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pedge-page · 2 days

Note

Imagine baby Sarah angry with Joel for not giving into her asks and wants like idk candy maybe and sides with reader going behind Joel’s back to ask the exact same thing and then in the middle of the day Joel questions how Sarah got a lollipop and reader says that Sarah told her that Joel said yes but to ask reader as well and they then connect the dots to discover that they’ve been played

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Sarah's Bargain

Notes: I’ve derailed from this prompt a little because Sarah’s gotta outsmart all of the adults in the room.

- - - -

Sarah and Joel are walking through the gas station mart when she spots the colorful rack of assorted candy.

"Daddy, can I have one ring pop?"

"No," he responds plainly, counting the twinkies in his hand and figuring out how many he can get before you yell at him.

"Why not."

He grabs two bottles of Pepsi in one hand before heading over to the check out counter. “Because I said so."

She grumbles and follows close behind him. "If I clean my room--"

"You can't bargain with me. I'm not mom. My answer is no."

She thinks about it for a moment. Then smiles. "Ok Daddy, I understand."

Joel is surprised she acquiesced so quickly. She seems to have gotten over the tantrum phase. Maybe he's doing a pretty good job at this parenting thing after all.

Later on, you take Sarah along with you to go grocery shopping. "Mom.”

"Yes bubba."

"Dad said if I cleaned my room, I could have a ring pop."

You pause, surveying the special deal for pepsi cans. Despite Joel telling you about the suspicious amount of pepsi that’s been disappearing from his stock, you hadn’t touched any. In fact, you had your own stock that you suspect he’s found out and been stealing from.

“What?”

“A ring pop,” she repeats. “Dad said if if cleaned my room, I could have one.”

Thats very uncharacteristic of him to bargain with Sarah.

"He did? So what are you coming to me for?"

"Well he said ONLY if you agreed. Said it was OK but to ask mom first to be sure."

Fuck, making me do the hard decision. Joels always the favorite, and if you say no now, then it’s going to make you the mean mom for no reason. You did see she cleaned her room without being told...

You grab the pepsi case, hoping Joel won't scold you for your own hoarders pile.

You see the innocent batting of her eyes just as you look over to the candy aisle. “Well if Dad said yes..."

Sarah and Joel are sitting at the table as he unwraps his secret stash of pepsi and Twinkie’s away from you.

"I asked mom for a ring pop and she said yes,” she mentions while coloring her book.

Joel freezes with half the cream custard in his mouth. “I said—“

"Its ok! I told her since you had said no, that she didn't need to get me one. I just wanted to see if she would..."

"You trying to set me up against mom?"

"No..." she adds quickly. "I just... thought it would be an interesting experiment.” She smiles softly, before turning to a very mature, saddened tone. “But then I realized it was wrong and I should have listened to you in the first place. So I didn’t take it because I know you said no."

He thinks about it for a moment. Now you’re going to come to him lecturing about why Sarah doesn't get things when she CLEARLY has a good sense of responsibility, going as far to say no to something she clearly wants just to respect him. She's also smart to test both of you, and even when she could have had it, she still refused.

“Alright. Just cuz I'm proud of ya.” He dusts the power from his fingers and fishes for his wallet. “You’re a smart kid. But I don't want you testing your mom n’ me for the same answer. And I don't want to get in trouble with her. I'll get you one. Just this once ok?"

She nods solemnly and crosses her heart. “I won’t say anything.”

The next day, you hear Joel and Sarah coming in from the garage and you quickly stash your pepsi behind the potted plant. Your daughter gives you a fat kiss on the cheek before running to the living room and turning on the tv.

You and Joel sit at the table. “I saw the can by the way.” He remarks.

You grunt, pulling the aluminum from its hiding spot and proudly sipping it before crinkling it in your hand. “Well I haven’t been stealing from you. I …have my own stash.”

Joel gasps, offended and surprised by your double standards. “And you yell at me n’ my Twinkies!”

"There better not be any f-ing twinkies in this house Joel Miller," you point at him threateningly.

"Nope none Nada. Haven't seen any." he slowly tucks the new plastic back full of them under his legs.

"The two of you talk about Sarah having cleaned her room without being told.

"Yeah, I ended up getting her the ring pop,” he tells you.

You furrow your brows.

“?… but, I got her the ring pop. She said you told her I would get if it I also approved? I didn’t want to be the mean mom!"

Fuck, Joel knows you get too worked up on trying to be too nice and cater to Sarah... "What? I told her no first. I never said it was up to you. Then she said she asked you and you said yes, but she refused yours, so I got her it instead for being responsible. I told you to stop worrying about being the nice mom!”

You also know Joel's a sucker for marveling Sarah's experimental mind and working on being responsible over getting what she wants. "She did NOT refuse my offer. what are you talking about?"

Tommy comes in moments later, and waves to the two of you through the open door. Sarah runs up to him near the doorway, and he greets her first suspiciously. They do a funky little hand shake, and you catch a glimpse of something silver going into his palm before she retreats to the living room

"What are you doing here?" Joel asks.

Tommy shrugs. "Uh nothin’ just.."

"Did you just slip her a ring pop??" You ask incredulously.

He huffs a guilty sigh. "Sarah asked for a ring pop because you guys told her no, so I went to pick one up at the store as long as she didn’t tell either you...."

Fuck. You and Jole BOTH know Tommy's complex about wanting to be Sarah's favorite uncle (despite the fact you keep reminding him he's her ONLY uncle and he has no competition).

Above all else, Sarah knows these weakness about each of you. You all look over to her as she unwrap a third ring pop, putting all of them on her one hand and switching back and forth sucking on them. There's an open Pepsi can clutched in her other tiny palm that she sips from, with an exceedingly satisfied grin on her face.

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel and sarah #joel miller fluff #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #tlou fluff #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #last of us fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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thecuriousquest · 2 days

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oral fixation with yandere yuuji? 🫣

Sloppy Girl

Yan!Yuji Itadori x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, light yandere themes, oral sex (male receiving), 18+ characters, isolation implied, ass groping, light spanking

Master List

—————————————————————————

You were smacking away at your gum as you sat in Yuji’s room with him, reading some book Gojo gave you to help you learn more about Jujutsu Sorcery. It was…irritating to say the least. Yuji could barely handle listening to you smack your lips every time you were huffy and puffy about something. This is just a whole new level of annoying.

But he likes you, really likes you. So much so that he keeps you away from Megumi, Todo, and every one else he deems a threat. He even has you study with him in his room or read manga just so that he can get some extra time alone with you.

But the constant smacking is driving him insane. He’s good at picking up on the small things, seeing what you’re interested in, what your habits are, your dislikes, what pisses you off, and what makes you giggle so adorably.

And he now realizes that he’s never once seen you not chewing gum or sucking on candy. You don’t smoke, thankfully. He would’ve had to figure out a way to get you to stop, and that wouldn’t have been easy.

The most sensible thing to do now though is…and he does this…he reaches over and claps his big, meaty paw over your mouth.

You can’t help but look at him with wide eyes as you stare at him with utter confusion. You try to say his name, but it comes out muffled and distorted behind his palm.

“Can you stop smacking your gum?”

It’s so blatant, so blunt. You honestly didn’t even realize you were doing it. It’s just a habit by now. You nod to appease him, to get him to remove his hand, and when he does, you sheepishly throw your gum away just to keep from accidentally annoying him again.

As you go back to reading your book, Yuji settles back down on the floor next to you and starts reading his manga when he sees you lift your hand to your mouth a few minutes later. He watches as you chew on the tip of your index fingernail. Biting, biting, the clicking of your nail against your teeth.

“Do you always have to have something in your mouth?” It’s not meant to be mean. He asks it genuinely. He really just doesn’t understand it. The candy, the gum, now the nail biting?

“Huh? Is that supposed to be a dirty joke?”

The sudden realization of his and your words clicks, and a perverted smile forms on his face.

“Do you want it to be?”

His cock twitches at the idea of growing hard inside your mouth.

“Yuji…I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be shy. Does…sucking on stuff make you feel more comfortable?”

You can’t help but blush at the way he phrases his question. “I guess…I just…feel more at ease.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? I’ve got something you can put in your mouth!”

With one hand, he’s tugging his uniform trousers down. With the other, he puts a hand on the back of your head and guides your lips towards his thick and heavy erection.

“You gotta open wide, or it won’t go in. Come on. Just give it a little suck. I’m clean, and you might even like it.”

You don’t know why, but you trust him. He’s always proved himself to be a good and genuine guy. You part your lips before taking Yuji in your mouth all the way. The positioning is awkward with you and him on the floor, but he tries to help accommodate the situation by letting you lean and move around as much as you need to in order to get comfortable.

At first, he tries his hardest to let you go at your own pace. This was supposed to be for your comfort after all. However, he just can’t help himself. His hands find their way up to your hair, fisting your locks gently as he forces you to go faster. You end up taking him deeper down your throat than you’d like.

You splay your hands against his thighs as you gag on his cock, spit flooding your mouth, drool seeping out past your lips and down your chin.

Yuji gropes your ass and lets his head tilt to the side. He can’t help but spank you, loving your ass that he feels only he should have his hands all over. Loving the sound of palm to skin, he smacks you a few more times before going back to groping your pink cheeks.

“Fuck…you give sloppy head. Fucking knew I loved you for a reason.”

That causes your heart to skip a beat as he controls your pace. You breathe through your nose and hollow out your cheeks, taking his girth in stride as best you can given the little experience you have with these things.

You can’t stop thinking about it, though, as Yuji pumps your lips up and down his dick. Does he seriously love you? You didn’t even know. Were there signs? Has he ever dropped hints? You don’t remember him giving you any. Maybe, you just weren’t paying attention…?

You make a muffled noise as Yuji’s face screws up in twisted pleasure as he releases his come down your throat, petting your head and calling you a good girl for taking him so nicely.

Your lips pop off of his cock, and you sit there for a few moments in disbelief about the entire thing.

“So, did it help?”

You swallow the thick load, gulping and licking your lips as you look away from him.

“Uh…yeah…thanks.”

You don’t know why you said that because you just feel like an even bigger stupid slut now.

#yandere #triggering content #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #triggering themes #yandere x darling #yandere themes #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere yuji itadori x reader #yandere yuji itadori #yandere yuji #yandere itadori yuuji #yandere itadori yuji #yuji itadori #yuji jjk #jjk yuji

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psiroller · 2 days

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in which chilchuck tries to get some but ends up a sucker to his caretaker instinct once again

i just wanted to write something where chilchuck unironically indulges laios' hyperfixation, lol. im folding this into something larger but it kind of stands on its own for now, so here.

“Hey,” Chilchuck slurred. An arm crawled around Laios’ shoulder, stirring him from his reading. “What are you doing up? It’s my shift.”

“Just research,” Laios replied cheerily. His eyes were drawn back to the book and away from Chilchuck, something that elicited a soft huff of irritation. “I’ll still be good to take over for you. I’m kind of wound up, you know? Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” Chilchuck snickered, his hand brushing across Laios’ chest with just a bit too much pressure to be purely friendly. “I’ve been wound up, too.”

Laios met Chilchuck’s lascivious gaze with concern. “Are you starving yourself again? You wouldn’t have such bad insomnia if you ate well.”

“I got wine, there’s nutrients in that,” Chilchuck giggled, giving Laios’ tit a fond pat. Laios smelled the drink on his breath and the hair on his neck stood on end.

“On an empty stomach? Chil…” “What you getting worked up for? I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.”

Laios’ brows furrowed. Chil stared up at him, waiting for him to back down, and the smug smirk only widened when he didn’t.

“You gonna force-feed me or something? I didn’t take you as into that kind of thing.” “Knowing how depraved you are, you’d enjoy it if I did.” Chilchuck scoffed. “Oh, yeah, you’re one to talk—”

Laios closed his book. “You’re being reckless,” he declared, in that know-it-all leader tone. Rarely used—Laios hated using it—but terse enough for Chilchuck to tilt his head and shut his mouth for a minute. Not long enough.

