#and usually for nefarious purposes too!!

[miehczyslaw]

FOXEEEEEEEEEES (the foxhole court edition)

#palmetto state foxes #dan wilds #kevin day #andrew minyard #matt boyd #aaron minyard #seth gordon #allison reynolds #nicky hemmick #renee walker #neil josten #aftg #all for the game #fanart #marcydraws.jpg #lowkey a lineup but also how i personally imagine their appearances and such ^^ #since my hcs of their races/ethnicities sometimes clash with how the fandom usually imagines them #also yes i drew nicky as a woman too shes nikky now for my nefarious purposes #(an au where everything is the same except psu's exy team consists of mostly girls) #wanna do eventually one of this for the adults and villains &some side characters too.............

[bby-deerling]

girlfriend (zoro x reader nsfw)

part of my 1600 follower event!

prompt is: show him what you do to me/late at night when the wind is free/we're gonna have to tell him/you'll only be a girlfriend/of mine

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 2.6k masterlist

cw: afab!reader, jealousy, established relationship, law is lowkey a freak, unrequited law x reader, voyeurism, jerking off, eavesdropping, unknowing exhibitionism, dirty talk, law considering using his devil fruit for (actually) nefarious purposes

tagging: @eelnoise @ragethebunny @sanjisprincesswifey @willowhaze26 @kaizokuniichan

Lazy clouds roll overhead, making for an easy and uneventful day at sea.  The soft rock of the ship is soothing, and the ocean mist turns you ticklish as it sprinkles across your face and into your hair.  It was sublimely serene and peaceful—until your crewmates decide to make you the target of their mischief for the afternoon.

“Sanji wants to know what your boyfriend wants for lunch.” Nami asks as she approaches you next to the railing, a wicked grin on her face as Usopp tries his best to suppress a fit of giggles.

Brows knit together as you look at her, perplexed.  “Why?  He knows Zoro will eat just about anything besides chocolate.” you reply, still unsure as to why Sanji was bothering to ask considering he usually made his menus without even thinking to consider Zoro’s opinion, stating that the mosshead is too crude to have a fully developed sense of taste.

“No, not Zoro, your other boyfriend!” she teases, causing you to let out a frustrated sigh and roll your eyes as Usopp cackles.  Trafalgar Law had made himself quite comfortable around you during his temporary stay on the Sunny; it had started with an interest in a coin he was absentmindedly flicking into the air—you used to grade and collect them, after all—and it had devolved into him sticking close to your side, grumbling under his breath that you were the only person on the crew he could tolerate.

“Why am I the Law expert?” you hiss, frustrated and trying to keep your voice down.  Truthfully, at a different, more naïve time in your life, Law’s strange charm and roundabout way of indirectly flirting with you through mumbled half-compliments would have had your wrapped around his finger, but not now; not when you had a support system of people to give you whole, unrestricted, free-flowing love.  Not when you were in an idyllic partnership built on respect and growth.  There was no room in your heart for Law and his cryptic platitudes beyond friendship—not when you were in love with Zoro.

“Because he sits and talks to you with that dopey look in his eyes as if he’s never seen a pretty girl before in his life!  He’s so obvious it’s painful!”  Usopp exclaims, causing you to sigh.  Law considered himself smooth and sneaky, but the way he showed you preferential treatment was beyond glaringly obvious, and considering that nearly everyone else had picked up on it, it was only a matter of time before it spilled over into something that you weren’t quite prepared to deal with yet.

“Which is why I’ve been trying to ignore it.” you say through gritted teeth.  Worry rushes through your veins as you consider the last week or so, replaying each interaction with him in his head to try to decipher if you had been encouraging his budding affections in any way.  Unsatisfied with the vagueness of your conclusion, you reach for external validation. “I’m not doing anything to give him the wrong idea, am I?” you ask them, nervously digging your nails into your forearms.

“You’re just being friendly.” Nami says, reassuring you with a squeeze to your shoulder. “It’s just hilarious to watch him follow you around like a lost puppy.”  You’d liken him more to a miserable wet cat than a puppy, sulking in corners and stealing you away to demand attention when it suited him, craving affection from you, but only on his own terms.  It was a bid for control that was foreign to you and left a bitter distaste in your mouth, especially when you were accustomed to the mutual trust that you and Zoro shared.

“And a bit pathetic.” Usopp adds with a crooked grin.

“You’re one to talk about being pathetic.” Nami chimes in, unable to resist getting in a playful dig at her friend’s expense.

“Hey!” he exclaims, launching the two into a fit of unserious bickering as the sound of heavy boots against the deck approach them.

“Is that moron done with lunch yet?” Zoro asks with a huff, sweaty, fatigued, and irritated after a rough workout.

“Almost!  Or at least he better be—I’m starving too.” you tell him with a smile; the look on your face visibly softens his frustration slightly, turning his anger into a gentle rumble.

“Idiot can’t even stick to a regular schedule.” he growls, leaning against the railing next to you.  As Nami and Usopp remain engrossed in their sidebar conversation, you take the opportunity to softly ask him how his training went, and eagerly drink up each detail.  In return, he wants you to relay him the details of your morning, and you do, with a dreamy smile of your face—a lovestruck look that’s not lost on your fellow crewmates.

“Look at that look in her eyes, it’s probably crushing his poor heart!” Nami whispers to Usopp, gesturing towards Law across the deck, who was slowly strolling towards the kitchen.

“The pain of unrequited love!” Usopp whispers back, tears nearly streaming down his face from both uncontrollable laughter and empathy for the Surgeon of Death’s plight.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Zoro barks out as he snaps his head towards them.  They both point towards the doorway to the kitchen, where Law’s hat disappears into the room. “Don’t you two have anything better to do?” he asks with a sigh.

“Nope!” Nami chirps, informing him that their course was securely set, and that the schadenfreude she and Usopp derived from watching Law fight a battle he was doomed to lose from the start was the most fun they’ve had in weeks.  Zoro scoffs, appearing indifferent as he rolls his eyes and makes his way towards the kitchen, but the tight grip he keeps around your waist betrays his annoyance and uneasiness as Nami’s words rattle around his head; both of you had considered the way the surgeon clung to you a bit odd, but hearing that other people had noticed it too had made the situation tangible, and suddenly makes Law’s presence next to you at the table unbearable—there was something unsettling about the fact that he would rather see the cook on his knees in front of you, pathetically begging for just one chance, than to have Law at the same table as  you, let alone sitting beside you.

“Something bugging you, mosshead?” Sanji quips with a knowing smirk upon seeing Zoro’s arm wrapped around you.  Frustrated, the swordsman doesn’t dignify him with a response; not in the talking mood, he removes his arm from around your torso in order to shovel food into his mouth and prevent any attempts at small talk.  You’re engrossed in your own food, slurping up the wedding soup that Sanji had prepared for your lunch, ignoring the burns the hot broth leaves on the roof of your mouth.  It was still far too hot for a reasonable person to eat, but as was often the case with Sanji’s cooking it was too good not to.

“Mmm…” you hum contently; the rest of the crew is used to your penchant to moan in delight when stuffing your face with a particularly good meal, but Law is unable to hide the way he stiffens like a board beside you as the sound that escapes your lips rings in his ears.  “Sanji, this is delicious!” you say innocently, with glimmering enthusiasm, causing the cook’s lips to curl up into an appreciative smile and teasingly telling you it would taste even better if you had the patience to wait a while before digging in. 

A few moments pass uneventfully as you scarf down the bread that accompanied your soup, until a sudden sensation running across your outer thigh causes you to nearly leap out of your own skin; peering under the table, the culprit is Law’s leg, pressed against your own.  He’s a tall man, so the need for leg room would be a reasonable excuse, and scrutinizing his face reveals no outward trace of unscrupulous intentions; yet, at the same time he’s so transparent, unable to help himself from bouncing his knee alongside yours, as if desperate for the slightest bit of friction.  The smallest of sighs escapes his lips as you lean away from the touch, confirming your suspicions; the realization makes you echo the sound, frustrated and disappointed that he was unable to be content with the friendship you were willing to offer and was instead so insistent on meddling in a place where he didn’t belong.

His behavior was starting to eat away at your last nerve, and evidently, Zoro shared your sentiment, becoming more possessive than usual when he makes love to you that night.

“Bet he jerks his pathetic cock to the thought of switching places with me…hah…but he doesn’t have the balls to do it.” Zoro whispers, panting into your ear as he snakes an arm underneath you to pull your waist closer; craving to feel your hot skin melt into his, he needs you trapped and caged between his arms, mewling and whimpering out a soft, pretty song as he pounds you into the floor.  “He knows you need something bigger, don’t ya’, pretty girl?” he growls in your ear; it’s gravelly, possessive, and makes you flutter softly around him as you whine out an “Mhm… you feel s’good…” in response.

Lost and drowning in a haze of ecstasy, neither of you notice the soft blue light enveloping the room, nor the muffled, strangled gasps coming from outside the door as Law drags his hand down his cock, imagining burying himself inside you instead.  For a brief moment, he does consider switching places with him, picturing the way your eyes would be blown wide with shock—shock that he’d fuck out of you until you’re drooling out the corner of your mouth and whimpering his name like a prayer.  But as much as he desires it, burning up for you so much that he barely knows what to do with himself, he knows he can’t—it’s too twisted and dark; however, he can’t bring himself to dispel the room that he’s cast.  He bargains with himself to come up with a justification to flick his wrist and take you that wouldn’t make him a monster—that wouldn’t turn you away from him entirely; it’s beyond tempting to give into his urges when one simple movement is all that separates him from the warmth of your core swallowing his cock whole.  Choking back a groan as he fists himself, he wonders if, even for the briefest of moments, the mention of him made your mind go dark, fantasizing about having his cock deep inside of you.  He wonders if he could get away with just a taste, switching places for just a fraction of a second—neither of you would notice a thing, and he would finally get his fix, and the opportunity to tremble at the tight, wet grip of your walls around him.

But he knows a moment wouldn’t be enough for him—not even close.  He knows his length would be able to reach depths of you that Zoro never could, and he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to break you in, scramble your mind, and leave you unable to be dripping and wanting for anyone else but him.  His wrist is twitching, wavering in tandem with his resolve; he’s moments away from tipping over the edge, the word shambles at the tip of his tongue, until a soft whining of Zoro’s name vibrates through the door, the word dripping with neediness and devotion.  The sound leaves the bitter taste of bile at the back of Law’s tongue and his room falls apart, a crushing reminder that he’s alone, in a dark hallway that leads to the aquarium bar, jerking himself off in the middle of the night while Zoro gets to indulge in the comfort of your flesh.

