribbon you had holding your hair up before weaving his fingers through your hair. "Take this as me officially breaking character. I've missed you, goddess."

The groan he let out against your skin turned you into putty in your boyfriend's arms. "One day," you giggled out. "You lasted barely one day."

Over the last few years since you'd gotten together, whenever you were both signed on to a project, you tried to commit to this bit of "staying private and professional" throughout the course of the project, so as to not draw too much attention to the fact that you were involved. It had come to the point where it collectively slipped the mind of the general public that you two were actually still, in fact, happily together and borderline maddeningly in love. And it also granted you both a comfortable enough sense of privacy, which you were immensely grateful for and neither of you ever dared take for granted.

On previous projects, he would 'break character' within the course of a few hours, and you had a feeling that the only reason it took him nearly a day this time around was that you two weren't around each other as much due to him practicing for the game, and you running around the entire facility.

"I have to be honest, though," you started, letting out a squeal as he abruptly turned you around in his arms to face him, pulling your body flush against his. "For a second there I thought this would be a first and I would break character. This afternoon." It was a good thing that he was currently holding you upright with the way he was looking at you through hooded eyes, his chest heaving through that one size too gloriously small shirt; if you were left to stand on your own, your knees would've buckled the second he touched you. "If you kept up that goddamn striptease for even two more seconds I might have caved."

He smirked at you when you a tiny yelp slipped through your lips as he placed his hands on the backs of your thighs and easily lifted you into his arms. "I'll have to try a bit harder next time," he whispered, walking until you felt your back make contact with the wall. "I believe you owe me a kiss, sweetheart."

You crossed your hands behind his neck, leaning in to give him the quickest peck to his lips. "There you are," you teased, letting out a stream of giggles against his lips when he grabbed the back of your head and pressed you against the wall before pulling you in for a deeper kiss. He let out a desperate sounding moan into your mouth as his arm around you tightened and his fingers tangled into your hair. As if he couldn't possibly get enough of you. Or as if you hadn't seen each other for months.

"Where are you staying?" he rasped when he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath.

"I have a room that I'm sharing with 2 more members from the committee--"

"That won't do," he cut you off, pressing his lips to your jaw and kissing a trail down your neck. "You're staying with me. I already despise the mornings that I wake up away from you, it's cruel and unusual punishment if I go to sleep tonight alone knowing full well that you're here in another room." You stifled a moan when he proceeded to suck a bruise onto your neck, already anticipating the questions from your fellow committee members in the morning when they catch sight of it.

"I uhh--ohh fuck--I'll need to get my things," you stammered, leaning your head back and arching into his kiss to expose more of your neck to him. "My clothes--"

"You won't need them, darling," he retorted, smirking against your skin when you let out a squeak trying to feign protest against his words. "Say yes," he pleaded between kisses. "Stay with me." He kissed his way up to the corner of your mouth. "Don't deny me the simplest joy of getting to wake up with you in my arms."

Those were the words that did you in. "Okay, okay yes," you breathed out, your moan muffled by him once again capturing your lips in a kiss that threatened to steal you of every last breath you had left.

Neither of you seemed to care in the slightest if you crossed paths with anyone on your way to his suite, Tom adorably refusing to let your feet touch the ground as he carried you down the halls. "There was one more thing that some of the players mentioned…Something about you being able to assess their sizes and giving them their correct fitting instead of the size that they told you they were?"

Dammit, the boybander told on me, you grumbled to yourself, meeting your boyfriend's gaze with your worst attempt at an innocent smile. "Aaaand…what about it?"

"You've known my measurements since they sent in the roster form," he started with a knowing smirk, causing you to purse your lips and basically out yourself that you knew exactly where he was going with this.

"I did…"

"Did you intentionally input the wrong size?"

Biting your lip before letting out a fit of near uncontrollable giggles told him more than a spoken admission ever could. "I might have…"

"And I would also be right to assume you had everything to do with the swapped out trousers in my bag?"

Your giggles got louder, practically giving the entire floor a homing beacon signal to where you were, take one look at your current positions, and give them a vivid idea of what type of noises they would expect to hear throughout the night.

"I had to do it," you managed to say between laughs. "For Tumblr."

You held on to him a bit tighter when he went to unlock his door, pressing the keycard to the scanner and balancing you on a single arm, and giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss yet another particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. He let out a seductively dark chuckle against your skin when your giggles had morphed into moans.

"Naughty little goddess," he rasped, tracing his lips along your shirt's neckline as he laid you down on the bed and then proceeding to kiss a path down your clothed torso until he reached the hem of your shirt. His hands traveled up your body, working the fabric up and over your head, kissing and licking and biting at a leisurely pace at every sliver of skin that was exposed to him.

Once the shirt was up to your raised hands, he hovered his face above yours, capturing your lips in another languid, decadent kiss that had you sighing against him as a warm contentment washed over you. You'd only realized now how much you actually missed him since having to leave your home yesterday to come here and begin preparations with the rest of the committee. All day you were so caught up with finalizing every meticulous detail you had control over it was almost like your mind didn't allow you to feel how much you were yearning.

"What am I going to do with you, my darling little menace?" he murmured against your lips, your combined moans filling the room as he licked into your mouth, your tongues meeting in a tangle long practiced and perfected over the years. You quickly tossed your shirt aside to free your hands and pull him closer, giving him the perfect leeway to unclasp your bra.

"Whatever you want," you gasped once you both pulled away, the silliest grins on both your faces as your hands fumbled for the hem of his jersey. "I love you and I've missed you more than you know."

"Shouldn't have said that, my love," he growled, pushing you back down on the bed so that your back was flat against the mattress, a near filthy moan escaping you when he hooked your legs around him and rolled his hips into yours. "There's a lot of pent up energy in me." He proceeded to summarize what he'd spent the day doing, punctuating each item with a thrust of his hips. "Running." Thrust. "Dribbles." Thrust. "Shooting drills." Thrust. "Endorphins are running amok. You understand, don't you, darling?"

"Let me repeat myself," you said breathlessly, crossing your ankles and pulling his hips to yours and making him let out the most delicious stuttered moan. "You can do whatever you want."

A/N: Suddenly those reblogs I did of 'one look and they'll know' are making sense, huh? 😉😈 Welcome to the Soccer Aid 2023 Hiddles collection! As of writing this Author's Note, there are going to be 5 stories in this collection, the next one being 'a tale of ice baths and hot sauce' which covers the Elementals challenge video, and I'm already working on it as we speak. 🫠

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-zie @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x female reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #muddyorbs writes

426 notes · View notes

cerise-on-top · 1 month

Note

Hii love bug!! I’m backkkkk😝 I was wondering if you could do how farah and valeria would comfort you on your period since I’m currently pmsing I’m not sure if you do these type of requests because I know you write for specifically gender neutral but I’m not sure so feel free to decline!

Hey there! Welcome back! Don't worry too much about periods, they're gender neutral as well! Some men get them, some women get them, some non-binary people get them! Besides, I do write gendered reader if I can see any point in reader having a gender! Usually a request works perfectly fine without reader having a gender, though, so I default to gender-neutral readers, so anyone can read my writing!