“Being a little tipsy doesn’t mean my eyes and ears don’t work,” Chilchuck groaned, pulling away and slumping onto the next step up from the one he was perched on. “It’s not my job to fight them anyway. All I gotta do is throw the bottle at your head and I’ve done my part.” “I’m not talking about the party, Chil.”

Chilchuck shrunk away from Laios and crossed his arms.

“When did you become such a nag?” Chilchuck groaned. “I’m older than you. I know my limits.”

Laios turned from his seat on the floor, rising on his knees, invading Chilchuck’s space. He braced his arms on either side of Chilchuck’s lap.

“Do I have to say why?” Laios rumbled. “If you don’t want me to care, stop making passes at me.”

Chilchuck clucked his tongue. “Didn’t have to hit on you to get you to take a few quills to the back for my bony ass.” “So much for never talking about that again.”

Chilchuck grinned. Laios’ eye twitched, knowing that Chil knew he’d taken the bait. Chilchuck reached up to cup Laios’ face; Laios let him, unfortunately.

“You can relax, big guy,” Chilchuck said, and the softness in his voice made Laios deflate all at once. “I got by just fine until you hired me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to believe you,” Laios murmured. Chilchuck could feel the muscles of his jaw working as he spoke, the weight of his heavy tallman skull in his palms. “I do. But you don’t know—" “I’m fine,” Chilchuck asserted. “What’s got you so…?”

He stopped, bit his tongue. Laios looked up at him with those insufferable, upturned puppy dog eyes, deep amber in the low firelight, and he remembered. Chilchuck let out a long-suffering sigh, stroked up his cheek into Laios’ hair and scratched his scalp.

“We got this,” Chilchuck said. “It’ll be alright.” Laios slumped forward into Chilchuck’s lap, thick jaw slamming down onto his legs like a harpsichord lid, and Chilchuck squawked. Laios turned his face into the loose-fitting, threadbare slacks Chilchuck normally wore to bed, sucking in a long breath that made his back rise and then letting it all out through his nose. It reminded Chilchuck of Leed’s wargs after a good dinner, resting their big, wrinkly heads on any friendly knee and whining for attention.

Chilchuck scratched at his sideburns. He knew propositioning Laios would be risky in the dungeon, but this wasn’t the kind of disaster he’d envisioned if it went wrong. His hand came to rest on Laios’ back, and he rubbed it along the length of Laios’ spine. Laios’ broad body sunk that much further into his lap. Chilchuck’s calves were going numb, but he held deathly stll, as if he’d scare Laios off. As if he didn’t want to scare Laios off and get out of this mess.

“We’ll find Falin,” Chilchuck said. “We did it before, and we’ll do it again.” Neither of them believed it, really, but it was a nice thought. Maybe if they chanted it enough a spell would be cast. No mana sickness yet; they’d have to keep at it.

“I’m pretty confident about that,” said Laios, muffled in Chilchuck’s legs. His breath puffed warm on his thighs in short, controlled breaths. “But if we do and we don’t get her, if the Mad Mage takes care of us, then—it’s not just Falin, anymore.”

Chilchuck’s breath caught. His fingers curled in Laios’ shirt and tugged fitfully. Laios didn’t budge.

“She used to be all I had, you know.” Laios hugged Chilchuck’s pins-and-needles calves, which further trapped him but also returned some level of blood flow. Small blessings. Chilchuck wished he were dead. “That was fine. It was—better that way. Less to worry about. Then I found a nice girl, and I proposed—"

“Wait, what?”

“—she was so cute, so nice to me, but when my father said Falin would have to leave, I couldn’t just leave my little sister to rot somewhere, so—I broke it off. It didn’t matter, if I could earn enough money and Falin would be okay—”

Try faking a heart attack. You have the plausible deniability. “He… sent Falin away?” He was dimly aware of Marcille and Falin having met at magic school. “You were supporting her?”

“—but I didn’t even—need to. She was happy where she was. And I still—I still dragged her here, let her get eaten, let the Mad Mage take her. What kind of brother—”

Chilchuck gripped the back of Laios’ skull and pulled at his hair, not enough to move him, but enough to shut him up. He let go and ruffled it instead, soothing out the tension in his scalp. Laios melted, limbs melting to the stone tunnel floor.

“I see why you’ve been so wound up,” Chilchuck said. “You’ve just been sitting here and spiraling. Are you even reading that book?”

Laios squeezed Chilchuck’s legs to his chest. “Not really. I’m looking at the words but I’m not… retaining anything.”

That’s bad. “Let me see it.” Laios looked up at Chilchuck with confusion, then distrust. “Please?” That only confused Laios further, but he lifted the worn old tome from the floor for Chilchuck to take.

“Dragons of the Eastern Archipelago,” Chilchuck read out. “Another cookbook, eh?”

The jocular tone whiffed right past Laios’ ears. “It’s… not really research,” he admitted. Chilchuck thumbed through the pages—there were many detailed technical sketches of long-bodied, short-limbed dragons with horsehair and deer antlers, strange boggling eyes and stretched lips. More impressionistic doodles filled the margins, with scrawled-circle eyes and jagged teeth, little flared scratches of the broad side of a pencil representative of dragon fire. Their fat snake bodies had wobbly, uneven sides and sloppily looping scales—but some were a little more distinguishable as a dragon than others.

“Ah.” Chilchuck cleared his throat. “Nothing wrong with a little light reading, I guess.” He tried on a smile. “The, uh, pictures are nice.” “I kept telling Falin that long don’t breathe fire,” Laios said, voice tight, “but she kept saying it would be cooler if they did.” “That’s what they’re called? Longs? Seems kind of on-the-nose.”

That managed to get a laugh out of Laios, but it sounded more exasperated than anything. “It’s just one of the native words used for them, but it’s not Shuro’s language, apparently. The word he uses is ryu.”

“I haven’t seen anydragons other than red and green. Maybe it’s just the dungeons I’ve been to.” Chilchuck said. He winced, realizing he’d just stumbled over a lecture topic, but Laios stayed folded across his lap, seemingly having gotten comfortable there, and stayed quiet. The silence made Chilchuck’s hair bristle. Chilchuck nudged him, knuckles against Laios’ temple.

“C’mon, man, I set you up. Go on.” “Now you’re just making fun of me.” “Seriously, Laios. I really want to know this time, and you’re gonna sulk about it?”

Laios turned up from his lap to read Chilchuck’s face, though he never seemed to be able to get it right all the other times he’d attempted it. Chilchuck heaved a melodramatic sigh and patted Laios’ head, an action that lowered his hackles. It really shouldn’t have worked that easily, but Laios closed his eyes and hummed.

“There are… so many kinds,” Laios said dreamily. Dread began to creep in on Chilchuck’s charitable mood, but he’d talked himself into a corner. “They’re super adaptable. Pretty much anywhere you have a dungeon or an ecosystem robust enough to support one, you can find a dragon.”

“I’ve, uh, heard about white dragons. Furry ones, kind of like these guys, but with wings and the stocky body type. Never seen one, though, so it could have been bullshit.” “Oh, they’re real. Pretty common up north.” “Do they really breathe ice? How does that work?”

“Basically, yeah. It’s super-cooled air. They have huge lungs and a fuel organ like a red dragon, but instead of burning the waste matter inside, it liquefies it into a kind of slurry—” Chilchuck grimaced, but Laios was already talking with his hands and not measuring Chilchuck’s enthusiasm. “—that undergoes a rapid chemical reaction when exposed to the air the dragon exhales.”

“Huh.” Chilchuck absently stroked the back of Laios’ neck. Laios squirmed, but didn’t complain. He slipped out of his kneeling position to sit flatter against the wall, head still flopped over Chilchuck’s lap but looking outward toward the fire. The angle looked uncomfortable, so Chilchuck dropped a step lower, letting Laios slide over just a bit more, lay more solidly in Chilchuck’s lap. Laios’ ears had turned red. “Y’know, I always just figured magic did it. I never knew any of the biology until I met you.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that way,” Laios half-shrugged. “They wouldn’t exist without some kind of mana source, so they’re still a product of magic. But to sustain the kind of huge, complex bodies dragons have on mana alone would starve the ecosystem, so they have to develop organs and bones to keep them upright and moving to serve their purpose.”

“To destroy whatever enters their lair?”

“To survive.”

“Same as the rest of us, then.”

Laios hummed. Chilchuck’s wrists had begun to hurt from holding the book, so he propped it up on the crown of Laios’ skull. He didn’t seem to mind.

“So what’s this big pearl they keep drawing the long dragon with?” Chilchuck asked, even though the answer was right beneath it, indicated helpfully in a list of figures.

“Oh, that’s an egg, believe it or not.”

“No kidding.”

“Dragon clutches start out pretty big, but because of how demanding the hatchlings are, most of them don’t survive to adulthood. Some species of dragon choose a ‘favorite’ out of their eggs to focus on and raise instead…”

Chilchuck smiled into the palm of his hand as Laios rambled, flipping through the book to keep his eyes open as Laios talked, listening as the spaces between words grew and his tangents unspooled, dissolving into dreamlike nonsense. The weight of Laios’ head got heavier in Chilchuck’s lap until the static crept back in, but Chilchuck had no intention of moving him anymore. It was well past the scheduled watch shift change by the time Laios began to softly snore, but Chilchuck didn’t rouse him.

#chilaios #dungeon meshi #ficroller #if you recognize the dragon egg factoid i know what you are

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mrwavellswaps · 2 days

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Swap, Hypno, TF

Henry Cavill, Ryan Gosling, Jake Gyllenhaal

Another great set of options here! But I think I already know who I’m swapping with.

Jake Gyllenhall. Like come on it’s gotta be. That man is just so fucking gorgeous. I’ll be honest though it’s a very close call between him and Ryan Gosling. I adore both of them and if Jake hadn’t been there I absolutely would’ve swapped with Ryan no question. It’s one of those that’s so close that my mind could change depending on the day but right now I’m dead set on Jake and his incredibly sexy looks.

That said I think I’ve just gotta go with another technology based swap for this. A special pair of headsets perhaps. How I’d get Jake to put it on is the tough part. I’d need to find a way to get close to him first. Maybe I use this device to switch bodies with multiple other people who are close to Jake. Every switch getting me closer to him until finally I’m in the body of someone he trusts deeply. Enough that can convince him to put the device on for a laugh when the two of us are alone. Slipping one headset onto him before slipping the other onto myself and without a second thought, activating the device.

Both my face and Jake’s going slack as the swapping device does its thing. Transferring everything that made us who we were through the currents flowing between the two helmets. Slowly flooding my consciousness into Jake’s mind and vice versa. And of course both of us getting massive erections in the process which seemed to be a common side effect when switching bodies with men.

It would’ve been a long and tiring process to finally get this far but it’d be well worth it once I finally had Jake’s body. Immediately throwing off the headset as soon as the swap was complete and standing up to get a good look at the body I’d been striving towards. Meanwhile the real Jake would be too confused and dazed by what had just happened to even make sense of the situation. Only looking up at me in horror as I tested out my new voice and felt up the new body I had hidden underneath the suit he’d been wearing. The newfound bulge in my pants threatening to break out at any second as I reach down and rub a hand across the outline of Jake’s thick cock.

Of course I need to take care of the original Jake somehow but I don’t think that’d be too hard. Once he finally processes what’s happened, he’ll probably start to panic at the sight of his imposter feeling himself up and slowly undressing. By this point I’ll have already stamped on the headset to ensure it can’t be used again before letting him know that the swap can’t be undone now. Giving him the choice to either keep quiet and I’ll make sure he has an easy life from now on or I’ll find some other way to keep him quiet. And since I’d just stolen his body, I don’t think he’d doubt my threats.

Moving on however I then need to hypnotise someone. And I think you all know who I’m going for. Ryan Gosling of course. And now that I’m in Jake’s body it shouldn’t be hard for me to get close to these other high end celebs like myself. As soon as the opportunity presents itself, I’ll lace a drink of his with a hypnotic potion that’s got my new body’s cum mixed into it. And as soon as he drinks it, he’ll become a complete hypno slave to me.

Can you imagine? Ryan Gosling kneeling at the feet of Jake Gyllenhall. Willing to do anything he’s told. A former straight man being turned into a gay slut. Always eager to let me ruin his tight and once virgin hole at any chance we got. Practically begging me to cum inside him every time as each load I bred into him with Jake’s cock only drove him further under my control.

