#but he’s always real evil about it which! fair enough!

[lorebird]

Continuing my “Cynthia is Volo after chilling out and transitioning” propaganda: Consequences Edition

#pokemon #Cynthia #Volo #elesa #emmet #subway boss emmet #my art #I’ve seen a lot of ‘immortal volo meets emmet and offers to help him find ingo’ #but he’s always real evil about it which! fair enough! #mans is an unhinged villain! #I just wanna explore that concept w my own hc of cynthia learning to make a new life after she’s lost everything in Hisui #starting over fresh with ‘volo’ being a relic of the past #until uh oh! consequences! #this is the first time she’s met emmet. it’s been like 200 yrs since she saw Ingo #so she hasn’t thought much abt the man she dragged through the rift on accident #she and a lot of the unova ladies r besties bc I think it’s cute and there’s the whole villa thing :] #she’s come to really enjoy her new life and everyone in it and is terrified she’s going to lose that bc of what she did in hisui #so she’s like. hi yeah I know a lot about Mysteries and Myths maybe I can help find him! don’t worry!! #shenanigans ensue as she tries to pretend she’s solving a mystery that she caused and also trynna figure out how to get Ingo back

[luveline]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader #eddie munson x plus sized reader #eddie munson x plus size reader

[neet-elite]

Without Shame — (SDV) Sebastian 

Pairing: Stepbro!Sebastian / F!Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 7,617 Warnings: Stepbro!Sebastian, pseudoincest, stepcest, cheating, dubcon, magic pocket pussy, mean Sebastian, name calling (dummy, little sister, baby sister), cunnilingus, accidental creampie, objectification, ruined orgasm, fingering Synopsis: More than anything he refers to you only as brat, because that’s what you are. An annoying, good for nothing, stupid little brat who needs to be put in her place. Particularly considering that you’ve never been told no before; maybe that’s why you bug him so often, because he’s not afraid to say what you hate most.

No, you can’t have that. No, that’s mine. No, I’m not staring at your ass.

A/N: Should I make this a series? I have several more thoughts that didn't make it into this fic... Let me know if you wanna read more! Anyway I had fun with this! I've wanted to do something like this piece for a while but was convinced everyone would hate it LOL... But my friends reassured me so thank you guys <3

Ever since he can recall, you’ve been a fucking brat. There’s no other way to put it quite so eloquently, he thinks. At least when it comes to interacting with him, which makes it all the more frustrating when you play innocent with others. Has him feeling insane when no one believes his claims that you’re evil, that he’d really rather be alone than stuck with you as a sibling, that everyone else is wrong when they call him the mean one. You play the role of innocent little sister well in public, and though part of him is genuinely impressed at your acting skills, he unfortunately knows the real you; and you’re so fucking annoying. Especially the way that you know exactly how to get away with your mistreatment of him, remaining undetected the moment a third party shows up so that he has to take the blame. Every. Single. Time.

Which is unfair, right? Unlike his usual sedentary lifestyle, the one constant that he can always count on in life is that you’ll surely be there to cause chaos for him. Whether that be from your ‘playful’ comments about his appearance, making fun of his lifestyle choices and hobbies, or the fact that you’re quite literally dating his best friend; it’s fair to say that you’ve always annoyed him. Siblings fight, sure, but he’s never called you anything close to sister in his life, and he doesn’t plan on it. He didn’t grow up with you so much as you just showed up one day to ruin his life, strutting around like you already owned the place with that dumb smirk he so often sees you wear, in spite of the fact that you moved into his home. More than anything he refers to you only as brat, because that’s what you are. An annoying, good for nothing, stupid little brat who needs to be put in her place. Particularly considering that you’ve never been told no before; maybe that’s why you bug him so often, because he’s not afraid to say what you hate most.

No, you can’t have that. No, that’s mine. No, I’m not staring at your ass.

What’s worse is that he can’t even hide how much you get to him, retaliating to your attacks with barks of his own every time, too afraid that if he doesn’t keep if with you that you’ll only bully him more. And it’s exhausting watching you prance around the house, usually in next to no clothing, teasing him at the dinner table with your nipples poking through your shirt—no bra again, despite his begs for you to wear one—until he eventually snaps at you to shut up; and then it’s him that gets punished for it!

Unfair is to word that suits you best. How you treat him, and how he feels about you. Because at the end of the day, he’s just a man. A man with a stupidly annoying hot step sister who provokes him day in and day out, teasing his perverted mind with just barely not enough; because you’re mean and you fucking know it.

Tonight, he decides to change that.

For all the pranks you’ve had him endure, he’s got his own devious plan up his sleeve. Been sitting on it for a few nights, a pure fantasy that even now he barely thinks is even possible, prepared for it to all be a scam, but fuck it. He has to try. Anything to wipe that stupid smile off your cute face, regardless of morals. And you only have yourself to blame, your dumb… Hot self. Fuck he hates you. Hates the way his cock twitches every time you enter his room, even if he knows you’re only there to upset him. Hates the way his heart hurts when you show him your recent selfies with Sam, how his tummy turns when you only give up on teasing him because Sam is calling you, a thick layer of bile always on the tip of his tongue waiting to put you down. It’s disgusting, the way he actually loves it.

He especially hates the cute little pout you wear when he does bites back, mimicking your words in a high pitched mocking tone just to hear you whine some more, standing tall above you only to talk down at you. God, it makes him so hard just thinking about your teary eyes when he takes it a step too far, commenting on that one thing he knows you’re actually insecure about and big fat tears travel down your chubby cheeks. So fucking hot making you sob for him, turning your otherwise pretty smile into an earnest scowl, like you hate him. It’s what you deserve for being such an annoying fucking brat. If he can’t have you be nice for him, he’ll take punishing you into tears happily. He doesn’t care too much either way, because you’re pretty when you cry too.

And it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilt for looking at you with a lecherous gaze, but rather that he simply doesn’t care. Knowing that it’s wrong and yet still he gives in to his perverted nature by stroking his cock to thoughts of you, of shutting you up by filling your throat, driven by the seed of shame taking root in his tummy to pet his erection under his desk every time you moan for him to stop teasing. It’s the only thing that helps, to balm the pangs of remorse when a smirk tugs at his lips every time you cry wolf.

Which brings him to the item in his hands, spurred on to get back at you after you recently attempted to go into deep detail about your oh so fun little date with Sam the other day. It’s bad enough that you went against his wishes and started dating Sam in the first place—he has some choice words for his best friend too—but you make things worse by indulging. Elaborating on what you love most about Sam, teasing intimate details that he’d rather not hear about; and acting oblivious to his glares. You know damn well how to rile him up just right, to get him on the edge of fighting back before retreating to the safety of your room, or worse, your father. No, he doesn't want to hear about how Sam took you home after your date last night, or about how rough his hands are on your plush thighs. It’s gross, because deep down he wishes it was him.

You should be thankful, really, that he’s going to such lengths to prank you. Only you would have him acting this desperate, squeezing the soft silicone toy in his shaking fists like a stress toy, his ass perched right on the edge of his computer chair as if it were the only barrier left before the point of no return. It was through the old man camping near his house that clued him in to the supposed wizard occupying the tower in Cindersap Forest, a claim that he initially passed off as a farce, but after your latest stunt of divulging disgusting details he decided it couldn’t hurt to ask for more information, just to amuse himself. A little fantasy of getting back at you, nothing more. Though, now that he’s got the supposed magical object in hand, he can’t help but bounce his leg off his old squeaky floor, giddy excitement resting heavy in his chest as he gives the rubber toy another squeeze, already panting at the thought of executing his plan. Fuckin’ brat, he smiles to himself. Only gettin’ what’s comin’ t’ya.

It’s the first time he’s getting a proper look at the toy too, unable to give it a second thought until right now thanks to you. Your petulant attitude when he arrived home only irked him, solidified his decision to defile you tonight even more so when you taunted him about leaving the house and how he never usually does and was he seeing a girl? A friend? Must have been really important if he left his room, right? God, even just thinking about your teasing voice causes his brows to furrow in frustration, tongue clicking at the mere memory of your pestering, gripping the girth of the toy in his hands as if it were your throat.

Selfish desire gets the better of him though, and for as much fun as it is pretending to choke you out, it’s getting late and his mom will be back with your dad soon. Which means he hasn’t got much time left to ruin you, so, he carefully holds the toy up to his face for inspection. What greets him is all pink and pretty, his throat immediately drying when he realises just how attractive it is. Then, quickly, upset crawls up to his tongue and hides behind his teeth when recalling how the wizard called it a replica, and knowing that your cunt is apparently this pretty for real angers him. Like, how dare you be withholding such a pretty pussy from your big brother, right? Shouldn’t he get first dibs on it, and not Sam. Suddenly, calling you sister sounds appealing to him, and he’s almost tempted to pull his pants down and shove his already throbbing erection into your little unprepared pretty pussy just to punish you for keeping this cunt out his reach. But he’s too busy instinctively pressing the pocket pussy against his face as close as he can get without actually touching it and huffing. Sniffing along your faux slit and immediately leaning back into his chair as your scent washes over him, overwhelming and clouding his judgement. Fuck, okay, maybe it really is linked to your cunt. And because he's not as mean as you like to portray him, he decides to indulge himself a little. Or, he's simply too selfish not to eat you out, eager to get a first taste of his little sister, to see if she's really worth all the hassle.

And he’s so close too, God; about as close to actually fucking you as he can get right now that he’s honestly a bit dizzy, jutting his hips forward so his bulge can roll against the air in a mimicked action of sex. It’s instinctual, convincing his quickly emptying mind that this must mean that it’s right, that your cunt belongs to your mean big brother, his breath fanning across the faux lips in rushed bursts of barely there restraint. He wonders if you can feel him already, wearing a cute confused pout at the cooling feeling between your legs; fuck, he can unfortunately imagine it perfectly, his free hand coming down to pet at his pulsing cock with light touch, just barely there to tease him like he’s teasing you. Because this is better than he ever thought it’d be, having all the benefit of your hole right in front of him without needing to put up with... Well, you, and he’s afraid that if he gives in to his more baser instincts too soon; he’ll cum before he gets to have his fun.

Inhaling your scent some more causes his eyes to roll to the back of his skull, imagining how quiet you must be in your room all alone; even there you usually talk too much, way too fucking loud and annoying. Is his sniffing shutting you up? Cock dripping precum already at the image of you shooting upright in bed, forgetting all about what you were previously doing because something is happening to your body, left completely unaware that your mean older brother has his face practically buried between your legs right now. That’d for sure leave you gasping, right? Make you all squirmy and cute, soft and pliable for once in your fucking life.

And thanks to his depraved mind, his tongue automatically pokes out at the thought of you listening to him for once, kitten licking at the fake slit while he holds his breath. A natural action, one that he isn’t immediately aware he’s doing before he can feel soft skin against his teeth. His mind is slow to catch up to whats happening, too distracted by the palm circling his perverted bulge into submission, but when he realises that his lips are in contact with the pocket pussy, he rolls his tongue up to the swell of it, sighing against the slit in satisfaction over how you taste so perfect. The more he teases his tongue between your folds the wetter he finds the fake cunt getting, and noticing that the magic imbued in the object is real causes his hips to jerk up into his open palm, rolling together in tandem with how he licks your cunt.