Zoro’s name is hot on your tongue as he delivers you to burning red ecstasy, his calloused fingers rubbing circles into your aching bud as he ruts into you.  “Need you, only need you, Zoro…” you murmur as blood rushes to your face, pooling in your cheeks as you pulse around him, mind shattered and vulnerable, only for him.  The flutter of your walls makes him pull you even closer, sinking his teeth into your neck as you bury your face into the throw pillow on the ground in front of you and whimper.

“So good for me—you take it so good for me.” he mumbles; the sight of you falling apart underneath him lights a fire in soul that makes him give it to you harder—Law can hear the smack of his hips against yours through the door as he smears buds of precum across the tip of his cock with his palm.  Limp and pliant as tingles of electricity continue to dance through your skin, you’re his, to have and to hold as he sees fit.

He knows your body like the rough, weathered palms of his hand, and in turn you know his; the intoxicating way he ruts into you, filling you until you can’t think straight, along with the tremble in his thighs lets you know he’s close.  He holds you tight, the flesh of your back melting into his broad chest as he cums deep inside you, as if you’ll vaporize into thin air if he lets you go.  The simple sensation of him wrapped around you is enough to get drunk on, and you silently wish you could stretch this moment out for an eternity.

“I love you.” you murmur to him as he crashes from his high, slowly regaining control of his breathing.

It’s soft and hushed, a raw rasp in your voice as your words blanket the room in an intimate sweetness, the kind that pulls on heartstrings so harshly that the rest of the world slips away.  As Zoro echoes your sentiment, whispering a love you too in your ear and burying his head into the crook of your neck to savor the moment, Law selfishly twists your words in his mind, filling in the gaps and imagining them whispered to him instead.

“I love you, Law.”

Though it’s a mangled, manufactured creation of his own mind, he doesn’t care; just the concept of the words rolling off your tongue as you cry out for him is enough to make him spill his seed all over his jeans as he violently fucks his hand.

“I love you, Law...”

The words tumble in his head, bouncing off the walls of his skull as he comes down from his high, tormenting him.  He needs them to be real, to hear them spoken to him in hushed tones in quiet places hidden away from the world; he needs you to want him, to yearn for him, to crave him, to love him.

But you don’t.

You love Zoro.

At breakfast the next morning, Law stretches his legs underneath the table, lightly grazing his thigh against yours in the process; it’s intentional as it always is, the guilt and shame of his voyeurism doing nothing to dampen his futile attempts to sway you.

You jerk away from his touch, tilting your legs to your left, towards Zoro.  So close, but so far, it’s infuriating enough to make him clench his jaw so hard he nearly breaks a tooth.

When you’re still hungry after finishing your plate, he quietly offers you the remnants left on his plate—he can barely stomach food at the moment anyways, not when he’s plagued with visions of you splayed out and spread open underneath another man.

Though he knows he can’t have you, Law can’t help but continue to give you his scraps.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #trafalgar law x you #law x you #zoro x y/n #law x y/n #zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #trafalgar law smut #one piece smut #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario

[radiance1]

If you asked Danny how he found himself in this situation, he wouldn't be able to give you a short answer. For you see, Danny was a Prince, heir to the throne that will never be his (and thank the Ancients for that) and an ageless being who will stay around for eons to come.

He out-lived his family, friends, entire town. Except for Vlad, that man wouldn't die so easily to something like old age, much less when his empire still stands.

Regardless.

Danny has been summoned only a handful of times, all of which were either mistakes or some mortals who wanted to summon something for shits and giggles.

He liked the last ones, they usually have pretty good food.

However, the last summon he's answered, a mistake, was done by a handful of wizards who weren't exactly happy with the results they got, so he made fun of them severely for their mistake and then their master- who was apparently watching in case things went wrong- turned him into a cat after he could a bit too... excited.

So, how did it escalate from there?

It was a simple thing, really, he encountered a few injured cats, and then nursed them back to health. Then those cats kept coming back to him, again, and again, and again, the first few times with injuries, but later they came just to be around him and chat sometime.

Then they started bringing other cats around him, skittish ones they were, not exactly keen on letting him take care of him the first few times, but just like the ones before, they soon came around to consider him as a friend of sorts.

Then that repeated, and repeated, and repeated.

Then suddenly, he found that he had acquired a family of sorts, one made of feral cats that were as chaotic as his own, previous, family was and more. It was... nice, when he realized that, that he had a place, a foothold, in the mortal world and not just as Prince of the Infinite Realms.

Although, the amount of grandpa jokes when he revealed his age- 150 is still young, he'll have you know- was something that took getting used to. But it was nice to know they were comfortable enough to call him that.

There were some special cases among his little Familia. A few of them had what this world called meta-abilities, ranging from such like superstrength, enhanced durability, super speed to things like telekinesis, teleportation, flight, etc, etc.

One of them even had the ability to separate their body parts.

He kept an eye on those that had these abilities, no doubt that multiple people would try and kidnap them for nefarious purposes. Though they were incredibly small in number, caution is best to be kept, especially in a city as dangerous as that of Gotham.

He's never really made himself known to anyone other than his little Familia and a certain cat-themed criminal. He preferred to stay in his little warehouse, watching the days pass while taking care of a few kittens here and there, sleeping, eating, managing to use that Tv and computer he stole that one time to watch whatever thing is one.

It was a very calm life, all things considered.

Of course, then came a disturbance in said life, when the apparent rival Familia's wanted to meet him for one reason or another. Helpfully supplied by the first to have join his Familia, a cat with an immortality ability that he named Kevin.

Of course, he never knew Kevin had was immortal, but seeing him die one too many times and watching him get back up was prime evidence that he had one.

Apparently, his Familia was regarded as a relatively new one in the city of crime, and the other cats that were considered 'Heads' wanted to meet him for quite some time, especially when is got as big as it did and Kevin, glorious, glorious Kevin, has been going in his place to said meetings, and this district of Gotham they occupied was considered their territory.

Danny was blissfully unaware of this until today. But he decided that Kevin, sweet, hardworking, death-defying young Kevin, can continue engaging in cat politics, he wants no part in such things and Kevin has proven himself capable of handling it!

As much as he didn't want a part in this, he was persuaded to go at least once and can then leave everything up to Kevin. So he goes there, does things, talk to other 'Heads', being very vocal in his body language about how he couldn't really care less about being there.

Of course, he had to care when he sees Batman being thrown through a nearby wall and seeing as how he's heard about him from a friend (Catwoman has made it very clear how she felt about him on numerous occasions whenever they met.), he wasn't exactly keen on seeing him being smushed into a paste, so he went ghost, pure black fur being replaced by glowing white.

And then slammed right into a battle with Bane.

Kevin he swears to the Ancients if you for some reason try to get into this fight and die again, he will treat you like a kitten for the next three weeks.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #ghost prince danny #Danny is a cat #I swear to go if I see another Warrior cats in my tags #I will #Do nothing #But think about my life because I have only consumed a few episodes of Warrior Cats material and question myself.

[germiyahu]

That "racism of low expectations" point can be applied to more than Westerners patting their little Jihad Meow Meows on the head by the way. I think it also applies to American Jews, usually assimilated, acting like Israel is this Entity and not a country made up of mostly Middle Eastern Jews, people. When they do acknowledge that Israelis are people who aren't just acting in the interests of an all powerful governmental animus, they act like all Israelis are bloodthirsty frat bro soldiers wreaking havoc in Gaza because they think it's fun.

Because what is this? This tweet was in response to the chaotic backlash against Jonathan Glazer, who espoused a nearly identical sentiment. That sentiment being: Israel is using our Jewishness for some nefarious political purpose. It's not fair! We didn't sign off on GENOCIDE! How dare they use us to do this!

Israeli Jews are seen too unenlightened, too religious, too much of an embarrassment, to much of Diaspora Jewry. And yet at the same time their Jewishness is not even considered to be part of the political calculus of Israel at all? These not in my name types truly think Israel is a shadowy cabal of like 20 old white men (ironic) getting off on destroying lives and using as shields these poor innocent Americans and Brits, famously two peoples who've never twisted or corrupted the legacy of the Holocaust before.

They obviously have very hurt feelings that Israeli Jews dare to be Jews, to invoke their own Jewishness, Jewish values, to justify military action. They're not even really doing that? They want the hostages back. That is the primary concern if you poll Israeli citizens right now. And that's been the case pretty much every day since the pogrom. That's it. That's why they're saying Never Again. If that offends you as a Jewish person really let that steep. Really sit with your emotional reaction to Jews having a trauma reaction to traumatizing events and relating other events of Jewish trauma throughout history to that event. Ask yourself if it's appropriate to insinuate that they're using their Jewishness, sorry just YOUR Jewishness apparently, to make you look bad?

Israeli politicians have invoked the Holocaust outright, as a comparison. Because clearly the country whose "white" population is mostly made up of the descendants of Holocaust refugees has no business doing that? That's an affront to your name and your values?Again, why do you think everything is about you? Why do you think everything Israel does is even in your name in the first place? Is it American Brainrot Disease again?

You think Israeli Jews are so incapable of rationality and of yearning for social justice (they just want their family members back) that you erase them from the conversation. Israeli leftists are not real and are not working with Palestinians as we speak, and certainly aren't advocating for a ceasefire more successfully than anyone on this continent! Israeli politicians who speak to their constituents and use the shared cultural language of being Jews are trying to brainwash and influence Americans, because they have no constituents. Israel is just a bunch of racist politicians and a mercenary army that's trained to kill children specifically.

Like this is getting so annoying. It's clear they wish they could just excommunicate all Israelis, because they're Bad Jews. They want to take away their Jewish card, because that's not what Real Judaism stands for! And then they get offended when non secular Jews around the world dare question their Jewish identities in response to this behavior. Which I'm not condoning for the record, but how about you practice what you preach for once?

#I know so many people on jumblr view these kinds of disavowing Diaspora Jews with sympathy #But uh... the casual pervasive dehumanization and delegitimization of half the world's Jews... nah #leftist antisemitism #jumblr

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 1 - Spring

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

Though summer had not yet fledged, the stifling heat in the keep of Storms End had become intolerable for every soul residing in the castle.   

Usually, you enjoyed the warmth of sunshine and would happily sit and bask in its glory for hours on end, but this was no mere heat. This was humidity. Hot and wet, lingering in the air and drenching heavy clothes to clammy skin.   