With Ryan being so attached to me I doubt he’d ever want to leave my side for long. Telling the world that the two of us have decided to become a couple would be inevitable in the long game I imagine but that wouldn’t be all bad. The publicity would probably do wonders. I’d have to make sure Ryan acts as normal as possible when we’re in public though… but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let a few of his new slutty elements shine through the cracks from time to time. Maybe with him telling a reporter that I really “opened him up” to a new world of possibilities with a quick wink.

Lastly though a TF is in order and we still have Henry Cavill on our list. I’ll be honest I had no idea what to go for TF wise at first but I think I’ve finally figured it out.

Once again getting close to Henry at some point or another shouldn’t be too hard thanks to my new body. And as soon as no one is looking I’ll whip out an ancient spell. One that if performed correctly will immediately begin to transform Henry’s body. Or rather force it to shrink away into nothing. Or so you’d think at first glance.

As his body seems to vanish, his clothes would fall to the floor in a heap. But there would be something left underneath those clothes. I’d pull apart the heap and reach into Henry’s crumpled pants only to pull out Henry’s cock and balls!? It was the only thing left of his body though at first glance it would certainly be mistaken for a dildo. However upon closer inspection it looked and felt very real from the way the balls swayed to how the cock reacted to the slightest touch.

Now for the real test though.

Assuming I was alone where nobody could walk in on me, I’d slip the disembodied cock into my mouth and started sucking. Feeling as it swiftly began hardening in my mouth. Being sure to use every dick sucking trick in the book until Henry’s cock finally blew a load in my mouth. And as soon as it did, the suit I was wearing started to rip.

Henry’s body and soul essence had all been trapped inside this dlido-like form of his cock. However this meant that anyone who drank his cum would gain his strength and muscle mass albeit temporarily. Hence my suit tearing a fair bit after I swallowed thanks to my body bulking up quite a fair bit. And naturally I didn’t waste any time checking out the results. Loving the look of an even bigger and buffer Jake Gyllenhall staring back at me.

Needless to say I was gonna be using Henry’s cock a lot. Thankfully it replenishes itself endlessly as far as I know so there isn’t a real limit. I can drink from it as much as I want and bulk Jake’s body up whenever I please. Hell I might even let Ryan drink from it as well. Lord knows it’d be hot to see him hulk out with some extra muscle as well. Giving Ryan and even thicker muscle ass for me to dominate! But I think I can say for certain that I’ll be the one using it’s power most of the time. All the extra muscle is bound to feel addictive. And who know? Maybe my body will start to adapt and hold onto some of that extra size even after the effects wear off. Only one way to find out I guess.

Now this one was fun to type up! Also wanted to give a quick shout out to an old story by @fantasyvessels called Trading Places With Gyllenhall which definitely inspired me a little here. Glad I was able to track down where they got those images from and make a hot gif outta it. Go check that story out as well if Jake is your thing!

#asks #swap hypno tf #male body swap #permanent #male body theft #identity theft #male transformation #male muscle growth #musclegrowth #celebrity swap #celebrity tf #technology #magic #male hypnosis #male hypno #celebrity hypno

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wittlesissyb4by · 21 hours

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Chapter 1

Oh fuck! Oh FUCK! FUCK!

I overslept.

I was supposed to be at work over an hour ago. If I hurried, I could take a shower, throw on some clothes that still needed ironing, and make it there by 11 if there isn’t much traffic.

Or…I could just call in sick.

Having the day to myself would be nice. I’ve taken a day off each of the last 3 weeks and I have to say, I’ve really been enjoying the extra day of relaxation. Not that my job is too taxing, I sit at a desk all day and move numbers from one column to the other, but on days I’m home I get to be free. I get to be me.

My roommate Max is at work until 5. That’s at least 7 solid hours of play time. My mind races with all the possible things I could do. I’m already getting hard just thinking about it. I grab my phone and tune my voice as I dial, my other hand on my crotch, rubbing in excitement.

“HR, this is Kelly.”

“Hey K-Kelly” I say in a terrible excuse for a raspy voice, coughing unconvincingly. “I think I'm getting pretty sick…”

“Again? This is like the third week in a row.” She says.

“Yea, I dunno, some kind of weird viral thing I guess.”

Even through the phone she sounded skeptical. “Hmm…okay well go ahead and take the day off, and bring in a doctor’s note on Monday.”

“A doctor’s note?”

“Yea. You’ve already used all your PTO days for the year, so you’ll need a note from your doctor to have it count as a sick day. Otherwise we’ll have to dock your pay.”

America.

“Okay, well *ehem* I’ll get the note and bring it on Monday.” I say, knowing damn well I'm too lazy to do any of those things. Maybe they’ll forget, or shrug it off, I dunno, that’s future-Jake’s problem.

Today, I’m gonna pamper myself. Literally.

But first I have to shave my legs. I dunno why. For whatever reason it puts me in that mood. Having fresh, smooth legs makes me feel both feminine and infantile.

After I’ve removed any trace of body hair, it’s time to decide what to wear. I have a large divider in my closet that serves as a false wall. It effectively hides an entire section tucked back in the corner. That’s where I keep all my supplies.

I’ve accrued quite a lot over the years. Slowly adding to my wardrobe and repertoire of toys. I rake the hangars along the rod as I search for my outfit of the day, all of them in various shades of pink.

Frilly dress? Na. Too frumpy. Onesie? Too tame. I’m in a particularly slutty mood. I want something slutty.

I decide on my go-to: the sexy Schoolgirl outfit.

Sure, it’s cliche. But there's a reason it’s so common. Nothing makes me feel more fuckable than that skimpy skirt and the crop top. It’ll even show off my new belly button piercing!

I take some time putting it all on, pretending I’m getting ready for a hot date or something, or maybe just a gangbang.

The skirt can’t even hang properly because of how hard my cock is poking out. I stroke it a few times, fighting the urge to do it more. I have to control myself, I don’t want this to end too early.

Luckily, I’ve learned a great way to fix that.

I take a few seconds to decide on a diaper. I end up going with the pink BunnyHopps, for multiple reasons, but the main one being that they’re super cute.

I unfurl the diaper and lay it down on my bed, turning around to position myself over it. The crinkle as I lower myself onto it always gets me going. The shaky excitement from something so simple is something I will never understand about myself. But as I’m pulling the front of the diaper up to tape it shut, I realize I’ve forgotten something. Gotta get a plug. Oh! And powder…

After a bit of grunting and frustration, I work the plug into my ass. I love how full it makes me feel, having it inside and tickling my prostate gives me the heebie jeebies. I powder myself as best I can without getting it all over my skirt, then pull the front flap of the diaper over me and tape it snugly.

Mmmm the way it feels when I sit up, feeling the padding as the plug presses into me is such a high.

I stand up and look at myself in the mirror. Not bad, but it can be better.

I take my shaggyish hair and separate it into two tiny pigtails. I’m getting better at making them even, but I wish my hair was a bit longer. Two little bows attached to each do make it look super cute, though.

I close the door to my room…just in case. I don’t want Max to come home early and find me prancing around like a pretty sissy. I turn back around and get to what I was doing…

Creeeeakkk

I panic. Jumping around, caught in the act, attempting to cover myself as the door swings open.

Nothing.

No one’s on the other side, the door just…swung open on its own accord, and damn near gave me a heart attack. I push the door shut again but it doesn’t click, just slowly creaks back open. It takes me two more attempts to get it to stick and stay shut. I gotta fix that sometime soon. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week…

I spend the next hour in my computer chair watching make-up tutorials as I learn to apply my own. Trying to contour without making myself look like bozo the clown is something I’m still struggling to learn. I’m pretty happy with what I accomplished though. I bat my mascara’d eyelashes at myself and give a dainty smile to the mirror. I feel so pretty, but I could definitely use some lip gloss!

When I’m satisfied that I look like a proper, fuckable sissy slut. I prance around the room. Well, as much as I can with a plug and pamper between my bum. I love my new stockings and Mary Jane slippers! They really complete the look.

“Oh! Have I been a naughty girl today, Professor?” I say in as best of a sissy voice as I can muster. “Are you going to make me stay after class and be…punished?”

I giggle daintily at my little made up scenario. It’s silly and, admittedly, pathetic, but it’s the best I can muster under the circumstances. Judging by how hard I am in my pampers, it seems to be working just fine.

I go back to my secret stash and rustle around until I find the dildo I’m looking for. The big, fleshy 8-incher complete with balls and a suction cup, a favorite of mine lately.

“Oh Professor!” I say, twirling around with the cock so that my skirt swishes and my diaper crinkles. “Whatever could I do to make it up to you??”

“Well I think you should start by…sucking up to me a bit…” I mimic in a deeper voice, trying not to cringe at the awful line.

I place the dick to my glossy lips, batting my eyes up at the ceiling and putting on an innocent facade, “Like this Professor??”

“Yes you little whore. Now let’s see what you got!”

I close my eyes and take the fleshy dildo in my mouth. I hear myself let out a little moan. God it feels so good having something in there. I have several pacifiers to appease my oral fixation, but there’s nothing like a nice big cock, even if it’s a fake one…

I get down onto my knees, putting the dildo on the edge of the bed, pretending I’m servicing a real man. I suck and slurp and try to do all the things the blowjob tutorial videos told me to. I can’t help but rub the front of my diaper with my other hand. My dick is practically screaming at me to cum. I bring myself right up to the edge and–

Thonk!

Oh fuck! Was that a car door? Is Max home?? Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit! What if he sees me like this??

I toss the dildo to the side and bustle over to the window as fast as my plug and padding will allow. I peek through the blinds and heave a huge sigh of relief.

It’s just the neighbor. They must have forgotten something at work I guess.

Phew…close one.

My heart is still beating out of my chest, and my stomach is still in knots from the adrenaline. All of my horniness has evaporated.

Well, kind of. One quick look in the mirror gets me worked up again, but at least I'm not so close to cumming now!

Stopping to take the time to wet my diaper, I hold my skirt up as I watch myself make the padding swell and the tint of the diaper change to a darker shade. I press the front inward, feeling the warmth against my skin. What kind of freak do I have to be to enjoy this shit?

I put that thought out of my mind.

Searching the room for the discarded dildo, I find it in the corner of the room before sitting down at my desk and plopping the rubber dick down on the surface in front of me.

It doesn’t take me long to find some porn to watch. I’ve recently discovered “FPOV” blowjob videos where, instead of it being from the male perspective looking down at someone sucking his dick, you get the girl’s perspective. Which means I get to watch the dick enter in and out of ‘my’ mouth. A front row seat to a big, sloppy blowjob.

I put my headphones on so I can get the real experience. Following the girl on screen as she moves back and forth over the big, black dick.

“You’re such a good little cocksucker!” a woman’s voice says.

Oh! This one has a voiceover. Someone degrading me and instructing me while I suck a dick? Yes please.

“Take it in your mouth! Deeper…deeper…”

I rub the front of my diaper, feeling my absolutely throbbing cock even through the pissy padding. ‘MMmphhing’ all over the dick in my mouth, making sure to keep it nice and wet.

“This is your purpose…this is what you were made for…”

I suck and slurp, the diaper crinkles and shifts. This is so hot!

“Men are going to use you…fuck your little whore mouth for their pleasure…”

“You are meant to worship perfect, huge, juicy cock!”

“Suck him sissy! Suck him faster!”

I moan with the rubber dick in my mouth as I follow the voice’s instructions. The woman on screen was ‘mmming’ and ‘mmmphing’, but I was doing it louder. She spat on the dick, so did I. She stroked it with her saliva. So did I.

“Do you feel like a little slut for him?”

I do.

“His little mouth whore?”

Yessss.

“He’s going to use your lips like a fleshlight.”

Whatever you sayy.

“You want his cum so fucking bad don’t you??”

The girl on the screen was moaning desperately, hungrily. Oh wait…that’s me.

“He’s going to cum! He’s going to cum!”

Oh god…I’m gonna cum. I need to stop–oh! Oh no…

I curse myself as I feel my body start to spasm. A new warmth fills the inside of my diaper. I can feel all my horniness leaving with it.