A soft curse escapes him when a gush of slick reaches his taste buds, immediately swallowing your liquid down like a dog. One hand holding the pocket pussy to his lips, the other tugging at his leaking cock. “Big brother making you feel good?” He whispers against it, only proving to rile himself up further at the verbal admission of touching his little sister so inappropriately. And he's so soft and tender with his tongue too, a momentary lapse in judgement, forgetting all about your brattiness the moment his lips grazed your puffy cunt, hypnotised by the taste and smell of your tiny hole into providing kindness to you. Pussydrunk. It causes his cock to flex under his touch, dribbling saliva onto the toy to make his tongue glide easier between your lips. “Dummy…” He sighs into you, giving your cunt a trail of kisses from top to bottom, and then back up again, letting his tongue poke out between kisses as if he were making out with your cunt more than anything. Really making out with it, sloppy sounds included with how eagerly he smacks his lips against you, the accumulation of saliva sticking to his chin as he presses kiss after lick at your hole. He shifts around on his chair, sliding down it just a little more to get comfortable and pushing it out away from his desk, his legs automatically opening while he slobbers all over the faux cunt, pretending that you’re riding his face right now because fuck that’s so fucking hot, yeah? Need big brother to eat you out and make your cunt feel all better? “Gettin’ all wet an’ slick for big brother? Preparin’ for his cock?” he continues talking to himself, voice hushed and mocking before diving back in to kiss the toy, easily believing that you’re in the room with him from the way your slick dribbles down his throat. Linked to you in your room, fuuuck he wants to see your face so bad. Wants to hear your little hushed gasps and moans, clinging on to him for assistance without realising that it’s him that’s making you feel all funny. You just need big bro to take care of you, right? Need big bro to help make you feel all better, to work out why you feel all funny down there, yeah? There’s no need to be with Sam baby, big brother is just downstairs and more than willing to help your wet little cunt out.

A rough cough crawls up his throat as he pulls away for some air, a string of saliva keeping his tongue connected to your hole. It doesn’t last very long though because he’s diving right back in before he even fills his lungs, gripping at his cock and shaking it a few times before attempting to jerk himself off, but his jeans are too tight and he’s too drunk on your cunt to pull his pants down. Too busy with flattening his tongue against your wet little slit, slurping and groaning against your cunt while he gets off to just your taste, fuck, can practically smell how much you need him by now, pressing sloppy kisses against your puffy little clit and tonguing at it desperately, humming with his kisses so that you can feel how much he appreciates your compliance: even if it’s robbed. “Pretty princess cunt,” He rasps to himself, dipping his tongue all the way down to your hole so that he can absentmindedly mouth at it, slipping inside with such ease as more slick gushes on his lips, making his fist tighten unfairly on his erection. He’s downright desperate. “Baby sister cunt—” He huffs roughly, tugging his cock only twice more before frustration overwhelms him and he’s reminded of your bratty attitude, placing the pocket pussy on the edge of his desk for you to drip slick onto his floor while his hands busy themselves with removing his pants and underwear as quickly as possible, only managing to get them over his knees before he settles back into his chair again, pocket pussy carelessly gripped and hovering dangerously close over his now exposed pulsing cock. He’s absolutely trembling, shaking with excitement while the faux cunt dribbles slick onto his already wet with precum cock, coating it in all your baby sister cream like a good girl for once. While he could eat you out literally all day if he wanted to, face stuffed between your thighs for him to huff and kiss at mindlessly, insisting on continuing when you inevitably dig your nails into his hair and try to yank him off; his cock cries for attention. Twitches as fat globs of precum roll down to his balls, veins popping with impulsive need. He briefly wonders if Sam has ever gotten you this wet before, to the point of gushing over his cock before even entering. Does big brothers tongue feel that good, baby?

Small haah’s are all he can let out as he squeezes the rubber toy in his fist, his other hand clenching tightly around the base of his perverted cock to angle it towards your sopping hole, staring at how your slick that leaks down to his tip shimmers in the seedy lighting of his room, where it connects to his own fat beads of precum that spill for you. So close, he pants to himself. Wanna fuck you so bad, he almost whines, for so long. Stuck between ramming big brothers cock into your tiny little hole already, or to savour the moment for how monumental it feels. Sure, it’s not the real deal, but it’s close enough; even more depraved if he really thinks about it. Fucking you in secret, leaving you a mess all alone in your room; able to feel his girth but left unknowing as to why: he can’t fucking wait to bully you back some, make you feel how fat his cock is as punishment for tormenting him all this time.

And that’s all it takes, the promise of revenge. The torturous drip of your cunt onto his cock convincing him to enter, inviting him, even, his fist lifting only to smear the combination of his pre and your slick over his hot and heavy length (as if it needed extra coating). He wets his lips in focus, lowering the pocket pussy closer to his red hot tip before some more pre spills for you, and as if that wasn't enough, he leans over himself to spit on his cock for extra lubrication. Don’t say he’s never kind to you, all right? “S’all your fault.” He chokes out, lowering the toy until the faux lips come into contact with his tip, automatically causing his hips to buck up into the soft feeling in search of more; but he forces himself to resist. Wait, he tells himself, nonchalantly stroking the pocket pussy lips up and down his cock instead of entering, staining himself completely with your slick. Feels so good, fuck, even just rubbing one out on you like this, pushing the fat of his cock between the fake lips to really hump at, y’know? Even lets his hip thrust upwards, causing him to fuck himself off his chair a little with how eager he’s pretending to hump his little sister, to properly punish you—or so he tells himself, but deep down he understands it’s more like he just wants to wet his cock, remind you of who you really belong to—because it’s what you fucking deserve.

You deserve to feel the entirety of his greedy cock slipping and sliding between your folds, you deserve to feel the guilt and shame he’s desperately humping upon you for getting so wet due to big brothers cock. He’s entitled to this, he thinks. Putting up with you all these years, he takes his frustrations out by repeatedly knocking the tip of his cock against the faux clit of the pocket pussy to hopefully have you sobbing in your sheets, squirming under the phantom feeling of his cock bullying your upsettingly perfect little cunt. By the thick squelch that soon fills his room with every pass of his girth up and down the toy, he knows you must be enjoying his disgusting treatment. Gross, he smiles to himself.

Busy humping himself silly against your fake cunt, he doesn’t fully register how close he is to slipping inside until it eventually happens. One minute he’s blissfully content rubbing one out against your slit, and the next he’s folding in on himself in a full body silent gasp, cock head fully engulfed in your tight little hole and knocking the wind out of him. Karma, he supposes, and then immediately forgets about as he feels your cunt squeeze around his intrusion for the first time ever; and you manage to effectively shut him up, no talking back or standing up to your teasing for once. Until you do it again, even if involuntary. “Shit— fuck.” He groans, a rough sound crawled up from the pit of his tummy, drawn out from how nice and wet the toy in his hands is, thanks to you. His weight shifts in his old computer chair, squeaking like it always does when he jerks off to the screen, only now it’s due to the immense strain he has to endure not to immediately bury himself balls deep in your cunt. You squeeze around him again as if asking for it and it hits him all at once, forced to realise with such sudden and alarming clarity that he was very much fucked. Ruined, truthfully. The sinful suck of your linked cunt promising to spoil every other hole he potentially fucks in future, leaking little sister cream all over his twitching cock to entice him deeper, to fall further into your messy cunt depravity.

And really, it’s not bullying if you like it. He’s not being mean by rolling his hips into you slowly, forcing you to savour every thick inch he’s got to offer as he enters you, tiny little humps upwards rather than forcing the toy down his cock to simulate sex better. You like it, don’t you? Dribbling all over his cock, bet you’re writhing in your sheets right now for him; because you must be just as slutty as him to be enjoying this. And it’s embarrassing just how much he likes it, how he already knows he’ll never be able to leave the pocket pussy alone, biting his lip raw to try and stifle his moans, squeezing one eye shut as if he was pained to be feeling so good, and he feels forced to swallow a bark creeping to his tongue at how annoyed he is. It’s unfair that you feel so good wrapped around him like this, half his cock buried in the toy, coating his length in even more slick to make the glide inside easier. And he thinks to himself that if you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t be this fucking slippery, his head thrown back at the soft squelch his cock fucks out of you. “That’s it, fuck— what a good sister…” He ends up praising you despite his frustrations, unable to hide his genuine feelings for you in the secrecy of his own room, squeezing the pocket pussy even tighter around his greedy cock as he pushes up, up, and up until finally the faux lips rest against his pelvis and he can finally breathe again.

More than anything he wants to fist your hair and mess up your pretty styling, force his lips onto your own so that you can taste just how much he wants you; how downright desperate he is to claim you as his own. You’re his little sister, so you belong to him, right? Should be creaming on his cock and not anyone elses, cunt twitching around his fat girth as he grinds his hips into the toy, little circles to tease and taunt, bully you back into place for your petulant attitude he’s had to deal with his whole life. Payback, he muses, panting at the way your fake cunt accepts him so easily, willingly wrapping around him so snugly; like you were made to take his cock. Just barely inside and you’ve already got him pulsing, balls taut at the way he so easily falls into you, how he’s sure he could cum right now just by circling his cock inside of you, stirring your insides up to prepare you for what inevitably comes next. Annoying, because he went into this perverted prank hoping to just upset you, to make you sob and whine on his cock like a good girl for once, and yet here he is struggling to regulate his breathing, fighting with himself to keep his hips from humping.

But fuuuuck you feel so good, nice and tight and eager, constantly twitching and squirming on his cock to coax more precum out to stain your insides with, sucking his tip in so well as if asking for more, begging big brother to fuck you. And he’s watched enough hentai to know that he’s not immune to the little sister allure, despite his intentions to simply fuck with you; he has to show you that he’s the one in charge here, right? Regardless of his flimsy excuse, he does so instinctively, a flash of regret buried deep in his mind that’s easily clouded over by the sudden swallow of your cunt as he withdraw his hips, leaving only his tip inside to tease you with. More slick gushes out of the toy, trickling down to his balls and onto his chair, a tut escaping him despite being alone. “You’re such a fucking tease, y’know that?” He slurs, words caught in his throat and forced out of him as he drops the toy on his cock, shivering into the dirty action before repeating it again. And again. And again, until his fist wraps neatly around the toy enough to control the speed and he starts jerking off with your cunt.

Greedy gulps of air is all that’s heard in his room, besides the odd squeak and dribble of saliva, a few drops pooling on his tummy as he revels in the act of taking his perfect princess little sister in private. At least he tries to keep quiet, but it’s hard to keep his voice down when your walls squeeze him tighter, prompting him to suckle on his hoodie sleeve and pretend it was your nipple instead, lacing his tongue over the rough fabric as a means to distract himself from falling in love with your cunt. Is this how Sam feels when inside of you? Do you get this slippery for your boyfriend too, or is it because deep down you know big brother is fucking you properly.

God he feels dizzy, so turned on at the thought of not only defiling you, but of doing it in a way where you’re left uninformed. He wishes he could see your confused tear stained face, wants to watch you shake and cry for help while he bullies his cock into you, leaking all over the toy with every fuck of his hips upwards, matching the downward tug of his hands. And it’s even more fucked up that he’s treating you like the toy you are right now, literally jerking himself off as his tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek, furrowing his brows to gain greater focus, leaning back against his chair so that he can hump into the faux hole at abetter angle. “So good—” He babbles to himself, fluttering his lashes at the way the toy slams back down on his balls, the corners of his mouth wet with drool from the sound of your cunt making room for his corrupt cock. “Knew you’d feel s—so good—” The immorality of his actions only turns him on more, his legs coming out to straighten while his back arches against his chair, fucking into the toy with needy desperation, a tut on his tongue at how perfect you are for him. He hates how good it feels, wants to fuck his frustrations out on you, slamming the toy down as much as he fucks into it so you can really feel just how much you truly upset him. If it feels this good with a toy, he can’t imagine how ruined he’s gonna be when it comes to the real thing—because of course he’s gonna fuck you for real, are you kidding? God, you feel too fucking good it’s unfair, should be illegal—letting him masturbate inside of you like this; his infatuation for you deepens, and the closer he gets the less liable he is to hold on to his grievances.