You couldn’t escape it even when the sun went down, and everyone was miserable, too lazy to do anything more than sit and swelter and too uncomfortable to find any rest.  

You, however, had other ideas.   

You’re Father had strictly forbidden any of his daughters from leaving the keep without an escort and, even then, he did not readily allow it. But you had always been a somewhat unruly child and as a young woman you had certainly not become more obedient.   

No, quite the opposite, you’d grown accustomed to doing as you pleased regardless of your fathers demands. He had daughters enough for obedience and you had no ambition to become a well-trained pet for him or any other man.   

So, when breakfast was finished, you escaped the keep, ducking between the watchful eyes of your fathers' guards before wandering down to the pebble beach below the imposing castle walls.   

Down here was the realm of smugglers and pirates but it had been years since the caves had been used for any nefarious purposes. So, you were alone, the beach clear except for the gulls which landed on the rocks before sweeping out across the waves.  

As expected, the air here was much more tolerable if you could forgive the stink of seaweed and salt. More importantly, you could enjoy your own company while the creeping tide chased at your feet.  

It was a risky game, daring the water to soak through your shoes and you didn’t want to spoil them. You wanted to take them off and hitch up your skirt to feel the cool lick of the bay's glistening sea. How refreshing, how scandalous, how irresistible ….   

Your shoes slide off so easily as do your stockings before you find yourself tucking your skirt and chemise into the waistband of your dress.   

It’s a precarious thing, exposing the bare lines of your legs for anyone to see and, all the while, you find yourself craning your head back and forth to check for prying eyes. But you remain alone down here, and the water feels as good as you’d imagined. In fact, it's bliss enough for you to finally take pleasure in the heat of the midday sun and, like a cat rolling on a cool stone floor, you relish it.   

Ice smothering your legs while fire kisses your cheeks. The only sound is that of the waves and the occasional cry of a gull which, after days spent listening to your sisters complaining, is the sound of absolute serenity.   

In the following afternoons, your secret trips down to the beach become routine. Even though the weather is not as insufferable as before, you like the solitude and the feel of the water on your legs. But it isn’t enough, and it hadn’t taken long before you’d began to toy with the idea of submerging yourself into the depths of Shipbreakers Bay.   

What would it feel like to have salt and sand tangled in your hair? To float on the waves? To be suspended between air and earth in a crystal sea?   

Those questions have tantalised you beyond rational thinking and, if you wait any longer, it might be too late to find their answer.  

Already storms are on the horizon and when they arrive, this little stretch of pebble beach will be underwater for the foreseeable future. So, with this in mind, you’re wearing a gown that fastens easily in the front and, though the wool is far too hot for the climate, you do not plan on wearing it for long.  

After removing your shoes and stockings, you do your usual checks. Looking up and down the beach to ensure you’re still alone while your fingers dally at the knots on your dress before finally conceding to unfasten them.   

One by one, you loosen the ties while the prick of frightened delight coats your skin as the fabric becomes looser and looser before sliding to a pile at your feet.   

Without your dress, your chemise billows about as if the wind has fingers which grasp and pull, urging you to freedom. But you need no encouragement, your mind was already set the moment you woke up and, when that happens, there is little chance of dissuading it.   

You pull your chemise over your head and the wind snatches it away, sending it through the air like the sail of a ship before it snags on a boulder further down the beach.   

Your heart is in your throat as you retrieve it, wondering what excuse you could possibly imagine to explain the loss of your undergarment. The answer is none. You have to be more careful. Yet careful is the exact opposite of what you’re being.     

In all the excitement, you’d almost forgotten that you were standing on the beach wearing nothing more than a necklace which rests at the hollow of your neck, catching the sunlight. But you are naked. The breeze cool against your flesh, your nipples tightening to hard buds.   

You laugh at the absurdity of the situation just as a chill of unease ripples down your spine. If someone sees you now, it will be a scandal so terrible you’re not sure you could survive it. Yet that does not stop you from opening out your arms to embrace the air.    

It isn’t often a high-born woman or any woman at all gets to choose her own actions but you’re choosing one now. Perhaps this will be the only time you ever swim in the bay, perhaps you will hate every moment of it, but it doesn't matter. At least for a single afternoon, you can be completely in control of your own autonomy. Men take such freedoms for granted but you will savour it.   

With careful steps, you make your way into the bay, deeper and deeper until the water comes up to your chest and the cold bites harshly into your skin. You know you will grow accustomed to the temperature as you had done on previous days, so you keep moving, letting the blood flow into your limbs and the warmth return.  

When you’re ready, you duck your head under the waves without regard for how you will explain your wet hair when you return to the keep. Instead, you dive down, propelling yourself through the water until your lungs begin to burn and you’re forced to surface.  

With each dive, you can hold your breath for longer and swim further and the cold becomes a forgotten thing. You’re like a dolphin or a siren, a creature of the sea, flipping through the water with what feels like grace, and you know one thing is certain- Today won’t be the last day you’ll swim in the bay, not when it feels like this- or so you think.   

With the sound of waves crashing against the wall of rocks beneath Storm’s End and the rush of water all around you, you’d be forgiven for not hearing the beat of dragon wings as they fly overhead.   

No, too consumed by your own amusement, you don’t even notice the large shadow grazing the beach or see where Vhagar lands on a tuft of grass barely a stone's throw from where your clothes are strewn across the pebbles.  

All you know is one minute you’re ducking under the water and the next, the sun is bright on your face and a tall black figure is standing on the beach.  

A man .   

Your heart plummets, the bay choking down your throat as you gasp and inhale a mouthful of water. Perhaps letting yourself sink and float away from all consequence would be the better option, but you resign yourself to whatever reprimand is waiting for you on the beach, coughing and spluttering as you move closer to shore  

Wiping your eyes to bring the figure into focus, you expect to see your father or perhaps Ser Maurin Selmy but the person on the beach is an almost stranger. A man you have never met yet recognise by reputation alone.   

Aemond Targaryen.  

“Your Grace!” you exclaim, concealing yourself beneath the waves with little success. Afterall, he’s close enough for you to see the sigil stitched onto his doublet so you’re in no doubt of how easily he can see you- even with one eye.  

A mischievous smile lights up his entire face as he glances at the black and yellow clothes piled at his feet.  

“My Lady Baratheon?” he suggests, his manner surprisingly soft spoken yet commanding enough not to be lost against the waves, “you seem to have misplaced your gown.”   

“I was taking a swim,” you say rather absurdly, and he laughs to himself before moving closer and bending down on one knee. Not close enough to be caught by a wave but close enough to touch the water, which he does with great care, carefully removing a single glove to dip his fingers in the surf when it stalks towards the toe of his boot.  

“Far too cold for my liking but do not stop on my account,” he smirks, his good eye peering once more beneath the waves.   

You wrap your arm a little tighter around your chest as though it will prevent him from seeing the curve of your body and the rise and fall of your nervous breaths but, of course, it doesn’t. The water is like glass and your bare skin shines brightly in the sun.  

You’ve never been so exposed before, not even in front of your handmaid who only enters your room when you are already wearing your chemise. So, this is beyond anything you can imagine, and shame would have burned on your skin if it wasn’t for the cold seeping into your bones.  

“Your Grace is right; the water has grown cold. I should like to get out.”  

He raises his eyebrow, his tongue licking lazily across his lip before his smirk returns.  

“Suit yourself,” he says, standing upright and towering even taller than you’d remembered. But he doesn’t walk away, he remains rooted to the sand, the waves daring to reach out and sully the soft suede of his riding boots.   

“Your Grace?” your teeth chatter and his smile inches even deeper into his cheeks.  

“My lady?” he says, toying with you and seeming to enjoy every ounce of your humiliation before he slowly steps back to where your clothes are still spread on the rocks.    

Using his boot, he kicks your dress up into his hands and you think, for a moment, that he’s going to steal it away, but he doesn’t.   

He tosses it a little closer to the water, grazing your body with one last look before he turns to face the wall beneath your Fathers keep.   

In all this time, your heart has not stopped racing and your muscles are beginning to tighten painfully. Still, you wait another minute, hoping Aemond will leave altogether but he does not, and you have a choice to make.   

Withdraw from the relative safety of the water and risk being seen,  or remain in Shipbreakers Bay for the rest of eternity. So perhaps, when you think of it like that, you have no choice at all.   

Bracing yourself, with a wary eye cast towards your escape route, you force your feet to move forward. Emerging with gooseflesh and chattering teeth yet cheeks burning hot enough to rival the sun.   

You scoop up your dress, cursing yourself a thousand times over while your numb fingers struggle with even the simplest task. You can barely hold the fabric, let alone dress yourself. Yet more than anything, you curse Aemond and that’s before you notice him glancing back at you.  

You pause, breathless with fear though you know you should be moving faster, dressing quicker, running away. But you’re like a frightened deer under his scrutiny.  All you can do is stand there; the dress clamped against your body.  

He could do anything to you, and it would be your fault. You had done this. You had disobeyed your father and all sense of propriety to leave yourself vulnerable and completely at the mercy of a Dragon.   

Mercifully, Aemond’s gaze only lingers for a moment before it returns to the wall, and you move far quicker than before. Hurriedly pulling your arms into sleeves before fastening two of the strings in haphazard knots.   

Though Aemond Targaryen might be a Prince, he is certainly not a gentleman. He glances at you again but this time you’re feeling bolder.  

You blow out a huff of bad-tempered air, displeasure oozing from your every movement as you snatch up the rest of your clothes and make haste towards the slope which leads back to the keep.   

You need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible. But your escape is hindered by bare feet on jagged pebbles. You can’t ignore the sharpness and you don’t dare to stop, leaving you to slip on your shoes in an awkward half hop as you try to maintain the momentum of your furious exit.   

Aemond, on the other hand, has no such hindrances and catches up to you with little effort, stepping into your path and blocking you again when you try to skirt around him.     

Frustrated, you hold your ground knowing that in a physical fight between yourself and Aemond, you would certainly not be the victor. But you would not cower either.  

“Will you not tell me your name, Lady Baratheon?” he asks, as though this was some ordinary meeting between strangers.   

“I think your Grace has known quite enough of me for one day!” you snap through gritted teeth, your temper growing shorter as your body grows colder.  

He laughs softly, bowing his head, “perhaps another day then.”  

You expel a gasp of complete disbelief. “I shall endeavour to avoid it!”  

Aemond’s smile broadens, and he seems surprised, even somewhat delighted by your candour as you push past him with a complete disregard for his name, his size, his strength or his dragon.   

