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amuseoffyre · 2 months

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I've been rolling around in Good Omens thoughts again and a gifset made something jump out at me.

This is where the Metatron is going to come undone. He's got the same binary thinking as Heaven. Good or bad. Heaven or hell. Coffee or death. So predictable.

It reminded me of the scene in S1 when Aziraphale is confronted by the angels and they tell him "it's time to choose a side" and this is where it gets chewy and delicious.

Aziraphale points out "there obviously has to be two sides. That's the whole point, so people can make choices. That's what being human means - choices, but that's for them. Our job as angels should be to keep all this working so they can make choices".

He's already arguing for humanity all the way through S1, which is a problem, but it's something he's done consistently. Not questioning. Very much, not questioning. Just... offering suggestions. So this isn't news. He's even made these kind of suggestions to the Metatron before, so not new.

At the end of S1, Crowley points out that he thinks the real 'big one' is coming "Heaven and Hell against humanity". Aziraphale has been sitting with that knowledge for years. He and Crowley have been dancing on the edge of disaster with Heaven and Hell turning up whenever they wanted, invading their space, demanding their time and compliance even though they are seen as rogue agents.

Everything in S2 is Aziraphale trying to maintain the veneer of everything is fine while still dealing with the terror of it all falling apart. The "or death" has been hanging over them the whole time. He saw the attempted execution. He's been told by Heaven that Crowley is under threat.

But the thing about Aziraphale is that he never ever does the predictable thing. Yes, he agreed to go back to Heaven. Yes, the Metatron leveraged Crowley's safety against him to guarantee it. The statement of "I don't want to go back to Heaven" turning around as soon as Crowley's safety is brought into it. Yes, he'll be the Archangel.

But this is the angel who gave away his flaming sword and lied to God's face. This is the angel who interfered in a bet between God and Satan to save the lives of three children. This is the angel who collaborated with a demon so they could have more down time. This is the angel who was swayed towards saving the world because he loves his life there and all his favourite foods and music and indulgences. This is the angel who flipped the bird and dive-bombed out of Heaven to possess a medium and fly a scooter to the end of the world.

Whatever the Metatron thinks he's done by separating Crowley and Aziraphale, he has no idea what he's unleashed. Crowley's bee metaphor comes to mind here. Angels are fiercely protective of Heaven but once you're inside? Well, that's another story. Aziraphale may look like a bee, but he hasn't been a bee for a long, long time. They knew it at his trial.

And Aziraphale can't say he didn't warn them:

"So you're probably thinking if he can do this, I wonder what else he can do and very, very soon, you're all going to get the chance to find out"

Heaven's got a big storm coming and they let it right in through the front door.

#good omens #good omens meta #Aziraphale

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aenramsden · 3 months

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The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

#d&d #face-biter mike #I want this #writing #gaming #advice #funny #criticism #fandom

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lassieposting · 7 months

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Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 meta #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #mom said it's my turn to project on the blorbo #astarion ancunin

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theminecraftbee · 4 months

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being in true sexyman nostalgia mode today (on account of. IT'S BEEN ONE YEAR BABY.) i think one of the most fascinating things about it is that we will never manage to do that again. like, not in a "we couldn't organize it better" way; there were better ways to do the spreadsheet, we would just turn off comments on posts and anon asks from day one so that we wouldn't then get people accusing us of censorship while we tried and failed to control the tide of things that ended up in the comments and inbox, we'd definitely have a WAY higher non-hermit contingent, both thanks to qsmp and thanks to the sexyman blog and medusa now having MUCH wider reach to other corners of the fandom and the original spread not all rooting at me, etc.

but the reason we couldn't do it again is that i don't know if we could ever replicate the exact circumstances that lead to it blowing up quite to the extent it blew up.

it was while tumblr polls and doing tumblr poll brackets on tumblr itself was still new-ish, and people were still excited about them. the idea of a mcytblr bracket was basically brand new; i won't claim we did it FIRST (because i have no idea if we did and doubt we did), but certainly we did it big first. so there's that; we can never again invent in real time "shit people are sending us threats about fraud lets legalize fraud because its funny, we can't stop it, and that neutralizes that drama as a thing anyone will take seriously", and then in turn accidentally invent a fandom culture of. um. wide-spread voter fraud.

(i don't know if we should apologize for, uh, causing the specific way mcytblr voter frauds. i still think it was better than the alternative at least, especially after seeing how so many other polls crashed and burned after us. there were MANY things we could have done better but i have seen SO MANY ways we could have done things worse since then so i think we came out looking pretty okay.)

but also: february 2023 was a very different time in mcytblr. we were in a hermitcraft dead period, where most of the hermits were either on vacation or playing tcg (which was fun, but didn't end up generating that much fandom activity by that time in february). the former dsmp crew was very much doing Nothing (and in that awkward space when the entire fandom knew dsmp 2 was never happening, but also people were still claiming it would happen, so it was just... busy waiting). qsmp didn't exist yet. there was no ongoing life series and wouldn't be for some time. i think even the dominioners and lifestealers were in a fairly dead zone. there was very little new for people to be excited about, mcyt content-wise.

enter: our poll. our poll which cleo then thinks its funny to call out on twitter. our poll, which was not only new mcyt content for the fandom to interact with (thanks to the fact we KEPT GETTING CC INTERACTIONS???), but participatory.

for about two weeks, we were the mcyt event de jour.

and like. the thing is. now we're in february 2024. mcyt is BOOMING. a new hermitcraft season JUST STARTED. we came off of vault hunters before that. meanwhile, qsmp just restarted and is, if i'm understanding correctly, booming. they just added a new guy! the two current juggernauts of the fandom are in FULL SWING. i honestly think we'd be somewhat overtaken by the fact things are actually happening in fandom. there's stuff to do that ISN'T go insane about a poll.

and it's not new, and we've seen it all before now, and frankly, it's hard to cause a mass hysteria event TWICE. lightning in a bottle, as they say.

i think part of the reason we all just REMEMBER mcytblr sexyman so much is that we could never, ever recreate it, so it remains crystalized in a single moment in time, impossible to replicate, forever memorable.

anyway: HAPPY ONE YEAR TO THE JOE HILLS SWEEP BABY,

#mcytblr sexyman #sorry i'm in nostalgia mode and feel like rambling. o7 happy one year to joe's victory

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percervall · 2 months

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it's a bad idea (fuck it, it's fine) — part 1

Summary: your housemates give you an offer you can't refuse. What's the worst that could happen? Pairing: Jenson Button x fem!reader, Fernando Alonso x fem!reader, Sebastian Vettel x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: smut, dirty talk, mild degrading, oral (m and f receiving), face fucking, fingering, slight nipple play, hinting at m/m, mentions of free use, *gasp* and they were room mates Word count: 1.9k

Part 1 of the Fuck It series

The arrangement was, frankly, absurd. Had the offer come from anyone other than Jenson, you would have kicked them so hard they wished you had punched them instead. Part of you hoped he would have forgotten what he had said while heavily under the influence of too much champagne, but luck was not on your side.

"Have you thought about my offer?" Jenson asks, innocently blowing on his coffee, making you choke on air.

"The offer in which I pay my rent by, wait let me check my notes. Ah, yes, 'fucking you'," you reply, voice a lot steadier than you feel. Because truth be told, it had been impossible to not fantasise about getting railed into next week by him- by any of them. Oh, you were well aware of how much your life had become the plot of a rom-com ever since your landlord decided to be an absolute greedy bastard. Become a live-in house sitter for 4 millionaires they said, it'll be fun they said. Liars.

"Oh come on, it'll be mutually beneficial," Jenson argued.

"Proud of you for using your big boy words, pretty boy but how exactly is this gonna end up in anything other than disaster?"

"He's hungover and a himbo, why are you bullying him?" Mark mutters, voice still rough with sleep as he literally picks you up and unceremoniously plops you down on top of the counter. There are days where you curse your small stature and his strength, especially when it leaves your brain stuttering to process getting manhandled.

"We'll set rules. All I'm saying is we're all adults-.." You can't help but snort at that. "Fine, whatever. I'm just saying that I've seen the way you look at them, seen the way your eyes flash with lust and I am pretty sure some truly filthy fantasies, and I know I can speak for all four of us when I say we would love to help you realise those. Also, we don't need your rent money and this is just so much more fun." Well then. You just got read for filth before even having had your morning coffee. Fuck him for seeing right through you.

"Where's your sense of adventure, nena?" Fernando comments, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Right next to my 'I survived Multi-21' t-shirt," you mutter. It's a low blow, but getting bullied into sleeping with four drivers makes it hard to think.

Mark shoots you a look, eyebrow raised.

"The mouth on you," he comments, "Seb was very apologetic. Made it up to me in the best possible way. In fact, I should make you apologise to the both of us the same way, sweetheart. On your knees." He whispers the last part in your ear and you cannot contain the whimper that comes out at his thinly veiled threat.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being made to kneel and take cock like the good little girl you are, hm?”