Valeria and Farah Comforting Their S/O on Their Period

Valeria: She knows the feeling of getting PMS. Hers are, by no means as bad as they could be, she rarely ever gets any cramps that are bad enough for her to feel the need to vomit. In fact, she rarely ever gets cramps at all, she really lucked out on that one. Even all her other symptoms are mild in comparison. However, she’s more than willing to help you out if you need it. While Valeria may not be the warmest person out there, she’ll put her hand on your lower stomach to warm it up a bit if you get mild to medium cramps. If it’s any worse than that, then she’ll either get a bottle and fill it with hot water, or, if she can find it, she’ll get the hot water bottle, fill that one up with hot water and hand it to you. However, if you need anything else, she’ll also grab it for you, be it something sweet to get your mind off things or some meds to help you manage your symptoms. However, she will lightly snicker and poke fun at you for looking like you’re about to die. She’s well aware she can’t talk since the worst she gets are breast pains, but that won’t stop her from doing so anyway. Although she may hate the idea of being someone’s servant, she’ll be your “maid” for the duration of which you’re not doing too well. Makes you tea, cleans your home, gets the groceries for you. Valeria may not show it openly, but she would be concerned for you when you’re shaking in pain, she won’t even mock you ever so gently while it looks like you’re about to die. Will gently rub your back and hope it helps you somehow. She can get you any amount of pain meds, though, just give her the word.

Farah: Her PMS aren’t as bad either. While she does get cramps, they’re not nearly as bad as they are for most other people. In an hour, two at most, they’re gone. Plus she can still move around as if nothing is happening while she does have cramps. Farah had to learn to live with the discomfort on the battlefield so that it doesn’t get in the way of her victory. A lot of lives are on the line, after all. She probably knows you’re about to get your period soon enough before you do, though. She doesn’t track it, she’s just very observant and makes the right preparations that are needed for you to be as comfortable as you could possibly be under such circumstances. Makes you your favorite food, puts on your favorite music, hell, if you want her to, she’ll even give you a massage so you can relax a bit into her touch and feel a bit better. It’s a painful time for you, but she’ll make sure you’re thoroughly comforted throughout it all. If she has the time, then she’ll cuddle you from behind and put her hand on your lower abdomen so she can warm you right up and possibly help you. If you want her to talk, that’s great, because she will. However, if hearing her voice annoys you, then she’ll just go quiet for a few moments. If she needs to go out to grab some groceries, then she’ll leave you with a heating pad so you’re sufficiently warm, even when you’re shaking as if you’re freezing. While she doesn’t have easy access to them, she, too will get you something for your PMS, some meds. However, if you wanna make the symptoms a bit better so that you don’t throw up as easily, she might get you birth control pills as well. As long as they’re compatible with your meds, if you take any. Will be more gentle with you than usual and make sure to get all the chores done that need doing so that you can rest up for the time being.

#cod #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #farah karim #farah karim x reader #I haven't had my period in months because of my meds. haven't had any PMS either because of them. life is good #I don't even remember most of the symptoms I got because they were always unpredictable and changing. glad that's over now #I've been a lot happier ever since I stopped getting my period #I'm sure most people would trade their periods for a chicken sandwich. I know I would have back in the day #anyway I don't know how to comfort someone on their period because my PMS were never as severe #I never had to do any work to get them to go away or become milder. I barely got any cramps and even those were manageable #so sorry if this is bad I tried

78 notes · View notes

extasiswings · 1 year

Note

Hi! If buddie does go canon, I was wondering how you think the show will address buck's journey with his sexuality? I feel like a lot of the time, the fandom focuses on eddie's journey and his repression/coming out, and buck doesn't really get those same discussions. A lot of people just act like buck is already out or has dated men (especially in fic), but the show has never indicated that. Maybe he has been with men and the show could explore past biphobia or maybe buck has never considered it before and that leads to some kind of crisis.

Frankly, I don’t think the show is addressing either Buck or Eddie’s sexualities (at least not in an expected way) and I not only don’t think it’s necessary, I wouldn’t want them to. Because it’s something that is so sensitive and complex and so easy to do badly, especially in the context of an ensemble show in a visual medium. I recognize that a lot of people seem to think Eddie’s arc is some sort of “coming out” arc (in a very traditional sense), but I have a very different read on it—that while they are absolutely queercoding the shit out of this narrative, the point is not about the specifics of his sexuality but rather a journey about reimagining what is possible/stepping out of the narrow box of heteronormative assumptions recognizing that life, family, and especially love are allowed to look very different from what you were taught they had to be. And while Buck’s arc is less loud about it, those ideas are still there—for both of them, this journey is about missing the obvious options that are right under your nose because your own biases and assumptions about what the world has to look like have prevented you from seeing them.

There’s a reason why Eddie’s arc, in my opinion, has been less about the gender of the person he’s dating (because honestly I think he would have the same issues with dating if he were dating men) but about the fact that there is someone specific that he’s in love with already (Buck). And Buck’s is the same. Both of them are on paths of reckoning with their past relationships and the mistakes they made in those relationships and the ways they were hurt by them—Eddie has a lot of work to do letting go of Shannon in particular, who the show has always been explicit was his first love, and whose loss massively fucked him up—and once they can do that then they’ll be in a position where they’re ready to be together. But I don’t expect the show to label either of them or to address their sexualities at all beyond the fact that they’re in love with each other and have built a life together because the story they’re crafting is much more nuanced than that. And on an overarching narrative meta level, one of the things the show seems to be doing within these broader themes of questioning assumptions and reimagining what the world can look like, is challenging the audience to do the same, to think bigger, to imagine more, to look at where our blind spots are and why we’re limiting the scope of what we’re willing to see as possible. It’s one of the reasons I don’t buy the argument that Buddie canon can’t happen yet because neither of them have “come out” on screen—queer narratives in real life are not nearly so limiting and when we’re in territory like this, something that has never happened on television, the idea that they are required to follow some sort of heavy-handed and constrained script to cater to the lowest common denominator of straight members of the general audience instead of just letting this be a love story that they can tell like any other love story strikes me as a flawed assumption based in the limitations of our own imaginations.

Anyway, all that to say, there is a place for coming out narratives and stories about characters struggling with their sexualities or having some form of sexuality crisis and stories about queer characters facing oppression. But in 2023, I think we should accept that those are not the only stories that can be told and, in fact, that we as queer people should be allowed to expect and demand more from our stories. And while I could be wrong, I think the love story they are telling right now with this show gets that.

[Edit: to be clear, I’m not saying that sexuality isn’t important or that Buck and Eddie’s sexualities aren’t separate and individual things—Eddie is not “Bucksexual” (ew), he is queer—but that a mainstream network procedural may not necessarily have the bandwidth to address the full complex realities of sexual fluidity and how sexualities can change over time etc and I think it makes sense to explore those things in fic rather than expecting the show to try and do something the medium isn’t necessarily conducive to]

#chapel talks #anonymous #ask

169 notes · View notes

mrtequilasunset · 9 months

Text

The phenomenon of young Revacholian metalheads venturing out to the Porch Collapses (coined 'porch sitting') for the sake of proving how 'hardcore' they were started sometime in the late summer of '13 by a (then) Corpsemetal band called Timor (meaning Fear).

Fronted by 22-year-old Tobias Hawthorne, the band struggled to find any real renown, even amongst the Metal Underground. Reports of the events that took place during the early days of their arrival are based heavily on speculation, but it's believed that the group (Consisting of Hawthorne, Beauchamp "Beck" Waters, Antonio "Tony" Zaldivar, and Edgar Laaksonen) arrived to an unspecified porch sometime during September of '13 and set up camp. Though they had spent much time flaunting the plans of their endeavor to members of their circle, they had not actually told anyone exactly where they were going, for fear they might be followed by law enforcement or someone hoping to piggyback off their innovation. The four young men took only a medium sized petrol generator, one week's worth of food and clothes, two small tents, one pot, two microphones, a small mixing table with headphones, four sleeping bags, and minimal cold weather gear with them.

