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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Dirty Work 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Outta left field.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The brick facade stares back at you. You have to keep from gaping in awe. You're not a sightseer, you're there to work. A job. Your first ever. A bit late, but better than never.

You stop at the gate and hike up your kit as you shove your hand in your pocket in a cramped search. You slide out the flip phone and pop the top, clicking through for the email. The cheap burner is all you could afford and you needed a cell to get any sort of employment. Even just to live, it seems.

You click on the agency's email. A concise list of instructions for your first day. Alone. Last week, you shadowed a woman named Florence as she took you through an east-side home, but this week, you're on your own and uptown. The property is much nicer than any you've been in before. The sort you gaze at longingly in passing. A true urban palace.

You follow the first point on the list, keying in the code awkwardly with spaced-out punches. The last beep triggers a buzz as the mechanism releases and you turn the haandle to let yourself through the iron gate. You close it, pushing it to make sure it catches. You look around at the greenery; expertly trimmed hedges and a stone bench, flowerbeds clustered artfully in all shades. A mini Versailles in the heart of the city. The owners must be very well-off.

You gulp as you follow the stonework of the winding path along the curved driveway. Your shoulder aches from the weight of your kit and your spine is still rigid from the tense bus ride. You approach the front door and stagger to an awkward halt as you check the screen again. In all caps; DO NOT USE THE FRONT DOOR. You peer up over the stone steps and give a nod. Of course the help should go through the back.

You circle around to the rear of the house, the scent of pollen and the freshly groomed hedges clouding around you. You find the door nestled beneath a net of ivy and key in the next code. The very modern security contrasts the antique veneer of the house. You step into the silence of the grand home and listen. You're not sure if you're alone. What do you do if you aren't? It might be awkward to wash someone's floor without an introduction.

You move to the next directive; cover shoes. You squint and suck your lower lip in. You see the small box on the corner table tucked beside the door. You stay on the mat as you pull on the plastic shoe covers. It makes sense. You don't want to track in another mess to clean.

Again, your breath flies away from you. Even just the back hallway is divine, or maybe you're just brutish. You're not very hard to impress with what you're used to. A job won't cure it, but it'll make it bearable.

The next point; gloves. Okay. At least it's straightforward. The owners must be very particular. Or germaphobic. You let your assumptions write a story as you advance into the house. The email directs you to a closet where you are permitted to hang your things and where a mop, broom, and vacuum await you amid other supplies too big for your bag. Next point…

You proceed inside, slowly. The instructions are written almost to guide your every step. You move down the hallway with duster, broom, vacuum, and finally the mop. You're sweating by the time you get to the first doorway. The kitchen. Despite your employ, the place is already near immaculate. The only sign of life is a single black mug beside the sink.

It's eerie as you cross the tile, investigating with your eyes, almost too afraid to touch. You're going to have to if you mean to do good work. You continue down the list, doing your best to be thorough. When you return to the hall you're caught in place by a thought. There are no family pictures. It adds to the emptiness of it all. There are portraits of famous landmarks and imitations of reknowned artworks, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were genuine. But no family.

Next point. A bathroom just diagonal from the kitchen, spacious with dark wood and shining gold. You leave it smelling with the sterile scent of the cleaner. Back in the hall, you pause to drink from the water bottle in your bag. You head back down the hall intent on your next task. An hour already.

Another large room; a dining room that opens into a sitting room with a large fireplace. It really is amazing. Your father won't believe how nice it is here. You don't have time to worry about convincing him as you dive into your work. It isn't difficult work but you want to do a good job. You get this knot in your stomach just think of your boss, Clara, telling you otherwise or going home with bad news.

You finish the sitting room and go back to get your water. You nearly finish it. You check the time again, then the list. You can refill before you continue. You go back to the kitchen and cross to the fridge, pressing your bottle to the lever beneath the filter. It'd be nice to have something like that at home. You listen the hum of the fridge as you fill your bottle.

"Ahem," the clearing of a throat startles you and you jump, splashing yourself with cold water as you spin to face a tall man. He stares at you imperiously from the doorway, his figure lithe as he holds his chin up in dissatisfaction. "And who said you could do that?"

"Um," you swallow and look at your water bottle, fingers numbed by the water, "sorry, sir, I ran out--"

"Clean up your mess and get back to work," his lilted accent slices into you.

"Sorry, sir--"

"Bullet number one, A," he says tersely.

You frown as you struggle to understand. You replace the cap on your bottle and fish in the pocket of your black pants. You take out the phone and check the email. 'Do not speak unless permitted.' Well, he spoke to you first. It's the only reason you said anything. You're not very chatty yourself.

You keep from repeating sorry again and dip your head down. You take the cloth tucked into your pocket and bend to sop up the water from the floor. You don't look at him as he looms and you exit the room, sidling past him in shame. Oh no, you hope he doesn't tell Clara.

You replace your bottle in your bag. You'll go without. You look at your phone again. You can do this. No more mistakes.

You march back down the hall and dare a glance into the kitchen as you pass. He's already gone. That must be Mr. Laufeyson, the owner noted in the job description. Is it just him? He doesn't seem very fond of others. Or just you. You're just a maid, after all.

🧹

Your father's apartment is in the south. The fence is crooked and missing slats and the grass is patchy and yellowed. The porch groans as you climb the steps and let yourself into his side of the duplex. Cigarette smoke greets you with a cough in your throat. You open the window he shut in your absence as the TV blares in the next room. He's on the couch, puffing tobacco into the air in gray swirls. The place is even grimmer after a day amid your client's spotless halls.

"Hey dad," you say as you stand just beside the couch, "how was your day?"

He grunts and offers nothing else. That's about what you get from him. The effort of just that noise sends him to hack and his wrist tangles in his oxygen tube as brings his hand up. He knocks ash from the end of his cigarette onto the floor.