“Mark-..” You have no idea how to respond to that and keep your dignity in tact. You try to look away but Mark takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“I asked you a question sweetheart. Are you gonna be a good girl for us?” His thumb tugs on your bottom lip and all rational thought leaves you as you nod.

“Mm, knew JB was right about you. Takes one to know one, I suppose.” You can hear a muffled what the fuck’s that supposed to mean? from the living room as Mark helps you down from the counter. You hadn’t even noticed the McLaren teammates had left the kitchen until just now.

“On your knees, sweetheart,” Mark nudges you and you sink down onto the floor. The small kitchen runner is the only thing protecting your knees from the cold hardwood floor, but the prospect of sore knees is quickly forgotten now that you’re at eye level with Mark’s crotch. You can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock against his shorts and it has your mouth watering. Mark chuckles as he notices the hunger in your eyes.

“You’re lucky Seb is out for a run. Or maybe I’m the lucky one, getting to fuck this mouth all by myself.” The whimper you let out is involuntarily as you eagerly watch him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, pushing them down far enough to free his cock. You scoot a little closer, taking him in your hand, tongue darting out to lick away the bead of pre-cum. Mark hisses, head thrown back and that’s all the encouragement you need to suck the tip into your mouth.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, sounding absolutely wrecked already despite you not even having done anything yet.

“You said something about fucking my mouth?” Mark looks down at you, pupils completely blown and he grins so wickedly, it leaves you breathless.

“Are you absolutely sure sweetheart?” As you nod in response, he gathers your hair into a ponytail in his fist, angling your face. “Alright then. Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much and I will stop, okay?”

“Okay,” you parrot, and move your legs apart ever so slightly to stabilise yourself. Mark drags the tip of his cock across your lips and you open up for him. He slides in, careful to not immediately choke you. You relax your jaw as much as you can, but god it’s been so long since you last did this. Mark sets a slow rhythm, letting the both of you adjust. Looking up at him through your lashes, you can see how he’s trying to hold on to the last shreds of self control, and well. That just won’t do.

“Mark,” you say, slightly out of breath as you pull back, “you taunted me with using me. So for the love of God, fucking use me.” Mark chuckles and the sound has you aching. He tightens his grip on your hair and slides his cock back into your mouth. Resting your hands on his thighs, you close your eyes as he finally delivers on his promise. The sounds are obscene and if you had a functioning brain cell left, you would have been concerned about the two of you doing this in the kitchen, but as things stand, the only thing you can focus on is Mark’s throbbing cock inching down your throat. Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you look at him as you swallow around him.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m not gonna last, sweetheart,” he groans, pulling back. You hollow your cheeks while taking deep breaths through your nose, pulling another string of curses from the Aussie. You can feel his cock throb as he grunts above you.

“Gonna-.. Fuck.. So good, you feel so fucking good..” he mumbles, and throws his head back as he comes.

“You better not swallow, Schatzi,” comes a voice from the doorway. Who are you to disobey? Mark pulls out carefully, tucking himself back into his shorts while Sebastian helps you up from the floor. He carries you bridal style into the living room, placing you down on the couch next to Fernando.

“Show Nando, baby,” Sebastian all but coos and you carefully open your mouth. The underlying relationships? Questionmark? between your housemates makes your head spin, but judging by the way Fernando’s eyes darken, Sebastian knows something about the Spaniard you don’t.

“Can I kiss you, nena?” he asks and all you can do is nod. Fernando cradles your cheek, pressing an almost chaste kiss against your lips before he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips. The moan he lets out as he tastes Mark on your tongue has you throbbing. When you break apart to catch some air, Sebastian leans closer and licks away the few drops of cum that spilled when Fernando kissed you. Am I dreaming? you can’t help but wonder. Out loud apparently.

“Very much awake, doll,” Jenson grins as he kneels in front of you, “Something tells me you’re absolutely soaking. Mind if I give a hand? I do so love making people come with my mouth,” he adds and you’re quick to raise your hips so he can pull down your panties, much to Jenson’s amusement. He pushes your oversized shirt up higher and parts your legs. Sebastian moves your face so he can steal a kiss and you moan into his mouth as Jenson drags the flat of his tongue over your oh so sensitive clit. Their hands are everywhere it feels like. You’re pretty sure Fernando has one up your shirt, teasing your nipple while he kisses your neck. Jenson’s are curled around the inside of your thighs as he holds you open for him while Sebastian has one hand on your cheek as he kisses you; the other mirrors Fernando’s. Needing something to hold on to, you bury a hand in Jenson’s hair. He sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning against your cunt as you tug. Breaking the kiss, you throw your head back with a moan of your own while you grind against Jenson’s tongue.

“Need.. Fingers.. Please, Jenson, need your-.. Fuck, oh God..” Despite your incoherent state, Jenson understands what it is you’re asking of him as he carefully slides two of his long fingers inside of you. Sebastian and Fernando manage to strip you of your t-shirt, both of them taking a nipple into their mouth.

“I’m so-.. So close.. I’m gonna cum, please can I cum?” you whimper. Fernando mutters a yes against your skin and something snaps; Your back arches as your orgasm hits you and for a moment you forget how to breathe. The loss of Jenson’s fingers makes you whine but your housemates more than make up for it when Fernando grabs his wrist in order to bring Jenson’s fingers to his mouth, moaning as he tastes you.

“Just as I thought, you taste delicious nena,” the Spaniard comments with a grin. These men will be the death of me, you can’t help but think while Seb accepts the glass of water Mark hands him. The German driver helps you take a few sips as you slowly return into your body. Something tells you that this only scratches the surface of their underlying dynamics and you are dying to delve deeper.

“Told you it’d be mutually beneficial,” Jenson jokes, pulling you from your thoughts.

“God, I hate that I’m saying this because your ego is fucking big enough as is-,” you start only for Jenson to interrupt with a that’s not the only thing that’s big, doll which makes you roll your eyes.

“I was gonna agree to your plan, idiot. You proved your point. Twice over. I- eh.. I can see the appeal,” you continue before downing the last of the water. The four men share a look that you can’t quite decipher and it makes you wonder: just what did you exactly sign up for? You pull your shirt back on, suddenly very aware of the fact you’re naked, needing something to act as a barrier between you and this crazy idea.

“How about we discuss the details after breakfast? Don’t know about you, but I am starving,” Mark breaks the silence. You nod gratefully and let Sebastian pull you to your feet. A part of you is excited to see where this.. arrangement will lead you, but you’re also apprehensive that you might be about to bite off far more than you can chew.

Welp. Here we go I guess. Updates are gonna be slow on this, so please temper your expectations. Ideas have been brain stormed, things are brewing in the ol' noggin, I just gotta write it 🥲

Massive shoutout to @curiousthyme and @feralnando for helping me brain rot about this and for holding my hand while I descent even further into chaos. This whole part was written while listening to Hozier's Too Sweet and Ethel Cain's Gibson Girl on repeat, so feel free to do with that information as you please

Please let me know what you think. Your comments, likes and tags mean the world to me 💜

taglist

@2pagenumb @dannyramirezwife @daydreaminlewis @emlynblack @forza55 @jaimeleannavanlloman @mehrmonga @szobosz @raizelchrysanderoctavius @whoreforeveryon

#f1 fanfic #mark webber x reader #mark webber x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #jenson button x reader #jenson button x you #mark webber smut #fernando alonso smut #jenson button smut #sebastian vettel smut #fuck it fic

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anthurak · 6 months

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One of the more subtle details about Hazbin Hotel that I’m particularly interested to see is what the actual Power Dynamics between the various characters are going to look like.

Because with everything we’ve seen from Helluva Boss, I have a hunch that there has actually been a bit of misdirection going on in the promotional material. Specifically in how the Overlords like Valentino, Vox, Velvette and even Alastor are presented as these very powerful and dangerous threats to the Hotel and that Charlie and Vaggie are probably in way over their heads trying to deal with them.

Buuuttt… then we ALSO have everything that Vivzie has mentioned behind-the-scenes about the class and power rankings of Hell. Specifically, the fact that apparently only the most powerful of the Overlords like Valentino and Alastor can be considered simply on par with the Goetic Nobility like Stolas in terms of power. Or even more notably, the fact that Charlie herself is apparently just as, if not MORE powerful than the Kings of SIN.

And thanks to Helluva Boss, we have a pretty good idea just HOW POWERFUL the likes of Asmodeus, Bee-lzebub and Mammon are. Which in turn could very well be giving us a hint of just how powerful Charlie might be.

Basically, I have a hunch that both the audience AND the Sinners (even those close to Charlie like Angel Dust) are MASSIVELY underestimating just how POWERFUL the Princess of Hell REALLY is. Like how her normally upbeat, friendly, ‘Disney Princess’, ‘Just wants to help everyone’ demeanor belies the fact that she may very well be fully capable of obliterating the likes of Valentino, Vox or even Alastor with EASE if she really wanted to.