They claimed it would only be a brief week-long endeavor, but it took nearly a month and a half before an emaciated Laaksonen arrived back home as the only surviving member of the four piece. With very little of his memory still intact, and palesickness leaving him bedridden and decomposing from the inside out, getting the story of what had happened from the young man was an incredibly difficult endeavor. Despite this, across the few interviews that the family allowed to take place, as well as testimony from people at his bedside, the following recount of events was pieced together.

Upon their arrival, the band had set up their modest camp with the intention of capturing Pale Frequencies using one of the microphones and the mixing table, but being ill prepared to handle such proximity to the entity, they began to notice symptoms of palesickness within the first day. Nausea, headaches, and fatigue were the first, but seemed manageable, so they continued on with what they had set out to do.

It was in their minds that they were creating a new genre of metal, which they coined PaleMetal. It was set to be their claim to fame, a goal they hoped would award them with reverence, to be pioneers of a brand new sound, and, at first, it seemed they were succeeding. Only one of the mics they had brought was sophisticated enough to capture the frequencies, and Waters had been put in charge of mixing them with the demos they had recorded prior to their departure. Entroponeticists believed that being the sole person in charge of listening to and analyzing these frequencies on a near-constant basis played a heavy hand in the deterioration of his mind. As the days crawled on, Waters began to exhibit symptoms of minor fever psychosis. Laaksonen recalls hearing him have fully fledged conversations with himself, often staying up into the late hours of the night just listening to the recordings on loop. He told of an encounter the two had where Waters believed himself to be a Graadian woman. "[He] spoke the language and everything," Laaksonen claimed. "Put on this weepy little voice— couldn't remember who I was. And then, three hours later, perfectly fine".

Meanwhile, the rest of the band began to experience symptoms of their own. Hawthorne had become fixated on the microphone. Nearly every waking moment was spent out near the edge of the porch, clutching the small metallic device and holding it out towards the pale in hopes of capturing more. Every time he went out, he moved closer, soaking up more radiation. "It was as if he was waiting for something. Like he expected something to happen—I don't know what it could have possibly been. He was an entirely different person every time he came back". Laaksonen notes that physically, the man began to change as well. What started as a tall, well-built man was swiftly becoming something more akin to a shambling corpse, and every time he returned, he would have more frequencies to feed the mixing table. More frequencies to feed to Waters.

It had become a sick cycle, but battling their own ailments, Zaldivar and Laaksonen could do little more than watch on. Rarely ever did they leave their tent, and their week-long endeavor quickly turned into two, then three. Food went mostly uneaten due to a lack of appetite, and dehydration was near constant. Their bodies had begun to show physical evidence of deterioration. Gaunt faces, sunken eyes, and pallor, along with the rapid decline in muscle mass, had made it clear that something was very wrong, and yet Laaksonen describes an almost euphoric sort of trance that snuffed any desire to leave. "It was strange," He states. "It almost felt like we were already dead. The sort of peace you find when the end is almost near and there's nothing to be done. Like, a sort of acceptance that this is where we should be for the rest of eternity, that the rest of Elysium doesn't exist for us anymore".

With self-preservation taking a backseat, the boys' physical and mental wellbeing continued its staggering nosedive until one fateful morning, when Laaksonen recalls waking to the sounds of arguing outside him and Zaldivar's tent. Upon unzipping the flap to the outside, they were met with a scuffle between Waters and Hawthorne. It is unknown who started it or why, but at some point, Waters managed to fish a switchblade from the pocket of his jeans as he was pinned to the ground. It's estimated he landed around fifteen stab wounds to Hawthorne's neck and torso before the larger man collapsed, dead.

Waters, still in a state of psychosis and adrenaline, then took off into the pale. "I remember before he left, he sort of sat there crouched over the body for a minute, and then he looked at me with these big, white eyes. He just stared for- god- I don't even know how long, and then he just got up and took off. It was crazy, too, the way he disappeared. It's like he was there and then just... gone. Like the mist swallowed him." [Laaksonen pauses and takes a breath. His head turns to gaze out the window of his hospital room]. "Those eyes, though... I'll never forget them. There was nothing behind them. It's like he wasn't a person anymore."

It seemed as if that encounter had been a wake-up call for the remaining band members, who gathered what they could (namely, both the mixed and unmixed recordings) into a single backpack. The MC they had used for the journey there had refused to start, so there was no choice but to make the trek on foot. Zaldivar made it through less than a day before collapsing, and it wasn't until two days later that Laaksonen was picked up by a Lorryman who recognized the symptoms of palesickness and gave him a ride to the nearest medical center.

Despite the combined efforts of many experts, Laaksonen passed away a little over two months after he was found. The damage done to his internal organs and tissues was too great to be reversed. His body was donated to an entroponetics institute to better study the effects of the Pale on the human body.

Before his death, he released the final mixes of the recordings under the band's label as the new genre Pale Metal. Despite no evidence that copies of the tracks cause adverse health effects, many still believe the recordings to be cursed, and most record shops won't even carry the EP in their stock. Copies have been known to circulate on the black market, often selling for several thousand Reál. The original tapes were given to the Waters family, who refuse to release them to authorities even to this day.

Despite the story of Timor becoming infamous amongst metal communities, it still sparked a trend of young people venturing out to the fringes where land meets pale, in search of experiencing it for themselves, as well as some wanting to create their own "True Revacholian Pale Metal". Very few who depart for the porches ever return, and the RCM (as well as other authorities) will refuse to open missing persons cases for anyone even possibly suspected of being affiliated with the PaleMetal scene. The official statement is that they "refuse to risk the health and safety of their officers by deliberately subjecting them to Pale radiation". Unofficially, it's believed they don't have the funding, manpower, or desire to go looking for "masochistic long-hair freaks". Those who do return often gain renown in metal circles for their bravery but still find themselves living with long-term health effects.

The practice of Porch Sitting has mostly died out, and PaleMetal is still considered one of the most taboo subgenres of metal, though plenty of diehard metalheads still listen from the safety of their own homes. Some bands still pop up every now and again, trying to recreate the sound. As of '51, it's estimated that nearly 3,500 people have disappeared due to this phenomenon.