No! Not yet!! I whine at no one in particular. I had a whole day planned…and now it’s ruined.

I hate how easily it tends to happen. I can’t get far into my regime at all without immediately blowing it….literally.

I feel like crying, but I don’t want my mascara to run. The plug immediately loses all of its appeal. I huff and puff as I rip the tapes of the diaper off, seeing my immense and gooey load making strings when the front flap flops open. I sit up a bit and yank the plug out a little harder than I intended, tossing it across the room.

Plopping myself back down, the diaper feels cool and clammy now. Still, I reason, there’s no sense in wasting it, diapers are expensive, and the good thing about these BunnyHopps is they have the hook and loop tapes, which means I can put it right back on…even if it’s not nearly as fun now.

I check through the window again to make sure Max’s car isn’t out front before I head into the kitchen to make something to eat. I bring it back to my room, closing the door, and then closing it again after it doesn’t stay shut.

Firing up my rig, I pull up League of Legends and start playing a few matches. I feel like one of those E-girls, dressing kind of skimpy and playing video games for boys’ attention. I don’t even have to get up to pee between matches, just get to release it all into my diaper. This is the life.

At around 2 o’clock, I feel the urge to use the bathroom in a different way. I sigh, knowing it’s the end of my diaper time. I head to the restroom to do my business, but stop before I get to the door.

Actually, why don’t I just do it right here? Right now? After all, I am in a diaper. I don’t usually mess because Max is always here, but I have the house all to myself, and this diaper is on its last leg anyway. Why not? I’m allowed to treat myself, even if it's probably the weirdest way one would do so.

I’ve always found it a bit awkward to poop in a diaper. How does one do it? Do you stand? Surely not. Do you sit? That seems messy, but I guess that’s kinda the point…I decide to squat down and handle it that way.

It doesn’t happen immediately. I sit there awkwardly thinking about what someone would say if they saw me in this position.

“D’awwww!! Is the wittle baby making a pushy poo?? Hmm? Are joo making a big ‘ole mess for Mommy?”

The thought of that gives me a stirring in a different part of my diaper. I imagine myself surrounded by a group of beautiful women, forced to dirty my diaper in front of them while they all point and laugh.

“Stinky poo! Stinky poo! Now you’re going doo doo!!”

“Suck your thumb, loser!!”

I put my thumb in my mouth. I suck it while I grunt and push.

“A grown man dumping in a DIAPER!”

“Man? Looks like a sissy slut to me!”

I can actually see myself blushing in the mirror while the diaper sags under the weight of my warm mush that’s filling it.

“He did it! He did it!” the imaginary girls clap.

I can see my penis poking through the pampers.

“And he LIKED it!”

“Show us how much you like it, loser!”

“Sit in your stinky seat!!”

I sit back on my butt and feel the mush spread inside. It’s sickening and feels yucky, but the girls love it.

“Bouncy bouncy baby!!”

I bounce on the floor, squishing the mess even more, sucking my thumb and making pathetic little noises as I slip into little space.

“Goo goo ga ga sissy girl!!”

I’m drooling on my thumb while the other is rubbing the front of my mushy diaper. I’m glad Max isn’t home to hear the ridiculous sounds I'm making.

“I think he wants to MAKE a goo goo in his diapy!” The girls all laugh. Emma Watson, Kate Beckinsale, Natalie Portman, they’re all here. “On the floor! It’s time for dumpy humpies!!”

Someone also tells me to get my ‘big boi binky’. I grab the dildo off my desk and put it on the floor in front of me.

“Sucky sucky while you fucky fucky!!”

I’m a mess in every sense of the word. Drooling all over the dick, wiggling back and forth in my defiled diaper, grinding against the ground, skirt, hair, make-up all disheveled.

The girls are clapping their hands and chanting. Goo GOO! Goo GOO! Goo GOO!

It feels so good, being a dirty little diaper bitch…I’m gonna…I’m gonna…

Beep!

Panic. Was that a car horn? No, a truck horn. Max’s truck. The sound it makes when it’s locking. He’s here.

I rush to the window, my destroyed diaper plopping side to side with every step. I peek through the blinds again, scanning the yard.

Nothing. No one in the driveway, no sign of Max.

Another sigh of relief. It’s hard to enjoy myself when I’m constantly on edge that I'll be caught. Sure, I’m in my room, but the stench alone could probably alert the neighbors. I check to see if I even came.

Oh…yea..definitely did. But I don’t remember the orgasm. Shame. I’m overcome with shame and disgust again, and now I’m walking around in my own filth.

I carefully remove the diaper, trying to make sure the defecation doesn’t get on my skirt. In hindsight, I should have removed the skirt before opening the diaper, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. Now I've got a literal mess on my hands. I use one of my palms to cradle the diaper while using my other hand to keep my skirt from sticking to the filth on my backside. I carefully place the diaper down so I can use both of my hands to unzip my skirt safely and take it ,and my crop top, off, tossing them both out of harm’s way.

Now I have other shit to deal with. I carefully roll up the diaper and tape the biohazard up into a ball. The thing is massive and plump, but still has its pinkish hue. I want to take it out to the dumpster, but being naked with a muddy butt isn’t exactly the right attire to do so.

This is why I don’t make messy diapers. I’m so bad at dealing with the cleanup.

I decide to set it all down and go take a shower. I make sure to close my door behind me, and step across the hall into the bathroom. The warm water feels good on my clammy skin. I use the sprayer to hose the filth off my bum, finally feeling clean again. I put the nozzle back in its holster above, but it falls with a loud clunk. But even after I caught it, the sound persisted.

Someone was at the front door.

Not knocking. They just…walked in. I could tell by the clatter the screendoor makes when it shuts too hard, another thing I was supposed to fix…

Is that Max? Or is someone breaking in? Max shouldn’t be off of work yet, it’s only 3, and he always works until at least 5.

I listen to the footfalls, turning the water off so I can get a better listen. The steps are hard, like those of work boots. Max’s boots. They stomp down the hallway past the bathroom I’m in, past my door, and then to his.

I shut my door, right?

Yes. I did. I made sure of it.

But what if he smells my disgusting diaper?

In a bit of a panic, I hop out of the shower, grab a towel, and make my way out into the hall.

“Hey,” I say, unable to keep the panic from my voice.

Max turns, a weird look on his face, “Hey.” he replies.

“You’re home early.” I say, sounding like an unfaithful housewife.

He scratches his beard and sighs, “Yea, the guys got what they needed done and we should be good to pass inspection tomorrow so I sent ‘em home.”

“Oh, okay, cool.” It was awkward. We’ve lived together for almost two years now and it’s never been this awkward. Probably because I’m making it awkward.

“Well, I’m gonna go take a nap.” He rubbed his eyes, maybe a little too much.

“Alright then, see ya later.”

“Later.”

He went into his room and closed the door behind him. I hurried to mine, reaching for the handle.

But it wasn’t there. The door was open. Wide open. And all my stuff was splayed across it in full, easy view. The skimpy skirt, the crop top with the word ‘SISSY’ plastered across it, a realistic dildo with my drool still dripping down it and, right in the center of the floor, my big giant disgusting diaper.

…Is there any chance he didn’t see all of that?

To Be Continued

#roomies

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thesublemon · 2 days

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best picture

For the first time in a long time, I watched all of the movies nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. Partly on a whim, partly for a piece I’ve been working on for a while about what is going wrong in contemporary artmarking. I cannot say that the experience made me feel any better or worse about contemporary movies than I already felt, which was pretty bad. But sometimes to write about a hot stove, you gotta put your hand on one. So. The nominees for coldest stove are:

Poor Things. Did not like enough to finish. I always want to like something that is making an effort at originality, strangeness, or style. Unfortunately, the execution of those things in this movie felt somehow dull and thin. Hard to explain how. Maybe the movie’s motif of things mashed together (baby-woman, duck-dog, etc) is representative. People have been mashing things together since griffins, medleys, Avatar the Last Airbender’s animals, Nickelodeon’s Catdog, etc. Thing + thing is elementary-level weird. And while there’s nothing wrong with a simple, or well-worn premise, there is a greater burden on an artist to do something interesting with it, if they go that route. And Poor Things does not. Its themes are obvious and belabored (the difficulty of self-actualization in a world that violently infantilizes you) and do not elevate the premise. There’s a fine line between the archetypal and the hackish, and this movie falls on the wrong side of it. It made me miss Crimes of the Future (2022), a recent Cronenberg that was authentically original and strange, with the execution to match.

Anatomy of a Fall. Solid, but not stunning. The baseline level of what a ‘good’ movie should be. It was written coherently and economically, despite its length. It told a story that drew you along. I wanted to know what happened, which is the least you can ask from storytelling. It had some compelling scenes that required a command of character and drama to write—particularly the big argument scene. The cinematography was not interesting, but it was not annoying either. It did its job. This was not, however, a transcendent movie.

Oppenheimer. Did not like enough to finish. But later forced myself to, just so no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was talking about when I said I disliked it. I felt like I was being pranked. The Marvel idea of what a prestige biopic should be. Like Poor Things, it telegraphed its artsiness and themes and has raked in accolades for its trouble. But obviousness is not the same as goodness and this movie is not good. The imagery is painfully literal. A character mentions something? Cut to a shot of it! No irony or nuance added by such images—just the artistry of a book report. The dialogue pathologically tells instead of shows. It constantly, cutely references things you might have heard of, the kind of desperate audience fellation you see in soulless franchise movies. Which is a particularly jarring choice given the movie’s subject matter. ‘Why didn’t you get Einstein for the Manhattan project’ Strauss asks, as if he’s saying ‘Why didn’t you get Superman for the Avengers?’ If any of this referentiality was an attempt to say something about mythologization, it failed—badly. The movie is stuffed with famous and talented actors, but it might as well not have been, given how fake every word out of their mouths sounded. Every scene felt like it had been written to sound good in a trailer, rather than to tell a damn story. All climax and no cattle.

Barbie. Did not like enough to finish. It had slightly more solidity in its execution than I was afraid it would have, so I will give it that. If people want this to be their entertainment I will let them have it. But if they want this to be their high cinema I will have to kill myself. Barbie being on this list reminds me of the midcentury decades of annual movie musical nominations for Best Picture. Sometimes deservingly. Other times, less so. The Music Man is great, but it’s not better than 8 1/2 or The Great Escape, neither of which were nominated in 1963. Musicals tend to appeal to more popular emotions, which ticket-buyers and award-givers tend to like, and critics tend to dislike. I remember how much Pauline Kael and Joan Didion hated The Sound of Music (which won in 1966), and have to ask myself if in twenty years I’ll think of my reaction to Barbie the same way that I think of those reviews: justified, but perhaps beside the point of other merits. Thing is. Say what you want about musicals, but that genre was alive back then. It was vital. Bursting with creativity. For all Kael’s bile, even she acknowledged that The Sound of Music was “well done for what it is.” [1] Contemporary cinema lacks such vitality, and Barbie is laden with symptoms of the malaise. It repeatedly falls back on references to past aesthetic successes (2001: A Space Odyssey, Singin’ in the Rain, etc) in order to have aesthetic heft. It has a car commercial in the middle. It’s about a toy from 60 years ago and politics from 10 years ago. It tries to wring some energy and meaning from all of that but not enough to cover the stench of death. I’d prefer an old musical any day.

American Fiction. Was okay. It tried to be clever about politics, but ended up being clomping about politics. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t any more interesting than any other ‘intellectual has a mid-life crisis’ story, even with the ‘twist’ of it being from a black American perspective. Even with it being somewhat self-aware of this. But it could have been a worse mid-life crisis story. The cinematography was terrible. It was shot like a sitcom. Much of the dialogue was sitcom-y too. I liked the soundtrack, what I could hear of it. The attempts at style and meta (the characters coming to life, the multiple endings) felt underdeveloped. Mostly because they were only used a couple times. In all, it felt like a first draft of a potentially more interesting movie.