“Stupid girl—” He mumbles, a line of drool spilling from his lips too. In the privacy of his basement room, he allows himself a moment to indulge. “If— fuck, oh my God— if only you— If—” He tries. God, he tries to get his words out, clamping both hands around the slippery wet toy and leaning forward to rest his head on his desk, standing up off his chair—too hopeless to remain seated—so that he can drag the toy on and off his cock with more ease. Faster, too, his hips try to keep up with his quick fists but they’re no match, he’s spent way too many lonely night pumping his cock raw to give his hips a chance. Slick drips from the pocket pussy, his feet planted firmly on the ground to give him better grip to fuck you with, and the floorboards squeak with the weight of his thrusts. But he doesn’t slow down, can’t, really. Unable to give even himself a breather from the disgusting situation, frantically fucking the toy in his fists like his life depended on it, his previous plans of getting back at you forgotten about in favour of simply getting off, uncaring for how you must be so scared right now because you’re making him feel so good: and that’s all that matters. He's so selfish, focusing only on his own pleasure as he splits you in two in the palm of his hands, baby must be stretching so well to fit him all in.

“If only you were— were this good all the time.” He finishes his thought and half laughs, but it soon turns into a low moan when the toy clenches around him, shaking and shivering down his mean big brother cock for him to enjoy. “It’s like y’were made for this—” He continues to babble, huffing against his desk while his thighs shake with you, his tummy tight with lust when he imagines that you might already be close from his harassment, like you were in the room with him. And he almost wants to let you cum, only because he’s too selfish to pass up the opportunity of feeling you convulse on his cock. But he’s so close too, and he smiles with an offer you’ve got no way of reciprocating. “Wanna see who cums first?”

You have been such a good girl for him tonight, haven’t you? Allowed him to inflict such lewd acts on you, and not only that, but you’ve accepted his brutish abuse so nicely. Never mind the fact that you quite literally couldn’t fight back, he’s far too pussy drunk and buried too deep in the faux cunt to rationalise with himself, mind empty beyond the need to breed his favourite new toy the way she deserves, snapping his hips into your hole with sloppy precision; he can’t seem to get the right angle, nor can he keep a consistent speed, rendered dumb thanks to the tight squeeze your cunt offers him. “Does it feel good?” He sighs, riling himself up as an orgasm creeps up on him, humouring his fantasies while he’s ball deep inside of you because: why not at this point? “Does big brothers cock feel sooo good?” He continues, adopting a babying tone as if you were actually under him right now, nails digging into the split wood of his desk as if it were your hair, or your shoulder, doesn’t matter; he just wants to keep you in place. “Gonna cum for big brother? Make him feel so good too?” He pants, an unavoidable coil tightening in his core as heat flushes to his cheeks, voice barely above a whisper while he fucks himself off. He can only imagine what he must look like right now, bent over his desk and huffing, head pressed against his forearm to hide his face into his desk, pants barely half on or half off, dangling by his knees while his hips swing in the air. And then, he tries to imagine you. How cute you’d look right now as he fucks into you with such speed he has to step back a few times to re-position, balls slapping against the magic toy with a resounding plap!, sticky sweet slick keeping him connected to you with a soft squish. He only stands up more so that he can continue his delusions, looking down to where his cock meets you cunt and how a ring of cream rests at the base, a sheen coating the rest of his length for him to gawk at.

A mistake, truthfully, but he isn’t complaining too much when he instantly shoots a load inside of the toy, shoving his cock as deep as possible into the tiny hole stretched to fit him so he can properly sow his seed, stake his claim all over your insides with thick white ropes. Mark you as: Big Brother’s. It doesn’t so much as catch him by surprise as it becomes immediately expected, face all scrunched up in rotten pleasure for the accidental creampie, a strangled sis caught in his throat before moans tumble, followed by breathy laughter and sighs. He doesn’t stop thrusting his hips forward, riding his orgasm out by riding you, inadvertently fucking his cum deeper into the toy and keeping it there, lazily tugging the toy up and down his still hard cock until he’s sure he’s made you’ve milked every last drop he has for you.

He only realises that he’s neglected to let you cum as he’s pulling out, slowly removing his cock from the toy with a wince, watching with genuine interest as drops of seed dribble out and over his spent cock. Serves you right for dating Sam when big brother has been right here this whole time, waiting to have you submit to his cock. He laughs, a sinister smirk with knowing that you must be so frustrated to be left high and dry like that, to no longer even appreciate the feeling of fullness as he twists the toy in his hand so that he can assess the damage, gently pulling the folds apart so he can watch more of his cum seep out. A deep urge to eat you clean rises to his tongue when he inspects your hole, but he bites it back, tells himself that there’s more satisfaction in leaving you to deal with the consequences of your actions than to reinforce your bad behaviour behind a tongue flat against your slit. That, and he’d hate to reward you and have you know that you’ve given him the best orgasm of his life; and you didn’t even have to do anything but lay there! He’s treated you well enough, he decides, dropping the toy on his desk for him to gape at lovingly.

He sits there for a few seconds, awaiting the wash of clarity over his system to come, but when it doesn’t he simply smiles. “Fuck.” He finally sighs, and it’s a confession of sorts. Of what he doesn’t have much time to figure out, seeing as his phone soon vibrates next to him, a flash of a notification on the screen. It takes him a moment to get to it, because he’s too busy admiring how messy he’s made your pretty princess parts, smearing big brothers cum all over the slit with his thumb just because he can. But he gives in to curiosity once he’s satisfied with painting, unlocking his phone only to be greeted by your name, or the one he’s so fondly given you.

Brat: Can you come help me sebby?

A loud bark of laughter rises in his chest, throwing his head back in the gratification you’ve so kindly offered him. You can handle a little more teasing, right? It’s only fair, seeing as this is the first time he’s fully bitten back at you.

Sebastian: No, I’m busy.

And it’s not even a lie, his thumb gliding easily over the faux clit to ruin you some more, a punishment for distracting him from his afterglow. He almost gets to forget about you before you draw his attention again, another vibration from his phone that reads:

Brat: It’s serious, please!

Sebastian: … Where are you?

It’s a stupid question, he knows, but he wants to make you really suffer. It’s not often you need his help, and he’d be a liar if he said it doesn’t feel nice to be relied on by you like this. All you need is him, right? Need big brother to come make you feel all better, yeah? Or maybe that’s just his cock talking, jerking at the thought of you relying on him for more, needing him to help finish you off because you’re too fucked dumb on big brothers cock to function. He’s got half a mind to walk up to your room and fuck you for real, help you finish that way. Would you try to kick him off with his cock womb deep, tears streaming down your pretty face, or would you sob from pleasure, begging big brother for more, because you’re so close and you’d take anything at this point?

Brat: My room, please hurry.!

Definitely more his cock, twitching back to life with the promise of being allowed entry into your sacred room, your hiding place. He locks his phone and throws it to his bed, tucking his stained cock back into his pants and pulling his skinny jeans back up, neglecting to zip in his rush to be at your side; thankful. You should be thankful he’s even giving you the time of day, seeing as you’ve already exhausted your usefulness to him for tonight. Cock spent and hole used, what more could you give him? Regardless, he’s more curious than he is spiteful right now. Wants to see what you look like after taking his cock, and if it matches his thoughts. Without much more  convincing, he tucks the toy into his hoodie pocket, confident that you’ll somehow find the evidence of his crime if he doesn’t stash it close to him at all times. He can easily clean his hoodie of cum later, but he can’t face the ramifications of mistreating you in such a deplorable fashion; not now, not ever. His little secret, yeah?

But his chest tightens as he runs up the stairs, breath caught in his throat as he stands outside your room and knocks. Anxious? He can’t figure out what for. This is everything he’s been wanting and more, and when you usher him inside with a panicked voice, he thinks he might have taken things a bit too far; protectiveness surging past his lungs and heart, rising up in a breathy “What’s wrong?” as if he doesn’t know damn well why you sound so confused right now. But that big brother attitude doesn’t last for long, ignored the minute his eyes find yours, taking in the sight of you clutching at your sheets as if you were in pain, legs crossed and covered, like you’re hiding from him. And oh it feels good to be preying on you like this, he has to fight the urge to smile at the pathetic pose you take for him, all pliant and submissive and seeking his help. He doesn't miss the way your nipples poke through your little shirt, or how you sweat from head to toe; working out? And his imagination didn’t do you any justice, seeing you cower in front of him like this as your legs rub together is a wet dream come true. He’s definitely hard again, keeping both hands in his pocket and pushing it down to hopefully hide his embarrassment from your eyes as you shiver before him. He watches as you automatically reach out for him, your mouth opening as if you were going to say something and—

“I— Ah!”

Instinctively, his fingers dip into the toy the moment you try to communicate with him, surprising even him when you gasp at the slender prodding against your insides. If you say anything resembling coherent he doesn't hear it, zoning out as he zeros in on your tits, mouth watering at the sight alone. He wants to suck on them, curling his finger inside of you in response to your unknown teasing, a declaration of want to own every part of you. At least now he knows that the toy is actually magic, unquestionably linked to your sopping wet cunt with how you’re currently reacting to his touch. The way you shake as his finger pad circles your entrance, gliding with the amount of cum leaking from it—and by extension dirtying your bed sheets at this very moment—and how you bite your lip so cutely when he lets its dip further into the hole again, staring directly at you with concentration to commit every detail of you to memory for tonight, almost moaning at the sight of you squeezing your eyes shut to avoid his dumb gaze, how pretty you look with your brows all furrowed and hand hiding your cute little sounds.

All you’ve done is convinced him that he needs to fuck you for real, and soon. Twisting the single finger buried knuckle deep in the toy around, exploring your pretty little cunt with precision. Like he already knows all your sweet spots given the reactions you’re offering him; or maybe that’s because he’s already fucked you close to completion already, fingering you to the cusp again as he stands awkwardly hiding his hard on in your room.

“What— Uh, what’s wrong?” He clears his throat, but still his voice is dry and needy, a hidden deep want for you lacing the words as you squirm and sob on your sheets. For him. It’s a bit weird that he’s waited so long to ask you, he thinks, but you also seem to be a bit too distracted to notice as he introduces a second finger to the puffy toy in his pocket, pushing in instantly and easily from the fluids leaking from your hole, leaving you unable to talk once more. “Are you okay?” He gasps, knows that you aren’t, fuck, look at you; but he has to ask to keep up his facade. Wants to pretend he doesn’t know why you’re struggle to do anything other than babble before him as a means to bully you some more. It’s your fault, maybe if you weren’t so fucking cute when crying then he’d move on, but your tear stained cheeks coax him to continue, scissoring his long fingers inside your hole with eagerness, like doing so would make you feel better.

And it would, and he wants to see it, but the second he begins to slowly pump his scissoring in and out of your greedy cunt you urge him to leave. A high pitched whine of go away! While you bury your face in the sheets, folding in on yourself—fucking pretty, by the way—as he assumes you’re right on the edge is enough for him. Your hidden face providing him the space to smile down at you, but it’s loving. Adoration, even. Can’t quite believe just how pretty you are when you’re rendered useless on his hand like this, and he promises himself as he turns to leave to have you act so sweetly with him the next time you try to annoy him. This is the little sister he’s always wanted, and if you play nice for him, he’ll even call you as such to your face.

“Okay.” He simply leaves you with, all breathy and empty as he exits your room, slamming the door shut only because he’s in a rush to rest his back against the same door to pull his cock out, still fingering your pretty pussy in his pocket and listening out for your cute moans to soon fill your room. Another round wouldn’t hurt, especially when you start to whimper his name so prettily like that, right?