Imagine if this ends up being a big reveal at some point? Like we get these subtle hints in the early episodes that Charlie may be quite a bit more powerful than she’s really letting on, perhaps by giving us a glimpse at what her parents are capable of. Until at some point one of the Overlords just takes things a bit too far. Say, Valentino is getting ready to full-on destroy the hotel, or about to straight-up kill Angel Dust for good with one of those Blessed Weapons we know are floating around?

Only for Charlie to just straight up DELETE Val with a metaphorical snap of her fingers.

And before I go into the broader narrative implications of all this, it’s also worth mentioning that this deliberate underestimation could apply to Vaggie as well. Because if Vaggie really is a former Exorcist, ie; a Fallen Angel like a lot of people are theorizing, this would likely mean that she’s fully capable of permanently killing Sinners, even the Overlords, if she really wanted to. Meaning that while Vaggie might not be as powerful as Charlie, she is no less DEADLY.

(As an aside, regarding the ‘mechanics’ of what could make Charlie so dangerous to sinners beyond simply raw power: We know that Sinners can only permanently die to Angelic Weapons. In other words, the ‘Holy’ power of the Angels and Heaven destroys them for good. And remember who Charlie’s father is? Not just an angel, but one of the most powerful angels to ever exist.)

What I find so interesting about all this is that it could completely upend a lot of the character and power dynamics we might be expecting. For example, totally recontextualizing Alastor’s motivations in supporting Charlie and her Hotel; as powerful as he might be, he’s still far beneath Charlie.

As well as introduce what could be Charlie’s real personal conflict and arc for the show. Because Charlie still wants to HELP the sinners of Hell, and almost certainly doesn’t want to be or act like some all-powerful being lording over subjects they consider fall beneath them. Even though she could.

And of course, being an ultimate overlord is very likely what Lucifer will be ENCOURAGING Charlie to be. Which in turn feeds nicely into Charlie’s conflict with her father.

Finally, let’s consider Charlie’s motivation, paired with what she could become: She wants everyone to be happy and safe and generally the best, and she has the absolute POWER to IMPOSE her idea of ‘happiness’ and ‘goodness’ on others if she really wanted to.

Now is it just me, or does that sound a LOT like what we saw of HEAVEN in Helluva Boss?

What if Hazbin Hotel ultimately presents Heaven, the Angels and possibly God him/her/themself as the TRUE antagonist of the show, AND a full-on villainous counterpart to Charlie?

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #charlie morningstar #hazbin vaggie #hazbin alastor #hazbin valentino #hazbin vox #hazbin overlords #lucifer morningstar #helluva asmodeus #helluva beelzebub #helluva mammon #hazbin hotel theory #charlie is probably WAY more powerful than people give her credit for #charlie has MASSIVE 'cinnamon roll who could totally murder you' energy #i think anyone who seriously expects alastor to hold any kind of real power over charlie is probably going to be in for a BIG surprise

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inbarfink · 1 month

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Ace Attorney Lawyers Ranked By Their Abilities in Physical Combat

Winston Payne: I’m pretty sure the average Tumblr user could kill Winston Payne with their bare hands.

Sebastian DeBeste: Look, the only reason why this wimp ranks higher than Payne is because he is so sopping wet pathetic that there is a significant chance that his opponent will just start feeling bad about kicking his ass and punch themself in the face instead.

Klavier Gavin: While Klavier is a physically fit young man who is known to keep his cool in extreme situations, he is also a giant law-abiding nerd who has never thrown a punch at anything that isn’t an inanimate wall. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to shove this guy into a locker.

Miles Edgeworth: Look, Miles is an even bigger locker-worthy nerd than Klavier. Anytime anyone, friend or foe, suggests a violent solution he just gets freaked out and begs for them to follow procedures. And no AA Lawyer is more easily thrown off his rhythm and startled than he is. He might have some bulk under the magenta and frills (or at least some impressive leg muscles from climbing 12 flights of stairs every day for like seven years), but he has no idea or will to actually use them in a fight. However, he did try and stare down a man who was aiming a gun at his back that one time and managed to keep his cool throughout all of this.

So like, he’d probably talk a big game and try and intimidate his opponent into not engaging - but if that won’t work he will get his ass thoroughly whooped. And then he’d try to sue them, which is what his threats were about all along.

Apollo Justice: Actually a considerable step up in power-levels from the previous ones. Apollo might be smol, but he is Done With Your Shit and this gives him Strength. Not to mention that one time he successfully tanked an explosion. His famous Chords of Steel can also serve as a tactic to confuse or weaken his enemies.

Kristoph Gavin: Although he is primarily known for his schemes and poisoning, he did kill a man with a single blow to the forehead with a bottle, showing he does have some decent upper-body-strength to use in a fight. And being known as ‘the Coolest Defense in the West’ means he can keep his calm even during hectic combat. But he’s also very pretentious and his constant pontifications might just be the perfect opportunity for someone to smash his face in.

Blaise Debeste: Okay, look, is Blaise a scary tall man who successfully stabbed a woman to death with a candelabra and constantly carries around a deceptively-powerful lighter and has like, implied, motorcycle gang background? Yes. But also I think anyone who encounters Blaise Debeste face-to-face is overcome with such bloodlust rage that it might give them an edge in the battle against him.

Mia Fey: Mia ranks fairly high on the Battle Scale considering the one time she was faced with a violent altercation she just tried to escape and it… didn’t end well.

However, in the two times we get to play as her it’s also clear that she wants to Punch. All of the Things. While Apollo is fueled by being Done With Your Shit, Mia has righteous anger - so I think in a situation where she is actually prepared to do battle she would be able to throw a few decent punches. Also assuming we are talking about Mia while she was still alive, there’s also her Spirit Channeling powers to account for. While we’ve never seen them on screen, Maya told us they are “first rate” and I believe her. Maybe she could channel the spirit of a great warrior to try and get an edge in combat?

Manfred Von Karma: While he also has the same Bloodlust-Inducing-Factor as Blaise, and he does seem less physically fit even though they’re about the same age - I feel like his cane could do more serious damage than Blaise’s lighter. And he has that dangerous fucking Stun Gun on him to easily neutralize opponents. Plus, he did tank that one gunshot he got in the shoulder. Manfred’s opponents might have Rage on their side, but also you cannot underestimate the power of his sheer Spite.

Godot: On one hand, Godot has shown an ability to keep his cool in very dangerous situations. He can smash a coffee cup with his bare hands and barely react, showing that he’s decently strong and resilient to pain. And he is yet another proud (?) member of the exclusive “Lawyers With a Body Count Club”. And while stabbing a waifish, 155cm college student (and part time-poisoner) in the back isn’t exactly the most epic demonstration of battle prowess in the history of Anime Lawyers - he did it (and moved the body and doctored the crime scene and prosecuted in court) while tanking a knife slash in his face, showing his pain-resilience once again, as well as general tenacity that would also be useful in battle. Also, he can summon an infinite amount of hot coffee mugs at will, which must make for a decent improvised long-ranged attack.

On the other hand, his health is also heavily implied to be deteriorating and that he’s basically dying over the course of the final case… possibly due to all of that physical exhaustion. If a fight goes longer than just a single backstab, I feel like these health complications are gonna harm Godot’s performance.

Phoenix Wright: Okay, so this is actually the hardest one to place. I keep flip-flopping on where to put him, especially compared to Mia, and Apollo. Because unlike most other lawyers currently ranked below him, he is a disaster when it comes to being on the offensive; Phoenix Wright is a total wimp who has never returned a punch in his life. However, he is also almost supernaturally durable, unbelievably lucky and deceptively strong. If a solid iron door, a raging freezing river and a speeding car didn’t manage to take him down, what chance does a fellow human, even a more combat-capable one, have???

Calisto Yew: She’s not even a real-lawyer! She’s a Secret Spy who successfully pretended to be a Lawyer for years! She’s got a gun, she’s got a knife, she's got crossbow bolt as hair decorations, she probably has some combat training from her time in Interpol… While she’s clearly more specialized for espionage and infiltration, and not as physically strong as Lang, she’s still got an impressive advantage over most of the regular people who went to Law School. In fact, her skill with barefaced lies and manipulation might also be a skill she could use in a fight to catch her opponent off-guard.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: Nahyuta is, in fact, one of the few AA Lawyers to canonically participate in what I would unambiguously call a ‘fight’ (rather than a ‘murder’), when he single-handedly disarmed and apprehended a Defiant Dragon rebel in the sorta-canon ‘Spirit of Justice’ Prologue video.