The Zone of Interest.Wanted to like it more than I did. Unfortunately, you get the point within about five minutes. If you’ve seen the promotional image of the people in the garden, backgrounded by the walls of Auschwitz, then you’ve already seen the movie. Which means that all the rest of the movie ends up feeling like pretentious excess instead of moving elaboration. It seemed very aware of itself as an Important Movie and rested on those laurels, cinematically speaking, in a frustrating way. It reminded me of video art. I felt like I had stepped through a black velvet drape into the side room of a gallery, wondering at what point the video started over. And video art has its place, but it is a different medium. Moreover video art at its best, like a movie at its best, takes only the time it needs to say what it needs to say.

Past Lives. I’m a human being, and I respond to romance. I appreciate the pathos of sweet yearning and missed chances. And I understand how the romance in this movie is a synecdoche for ambivalent feelings about many kinds of life choices, particularly the choice to be an immigrant and choose one culture over another. The immigrant experience framing literalizes the way any choice can make one foreign to a past version of oneself, or the people one used to know, even if in another sense one is still the same person. So, I appreciate the emotional core of what (I believe) this movie was going for, and do think it succeeded in some respects. And yet…I was very irritated by most of its artistic choices. I found the three principal characters bland and therefore difficult to care about, sketched with only basic traits besides things like Striving and Being In Love. Why care who they’d be in another life if they have no personalities in this one? It’s fine to make characters symbols instead of humans if the symbolic tapestry of a movie is interesting and rich, but the symbolic tapestry of this movie was quite simple and straightforward. Not that that last sentence even matters much, since the movie clearly wanted you to feel for the characters as human beings, not just symbols. Visually, the cinematography was dull and diffuse, with composition that was either boring or as subtle as a hammer to the head.

Maestro. Did not like enough to finish. Something strange and wrong about this movie. It attempts to perform aesthetic mimicry with impressive precision—age makeup, accents, period cinematography—but this does not make the movie a better movie. At most it creates spectacle, at worst it creates uncanny valleys. It puts one on the lookout for irregularities, instead of allowing one to disappear into whatever the movie is doing. Something amateurishly pretentious in the execution. And not in the fun, respectable way, like a good student film. (My go-to example for a movie that has an art-school vibe in a pleasant way is The Reflecting Skin). There’s something desperate about it instead. It has the same disease as Oppenheimer, of attempting to do a biopic in a ‘stylish’ way without working on the basics first. Fat Man and Little Boy is a less overtly stylish rendition of the same subject as Oppenheimer, but far more cinematically successful to me, because it understands those basics. I would prefer to see the Fat Man and Little Boy of Leonard Bernstein’s life unless a filmmaker proves that they can do something with style beyond mimicry and flash.

The Holdovers. Did not like enough to finish. It tries to be vintage, but outside of a few moments, it does not succeed either at capturing what was good about the aesthetic it references, or at using the aesthetic in some other interesting way. The cinematography apes the tropes of movies and TV from the story’s time period, but doesn't have interesting composition in its own right. It lacks the solidity that comes from original seeing. (Contrast with something like Planet Terror, in which joyous pastiche complements the original elements.) The acting is badly directed. Too much actorliness is permitted. Much fakeness in general between the acting, writing, and visual language. If a movie with this same premise was made in the UK in the 60’s or 70's it would probably be good. As-is the movie just serves to make me sad that the ability to make such movies is apparently lost and can only be hollowly gestured at. That said, the woman who won best supporting actress did a good job. She was the only one who seemed to be actually acting.

Killers of the Flower Moon. The only possible winner. It is not my favorite of Scorsese’s movies, but compared to the rest of the lineup it wins simply by virtue of being a movie at all. How to define ‘being a movie’? Lots of things I could say that Killers of the Flower Moon has and does would also be superficially true of other movies in this cohort. Things like: it tells a story, with developed characters who drive that story. Or: it uses its medium (visuals, sound) to support its story and its themes. The difference comes down to richness, specificity, control, and a je ne sais quois that is beyond me to describe at the moment. Compare the way Killers of the Flower Moon uses a bygone cinematic style (the silent movie) to the way that Maestro and The Holdovers do. Killers of the Flower Moon uses a newsreel in its opening briefly and specifically. The sequence sets the scene historically, and gives you the necessary background with the added panache of confident cuts and music. It’s useful to the story and it’s satisfying to watch. Basics. But the movie doesn’t limit itself to that, because it’s a good movie. The sequence also sets up ideas that will be continuously developed over the course of the movie.* And here’s the kicker—the movie doesn’t linger on this sequence. You get the idea, and it moves on to even more ideas. Also compare this kind of ideating to American Fiction’s. When I said that American Fiction’s moments of style felt underdeveloped, I was thinking of movies like Killers of the Flower Moon, which weave and evolve their stylistic ideas throughout the entire runtime.

*(Visually, it places the Osage within a historical medium that the audience probably does not associate with Native Americans, or the Osage in particular. Which has a couple of different effects. First, it acts as a continuation of the gushing oil from the previous scene. It’s an interruption. A false promise. Seeming belonging and power, but framed all the while by a foreign culture. Meanwhile potentially from the perspective of that culture, it’s an intrusion on ‘their’ medium. And of course, this promise quickly decays into tragedy and death. The energy of the sequence isn’t just for its own sake—it sets up a contrast. But on a second, meta level it establishes the movie’s complicated relationship to media and storytelling. Newsreels, photos, myths, histories, police interviews, and a radio play all occur over the course of the movie. And there’s the movie Killers of the Flower Moon itself. Other people’s frames are contrasted with Mollie’s narration. There’s a repeated tension between communication as a method of knowing others and a method of controlling them—or the narrative of them—which plays out in both history and personal relationships.)

Or here’s another example: When Mollie and Ernest meet and he drives her home for the first time, we see their conversation via the car’s rearview mirrors. This is a bit of cinematic language that has its origins in mystery and paranoia. You see it in things like Hitchcock or The X-Files or film noir. By framing the scene with this convention, the movie turns what is superficially a romantic meet-cute (to quote a friend) into something bubbling with uneasiness and dread. This is not nostalgia—this is just using visuals to create effects. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen anything that uses the convention before, although knowing the pedigree might add to your enjoyment. The watchfulness suggested by the mirrors and Ernest’s cut-off face will still add an ominous effect. It works for the same reason it works in those other things. Like the newsreel, it is a specific and concise stylistic choice, and it results in a scene that is doing more than just one thing.

In general, the common thread I noticed as I watched these nominees, was the tendency to have the ‘idea’ of theme or style, and then stop there. It’s not that the movies had nothing in them. There were ideas, there was use of the medium, there was meaning to extract. There were lots of individually good moments. But they tended to feel singular, or repetitive, or tacked on. Meanwhile contemporary viewers are apparently so impressed by the mere existence of theme or style, that being able to identify it in a movie is enough to convince many that the movie is also good at those things. The problem with this tendency—in both artists and audiences—is that theme and style are not actually some extra, remarkable, inherently rarifying property of art. Theme emerges naturally from a story with any kind of coherence or perspective. And style emerges naturally from any kind of artistic attitude. They are as native as script, or narrative, or character. A movie’s theme and style might not be interesting, just like its story or dialogue might not be interesting, but if the movie is at all decent, they should exist. What makes a movie good or bad, then, is how it executes its component parts—including theme and style—in service of the whole. When theme is well-executed it is well-developed. Contemporary movies, unfortunately, seem to have confused ‘well-developed’ with ‘screamingly obvious.’ A theme does not become well-developed by repetition. It becomes well-developed by iterationand integration. Theme is like a melody. Simply repeating a single melody over and over does not result in the song becoming more interesting or entertaining. It becomes tedious. However, if you modify the melody each time you play it, or diverge from the melody and then return to it, that can get exciting. It results in different angles on the same idea, such that the idea becomes more complex over time, instead of simply louder.

Oppenheimer wasprobably the worst offender in this regard. Just repeat your water drops, crescendoing noise, or a line about ‘destroying the world’, and that’s the same as nuance, right? Split scenes into color and black and white and that’s the same as structure, right? That’s the same as actually conveying a difference between objectivity and interiority (or another dichotomy) via the drama or visual composition contained in the scenes, right? When I watched many of these movies, I kept thinking of a behind-the-scenes story from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The story goes that Joss Whedon was directing Sarah Michelle Gellar in some scene, and when the take was over he told her how great she was, and that he could see right where the music would come in. And Gellar replied that if he was thinking about the music, he clearly wasn’t getting enough from her acting alone. This conversation then supposedly informed Whedon’s approach to “The Body,” a depiction of the immediate aftermath of death that is considered one of the best episodes of television ever made, and which has no non-diegetic music whatsoever. Not to imply that music is necessarily a crutch, or to pretend that “The Body” is lacking in other forms of stylization (it is a very style-ish episode). But more to illustrate the way that it is easy to forget to make the most of all aspects of a medium, particularly the most fundamental ones, once one has gotten used to what a final product is supposed to feel like.

And that’s why most of these movies don’t feel like movies. They create the gestalt of a movie or a ‘cinematic’ moment—often literally through direct vintage imitation—without a sense of the first principles. Or demonstrating a sense of them, anyway. Who needs AI when the supposedly highest level of human filmmakers are already cannibalistically cargo-culting the medium just fine.

[1] “The Sound of Money (The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun).” The Pauline Kael Reader. (This book contains the full text of the original review, rather than the abbreviated review that I linked earlier.)

#posts: art #movies #am rusty at blogging and don't have all the virtuous nuance i would like in this but we will go with it

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hazbinsimp777 · 1 day

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❤️Alastor x Fem Avenger Reader ❤️

Hello everyone! This is a new story I’ve always wanted to do, because I love Alastor, i love Hazbin Hotel and I always loved Marvel. So to me, the only logical thing to do was, mix all together. This will be a full on series! For clarification this would be an alternative universe to the MCU, but still the same characters and backstories! Hope you all have a great time reading!

The HH characters will not be in this chapter, but they will be in the next!

Y/n Roger’s Abilities: Flight, Elemental magic, telekinesis, energy blasts, Superhuman qualities.

GORE! DEATH!CUSSING!

~Chapter 1~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avengers Tower, 2024, New York.

“Peter! Give me back my taco you bitch!” Y/n yelled, flying from the kitchen while chasing the boy, web slinging to escape.

“Come on Y/n! I’m hungry, a-and you know I’ve been doing a lot for Mr. Stark lately-” Peter said, defending his case and circumstances.

That is when Peter started to float up into the air, startled, he realized it was just you lifting him up. Bringing you closer to him, smirking, taking the taco back, “I’ll make you some tacos spidey just don’t steal mine.”

“O-oh thank you so much Y/n!” He thanked, getting dropped to the ground. You both always had this sibling-like friendship.

“No problem” The fellow young one replied, going back into the kitchen, making her spider friend a taco. Set it on a plate alongside with a glass of sweet tea. The young teen happily ate the meal with pure bliss. “Wow-Aunt May never makes stuff like this.” He adds, his mouth full of food, smiling.

That is when Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Steve (Your adoptive father) entered from the elevator, back again from a mission Fury sent them on. You were one of the youngest avengers, and you did pretty well for yourself, today was one of your days off actually. There was no training, no mission, no assignment, nothing to do. Alteration and Transmutation And you were happy like that.

“If you hadn’t killed him we would’ve gotten the classified information!” Natasha complained to Bruce.

“Hey if you want to complain you gotta tell it to the big guy.” Bruce told the red head, taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples.

“Okay no more arguing, we’ll deal with them next time” Steve said, a smile appearing on his face the second he saw you, “Hi Y/n.” He greeted, giving you a hug.

“Hey dad.” You greeted. Handing him some of his sweet tea, he thanked you.

“Doe, Tony Jr, what have you two been doing?” Nat asked the two of you, sipping some coffee she made herself.

“This motherfucker took my taco” You pointed dramatically, rolling your eyes, earning a “language” from your father.

“I gave it back!” Peter argued, giving a somewhat angry expression, crossing his arms.

“Stealing is stealing.” was the only response he got,“where is Tony?” You asked.

“Oh he's still locked up in the lab.” Bruce said, “You’d think he is married to that place by now.” Steve added, walking out to go in his quarters.

“See you later, you kids.” Bruce exited, walking out to the living room, followed by Natasha, they had a long day, it makes sense to go rest.