“Then we will see who is the victor,” he calls after you, but you ignore him.   

You would rather die than ever lay eyes on Aemond Targaryen again!  

~~~

Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you would like to see more.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader

[canisalbus]

would u say there's anything abt vasco's upbringing that made him kind and goodnatured? especially as a noble being around other nobles with strict parents

I think it's mostly an inborn personality trait, further cultivated by environment that rewarded good manners, gallantry and coming across as a respectable pillar of society. He just has that natural knack for socialization, empathy and reading people. He's a charismatic person and he knows it, and is aware that being friendly and personable works well in his favor. In fact, if he wasn't earnestly goodnatured and used his wiles for selfish and nefarious purposes instead, he'd be dangerously good at manipulating others and getting them to do what he wants. Luckily he has sturdy morals and knightly personality and genuinely likes people (unless given an explicit reason not to) and wants to make sure his presence is a positive force in their lives.

His father was strict and commanding and over time Vasco started to get along with him less and less. But he's always had a good relationship with his mother, as the youngest child he was the apple of her eye and arguably a little bit of a mama's boy. His mom was a warm and lenient person (albeit sort of fussy, overprotective and often a little too docile for her own good) so I think he takes after her. Most people in his life treated him well, adoringly even, and it's much easier to be kind to others when your own self-esteem is in healthy standing. He didn't encounter visible injustice very often as a child but he developed low tolerance for unfairness at young age, and his mom would usually praise and reward him whenever she found out his son had demonstrated initiative and strength of character by standing up for the underdog. Problems would start to arise when it was his own father abusing his power and authority.

And I don't know, maybe it's a bit tacky and idealistic to say, but he's always liked animals and took interest in horses and falconry early on, and working with them might've also taught him patience, gentleness, respect, responsibility and wordless communication? You can certainly manhandle a difficult horse into submission and I imagine many people at the time did, but he strongly believes he gets better results by cultivating trust, security and compassion. He ends up applying many of the same techniques on his relationships whether he realizes it or not.

#answered #anonymous #Vasco #Vaschete lore #I'm aware I make him sound like the greatest guy on earth and he certainly is a truly good person #and anyone would be lucky to have him in their life #but he's not perfect #getting along with people and being easy to like is just his main skill he was born with high charisma stats and only got better from there #this boy has mirror neurons in abundance #he's very dog coded he loves people in a very doglike way

[nekropsii]

What a about Caliborn makes him so cool in your opinion?

Go keep track of his progression as an artist alongside his development as a character and think about how these are intrinsically linked. Ponder the fact that he is both at his most obnoxious and at his most amateur when trying to ignore his unique style explicitly brought on by his canonical learning disability and mimic others rather than truly be himself. Consider how his explorations of art are genuinely cool, not a bad thing, and how we get some really neat multimedia stuff out of it.

Caliborn may be a shitty little teenage wretch but the way he is portrayed as an artist and as a disabled person is both really good and very real. It comes from a place of love. His learning disability is handled with a degree of gentle care that you would not really expect from Hussie. The place Caliborn's art style ends up in is so fucking sick and I actually unironically love it. The technique he uses is really interesting. It's intentionally reminiscent of an Etch-a-Sketch, and I'm a little obsessed with it.

This is so fucking good. I mean this seriously. He's right - that is some Pure Art Skill.

I just love the way art is employed as a necessary component of his character arc. It's so neat. You don't see visual cues that intricate too often. Usually it's just in character design, but watching his entire art style and even his medium of choice change several times over is fascinating. You can really tell Hussie had a lot of fun with him. He's also just really, really fucking funny. Just about every sentence that comes out of his mouth is Grade A Absolute Fucking Gold, and I'm honestly obsessed with his dynamic with Dirk. This may get me thrown to the wolves, but I personally think Dirk and Caliborn have way more chemistry than Dirk and Jake. Maybe that's because we actually see Dirk and Caliborn interact on screen... Lmao.

Necessary Topic: I don't know why people hate him so much. Like, I understand hating his misogyny and fatphobia, sure, but those are deliberate character points and not just Hussie-isms. I see people act like Caliborn is indicative of Hussie, as if Homestuck-era Hussie wasn't, like, famously really fucking good at writing female characters and absolutely not a misogynist. Caliborn's a parody of Homestuck Anti-Fans - which is a term we really ought to bring back, god, anti-fans are absolutely still a thing and good lord they're everywhere - who really were just shitty little bigoted haters. Calliope, the opposite side of his coin, was representative of, essentially, "the best kind of Homestuck fan" - an ultimately sweet young teen girl who willingly dedicates almost all of her time to this piece of fiction she loves so, so much, who draws a lot of fan art for the joy of it all, has OCs that don't fit any of the design conventions in Homestuck whom she pairs with the characters in it for innocent fun. Someone who has a lot of theories and analyses, writes a lot of fanfic, and is genuinely just having a lot of fun. Everyone loves Calliope. Even the characters in Homestuck love Calliope. They just think she's the cutest, sweetest little thing they ever did see. Caliborn was the worst kind. He sucks on purpose. No one likes him. He is a total nuisance to characters he is by all means trying to impress. I love them both.

It's also just funny that he's a canonical Intersex Transmasc who is probably Gay and this has, like, no relevance to anything about him, really. So no one really talks about it. Gender Hilarious, Gender Nefarious.

#homestuck #homestuck meta #homestuck analysis #cherubs #homestuck cherubs #caliborn #calliope #caliborn.pdf #nekro.pdf #nekro.sms

[dancing-with-the-madmen]

Okay, so I'm a dick about spoons

I’m not, actually. A good hostess knows that her first priority is the comfort of her guests, so if someone uses the wrong spoon? NBD. If someone else starts being a dick about it? You find a way to shut that shit down post haste and redirect the feast of reason and the flow of soul.

What I AM a dick about is brazen hypocrisy. And as I was rewatching and taking screenshots for Nefarious Purposes, I happened to pause on this, which (setting aside the fact that forks weren't in popular use at all in Northern Europe and North America until the end of the 1700s, much less fancy types for different purposes) feels like an easter-egg for etiquette nerds from the set-dressers:

Like, poor Ed. He never stood a chance.

But that’s not his fault; he could have been schooled in the proper use of flatware from birth and still would have been stymied by this mess. There are pieces from AT LEAST 10 different silverware sets here, and practically nothing is in the right place to facilitate any sort of reasonable progression through a meal. Also? There are just so, SO many duplicates.

A 12-course meal should go: hors-d'oeuvres, amuse-bouche, soup, appetizer, salad, fish, main course (usually a red meat or game meat dish), palate cleaner (sorbet), second main course (usually a fowl dish), cheese course, dessert, and end of the meal dessert (often with coffee to promote digestion)

Starting left to right, we’ve got: A - Dinner knife. Should be directly to the right of the plate. It COULD be part of the service to his left, but even if that’s the case, that means not everyone has the same number/type/placement of implements, and that the spacing of guests is too close to properly accommodate all the place settings, so I’m going to assume everything on camera is meant for Ed.

B - Butter knife. Belongs on the bread plate.

C - Soup spoon. Belongs as the outermost spoon on the right side of the plate.

D - Place spoon. Belongs to the left of the soup spoon on the right of the plate.

E - Seafood mallet. I can’t really find anything about where this goes in a place setting, and I’ve only used one where crabs or lobster were the main/only course. My instinct is to say it should be in the amuse-bouche spot (outer right, save 1) with the lobster fork in the corresponding spot on the left of the plate, but I could be wrong.

F - Fruit fork. Fruit is served at the end of the meal. This one goes closest to the plate on the left side. G - Oyster fork. Yes, hors d’oeuvres come first, but this is the only fork that goes on the right of the plate. Thanks for playing.

H - Escargot fork. Ok, the fuck are they serving at this meal? You’ve got 12 courses. You pick ONE item for each course. Based on the silverware so far, we’re going heavy on the hors d’oeuvres. At least it’s on the correct side of the plate?

I - Salad fork. A new course? Be still my beating heart. And yeah, it’s in the right place.

J - Dinner fork. Also a new course, and also in the right place. Will wonders never cease.

K - A FUCKING TERRAPIN FORK. Oh - you gonna serve a chunky broth AFTER your main course? That’s an appetizer, you amateurs. You fools!

L - Escargot tongs. Sure. Why not there.

M - Fish fork. Like, you’re not even in the vicinity of the right place for this (to the right of the plate, in between the salad and dinner forks).

N - Ooops. There’s the lobster fork we were missing earlier.

O - That’s just an oyster fork from a different silverware service. If you were trying to pass it off as a dessert fork, those have 4 tines with a bar that transects the tines.

P - That’s just a butter knife from a different silverware service. Were you trying to pass it off as a cheese knife? Too bad that in a formal dining setting you have a special fork that does double duty for cutting and spearing cheese.

Q - Demitasse spoon. Coffee’s for closing the meal. This goes above the plate.

R - Sugar tongs. Those go with the sugar cubes in the sugar bowl, not at each individual place setting.

S - Possibly another terrapin fork? It’s hard to see, but whatever it is, it doesn’t go there.

So fuck Gabriel and Antoinette, for the provincial bumpkins that they are. Trying to just dump the contents of several silverware drawers on the table and call it culture so they can laugh at my boy? Go die in a fire. Oh, wait.

#ofmd #our flag means death #set dressing #the FUCKING spoons

[robthegoodfellow]

A Little Death Do Us Part

VANISHED from fandom to work on this thing. as usual it ballooned 🙃 warnings: necromancy, character death (hence the necromancy), dubcon (on account of the necromancy)

My entry for @bigbangharringrove with art I adore by LucaDoodleDoo who also served as cheerleader when I fell behind and suffered from near fatal narrative maximalism. Here's the first chapter, or read on AO3 💛 (3 chapters up, rest day by day)

Billy had been dead for four days when Steve finally made a breakthrough, muffled cracks as bones restitched and the crushed chest cavity filled, the rasp of rusted lungs expanding with breath. He waited, held his own breath like that would encourage another from the sorry test subject lying inert on the table.

The chest deflated, but only a little—his heart leapt as it rose again, an easier inhale, and Steve would have sobbed, except he had no air, could only manage an anguished choke. It wasn’t anguished, though, just pure exhausted relief, hope, after three nights without sleep, using every trick in the book to keep going, keep trying, not give up.

An ear twitched, then—the tail, the tip curling absent-mindedly.

Within minutes, Mews sat on his haunches, staring at Steve fixedly, even more fixedly than normal, before he’d been hit by that truck, but other than that, he seemed—fine? Fine! Even the sickly-sweet eau de rot was dissipating, ginger fur shedding the greasy dullness of decay.