Like, that rebel guy probably isn't the world's greatest warrior, but the Defiant Dragons have been around for enough time to give their members at least some basic self-defense/combat skills… more so than the average lawyer on this list at minimum. And Nahyuta very easily crab-stomped him. Showing that he has strong nerves, some amazing reflexes and the martial art skills to knock a man unconscious with a single blow. Not to mention the seemingly supernatural skills with his prayer beads, which he already uses as a sort of ‘weapon’ in court. Also that... thing he did to Apollo's bracelet that one time.

Nahyuta might be just straight-up Magic, that's pretty OP.

Franziska von Karma: Look, Franziska might not have official martial-arts, guns, or Literal Magic Powers - but what she does have is sheer determination and force or personality. Franziska von Karma has been intimidating grown men since she was a 149 cm tall 13 years old with a riding crop (I mean, one of those men was Miles, but still…..). She had once whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness in a temper tantrum, and like I already mentioned that taking him down is quite a feat. She is also very resilient - while the shot to her shoulders was designed not to kill her, being up back on her feet doing investigation stuff a day after is still very impressive! Her whip might not be as dangerous as a sword or a gun, but she will not relent until she defeats you.

Simon Blackquill: Let me just give it to you straight, Simon Blackquill is 1.88 meter tall, he owns a katana and a trained attack-hawk (giving him both short range and far range advantage), he can break solid metal chains with his bare hands, he can cut your hair halfway across the room with a feather. Not to mention how he could probably use the whole psychological manipulation in battle to intimidate or goad his enemy. There’s not even a lot of funny or interesting points to bring up, he is literally an action movie character who just happens to also be a lawyer.

Athena Cykes: Athena Cykes is the strongest lawyer. One day, she’ll be stronger than whales. I believe in her.

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drdemonprince · 1 month

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Re: autistic advice; i keep seeing people making fun of stuff like "are you in a place to hear bad news" or scripts like that. I grew up in an environment where it was common practice to just drop heavy subjects on people out of the blue, & I still find that intensely uncomfortable. But I've now had multiple people tell me that it makes them feel shitty when I ask, for example, "are you up for a dark subject?" & I don't really know how to square it away. I want to make sure that I'm not stepping on anyone's toes or making them feel ambushed or trapped, but apparently it makes some people feel like they're not allowed to have their feelings. I end up feeling pretty shitty about it, because like... it feels like either I have to be Rude (because it DOES feel rude to just drop a dark topic on someone) &/or risk having something shitty I can't deal with dropped in my lap, or else really upset people. I guess... is there a way to navigate this?

I would recommend being more specific.

People find phrases like "Are you in a place to hear something that might hurt you?" and "Are you up for a dark subject?" to be a bit presumptuous about what their emotional reactions will be or what they are capable of handling. It also can make what would have otherwise been a very unremarkable exchange become tinged with anticipatory anxiety.

When someone asks me a question like "are you up to hear something dark?" I might feel coddled and condescended to, rather than emotionally respected. Or if they ask me "are you prepared to hear something that might hurt you?" / "are you up for a serious conversation?" I think they're about to drop some serious emotional bomb on me, like that they're friend-dumping me for something horrible that I didn't realize I did. Then when it ends up being a meme they want to share or a question about a celebrity lawsuit or something i'm kind of pissed at the false alarm and the coddling that, rather than protecting me, made me feel worse.

In either case, rather than giving me time to emotionally prepare or interact when I am ready, these vague questions have introduced some kind signal of social or emotional threat. If anything, it increases the felt urgency to just have the damn conversation already and see what kind of monster is lurking behind the person's words. It makes me *less* likely to exercise control over when the conversation happens or when I see the upsetting thing.

So be specific. "Do you wanna see a disgusting meme?" "I want your opinion on something, but the question touches on sexual assault. Is that okay to talk about?" "I want to talk to you about a conflict I'm having with my other partner." "Can I ask you your opinion on this transphobia discourse?" Etc.

The more specific you can be about the subject and why you are asking about it, the more power you are giving the other person to actually decide what they want to engage with. When someone asks me if I am willing to discuss something dark, I really have no idea what to say. They're imposing their judgement of what is a dark or upsetting topic onto me, when really they have no idea what I might find triggering and what I might really enjoy getting to talk about.

Rather than trying to protect me from something I haven't even encountered yet, you gotta let me encounter it, and actually trust that I will take care of myself. If I don't want to talk about sexual assault I won't, if I don't want to look at gross imagery I'll say no, if hearing one more bad thing about your other partner is going to make my jealousy fume, I am responsible for handling that. You're not responsible for my emotions.

It's good to notice which subjects your friends are especially sensitive to and what big triggers they have so that you can be considerate. My friends know I cant look at lots of blood flowing out of someone for instance and dont send me visuals/fics that feature, say, wrists being slit or blood being drawn. But if they forgot, I'd understand and just look away and squeal oh no i cant look at that get it away. And that would be fine. They are not responsible for my reactions to things.

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mypoisonedvine · 10 months

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Drabble Idea: Judge Crane decides to give his obsession a third option. Death, exile, or…….

You know he would use his position in order to get his crush all to himself while Gotham burns.

YES OMG SOME LOVE FOR JUDGE CRANE he's so underrated and I actually lost it when I saw the movies in theaters and he popped up <3 like omg look it's my husband

warnings: coercion, ownership, threats of noncon, yandere vibes

"You can't be serious," you mumbled, but you knew he was-- Dr. Crane wasn't an especially humorous guy, that whole death by exile bit from earlier notwithstanding.

He still smiled at you, though; "It's your choice."

"Well, it's not much of a choice, is it?" you scoffed.

"It's a better choice than anybody else got," Jonathan shrugged, "if you do choose exile, I'm sure these guys would love to give you a nice send-off-- right, boys?"

You didn't even have the heart to look back at the thugs who had dragged you in here, but you heard them chuckling and mumbling amongst themselves. Crane had made his message clear, and you let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine," you said.

"Fine?" he repeated. "What's that mean, you'll just die?"

"No, I--"

"You know, you said once you'd rather die than marry me, do you remember that?" He laughed. But that was years ago, when your father tried to set you up with him because he was a respected doctor and you were a nice young socialite-- it was more about rebellion than anything else then, but learning about his insanity and criminal activities wasn't exactly changing your mind.

"I was wrong," you admitted, "alright? I'm sorry."

He smiled again, a little more sinister than the last time. "Then you can wait for me with the others... sweetheart."

The huddled mass of the 'arrested' dwindled through the day, executives and politicians dragged up the stairs to meet their fate as determined by Crane; soon it was only half or less left behind, with you simply counting the minutes until you'd be taken-- you couldn't imagine what life would be like with Jonathan, and for now, you tried not to.

He came for you at the end of the day, standing above you and smiling down as you stayed sitting on the ground, leaning against a pillar and waiting for whatever he asked you to do. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say," he admitted as he stared at you. "Hi honey, I'm home or something?"

"You don't actually sleep here, do you?" you frowned.

"No, no-- I believe in work-life balance," he shook his head; then reached his hand out to help you up. "Come on, let's go home."

Though you hesitated, you took his hand and let him help you to your feet with a wince.

"Are you alright?" he asked, seeing the pain on your face.

"They kinda roughed me up," you admitted quietly, though your breath caught when Jonathan pulled you closer.

"Poor thing," he mumbled, petting your cheek briefly, holding your waist a little tighter. "And having to sit on this hard floor all day-- you must be sore, hm?"

You nodded slightly, though you felt strange talking to him like this-- like it was a normal conversation, and not something you had to do to keep yourself safe. If being with him could really be considered 'safe'...

"I can write you a script if you're in too much pain," he offered, "but I think you just need some rest: somewhere warm, a nice big bed..."

He leaned in closer as he trailed off, taking a deep breath beside your head as he rubbed your back. Though he must have noticed the way you tensed up and nearly pulled away, it didn't deter him.

"I'll be good to you," he promised, "if you just behave. You don't need to be so afraid of me."

But you could hear the excitement in his voice; he liked that you were afraid of him. Finally, he had the power over you that you'd denied him all those years ago. No matter how sweet he promised to be, one way or another, he was going to make you pay for that.

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane fic

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comicaurora · 9 months

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What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

#asks #not aurora

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queenendless · 8 months

Text

😂Ticklish Remedy(Student!SatoSuguxStudent!Fem!Reader)😂

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to get out! I gotta write more JJK tk fics in the future. This one I rushed, it's true.

Content: Angst, hurt/comfort, more exposition than tickles but obvious tickles, mention of reader gaining seer vision cursed technique powers for possible future plot development, Shoko Ieiri cameo, and SatoSugu poly loving.

Credit for characters and art used goes to Gege sensei.

* Please DON'T plagarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC content. Reblog, like, and follow instead.

I hope you enjoy.

Why were you in such a pathetic mood?

Waking up from a messed up dream in a cold sweat?

Coming back from a mission where more damage than saving was done?

Or a hard downpour out of nowhere soaked you and would be around for the remainder of the evening?