“Do we really have to keep reminding them we aren’t kids?’ Peter turned and asked you. Only a shrug in response, “Wanna go watch Star Wars?” Peter offered.

“Yes!” You answered, dragging him along with some snacks floating behind you.

Yup that was an average day with the Avengers, after almost dying all the time, you all had formed some kind of bond. Especially you, Peter and Loki, all being the youngest on the team. Well, maybe not Loki, but in Asgardian years, he is twenty-two so, nonetheless still young. You and Peter got Loki in the Star Wars fandom, so you went to knock on his door, he answered with a book in his hand.

“Hello young Steven.” That is just what he called you, since you were so much like your adoptive father, except the more murder part.

“Hey Lokes, wanna watch Star Wars with me and Pete?” You asked, a smile on your face.

The god sighed, closing the door, then opening back up. He was dressed in his pajamas. Snacks in his hand and an Anakin plushie. You squealed in excitement, grabbing his hand and dragging you along with him, when Peter saw the two of you walk in, you both were squealing in sync. Watching all the movies in your room, on your bed, all warm in a huge purple, cosmic blanket. This was your idea of happiness. And you really loved your life. Nothing was going to change that.

~The Next Month~

You would be surprised about what can happen in a month, New York has a new threat. HYDRA arose to power again, and SHIELD didn’t even notice with all the cosmic threats going on. Your greatest enemy, Acantha, who had killed your entire family and accidentally gave you your abilities, tried to kill you multiple times, was the leader behind it all. Of course, this infuriated you, because all she wanted to do was wipe out all of the superheroes so she can be the only one with such abilities. And she did not spare any of her victims of the pain, sometimes torture.

You would never admit it but you wanted revenge. Steve always said it's not the right thing to do. But she caused you so much pain, why not give her a taste of her own medicine, right? It's not something that could send you to hell.

Fury wanted her and HYDRA gone. When finding out their location, it was time to attack and bring the whole operation down. Everyone was getting ready and geared up, that is until Bucky came up to you.

“Are you sure you want to deal with this doll?” He asked, always seeing you as a daughter more than a niece.

“Of course Buck! I mean, just like any other mission, no?” You said, adjusting your suit and hair.

“Just, don't only focus on revenge, not the best road to be on, I should know.” He patted your shoulder and headed to the quinjet. That really had you thinking, but pushing those thoughts aside.

You had stuff to do. You met everyone there, as soon as you took one step into the vehicle, your stomach dropped. Suddenly, you felt like something very bad was about to happen. Taking your seat, your dad noticed, quickly approaching you, taking a seat next to you.

“Nervous?” He asked, turning his head towards you.

“To be honest, yeah.” You answered, fidgeting with your fingers, looking down.

He put an arm around you, hugging you. “You are unbelievably strong, I know you can face this, as your father, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He reassured, you felt protected.

“Thanks dad, I’ll keep that in mind.” You thanked him, as we left for the pilot’s seat.

That is when Peter, Loki and Thor went to sit next to you. All three of you were always a chaotic squad. They were the best friends you ever had, not like you ever had any growing up. That's when you all started talking, always about the most random things. It was always great to spend time with them, even though Thor was always busy.

With the Quinjet landing, Steve started to explain the plan, for team 1 there was:

-Tony

-Natasha

-Bruce

-Clint

-Thor

Team 2:

-Steve

-Bucky

-Y/n

-Loki

-Peter

Simple enough. Team 1 is assigned to clear and attack the outside perimeter, take out guards, and other agents HYDRA may have in store. Team 2 is assigned to take out the main threats inside the base, even to steal classified files for future plans they may have. Of course, Steve had to say a short speech, ending it with, “Avengers Assemble”

And that is exactly what had happened. With team two, Loki had casted some Asgardian cloaking spells to become unnoticed by the cameras. Steve and Bucky took care of some guards that stood in their way to their control room. Not killing of course. You and Peter, had hacked into some doors in order to get inside the important information, but something wasn’t right.

That is when you looked into the surveillance cameras, it showed the outside, everyone had guns pointed to their heads. Bruce was passed out, only his shorts to cover himself, Nat and Clint were in a headlock by a guard, Tony’s suit was just stuck there, Thor has some kind of mystical handcuffs stuck to him. A wave of shock entered the room when everyone seen, Acantha, now all you felt was anger in your blood.

“I’m going out there.” You said bluntly, hands clenched into fists.

“Y/n no you are not.” Steve and Bucky said at the time in sync.

“I am not kidding, I’m going,” You protested, getting up and walking towards the door. But being blocked by Loki, Steve, and Bucky. Peter was still sitting down, clueless about what to do.

“I am finishing this, with or without you all.” You looked at them with a serious expression.

“Look Y/n-” Loki started, but then an invisible force pinned him to the wall, it was you.

Bucky had a look of disbelief on his face, you never done anything like this, to your cared for ones at least. Before snapping out of his phase of shock, trying to sneak behind you, until you shot some ice toward his metal arm, stuck to a wall by the arm. Steve threw his shield at your feet, not wanting to hurt you, but you caught it (using telekinesis), tying him with some tough tree bark to the ground.

Peter and Loki managed to grab both of your arms, pinning to the ground, struggling to get out of their grip. You used your flight with your legs, lifting them to try to kick Peter in the face, he grabbed your foot with incredible reflexes, throwing you to a wall. Loki then charged at you, using his magic to make illusions of himself, surrounding you. Getting up, wiping some blood from your lip, you used heat to eliminate the fake Lokis, leaving the real one standing. Catching him off guard, you lift him into the air, then stick him to the wall with ice, revealing his jotun form slightly.

Being distracted, Peter took this chance to attach a web to you, pulling you towards the ground. Attaching webs all over your body, apologizing the whole time, getting on top of you, attempting to reason with you. You did not care what he had to say, breaking through them with pure strength, surprising him, you wrap your legs around him, throwing him behind you. The wall is now in ruins at this point, then, wrapping him with a bunch of tree branches.

“Told you, I’m going with or without you.” You said, now literally on fire, walking out.

“Did we all just get"bodied " by a teenage girl?” Bucky asked out-loud, still working on his slang. Peter gave him a smile, clearly proud of the old man, still not able to give him a thumbs up.

You flew to that very location where everyone was at,sparks of lightning radiating off of you. Your eyes glowing blood red, you were going to end her, give her the beating of her life, and brutally kill her once and for all. You then spot her, landing a few feet in front of her, with a loud gust of wind. A look of pure blood lust, anger and revenge written all over your face.

All the avengers were able to do was watch, Acantha, who had a pure shitty grin on her face, was right there waiting for you. Her dark magic radiating off of her, her necklace glowing along with her eyes. Both of you making eye contact.

“Wow, is this what you’ve been doing these past years, kinda pathetic if you ask me.” Acantha said with a smug smile, playing with her magic, she surely knew how to get under your skin.

This only angered you more, “You took everything from me, and now you are going to pay with your life!” You yelled while charging at her, making ice and fire kantanas for both hands.

“You can try, but it will be a very pathetic attempt if you ask me, against the most powerful dark magic wielder!” She said, making herself a magical sword, blocking your attack.

You both fought, almost dying multiple times. She lifted you up, punching you in the face with pure dark magic, sending you flying backwards. Catching yourself by making your own snow, flying back at amazing speeds. Pinning her down, tying her hands with lightning chains to the ground, now on top of her. Punching her with every element and with all the strength you wield.

“You took my family from me!”

Punch with fire.

“Caused me years of trauma!”

Punch with ice.

“You took my boyfriend from me!”

Punch with lightning.

“You took my home from me!”

Punch with a branch.

“You took my childhood from me!”

Punch with energy blast.

“You took my sanity”

Punch from your bare hands, angry tears falling from your eyes.

You just kept punching, being caught off guard, you felt a sharp pain from your heart. Stopping, looking at it, you saw a black, sharp object, coming from your heart, blood coming from your mouth. It was Acantha’s living magic. She then took this chance to punch you, she was beaten up, now you were weak. She walked up to you, standing above you, kneeling beside you as you struggled to breathe. Grabbing you by the hair.

“This is what happens when you mess with people beyond your league.” She whispered in your ear, a knife in front of your neck, slicing it.

Leaving you to die, a pool of blood leaving your body. All the Avengers were in tears, they cannot believe what had just happened. Steve, Peter, Bucky and Loki were all watching from that same control room. Steve tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes were full of sadness and lost.

His daughter, who he swore to protect, was killed brutally under his watch. Everyone had tears in their eyes, you were like family to them, so young and full of potential. That is when Fury and SHIELD agents came as backup. Scaring HYDRA away, including Acathna, evacuating the area. Eventually, they found the Avengers, all being released.

Now all were gathered in the Quinjet, all in silence, the room was heavy and full of emotion. Fury walked in front of them, catching their attention.

“I am sorry for the loss of Y/n Rogers, I know she meant a great amount to you, a funeral shall be held next week on Thursday, I will give you time to mourn the loss of an incredible Avenger.” He said, then waking back to the pilot's pit of the jet.

No one dared to utter a word.

You woke up, looking at your surroundings, it was so dark and depressing. Looking at yourself, this certainly wasn’t heaven. You realize.

This is hell.

“Dammit.” You muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope ya'll liked this! I'm posting this again because all of the chapters got deleted. Thanks to some amazing people who had downloaded some of the chapters, I managed to do this again! I am still working on some request, I'll just be posting a new chapter weekly.

Request are closed!

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #Fem! Avenger Reader x Alastor Series #the avengers #marvel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x you #alastor x y/n

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 days

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Gross

Fic Idea (no pressure obviously) Thomas struggling with his self image and ego, and in response Roman ends shapeshifting all the time, fluctuating between the masculine beauty standard (lean, muscular, hairless) and what society considers “ugly” (pudgy, hairy). And based on how he looks, Roman will interact with the others or hide away – anon

hihi!! had this random idea for a sanders sides fic- something along the lines of- a while after Remus and Roman split, Remus comes back (when the dark sides start to get more involved) and confesses that he hoped Roman was doing better after he joined the light sides? that all he wanted was for his brother to be happy, away from the darkness for once? angst sadness ykyk :)) – can-you-hear-me-axhilles

hi, so I just read your wings series and I was wondering if we could have something with Remus and his tentacles? Like maybe him thinking they are ugly or something, I’m not really sure. Maybe Roman has animal characteristics too and they’re “prettier” or “better” so he gets insecure? Mainly focused on these two but I don’t mind if it’s all of them together. No pressure to write this tho! – anon

I’ve been reading your Sanders Sides stuff for the longest time and I was wondering if I could get some Roman angst with a side of creativitwins? – meandmacats

Read on Ao3

Warnings: non-consensual body modification, self-esteem issues, self-hatred

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5481

Or, five times Remus helped Roman out when Thomas's self-esteem issues change his nature, and one time Roman helps Remus.

”Remus?”

Remus looks up from his knitting to see Patton standing over him. “What’s good, Pat-Pat?”

“I’m, what’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m knitting this patchwork sweater out of hair.”

“Oh…how cool.” Patton gives himself a shake. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’ve seen Roman? He was supposed to come down for lunch but he never showed.”

“Like, at all, at all?”

“Yeah. Neither hair nor hide! Or—well, I guess he did do the hide since he’s hiding from us, and you’re the hair!”

“Ah, Pat-Pat, never stop with the dad jokes. You’ll make all of us go into pun-withdrawal.” Remus carefully sets aside the needles and bounces to his feet. “I’ll go look for him, see if he needs to be pried out of the dragon’s gullet again.”

“Oh, thanks so much, Remus, I really—wait, ‘again?’”

“Gotta blast!”

Honestly, it’s not like Roro is known for missing deadlines, that’s Remus’s thing. Especially when it comes to things like meals and remembering to eat—well, Ro’s not exactly the pinnacle of healthy practices when he get absorbed in his work, but he’s better at it than some people give him credit for. Which means he’s either deep in the middle of something he’s keeping to himself, he’s asleep because the time zones in the Imagination are all kinds of wackadoo, or he really does need to be rescued.

Which isn’t Remus’s thing, come on, Ro, you’re ruining his reputation.