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv sebastian smut #also trying a new way of styling these posts! #think its cute #I FORGOT TO ADD THE TITLE HEHE

[tizeline]

Bro that angst potential ur separated au is keeping me up at night. You've said since Mikey would be a powerhouse due to training at such an early age, would it be safe to assume that Leo & raph are too? They've been mastering their ninpo 4 years? And if yes then dam they must be tanks. Must be a force to be reckoned with the bros and drax being all chaotic. Did they start to train so early bcuz drax only saw them as soldiers n stuff? Drax sure must've softened over the years huh guess he couldn't handle the cute lil menaces lol. Is Donnie aware of his own ninpo yet? I'm imagining him going up against the others with all his cool tech and then they whip out this anime magic ass superpower out of nowhere. Like meeting others like u after years of thinking u were the only one must be at least baffling right, now it turns out magic is real too. And he's gonna have it too(Not to mention the bro bomb waiting to drop on his head). Would his insecurities rise after witnessing all that?

Sorry I just absolutely LOVE ur au friend, i have a ton of questions but ill hold it 4 ltr. I'm really excited to see where you take it :)) -🌾

Oh man, Anon, glad to see you so excited haha!

Just a heads up, I'm still figuring out the story of the AU, so I don't know all the specifics yet, but here are some of my thoughts. And also, this became a bit of a ramble, that's what you get when you send long asks lol /lh

The way I'm thinking how Draxum is gonna be like in this AU is that he didn't view himself as the turtles' father initially, not really because he only viewed them as mere tools for him to use, he always saw them as people with induviduality. But rather, he hadn't really connected the dots that creating children + raising said children = parenthood, which led to Draxum like a year after mutating the turtles having the sudden realization one day of "OH SHIT AM I A DAD!?" and having a mini crisis because of that.

Anyway, while I don't think Draxum is the perfect dad in this AU by any means, he does genuinely care about his kids. (If Mikey managed to win Draxum over in canon after having spent a whole season fighting each other, there's no way he'd care about Mikey any less in a scenario where they've been on the same side since day one like they have in this AU.) He started training the turles from an early age and they are expected to help him with his Definitely Not Evil World Domination Plan, but they are still allowed free time and hobbies and such. And aside from some "ugh I don't wanna train right now I wanna play vidya gaemes" occasionally, the turtles never really opposed the idea of them becoming Draxums super soldiers. Kids are really easily influenced and if your parent keeps telling you that you are the heroes who are gonna save the world from evil, chances are you're gonna latch on to that narrative without question. But after meeting Donnie and April, who knows, it might be what finally starts making the other turtles question if their cause really is as just as they think :) That being said, I still have to figure out how Draxum would react exactly to his sons starting to oppose his world view.

Then their abilities! I also have to do more reasearch into exactly how the magic system works in RoTMNT cuz uhhh it's a bit unclear sometimes. Anyway, ninpo is specifically the magic used by the Hamato clan, and considering Raph, Leo and Mikey weren't raised as Hamato I don't think they would have access to that specific type of magic (though I still think they'd be be able to possibly unlock it later down the line) They would still have access to yokai magic, and of course the mystic weapons that they stole in the show would just have been given to them in AU by Draxum. And oh yeah, the brothers are powerful. To be fair, Donnie was able to keep up with Draxum pretty well in the pilot episode, so he wouldn't be COMPLETELY outmatched by his brothers. His tech is powerful enough that he'd be able to put up a decent fight even if he lacks mystic powers himself but..... three against one? Yeah, Donnie isn't winning any time soon. The biggest advantage he'd have would honestly be that his brothers wouldn't really WANT to fight him cuz they'd be all like "Long Lost Brother™??? 😭😭😭 Please come home Long Lost Brother™ we love you!!! 😭😭😭"

And I think Splinter would have kept both of their origins secret initially like he did in the show, so Donnie would't have any ninpo either, but I also think Donnie would still learn about the whole Lou Jitsu and Genetically Modified Super Soldier thing earlier than in canon. And god, yeah, learning about all of that would definietly be A Lot, which is why I still need time to figure out Donnie's exact reaction sorry Anon you're gonna have to be patient XD

#tizel talk #Tiz Sep AU #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt au

[pix3lplays]

Your post about Sunday being manipulative was good.

But imagine something even more cruel? If F!reader had a kid with him and Sunday would manipulate not reader directly, but their baby to torture reader even more.

Like reader does something that displeases this ratty man and he takes away their infant and doesnt let her see them till she is groveling at his feet in tears.

When kid is older Sunday is trying his best to be the favorite parent and whenever reader fucks up Sunday manipulates kid into thinking that their mom is a terrible person and only Sunday truly loves them. Dad cannot be wrong, right?

Kid clings to their dad and completely ignores mom, refusing to talk with her, refusing to let reader hug and kiss them which breaks poor reader's heart. And only Sunday can redeem poor reader in their kid's eyes.

Cw! Yandere content! So much manipulation

…..

I love you anon oh my gosh??? And you really used the word ‘ratty’ to describe Mr. Sunday😭😭you’re so real for that.

He is SO manipulative, always knowing what to do to be in complete control of any situation, including you and your child’s lives.

Oh my gosh not him taking your INFANT away from you…ugh he would, he really would. Until you’ve corrected the behavior, and begged well enough for him. Fine…he’ll let you see your infant…for a finite amount of time, you haven’t Really proven to him that you’re even good enough to mother his child.

It’s frustrating because…in your kid’s eyes he really is an amazing dad. He doesn’t raise his voice, his rules are fair…the real problem is selfish, horrible Mother. But it’s okay because Sunday will protect his child from her.

It’s your word against Sunday’s. And your kid is already convinced that you’re an evil, awful person, while it seems like Sunday actually really cares about them.

Sunday has a Wide array of masks though…it’s hard to say how he truly feels about his child. Maybe he does actually care for them, sometimes his behaviors suggest such a thing…I mean he doesn’t Have to go through the trouble of tucking his child into bed every night and telling them a story…but he does anyways.

Even though he’s painted you as the villain, you’re grateful that he’s at Least being a good dad to your kid most of the time.

But it’s So heartbreaking. You just trying to say good morning to your own child, and they won’t even look at you, just clings a little closer to Sunday’s pant leg.

But he’s not entirely without mercy. If you’re a good little wife to him maybe he will consider putting in a few good words about you to your child.

And he will admit…seeing you actually get to act like a mother to your child does warm his heart in some strange way…

It would be SO easy to lose your privileges though, so tread carefully if you want to see your child…

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Sunday #Hsr Sunday x reader #honkai star rail Sunday x reader #Sunday x reader #tw yandere #yandere

[samatheia229]

Rise Ponderings:

The Turtles With Japanese Names

I've seen a lot of headcanons lately that support the "Rise boys' given names ARE their colours and they only got the artist names later on" narrative so I'd like to share my own.

Rise Splinter is undoubtedly very Americanised but I think that despite him forsaking his familial duties and old life, he’s still Japanese, is still a Hamato. So, subconsciously, he gave the boys Japanese names (of their corresponding colours, of course).

On that note, for all that Splinter has Celebrity-Who-Gives-Their-Kids-Unique-Names energy, I believe that he would still have enough decency to give them somewhat proper Japanese names not just 'Aka', 'Ao', 'Murasaki' and 'Orenji'.

However, for a period of time, the English-colour-names Splinter uses in the show would have been how addressed each other because they are, for the most part, an English-speaking household. Until an eight-year-old April came along insisting that those weren't 'real names', the turtles English names were 'Red', 'Blue' etc. 

After adopting 'proper' English names, those became the common form of address, though Splinter still calls them by the English colours because it's a habit for him. They don't mind.

They don’t use their Japanese names often. It’d mostly be during serious-talk time, in official stuff, calling someone by their full name or teasing. 

Ironically, in Splinter's (read: my) effort to not be a basic bitch, most of the boys' Japanese names are female. You can bet they tease the shit out of each other about it. The only one that actually takes offense to the teasing is Donnie whose name is very common and recognisable, so he always gets asked why he has it and/or if he realises that it's a girly name. 

The Names

*NOTE: I'm using Kanji here. Fair warning, they could be written wrong, so if there are any Japanese speakers out there, do correct me.

Hamato 'Raphael' Shuiro

Shuiro 朱色 = vermilion

Raph’s name is the only one that isn’t a real given name but I thought it suited him.

Colour Symbolism:

Besides being one of the most dominant colors in Japanese culture, red is associated strongly with authority, strength, sacrifice, passion, joy, and happiness. It's also regarded as an auspicious color in Japan.

Frequently said to have Eldest Daughter Syndrome by the fandom, Raph is the ultimate authority among the brothers. He self-appoints as leader not because he necessarily wants to be, but because as the oldest and the biggest, he feels like it's his responsibility to look after the others. Which often takes great strength and sacrifice. Surface Pressure from Encanto, anyone?

Furthermore, red, specifically vermilion, is very symbolic in Japanese architecture:

Red is the color of torii – Shinto shrine gates – temples, and traditional daruma dolls. Red is said to scare away evil spirits and represent protection, strength, peace, and power. 

All in all, very fitting for the big brother and family protector, if you ask me.

Hamato 'Leonardo' Aoi

Aoi 青い = blue

Aoi is a unisex name; meaning hollyhock flower when used for girls and blue for boys. I'm using the male meaning for Leo. 

Colour Symbolism:

Blue commonly represents the sea and the sky (for which Japan is surrounded) and symbolizes purity, dignity, calmness, stability, security, and fidelity. Blue is also regarded as a lucky colour.

In this case, blue is rather in juxtaposition with Leo's personality, but looking at it from a franchise perspective, blue is indeed a leader's colour.

Back then, Japanese society was strictly hierarchical and displayed through the colour of their robes. Of the colors that were allowed for common folk, the color blue was work by higher ranking people. It symbolized wealth and prestige, while also remaining a color of the common folk.

That being said, Leo's a little different from his predecessors. Eventually, he will grow into the role of the leader we know and love. But even when he was unburdened from being leader, he was still the strategist. Leo's leadership in fights is a balance between what is uniquely Rise and the mission-mindset of the leaders in blue who came before him, strategies that are fun, wacky and maybe a little unorthodox yet still as effective for the team.

Hamato 'Donatello' Sumire

Sumire 菫 = violet

Sumire is usually a girl's name but I don’t think Splinter would’ve cared all that much about gender.

Donnie doesn't either and even likes his name, though it has caused him a lot of grief over the years. A lot of people think it's strange for a guy with his personality to have such a feminine name, and he's really sick of having to defend his name after introducing himself. Part of why he wanted 'Donnie'.

Colour Symbolism:

Like in the West, purple in Japanese culture is associated with royalty, as purple dye was rare and only available to those of a higher status. It can also reflect on nobility, spirituality, and wisdom.

Out of everyone, Donnie embraces his colour about the most. His clothes are purple, his tech is purple, his lab is bathed in purple lighting. Purple is Donnie's thing. This, in a way, ties in with the colour's exclusivity back then.

Flower Symbolism:

In Hanakotoba (flower language), the meaning of violet is sincerity, a small love, and a small bliss. Violets are a common gift, as they are an ideal way to show appreciation for a family member or friend and to express sincerity or love.

I think this is very Donnie. What he lacks in the emotional department, he makes up for  through his tech. He creates things for his family, making them all kinds of personalised gizmo. Sometimes it results in disaster but the intention to help is there. Gift-giving is his love language.

Hamato 'Michelangelo' Mikan

Mikan 蜜柑 = tangerine

Mikan is a common Japanese girl name. Baby girls named "Mikan" are usually joyful, positive-thinkers, smiley and generally happy people.

Mikey loves his name and doesn't care that it's girly and cute, no matter how the others tease him about it. (SIDE NOTE: I swear the near-matching names wasn't intentional. I was just looking for a name that means mandarin orange for a bit I'm writing).

Colour Symbolism:

Orange is symbolic of love, happiness and the sun.

The youngest of the family, Mikey is optimistic and cheerful. He brings joy and colour to the household through his art. He encourages everyone to be express their love openly and always tries to be supportive.