So it took every ounce of self-control not to go haring off to the basement crypt and work his magic there, on the true intended recipient of his tireless trial and error.

Gods in hell, so many errors. And such a trial. One attempt had backfired so spectacularly that Mews had almost decomposed too far for restoration, crumbling before his eyes as Steve scrambled for the counter spell. Another had awoken the cat but hadn’t healed him, and also imbued him with a ravenous hunger for human flesh. The scratches that crosshatched Steve’s every limb had only just begun to scab under the bandages. He’d had to go for the bat that time, beating at the mangy monster like he was trying to win whack-a-mole at the fair, then gulped down every leftover antidote to zombie infection in the medicine cabinet he could find.

He'd been steadily working his way through the moldy copy of Untethered Netherworld: New Necromancies—several editions out of date, banned in every state but New Jersey—and he was running out of both spells and time. Reanimation for more nefarious purposes—raising undead armies and whatnot—had more wiggle room, but true revivification had to be performed within a week of the victim’s death, and the sooner the better.

He didn’t want a shell of Billy, something better off dead. He wanted Billy. Needed him back.

For that, he had to be patient, thorough; do this right. Follow the checklist. Consulting the items hastily scribbled on the back of a takeout menu, he frowned.

Responds when called.

Well, fuck. Did cats ever respond when called? Mews certainly hadn’t—and Steve still wasn’t sure whether that was due to aloof mulishness or because he maintained some preferred moniker that they weren’t privy to.

Nothing for it but to try, though.

“Mews?”

The cat blinked, swished his tail.

Good enough, Steve figured, checking it off. 

2. Reacts expectedly to stimuli.

Didn’t exactly have a toy mouse handy, but after rooting around in the junk drawer, he dug up one of those keychain laser pointers. Aimed it at the floor in front of the table, and… skittered it around.

Mews launched from his perch, paws extended—pounced on the zigzagging red and kept pouncing.

Another check. 

3. Craves appropriate sustenance.

What did cats even eat, aside from… cat food, which he’d neglected to restock. Tuna? Saucer of milk? Cartoons all seemed to think so.

“Stay here,” he said, though Mews had never been the kind of cat that talked. Locking the workroom behind him, he set off for the kitchen. Pantry had to have at least one can of Chicken of the Sea. 

.💀.

The thing was—Steve should’ve known Billy was possessed. Should’ve been able to tell right away. He’d slept next to that… thing at least two nights and hadn’t noticed. How hadn’t he noticed?

He’d kissed him and really been kissing it—wrote off the delayed response, a pause before the returning press, as simple distraction. Held him but really held it, and attributed the strange stiffness to stress, stroked the broad back until he slept—or seemed to.

Because while Steve slept, Billy had been a marionette wreaking havoc, his hijacker attacking at random, opportunistic, installing its brethren on behalf of its master.

On the third morning, the day before he died, when Steve had been watching coffee drip into the pot, the shatter of ceramic spun him round, disoriented. And Billy, eyes streaming, so blue, burning blue—he’d shoved his waiting mug off the center island, was gripping the counter, teeth gritted with effort.

“Go,” he’d grunted between clenched jaws. “Go.” His hand gripped the other mug—Steve’s—and his voice sharpened, urgent. “Run.”

Steve barely dodged it, the mug cracking into the cabinet by his head with far more force than humanly possible, and his childhood training had kicked in. For once, it paid to have been born to parents whose vigilance bordered on paranoid, always on guard against rival families, enemy estates.

He grabbed a kitchen knife, threw every chair in its way, and bolted for the door, slashing behind him as he fumbled with the locks. And ran. Because he trusted Billy with his life, implicitly, knew when a command was the kind performed without question—the tone, the bluntness, the context. It was how they’d survived as an unaffiliated pair, all these years.

But that also meant precious few allies to turn to in times of need. Billy’s sister wasn’t his first choice, but she lived closest, and fleeing on foot put proximity at a premium. To her credit, she’d tried—Steve didn’t fault her for her role in the outcome—Max had just placed her trust in the wrong people. In people that prioritized killing the thing in Billy, rather than saving Billy himself.

Of course, it didn’t help that Billy had been of the same mind.

Now that he’d found a means to bring him back, Steve could admit another reason he hadn’t closed his eyes longer than a blink since the moment Billy went slack: to avoid the endless replay projected behind his lids—of Billy standing between the girl and the monster, a conglomerate creature of melded prey, raw matter drained of humanity, remade into an ever-growing puppet of destruction.

He'd wrested control once more, like he had in the kitchen, long enough to speak the words to unmake the abomination—words he alone could know, unbeknownst to the puppeteer, as the son of a witch infamous for having contracted with a god of death so powerful none could speak its name and live. None could hear its name and live. And none knew it, save two, for a while. And then one. 

And then none.

Billy spoke it. Steve saw his lips shape unfamiliar words. For the sake of the girl. 

.💀.

A checkmark next to every item on the list—that’s what broke him, finally. Not the most dignified position, kneeling over a litterbox, scooping sandy nuggets into a trash bin while fighting tears of joy, suppressing hysterical, ecstatic laughter, but—Mews was a cat, just a normal cat again, to all appearances, which meant—

He could have Billy back. Had proven wrong every tutor who’d dismissed Steve’s lackluster abilities as beyond the help of instruction. Sufficiently motivated, he’d managed every spell he tried—so it wasn’t his fault he didn’t fully know what each spell would do. This was on his teachers for slouching on the job, handwaving him through his studies to collect a paycheck.

Closing the lid of the bin, Steve stood to wash his hands and swayed, so light-headed he would have toppled were it not for a steadying arm flung to the wall. He breathed slow, eyes closed—opened, and the room had stilled its spinning.

Even so—he needed sleep. If he attempted the most important magics of his life and fucked it up from fatigue, he’d endure the rest of his days tormented by curdling regret.

“Bed, Mews,” he called, out of habit.

They’d held out a week, after Dustin had entrusted them with Mews’ care while he was apprenticing with the bigwigs at Know Where Corporation for the summer. Mewsy prefers sleeping with a buddy, Dustin instructed, among a litany of other highly specific edicts. Well, I prefer fucking my husband without witnesses, Steve had replied, just to see him pull a face, and Billy had chirped, faux-innocent, Unless the price is right. Or unless plied with endless mournful meows and wide, shining, plaintive eyes, apparently, because in no time they had a mound of fur curled at their feet from dusk till dawn.

Despite his exhaustion, despite the comforting warmth of Mews that bled through the covers, despite the meditation exercise to clear his mind, Steve couldn’t drift off for hours, couldn’t stop the steady leak of tears that oozed from the corner of closed lids to his unwashed hair.

Because Billy’s side of the bed was an echoing void at his side, an emptiness cold and loud as an arctic gale. Now and then he nudged Mews with a foot just to hear him snuffle, like an anxious mother checking her silent newborn still breathed. 

Think of a wonderful thought, he heard—Billy’s voice, hushed and fond. And like he always did, Steve huffed, “Okay, Peter,” and finally sank into memories that didn’t stab at him the way they had for days.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself, and relaxed. By this time tomorrow, Billy would be whole and hale and back in his arms. He’d kiss him and hold him. Tell him he loved him.

Tomorrow.

Chapter 2

#harringrove bigbang #harringrove #this first chapter features #necromancy #magical abuse of a cat #angst #referenced character death #mild body horror #WAY MORE tags for other chapters on ao3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere “Perfect” Househusband Loves When…

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when you scold him when you come home from work. Despite what many would want, W3zley delights in your annoyance. Which is great because the things he loves doing the most seems to incite that response. You’re such a gorgeous stone-faced character it excites him to get a response from you at all. 

“You released a deadly gas at a block party!?”

“Don’t be such a prude (Y/n), it was only a small neighborhood anyway.”

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when you fall for old tricks. Long before his semi-forced commitment to the househusband role he’s been at odds with you for the longest time; usually ending with you winning in the grand scheme of things. But when you’re at home your especially vulnerable. You so easily fall into the nuance of domesticity forgetting his true nature. Which leads you susceptible to spiked drinks, hidden aphrodisiacs, flowers with nefarious purposes, the list goes on. He won’t do anything too wild or too often , you’d notice too fast but he can indulge in his deeper fantasies. The ones you don’t always let him get away with. It’s not usually on the level of his worst habits: health-code violation calls, assault, battery, framing people genocide, inter-dimensional destruction, or mass-vaporizing blasts so you’re not going to stop him for this. That is if you ever find out. Usually his little excursions are nothing but little things that result in lapses of your judgement; which make unforced affection all the more possible.

“Ah~you’re so soft, you’d never let me touch you this way if you were lucid.”

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when he can successfully carry out his underground “smoothie” business. You’ve caught him before and he got quite the lashing but he just can’t stop. When you’re locking him down for whatever punishable offense he’s committed, he feels unfullfilled. He has an itch. He’s got to scratch it. And it has do with the gorey ingredients and the magic that has him having a growing consumer base in the underground market. Even those outside the underground community have heard of his business. Which truly becomes his outlet for his violent tendencies. 

“These humans are so easy! This will surely keep me entertained.”

Yandere "Perfect" Househusband loves when he catches you off-guard. Similar to when you’re angry, any break in your tolerable mask makes his heart flutter. He often uses being a house-husband to do just that. He’s doing his job as your husband so well you’re supposed to praise him right? Look he’s made you, your favorite dish! Now won’t you let him feed it to you, say ‘ah’! Oh now look he’s cooking for you with the apron you got him! Ooops, I meant to say ‘only’ the apron on! 

“Now don’t overheat, (Y/n)! Your husband asked you for a kiss and you’ll give it to me right? Right?”

#yandere househusband #yandere househusband oc #yandere house husband #yandere W3zley #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere oc #yandere husband #yandere husband x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere villain #yandere original character #yandere original characters

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I feel like Night Terrors is just old and odd. Friends or partners, his show of affection could be old fashioned sometimes,, ex. draping his jacket around you when you shiver or opening doors for you. I have a feeling he’d be a “ladies first” type of gentleman. (if you could even call him one).

I also feel that he always has a unreadable grumpy expression on his face, like, all the time, no matter the situation. I’ve been starting to think that that’s just his relaxed face. And as someone who really pays attention to people’s facial expressions, I would probably mistake him and think that he’s upset with me or something—especially if he’s very silent.