"First day alone went well," you say as he settles, breathing loudly as he tries to steady his breaths. "Think I did pretty good."

"Oh, big whoop, got a job, at last," he sneers, "about time. What're you? Thirty-three?"

"Thirty," you correct him, but don't add that your birthday is coming up.

"Same difference," he croaks and sucks on the smoke until he's coughing once more.

You try not to let him defeat you. It's just the way he is. You brought home A's from school and he wondered why they weren't A+'s. And when you got accepted to college, he asked you who was gonna pay for it. And when you filled out an application at the drive-thru window, he asked you if you were going to be another deadbeat flipping burgers.

"What, they got you scrubbing floors?" He spits, "you don't do it for free or something?"

He looks around venomously. You do clean but you can't get the yellow stains out of the wall or the stench out of the carpet. You won't say so.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Can't be near the stove with this thing," he taps the top of the tank on the other side of the armrest. He's also not supposed to smoke near it. Or at all.

"I'll heat up the hamburger helper from last night."

"Fucking dog food," he barks.

You wince. You love your father but he's a very picky man. Things must be his way or no way at all.

"Might have a frozen pizza," you suggest.

"Cardboard," he mutters.

You stand, silent and helpless. There isn't much else left in the fridge.

"Could afford better if you'd got your ass up ten years ago," he buts out his smoke and just as quickly, opens the pack to slide out another.

"I tried..."

"Not hard enough, eh," He takes off the oxygen tube and leans away from the tank to light the next cigarette, "not hungry. All your talkin' spoiled my appetite."

You apologise and leave before you can annoy him further. You're not very hungry either. Just sore and tired. Your feet hurt from being on them all day and your eyelids droop lower with each blink. You climb the stairs and drag your feet into your bedroom and shut the door gently. Your father hates when you slam. You don't like it much yourself.

You fall into bed as the musty air clings in your nose. You close your eyes and roll onto your side. You sigh. You figure if you can handle your father, you can handle Mr. Laufeyson and his list.

🧹

Your next job is in the eastside. It's not as precise or overbearing. The instructions are standard; a list of the rooms that need cleaning and a tip left on the counter. The email says the family is out of town. How nice it must be to come home to a nice, clean house. You pad out the three-day week with two more home in the northwest suburbs. The money would be better if you could work a full week but so long on you're in your probation period, you only get part-time hours.

Your second week starts again in the north, outside the Laufeyson property. The codes are different but the list is the same. You begin your work diligently. This time, you ration your water, and pay special attention to each step. Once you're through this week, you get your first check. Dad should be happy about that.

As you get to the front room, a living room or what some might call den, you set first to dusting the ornaments on the high mantel. You find the more you do it, the work is almost soothing. It's simple and mindless. You admire the silver candlestick, careful not to loosen the tall candle placed in it.

"Shiny," the slither frightens you. You quickly replace the candlestick at the corner of the mantle and face that man; the presumed Mr. Laufeyson. "Somehow, I feel it wouldn't belong in wherever you call home."

You lower your eyes. Florence says most clients are friends but she warned you about these ones. Those who deride you and the work they don't want to do themselves.

"The previous one did think they were lovely," he muses as he struts forward, his long steps like a cat's, "too bad they were too big for her bag."

You flick your gaze back up and blanch. "Sir, I wouldn't--"

He tilts his head as his eyes flash dangerously. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic frown. You press a finger to your lips to say, I'll be quiet.

"She was chatty too. You girls always are."

You nod and listen. Your throat constricts as you wring the cloth in your hands. You think you might not be very forgiving if someone tried to steal from you either.

"But..." he looks at his watch, "you are quick."

The comment drips from his mouth as if it tastes bitter to him. It isn't quite praise, only a fact, but it isn't a reproach. He smirks and snickers.

"And you do look rather terrified. We're understood then."

You give another nod. You think you understand. You wouldn't think to steal but you can't blame him for putting down rules. You squint and your brow twitches as your ears tinge.

"Point one C," you whisper to yourself; 'Do not steal.'

He pauses as he goes to pivot on his heel. He lifts his chin and shifts as if he might look at you. He doesn't as he carries on to the door.

"You may refill your bottle once per shift," he pauses by the door, tapping the frame before he leaves you.

You stay stuck to the floor, wavering as you watch him go. He wasn't nice, but he didn't dismiss you either. You can stomach his disapproval if it means you still have work.

#loki #dar loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #marvel #avengers #thor

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ladylooch · 11 months

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Listen I know it’s not November but could you write something about reader trying to get Nico to fail No Nut November?

A/N: Challenge accepted, Nico. 😈 This may be my favorite smut I have ever written.

Word Count: 1.0k

Hand on the Bible, you promise the day wasn’t meant to start out this way.

Nico is behind you, fucking you hard as the headboard slams against the wall. You push back against the covered wood, moaning loudly to the ceiling.

“Right there.” You beg him, choking on your moans as he grips your hair, keeping your head tilted back. He loves the way he can see the outline of your features. Your forehead quivers, eyebrows furrowed, nostrils flaring. Your teeth stab at your bottom lip, trying to hold back. “Uhhh.” You finally let lose. Nico pounds harder, thighs clapping against your ass.

“Fuck, you’re going to be so worth it.” He groans.

But that’s now. Not how this all started.

You were in the kitchen, making yourself a cup of coffee in one of Nico’s t-shirts. The shirt completely covered you just to the edges of your butt cheeks. You walked around like this all the time. You didn’t think anything of it.

Nico came out of the bedroom at the smell of waffles. He shoves his wild hair back from his face, coming to the island where you are pouring more batter into the waffle maker.

“Hi Disney Princess.” You smile up at him, tilting your face for a kiss.