Fruit Symbolism:

Besides good fortune, wealth and longevity, the fruit mikan can be tied to family because of its role in Japanese traditions. In Japan, there is a word “Kotatsu de Mikan”, which means:

A family sits around a kotatsu (a traditional Japanese table with an electric heater attached to the underside), watching TV and eating mikan —  the traditional picture of a harmonious family seen in the wintertime.

TLDR; I really love how each turtle has a role to play in the family, how their respective colours are so appropriate for who they are as people, and I wanted their Japanese name to reflect that.

Mikey is all about family. He's the heart, always the peacemaker, always bringing everyone together.

----------

#the pics aren't mine #So many iterations of TMNT and no Japanese names? #A travesty #rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #japanese names #rottmnt headcanons

[markantonys]

AITA for joining a "cult" that thinks my sister and mom are Darkfriends?

First, some backstory. I (30m) have always been an outsider in my family. It wasn't anything to do with my parents - dad (dead) always spent all his time with me instead of my younger siblings, and (step)mom (43f) always gave me extra attention compared to her bio kids because she didn't want me to feel neglected - or with my brother (21m), who's always looked up to me. It was all because of my sister (19f). She's hated and bullied me ever since she was a toddler, and I have no idea why. I guess maybe she doesn't think I'm her real brother, or blames me for telling on her whenever she did irresponsible things like climb trees and talk to strangers. All I've ever done is try to keep her safe, but she's never appreciated it.

Anyway, there's this organization (my sister claims it's a cult, though I don't think that's fair) that's dedicated to serving the Light. My mom always hated them and kept them banned from our country because she thinks they have an agenda against women who can channel, and she's one herself, as is my sister. I used to believe her, but after reading one book written by the organization's founder, I realized that my mom has a totally biased view of them and they're actually doing really important work founded on admirable principles. So when my sister went missing at the hands of women who can channel, I decided I'd had enough of those women lying to everyone all the time and I joined this organization.

I did have my view of them shaken when I found out my mom had been kidnapped, abused, and murdered by one of their leaders (turns out she's actually still alive though, don't worry about that), but I challenged that leader to an honorable duel and killed him to avenge my mom, and my friends and I rooted out a handful of other corrupt members of the organization, so now with that small minority gone, the rest of us can continue doing the Light's work and spreading awareness of the evils of the One Power.

To be clear, I OBVIOUSLY don't think my sister and mom are Darkfriends; it's only everyone else who uses the One Power who is. I've explained this to my sister multiple times but it only makes her angrier instead of grateful that I'm making an exception for her and choosing to believe the best of her. It feels like I can never do anything right in her eyes, but maybe I've somehow got the wrong understanding of the situation. So, AITA?

******

u/dainbornhald: NTA. Your sister's problem isn't actually that you joined this organization (which totally does sound 100% Light-serving). She doesn't think you're her real brother and is just looking for any excuse to continue the bullying, manipulation, and gaslighting she's been using on you since she was a toddler. [+5k votes] u/childbyar: Came here to say this. Sister sounds like a textbook abuser, and, honestly, almost definitely a Darkfriend. I'd go no contact with her, OP, and maybe get a restraining order if you have to - she's obviously unhinged. [+1.2k votes]

u/amyrlinseat: You joined a cult that thinks your sister is a Darkfriend based on an innate characteristic about her that she didn't choose and can't change (unlike you, who DID choose to join this cult), and you're whining that she's mad at you for it??? YTA [-749 votes]

u/luckyfox: YTA for the cult thing, but this whole family's got serious mommy AND daddy issues (take it from an expert). Sister resents you for getting all your parents' attention growing up, and you have a victim complex about being a stepchild/half-brother. I can only wonder what might be going on with the middle brother who wasn't mentioned much here. You guys need to go to therapy. [+2 votes] u/galaddamodred [OP]: My brother always seemed very well-adjusted, but a few hours after I made this post he actually died going on a suicide charge in battle because he thought he was unimportant enough to risk and no one would care much if he died in the attempt. Which sucks because now the only sibling I've got left is my sister who hates me. [+273 votes] u/luckyfox: oh my god [+312 votes]

#every time i read galad's narration of elayne being sO MeAN to him in AMOL #i'm reminded of an r/aita post where the person is skirting around crucial information to make themselves sound like not the asshole jkfg #wot #wot book spoilers #the wheel of time

[freyjawriter24]

AO3 is down, so I'll have to post this there later and backdate it, but...

Today's 10th July, which means there's only 18 days left until Season 2 of Good Omens!

To commemorate this momentus point in the @gomenseveryday countdown, please enjoy the little fic below the cut...

August 2008: 11 years until Armageddon

Aziraphale was trying desperately not to think about it too much. He was failing, of course. But really, how could he be expected to just forget? This was, quite literally, the end of the world. And even if it was still eleven years away, well, that really wasn't long at all, if you thought about it. Which, despite his best efforts, Aziraphale certainly was.

He'd tried putting on some music to distract himself, but that had failed dismally, too. What a Wonderful World, Louis sang, and the angel couldn't help but picture it as a mourning song, covering everything Aziraphale would be heartbroken to lose when the war destroyed it all.

He'd quickly changed the record, but for some reason the next, usually upbeat track suddenly sounded sinister.

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer,

Goin' faster than a roller coaster...

Oh dear. Eleven years really wasn't much at all, was it? He wished Crowley were here. Why had he only agreed to meet with him the following morning? That was hours away. And in the meantime, he had to sit with memories of destruction and the echo of Buddy's words circling around in his head.

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer...

August 2009: 10 years until the Apocalypse

A decade left, now. Only a decade. Crowley had slept through more than one of those by accident, and now it was all the time they had remaining until either the Earth was annihilated or they, impossibly, miraculously, succeeded. Ten years.

You wouldn't think it, looking at him. Warlock Dowling, the Antichrist. It didn't feel real, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. He was still so small. One year old, and so much potential held within him. He looked like any other human child.

Still, ten years. Just a drop in the ocean in Crowley's lifetime, but for a human – a human child in particular – that was aeons. They had time. Time to guide him, time to encourage him, time to carefully balance the good and bad impulses in him so that Hell would fail and Heaven would be denied their war. They could do this. They still had time.

August 2010: 9 years until the End of the World

"It's admirable, really," Michael mused, only half sincere.

"Naïve, is what it is," Gabriel grumbled. "And now we're getting yearly check-ins, as if anything at all is going to change."

Michael nodded sympathetically, and shuffled some paperwork on her desk. She wouldn't have minded Aziraphale's visits really – it often made for an entertaining change of pace, watching him attempt to make his busywork sound important – except that they always seemed to leave Gabriel in a bad mood.

"Well, at least you've got less than a decade left of that to go."

"Yes!" Gabriel said, brightening. "Only nine years left, and then war. What a delightful thought."

Michael smiled. "Glorious indeed."

August 2011: 8 years until the End Times

"I don't get it," Beelzebub muttered.

"He always did like going above and beyond," Dagon reasoned.

"Yeah, but yearly check-ins? It's just pointless. We know the child is going to be evil, he's the Antichrist, for Satan's sake. We don't need constant updates just to state the obvious. Certainly not every year."

Dagon shrugged. "I think he just likes showing off. Fair enough, really. He's been doing some outstanding work up there. It's only demonic that he come and gloat." The Lord of the Files rifled through a damp-looking cabinet, and pulled out a mouldy-looking folder. "Have you seen what he did with the global economy the other year? I'm thinking of sending him another commendation for that."

Beelzebub hadn't, but didn't want to let on in case Dagon launched into an explanation. "Why doesn't he come and give us presentations on that, then, rather than some snivelling child?"

Dagon raised an eyebrow. "Because you'd hate that too, and understand it even less. He's not stupid. Don't you remember the M25?"

Beelzebub groaned. "Okay, yeah, fair enough." There was silence for a moment, broken only by the steady drip of yet another broken pipe. Then: "Do you trust him, though?"

Dagon snorted. "No. Of course not."

"Good. Just checking."

"Like I said, he's doing it for his own benefit, not ours. Self-obsessed little prick, prancing his pet project in front of us every year. But at least it's only for another handful."

"Mmm. Suppose so."

Beelzebub looked gloomily into a corner, lost in thought.

Dagon sighed and slammed the filing cabinet shut. "Want to go torture someone for a bit?"

"Fuck yes. I thought you'd never ask."

August 2012: 7 years until the Destruction of Earth.

Everyone was so happy this year. London was buzzing with the energy of it all, the weather seemed determined to echo the mood, and Warlock was picking up on the collective indulgence in the simple joy of living.

You wouldn't think there was only seven years left of all this.

They took him to the Olympic Stadium, and the O2, and the Velodrome, even though he was probably still too young to understand all the rules and nuances of the sports they were watching. He loved clapping and cheering, though, and would do so regardless of who won, calling out with pride when Kenya got gold, when France did, when China did.

Thaddeus was getting more and more red in the face with each passing win for another country, but Nanny Ashtoreth's sharp gaze stopped him from doing anything about it. She'd had the forethought to warn him in advance that there would be no stifling of Warlock's joy this summer, as he was far too young to be trying to understand the nuances of the geopolitical landscape his father occupied.

Harriet sat fairly quietly the whole time, trying not to look bored, and clapping politely whenever either the USA or UK did well.

When it came to his birthday towards the end of the month, Warlock's parents got him a bike. A simple gesture, but one surprisingly aware of their son's interests.

Nanny carefully fitted a pair of stabilisers to it, and Brother Francis gifted Warlock a set of knee pads and elbow pads, alongside a helmet printed with an illustration of grass and ladybirds.

Warlock learned quickly, and took great joy in shouting out garbled imitations of Olympic commentary as he cycled around the garden.

"And Warlock Dowling cwruches his enemies under his heel, shooting stwaight into first place and winning five hundred gold medals for Team GB. And, uh, America."

Nanny watched with pride, and ignored the flutter of nerves that whispered that she might be doing a better job at influencing the child than her counterpart, and all that would mean.

August 2013: 6 years until the start of the Second Angelic War

Brother Francis tried not to think too hard about it all while he neatened up the flowerbeds for the garden party that afternoon. Warlock was turning five, and miraculously the weather had speckled the garden with enough rain overnight to keep everything looking green and vibrant without threatening any ruination to the outdoor celebration that was to come.

Five years old. Six years left.

He tried not to think about flaming swords and burning wings. Tried not to consider what might become of this garden in a few short years if they failed. Tried not to imagine what would happen to the Antichrist himself if he accepted all his inborn power.

"Brovver Francis!" came a high-pitched call, and the gardener turned to see Warlock – still tiny, really, barely more than a toddler – running across the grass towards him, Nanny following protectively just behind.

"Hello young Master Warlock. And happiest of birthdays to you! How old are you now?"

"Four," Warlock said, a little uncertainly.

"Ah, you were four, weren't you my little Prince of Darkness," Nanny said, crouching down. "But today is your birthday, and that means you get to add one year to your age! So how old are you now?"

"Five!" Warlock said brightly.

"Yes, you clever little cherub!" Brother Francis beamed.

Cherub? Nanny mouthed over Warlock's head.

Francis raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly. Ashtoreth rolled her eyes.

"Almost halfway to conquering the world, aren't you, my little charcoal dove?"

The gardener gave Nanny a look then, too, but she just smiled, a touch wickedly.

"Come on then, Warlock, let's let Brother Francis finish his work so everything's ready for your party."

"Okay Nanny! Bye Brovver Francis!"

"Goodbye, Warlock!"

Only six years left.

August 2014: 5 years until the End of Humanity

Warlock was turning six this year. He was very excited.