Like you said, about him not really socializing and knowing how to talk or act with people, i feel like he’d be quite hard to understand what he means with his words, i feel that he would be very enigmatic with the people he does talk to—always with the side stepping replies, if you ask him; “Do you like being/hanging out with me?” he would probably reply with; “I don’t mind your company.” or; “Maybe I do maybe I don’t.” I feel like he would be THAT person, or if he asks you to go somewhere with him, since he probably rarely does this, you’d be a little teasing with him, “and would this be a date you are asking me out on?” I feel like he’d reply with, “if you want it to be.”

But i ALSOO feel like he’d be a really like, serious person. hmm very straight forward too. and always meaning exactly what he says. like if he asks you to sleep with him, he’s not leading on to sex, he literally just wants you to sleep next to him 😭.

Last one I promise 😔..do you think he’d be either purposely or accidentally demanding? i mean with his past and stuff, i feel like he could come off as harsh with a lot of things he says. meaning it or not.

I know he’s not a main character on your blog.. but i can NOT get over this man. i’m blaming the anons that got me into this pit

OKK… i’m just rambling atp. i’ll stop and save you the pain, this has already gotten too long,, but PLEASEE give me your thoughts and input on this stuffs.!!

Listen I love both Candy AND Terrors and I am more than happy to ramble about them any fucking time. Any characters that aren't popular I love giving extra attention. But you're right!

Starting from the top, he probably is pretty gentlemanly, even is he's gruff about it. He holds open doors for you, if you're cold he'll give you his jacket, he'll order for you at restaurants, he'll pay for you. Part of it is because he's a bit gentlemanly, but also I feel like he just views himself as the one in charge between the two of you, and since you're so important to Candy he does his best to take care of you for him.

He totally has resting bitch face. It's not intentional, but he's just naturally a frowner, even if he's in a relatively good mood he doesn't really smile all that often, if anything he just frowns slightly less. Get super duper close to him over time though, and he'll spare you a few small smiles every now and then.

Also, you're very correct with his replies. He doesn't want to seem too excited about things or appear more enthusiastic than he is, but he also has no idea what a normal reply would be. "Do you like this food?" "It's alright." He says, meaning that he actually really DOES like it, but he doesn't know how to express that. Ask him a "Does this outfit look good on me?" though and he ends up standing there for a few moments trying to think of what to do. He answers you with a "I think it's nice." said quite softly, meaning he thinks you look lovely.

And he also totally does mean things literally. He would absolutely just mean for you to share a bed with him and sleep if he asks "Would you like to sleep together/would you like to share a bed with me" he does not mean anything nefarious, and he'd probably be much more obvious if he actually wanted to do something more adult.

When it comes to being demanding... I think it's usually accidental. Like with him not knowing how to be polite and sociable he ends up making demands when he means a request. "Get me a soda." "Come sit over here." "Stop what you are doing and come here." "Bring me that." He's not even trying to be demanding but the man has never had to say the word please a single time in his life before so everything comes out as a statement instead of a request. If he is being intentionally demanding though, you can tell the difference in his tone of voice. Also, you could train him to say please, but he'll only do it for you and it's very begrudgingly at first.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #slender mansion mayhem #candy pop #candy pop headcanon #candy pop headcanons #candy pop x reader

[yupuffin]

Alhaitham is great, actually

Spoilers for Sumeru story quests (Chapter 3, parts 1-4) ahead

If I had one Mora for every time someone called Alhaitham “a walking red flag...”

My personal reading of him is that he’s walking proof that “logical and realistic” isn’t mutually exclusive with “understanding and respectful of emotions,” because he is absolutely both.

Honestly, I find his character really refreshing. Too often, a “rational” character gets oversimplified as one who values facts and empirical evidence to the point of wholly rejecting the importance of feelings. It’s true that Alhaitham is not the most expressive guy on the outside, but he’s not totally dismissive of emotions (his own or others’), either.

In Port Ormos, Alhaitham readily tells the Traveler that he’s dealing with illegal goods and the stakes are high, and explicitly gives them the option to back out of the deal if they find it unsavory. (Compare to Childe and Thoma, who were not as upfront about what they were asking the Traveler to do--regardless of whether it was for nefarious purposes.) Later, at the gathering in Aaru Village, he demonstrates that he can acknowledge and apologize for when his actions could bring harm to others. In my opinion, this sincerity and sensitivity makes him more trustworthy than a lot of the characters we’ve met so far.

Even though he is a scholar who is primarily concerned with factual evidence, it’s not like he’s entirely emotionless. He recognizes his own personal motivations and limitations, as well as their place in a wider context--that someone with as logical and analytical a perspective as him can come off as “callous.” He considers others’ feelings and motivations as well, and even if they’re not flawlessly rational, he doesn’t necessarily outright reject them. His attitude makes him seem cold, but he’s actually a perceptive and understanding person.

The moment that inspired me to make this post was when he declared his interest in becoming a hostage for the Eremites (in exchange for freeing the Village Keepers). Paimon protests, asking, “What if they decide to kill you instead?”

A typical response to this question would be something along the lines of “Don’t worry,” or “I’ll be fine.” Those words are indeed comforting to hear, but they run the risk of downplaying the other person’s concern, or promising something that is ultimately outside of one’s control.

Instead, Alhaitham coolly replies, “Well, that would be bad luck for me.”

It’s a reply that acknowledges that concern without invalidating it, but it’s also straightforward and realistic. Soon afterwards, Alhaitham claims that he “never makes empty promises;” he wouldn’t give the typical sympathetic response if he couldn’t factually guarantee that everything really would be okay. If the Eremites did decide to kill him after all, he’s right--it would suck for him (and by extension, anyone who cared about his safety).

In a happy coincidence, just a few days before this scene, I played the Ballads and Brews event quests, in which Razor considers finding out more about his biological parents; when Rosaria questions him (rather rudely) about what he thinks that information will change about his life, Razor acknowledges the coldness of her proposition. “Cold stings,” he says (iirc), “but good for wounds.” At the time, Razor’s comment puzzled me; it seemed to me like Rosaria was just trying to justify being a jerk to Razor by making unprompted accusations. But I think I understand better after experiencing this particular bit of dialogue in the Archon Quests.

It’s true--Alhaitham’s response is “cold” and it “stings” because, as I mentioned earlier, it’s not the usual sympathetic, reassuring response one would expect after expressing their concern. You could even say that it’s kind of dismissive by comparison. But it is grounding. It acknowledges the very real possibility of bad things happening to someone you care about, without downplaying the anxiety that comes with it. That anxiety is persistent with its “what ifs” and thus can feel like an open wound. But it’s difficult to make a sound argument with such a realistic, sincere response as “Yes, I agree, that would be bad.” I read his response as evidence of his belief that emotions and logic can effectively coexist.

Alhaitham may fall into the “logical genius” archetype in some ways, but he’s not fundamentally insensitive or condescending. While he understands his position and motivations as a scholar operating on “pure rationality” (in Tighnari’s words), he also recognizes the potentially more emotion-laden perspectives of others.

Also, he’s incredibly beautiful and I love him.

#genshin impact spoilers #genshin impact #alhaitham #al haitham #genshin al haitham #sticking with the in-game punctuation/capitalization of his name for this post bc i'm honestly not 100% sure what's considered correct

[rimouskis]

rimouskis's 10 observations: betting on losing dogs and the swampening of ppg paints arena

after a foiled attempt to attend a NoA in 2019 (which sounds more nefarious than the truth of the matter [I am deeply too much of a coward to go to one of these alone]), Lo, Hark, I made it, baby. in an attempt to convey the experience, which was wonderful, I am doing a drive-by robbery of our favorite game recaps and stealing the format for my nefarious purposes (sharing photos and memories).

come, come, join me:

01. PPG Paints Arena Gets Shrek'd

I can now say I have been greeted at the arena doors by a juggler. that was the first surprise of many that night. the whole joint was honestly really impressively decorated. the event took place entirely on the first floor concourse, and even the bars were decorated to look vaguely new-orleans-y.

special lanterns and decorations were strung across the ceilings; there were enormous french-quarter-esque pillars erected in the halls; there was a fortune teller house with actors inside waving their arms very mysteriously over illuminated crystal balls; there was a woman gliding through the crowd with a skirt made out of servable and drinkable champagne flutes; there were people made out of disco balls wandering around; they flew a band in from new orleans to provide live music; mood lighting GALORE [more on this later].

I was super impressed. you can only do so much with an arena, and especially an arena concourse. they sunk serious time, effort, and undoubtedly money into transforming the arena into a gorgeous louisiana swampland. it was just so cool to see and worth gawking at.

02. Held Captive in the F.N.B Club

@ehghtyseven and I arrived almost-promptly a few minutes after 7. we were between a rock and a hard place: we wanted to take advantage of all the time we could, but also didn't want to be the first ones in. clearly there was nothing to worry about, though, because crowds were already moving through the gates. that was a balm to both of us, as we were kind of worried it'd be an intimate evening and I'd be forced to make smalltalk with penguins right and left.

("So, uh, what do you do?" sid would ask. I would stare at him, unsure how to explain the banalities of corporate life. I would walk away. He would be offput.)

we walked inside and immediately I got effusive compliments on both my shoes and my earrings. ah, I thought to myself, even the arena employees are in on it. they know how to butter up prospective donors to spend more money at charity events. but, in their defense: my shoes and earrings were both great, haha. we were handed some complimentary penguins-branded casino chips and sent on our merry way.

it was then that we went rogue. semi-accidentally. they weren't really herding us one way or another, you see, and as the night had only just begun, it wasn't too crowded yet. I looked at wendy. wendy looked at me. we mutually agreed that we should get a lay of the land. off we set.

we wandered around the concourse and looked at all the stations, abandoned and with signs saying play would begin at 8. we then ducked into the captain morgan club (which is one of the two clubs at the arena that normally are limited to ticketholders for those seats) to take a peek. it was made even more pirate-y than usual, I can only assume, and we got in line for drinks. the line did not move. (the poor folks staffing the bar needed reinforcements). we decided to keep moving and looped around the other half of the concourse to try our luck at the F.N.B. club. somehow that line was worse? penguins, please give more of your bartenders overtime to work charity events?

eh, we thought, we'll just keep walking around.