All of the above.

In this life, you are the quiet, sweet protective being. But it takes certain things to set you off. All of the above, for instance.

Another big one would be the only friends turned found family you ever had and known getting harmed in any way, whether from slander from those foolish higher ups or certain corrupted humans you were obligated to save and not harm for retribution despite getting injured on the job because of them. Those indeed pissed you off.

That wasn't the case this time.

Nah, you're just having one of those days.

You had just left the shower, clad in a dry tee shirt and short shorts, going stomach first flopping on your dorm room bed in a downtrodden sense, when a loud knock on your door made you moan in refusal, smothering your face in your pillow.

"L/n? Sweetie? Y/n-chaaaaaan~?!"

Satoru's loud rambles; his voice always making you smile, now sounded irritating to you. "Go away." Your muffled yell made a new voice join in.

"Y/n? Honey? Are you alright?"

Suguru's concerned voice made you feel bad at behaving this way towards them when it wasn't their fault at all. "Not really."

"Excuse us. We're coming in." Suguru's warning was followed by your dorm room door sliding opening as their heads popped up through behind the door, your weak wave giving them the prompt to just come in.

They were both still in uniform but also in socks and slippers, as Satoru flopped down, jostling the bed, before spooning you from behind and Suguru sliding your door closed before sitting on the edge of the bed in front of you and held your hand in his; rubbing comforting circles on your knuckles with his thumb when he asked.

"How bad?"

Your hesitant sigh didn't bode well. "I was sent alone to exorcize a second-grade curse spirit after it ended several regulars working at a cemetery."

"Yaga-sensei told us." Suguru's pitying gaze made you whine weakly. "We're sorry we couldn't go with you."

Flashes of your nightmare from early morning resurfaced; your pinched expression being a sign of your discomfort. "The same nightmare happened again. Just … bloodied corpses … of those I care for …that shadowed, stitched forehead bastard's smile ... and I'm unable to move or scream or do anything …" Your voice wavered as your form trembled with a deep-rooted frustration and pain on this particular dilemma.

You still had no freaking idea who or what it was; human or cursed spirit, let alone why you kept having these dreams. A warning? Perhaps. You were slowly climbing up the ranks in terms of developing your Innate technique; as odd as it was in getting impactful visions followed by side effecting migraines. And this was yet another unknown future threat standing in your way.

"Plus I got rained down hard coming back here. So there." You pouted, taking Suguru's hand in your own, just to splat it over your face, amusing the latter despite the gloomy vibe.

"That bad, huh? God, quite the depressing mood bundle you are!" Satoru sighed loudly.

You jammed your thumb over your shoulder into Satoru's cheek, dryly retorting. "Obnoxious creep." You thrusted your pointer finger of the same hand forward in Suguru's face. "Weird bangs guy."

"Now sweetie, I know you're just saying those things because you're down in the dumps… but it still wounds me!" Satoru mockingly cried out, ruffling your hair, further driving the point of getting stabbed in the feels.

"Honey, you're wrong. About my bangs, I mean. Satoru … nah that's right on the mark." Geto poked your nose, smirking like the smart ass he is, rubbing salt in the wound.

"Hey!" Gojo flared up, dagger eyes on his bestie at the betrayal.

You snorted at their interaction. Satoru's face stubbornly set in a pouting expression, when the sound you just made gave him quite the amusing idea as he kissed your forehead down from up above you. "So, what you need right now is some serious cheering up, 101."

A twisted smile suddenly wormed up on his face. It makes your gut squirm with nerves.

"Suguru~" The sing-song tone to his name snatched the younger man's attention. "It seems our lovely girlfriend is too grumpy for our liking~!"

The same twisted feeling inside you doubled as Suguru smiled at you in the same manner.

"Yes … we should remedy that right away."

Able to read each other's thoughts down pat; synced as the best friends they are, meant they were both on board for their evil agenda.

"Uh, chotto matte," Your Nihongo Jouzu reflexes came spilling out as nervous giggles did as well, fidgeting as your attempts to get up and pull away from Satoru's hold were futile for his arms tightened around your waist and pulled quick enough to flush your back against his front. "Not that. Anything but that!"

"Y/n-chan … if you plead more, I'll consider it." Suguru calmly mused as he climbed up on your bed, trapping your legs in between his knees, coyly smiling. "Maybe~"

A squeal sprung free from your lips as the spider-like fingers of Satoru squeezed your sides before wriggling into your ribs. "I'd rather she beg. After all, she wants this so much~!" Satoru smugly taunted, that fat ass smirk plastered on his face when you jabbed your elbow hard in his side.

"Liar liar pants on fire – AAH~!" Your retort was cut off by your own shriek as Satoru's fingertips slithered around to deeply drag across your belly.

"Oh ho, you're gonna get it now!" Satoru's deepened tone spoke doom for you. Suguru's snickers only added to it.

Your spastic, laughing form was kicking, flailing, and bouncing to both their inner amusement and glee; the bed squeaking and the headboard hitting the wall many times in the process.

"Cootchie cootchie coo~!" Satoru's fingers slid through your shirt sleeves to pinch and wring the bare skin of your armpits.

"Tohohohohoru you ahahahahahass~!" You slam your shoulders into his in another attempt to push him off, but that lean skinny bode hid such strength beneath.

"Hey! I have a fine ass, I'll have you know!" Gojo's pursed lips were made to good use as he began doing raspberries from the crook of your neck to the base of it to under your ear, speaking in between every tingling blow. "Very. Fine. Indeed!" His snowy hair added to the ticklish sensation as his puffy locks brushed your cheek.

"You twohoohoo beheheheheter stahahahap or I swehehehear I'll – EEK~!" You squeaked harder as Suguru exchanges wiggling squeezes between your shaking kneecaps and your thighs. "Suhuhuhuhugu qu – quihihihit it~!!"

Geto snorted. "Jackass is more like it."

"Your face up my ass the other day spoke otherwise, if you recall~" Satoru's buzzing wet lips pulled from your neck to give bedroom eyes to Suguru.

Who returns the look, just as gluttonous for another go. "The face you made proves you enjoyed it just as much~"

Their raunchy talk was halted as a pillow got whacked in Suguru's face, followed by said pillow being thrown to Satoru's, who barely caught it in one hand. But that enough commotion lets you slip free from his loosened grasp.

Though the truth was he let you go free for now, laughing slowly at the look of sheer disbelief on his raven haired lover's face at what you just pulled, the more bangs loosely gracing his forehead from the commotion.

"Ooh, you're in trouble~!" Gojo singing spoke of doom.

Your panting, pink cheeked self could only have a moment's reprieve as chills raked your skin at the dark edge tainting Suguru's almond eyes. Unlike the smile in your nightmares, bearing callousness and insanity, Suguru's bore a more eerily calm smiling face.

"Indeed … it's on."

He dodged the kick to his face by your freed foot, toothily smiling as he caught your ankle, viewed your squirming foot with scrutinizing intrigue, before dragging his finger up and down your sole lightly enough to have you become a cute chortling mess.

Your other foot moved to kick his arm to free yourself when Gojo snatched it straight away, clicking his tongue to scold you. "Naughty, naughty~"

The two looming devils you love jumped you!

Shoko Ieiri, twirling her non lite cigarette between her fingers, jumped at the ear-piercing scream striking the air of the dorm, high tailing to the source as curiosity beckoned her.

Discovering the loud slamming ruckus jumbled in as well, it all is coming from your room followed by your jumbled cackling wordplay in the mix had her sliding the door open, her cigarette nearly slipping from her grasp at the sight she just witnessed.

You were flipped to lay on your stomach, laughing your sweaty red face off, as both those bastards each straddled a thigh of yours, with a footsie for each to tickle savagely.

"And this is why I stopped questioning why this is your norm now." Shoko shrugged.

"She whacked us with her pillow!" Suguru gruffly complained as his fingers wringed through your toes.

"Hilarious move on her part but she did wound my pride." Satoru's mirthful grin then drooped as his pride did deflate. "So, retribution!" Killing your restraint as he nibbled on your padded piggies.

"SHOHOHOHOHOHOHOKO~!!! MAHAHAHAHAHAKE THEHEHEHEHEHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP~!!!"

Your flailing calves nearly whacking them were immediately taken care of as their forearms wrapped around them to hold them in place, their hands squeezing your ankles in their ironclad grip. Suguru nibbled and dragged his teeth and tongue down your wrinkled sole while Satoru's lips and tongue suckled and wriggled between your toes.

"PLEHEHEHEHEHESE HAHAHAHAHAHAVE MEHEHEHEHEHERCY~!!!"

"Yeah, as the resident healer of our group, I see the telltale signs she's gonna pass out at this rate." Shoko nearly toppled over you as your hands needed some support to dig and squeeze your fingers in something to keep your unhinged self-grounded.