“Good morning.” He croaks, voice coated in sleep. His hand finds your opposite hip with your other side pressing into him. His fingers splay out under his shirt, holding your thigh and fiddling with the waistband of your panties. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”

“I never do in the morning, unless it’s snowing.”

“Yeah, but you know what month it is.” You glance at the calendar, seeing today’s date as November 6th. No Nut November can kick rocks in your book.

“Why are you participating in this?”

“Dougie brought it up as a team thing.”

“Easy for him to say, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“I think his justification is that makes it harder… no pun intended.” He chuckles.

“You have waiting puss in your bed every night and his bed is empty… and he thinks that is harder for him?” Nico snorts at the word puss.

“Babe.” He taps your ass at the filth. “Make it easier on me.”

“No. I don’t want you to participate in this!” You laugh, checking the waffle. It needs another minute. “This is a sad month for me. I may slip into a dickless depression.”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“You say that, but are you actually putting money to it?”

“Yeah, the whole team is. Losers have to pay more.”

“So, if we have sex you’re going to admit that to the team by contributing more to the pot.”

“I am a man of honor, baby.” He nods, picking up your cup of coffee and taking a sip. “And I wanna brag about you too.” He hides his snicker in the cup. You narrow your gaze at him.

“You better not be talking about that.” You insist, opening the waffle maker again. “That’s between me and you.”

“I did tell Woody your mouth is like a vacuum cause it sucks my soul out.” He covers his face with his hand. “I was so drunk in Vegas last month.”

“You shit!” You laugh hard, using a fork to take out the waffle. Honestly tho, you’re proud of that. “What did he say?”

“Marry her.” You toss your head back and laugh harder.

“See I knew I liked him. Confirmed favorite.”

You walk across the kitchen to grab plates for both of you. They are a bit high for you so you have to get on your tip toes.

“Oh my god.” Nico moans behind you. His shirt has pulled up on you, exposing the see through backs of your panties. He admires the perfect curve of your ass before squeezing his eyes shut.

“What do you think about No Nut November now?”

“What if I don’t… nut?” He questions.

“You can’t.” You know immediately if he slips into you, he’s not going to be done until he leaves a puddle inside of you.

“I think I can.”

“Okay. Let’s go.” You take his shirt off, leaving it on the kitchen floor. Nico follows you fast.

And that is how you got here.

With his cock buried to the hilt as he fucks you, telling you how worth it this is going to be.

You lay down on your stomach, then wrap your calves around his thick thighs, bucking back into him. Nico’s hand wraps around your stomach as he goes aggressively silent. The sound of your skin clapping together fills the room as you work him over. His hand slides down from your stomach, fingertips rubbing your clit to get you clenching him tighter. Your body curls inwards as he starts to thrust deep into you again, awkward, jerky movements that hint at what he is about to do.

“Come on, Neeks. Fill me.” You beg him as he leans forward to connect your back with his front.

“You.. fuck. Babe!” He groans as he comes inside of you. You follow him, pushed over the edge by his uninhibited moans as he coats your walls. You clench him deeper with each pulse of your orgasm, milking him for all he is worth. Nico collapses onto your back, staying buried inside of you, balls resting on the back of your thighs. You reach around, running your fingers along his spine in encouragement.

“Happens to the best men, baby.”

“You said that on purpose.”

“Yeah, I wanted you to fail.”

“You pay my fine then.”

“No, it’s probably 20 grand or something outrageous you rich people decided.”

“It’s like 5.” Nico kisses along your shoulder.

“I’ll pay you back in blowies.”

“Sold!” Nico chuckles, rolling out of and off you to settle on his back on the bed. His hand comes to your ass, giving it a gentle pat, then resting there calmly.

“Let it be know, on the record with the New Jersey Devils locker room, that Nico Hischier made it 6 days into No Nut November.” You high five yourself with a snicker. Nico sighs, eyes closed with a blissed out smile on his face.

“Worth every fucking penny.” His hand slaps your ass hard, filling the room with the distinct sound of a job well done.

#nico hischer smut #nico hischier x reader #hockey writing #my writing #nico hischier #nhl fan fiction #nico hischier fic #New Jersey devils #writing request

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dalekofchaos · 3 months

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Friendly reminder. Bruce Wayne hung up the suit and retired after THREATENING someone with a gun and this was his reaction.

And then his immediate reaction is to shut down and close the Batcave and his only words were. "Never again"

A truly tragic, but fitting way for Bruce’s career to end. Powerful stuff. Batman's career ended the same way it began: with a desperate man wielding a gun

Batman choosing not to be weak like Joe Chill >>>> Batman going on a killing spree because fighting crime is hard.

And by the way, since Zack Snyder says his inspiration was Dark Knight Returns, I got news for you, TDKR Batman doesn't kill either.

Zack Snyder is a complete blithering fucking idiot.

his statement on Batman just lines up with what I’ve seen from all of his work. He likes the idea of the comics he makes movies out of but he doesn’t actually understand their themes. A Batman that kills is pointless. An edgy Superman is not only the most boring way to write him, but doesn’t make any sense without the wholesome one. That’s why injustice Superman/brightburn/Plutonian/omniman/homelander kind of make sense in their own ways because the original exists to compare them to.(mostly also boring though) His take on watchmen was pretty much devoid of any of the actual commentary from the graphic novel, but instead was just a dark justice league that were pretty bad at their jobs. Rorschach was just framed as a kind of unhinged Batman, but still a badass that does good, which is wildly generous compared to the way he’s originally written. I can understand turning your brain off and coasting through an action movie, but his fans are delusional if they think he does any of these stories justice. I wouldn’t take any of his comments seriously if they would stop letting him make these mediocre movies.

Zack Snyder is all flash and no substance. His films are visually stunning but utterly lacking in compelling storytelling.