nope. no can do. they were herding us into the clubs like heifers in a cow chute. and, in fact, something dire was about to befall us:

03. The Penguin Parade

have you ever had a bunch of famous/famous-ish people trotted out in front of you like kindergarteners being shepherded across a suburban street? no? let me illustrate it.

iceburgh emerges with a bejeweled new orleans parasol above his head. out come colby and dan. I think colby is, like, roughly four drinks deep. maybe five. he and dan get through a very awkwardly scripted "thank you for giving us money:) please give us more:)" speech and then the processional of penguins begins.

they're announced in ascending numerical order, which of course leaves sid for last (no three years superleague will win geno that honor here). they all wander out and stare up into the stands, where we donors look down upon them like emperors at bloodied gladiators in the coliseum. I hold out my thumb and point down, signaling my displeasure. sid is immediately taken out back and s—

no no I'm joking. we all clap and woooo at them. geno spins in circles as he enters so he can wave at everyone, but he does it in a way that feels DISTINCTLY put-upon and tired. you know how some pets absolutely know they're being made fun of when you put stupid outfits on them? how they'll give you that deadpan look that says "I know what you are doing to me, it is cruel, but I have no choice but to weather it" ?

geno was that pet. long-suffering, exhausted, wants to go aggressively smack a card table instead of wander about in his special special jersey.

one of the new owners (from FSG) gets up to say some words. he's a horrendous speaker, so I retain none of it, but I suppose if you're a billionaire you don't need to be eloquent or engaging. #eattherich. he tells everyone what some of the various players will be doing tonight around the concourse, and he throws in a very weak joke when he gets to explaining how geno will be manning one of the blackjack tables.

"and geno," this offensively wealthy man says, "try to keep it PG tonight."

I desperately, painfully wish I had a photo of the expression geno made. with the jumbotron camera trained on him, geno gives this man the most DISDAINFUL FROWN I have seen on his face. ever. he was NOT IMPRESSED. this man was NOT FUNNY. geno is a WORKING CLASS, BLUE COLLAR MAN and will not stand for billionaires saying he has to keep it family-friendly at a 21-and-up event! viva la revolución, baby.

sid, meanwhile, is making goo-goo eyes at jeff and giggling all over the place. also a few drinks deep, methinks. after a bit, the players are mercifully released from the grasp of the arena lights and flee back into the locker room, likely to take a few more shots to get ready to mingle for two hours straight.

we, the unmerciful coliseum audience, are freed from our club.

it's time to party.

04. Dan the Man

wendy and I made a break for it, finally let loose from our enclosure. we darted away and moved past some evil looking betting game being set up [more on that later], through a section of food that we couldn't eat [more on THAT later], and finally took up our posts at a cocktail table to get our bearings.

this was when we realized we'd put ourselves right by the elevators.

there were VIPs in attendance; they were schmoozing in the actual club seats a level above us for an hour before we plebeians were let inside. they began spilling out of the elevators in their evening gowns and suits, and wendy realized there were penguins among them.

we watched jason run off, and then drew, and then others. they scattered to the wind to their assigned games for the night. we tittered and surreptitiously watched. I complimented two different women's outfits (#girlpower #girlsgirl). we turned and realized dan and colby were posted up at the bar behind us.

dan caught us looking. wendy waved; dan waved back. thus our interaction blossomed.

when we went over to talk to him, he was incredibly nice and NOT very trickster godlike. he's miles-less confusing when he's not asking interview questions. and he's incredibly personable! he tried to get us excited to see connor mcdavid, though, which is something an evil trickster god would attempt at an event with sidney crosby in attendance. so perhaps I can be convinced after all.

05. FRENEMIES: Craps Edition

that evil betting game? yeah, that's craps. shitty name for a game, if you ask me. the last time I was in a casino, I was 16 (don't ask) so I had no idea what was going on. nonetheless, when we heard loud voices, we were drawn close like moths to a flame.

that flame was the not-so-dulcet tones of one mr. jason zucker and one mr. bryan rust. these two goofballs were "running" the craps table, by which I mean jason had been armed with the dice stick and they were being heavily coached by who I could only assume was an employee from rivers casino, lol.

it made me feel a little better that said employee was gently cajoling some people on the other side of the table. "you ready to play yet? got it figured out?" he asked. no, man. no one gets this without a 15-step breakdown. stop making me do math. why does this board say COME in huge red letters? what the fuck is a COME bet? what the fuck is a DON'T COME bet? is this a sex game? why are jason and rusty hosting a sex game?

here's jason catching me sneaking a photo of him hosting a sex game. my middle name is subtlety.

06. A Crisis of Sexuality and Chutzpah

I'm a seasoned penguins-watcher, okay? I've lived here for years, I've been to more games and practices than I can count, I've held doors for them in restaurants and walked past them in bars, and I like to pretend I have a scrap or two of composure about interacting with the players.

ha ha. hoo. wa ha ha.

so, that sid guy, right? crazy. he's, like, just some guy. just a dude. just a funky little guy.

he's also the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on.

I can't quite articulate what my brain did when we came upon sid's Wheel O' Fun, which he was manning alone the first time we swung by (the second time jake had joined him after being freed from his shift at the milkshake factory making jake shakes [like for real]).

he was all smiles and was working the crowd (and there WAS a huge crowd around him) effortlessly. he'd lean in across his Protective Barrier of Folding Tables and take photos with folks between spins. as the night went on he'd even place people's bets for them as the crowd grew deeper. he was furiously chomping on a piece of gum the entire time (his masseter muscles have to be unbelievable).

what really threw me is that he isn't a big guy. he doesn't come off as large at all. objectively I know he's sturdy, but... those hockey pads and oversized jerseys really help you overestimate their size.

he was a crowd favorite for good reason. funny, was a good sport the whole evening, engaging and friendly, has a well-deserved air of confidence about him. he's got chutzpah. I, uh, didn't talk to him though. if he looked in my direction I immediately became preoccupied with something very important elsewhere, like a nearby woman's hat or which chips I was placing on the table. I couldn't handle it, I'm so sorry. he's really beautiful. ugh. who am I. is this what I'm reduced to. what siren song does he sing that enraptures me so. what's wrong with me. what's wrong with him.

weirdo. ugh. <3

07. PPG Paints is for Carnivorous Beasts Only

listen I don't know what I expected when the theme of the night was mardi gras. like, what about new orleans cuisine screams "vegetarian"? nothing! so I was not surprised when the food selections were everything from shrimp gumbo to jambalaya (chicken) to ALLIGATOR (!!!!) and nary a vegetarian option in sight.

disappointed but not surprised! I did have a few tiny beignets (good) and a slice of king cake (meh) but I was mostly running on the poptart I'd eaten before the event, lmao.

this is not new with the arena; ever since The Yard's arena location closed, vegetarian dining has been dire there for games. their pizza is bad, don't get it. in fact, next time you come to a game, don't get arena food. do yourself the service of eating beforehand. emporio never fails and if you need to be closer, go to moonlit burgers. up your game, ppg paints!

also since I had, like, one RC cola all night and not a drop of alcohol, I probably didn't recoup the cost of my ticket lol. dear pens offer me a discount next time I'M A CHEAP DATE I PROMISE

08. Evgeni Malkin's Blackjack Table

I had quietly made a rule for myself.

if I was committing financially to this event, if I was going to the trouble and stretching my budget and going all in, I had to go all in.

I had to play at evgeni malkin's blackjack table. I just had to. there was no way I couldn't. we came upon his table for the second time that night and posted up at a corner to watch, just like we had the first time we passed him. I eyed the players and waited for someone to give up a seat as I tried to remember the details of the "How to Play Blackjack" youtube tutorial I'd watched an hour earlier.

(I remembered, like, two rules. memory bad + star struck = bad combo).

the thing about geno, you see, is that he's a performer at heart. the drama? that's just him, doll. that's his personality. he was a dramatic dealer. he pretended to steal chips. he was LIGHTNING QUICK at mental math. he'd slap down a card and immediately move through with confidence. probably a solid 30% of it was unfounded, but it came off as both professional and intense... and still approachable, because he was being a little intentionally goofy.

he was also directly under one of the colored light beams they had set up in mardi gras colors around the arena. listen, learn some color theory with me: yellow light is SHIT for seeing colors. poor geno couldn't tell one chip from the next and kept having to squint at them to figure out what was up. it played into the goofiness very well. he rolled with it.

he kept a very good energy at the table. all the attendees were getting a kick out of him and the game, and geno ran it as a proper game. he'd reward you if you won, but he'd take your chips if you lost. his huge hands moved the cards clumsily. he sometimes threw them at people. y'know. Just Geno Things.

a chair freed up. I hesitated. someone else sat down. fuck. I continued my vigilant watch. I needed to do this, I reminded myself. I'd never forgive myself if I went to NoA and didn't play at geno's table. WHO DOES THAT? not me. no way.

a second chair freed up. I pounced.

I was in.

and, fuck, now I had to remember how to play blackjack.

he dealt me my first card. I looked at it with a healthy mixture of fear and curiosity. he dealt me my second card. I added them together. I tried to figure out if I should ask for more cards. sure, why not?

wrong. I went over 21. bust. I lose. I've just lost in front of evgeni malkin. that is the correct way of the world, I SHOULD in fact lose in front of (and to) evgeni malkin, but I couldn't go out like that. no way. I stayed put in my seat. deal me more cards, dealer. I have something to prove.

he was also kind of sweet, because I was absolutely the only person under 30, if not under 40, at this table, and I think they could smell my inexperience lol. he sort of nodded at me to make a move the next round and keep adding cards. I heeded it. people at the table started making noise. something was happening. I didn't really know what, but there was excitement in the air. I "held" instead of "hit" when it felt right. geno continued on. the man next to me had a bust. geno did something with his own cards, and WOW!

I won the round!

people literally congratulated me. it was deeply undeserved. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. even in retrospect I don't know what I did. but whatever it was was good, and I earned my first chip. hallelu!

I'm not a betting gal, but I know that you cash out when you're up. on that high note, I got up and took my leave. I'd done it. I'd played at geno's table. I'd WON at geno's table. the world was my oyster etc.

so, here is me [just out of frame] getting a smile out of geno as he nudges me along at blackjack <3

[photo credit to wendy <3]

09. America's Sweetheart, Brian Dumoulin

the night was winding down, and wendy had been very conservative with her chips, whereas I'd blown through mine [this is why I don't gamble, kids]. we need to find a table, I told her. we had bets to make!

and, serendipitously, dumo was hanging out at a somewhat poorly-attended table at that very moment.