#disco elysium #palemetal #does this count as fanfic? should i tag it as fanfic?#fanfic #been rollin this one around for a bit #my understanding of the pale and the geography of insulinde as well as where the porch collapses actually *are* is really vague #so please correct me if im atrociously wrong about anything #anyways thank you for reading im really into this goofy made up lore #the pale #disco elysium fanfiction #wrote this for me #it came out so much longer than i meant it to tho

106 notes · View notes

neopuppy · 4 months

Note

Who do you think it's the nastiest in nct? (in a sexual way ofc)

I feel like both jaemin and jaehyun give off some perturbing vibes, i love jeno, specially fanfic jeno ( I'm joking hahaha), but he screams very nice to me , just like Johnny, i mean they can be nasty but it's not in a perturbed way idk if you get me

I think I’ve said this before but I think nearly all of them would be such a disappointment irl lmao. thats why fanfics cool, bc its not likely we’ll ever fuck any of them to find out anyway, and even if we did….. most of them probably wouldn’t live up to the fantasy in our minds idk

(like for example: the way czennies like to convince themselves that Judy must be fucking someone…..meanwhile she on here reading my Jeno fics like the rest of you🤷🏻‍♀️ idk if I had the real thing….why would I be reading abt the fictional one!!! but thats my opinion😬)

if I had to say who’s ever implied they could get nasty nasty it’s probably Taeyong or Ten, but I don’t wanna think about TY fucking and Ten……nctzens have really ruined my ability to fangirl for him. they try to do this with my other biases, like as far as twitters concerned Jeno’s a flaming homosexual baby girl, and he could be who knows! but as a heterosexual cis gendered woman……I’m looking at men who have never discussed their sexual preferences with us as fans and sell us a fantasy and going with that. so. its hard though when it feels like a major part of the fandom are very abrasive with their opinions that are bible according to them……I guess Jeno personally told them all that he lets Jaemin top him idk idk🤨

I don’t think Johnny would be nasty persay BUT I think he’d be one of the least awkward/more passionate and accommodating? like he’d make you feel the most comfortable and dare I say…..talk you through it😮‍💨 I’m sure he could get nastyish tho, but I see him as very ~gentle giant~ in reality, he’s a little too good at that sweet easy going persona for me to not believe it’s not partially true. STILL…….MY FICTIONAL JOHNNY LAYS PIPE DOWNNNN, breeding kink, daddy kink, and medium dom bc he can go soft or hard with you😗 this has a lot to do with maturity as I do see him as one of the more level headed and mature members, but also I’m kind of extreme delusional abt Johnny so……

I think Jaemin would be an absolute dud in bed, sorry guys ,!:&&,/‘amzmmamxmx he gives boring, not freaky, and like…..traditional. he prob hits two positions at most. a shame bc my fictional Jaemin…….he’s wild.

dare I say………Jeno’s probably a lover, he’s so soft I can’tttttttt. BUT I know there’s a beast there, and his stamina’s definitely crazy, I do think he likes some emotional sex though, but…..whatever😅

idk who else could be freaky, I feel like the fandom leans to painting Taeyong/Yuta/Ten that way since they experiment more with their looks(understandable, as a goth thot stereotype myself). ultimately it’s more about what their partners comfortable with. not everyone’s into getting nasty……can’t relate, but hey we’ll always have fanfic🤝💚

#asks

53 notes · View notes

thesalemwitchtries · 5 months

Text

Dreaming Of a Grave: Chapter Three

Word Count: 3,284

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Named! Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries sustained through physical assault (no implication of sexual assault at all, so maybe goons beat reader up in her apartment, but they weren't total pricks about it?), imagery/description of injury- metaphorical, distrust of police/government, Catholic Guilt written by an actual Catholic, so yk... its like organic or something, overuse of the series comma, thoughts of violence, Matt being so close to understanding Claire's points about personal safety.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading! Any comments or feedback are much appreciated!

It wasn’t often that Matt had cause to doubt his abilities, but arriving at Tully’s apartment building had left him unsure if he’d be able to pick out the workmen amongst all of the other… possibilities. The first two floors were a mix of junkies and vacated apartments formerly owned by junkies, and each level after got cleaner.

Still, aside from the few apartments that seemed to have taken Tully’s deal, the building was full of families and people. On the fourth floor, three apartments had newborns, one of them a set of twins. The garbage chute had never been cleaned, and was clogged before it reached the trash compactor outside. The workers had destroyed the central wiring, leaving the hall lights to buzz overhead. Amongst the other smells, evidence of the lack of water struck at his nose.

How was he supposed to find the scents of two men buried under all of this? Beyond the grime of the street and the unfortunate living situations of the addicts, the building was full of the fragrance of so many lives.

Every person’s scent was unique. They were reflections of an individual’s humanity: body chemistry, habits, environment all mingling together into an olfactory fingerprint.

If Matt didn’t know Foggy by name, he’d know him by the way his love for garlic clung to him, the spicier scent of a nervous sweat, and how he’d gotten hooked on coconut conditioner from an old girlfriend. And especially by the way Matt could tell he loved to laugh, little hints of it hanging around as pheromones echoing in his ears.

Charlotte Tanner had a scent like Foggy’s and unlike any other he’d encountered. It was less chemical than most with subtle hints of cocoa butter lotion, she liked to use mint and rosemary, liked burning candles and giving ham to her very round cat. A mix of plants lined the windowsill and her skin, her ferns were thriving; the cacti bloated with overwatering. The scent of a computer, like plastic, metal, and dust all-in-one. Electronics and various mechanical components filled a corner of the apartment with their metallic tang. Then there was her: human, clean, healthy although over-caffeinated.

Above all of it, was a bright and citrus-y joy. Hope and positivity steeped into the floorboards, nearly hiding the more recents wisps of anxiety. Matt worried that may be the only lasting trace of the visit from Tully’s ‘handymen’.

His knock on the door inspired a wave of bitter panic that prickled at his nose. Ms. Tanner’s pulse raced as she looked through the peephole, before her heartbeat peaked and the fear ebbed. Matt assumed that to be the moment she noticed his glasses and cane, his apparent harmlessness causing her to unlock the door and drop the chain.

“Hello sir, this is apartment 15, can I help you?” Crisp, polite, and effective.

Something with wheels whirred up behind her, tucking itself behind her legs. It seemed to be about the height of a medium dog, and in terrible shape. On one side the hydraulics were running sluggishly and making a soft chugging noise, the thin metal casing was busted, paint scratched. Matt couldn’t decide what the machine’s purpose was. One of those robot vacuums probably. He’d been thinking about getting Foggy one for Christmas.

“Yes, is this Ms. Tanner?” Matt kept his expression clear, taking a deep breath to try and build a map of the apartment and the people who had been there. He could smell Brett and the stale cigar smoke that belied his mother, and Mrs. Cardenas had been there almost every day.

“Um, yes?” she replied. The door swiftly closed halfway, shielding her body from him now that she knew Matt wasn’t lost, that he was there to see her. The little robot zipped to her feet, humming OLED display eyes also peering through the crack in the door. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

“No, I’d guess not,” Matt shrugged, tilting his head to focus on her rising pulse and the groan of her injuries. His train of thought was derailed by the mystery of what had been done to her.

Filtering out the rest of the building and the sound of her brows furrowing in confusion, Matt tried to piece together what had happened. Across her side were hairline fractures on two ribs, a still dark bruise, and bean-shaped swelling. Then he caught it, almost drowned out by the scent of water from old pipes, soap, and lotion; there was a hint of rubber and the grime that lined the streets of New York. Have your face meet the pavement one time in a fight and you wouldn’t need senses like his for it to haunt you.

Pieces clicked together. She was on the ground when she was kicked, possibly stomped on. Fists clenching around the handle of his cane, Matt resolved to help her, before finally responding.

“Sorry, that was rude of me, I’m Matt Murdock,” he stuck his hand out gently, pleased when she only hesitated slightly before taking it. As they shook hands, he felt the mostly healed scabs on her knuckles. So she got a few hits in— he was strangely proud. Good job sweetheart, never make it easy for ‘em.

“Gr-greeetingss st-teeeameed gueeest,” the little robot said from between her feet, moving back and forth on treaded tires in way that reminded Matt of someone swaying on their feet. The voice was tinny and crackled— the speaker had been damaged, and its speech was drawn out and wavery. Matt had no idea that robots could slur their words.