The point of Batman is he cannot 'stoop to their level'. He HAS to be better, he HAS to believe these criminals can be rehabilitated, because if he kills them, he becomes just like them. With his wit, his intellect, he could future proof the city against crime ever happening by just killing the criminals before they commit crimes based on probable statistics and similar themes. But a Batman who refuses to kill is a murderer by inaction. Every time he chooses not to put Joker in the ground, he's allowed him to slaughter dozens, hundreds more, just for a laugh. Batman is equally guilty for every one of those deaths, because he could simply kill the Joker, and stop him from ever killing again. But he doesn't. Snyder saying Batman can kill, Batman SHOULD kill, is to say that without batman doing so, or being able to, he is just as bad as the villians. Except dipshit doesn't even have his Batman kill The Joker. "Oopsie daisy, Joker got out and bombed a hospital full of people, sowwwwyyyy, I put him back in jail again dunt worry TeeHeee :3". And then next week we do it all over again. OR. You kill the Joker, and he never hurts another person again. Which is why Jason Todd works so well as a counter to batman, and SHOULD be what Snyder is looking into. The reason why Zod works so well as a villain is because Humans are flawed apes who cant be trusted to govern themselves and should be conquered, and Superman, a literal God, could fix all that, but doesn't, because of Hope. Its foolish, childish even, to consider that a solution. And when placed in the vacuum of a comic book it works because you have to suspend disbelief, and forget that Superman let a city full of people die while he punched Zod through skyscrapers.

If you want Batman to kill people, just go and read one of his 1784956th copies that kill people. Go read Midnighter. Go read Punisher. Go read Moon Knight. Go read Peacemaker. Go read Nighthawk. What is stopping you?

I'm sure all those characters have brought about the peace and prosperity and the crime-free society that a "killer Batman" was supposed to. "Punisher would clean Gotham in under a week", right, just like he cleaned Marvel's New York, didn't he?

It has to be Batman specifically the one doing the killing? The number of superheroes that kill is nowadays much higher than the number of heroes who don't. Remember how Hawkeye spent the better part of his existence being the most anti-killing Avenger? Nowadays he is known as a super-assassin that "never had a non-kill rule". Should heroes who don't kill go extinct?

I like that Batman doesn't kill people. I feel no need to turn him into something he isn't like it was done to Hawkeye. If I wanted a Batman that kills, I would go and read one of the thousand "Batman who kills" out there.

Batman should not kill and should never kill.

"Gotham would be better off if Batman just killed The Joker"

You. Miss. The. Entire. Point.

Bruce Wayne lost his parents to crime and Bruce Wayne is a child who died alongside his parents and was reborn as a creature dedicated to insuring it never happened to any other child. He made a vow never to reduce himself to the criminal scum’s level or to Joe Chill’s level. He never kills for a reason.

Batman not killing is what makes him so compelling, if he kills criminals, there is no moral conflict, he is no better than the Punisher, Wolverine or any other dark edgy hero. Hell, if he starts to take a life, Batman is no better than Ra’s Al Ghul.

In the Daredevil Netflix show, Frank Castle told Daredevil this “That’s not how this works. You cross over to my side of the line, you don’t get to come back from that. Not ever.” That alone is why Batman should not kill, not even The Joker. Bruce Wayne is not Frank Castle, stop trying to make him Frank Castle. I mean…Stan Lee was absolutely disgusted when someone called The Punisher a hero, Frank Castle is a murderer, not a hero. How is this so hard for people to understand?

I don’t want to hear that Batman killed in the old comics and I don’t want to hear Elseworld stories. It’s an established fact that Batman does not kill and it’s a big part of his character.

Guess what? We already got a Bruce who killed The Joker, it happened in the Burtonverse/Schumacherverse and he was disgusted with himself. “So, you're willing to take a life.” “Long as it's Two-Face.” “Then it will happen this way: You make the kill, but your pain doesn't die with Harvey, it grows. So you run out into the night to find another face, and another, and another, until one terrible morning you wake up and realize that revenge has become your whole life. And you won't know why.”

A huge part of Bruce’s character is that he doesn’t kill, no matter what. Same with Clark. But edgelord writers from the New 52, DCEU and the Injustice abominations think it’s cool to make heroes kill. Heroes should not kill. You can’t be a hero and a killer. IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY!

Guess what would happen if Batman kills The Joker? The Joker wins. The Joker and Batman are each trying to prove a point to society - and really to us, the readers. The Joker wants Batman to kill him because he perfectly embodies chaos and anarchy and wants to prove a point to everyone that people are basically more chaotic than orderly. This is why he is so scary: we are worried he may be right. If the Joker is right, then civilization is a ruse and we are all truly monsters inside. If the Joker can prove that Batman - the most orderly and logical and self-controlled of all of us - is a monster inside, then we are all monsters inside, and that is terrifying. The Joker is terrifying because we fear that we are like him deep down - that he is us. Batman is what we (any average person) could be at our absolute best, and the Joker is what we could be at our absolute worst. The Joker’s claim is that we are all terrible deep down, and it is only the law and our misplaced sense of justice that keeps us in line. Since Batman isn’t confined by the law, he is a perfect test case to try to get him to "break.” The Joker wants Batman to kill a person, any person, but knows that the only person Batman might ever even remotely consider killing would have to be a terrible monster, so is willing to do this himself and sacrifice himself to prove this macabre point. Batman needs to prove that it is not just laws that keep us in line, but basic human decency and our natural instinct NOT to kill. If Batman can prove this, then others will be inspired by his example (the citizens of Gotham, but again, also the readers), just as we are all inspired every day to keep civilization running smoothly and not descend into violence, anarchy, and chaos. This ability to be decent in the face of the horrors and temptations present all around us is humanity’s superpower, the superpower of each of us. The struggle of Batman and the Joker is the internal struggle of each of us. But we are inspired by Batman’s example, not the Joker’s, because Batman always wins the argument, because he has not killed the Joker.