Six was bigger than five, and four, and three, and two, and one. It was much bigger than zero. Not quite as big as seven, true, but six was a very good number. It did lots of clever things with factors and division, which Warlock liked, and it had a special sort of meaning when three of them were next to each other, which Nanny liked. And three was half of six, too, so even better. Warlock liked maths a lot.

Six was also over halfway to eleven, which Nanny said was going to be important. That was when he'd come into his powers and rule the world. Mummy said it was when he'd go to big school, too, so maybe that was what Nanny meant. But either way, he was over halfway there now. Six was a very good number.

August 2015: 4 years until the Events of Revelations Come to Pass

Warlock had been looking forward to his birthday, as usual, until he'd learnt from his father that seven-year-olds don't have nannies, they have tutors, and that meant Ashtoreth would be leaving him soon. The child was heartbroken, and even Nanny couldn't console him for several days.

He seemed to cheer up a bit, though, when he met the first of his two new tutors – Mr Harrison, it appeared to Thaddeus and Harriet, was exactly the sort of no-nonsense teacher that little Warlock needed to get over his childish attachment to his Nanny. Warlock looked up at his new tutor in awe, and chose not to suggest otherwise to his parents.

The changeover day was to be his birthday, when neither Nanny nor tutors would be required, and it thus marked a turning point in young Warlock's life. But he knew he would be safe. Growing up wasn't all that scary when you had trusted people there to protect you. And, as it turned out, Mr Cortese looked rather familiar too. Maybe the future was going to be okay after all.

August 2016: 3 years until the End of Days

"Maths! Why did it have to be maths?"

"I don't know. I can't imagine where he gets it from."

"Makes no sense at all."

Warlock was thriving in his lessons, but that was the one thing Mr Harrison really couldn't get over. Maths.

"I mean, if it had been anything else..."

"Well, perhaps it's our fault. We really should have learnt enough by now to keep up with him on it."

"Yes, but..." Mr Harrison spluttered for a moment, unable to articulate his thoughts. "It's maths."

"Point taken."

The only maths Mr Harrison was capable of doing at the moment was subtraction. Specifically, counting down from eleven. And he was getting shockingly close to zero now...

August 2017: 2 years until the Day of Reckoning

Mr Cortese was getting rather into this teaching lark. He hadn't done much of it for centuries, but the knack hadn't left him, and he was rather enjoying things. Pity about the maths, but he was less distraught about that than his counterpart.

He just had to remember that this wasn't forever. It was a temporary measure, designed to prevent the end of the human race and all life on earth.

He didn't like reminding himself of that. But needs must. He shouldn't lose sight of the goal.

Not that Buddy was letting him forget any time soon.

August 2018: 1 year until Judgement Day

The tutors both got Warlock's birthday off, and so Crowley and Aziraphale were holed up in the bookshop, celebrating dismally the one-year-left anniversary.

"It will be fine, won't it?"

"We've done all we can."

"Not quite yet. Still a year left."

"Yes. A year."

They sat in silence for a long while. Well, the outside world was silent – Aziraphale could still hear the echoes of an earworm he'd had for the last decade, insistent and unrelenting. He began to tap his foot absentmindedly.

"What's that you've got there, angel?" Crowley asked after a few moments.

"Hmm?"

"What's in your head? You're tapping."

"Oh. Yes." He sighed. "Buddy Holly."

"...Buddy Holly?"

The angel sighed again, then got up and put the offending record on. The upbeat music filled the bookshop, and the demon winced.

"Ah. Buddy Holly."

Everyday it's a-gettin' closer...

August 2019: Adam Young's 11th Birthday

Adam opened his eyes. Yes. Today was the day. Eleven years old. He he grinned up at the ceiling, then scrambled out of bed, still grinning, and headed downstairs.

Today was going to be a brilliant day.

#my writing #fanfiction #good omens #GOmensEveryday #everyday it's a-getting closer #aziraphale #crowley #warlock dowling #archangel michael #the archangel fucking gabriel #beelzebub #dagon #adam young

[mehiwilldoitlater]

"Itto?"

A small groan from your tights gave you the clue that he was awake from his midday slumber.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Depends. If it's about my hairstyle technique, get lost!"

"Uff, no no. It's more... personal, that is."

He opened one of his eyes, looking at you. The peach tree where you two were sitting gave you both a refreshing spot even on those sunny and hot summer days, with a sweet breeze preventing the both of you from feeling the excessive warmth of the area.

"It doesn't bother you that... well, I'm...It's..."

You felt so embarrassed, especially talking about this matter. You could just let it pass after all, but...it was a small question that started to bother you from time to time, especially when those boring officials came every week, trying to catch an audience with you. He must have caught your difficulty in talking about this matter, so he decided to leave his pants on your legs to look at you, sitting not too far from him.

"I am like Me, the WoOoOoOoOo thing, the allmighty stuff, you know?"

"Yeah, I get that a lot, yeah."

"Okay, but...doesn't it bother you? I mean, don't you feel I don't know, emberassed, a little out of the water?"

You tried to sound as calming and easy as possible, especially with someone like Itto. But it was difficult, especially when you fight with your own demons in your head. The one who tells you that you're making their lives difficult, that they've risked enough, and that you still can't give them the rightful piece even now You've tried to be useful to them, to help them in their works, and all but this Creator status, people wooing at you like nothing, the fact that the Shogun demanded that you start to live under her even after all that she had done, the other nations... You felt like having them cornered.

He looked at you with one of the things that was so unusual about him: patience.

He looked at you, struggling to make you understand enough to him (a funny show to be fair), and... well, he got it somehow. He raised his hand, patting your head with some gentle yet confident gestures.

"No need to tell more! I got it! After all, it must be hard to be the second in command, especially with me as the first one!"

You concealed the fact that the real second in command was Shinobu but decided to keep it to yourself.

"Hehe...seriously, these things bother you so much?"

"I just...I don't want to slow you down or...or worse..."

"Eh, not a chance... Seriously, Y/n?"

He gently toked your hands in is... He had always had those big hands with those big and sharp nails, and they still made you feel protected or safe. They were so warm.

"The first time I heard of you, they said that you were some kind of monster that impersonated the creator. They said that you were pure evil! But then I met you, and you know what I said?"

He looked at you with the same goofy grin that he always carries around.

"To be the most wanted criminals in this world, they sure lack style!"

You stopped, a small gap in your mouth. Then you laughed at heart.

"S-seriously?!"

"YES! ...and well, of course, you reminded me when I was little, and my people, you weren't dangerous, you were just...you!"

His voice sounded somehow nostalgic. Itto wasn't someone who liked to be pity; no, I liked to give a good impression, which is simply an impression of sorts. He didn't like to bask in his old misery; he just used it as fuel for his future. You admired him for that, maybe more.

"The Arataki gang was full of outcasts, people who were unwanted...and, I know, a few of them weren't actually so okay about having you in it...but look how things had turned out! With you, our luck just increased! You're our lucky charm!"

He never even addressed you as the creator; for him, you were just Y/N or his lucky charm. That has always made your heart pound a little.

"And, yes, the people now are worse than before, but... Listen, I... umm..."

A small red mark appearedad aed on his face. He scratched his heada  little, looking away from your gaze.

"You...what?"

"I won't judge you if you want to leave and start to have the life of a royal!" You deserve that after all! It's your choice, and I would respect that!" But the Gang...but I..."

He sighed. You've never seen him so nervous around you.

"I would feel a little sad to know that my lucky charm is away, not mending our wounds, not helping me catch some fireflies, or in my beetle training."

You tightened your hands on his, caressing with your thumb some cuts that were still there.

"No! I would never leave you or Shinobu for the Archons! You're my family! Itto I..."

Your words stutter in your throat. He looked at you, his eyes glowing with something.

Say it, please. Say it.

"I...I... Itto I-"

"A package!"

The sudden appearance of a new voice almost gave you both a heart attack. Itto fell behind, bunkering his head on the ground. Kirara looked at you two with her two big eyes, wondering why such a reaction! You both were staring in silence for almost a minute; it wasn't like she was disrupting something, wasn't she?

"K-kirara! You...you scared us!"

"OH! My apologies for your grace! They told me you were here, so I decided to bring your delivery directly!"

"Ugh, you could have just left it to Granny Oni, you know?"

"Weeeeeell..." Of course she wanted to see you; everyone wanted to see the creator.

"Geez, I got it. Let me see what they have for me now."

Annoyed, your focus was now on the package. Itto, on the other hand, couldn't get his head away from the fact that maybe you wanted to tell him that thing. That thing that he wanted to tell you some time ago... Somehow, he was grateful to the Neko girl; she gave him the chance to confess to you.

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau genshin #itto #creator!reader

[altschmerzes]

THE 13 BOOKS I READ IN 2023 IN ORDER FROM BEST TO WORST + THE PROTAGONIST'S SUPERLATIVE. PART 2.

6. A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L'Engel. a timeless classic that i love love love. meg is such a fun protagonist and i really enjoyed experiencing this as an adult again. the whole like… helpless devastated rage she feels when she realizes that adults can't just. fix everything? that sequence will always rattle me around like a mason jar fulla beans. she's such a like… man. the way the narrative was like. this isn't fair. it isn't right. it's happening anyway. i'm so sorry, but it's happening anyway. that really got me.

Protagonist: Meg Murry. Most Likely To Have A Profound And Life Altering Impact On Adolescent Weird Girls Who Read Her Book.

7. Whiskeyjack by Victoria Goddard. third book in the series, slightly less fun than the others but only very slightly. i cannot emphasize enough how difficult it was to rank like, 2-8. had some VERY fun stuff with like…. things you learn that then go back and recontextualize everything else. ended on a scene that made me fucking sob which is always a plus in my book. themes of FAMILY and LOYALTY and SACRIFICE. my fucking beloved. yes please. the pov character continues to have a horrible little time. also love that.

Protagonist: (again, series has dual protagonists, so switching back) Peregrine Dart. Most Likely To Be The Unwitting Conduit Of The Deus Ex Machina. Deus Ex Dart.

8. One By One by Ruth Ware. just a really good classic mystery thriller. i love a mystery thriller, and ruth ware seems to always hit for me. managed to pull off a pov switch between two pov characters one of whom had a massive, MASSIVE secret without it seeming completely nonsensical once revealed or relying on the pov character talking in deliberately obtuse or evasive ways that would be really tiresome and insulting if carried through. there was a set of tech bro startup characters that were obnoxious and infuriating in exactly the way that those people are in real life, so points for that for SURE even though i did wanna throttle them.

Protagonist: Erin (Lastname). Most Deserving Of A Tropical Vacation.

9. The Ritual by Adam Nevill. this is the most brutal book i have read in recent memory. possibly at all. this guy gets put all the way through the wringer physically and emotionally and it is visceral in the way it is described. the protagonist was a profoundly unpleasant person a lot of the time but this was deliberate and really engaging, honestly. there were some moments of stark self-reflection from him about the ways in which he did not like who he was and the things he did, and when he recognized how like. unfair and cruel he was being to the others in his head. wasn't as good as the movie, imo, but the changes that they made between the book and film made total sense given the sheer level of interiority in the book. and boy howdy how much interiority. whoof.

Protagonist: Luke. Most Surprising Survival.

10. I Am Not Who You Think I Am by Eric Rickstad. i think the most damning thing that can be said about this book is that i literally can't remember almost anything about it. it was compelling in some ways and there were a few very specific moments that i was really gripped by but most of it was like. a really flat letdown. it was interesting enough as a mystery that i finished it but i don't even really remember why, now.

Protagonist: Wayland Maynard. Most Forgettable Guy.