“Igor, hush,” she said sharply, nudging it back with her foot.

“St-st-teeeameed gueeest! I-iii-i am Igooorrr!” the thing spoke again, ignoring its chastising owner.

“It’s 'eh-steemed' guest,” she emphasized, “You’re getting mixed up with steamed vegetables,”

“You are our e-esteemed-d guest-egetables,” was the loud and almost proud reply. Matt couldn’t hold back a laugh, feeling the warm rush of blood across Charlotte’s face as she finally managed to knock the robot back into her apartment. It zipped off in a winding path, stuttering something about getting a water-glass of waters.

“Sorry, he uhhh- he needs a few repairs.”

Matt nodded, raising his gaze so that it landed somewhere near her eyeline. “Yeah, I’ve been told that’s been going around lately,”

Her spine straightened, the sheepish smile vanishing in a second as the hairs at the back of her neck rose, and her voice was firm as she spoke, “I’m not sure what you mean, I think that you’re in the wrong place.”

“I’m with Nelson and Murdock, representing Mrs. Cardenas and other tenants in the building against your landlord, Armand Tully. She addressed concerns that you had been physically assaulted by—”

Hearing the strain of her arm, Matt slid his cane into the doorjamb, preventing it from slamming closed in his face. The wind ruffled his hair back, but his expression remained fixed. Ms. Tanner tried to hide a grumble, but Matt caught that too as she opened the door back up to his faux-innocent face.

“Ms. Tanner, is everything alright?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking. Leave.”

Matt stood firmly in place. The floorboards creaked under her shifting weight, hand resting on her cocked hip with a huff. Lot of attitude considering I am trying to help you.

“Now.”

“I promised Mrs. Cardenas that I’d speak with you, please, hear me out.”

Not entirely true, but the words had spilled out of his mouth as a frantic need rose inside him. Maybe it was the nature of being a lawyer, but he’d never had to fight someone else to just let him help them before.

People came to him, they asked for his help, and standing across from this woman, so reluctant, had him on the edge of his comfort zone. Matt already felt guilty enough for what had happened. Right here, in the city that he swore to protect. Now the only way to alleviate that guilt required her to help him to help her, and they were clearly diametrically opposed in that regard.

Another put-upon sigh echoed from the depths of her chest. It almost had Matt believing that he was asking her to spend an afternoon explaining email scams to the elderly, rather than offering her assistance. “Okay, alright.”

“Whatever you’re afraid of, my partner and I can help you. You were assaulted in your own home, you deserve to feel safe again, and the men who did this deserve to be punished.” Matt had both hands wrapped around his cane, unable to stop himself from leaning forward in an earnest display. The door creaked closed just a bit more, and Matt straightened again, pleading with her. “We can help you, we’ll go down to the station with you to help you file a police report if you’d like, to make sure that they take your case seriously.”

“I appreciate your concern, but nothing happened to me.”

His head tilted, the irregular skip in her heart telling him that it was a lie. Not that he needed to hear it, aside from the injuries slathered in a thick layer of makeup, Ms. Tanner was not a gifted liar. Everything about her demeanor told Matt that she’d say anything just to get him to leave.

“Tully, these men, they can’t just get away with what they’ve done.”

The sleeves of her sweater were being pinched and worried between her fingers, her thumb picking at a hole in the cuff. Matt heard the shift of her feet, the deep breath that filled her chest as she steadied herself. Abandoning any pretense of eye contact, her head slumped forward between her shoulders.

“They’re not getting away with anything, no one touched me.” Another lie, this one mingled with a heavy sigh. There was a desperate tone to her voice where before there’d been exasperation.

A memory came to mind, of the nuns at St. Agnes watching old movies after hours. The kind with pretty women and sad endings, dames looking for trouble and bad guys meeting the fist of justice. They never had particularly happy endings, but he didn't mind that too much, it felt more realistic. Matt had preferred listening to them over the more chaotic alternatives outside of the church grounds, imagining his dad as the down-on-his-luck detective until he fell asleep missing his hero.

Hearing her voice, free from the crackle of old television speakers, it almost felt too raw. Matt could only pray that Ms. Tanner’s story wouldn’t be another similarity, dread sinking into the pit of his stomach. Just because it felt like a portent didn’t mean that it was one.

“Going to the police can help.” Matt couldn’t help but repeat himself, as if there was some magic number of times that she had to hear it before finally agreeing. “Ms. Tanner, I will help you. I promise.”

Her head swung up to look at him, and Matt felt a prick of hurt when her head shook just the slightest bit. Obviously her disbelief wasn’t personal, but it stung nonetheless.

“No, police would just make everything worse,” she said, and Matt snapped to attention.

General fear of authority and the law was intangible, and in Ms. Tanner’s case seemed to be deeply ingrained. It wasn’t exactly in his wheelhouse to fight something like that. If she was being threatened though… he readjusted his grip, head tilting just a tick.

“Has someone been here? Did they threaten you?”

“What?” Ms. Tanner sputtered, and Matt’s focus narrowed in on her, ready to catch any sign of a lie as it passed by. “No, that’s not— just stop.”

The exasperation had returned with a vengeance, one foot twitching in a move just shy of being a stomp. Abandoning the door, Ms. Tanner’s hands gestured sharply in the space between them. Her pulse was raised in agitation, but remained disappointingly honest beneath her clipped tone.

“I told you: no one touched me, no one threatened me. Thanks for checking in, Mr. Whoever, now please leave.”

Matt suppressed a frustrated groan, why did this have to be so hard? Is this how Claire felt when he ignored her advice and pulled stitches? No, this had to be much worse. All that was at stake was her own safety, it was maddening how easily she dismissed it. Why couldn’t she just let him help her? He wished there was a way to just make her talk, to get her to trust him.

Even if she didn’t want help, she’d literally been kicked while she was down, and Matt was just supposed to let that go? Let it slide that a woman no longer felt safe in her home, and all for what? For whatever profits Armand Tully saw in evicting his tenants? Matt didn’t think so.

They both flinched at the sound of a crash from inside her apartment, the shattering of glass set Matt’s teeth on edge until the robot’s tinny voice cried out to the doorway.

“Nooo worr-ry-y! Ig-gor m-make mis-istake, but I-Iii-gor try agaaain-n.”

Ms. Tanner’s lips twitched into a smile, a fond huff of air leaving her even as she fixed Matt with the weight of her stare. A foot tap and the pointed clearing of her throat made it clear that his time was up.

“Right, it was nice to meet you Ms. Tanner. I’m Matt Murdock, if you change your mind or have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”

With that, Matt held out a business card, his casual and professional demeanor hiding the desperation underneath. He needed her to take it, he needed her to want his help. As the Devil he could swoop in and fight off any intruder, never having to ask permission to rescue people. Matt Murdock however, had rules to follow or risk being disbarred. It was almost enough to make him itch and whine like a flea-bitten dog.

C’mon, take the damn card, please.

Just when it’d become a concerted effort to stop his hand from shaking, her eyes finally stopped darting around in thought. Options weighed, Ms. Tanner’s fingers brushed against his again as she took the card. It left him feeling too light as she turned back into her apartment, multiple locks clicking into place between them. Accepting the card didn’t mean she was accepting his help, it wasn’t even a foot in the door, but it was at least something.

The fact that he happened to like the feel of her skin and the scent of her lotion was irrelevant.