Batman not killing matters. Batman stories to me are the ultimate tale of turning pain and suffering into something positive. That is a story that everyone can relate to because let's be honest here. The world can suck. I've experienced and probably will always experience feelings of fear of depression of anger of angst. It's in my nature as a human being to experience those things. It's in all our nature it is what we choose to do with that pain that we all feel that defines us. Batman chose to turn all those negative emotions, he feels into a symbol that can bring people. Hope that Batman will save us from pain but more importantly hope that we can all be Batman. Why do we fall? And Batman Begins explains this best “Why do we fall sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

Yes, Bruce Wayne is a flawed crazy person. He is at times mean stubborn and even abusive but he is still good. He is still someone we can aspire to be. We can try our hardest to be Superman but no human being can fly, but we can still try to be Batman We can all try to turn our pain into something good when I see Batman killing people or fans saying he killed before and he should kill The Joker, It pains me. It actually hurts my soul. Batman is not about finding a way to kill evil. But try to redeem it. His mission is an impossible task. Maybe he should kill people. Maybe he should kill The Joker, but what makes him fascinating what makes him a hero Is the fact that he has that moral code and stopped himself from crossing that line That's why I always looked up to Batman even as a kid despite all the adult subtext or mature themes superheroes are for kids. And killing is not Batman and it is not Bruce Wayne. This is why I hated the portrayal in the DCEU and the Burtonverse and why I really hated the implication that Batman killed The Joker in Batwoman. A Batman who kills is certainly not Bruce Wayne, that is an interpretation of Bruce Wayne that completely misses the point of Batman. It's easy to kill. Batman does not make the easy choice… Batman does not kill.

#DC #Batman #Batman Beyond #Bruce Wayne #Anti Zack Snyder #Anti DCEU

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scienceandstorytelling · 4 months

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I can’t stop thinking about Will Branner’s performance as Max Jägerman and how it leads to my favorite usage of the Nightmare Time leitmotif in all the Hatchetfield musicals (and why I voted for NPMD as having my favorite title number in the poll I made a while back).

Max is a well-written character who already gives me hints of a tragic villain vibe, and then Will’s performance just fleshes that out tenfold. It features the duality Starkid has been playing a lot with in this series, where you’re sympathetic towards a character while also acknowledging the terrible things they do. Max is horrible and abusive towards his classmates and has given them years of trauma. But a teenage boy does not become a Literal Monster in a vacuum.

Alongside his role as a bully, the script gives us images of Max as someone who is struggling academically and would have probably fallen through the cracks if adults didn’t idolize him for his football prowess so they can live vicariously through him as he beats the rival town in the big game. We find out that he has a shitty dad who verbally abuses him for not being macho enough. That he probably doesn’t have all the sex people say he does. That the people he bullies hate-pranking him in revenge is “the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for [him].” And then Will’s acting keeps showing us glimpses of this goofier side of Max, glimpses of the person he might have been if he wasn’t such a bully.

And for those few moments in the aftermath of the prank, you think maybe he’s going to change now that someone has shown him what he perceives to be kindness. And then he falls through the floor and that opportunity is lost. But unlike what Mayor Lauter implies, I would argue that his fate isn’t fully sealed when he dies in the Waylon House. I think the moment of no return is when he kills Richie while the leitmotif plays.

Lots of people ship Max and Richie and have headcanons that they used to be friends, and I think it’s because of the parallels between them in this song. Here we have two 18 year old boys who have both been failed by the adults around them. Both are harmed by being stereotyped. Both are in the liminal social role of being in the process of stepping out of childhood and into living their adult lives after high school. And both of them are denied those adult lives. And then they fucking sing about it. The “will you pray for me” duet is such a powerful part of the song for many reasons, and I think it’s the moment that shows us that Max is still in the process of committing to being nothing more than a vengeful spirit, or at the very least is in the last stage of that process. The thing that strikes me the most is that Max is simultaneously trying to make Richie feel insignificant and alone while also projecting his own feelings onto him. “Is this the eternal dark without a dawn?” he asks, reaching up to the sky and not looking at Richie at all.

And what fucks me up is that Max fails in this moment. Richie is not alone. He never was, and now he’s even less alone. Not only will Pete and Ruth mourn him, so will Max’s former friends. Its so notable to me that this takes place immediately after Go Go Nighthawks, where we’ve just seen everyone, including, again, Max’s “friends,” sing about how great it is that he’s gone. It’s a real Ebeneezer Scrooge moment that makes me wonder if Max has been silently haunting the school these weeks since his death and it’s only now, having watched that, that he tips over into full villain mode. Max is the one with no one to pray for him, not Richie. And Richie basically says as much, and Max kills him anyway. Richie was doomed from the start in the sense that the show literally opens with a flashforward to his death, but I think Max is doomed too. “Don’t need no one to tell me high school will be my peak,” he says in his own introductory song. I said before how they’re both on the cusp of living their whole adult lives, but I wonder if Max had trouble seeing himself that way. He already didn’t think he would amount to anything after high school. A lot of these “peaked in high school” football star characters spend their adult lives being metaphorically stuck in high school, in their teenage years, because they can’t let themselves move on from their glory days. And here Max is, literally stuck in his teenage years forever as a ghost - but not literally stuck in high school, as we see when he follows them all to the Witchwood. When he makes he grand ghostly return he says to Richie, “I’m free!” (Free from what, Max?) He certainly has the freedom of a ghost to go anywhere and do anything. And yet he traps himself in high school. He prevents himself from moving forward. And all of that is why it makes me emotional every time when he casts aside any last chance of not being the villain and strikes the first blow on Richie, these two teenagers failed by the adults and the structures around them, their fates locked together, while the leitmotif plays and takes us back to that original line from Alice’s corpse singing to Bill about how he should have been a better father: Look what happens, nightmare time.