By the time he gets to the Imagination, he’s already pulling out his acid-proof gloves and sharpening his Morningstar. He stops dead, however, when he sees the doors are still locked from last night. That’s weird. Maybe Ro just used his personal gate instead of the main one? But that just takes him right to his little workshop area, that’s not anywhere near where the dragons are…

He’s about to go for his gateway when he hears a quiet noise coming from Roman’s door. Frowning, he turns. Roman’s door is only a few feet away. He glances up and down the hall to make sure none of the resident sneaks are nearby—Janus and Virgil—and knocks on the door.

“Uh, busy!”

“Ro, it’s me.”

“Oh. Did you, um, did you need something?”

“You weren’t at lunch. Pat-Pat’s getting worried.”

He hears a muffled curse and the door glimmers slightly. That’s Roman’s cue that he can sink in. He stows the acid gloves and the Morningstar and sinks in, expecting Roman at his desk or on the floor puzzling over some bit of a story he can’t quite get right, but instead he sees an empty room.

“Where are you?”

“Bathroom.”

Remus pops his head through the door and blinks. “Whoa.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Roman mumbles, already reaching for the bandages curled up on the counter, “you don’t have to say it.”

”That looks—“

“I said you don’t have to say it.”

Remus slams his mouth shut, but he can’t stop staring at the acne. Throbbing red pimples that look like they’re causing Roman pain every time he so much as breathes, bigger whiteheads that have already started to ooze, blackheads that litter every inch of skin that isn’t already covered, some of which look like they’re almost on top of each other…

Roman turns his back on him and hunches his shoulders. “What do you want, Re?”

“I, uh…well, now I want to help.��

Roman laughs. It’s not funny. “There isn’t any helping this. Not until Thomas feels better.”

“Whoa. Back up. What?”

“This.” He waves a hand at his face. “This is a thing, remember?”

“Oh. Oh, right, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Can I help make it less painful while it’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Then Roman’s head turns slightly. “Would you?”

“Shit, yeah,. Roro. You’ve helped me with stuff more times than I can count on my fingers and toes, let me help you.” He gets a small huff that might be an actual that-was-kind-of-funny-I’m-feeling-better laugh. “Yeah?”

“…yeah, okay.”

“Wonder-bats! Okay, I think I still have that stuff from when we had those sores from the poison experiments…where did I put that?”

“Did you leave it in your room or my room?”

”We cleaned up here, so it should be…aha!” He takes a big plastic case from under the sink. “Go sit your perky butt on the edge of the tub, I’ll be right there.”

“…thanks, Remus.”

“What’re brothers for?”

The very first time it had happened, it had been well before Thomas had learned what it was to be attractive.

Remus had found Roman crying in his room, curled up under all the blankets he could find with tissues covering the floor.

“Ro-bro? What happened? Do I need to fight someone for you?”

“It won’t come off!”

“What won’t come off?”

Roman had peered out from under the blanket cocoon and Remus’s mouth had dropped open when he saw the words FREAK and LOSER written all across Roman’s face in permanent marker.

“Who did that? Was it Virgil? I’ll fight him!”

“No,” Roman had sniffled, “it wasn’t—wasn’t Virgil. It wasn’t any of them.”

“Did you do it? That’s more my kinda thing, isn’t it?”

“No!” Roman had wailed. “I didn’t do it! Someone—someone hurt Thomas!”

“Someone hurt Thomas? But nothing happened! We didn’t get into any fights!”

“Not like that! They were just mean. They were really mean and they said he looked ugly and they called him a f-freak and a loser and—and—“

Remus had scurried forward and wrapped his brother in a hug as he broke down in tears. “You’re not a freak or a loser, Roro. Neither is Thomas. They were wrong, you know that, right?”

”Then why won’t it come off?”

Sure enough, up close, Remus had seen the red and raw skin where Roman had scrubbed it with whatever he could find to make the words go away. Bits were even coming off on the blanket as Roman rubbed his cheek against it.

”Hey, hey, stop that. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care! I don’t like seeing my brother hurt!” Remus had given him a shake. “You don’t have to hurt yourself more on top of this, okay? Come on, come into the bathroom, I’ll help you.”

“Y-you will?”

“Yeah, Roro, come on.”

The twins had gone to the bathroom where towels and washcloths were still strewn around from Roman’s previous attempts. Remus had made Roman sit on the stool and reached for the soap, getting one of the washcloth more suds than cloth and trying to wipe off the words.

“That tastes so bad.”

“So keep your mouth shut.”

“But you keep wiping it over my mouth!”

“No, I’m wiping it over your cheek, which is next to your mouth. And you talking isn’t making it any better, so shush.”

Roman had grumbled silently until Remus accidentally went too roughly over one of the sore spots and Roman yelped.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,. I didn’t mean to.”

“Wash it off! Wash it off!”

“Okay, okay! Come here!”

They had stumbled over to the sink and Remus practically shoved Roman’s head under the tap. He had spluttered and flailed out, splashing Remus.

”Hey! Don’t splash me!”

“I’ll splash you all I want!”

“No, you won’t!”

“Yeah, I will!”

It had…devolved from there.

The bathroom had been sopping wet by the end of it, not a towel nor tile had been spared from the twin’s water war. Their clothes were just as soaked, their hair dripping like they’d just walked through a hurricane. The sink and the bathtub still ran as if nothing were wrong and the detachable shower head in Remus’s hand sprayed as merrily as ever.

”Whoa, hey!”

“What?”

“It’s gone!”

Roman had run to the mirror, touching his face. Sure enough, the words had vanished.

”It is gone!”

”You’re welcome,” and he had taken a big bow with the shower head still spraying everywhere, “I think that means I win.”

“Whoa, wait, no, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

”No!”

“Yes!”

It took a while longer for the war to end and even longer for the bathroom to dry.

Someone says Thomas eats too much junk food and Roman can’t stop dripping oil.

Remus finds him sitting on his bathroom floor, the drain in the shower covered with a towel. He’s sitting on towels too, towels soaked and heavy with oil as Roman’s tears fight to get out from his eyes and through the slick covering his skin.

“The others are worried,” he says quietly, lingering in the doorway, “they want to know what’s wrong.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Remus peers a little closer and sees the telltale sheen over his mouth too. Even just thinking about how it must feel to have that much oil on his lips makes Remus shudder. He summons a washcloth from his own stash and a bottle of soap.

“Just like old times,” he says as he crouches down in front of him, “I’m gonna wash off the oil on your face, okay?”

Roman manages a small nod and Remus gets to work. Normally when he’s washing oil off stuff, he scrubs at it like he’s trying to grind it with sandpaper and the soap foams up around his wrist. But this is Roman, not some metal piece of equipment, so he goes as gently as he can without suffocating him with soap or making no progress at all. He has to stop a few times when Roman lets out a pained noise or winces at the rasp of the cloth, just holding a blotting sheet there to soak up the oil as best he can while he waits for him to settle. He makes a note to work on the heavy duty blotters in case something like this ever happens again.

At last, when Roman looks like he’s about to cry for a very different reason, the space around his lips and nose is clear enough for him to gasp out a few words.

“Sorry, thank you, sorry—“

”Shh-shh, Roro, you don’t need to apologize. Just tell me what you need.”

”’S so gross.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m right here.”

Roman lets out a frustrated whine and Remus quickly pulls out his phone.

“If you tell me what Thomas needs to stop thinking about I can get Lolo on it.”

“No, then he’ll—“

“I’m not gonna tell him what’s wrong with you, okay? I’m just gonna prod them into getting Thomathy’s brain on the right track away from whatever-the-fuck-this-is-station.”

More oil starts to build up and he shoves his phone in his pocket, working on washing it away again. His presence seems to have calmed Roman down a bit; the oil comes in smaller waves this time, concentrated more around the naturally oily parts of his face rather than every inch of his skin. When he’s cleaned off the areas around his nose and mouth, he goes and starts moving to the rest of his head.

“Junk food,” Roman mumbles, as if saying it too loud would make the oil return with a vengeance, “saying bad stuff ‘bout Thomas…unhealthy…gross…”

Remus whips out his phone and sends a text to Logan about food not having a moral weight and how eating something was always better than eating nothing. He gets a text back a few seconds later that just says on it.

“Lolo cavalry is assembled, he’s going.” He tucks the phone away and keeps washing Roman off. “And I’m gonna stay right here until we get all this oil off you, okay? We can even do your thirteen-step skin care routine once it’s gone.”

“It’s not thirteen steps.”

“Whatever you wanna tell me, Roro, at least you’re not as bad as Snakey.”

It’s the first time Roman manages to laugh that day, and Remus makes sure it isn’t the last.

When Patton and Logan have near simultaneous nervous breakdowns after someone calls Thomas lazy, Remus makes sure Virgil’s wrapped around the Mindscape’s padre and Janus has Logan in his little snake den before he goes off in search of Roman.

The Imagination door is covered in cobwebs that retreat as he approaches, a few spiders waving hello as they disappear. He runs his hand over the keyhole, checking to see if it’s just an affectation, or if Roman really hasn’t been using it. He knows he has, is the thing; Roman’s had more projects on the go this month than he’s ever had before and if it weren’t for Janus and Logan dragging him out of it to make sure he didn’t completely lose touch with the Mindscape, he bets his left barnacle that Roman would’ve been living there too just so he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to keep working. And sure enough, the keyhole glows red as soon as his fingers brush it and he carefully pushes the door open.

He walks into the most statistically average middle class sitcom home he’s ever seen. Needless to say, he hates it.

”Ro? Are you here?”

There’s a faint noise coming from what he guesses is the direction of the living room and listen, as little time as he has to spend in this painfully mediocre place, the better. Seriously, he can feel the whispers of white picket fences and PTA meetings lingering ominously over his shoulder with every second he walks through these beige walls. Snatches of TV dialogue becomes audible as he makes his way through the house.

He comes to a stop.

He tilts his head.

There’s certainly a person in the living room, but it doesn’t really look like Roman. They look like every Sunday cartoon about a husband and wife where it’s terribly misogynistic and heteronormative, recliner out, bag of chips in lap, staring vacantly at the TV. It’s only the fact that they’re crying at the paid advertising programs and that Remus would recognize his brother anywhere that he knows it’s Roman.

He sits down on the plastic covered couch and tries not to look at the soulless photos of smiling families perched on the dusty mantle. Roman doesn’t look away from the screen but the hand nearest Remus twitches slightly.

“Hey,” he calls, and Roman’s head turns a little, “hey, Roro. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The TV blares something about a crockpot that cooks fancier meals than a normal crock pot.

“I know how shitty it is when people accuse you of being lazy. Especially when they’re just complaining that they haven’t seen anything from you.” He shuffles and the couch squeaks. “And we all know how hard you’re working. How hard Thomas is working.”

Roman’s eyes flick to his. Remus smiles and takes his hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“Giving yourself a break isn’t being lazy. Having a hard time doing things isn’t lazy. Not being able to work on something because it’s just covered in the fucking ooze isn’t being lazy. You aren’t being lazy, okay? You wouldn’t even be lazy if you decided you didn’t want to work on any projects for the next year.”

The TV glitches out. Static fills the room and it actually feels like Remus can breathe. He squeezes Roman’s hand again and shifts closer. Roman stares at him with wide eyes.

”I mean it, Roro. You’re not—I know we’ve gone over this and I’ll keep giving you crowbars for as long as you need them—“

The smallest smile appears on Roman’s face.

“—but you’re not—your worth isn’t in what products or content you can make. You know i love you because you’re my brother, because you’re funny and clever and ridiculous and there’s no one I’d rather make stuff with. You could decide that you don’t want anything to do with Thomas’s career anymore—“

Roman makes a devastated noise.

“Calm down, calm down, I know that’s not true, I’m just spouting a wild hypothetical, okay? If you decided to do that and I made sure it was really you and you hadn’t lost some sort of bet, then yeah, I’d still want you to be my brother. We’d still do stuff. I don’t give a shit what everyone else thinks.”

”…promise?”

Remus could sob with relief at actually hearing Roman’s voice come out, and he grins so wide his cheeks start to hurt. “I promise, Roro, I promise. You’re not lazy, you’re resting, and even if you were, I wouldn’t care.”