Floorboards creaked, and Matt suddenly realized that it was weird for him to be hanging around the door. She had lingered too, a nervous eye to the peephole as she watched him turn towards the stairwell and leave. Matt could hear her press her forehead against the door and breathe, the small robot rolling up behind her.

“W-water for-or-r g-guest-egetablessss,” Igor declared proudly, a half-full glass of water balanced on the tray that it held above its head. Drips fell from the edge of the tray, several puddles of water barely contained by its lip.

“Good job Igor, but he’s gone,”

“I-Igor-r w-ill wai-ait.” More water sloshed out onto the tray as the robot bobbed once in facsimile of a decisive nod. Matt paused at the top of the stairs, unsure what exactly he was waiting to hear.

“Don’t bother,” Ms. Tanner muttered, grabbing the glass and mopping up the water, “It’ll be a good thing if we never see that guy again. I don’t care how pretty he is, he’s still a lawyer, that means he’s bad news.”

Matt was conflicted behind his smugly twisted smile. While it wasn’t his ideal descriptor, he could work with pretty. He couldn’t work with her having an innate prejudice against his career.

In her kitchen, the lid of a trash can opened, and she stood holding the card over it for a long time, tracing across the lettering. Matt’s shoulders dropped from around his ears when the lid closed, and she tacked the card up beside her refrigerator. It felt like a win, like some small acknowledgement that she didn’t have to be afraid.

He was also going to take it as a green light to let the Devil out, if she wouldn't involve the police these guys could go unpunished, Matt could fix that. When he found those guys, he’d be sure to get in the same hits that she had, from someone their size. When that was done he’d dole out their penance of twice the fear and pain that they’d given her.

It was dangerous and he knew it, this tendency of his to make things personal, yet he was unable to stop himself every time. Neither a conscious decision nor a slippery slope, Matt would just find himself devoted to mere strangers in the space of a blink. There was some innate need or urge inside of him that was tying himself to others without consideration, and Ms. Tanner was the latest victim.

Anything that happened to her from this point on would be Matt’s fault, a failing or an attack on him. It was personal before he even stood in front of her door, before she had invaded his every sense. He would help her because it was the right thing to do, but he needed to keep her safe because it would protect him too, in a way.

Failing the people that he cared about was like missing the step off of a curb, skidding across the pavement. Road rash had been collecting across his conscience and heart during the past few weeks as the Devil; last night’s failure to protect Claire was a face plant. Recovering from it felt like picking bits of asphalt out of his cheeks, burning and stinging in a way that couldn’t be ignored, only dulled.

Every night he listened as dozens of crimes were committed across the city, too many people to save at once. But, there was also the sound of college girls giggling on the streets, safe from the fate of a shipping container. There was a boy that slept sound in his bed, his father sleeping on the ground because he couldn’t bear being too far away from his son again. He could hear teens playing video games and mothers bundling their kids up to visit the park. People that he had saved, living their lives around him.

Matt needed to hear these things, to know that the Devil was doing something useful. That a drop in the bucket was still a positive change. Upstairs, Ms. Tanner was repairing her robot, talking it through the steps even while it was powered off. He wondered what she would be doing when he listened for her that night.

Like always, failure was not an option, and still felt inevitable. In an ouroborean way, he’d already failed, what happened to Ms. Tanner was his fault, due to his inaction. Matt knew about the window, the guy blackmailing that juror had told him. Was probably even scared enough to have told him more, like where the building was. Then he could’ve been at the epicenter, tracking people following Fisk’s orders, preventing things like this. Instead, his one track mind had gotten the best of him, and who knows how many people had been hurt as a result.

The sinking sun warmed his face, a contrast to the chill air that tugged at his coat as Matt exited out onto the street. He just had a stop at the station, and then it'd nightfall, where he’d have another opportunity to do the right thing for Hell’s Kitchen.

Thanks for reading, have a good day <;3

Next chapter is Karen's turn, and we all know that one of her superpowers is people skills... Also I don't know if anyone's interested, but I lmk if you'd like and I'll tag people to chapters when they come out.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x enhanced!reader #matt murdock x y/n #slim ficc #doag #dreaming of a grave

26 notes · View notes

msclaritea · 4 months

Text

Here’s Why Willy Wonka Is An Autistic Icon | Medium

Here’s Why Willy Wonka Is An Autistic Icon

In celebration of the release of the new Wonka movie this month, I recently rewatched, for the billionth time, the original film — Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Wonka media has been a special interest of mine for the past seven years — -an autism-related term used to refer to topics and subjects that occupy headspace constantly, meaning I know more about Willy Wonka and his crimes against humanity than any sane person really ought to.

While watching the film, I was once again struck by how much I related to the character. His odd mannerisms, his disregard for small talk and social niceties, and his fixation on a self-constructed world all reminded me of a lot of my own experiences growing up as a quiet, book-obsessed, undiagnosed autistic kid. Although I was recently diagnosed at the age of twenty-one (it’s never too late!), the sense that something was always a little off has dogged me since childhood — in my odd tendency to repeat words and phrases, my limited and intense interests, my awkwardness in conversation and struggle to make friends. And as I sat there, watching Wonka spout off nonsensical phrases, constant literary references, and the occasional bit of wisdom, I finally got the urge to lay out, once and for all, what an autistic icon this character is, and has been for the past sixty years. Let’s dive into a world of pure imagination together.

A Little Nonsense

Autism, since it is formally classified as a disorder by the DSM5, has a whole host of medical definitions that try to sum up, in as digestible a form as possible, just what exactly is wrong with you or your child. Instead of pinpointing one definition, I’m going to temporarily throw the psychological jargon out the window and focus on the single term “disorder.” Disorder, classically defined, is a state of confusion or messiness — usually a form of existence that runs counter to broad definitions of harmonic living. Although unintended, I find that the literary definition rather than the scientific one fits my, and Wonka’s, experience of living as autistic. Disorder is chaos, it’s doing things just because.

Take this excerpt from Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, the rightfully-maligned sequel to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:

“I have never met a man,” said Grandma Georgina, “who talks so much absolute nonsense!”

“A little nonsense now and then, is relished by the wisest men,” Mr. Wonka said.

Many autistic people are told at one point or another that the way they think and act does not make sense. For example, in many adaptations of the story, visiting the chocolate room for the first time leads the parents to question why it came to exist in the first place.

In the original West End musical adaptation, the conversation goes something like this:

Mr. Salt: Well if it isn’t for anything, and it doesn’t make money, then why on Earth does it need to exist at all?

Wonka: You really don’t see, do you?

A painter needs no reason

To make a thing of art

Yes, there’s no switch to stop and start the flow

Willy Wonka (Douglas Hodge) in the Chocolate Room from the 2013 West End production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

We live in an unprecedented age of unthinking consumerism — our lives, from the get-go, are predicated on beneficial transactions. If I am to create something, I better be able to justify its usefulness in the language of monetary gain. Entertainment has become inextricably linked to the words content and consumption — creators make content, and we now consume the art we once admired. This implies a one-sided relationship to the way we engage with art — when we consume something it no longer becomes a conversation between creator and viewer, but rather a passively made, ready-to-eat distraction on which the viewer can project anything and everything they like. To make art for art’s sake or simply because we find it beautiful, is, in today’s age, an indicator of disordered living. Thus, Wonka making the chocolate room, or his factory for that matter, just because is, to most people, nonsense.