#npmd #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetfield series #nerdy prudes must die #max jagerman

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wholoveseggs · 4 months

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Mikaelsons & Marijuana

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

420 Followers

Hello my loves, I have reached the (very important) milestone of 420 followers! So I thought it would be a fun (& very stupid) idea to do some silly little headcanons about what kind of stoner each of the Mikaelsons would be...

♡♡ Ps. This is definitely the dumbest thing I've ever written, and I didn't tag anyone because I respect your time ~ lol ~ ♡♡

1k words - Warnings: drugs use

~☮~ Klaus ~☮~

- He smoked a lot of weed in the 18th century, mostly to just pass the time. It's not something he likes to make a habit of, because it makes him feel very human and that unsettles him.

- It somehow makes him more paranoid, but about stupid things, like, what if the reason he can't find a matching sock is because Kol is trying to make him think he's going crazy? Turn the family against him? Does Elijah really know what's in his shampoo?

- He will start a new painting every time he gets high, but never finishes it because he starts a new one when he's high again, and that one looks so much better, why would he finish this one when there's such a great one he can work on?

- He also gets really fascinated by the moon, he will just lay out on the roof or in the garden and just stare at it for hours. Wondering if he could survive the vacuum of space. Everyone ignores him when he gets like this, because they are afraid if he is even slightly encouraged, he’ll do it. Imagine him in charge of the ISS?? Terrifying.

~☮~ Rebekah ~☮~

- Her fav way to get high is through edibles. She will make a whole day out of it, baking the best treats and doing lots of self-care. It makes her very giggly and snuggly.

- She loves to take long baths when she's high, they make her feel like she's floating. She uses bath bombs, candles, rose petals, soft music, etc. Creating a relaxing environment for herself.

- She prefers to be alone, treats it a lot like meditation and will get a little annoyed if someone disturbs her.

- After all of the self-care she will put on her softest pajamas and sleep for at least a whole day.

~☮~ Kol ~☮~

- Kol is a bit of a scientist, always finding a new way to consume. He will try any form; smoking, vaping, edibles, drinks, dabs, tincture. You name it.

- He prefers to just smoke it, because it has the most powerful and immediate effect. He likes to see what it will do to his brain, or make him do. It makes him a very curious boy, he will test his own limits.

- As a witch, he will get his room all smoky and do stupid spells that will cause a light show. Sometimes the spells will even backfire on him and make him lose control of his limbs, or start levitating. It's pretty funny.

- As a vampire he gets incredibly horny and hungry, and often needs to be watched over so he won't go completely off the rails.

~☮~ Davina ~☮~

- Gets frightened and doesn't like the paranoia and lack of control. But sometimes she will try it with Kol and they will just cuddle and watch her favorite movies. He never pressures her to try it and always makes her feel safe.

~☮~ Elijah ~☮~

- Always refined, he will only smoke the best hydroponics mixed with the finest tobacco. It has to be premium and it has to be a very special occasion. He has to feel like he earned it, and that's difficult to do.

- He will spend a long time rolling it, making sure it's perfect. It's got to have just the right amount of weed, be perfectly shaped, the paper has to be perfectly smooth, the rolling motion has to be flawless and the filter just right.

- He can't stand the smell and will immediately shower afterwards, then he will get dressed up in his nicest suit, sit in his study and listen to classical music.

- If he gets really high he will want affection. He will lay with you and talk about some nonsensical philosophy, try to unpack things like the meaning of life. He will whisper poetry and kiss your cheeks. It's quite endearing, he gets all blushy and bashful.

~☮~ Marcel ~☮~

- He is always up for sharing, and always has the best bud on him. He will make it a very casual experience and offer some to the other vampire's that have been good to him. It's a time for everyone to unwind and chill for a little bit.

- He's definitely just a social smoker though, when he gets high alone he can fall into melancholy.

- He loves to get high with Rebekah, he will take her on the most elaborate and romantic dates, where they just eat an enormous amount of food... And maybe find someone to drink from together.

~☮~ Hayley ~☮~

- Has tried it a few times when hanging out with the werewolves. It makes her feel calm, and the colours around her just get brighter. She doesn't really understand it and isn't that into it, but she likes that she feels more connected to her pack.

- She likes to use CBD before she transforms into a wolf. It dulls the excruciating pain that comes from that, and she's grateful that it takes her mind off the torture for just a while.

- Jackson loves it, uses it in a spiritual way and is a very good guide for her on the matter. He makes her laugh and makes her feel safe when they are alone, sharing a joint, talking about life, and their plans for the pack.

~☮~ Freya ~☮~

- It freaks her out because it makes her feel sleepy and unfocused, which she does not enjoy at all. She finds it to be a waste of her time and feels like it could never be that enjoyable to be stoned all of the time, there are so many better ways to pass the time.

- But she will experiment with using it in her magic, and will make some potent edibles for her beloved sister. She does think it has some medicinal purposes.

- She is very fascinated by it, and will watch as the other's indulge. She will be the one to find Klaus watching the moon, it amuses her to see him so carefree.

~☮~ Esther ~☮~

- Didn't know exactly what it was one thousand years ago, but liked to add some to her tea. It would make the stress of living with Mikael much easier to deal with.

- Perhaps drank too much tea one day and had the genius idea to make her children immortal. Totally worked out well for her.

~☮~ Mikael ~☮~

- Would never, makes you weak and complacent. If you wanted to be so carefree and useless you might as well be dead.

~☮~ Finn ~☮~

- Tried it once, didn't inhale.