‘’M not trying to be lazy. It’s—I’m just—“

“Shh, shh, Roro, it’s okay,” The bag of chips falls to the ground and catches fire as Remus tugs his brother into his arms. “I’m right here. You’re doing so good, okay? Thomas is too.”

Remus doesn’t burn the house down because he’s had too many lectures from Janus about that, but he does get a big cartoon wrecking ball to smash the whole thing into smithereens.

He does burn the recliner though. And the plastic-covered couch. They deserved it.

The latex gloves snap on as Roman sits on the edge of the tub with a grunt. He picks up the rest of the kit and sets it on the stool.

”Do you know what it’s about this time?”

“Someone said something about how immature Thomas is being about criticism and how he can’t take care of things, something like that.”

“Why did it manifest as acne, then?”

”I don’t know, maybe something about how teenagers who are hormonal and don’t really know how to take care of their skin get acne?”

Remus snorts. “Do people still not understand that acne happens and can happen to anyone regardless of age?”

‘Apparently not.”

“Well, they can go lick the Kraken’s crack.”

“Ew, Remus.”

“Just trying to keep the mood light.” He picks up one of the cotton swabs and a paper towel and leans down. “I’m gonna try and clean up some of the wet stuff first, okay? Then we can actually get onto some relief.”

“You’re not gonna pop any of them, are you?”

“I don’t think so. At least not right now.”

”Because I really don’t want this to scar.”

Remus hums, carefully running the swab over a particularly inflamed part of his cheek. “Can you give me a pain rating?”

”Like a 6? It’s not that bad but it’s not a pain I’m used to it’s…freaking me out.”

“Understandable, have a nice day. If it ever gets too much, let me know and we’ll switch to a cool pack, okay?”

Roman hums as Remus goes to work. A pile of discarded swabs and other trash accumulates at Remus’s elbow as he works patiently around the various, uh, ‘zones.’ They have to stop a few times when it gets to a point where Roman’s whole face just aches, waiting for it to subside enough that Remus can keep going.

“There are a couple down here that look like they’re ready to go, do you want me to just get ‘em out?”

”Be careful.”

“Sure, yeah. If it starts to hurt lemme know and I’ll back off right away.”

He gets a few of them, a few more putting up too much of a fight so he leaves them be. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman heroically stop two or three whimpers before he lightly jabs him in the stomach and tells him to knock that posturing shit off, he doesn’t need it here.

“…thanks, Re.”

“I told you, it hurts too much, I stop.”

“I know.” He shifts on the tub. “I think it’s just…hard to remember.”

Remus frowns, glancing up at him. Roman fiddles with the hem of his prince costume.

“You know…with the others?”

”No. I don’t know, Ro.”

“They don’t—they’re—they want Princey, Prince Roman. Not…the rest of this.” He waves his hand to indicate the cotton carnage. “So it’s hard to…”

He trails off when he sees the expression on Remus’s face.

“What?”

”You mean they don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That this—“ he waves at Roman— “happens to you. Any of it.”

“I mean, they know I’m the Ego and it makes sense that I get hurt when Thomas feels bad, but—“

”But not how much.” Roman won’t meet his gaze. “Fuck, Ro.”

“…it’s complicated.”

“Shit, no, I’m not—look at me, Ro. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—this wasn’t what I’d hoped.”

Roman frowns. “What do you mean, what you hoped?”

Remus sighs. This is turning into way more of a conversation than he’d ever anticipated. Glancing around, he picks up the cold pack and hands to to Roman before taking a seat on the counter. His legs swing and kick at the cabinets with a quiet thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.

“When the Split happened, and we went to the Dark Sides, I…dunno, I guess I thought it would be…better.”

“Because we were separated?”

“What? No, no, because I had the stuff like Deceit and Anxiety with me, so they couldn’t make any of this stuff worse—not that they would,” he says when Roman opens his mouth to protest, and wow, have they come a long way, “but just ‘cause…well, yeah. You had Logic and Morality, who were—doesn’t that make sense? That they would be able to help?”

Roman sighs. He picks at the edge of the ice pack. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Logan’s thing is object impermanence, you know that.” Remus winces in sympathy. “But having someone tell you something isn’t real when you can feel it and it is real, to you, that’s not…that’s not helpful. It’s better if he just goes right to Thomas than coming to me.”

“And Patton?”

Roman lets out a humorless huff. “Thomas is feeling bad and Patton is Thomas’s feelings. How do you think that normally goes?”

…yeah, probably not great.

“It’s not all bad,” he continues, softer now, “they’re at least good when I tell them I don’t want to be disturbed. They don’t ask questions if I tell them I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That feels suspiciously like the bare minimum.” Roman shrugs. “I know I literally just said the opposite, but do Janus and Virgil…?”

“They’re both better at comforting the others. It’s okay, Re, I have you. I really only want you when it’s…bad like this.”

“Me? Why?”

“You get it.”

Remus chuckles, getting back up and picking up the next tool. “That simple, huh?”

“Sometimes it’s just that simple.”

”Aw, I love you too, Roro. You’re the specialist baby brother any Side could ever ask for.”

“You—what the hell do you mean, ‘baby brother?’”

“You’re the baby brother.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Now hush so I don’t accidentally poke your eye out.”

“I’m gonna get you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m so scared about that. Now hold still, Roro, let’s get this out of the way so you can feel better.”

“…love you.”

“I love you too.”

+1.

The Imagination is upset. Roman feels it the second he steps foot through the door and forgoes his normal prince costume for a rougher tunic and boots, strapping his sword to his hip and an emergency pack to his back. The wind blows frigid and punishing over the grass as he starts down the trail, squinting through the dust clouds whipping up around him. The clouds frown around the edges of the tree line, darkening to a stormy black near the edge of the coast. As he nears the black cliffs, rocks crumble beneath him and tumble into a churning sea.

He edges carefully around the craggy rock face, keeping his movements light and careful. Spray whips him in the face as thunder rolls in the distance. The chill near rips his fingers from their precarious handholds. He grits his teeth and keeps going, even as the wind howl so loudly his ears near split from the pain.

There, a little ways down the cliff, is a small cove. He inches his way around the edge of the bluff and drops onto a larger path leading him along the coast. There isn’t any sand here, only rough and unyielding stone. Froth and foam given them gleaming white teeth as the waves churn furiously around the mouth of the sea. He follows the path down, down towards he massive cracks in the sheer rock face, one eye on the black water below him. Despite being so close to the shore, there’s no sign of a bottom and he doesn’t want to risk how deep it is. There’s no telling what current might rip him into the open ocean if he falls in.

The cove is shaped like a spear’s point, the crack in the cliff at its very point as though some massive weapon had shattered the rocks themselves. As Roman nears it, the shadow at the base of the path slowly grows more and more defined, until he realizes that it’s a path through the cliff. The cove is an inlet leading into a hidden sea cave with a vast black lake in its center. Roman peers up at the glistening wet walls, hand on the wall as the wind whistles angrily by.

The water moves. He looks down. Something massive slips just underneath the surface, sending ripples to the shore. He crouches down and sees a huge shape getting closer and closer to the surface. An eye the size of a dining table glares up at him through the water and long arms with rows and rows of hooks reach up toward him.

“Ollie, it’s me. It’s Roman.”

The Kraken pause. The hooked arms retreat and he pokes his head up, letting out a mournful burble. Roman reaches over and taps the water. One of his other arms comes up and Roman pets soothingly along the skin.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s going on?”

Ollie burbles again and Roman suddenly realizes why the hooked arms were the ones to reach for him. Beneath the surface, the Kraken’s arms form a cradle of sorts, holding something close to the Kraken’s massive body. As the water shifts and ripples, the thing comes closer and closer to surface, slowly moving to reveal its precious cargo.

And there, nestled in the Kraken’s grip, covered in his own writhing tentacles, is Remus.

“Oh, Re,” Roman murmurs as his brother twitches and whimpers, “what happened? Who did this?”

Ollie burbles again, holding him out, and Roman balances on the edge of the shoreline and stretches to hold on. The Kraken lifts him up and into the cradle too, letting him touch Remus’s frigid skin and shake him awake.

“Re? Re, wake up, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”

The tentacles writhe as Remus stirs, blinking through a pained haze up at Roman. “…Ro?”

“Hey, Re, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. What happened?”

“Thoughts got too loud.” A tentacle leaves a thick trail of slime across his arm and he shudders. “Sorry.”

“What could you have to be sorry for?”

“‘S gross.”

“You stop that,” Roman chides gently, running his fingers through Remus’s wet hair, “I don’t care if something’s gross, I care if it’s hurting you.”

Remus whimpers, clutching at one of Ollie’s arms. The Kraken squeaks back, trying in vain to warm him up, but there’s only so much he can do in this freezing cave. Roman glances around and bites his lip.

“Does it feel better in the water? Is that why you came down here?”

“Yeah. Ollie came and f-found me.”

Roman pats the worried Kraken. “What do we need to do? Is it like caring for Ollie’s arms?”

“N-no. Like helping the jelly—jellyfish with the twisted—twisted ones.”

He’ll bet just about anything that this frigid water isn’t helping Remus do that, and it’s not like Ollie has opposable thumbs. He goes to slide into the water himself but Ollie chirps in alarm, hoisting them higher.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to help.“

Remus shakes his head, more slime trailing across his shivering body. “Too cold for you.”

“Well, then it’s definitely too cold for you. Can we get you somewhere warmer?” Remus curls up a little more. “What about that pool near the glowstone trees?”

“That’s all the way on your side.”

“Ollie can take you. I’ll meet you over there.” Remus stays quiet. Roman leans down and brushes the wet hair from his eyes. “What else is bothering you, Re?”

Two of the tentacles glob onto Roman and start leaving trails of slime across his tunic. Remus whimpers and reaches out a hand to yank them away. It’s no use; the roiling mass just keeps smearing slime onto Roman as they try to pull him closer, no matter how hard Remus shoves them away.

Oh.

“Re, you’re not too gross. You’re not going to ruin anything. I want you to come with me so I can help you. I care about you. Let me help, please?”

It takes a painfully long moment for Remus to peek up at him and nod. Roman can’t stop the way his shoulders sag in relief and he sits up, patting Ollie’s arm as the Kraken burbles happily.

“You…you really wanna help?”

“Of course I wanna help you, Re, you’re my brother.”

“Okay.”

“Have Ollie take you over to the pool, okay? I’ll meet you there.”

“How are you gonna get there?”

“I have my ways.”

Remus grumbles and he sounds just enough like his normal self that Roman has to reach down and ruffle his hair, no matter how much Remus squawks about it. He climbs back off to the shore and watches Ollie sinks below the surface before he makes his way out to the ocean proper. Taking the charm from beneath his tunic, he closes his eyes and concentrates.

A screaming cry and the massive thudding of wings splits the wind.

Roman’s dragon lands just on the other side of the bluffs and he climbs on, taking off and soaring over the stormy sea. The dragon calls out over the waves and far beneath, he can see the shape of Ollie swimming through the depths. The clouds begin to part as they near the opposite coast, sun rays splitting the worst of the storm as the glowing trees appear on the horizon.

Roman’s dragon sets him down just on the edge of the shimmering pool. He pats its snout and it huffs, lying down on the sun-warmed grass and closing its eyes. As he walks toward the pool and begins to take off his boots, he spots Ollie’s shade moving through the inlet into the warmer water. He chuckles at the way the water vibrates with the Kraken’s pleased rumble.

Clad in just his boxers, he slips into the water and through the tangle of arms to draw Remus into the warmth. Remus immediately tuns and clings to him like a limpet, shivering from the temperature change.

“I know, I know,” Roman murmurs as he starts to work his hands patiently through the mass of tentacles, “just hold onto me. I can still kind of stand here, I’ve got you.”

”You gonna take care of me?”

“Yeah, Re, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He’s rewarded with a sleepy hum and Remus snuggles into him. “You’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best. The best baby brother anyone could ever ask for.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Remus might mutter an am not back, but it’s muffled by his tired slump into Roman’s arms. Roman just chuckles. He’s sure it’ll come up again at some point.

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus

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