Suguru hummed in contemplation. "Hmmm … while seeing and hearing our love in this state does please me greatly, this overall was supposed to cheer her up."

"Your cheering up brand is quite savage indeed." Shoko's apathetic tone made them both stifle a groan; Satoru's vibrating through your foot made you squeal louder, as he finally popped his mouth off your saliva covered minies.

"Alright, alright! We will," Satoru gave a big wet smooch to your topside. "I'd say we're even now."

Suguru kissed your other topside in the same manner, before their arms released your calves, moving off your thighs so they could lay your legs fully down on your rustled sheeted bed.

You breathed in and out your relief as tranquility came at last; giggles from ghost tickles slipping in, releasing your hold on Shoko's arm to fold yours and use them as your personal resting pillow. "Ah … f … freedom … thank you." You were now more exhausted but less depressing. Pro? Perhaps. For now, anyway.

"Y/n." You leaned your head into Satoru's smooth warm hand as he brushed your hair strands sticking to your forehead aside, rubbing your forehead before brushing your hair back in gentle motions, as he flopped down on his stomach on your right side, resting his cheek on his free forearm, the vibrant Six Eyes looking at you over his lowered shades, straightforward truth teeming in them. "In this life, you can't save everyone."

You frowned at that, blunt and to the point, when Suguru also flopped down the same way on your left side, his giant firm hand rubbing massaging circles on your back, surging with tender care, bringing blessed sighs out of you, as his eyes met yours next, teemed with solace. "Nor will the fear of the unknown go away just like that."

"We can't promise that nothing will happen to all of us later on down the line, either." Satoru's distaste for it showed.

"But we can promise that when they do, come what may, we'll give it our all." Suguru's empathy shined through in his beautiful almond eyes.

"We have to in order to be the strongest duo, after all." Satoru chuckled as his cheek nuzzled yours.

"Eh? And me?" You pouted.

"Then trio." Suguru pecked your lips just to see that smile of yours blossom.

"Ahem!" Shoko fake coughed, sitting against the front of the bed on the floor, plopping her head back, lips puckered and batting eyes at you all in fake sadness.

"Okay, squad then! Point being! Whatever comes our way, we face it together, as best we can. We are there for each other. None of us should be alone. Right?" Satoru's sincere toothy smile sealed the deal.

You sighed deeply. "Fine … but any more savage tickling cheering up schemes in the future are off the table! I swear to God –!"

"Hai hai." The duo agreed in unison as they each pressed a deep noisy smooch to your cheeks.

"Ehem." Shoko pointed at her own face, wanting smooches too. That brought laughs out of all three of you before you kissed her forehead, and the guys kissed her cheeks.

The downpour had finally ceased, and you fell asleep from the tiring experience that toppled the rest.

"Too precious for this kind of life, she is." Shoko smiled faintly as the guys kept their eyes on yourself, softly breathing, slowly lifting and lowering your slumbering self.

"Suguru? Those dreams of hers …"

"Premonitions, you mean?"

Satoru nodded. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"She could be a cursed Seer of sorts. See the future and all that." Shoko interjected.

"Her cursed energy has been increasing. Her output as well. Still … I say we keep close to her. Keep our guard up." Suguru suggested.

"And if Yaga-sensei sends her out solo tasking again?" Satoru dreaded that possible outcome.

"We should inform him of this. If a possible dire threat does arrive in our future, I'd suggest one of us go with her on missions just in case. We both can handle solo missions just fine."

"Then I call dibs~!"

Suguru's eyes narrowed intensely. "My idea, my dibs."

Satoru flared up. "Eh~?!"

Your groggy stirring mumbles alerted the bois to keep it down, your settling down leaving them puffing out their reliefs.

"Compromise then, Satoru~?"

Said man groaned. "You're lucky you're you."

Suguru chuckled at that before smooching his snowy haired lover over your resting head.

"Your throuple is a cursed miracle in and of itself, alright." Shoko murmured, toying with the cig between her lips.

Your throuple life story.

Cursed miracle indeed.

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red-write-hand · 7 months

Text

"As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.”

pairing -> thomas shelby x f!oc

trope -> hurt/comfort, argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband

warning -> argument, tommy being kinda a shitty husband, fluffy ending (i promise)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He sat back in his plush chair. Today wasn't a good day in general. Between his brothers pissing him off and a couple business deals going south, it seemed like he couldn’t catch a break. He tilted his head back while his eyelids fluttered close. All he needed was time. All he needed was peace and quiet. He knew he was forgetting something but he couldn’t tell what he was forgetting. Like something was supposed to happen but nothing happened. He shook his head and started to pour another glass of whiskey. Another storm was brewing on the horizon. He hadn’t even realized it until it was too late. The great big door swung closed. The house had grown darker than it usually was, the dark oak everywhere kept it ambient but now, with the threat of something coming, it seemed even darker. Someone hung up their coat. Then it dawned on Tommy who had just arrived. His wife. His wife who had tear stained cheeks and wet hair. She didn’t look at him as she kicked off her shoes. His thoughts started to quicken as he tried to figure out what he had forgotten. Turns out, she was going to answer that for him.

“For a man who projects the idea that he is on top of everything, you seem to forget what you say is most important to you.” She silently walked up to their shared room, quietly shutting the door behind her. He could hear her faint tears through the door. What had he forgotten? He sat back down in his office. He took a long drag of his cigarette. What was happening today? What was so special about today? What exactly had he forgotten? Upstairs, she slumped against the door. Her cheeks felt hot tears slide down them as she cried for a husband that took her for granted. She knew this was not true all the time, not the nights where he kissed the length of her body and made up for all the long nights and forgotten promises, not the days that he took off work and spent the day in bed with her, not the times where he noticed that she was uncomfortable and he slipped his hand in hers to reassure her that he was there, not the times where he let her cry in his lap until she fell asleep. Then again, this was a rather important thing to forget. Today was special. Today had been the happiest day of her life a year ago. She didn’t know, she couldn't fathom how he could forget a day like today. So she cried. She cried with her back against the door of the bedroom that they used to sleep in every night, the bedroom where they had planned on trying for children, the bedroom where they both forgot about the world and just focused on each other. She could hear footsteps outside the door. She reached a shaky hand up and locked it from the inside. She would rather cry herself to sleep against the cold, hard floor than face her husband who had forgotten her once again. She heard Frances, Thomas’ maid, from the other side of the door.

“Mrs. Shelby, Mrs. Thorne wanted to give you these–” Tony cracked the door open slightly to look at the small parcel Ada had left her. It had a small note attached to it. She thanked Frances and took the package inside, then relocked the door. She carefully pulled the brown paper off for it to reveal a small box of chocolates. The note had fallen to the floor, which Tony now started to notice. The note read, ‘Just in case you needed it. Remember that he does love you, even though he does get wrapped up in himself. Happy Anniversary to my favorite sister in law. Yours truly, Ada Thorne.’ Tony smiled and tucked the note under the box of chocolate. She heard a different set of footsteps come up to the other side of the locked door. It was much heavier and sounded much more familiar. She took a deep breath. She heard something hit the floor. A few curse words in a Birmingham accent floated in through the crack in the floor. She didn’t know what exactly she should say. Yes, she was angry, so she should chew him out? Then again, she was sad, should she guilt trip him? Make him feel all the feelings she was feeling? Another emotion surfaced, fear. The fear of abandonment. The fear that one day, he would leave her. The fear that she was slowly getting taken for granted by the man she loved most in the world. Again, she started to cry, then she felt something soft hit the hand she had been leaning on. It was a napkin from the dining room of the Arrow House. She smiled through her building sadness. This was how they had communicated the day of their wedding. They had passed notes on several stacks of napkins since it was customary for the groom to not see his bride. They had both thought this rule was silly and a little outdated but you don’t argue with Aunt Polly. The notes on their wedding day had been words full of adoration and love. Now the napkin that had been riddled with tear stains had two simple words on it.

‘I’m Sorry.’ She blinked a few times but this just made the napkin more and more wet. The handwriting was his. This was the handwriting that had moved millions of dollars. This was the handwriting that had written letters full to the brim of teasing words and innuendos while he was in London and she was in Ireland. This was the handwriting of the man she loved more than anything in this world. This was the handwriting of her husband. This was the handwriting of the man who had forgotten his own wedding anniversary. She gulped down another wave of tears and mustered up enough resolve to finally get words out.

“But are you though?” She could hear the breath being released from the other side of the door. She could almost hear the wheels in his head turning, trying to solve this problem quickly, but there is no quick solution to this. She was not the kind of girl who would say that a couple of kisses and a night of sweet love making would be a sufficient apology. She needed something much more substantial. She could hear him trying to think of the right words, the right phrasing, the best way of regaining the love of his wife back.