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson #tvdu #tvd #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #davina claire #freya mikaelson #hayley marshall #jackson kenner #marcel gerard #esther mikaelson #the mikaelsons #finn mikaelson #weed #drugs #cannabis

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cerastes · 7 months

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It's a point countless others have already chimed in, but it does make me clench my fists not in anger, but out of pity, a bit when people say "The Divine Comedy was fanfic ahahaha" what Dante did was compose the way Busta Rhymes raps: In an incredibly complex manner. Except, while Busta does a song, Dante did an entire doorstopper of a book entirely in Terza Rima, which is the Italian equivalent of the escaping the Samsara just to show you could and then willingly reinserting yourself in it. Terza Rima is a complex rhyme scheme, and the entire damn book is written in it, something that becomes completely non-appreciable in other languages, except for the foreword of whoever translated any given version being something to the very polite effect of "I have no clue how he did an entire book of this, you will never understand the sheer testicular elephantitis of Dante Alighieri, just read the damn thing, I can't explain to you exactly how fucked up the original is" which obviously doesn't carry the same gravitas of 800-900 pages of rhyming in a specific style while telling the populace how you're besties with The Coolest Dude who took you on The Coolest Field Trip, and the trip was so cool that a lot of people just assumed it was canonical to the Bible Extended Universe, much to the dismay of men of the cloth all over.

I get comparing the self-insert/self-indulgent part, but I feel a bit of fist-clenching pity seeing an otherwise overarching, generalized comparison between "famed poet activated all of his syndromes and forgot to hold back to craft the weirdest combination of lyricism ever put on hardcover" and "form known mainly as the perfect marriage between the author wanting to see two characters from a show kiss and the author wanting to project trauma and/or touch starvation through popcorn prose", the latter of which is whatever and I don't mind in a vacuum and by itself, but does get a bit goofy if compared as intimately as the statement suggests with the former.

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sashaisready · 4 days

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This Must Be The Place: Chapter 10 - I'm just an animal looking for a home

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, betrayal mentions of grief, mentions of abandoned animals

I'm so sorry...is all I can say....

You didn’t tell Bucky how you felt.

How could you?

You had both agreed to enter into a casual, physical relationship, no commitments – no labels or heavy stuff. And it wasn’t just that you wanted to explore if it could turn into something more…you were in love with this man! You’d tried your best to deny your feelings, to remind yourself it was casual – a mantra you repeated to yourself over and over in your head like a prayer.

But praying wasn’t working.

You continued the same dance with him. The same routine, the same dynamic. Every tender kiss he gave you, every knowing look, every sweet word. Hell, even the teasing had you hooked. You were in too deep, foolishly wading further and further in, despite the rising water threatening to swallow you whole.

Not to mention the added complication of only being here temporarily…

You knew you should break it off. Withdraw from him and protect your heart. Even quit the bar to ensure you didn’t get hurt further down the line. But every time you tried, your resolve faltered as he smiled at you, as he scooped your hair behind your ear, and suddenly you were back in his arms as he weighted you like an anchor. Every part of you screamed to leave, to preserve yourself and protect your peace, but you simply couldn’t pull away. You never were very good at resisting temptation. And you always fell hard.

You tried to channel your energy into other things. Productive things. Distracting yourself from your inner turmoil. In the background you continued to chip away at Granny’s house: donating her belongings, putting stuff on local free pages, painting walls, varnishing wood, sorting her photos and keeping them safe. You still hadn’t fixed the damn fence yet, but you’d bought the wood at least. It was shaping up well.

One afternoon you were sorting through a closet upstairs, killing time before your bar shift and doing your best to keep your mind off you-know-who. As you stacked boxes and vacuumed dust, you came across a shoebox of mementos stuffed under some winter blankets. Pressed flowers, letters from Granny’s friends, souvenirs she’d bought on vacations. You smiled to yourself, always happy to find a piece of her as you rummaged. It felt wrong to throw this stuff out, this was a life lived.

At the very bottom of the box laid a musty, discoloured envelope. You picked it up, inspecting the yellowed paper. Written across the front, in Granny’s instantly recognisable scrawl, read ‘For the animal shelter’. You nearly choked up as you opened it, finding a stack of old bills sealed inside. Crumpled and worn dollars, mainly small bills, she must’ve added a buck or two here and there every time she had change. You counted it carefully – around $175 in total, meticulously grown over what might’ve been months...maybe years.

Granny had loved all animals, but she had a deep affection for cats and dogs. Especially the senior ones, the disabled ones, the ‘difficult’ ones that nobody else wanted. You knew the shelter in town well, she volunteered there years ago and would often drag moody, teenage you along with her – not stoked to be mopping up elderly dogs’ pee or getting scratched up by some feral cat. But Granny loved them all, even if she did take more bites and scratches to her arms than you’d expect an elderly lady to manage.

$175 was hardly an earth-shattering sum of money, but it was a physical reminder of Granny’s passion for animals. Adding a dollar ever so often from her pension, the odd cleaning job she sometimes did around town – this was a labour of love. You closed the envelope back up and held it tightly to your chest as you felt the tears swim in your eyes, the least you could do was get it to the shelter for her.

You got to work – calling the shelter and explaining, the lady on the phone remembered your Granny and was delighted to hear from you. You shared anecdotes about Granny’s shelter days, laughing fondly about how fearless she was when giving the cats their baths, wearing oven mitts like armour. It felt good, like a piece of her was still with you.

You agreed you’d drop the cash off and hung up, carefully removing the wad from the envelope, and putting it in your purse. But after getting swept up in a myriad of tasks – cleaning, painting, organising, (occasional Bucky pining), the day got away from you. Before you knew it, it was dusk – and your shift was starting shortly. You threw on some jeans and a flannel shirt, grabbing your purse and heading out to your car. You’d go to the shelter tomorrow, instead.

As you sat in the driver’s seat, your phone buzzed. You picked it up and read the message from a number you didn’t recognise.