11. The Darkest Minds by Alexandra Bracken. just. ugh. dystopia ya in a bad way. too complicated and not well established. dumbass colour coding system. it could've been so fun, i love traumatized teenagers with powers and an evil government in all sincerity but this just did not do anything good with it. it looked like it COULD have but it DIDN'T. the love interest character was a DICK. there was some weird gender takes that popped out of nowhere. jump-scared by gender. did enjoy watching the movie though because it was fucking insane and gave me a scene where the protagonist and the love interest shared a passionate embrace over what fully appeared to be the dead body of the love interest's theoretical best friend. amazing. no notes.

Protagonist: Ruby Daly. Most Likely To One Day Decide She's Tired Of Being Nice And She Does Want To Go Apeshit Actually.

12. Reputation by Sarah Vaughan. [VIDEODROME PRESCREEN AUDIENCE REVIEW WHERE THEY JSUT WROTE 'SUCKED' AND GOT SO UPSET ABOUT HOW BAD IT WAS THEY MARKED THE WRONG GENDER] this book was BAD. the writing was bad. the characters were bad and not on purpose. the politics of the book were uh. whoof. what if white girlboss feminism was a novel. points for some of the hardest i've laughed tho at Nice Dick Mike the journalist that the protagonist cannot respect after she sleeps with him and Lady Cop With Bangs, the traitor to womanhood.

Protagonist: Emma Webster. Most Likely To Submit An Extremely Long Post To Reddit Dot Com Slash Am I The Asshole That Leaves Out A Lot Of Like, Extremely Critical Information That When Uncovered All Makes Her Look Really Fucking Bad While She Seems To Still Think It Was Entirely Irrelevant And Honestly Unfair To Even Consider. Gd Forbid Women Do Anything.

UNCATEGORIZED: 21st Century Jocks: Sporting Men And Contemporary Heterosexuality by Eric Anderson. there was simply no way to rank this among the others, it was too completely different. they were all very different books but this was just. entirely different. had a wonderful time with it though!! gave me a lot to think about as someone who thinks a lot

thank you for joining me on this journey. i loved reading books again this year and would wholeheartedly recommend anything ranked 1-9 on this list, provided you like the genre/vibe.

#gav gab #book club with gav #long post

[capitaletele]

I saw this post about the real story behind the concept of "Stockholm Syndrome" and it made me think about Cristal going through what Kristen Enmark did instead of the romanticized version Berger wrote about (which, you know, fair enough, it was based on the mainstream understanding of the idea at the time.)

Enmark is the young woman who was first "diagnosed" with Stockholm Syndrome after bonding with her kidnappers because she was more afraid of the police and authorities' incompetent/erratic behaviour than she was of her captors (and saying so publicly once she got out.) She was then "diagnosed" by the psychologist who consulted on the hostage situation and made a mess of it, without him ever actually interviewing her.

And so of course, I'm thinking about Cristal being actually kidnapped. She probably thinks Johnny is attractive but she doesn't run away with him, the Etoiles Noires grab her and forcibly take her to the hangar. And then the government (with the help of Zéro's private militia of course) basically besiege the tunnels trying to "get her out" -- only of course, it would look better for Zéro's campaign if something unfortunate happened to her at the hands of her evil captors, because that would definitely turn public opinion to him and his totalitarian security measures.

And so, "Cristal trapped inside the hangar with frightening terrorists" becomes "Cristall slowly bonding with the Etoiles Noires while the people who are supposed to be rescuing her directly/indirectly work to get her killed."

And Sadia's there in the middle, being ambiguous and inscrutable as always :p

I'm also thinking about the quote by hostage-taker Olsson, about why they developed a relationship with the hostages:

"It was the hostages’ fault. They did everything I told them to do. If they hadn’t, I might not be here now. Why didn’t any of them attack me? They made it hard to kill. [The authorities] made us go on living together day after day, like goats, in that filth. There was nothing to do but get to know each other."

So like, imagine a violent Johnny whose plan was definitely to take Cristal with him and kill her for whatever reason, and who resentfully realizes he can't anymore because he's gotten to know her and he actually likes her now (as opposed to just finding her hot.)

And when it becomes clear to him that the authorities aren't working to free her safely at all (in the real situation, Enmark actually got the Swedish Prime Minister on the phone and he basically told her "You're going to die for the cause, sorry") Johnny starts protecting her, not only from the other Etoiles Noires but also from the outside.

And Cristal is protecting Johnny and the Etoiles Noires in turn, because it has become very clear to her that contrary to what everyone is saying on tv, the point is not to get them alive at all, and that in fact it might be better for the authorities if there were no survivors to tell the tale of what actually went down.

So Cristal starts using her neutron camera to send pirate broadcasts to reveal the truth about her situation and how the Etoiles Noires are treating her.

And in the process, she also starts reporting on what's been going on in the underground levels, which doesn't usually make it into the media. I like to imagine have been sort of abandonned by the government, maybe because the police/army has been trying to get rid of the Etoiles Noires but the population of the underground has been protecting them/refusing to give them up, so the government started punishing them by cutting off services in the blocks where the EN operate. People lost access to running water, to electricity, to food supply... But the media and government have denied it, so when Cristal shows the truth, people are shocked.

And of course the mainstream media is running its own messaging, about how Cristal has lost the plot, how she's gone and fallen in love with Johnny like a stupid girl, how they brainwashed or drugged her into it, etc. [Cue "Les parents de Cristal."]

And so Cristal radicalizes and rallies to the Etoiles Noires, and she and Johnny figure out a plan to get everyone out safely, and then... I don't know what happens :p Some kind of "they're both alive" resolution, because I am me! But how??? Damned if I know.

#not!fic #starmania fic #cristal #johnny rockfort #this is the kind of story i WISH i could write #the 30k of plotty slow burn #sadly i know my limitations #maybe i'll write a scene or something at some point #but i still wanted to get the idea out

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

it's been a while since i've talked about any of my aus, huh

let's do that real quick! first a very simple au where the main point is the stans twins being physical manifestations of the concept of life and death, and then a much more in-depth au involving mystery trio kind of (don't get attached)

warnings for death (of course) and emotional suffering for the first au

warnings for cosmic horror, violence/blood/near death experience, both physical and emotional suffering, and in general Significantly Bad Times™ for the second one

au the first!

the first au is exactly what it sounds like. i've thought about this one for a while but never mentioned it because i don't want people going 'well obviously the reason ford is death and stan is life is because ford is evil incarnate and stan is perfect and can do no wrong' because that's not why i gave them their specific roles

i just felt it fit their personalities better? also cause stan's (somewhat unhealthy) 'family is everything' mindset fits a personification of life better and ford's 'if it sucks, hit the bricks' mindset fits a personification of death better

(also ford gets to hang out with extinct species and stan has to mourn when he realizes he hasn't interacted with any in a long time, so who gets the better deal really)

really though, this ford is essentially always in a state of mourning for. obvious reasons. stan spends most of his time watching various organisms live, and ford spends most of his time sitting with them when they die. and the two don't interact very often because of how busy they always are (i did give ford an emotional support ghost thylacine though, so he's not always alone)

the mystery twins, through means i do not wish to think about nor go into, end up in a state of limbo. the stan twins take them in, alternating between who spends time with who so everyone gets a fair amount of bonding time

it does help ford a bit, but it also puts him on edge because the last thing he wants is for them to have to watch things die. instead, he introduces them to various (more friendly) ghost creatures and teaches them about decomposers

stan's time with them is somewhat easier, what with his job essentially being to make sure things are still ticking, which includes a lot of looking at baby organisms for long periods of time. he does make sure not to show the twins any species that are. uh. low on members, so to speak

the stan twins got into a lot of fights when they were younger. stan's not exactly a fan of mass extinctions and ford couldn't seem to get him to understand that he does not, in fact, kill them, he just shows up when they die, and yes, stanley, there is a difference

they had. a pretty long time to work it out. that's all there really is for this au (at least for now)

au the second!

in this au, ford focuses on astronomical anomalies. one such anomaly he notices is an increasingly unnerving lack of stars. some that were there before seem to have just. disappeared. he figures, 'well, a lot of stars that were documented in the past just don't exist anymore, and we stop seeing their light after a while. even if these examples are unusually recent all things considered, it's not enough to be worrisome yet'

so he starts keeping track of asterisms. he gets his hands on some star charts, makes a few maps of specific ones himself, and starts observing. every time something changes, he marks it off on the corresponding chart. after a little while, he decides that something is definitely wrong here (he's starting to space out more and more often, for longer periods of time) and he calls up fiddleford for help

fiddleford gets to work on building some machines so they can more easily observe this anomaly and, more importantly, properly record its happenings. he finally gets to computer his majigs. and things go well for a while, except for stanford's newfound problems, but it starts to have an effect on fiddleford after a while. he sees something in the void that ford doesn't. and he's starting to trust it more than he trusts his friend

fiddleford keeps this to himself, of course. ford doesn't seem to really notice. what ford does notice is that the gemini constellation has started to go

somewhat reluctantly (though with his hallucinations and absence seizures and bleeding from the eyes and fiddleford's unusual coldness, it's getting hard to care) he calls up his ma, finds out where stan's currently staying, and sends him a postcard. because, sure, maybe stan can't help, but at this point he's starting to feel like his brother should know and also he's getting a little desperate

stan pretty quickly notices that there's something off about the handwriting and language and the stains of the postcard and gets on his way because something has obviously gone wrong here

he expects to have to talk to ford down from doing something, or maybe have to help him get out of dodge because people want to hurt him or something. he does not expect to walk into the house and see his brother bleeding on the floor because his assistant tried to murder him (is this why ford sent for his help? what in the hell is going on?)

stan is confused, to say the least. he pretty easily overpowers fiddleford (how weak was ford? what happened?) and manages to get his brother to a hospital

needless to say, he's a bit surprised when ford wants to return there upon recovery. he's even more surprised when he's shown the anomaly and hey where the fuck are castor and pollux. where are a lot of the stars around gemini actually?

ford gives him a basic rundown and explains that he thinks something about the anomaly caused fiddleford's murder attempt, though he's not sure why it only affected him. stan asks why he hasn't heard about this considering that this is kind of a big deal. ford doesn't know

they're about to hear a lot about it

#death #blood #violence #cosmic horror #seizures #here's a thought: what happens the first au's stan twins have to deal with a necromancer #ironically the darkness of these two aus isn't because i'm depressed (though that's probably part of it) #i just like the ideas- especially for the second one

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

Question. Are you actually ok with Eclipse coming back? Because there are people freaking out about this that aren’t.

I'm actually pretty happy about this.

As of now we know nothing.

Folks think he might be a ruin construction from memories like how Ruin made Bloodmoon 2.0 and cobbled him together of his memories and conveniently excluded some things. (Such as og's Bloodmoon's capacity to feel remorse over his bloodlust and felt victim to it. None of that with Bloodmoon2.)

But as of now, we don't know.

It could be a case this could be an Eclipse reconstructed from shitty memories....

But the thing is, he showed up too briefly for us to determine.

I always remember, in the mindscape, SolarFlare walked into the unknown and faded from sight to move on.

Eclipse stubbornly stayed where he was. He said he was tired, but he didn't move on. He lingered. Maybe he spent his time regrowing his bitterness.

Cause let's be real,

If Eclipse is still scared of the astral bodies and Lunar....

Would he show it?

Especially to people who hate him?

Especially since he seemed to be evil monologuing again, but kept changing his speech when Moon interrupted him.

That's the thing, we just don't know enough.

He could be an Eclipse 2.0

Or he could be masking his vunerabilty and doubling down.

Which honestly, is fair of him to do, considering when he did show vunerabilty, Moon laughed in his face and killed him just like that.