“You have all the right in the world to be angry at me. You have all the right in the world to walk out on me. That is, as of right now, what I deserve. I have taken you for granted and forgotten many things I shouldn’t have. Yell at me if you have to. I will leave you alone if you need space to cry. My only request is that we figure this out together. This day, last year, we were married and you told me something that has stuck with me every single day–” He paused, trying to remember what she had said exactly to make sure he got his point across perfectly.

“As long as I have love in my heart for you, my eyes will stay a pale gray. No matter what happens. No matter what I have to go through. As long as I still love you, my eyes will never grow dark to you.” He finished her quote with a long silence.

“When you walked in from the rain, your eyes were darker than I’ve ever seen them. I wish there was a quick and easy way of fixing this so that I can have my Tony back to the way she was before I started to fuck up this entire thing…but there is no easy way. There never has been. You do things methodically, I do things sporadically, sometimes with a plan, sometimes spontaneously. Our love exists in the balance between erratic and consistent. If there is any way I can reclaim your love, I will go to any lengths for it. I know you might not believe me but your love, Anthony Bentini Shelby, is the thing nearest and dearest to my heart. Your love that is fleeting than trying to cup water in your hands, your love that makes a man fall to his knees at the sight of it, your love that is only shown to the most worthy of souls. You have changed the course of my life with your love. You have changed my soul with your love. If there is any way, if there is even a possibility of your forgiveness, I will wait weeks, months, years, sitting against this door, until you come to your verdict…and if you so choose to walk out, I will not stop you, just know that you have changed every single member of the Shelby family.” She didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know if she should say anything after that. Thomas hadn’t spoken that much in weeks. He had let out a few sentences at most to her but nothing this long. Nothing this…important. She pulled a pen out of her jacket pocket and wrote carefully on the napkin before sending it back under the door. She simply wrote, ‘I forgive you.’ She cracked the door again to let her hand through to the other side. He laced his fingers between hers. She could hear his breath evening out. She could feel her own slowing down and she could feel her tears drying. She silently giggled when she felt him drawing small designs with his thumb into the back of her hand. She could hear his voice, now cracked and choked up.

“Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Shelby.” She could feel him plant a small, gentle kiss to the back of her hand. He was never gentle about anything. The trademark of his love was that he tried to be more gentle with her.

“Happy Anniversary, Mr. Shelby.”

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ceilidho · 9 months

Note

Ok if this doesn't sound like an idea you'd be interested in then disregard, i don't want to bother you 🙂 BuT! It's been itching the back of my brain since forced throuple au and creepy-apartment!ghost has compounded it so:

Forced throuple but a sort of android verse with some body snatching horror thrown in for flavor. Reader's husband (Soapy boy) dies suddenly and in their grief a lot of stuff has gone into disrepair, so they mail order an android to help around the house and with crippling loneliness. The company sends Ghost, a refurbished security model now named Simon, and he ends up being pretty helpful despite the silent brooding. Hell, sometimes that even helps as scary dog privilege so you let it slide (big mistake dumby, that android is falling for you in the process of taking care of you ohhh no-).

But maybe Ghosts old security features make him super observant (obsessive) paired with his new "fix it" code make him come to the conclusion that, actually, reader could still use her husband and mail orders a Soap-bot-3000 without letting them know :O. Watch the horror unfold as Reader wakes up one morning to her VERY NOT dead husband in bed and both Ghost and Soap acting like nothing is wrong :)))), maybe some "Simon reverts fo Ghost" too as the story progresses

this is from awhile ago (apologies, anon) and so wickedly weird and cool :)))

androids that are so realistic and bodies so malleable that they almost feel lifelike, like they're flesh and blood. you never wanted to actually give in and purchase one because you have personal qualms with the idea of something so human-looking being programmable and subservient to you; it's just always felt wrong and borderline cruel, and johnny used to concur with you when you spoke about it. that was then though. years and months and weeks before the accident.

now it's midday on a tuesday and you can't even get out of bed. there are two weeks of dishes in the sink and the lawn is overgrown and the feral cats haven't stopped by in days because you haven't had the strength to get up and feed them. your voicemail's been full for days. your sister stopped by and insisted when she saw the state of your house. "at least for a few weeks," she pleaded with you. you can always return it when you're back on your feet. she's already ordered you one from 141 Labs before she's even out the door, making you promise to give it a shot.

when you open the box, you worry that you might've ordered the wrong model. the size of the android they sent you feels out of place, like he's meant for private military companies or as a bodyguard for celebrities. not depressed accountants who can't get out of bed because their husband died two weeks ago. but it's your name on the receipt, your address. so when his blue eyes flare neon when he's first activated and all six feet and four inches of him sit up in the crate (that had to be wheeled in by two delivery men, you recall with a small amount of horror), you wait patiently to introduce yourself.

maybe this one was sent to you because of the defect. he wears a mask because the only layer of skin on his face starts from the bottom of his face down. at first you roll the mask up only to shudder at the exposed wiring and metal where cheekbones should be. you roll it back down.

he comes with a name. Ghost. that's his model, you surmise from the lengthy instruction booklet you're provided. the whole situation feels weird at first; his presence in your house always catches you off guard, even though, you suppose, it's his house now too. you jump whenever you walk into a room and he's just there, silent, so large that you nearly always think Threat first before you recognize him. maybe it's not fully your fault. he makes no effort to signal his presence, moving silently from room to room when he helps carry out the garbage or swifter the living room. sometimes you catch him staring at the photos of you and johnny that still line the top of the fireplace.

you try to be equitable, insisting that he take the guest room as his own. Ghost won't hear of it, following you into your room when night falls; ominous. you have to lock yourself in the en suite to change, heart beating away because you know he's standing just outside the door, like a cat waiting to be let in. shaking hands drag your clothes down. you stare blankly at the door while you shower, fingers twitching when you pass a washcloth over your nipples.

you think there's something wrong with you. you're sick or something. you're sick or something worse because your husband died two weeks ago and the thing in your house isn't even a human and still your stomach clenches when you think of him waiting for you in your room, knowing that you're naked behind the door. it's taboo; it's not something that's done, at least not something that's spoken about. people don't sleep with their androids. recent widows especially should not be thinking about fucking their androids.

two weeks go by. you can't even think about johnny without wincing these days.

"he was your husband."

you look up. Ghost says it like a fact, not a question. you're in the living room sorting through insurance papers while Ghost vacuums under the sofa (he lifts the corner up with just a single hand; you swallow, throat already dry). neon blue eyes zip across your face when you look over at him. you wonder sometimes what he sees there, etched into the plains of your face.

"yeah." your smile is tight, pained. "johnny."

he looks back down to the framed photo in his hand, studying it. you wish you could ask him what he's thinking about, but you worry that would be just another privacy stripped. you can't ask more of him.

"what happened to him?" he finally asks, looking up again.

you feel it catch in your throat. "he, um - he." it doesn't come out. your nose stings before you can even try to get more out. you grimace, shrug instead. you try to smile again, but it's warped, unpleasant to form much less look at. don't ask, it says, whatever you do, please, please don't ask.

"you miss him?"

you blink at him, misty eyed. "ye - of course."

his eyes are so, so blue when he stares across the room at you. it's unnerving to look at; terrifying to find yourself under his scrutinizing gaze. what do androids even think about?

"I understand." he puts the photo back on the bookshelf and walks out of the room.

sometimes you catch him watching you too intensely; rare moments when he doesn't seem entirely mechanical. you wonder if one day you'll roll the mask up and there'll be skin there suddenly, a real flesh and blood person. it feels entirely possible some days. he moves too fluidly, has his own quirks and intricacies that seem newer each day.

you don't try it. the minuscule amount of professional space between the two of you is an absolute. you worry sometimes what you'll let happen if you ever let that distance collapse. already he sleeps motionlessly in the chair beside your bed, refusing his own room. he powers down with his eyes still open, the blue flickering away to a dark grey. it's only mildly reassuring.

when you open your eyes in the middle of the night though, he stares back at you, eyes dark and sightless.

you worry sometimes that you might have made a mistake, letting your sister talk you in to this.

it's the arm tucked around your waist when you're doing the shopping, freezing for a second before the hand on your hip squeezes and he pulls you towards the fruit and veg. it's the menacing stare from over your shoulder when a man approaches you in the checkout lane, offering his condolences (an old colleague of your husband's, he says) and an invitation to dinner. you open your mouth only for Ghost to answer for you.

"No." it thrums out of him, a different modulation. you stare helplessly as the man's face goes white and he makes an excuse to leave, offering you another lame apology.

it's the hand that tugs you out of the store by the back of your shirt, Ghost's voice rumbling like he doesn't know you can hear him. saying something about how you don't need another man in your house. that you had johnny and now you have him.

#i didnt get to the soap part bc this became long...sorry #ceil writing #cod simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2

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winterzsurprise · 11 months

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Tags: Breeding kink, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, he bites you. SMUT, NOT BETA READ, big dick Miguel (as always).