Again, from The Great Glass Elevator:

“He walked slowly towards the chocolate waterfall. It was an unhappy truth, he told himself, that nearly all people in the world behave badly when there is something really big at stake. Money is the thing they fight over most.”

The us vs. them mindset suggested by the phrase “nearly all people in the world” is one commonly adopted by autistic people, who feel that their perspective and lived experience do not align with that of their peers. Wonka, in creating a world of his own, has effectively made a safe haven for himself where the things he loves can exist without justification — a form of escapism I often engaged in as a child. In Wonka’s factory, the oddities that would make him an outcast in the external world are, to him, “simply second nature” — the name of the song in which he extolls the joys of being different:

It’s no blessing, It’s a curse

No wait…strike that and reverse

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

What’s a Social Cue?

In the 2017 Broadway adaptation of the book, Wonka opens the boisterous and breakneck-paced song “Strike that, Reverse It” by, muttering:

“Now let’s get the small-talk out of the way.”

The word “small-talk,” for context, is said as if it is the single most loathsome word in the English dictionary.

Though every adaptation of Wonka is unique in some way, all seem to share a love for their craft that is only rivaled by their hatred of social conventions. From the 2005 Wonka’s disastrous introduction and awkward giggling to the original book Wonka’s fidgety and sporadic movements, none of the Wonkas have exactly come off as approachable. Even the new Wonka, played by Timothée Chalamet, has his moment as he practically screams “You’ve never had chocolate?!” to his sidekick Noodle, who answers his outburst nonchalantly. All of these traits: poor conversational skills, fidgeting, volume control, and a dislike of small-talk are all classic characteristics associated with ASD.

Autistic people also often struggle with echolalia, or the repetition of words and phrases for seemingly no reason. Gene Wilder’s Wonka, with his near-constant rattling off of quotes from classic literature parallels this condition, especially (and most entertainingly) when he pedals a bike in the inventing room.

Similar to symptoms associated with ADHD, many autistic people will also find that their hyperfixations and interests make it difficult to focus on daily tasks for long periods of time. Wonka is so fixated on making chocolate that he has actually built a factory where he does nothing but make chocolate, and has been doing so for decades. Take also these lyrics from “Must Be Believed to Be Seen”:

No magic spells, no potions

Forswear legerdemain

My kingdom’s created from notions

All swirling inside of my brain

The manic delivery of “swirling inside of my brain” in both recordings of the song speaks to the sometimes uncomfortable intensity of creative thinking. I want to note here that I’m aware of the “it’s not that deep” factor that plays into all of this, but I kind of shoved it in the back of my mind the second I decided to write an analytical article about Willy Wonka. Besides, I know I personally struggle with a constant barrage of thoughts here and there — sometimes to the point where I have trouble falling asleep at night. Hence these lyrics from Simply Second Nature:

The mind is such a wonder to explore

And though some nights I dread

All the voices in my head

I’d rather be this way than be a bore

I also made a compilation a while back of the mannnyyyyy (and I mean many) times 2017 Broadway Wonka displays some of the physical symptoms of ASD, often referred to as stimming.

Autistic Solidarity

I know I’ve been harping a little too much on the Broadway adaptation, but I promise there’s a good reason.

In this version of the story, rather than just being a decent kid who, for the most part, minds his own business, Charlie is awarded the factory because he thinks as Wonka does. This kind of connection is also implied in the 2005 adaptation, where Charlie is seen to have built an impressively large model of Wonka’s factory made entirely of toothpaste caps, but is only made explicit in both musical versions. This Charlie draws up fantastical ideas instead of doing his homework and spends his remaining free time endlessly pestering his Grandpa Joe for stories about Willy Wonka. Wonka, to this Charlie, is essentially a special interest — he hardly goes five minutes without bringing his name up, or delivering an excitable song summarizing the man’s life history.

Wonka, of course, sees a lot of himself in Charlie. In the song, “Must Be Believed to Be Seen” there’s a section in the middle where the tempo slows and Wonka wistfully sings:

Despite the man seen at these doors

My childhood home was bland like yours

But I knew how to look, to find

A world that wasn’t colorblind

This is the first time (and only until the end of the show) that Wonka makes a genuine attempt to reach out to Charlie — and he does so with language relating to neurodivergent thinking. The musical doesn’t exactly turn to diagnostic criteria for sourcing lyrics, but the use of the phrase “a world that wasn’t colorblind” is once again suggestive of the us vs. them mindset, offsetting the ordinary blandness of the “normal” world with the vibrancy of the neurodivergent imagination. In the same sequence, Wonka also sings:

But in the end there’s quite a prize

If you can see with more than eyes

Autistic people are often hypersensitive to their environments and engage with the stimuli around them more keenly than their neurotypical peers. Exploring the world with all senses, and often with a detail-oriented mindset literally allows many autistic people to see the world with much more than eyes. Often small and irrelevant elements in an environment become points of interest for those with ASD where they might otherwise be ignored by neurotypicals.

Lastly, I want to finish with a brief discussion of one of my favorite lyrics in the musical, this time from the closing song “The View From Here”, where Wonka takes Charlie up through the atmosphere in his glass elevator:

When a boy has just a touch of odd

And he walks the streets without a nod

He should know that odd is a gift from God

Like this starry blue chandelier

Willy Wonka (Christian Borle) and Charlie Bucket (Jake Ryan Flynn) in the Glass Elevator

Most neurodivergent people will be the first to tell you that living as they are isn’t easy. For me, I have trouble finding humor in the same things my friends do, making conversation, focusing, following directions, empathizing, etc. Sometimes things that seem easy or mundane to others are nearly impossible for me. Worst of all, these aversions and behaviors are inexplicable too. I cannot put into words why I am what I am, I just know that I have to learn to accept it. However, for every moment I spend hating myself for what I cannot change, I strive to find more moments where I love living as I am.

I listened to “The View From Here” for the first time in many years recently, and I’m not ashamed to say that I cried a little (maybe more than a little). To quantify one’s differences not as a mistake or a joke or a fault — but as a gift is to accept that they let us do impossibly wonderful things. We need to stop looking for ways to fix or mask autism, and instead make society a more accommodating place for neurodivergency to thrive. Only then can autistic kids dream less about faraway places where they can live as they are, and instead live those dreams in the here and now. And we can start by reaching out to that touch of oddness in each other, and recognizing what the embrace of pure imagination can do for us all.

THERE IS A WELL-DOCUMENTED HISTORY OF NAZIS EXPERIMENTING ON PEOPLE WITH AUTISM.

IT HAS BEEN NOTED BY PROFESSIONALS THAT MANY PEOPLE IN THE TRANSGENDER MOVEMENT HAVE AUTISM

BLOGGERS, CLAIMING TO BE AUTISTIC, HAVE ENGAGED IN VERY AGGRESSIVE BULLYING.

THEY RELENTLESSLY ACCUSED A CERTAIN ACTOR, WHO, HIMSELF SUFFERS ANXIETY OF BEING ABLEST, IN AN EFFORT TO TARNISH ONE OF HIS BEST STAGE PERFORMANCES

THAT SAME ACTOR WAS BEING ENCOURAGED TO DO PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, WHICH I SABOTAGED, AND I'M GLAD I DID, BECAUSE WEEKS LATER I CAME ACROSS AN OLD ARTICLE, WHERE THEY SAID, EMPHATICALLY THAT THE PHANTOM MUST HAVE BEEN AUTISTIC. THE POINT?