So I'm eager to learn

#tsams #the sun and moon show #danachan's asks #danachan's replies

[tinyavenuesailor]

Arthur’s Perspective

One thing I think we don’t talk about often is Arthur’s perspective in the show.  I’ve seen quite a few stories of Arthur having an extremely negative reaction to Merlin’s magic reveal. I think some fans tend to begrudge Arthur for his prejudice against magic. Understandably because when we are watching Merlin, we are seeing everything from Merlin’s perspective. We see the injustice and the fear people and creatures of magic have to endure. So, I get it but as viewers we know the whole story. Arthur and frankly 99% of Camelot don’t.

Let’s slow down and really take this in Arthur’s shoes. Arthur had been raised on the idea that it was a sorcerer that murdered his mother and had to listen to his father preaching about the evil of magic since he was old enough to understand people.

If that wasn’t enough 80% of the sorcerers that Arthur run into have tried to end his life.

Then he had to watch a Great Dragon burn and destroy the homes and lives of innocent citizens of Camelot.

And let’s not forget Morgana, someone Arthur loves and cherishes, goes missing for a year, returns, betrays him, voices her hatred for him and how she blames him for everything, practically gleams at the idea of ending his life and also reveals that she’s his sister and now has magic - which Arthur has been taught corrupts people.

Then the Disir sort of try to blackmail Arthur with a death sentence if he doesn’t free magic and bow down to the Triple Goddess. 

So yeah I get why Arthur may not be so ready to jump on this magic train when almost every encounter he had with magic had almost gotten him, the people he loves or the people in Camelot killed.

And if you’re thinking, well magic has saved Arthur and Camelot asses multiple times. Yes, but they don’t know that.

Arthur doesn’t know his mother died because his parents didn’t heed the warnings of the High Priestess. He doesn’t know that every sorcerer that comes for his life and Camelot is doing so in vengeance of Uther’s misguided rage. Doesn’t know that Morgana had to live in fear of her life of her powers. Doesn’t know that Merlin is going around saving Camelot and his ass like its a full-time job.

Arthur has every reason to hate magic considering how its wrecked his life but he doesn’t. Arthur never shows any real resentment to magic, more caution from being conditioned to hate magic. He always say ‘Magic corrupts’ but those aren’t his words, they’re his father’s. Because if he does believe magic only serves to corrupt why does he give people with magic fair trials? Why  doesn’t he actively hunt sorcerers unless they are a threat to Camelot’s safety? 

Then we see these moments where we can see Arthur is open-minded, that deep down some part of him always doubted his father’s teachings. Where he’s ready for someone to show him that magic can be more than destruction but he never gets that validation. 

*cough* There can be no place for magic in Camelot *cough*

I’m not blaming Merlin, Morgana or any other sorcerers. I fully understand why Merlin hid, why Morgana mental health deteriorated and why other sorcerers sought to destroy Camelot, except the Disir - I have my personal reservation on them.

I’m just emphasizing with Arthur’s point of view, everyone expects you to one day open your eyes and make magic legal but no one wants to sit down and show you the beautiful things magic can do. Like if y’all wanted magic in Camelot that bad did no one think to actually talk to Arthur about magic after he became King, he’s a prat yes but he’s not beyond reason.

Merlin had his fears yes, but, Gaius has a history with magic and knows of the atrocities of the Purge and is an advisor to Arthur. Gwen is Queen of Camelot and has no ill-will towards magic. Leon, one of Arthur’s trusted knights was saved by the Druids using magic. We all know Lancelot and Gwaine have no qualms with magic.

Did it really never occur to Gaius that Arthur had a right to know of the origins of his birth and would have maybe sparked a movement to help restore magic to Camelot and fix the damage the Purge had caused to the magical community. 

This is what really hurt me because I feel Arthur would have wholeheartedly accepted magic. In fact, I think he could have come to love it. In one day, Arthur entire stance on magic changed - albeit he was dying but it only took one person Arthur trusted to change his views on magic.

And it’s sad to think that Arthur still died with only half the story. Yeah, he knows Merlin has magic but he’ll never know why Morgana became the way she did. He’ll never know the real reason behind the Purge. Hell, he doesn’t even know he’s apart of this whole big prophecy.

Honestly, people could throw shade on Arthur for not legalizing magic sooner but I don’t think he was given a fair fighting chance. What is a man supposed to do when he only has 100 pieces out of a 1000-piece puzzle.

#merlin bbc #merthur #Arthur Pendragon #merlin emrys #magic reveal

[phantomrose96]

I'm here to talk more about Familiar Corpse because mom said I could.

This is one of those fics where I think I had more fun with the execution than the actual idea of it. Like I thought about different ways this could go, possibly as a confrontation between Maddie and Danny specifically. But I really liked settling on using Vlad, and using Vlad specifically as a medium for the audience to receive disjoint information simultaneously, as Vlad receives one piece from Maddie and reveals another to the audience through his own recollections. So the dissection, its aftermath, and Maddie's take on it can all hit at once. Really felt like the strategy for maximum "Hey wait."

And Vlad's always a fun character to use to carry a fic cuz, ya know, fucked-up evil ghost vampire billionaire villain trying to adopt the protagonist and date his mom gives a lot to work with. And I think these kinds of dissection stories always present one really integral question: does Vlad help Danny?

Like a decade back I think most fics went with "absolutely, yes," in a way that gives Vlad more credit than he's, perhaps, canonically due. Like he throws away his evil selfish tendencies because he's so aghast at what's happened to Danny.

And there's some fairness to that! The boy you've been evilly scheming to force to be your son shows up at your door sawed open and moments from death wdyd? I do think Vlad would help. But I think there's this much more selfish angle to explore here: that Vlad would help because his future perfect family depends on it.

And that's... also compromised when it's Maddie who's done this to Danny.

I know "unreliable narrator" is everyone's favorite literary term but really this was a fun exercise in exactly that, which I think shows through how split people's opinions are of Vlad in the tags/replies. Familiar Corpse repeatedly explores what Vlad is telling himself... which are things that fall at odds with what his memories reveal he's done.

His memories present a chain of events where Danny showed up nearly dead at Vlad's door, and Vlad saved his life by stabilizing him in the basement. And more than that, it reveals Danny coming back day after day for more medical attention which Vlad readily gives. And even more than that, the audience knows Danny is actually talking to Vlad about how things are at home in a manner that suggests Vlad asked, and suggests Danny feels trusting enough to tell him.

But in Vlad's internal narration to himself, he repeatedly asserts that he doesn't truly care about this whole thing. Like it's just something distasteful that happened. And sure his flame for Maddie seems to be extinguishing itself in real time as these events unfold, but he never admits that's related. He asserts to himself that this is just a little game for his curiosity, that he enjoys having Maddie around his finger, and he'll pick up his real pursual of Maddie and Danny as his family later when he feels like it again.

And then throughout the conversation with Maddie, she reveals things are actually broken in a way entirely unfixable. And this shocks Vlad. And Vlad does make an attempt at course-correcting her, but it fails without proof (which he might have, if he reveals he's Plasmius, if that can convince Maddie that half-ghosts are real and her son is truly her son.)

He doesn't. He doesn't try. He actively decides against trying.

And if Vlad were a better person - he'd have done something. Even if not revealing himself as Plasmius, a better person would perhaps, at least, warn Danny, or better would take Danny's side entirely and do what he can to help Danny, out of actual and genuine human concern.

Vlad is... too selfish for that, though. Because his thoughts are still around his hypothetical family, which is what Danny and Maddie are to him. He settles on something like blame - directed at Maddie and Danny both - Maddie for causing this and falling apart, and Danny being too broken to be Vlad's perfect son. It's his future they have ruined by doing this, by becoming too broken for Vlad's perfect family, and as such, Vlad owes them nothing. And worse, Vlad knows that if he tries, he may end up exactly in Danny's shoes. And he is far, far too selfish to ever risk that.

Throughout the fic Vlad does experience genuine emotions, genuine empathy. He does feel anger on Danny's behalf. He is worried for him. He is upset with Maddie. But when it comes to deciding what to do - deciding what logic to act on - Vlad chooses the selfish approach. He categorizes his own uncomfortable feelings as stemming from the loss of what Maddie and Danny were supposed to be for him, and emotionally removes himself (the only person with the full picture of what's happened, who could possibly stop catastrophe) from the situation all together.

#dp #familiar corpse

[ystrike1]

Only Love - By Teng Luo Wei Zhi (6/10)

An immature yandere is hit or miss on a good day. On a bad day the concept is a snorefest. This is for younger readers. It's edgy, not scary. I don't think comics about possessive guys...specifically aimed at younger readers...are super ethical. I know there's a market for it, and there are worse things to read. No judgement. This is PG13.

Our conflicted, immature yandere is a rich boy with silver hair. His daddy owns a big real estate company. He gets away with...pretty serious crimes and he's a known delinquent. He treats his girlfriends like accessories. He doesn't actually date or kiss them. He literally picks whoever the prettiest girl in school is, and he lets that poor girl beg for the chance to be his future rich wife.

He's...an evil bratty snot who owns a motorcycle.

His main goal in the story is to seduce our protagonist, Meng. She's a tough nut. She's been through alot. She was actually recently murdered. The plot takes place during her second life. Meng had it pretty hard in her first life. She...was kind of a doormat and she let her adopted sister bully her. Her mom is super dead for real, so she was a good girl always for the sake of her hardworking adopted dad.

Ren falls madly in love with her in both of her lives, which is a problem.

Meng's adopted sister is an inferiority complex. Her entire character is defined by how inferior she feels. The worst part of this story is...the way the other characters treat her. Lan is an immature, bratty girl. She's not very pretty. She's not very talented, and Meng is good at everything. She's in love with Ren. Ren makes fun of her and he calls her ugly. Then he starts to stalk Meng. The girl Lan is most envious of. I hate to say it but Lan is young. It is not fair that she's stuck as a villain. Based on what I've seen I would go crazy if I was her. Eventually she becomes a stereotypical crazy character, but if I was in high school...and everybody would not shut up about how ugly I am...and how perfect my sister is...ugh.

Lan murderd Meng in her first life. It was brutal. She was on a cliff looking for their lost little brother. Lan loses it and starts wailing about how Meng stole everything from her and....uh...she kinda did??? Lan's biological father loves Meng more than her. Ren loves Meng, not her. Meng's friends treat her like a nuisance, and on top of that Lan consistently gets bullied for "daring to covet" a handsome rich guy she isn't "worthy of"

Young readers. Please beware messages like this. Plain girls or ugly girls or stupid girls do not have to be villains. Perfection should never be the goal when you're a teenager. Being...not model hot at fifteen isn't a cardinal sin.

Just...be careful.

When Meng's second life kicks off Ren has a girlfriend...toy. He ignores her and she constantly brags about being chosen by him. Please. Do not date anyone who acts like this. It is an excuse to cheat on you. No girl should be a back up for any guy. I don't care how rich he is.

Shen here viciously bullies Lan, and frankly she's a big reason why Lan develops into a thin skinned envy monster.

Meng's mom died in a crash, and she was left with severe head trauma. She has to suffer with abysmal vision, and light sensitivity for many years. Eventually she gets better, but she has to wear glasses.

Yes.

She is the most beautiful girl in school. She's beautiful enough to be a model. She's a dutiful girl who did not deserve to die...but she's an adult in a child's body.

Um....

Hard pass.

Ren's personality is...this...

This sums him up.

He doesn't know Meng is pretty, but he gets interested anyway. Meng is too calm. Too cold. Unaffected by his cash and his face. He falls for her, but he gets embarrassed about it, because she clearly doesn't like him.

Also Meng hits him with her walking stick when he tries to touch her.

Good.

He does actually start to respect her after this point.

Ren begins to act unstable. A bunch of his toady friends call Meng ugly. In response he breaks up with his girlfriend and he almost beats up some of his closest friends. He approaches her slowly. Money won't work...and he loves the hunt.

He is a confirmed yandere. In his first life he committed murder, possibly for her sake. He is definitely not sane, but the main couple isn't very likeable here.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #Only Love