Words: 1.1k

I am so sorry it took so long @gracielukey :''DD, a minor subject had the audacity to give us three projects back to back. I hope you like this one tho. I hope I did your idea justice somehow :''DD

now I shall succumb back into the darkness until college ends, adios and have a great day/night everyone!

hermosa - beautiful || cariño - darling

Ever since you told him of your decision to carry his kid, it’s like a switch has been flipped on Miguel.

On the days where work doesn’t overwhelm his schedule, he researched day and night for ways of increasing your chances of conceiving, from dishes of ancient or foreign origin to books from different universes, he read them all.

Diet is out of the question, if he wants you to consume sugar or meat, you comply and if you don’t, he somehow makes you do it.

Not that you can really complain when he's got the skills on par with an immortal chef who has cultivated their skills for thousands of years. There's a reason why Hobi still comes to inner circle dinners despite how loud his displeasure is towards the organization and Miguel.

He says it’s because he’s too lazy to cook or he’s broke but you all knew it was a lie.

There’s no questioning the plenty of times Miguel took advantage of both of your enhanced endurance as superhumans, though it always ends up with you tapping out from overstimulation and muscle aches after being bent and spread wide open under him for hours upon hours.

Hell, even days if your schedule allows it.

You don’t even wanna start on the strong musky stench of sex and sweat fogging the room nor would you like to address the copious amount of cum pulsing out of you to be cleaned later on when he treats you to a warm bath at the end of every session.

A monster, that’s what your decision your sweet husband has turned into.

He once researched about your condition further and came home with a renowned determination to prove himself unique and If there's anything about that man, if he's passionate enough, he'd do anything to reach his goal.

Which brought you to your current situation.

"You're never going to leave this house until I make sure to fuck a baby into you."

You pant, pushing at his broad shoulders as pain intertwined with pleasure rockets through your trembling body, shaking legs numb on your chest after being folded and manhandled by him for the past hour, forced to take every deep thrusts that feels like he's puncturing your organs raw.

It's unbelievable how he manages to reach heights thought to be impossible.

"Fuck… Miguel! I-I can't…"

"You can take it, I’ll make sure of it."

A particular, deep thrust got you screaming and eyes rolling back as he hit your spot once again. He didn't relent after that, making sure to angle his hips just right before every push.

As his venom slowly fades away, pain starts to ricochet inside you. You were tempted to ask him for another bite but the complaining aches in your muscles had you biting back the urge.

It’s been so long since you’ve started, you wanted to rest, even just for a split second.

He halts mid-thrust, hands reaching out for yours to intertwine them before pinning your arms above your head. You immediately meet his gaze as if magnetized by it, Miguel’s eyes are dilated to the nines, void of the crimson it's supposed to be and the buzz at the back of your head grows at the sight.

When his hand wrapped around your neck, your body stiffened. Yet the fear tightening around your heart only got adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin.

Even when he's triggering your senses, you only found the threat exhilarating.

"You're not going anywhere, cariño." The thrust that followed only solidified it. "Not until I fuck a baby into you."

The cold marble countertop dug into your back as he feverishly ruts his hips. You grabbed for life onto his hands while pleasure and pain tightly intertwined in your guts. The sloppy sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, burning your cheeks with embarrassment as you’re reminded once more of how much he’s filled you up.

Tears blurred your eyes as his pace only grew more rabid with every passing moment, head going light from the overwhelming mix of ecstasy and ache.

As if it wasn't enough, he pressed onto your abdomen and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while he groaned, eyes never straying away from your stomach.

"Just imagining your stomach growing plumper and fuller with our child… Fuck."

A shiver wrecked your spine.

Your nerves fizzled with the constant onslaught of dopamine, electric currents bounced from the top of your head and to the tip of your toes. It was too much, yet you yearned for one more, hips meeting his thrusts.

"Miguel, please!" You sobbed.

"Give it to me, hermosa. I want it all."

A sudden tightness in your stomach abruptly unfurls and you came for the nth time tonight, convulsing and pathetically writhing under him.

Your body immediately complained from the continuous stimulation it received, seeing the difficulty in your crumpled expression as your eyes mist with tears, Miguel slows to a halt, cupping your cheeks and you lean into his balmy yet warm hands.

"I'm nearly there ok? Can you do it, hermosa?"

His voice felt far, as if you were hearing it from the far end of an unending hallway but you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck for support. As he slowly gains his pace, your back arches and you find solace in the crook of his neck, sobbing and whining into his skin as he pushes into you.

Seeing the difficulty scrunching up your face, Miguel didn't hesitate to bite into your shoulder, hoping to alleviate the pain as he worked up to his climax and you shuddered.

His venom made quick work and numbed the aches as well as the ecstasy. When you came for the last time that night, you didn't get the usual rush of euphoria in your veins, instead, it rocked through you like a shiver and a couple of sharp flinches in your legs.

You vaguely felt the sensation of his arousal bursting inside you before he collapsed into your arms, finally succumbing to the temptation of rest after so long and you internally celebrated.

"You’re not allowed to touch me for a day, you monster."

He laughed, it was light and despite the fog in your senses, it still sounded like jingles to your ears.

"I'll make you your favorite later, is that enough?"

Confused by his word choice, you turned to the windows in front of the sink to see the signs of the rising sun peeking through the sheer curtains and you groaned.

It’s already somewhere around five to six AM in the morning.

You guys missed dinner because of his newfound determination. The dish you prepared after marinating the chicken for the whole day, now lay waste on the floor after being accidentally nudged at some point.

"You're going to clean that up."

"Not if we do it again.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader one shot #marvel fics #marvel smut #spiderman smut #spider man fics #spider man smut

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turtleblogatlast · 2 months

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Here’s a thought-

When Splinter says Leo’s the leader at the end of Season 2…pretty sure he was joking.

After so many high stakes and high emotions, he (a bit cluelessly) makes a joke to add some levity, just to make things a bit easier for he and his sons to digest everything that happened. It was a lot that happened, so it makes sense that Splinter wants to make things that much softer for everyone.

But- making a joke like that, after everything they all just went through…I can definitely see how the events of the movie pave out in response.

For example, by joking about Leo in particular having the responsibility of a leader, that puts him directly in the sight of Raph’s building anxieties. Because after everything, it’s clear that Raph really started taking the hero name seriously to the point that he started undermining his own fun and childhood in the process. So in the eyes of a Raph who is so worried about what could happen if they’re not prepared again, Leo in particular kind of stands almost as a point of danger in that aspect.

And with the joke of Leo “leading” in any capacity ringing out over them, it’s easy to blame Leo and Leo alone whenever he goes and goofs off with Mikey and Donnie. I think as well that the concept of a leader being spoken after the Shredder just pushes more weight on Raph’s shoulders and makes him realize how much goofing off they did before when they should have been better heroes (despite them all just being kids...)

Raph knows his brothers are good, he knows and has pride in them and himself in turn, but it terrifies him to know that they won’t be ready for the next big threat, and Leo directly going against this caution even more than usual just pushes Raph to want to try more.

As for Leo- keep in mind what happened all throughout “Many Unhappy Returns.” Keep in mind what happened all throughout the series in general. In the former, Splinter more than once points out how he would rather have his other sons with him than Leo, especially because they “would take this seriously”…even though Leo was taking it seriously. (Not that Splinter should be expected to read what Leo was doing when Leo wasn’t making his plans clear, but that wording sticks with kids.) Even after Leo’s plan pulled through, Raph’s the one who spoke in trust of Leo, not Splinter.

As for what happens in the series in general…well, we see Leo mess up a lot, apologize a lot, get his brothers out of messes a lot, and even when he does well or is responsible it’s either glossed over or still seen as goofing off (no I will never be over that moment where Leo almost got Gus’s tags and got screwed over out of pure bad luck.)

So imagine hearing a joke like that as Leo, who for a good chunk of especially the start of the series has been a lowkey voice of reason. The idea that Leo being responsible for the team is nothing but a joke…? It’s understandable that it could feel like a blow, that it could push him to want to try less.

Especially after everything they just went through.

They’re heroes. | They’re kids.

Why shouldn’t they care? | Why should they care?

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt splinter #splinter is not a bad dad but words can always cause unintended harm especially to kids and teens #Leo being the voice of reason in Bug Busters only to be rewarded with a near death experience rip #if I was him I’d clock out too #side note but I actually really like how Bug Busters and the movie kinda parallel each other just with Raph and Leo’s roles swapped #(and obviously the movie is much higher stakes)#splinter: haha imagine blue as the leader wouldn’t that be funny #raph & leo: *speedrun into developing bad habits as a response*#shout out to Raph in the show’s finale he really stepped up #but then he just kept stepping until all he knew was being a hero and a team and not his own age 😞#Raph and Leo’s dynamic means so much to me it really does #both of them are self made caricatures at the beginning of the movie! not their true selves!! BOTH lean away from these masks at the end!

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