dumo was so great. he lacked any of the confidence geno had at blackjack but more than made up for it with his sweet easygoing conversation and a truly great smile. he was CHARMING. like, I genuinely felt he was interested in talking to attendees and having a good time. the vibes were fabulous. I know I've been a little harsh on him hockey-wise this season, but wow, the babygirl truthers got me with this one. he's a goddamn sweetheart. long live dumo, who winced every time he beat you at blackjack.

10. Kris Letang's School for Beautiful Women

after exhausting our chips, saying farewell to dumo, and watching geno get dragged by security with a firm grip on his arm away from fans wanting photos as soon as the clock struck 10 [the official end of the event, because geno is a union man who doesn't work overtime], we wandered the slowly-deserting halls.

geno may have been dragged away, and sid may have been gone from his post, but kris? oh, buddy, you were NOT dragging him from his blackjack table. no sir. he had games to win, you see, and judgemental faces to make at his players, and women to charm.

so, so many women.

his table had a higher ratio of women to men than I'd seen at any other, lol. and they were all having a BALL as he was holding court. he raked one high better over the coals with pleasure as he took her chips. you can be the most beautiful woman in the arena, but kris letang will be more beautiful and will beat you at blackjack.

he was clearly great entertainment, as both kappy and POJ came to watch him work. (and to fetch him drinks). he, as all the boys, honestly, was an excellent schmoozer. they're very good at this. I think they know they work in professional entertainment. I didn't have a bad or sideways interaction all night.

it was a fabulous night. I had so much fun. the penguins did a wonderful job, the players were all lovely, and I also won a signed jersey, so hey, everyone was a winner.

brava, fellas. make sure to pay geno overtime for his post-10 o'clock photo ops.

#noa #WARNING: THIS IS A FABULOUSLY LONG POST #SO SO LONG #Ye Be Warned if Ye Open It #long post

[kaiyaki-sano]

Lend Me Your Voice(band!AU Eren x fem!Reader) pt.1

It’s been so long since I posted anything, and I had this sitting in the archives for a million years.....my bad y’all. Basically, Eren is a douchey frontman of the rock band “Titans”. This will be a 4 part slightly angsty mini-series, with a shameless little self-insert as Eren’s sister in part 2 bc I have no self control when it comes to Levi~ I hope you enjoy it!!

MINORS DNI!!!! 

TW: sinful foul smut in the beginning, Eren is an asshole to reader, very minor character death for backstory purposes, swearing/dirty talk

It was your own damn fault this happened, and you knew it. There was no way you didn’t see this coming the second you were invited onto the bus and no way you didn’t see it when he buttered you up with praises while he was gripping the headboard to ram his hips at the right angle to get that sweet release he’d become addicted to in his new lifestyle.

“Fuck!! Just like that, squeeze on me baby girl-” His ragged breathing was deafening, the nefarious and sinful harmony of slick skin slapping mixed with the creak of the shaky tour bus bed’s foundation was exactly the soundtrack he needed to get to the edge. 

And sure, Eren Yeager was an asshole and a douche, but he was no monster, who prided himself on his partners having equal pleasure too. After all, he knew it was gonna be the best moment of their peasantry lives, so he had to make it memorable. It was the very least he could do for his adoring fans. Reaching down between your legs from his position behind you, -because of course this man would have you face down, ass up like a two-bit tavern wench- and used those talented calloused fingers to toy with your throbbing clit. “C'mon, pretty baby, cum on my cock, s’what you always wanted, ain’t it? Be my good girl, lemme see you lose it.” Who were you to deny him? Clearly, you were special, so you had to obey. “F-Fuck, so good, feels so good ‘Ren, please! Ah- I’m gonna- ngh!!” It was so good, he was so god damned talented, touching and fucking you as if he’d spent his entire life learning how to please you. Of course, you came, just like he asked, all over him with your thighs quaking. You’d do anything for him. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, so good for me, might be my favorite groupie, might have to keep you-” He babbled, his usual bullshit script, whatever got you to keep squeezing his cock the way you were, just like all the ones before you, and the ones that’ll undoubtedly come after. 

He carelessly, shamelessly painted your walls white, biting down harshly into your shoulder to leave a mark that would last at least a couple of days, or weeks if you were lucky. How nice of him to leave you with a little reminder of the blessing he gave you, the blessing of his time and his nut.

You, you poor poor thing, sighed happily next to him, convinced he was being serious. Even made the grave mistake of trying to scoot in and cuddle with him. ��Fuck you doin? Leave.” He snorted, gently pushing you right away and pointing toward your clothes as he grabbed his phone to scroll through his social media, “Your shit is right there, get dressed and leave.”

How could he be so cold to you? Poor y/n, you’d only wanted to cuddle, how were you to know he was this much of a tool? “Eren…why are you being so mean? I thought…you said-” “And you believed that shit?? C'mon, did you really think you were that special? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think you’re hot as hell, wouldn’t have fucked you if I didn’t. But baby girl, you’re all a dime a dozen to me, at least a hundred in every city we hit,” He chuckled heartlessly, looking at you with no remorse and no emotion, “what use do I have to keep you around? Now, get your shit and get your pretty ass off my bus.” So you did. You gathered your clothes, what was left of your dignity, got dressed, and made your way out of the back bedroom of that bus. That proved to only make you feel worse, now being face-to-face with his band members, all of them giving you the same sympathetic look. Despite Eren’s words, there was something different about you, something wholesome, and you deserved better as an adoring fan. 

“Listen,” The first to speak up was Connie, their drummer, “don’t let that asshole bring you down, alright? Here, just to make him look dumb, I’ll give you a VIP pass, it’ll get you backstage to any of our shows. It’ll get you into the show too, so don’t freak out about tickets. VIP has its own section.” He gave you a dazzling grin, tilting his head, “I know I’d like to see you there!” You wondered how many of these they’ve had to give out, just to save face for the band, to right their cunt of a frontman’s behavior. But, you smiled, nodding and thanking them as you gave him your email to print out the pass. You didn’t have the heart to tell them, that you were simply no longer a fan. “I hope he starts to treat his fans better, thanks for your kindness.” With that, you walked off the bus and began the journey back to your car in the venue lot. 

#attack on titan #aot #aot au #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #eren yeager #eren aot #aot eren #eren x reader #eren x reader smut #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #aot smut #kaiyaki-sano original

[play-now-my-lord]

when you get an orchiectomy or oophrectomy they usually keep the tissue. You ever wonder why? It's not for any nefarious purpose like medical research. Surgeons have this sort of combination sport and hazing ritual called "Human Scrotum" where they line up the hospital's residents blindfolded and slap freshly removed human gonads at their open mouths with a ping-pong paddle. Don't feel too bad for the residents, participating means they're allowed to use the toilet that day instead of holding it in until they piss themselves & in many hospitals there are actually bidding wars over being part of the lineup

[hikennosabo]

#tristampparty day 7, episode 7: wolfwood

this is another episode i've watched multiple times, but mostly just the first half for Livio Reasons. once again... LET'S GOOOOO

i've seen ppl say this is razlo at the start of the episode... i wonder... he is more razlo-like in his movements, and he starts yelling a lot... but his expressions are still livio-like, i think... i mean he is more expressive BUT he's not grinning like razlo usually does? sigh... see the problem is that we ALSO have a level of EoM brainwashing (and whatever the fuck else is going on) on top of everything which throws a wrench in trying to figure things out. I Just Wanna See My Boy.

i love vash holding his gun backwards and using it as a bludgeon and i love going frame by frame to get cool screencaps like this 💖

wolfwood vial count: 4

at the very least, by the time of this next scene, it's definitely livio and not razlo because he's mumbling about "catching up" again which is a livio thing

when i saw the corresponding manga panel for this my brain neurons activated so hard LOL i wonder even more how orange will adapt razlo... since originally livio was trying to catch up with razlo. which i love and think is super interesting. so what is orange planning? ...is livio even aware razlo exists at this point...?

oh also livio looks a bit older here. which once again has me wondering about the timeline. the way the experiments were presented with rollo and nicholas, it looked like they were just on that table forever. as in there were no breaks in between. so... when is this? how long is it between livio volunteering himself for EoM and the experiments on him taking place?

i think it's cute that nico bumps into him :(

let's take ibuprofen together

i wonder who these people are... i thought they might be the EoM soldiers that razlo killed, but those aren't EoM uniforms... it looks like the prison uniform wolfwood was wearing... wolfwood tried to run away, so it makes sense that he wouldn't be the only one, although the phrasing "stand in our way" more implies they tried to stop the operation altogether. but... hmm... they just had regular goons as guards at the time of wolfwood's escape attempt. livio is special... would they really give him a job like guard duty?

CHAPEL JUMPSCARE

razlo sweetiepie there you are!!! mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah

HE'S SUCH A FUCKING DRAMA QUEEN HE'S SO FUNNY

since zazie is the one talking, our attention is drawn to them, so i'm glad i paused on this because the fact that legato is also looking up at wolfwood and smirking is so funny to me. EYES ON THE ROAD BESTIE!!!!

this line is always so funny to me. shonen protagonist ass

i love the scene of vash at the spaceship controls, the animation when he's working the keyboard is so smooth. hmmm, it also reminds me of wolfwood's introduction episode in 98... serves the same narrative purpose of Vash Knowing Things He Shouldn't about spaceships

i love that wolfwood thinks shooting the base of the cannon will do anything. like that's the first thing he tries. shoot first ask questions later i guess

going frame by frame on scenes of legato because i'm unwell... his eyebrows are surprisingly thick! and his eye color is grey... it was gold in 98... oh, i just noticed his eyelashes are light blue!! cute!!

i just think this is a handsome angle for him. his facial features are so pretty and delicate

this is why he buckled his seatbelt :)

... i need to stop posting legato pictures

no because what the hell is this

wolfwood vial count: 5

episode 5 had me asking about the wind... legato asks zazie if they were the one who caused the sandstorm (which they deny)... could it be... is it possible...?

my dumb ass watching this for the first time: damn it's so sad that livio is dead and now they're even gonna use his corpse for nefarious purposes :(

vash's plant markings are so pretty fr <3 orange was big brained for this too

everyone always points out the episode title card being a gut punch but THIS was an unexpected one:

this is how wolfwood is credited this episode and because i'm insane i immediately had to go back and check - this is also how he's credited in episodes 5 and 6: as "nicholas d. wolfwood/nicholas the punisher". in episode 4, he's only listed as "nicholas d. wolfwood". haha ouch!

this post ended up being a little less substantial than expected LOL but we'll soon be getting into the episodes that really give me psychic damage so :^) looking forward to it!!

#tristampparty #trigun talk #june speaks