IF SAID ACTOR HAD PLAYED THE PHANTOM, HEEDLESS OF THIS THEORY, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ATTACKED, AGAIN.

AND THAT IS WHAT THIS ARTICLE BELOW IS; AN INTENTION TO ENCOURAGE PEOPLE WITH AUTISM TO SEE WILLY WONKA AS BEING AUTISTIC.

AND WHEN THE NEXT ACTOR WHO PLAYS WONKA, ISN'T AWARE OF THE FACT THAT AUTISM HAS BEEN LOWKEY ADDED, THEN THAT PERSON WILL GET RIPPED TO SHREDS.... BECAUSE OF MANIPULATING ARTICLES, LIKE THIS ONE. THIS IS NOT HARMLESS. THE SAME THING HAPPENED ONLINE WITH BBC SHERLOCK. BLOGGERS ERRONEOUSLY ATTRIBUTED HIS PERSONALITY TRAITS TO AUTISM, THANKS TO THE WRITERS ON THE SHOW. IT WAS ENCOURAGED, TO THE POINT WHERE IF YOU DID NOT AGREE, YOU WERE ATTACKED FOR IT.

THE RIGHT BUILDS ARMIES, AND THEY WILL USE ANYONE THEY HAVE TO.

#Willy Wonka #Timothy Chalamet #Hollywood Has Been Adding Autistic Traits To Characters That Originally Had None #BBC Sherlock #Phantom of The Opera #My fucking GOD!

15 notes · View notes

ihopesocomic · 10 months

Note

Different anon - It seems to me like IHS is a female-led STORY considering 3 of the "mane" 4 are lionesses, but that doesn't necessarily mean the AUDIENCE has to be girls/women. It's a false stereotype that boys/men can't appreciate stories with female protagonists, and sad because at work I see a lot of parents discourage young boys from reading "girl's books" (protagonist is a girl) even when they would probably really love it :( Thankfully I don't see it nearly as much with webcomics since it's a less traditional medium, but nonetheless I appreciate your response that it's "not important" because it really isn't. Anyone of any gender can enjoy a good story!

Yea exactly! Female-led stories can still be enjoyed by everyone lol And thinking otherwise is just small-minded and can take away valuable insight into others' experiences. I like to think anyone can relate to these characters, no matter what gender or sexuality they are. Cuz those are the stories I want to make. I was basically forced to relate to boys my whole life even tho I felt no desire to be a boy haha So y'all getting girls/transmasculine folks doing protagonist things. - Cat

#ask

34 notes · View notes

runningwithfangs · 2 months

Text

Vampire Chronicles Book Review/Rant #2

The Vampire Lestat

I think we can all agree, what a turnaround! So completely different from IWTV. I’m not sure what I was expecting, probably something more like a Midnight Sun (Twilight from Edwards’ perspective) or a Slayer Chronicles (to the Vladimir Tod series) Turned out to be more of The Saga of Larten Crepsley (to the CIrque du Freak series)(I was raised by vampire books, apparently).

Anyway, what a ride! About halfway through I was feeling a little frustrated that we hadn’t gotten to when he met Louis yet, but I was also having so much fun reading about this Chaos BisexualTM. So much happens, so many dumb Lestat adventures, Nicki, Lestat’s turning, Gabrielle, Armand and his coven, Marius, Akasha and Enkil, Louis and Claudia, Rockstar music video films, vampires ablaze out of nowhere! 10/10 Romp, I had so much fun reading this.

Lestat is so many things, he’s cheery and determined to brighten the day of those he loves, he’s been beaten and abused by his own family, he hopes and dreams like any young person, yet also deeply fears the meaninglessness of life itself. I can for sure relate.

I also enjoyed the way it was written, easy and lighthearted, even in darker parts Lestat describes things with humor to mask the pain.

Favorites:

I appreciate when Lestat takes the time to describe the wonders of the modern world, what stands out to him, what doesn’t. He’s blown away by film, excited by women in bare arms, that even poor people could eat meat. In later books he’s so excited by pens that can write forever. Super interesting to think about, and the though experiment of “what would a vampire think of world through the ages” is one of my favorite things about vampire media.

Lestat and Nicki’s relationship is so cute! Their drunken afternoons in “the conversation,” they take turns comforting each other from their familial demands and expectations. They go to Paris and live in a shitty apartment while they work their asses off in the theater trying to pay rent. It’s almost like a CBS sitcom, but like, in a good way. It’s so devastating to me that Vampire Nicki ended up like he did.

Gabrielle, my love! What a queer icon. She cuts her hair, wears men’s clothes, even Lestat gets in on it, trying to find her the manliest jewelry. I think about the freedom female vampires must experience in this series a lot. Gabrielle clearly hated being a mom and wife and living in a crumbling castle. And now she is finally free, freer than any of her wildest fantasies.

When Lestat asks her if she had become a vampire first, wouldn’t she also send money and gifts to the family and keep caring for them, and she’s just like, oh psssh yeah, of course 😂

Armand/Lestat being worsties.

Marius spending eons hiding Those Who Must Be Kept only to pick up Lestat, go: I like ya kid, you got spunk, let me spill all the vampire secrets. Only for the Most Special BoyTM

When we FINALLY get the 3 whole paragraphs about Louis and Claudia at the end of the book, it’s not enough, but what is there is lovely. “Even in his crudest moments, Louis touched the tenderness in me” “But I loved him, plain and simple” UGH, Anne PLEASE.

Least Favorites:

Why did Lestat slip his mom the tongue 😭

Not enough Louis 😡 (Little did I know there would only be crumbs of him from then on)

Vampire Nicki 😣 He hated Lestat in the end and then Armand cut his hands off! He deserved better.

Smutt:

Nicki and Lestat getting drunk and making out at the tavern! Love that for them.

I am NOT counting Lestat/Gabrielle kisses.

If I missed something maybe y’all can let me know.

Nonsense Meter:

Medium nonsense, I think. Especially considering the books to come.

Lestat flying and SCREAMING at the Theater. Lestat showing up to the catacombs to utterly destroy the cult with facts and logic and “New evil for a new era.” Lestat giving into the intrusive thoughts to kiss Akasha and play her the violin only to nearly get killed by Enkil, and OF COUSE, the whole Rockstar Lestat thing, with the music videos and the song lyrics and the Halloween concert.

Misc:

It was Marius’s fault for sending Lestat to go live a human life! Thank you/goddamn you.

I am confused by how at the start of the book Lestat is interested in rock, he goes to jam with Satan’s Night out and loves the attention that would come with being a rockstar, but it’s only after he reads IWTV and gets all upset about it that he decides he’s going to get Louis’s attention by becoming a world-famous rockstar. “I ached for him, ached for his romantic illusions [...] his physical presence.” But once Louis does find Lestat, not much happens.

I was so excited for the reunion once Louis find’s Lestat and his band chilling before the concert, would they fight?! Would they make out?! And it was. . .ok, Louis tries to warn Lestat, and they dance around their feelings, and that’s kind of it. Lestat doesn’t even ask about the book!

Then I was excited that Gabrielle (post-concert disaster rescue) got to meet her shit son’s ex-husband! Was she going to be disapproving (no one is good enough for her boy), furious about the release of IWTV, or maybe try to convince them to give up mortal world shenanigans and go climb waterfalls with her? Nope, we got nothing, just wondering if it was Marius setting all the fledglings on fire. Anne . . . I don’t get it.

#interview with the vampire #vampire chronicles #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #book review #book rant

10 notes · View notes