Hey…It’s Peter, from the snake pit? I asked you for your number a few weeks ago? From the plant...you probably get hit on all the time so I wanted to specify. Sorry I haven’t been in touch, I thought I lost the napkin you wrote your number on but just found it again. I’d still love to hang out if you wanna?

You smiled to yourself. You’d forgotten about Peter!

Bucky had made sure of that.

You still liked him, but now the plot had thickened with Bucky you couldn’t really meet up. If you were honest, your heart was with another man…even if you weren’t sure how it was all going to pan out. It would be wrong to lead Peter on while you were…distracted.

You didn’t have the bandwidth to compose an eloquent text that said all that kindly, so you put your phone down and made a mental note to respond later.

The Snake Pit was already pretty busy when you arrived, a steady thrum of activity at the bar as Tom panickily tried to keep up with the beers being ordered by a large group of rambunctious guys. One was dressed in a pink and fluffy tutu, but nothing surprised you working here. You greeted Steve as you moved behind the bar and jumped into work. He was holding a security camera again.

“Bachelor party,” he said nonchalantly as he fiddled with a screwdriver. “Been here a while”.

“I figured,” you laughed as you gestured to the man in the pink. “Looks fun”.

Steve grunted in response and carried on with his task.

“Camera gone again?”

“Mm. We got the repair guy coming tomorrow. Just seeing if I can get it working for tonight as we got a blind spot over the bar”.

“Damn thing,” you muttered as you moved to serve another customer.

Bucky suddenly appeared from the back office, shooting you a warm smile as he passed.

“Hey, Sugar,” he said softly.

“Hey Buck. Busy tonight,” you replied as you gave the customer his drink. You felt a surge of butterflies as Bucky beamed at you.

“How we like it. Let me know if you need any help back here, okay Sug? Happy to jump in and save you if needed,” he grinned as he leaned over the bar and looked at you devilishly.

You nodded bashfully as he winked and headed over to the rest of the MC in their usual corner.

As you looked back at Steve, he was watching you questioningly.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than intended as you felt his piercing gaze.

Steve didn’t respond, he just looked over at Bucky then back at you. He knows, he definitely knows. You felt your face flush, but Steve didn’t elaborate – going back to his broken camera as if nothing had been said.

The night rumbled on; all business as usual. Steve couldn’t get the camera working so eventually took up his usual post in the corner booth, overseeing the kingdom.

The bachelor party kept you busy, ordering huge rounds at a time – multiple shots and mixed drinks. At one point, feeling a little overwhelmed, you glanced over at Bucky who was already looking over in your direction. You didn’t say anything, but he saw the fatigue on your face and nodded – making his way over. Wordlessly he slipped between you and Tom, easing the workload, and taking a few orders. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze under the bar, a silent thank-you for coming to help. His eyes met yours and he smiled, and for a second it was just the two of you there – the noise of the bar fading to silence as you looked at one another.

The night continued, the MC playing pool and darts and laughing as they mingled with the customers. Even Amber had turned up at some point, which surprised you, but she seemed to be having fun with her friends and didn’t try to talk to Bucky. Thor had somehow ended up wearing the pink tutu from the bachelor party, which made you laugh.

You worked alongside Bucky who would steal touches every chance he got, your waist…your hip…and you’d make conspiratorial eye contact before going back to work. It all felt right and easy, like it had always been the two of you here.

Maybe it was the energy of the room, or working shoulder to shoulder to Bucky, your sheer exhaustion, or the emotional punch of Granny’s shelter money earlier…but you found yourself hurtling towards a decision.

You were going to tell Bucky how you felt.

If he rejected you…that would hurt. But at least you’d know you tried. You wouldn’t always wonder what might have been, you wouldn’t beat yourself up years later about the question mark hovering over the one that got away. You’d be living your truth, that was the most important thing. Granny had taught you that. You owed it to her memory.

And if he reciprocated your feelings? What did that mean for you leaving?

Well…that was a little more complicated. But you’d figure it out.

“My place tonight, Sug?” Bucky whispered in your ear as you restocked the bottle fridge.

You nodded as you stood up, smiling as he cheekily patted your ass and glanced around to check he had gone unseen. You elbowed him playfully. “Down, boy”.

You felt yourself buzzing as the night drew to a close, practically vibrating with anticipation. You didn’t know exactly what you were going to say, you were just going to be honest and tell him everything. You felt a mix of nausea and excitement as you cleaned up.

“Gotta go…I got an early morning,” Tom said urgently as he rushed past you.

“Okay. See ya!” you shot back cheerily as he hastily waved and catapulted out of the door.

You wiped down the bar as Bucky cashed out the register. A few members of the MC sat on bar stools, sipping after-hours beers and shooting the shit. Amber and the girls were there too, giggling with Thor and admiring the tutu he was somehow still wearing all these hours later.

“All good?” Steve asked Bucky.

You looked up, surprised to see Bucky’s brow furrowed as he peered between the cash bags and a handful of receipts.

“The register is down some…” he muttered as he looked back at the receipts. “Nearly a couple hundred bucks…”

Steve mirrored his friend’s frown. “Weird…” he commented as he moved to look himself, picking up the receipts. “Normally we can be out $20-30 if someone hit the wrong button once or twice…but that’s a lot…”

“Yeah. Must be a mistake…” Bucky grumbled and turned to you. “Sug, were you aware of any register fuck-ups tonight?” his voice was calm, not accusatory. “Any chance Tom put through a glass of wine as a bottle or something?”

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head. “Normally Tom tells me if he makes a mistake…and he’s been much better, lately. It was busy tonight so its possible mistakes were made, but I can’t think of anything that would cause such a large discrepancy…”

Bucky shrugged as Steve began to re-count the bills. “I’m sure there’s an explanation…maybe I’m just terrible at math,” he winked at you roguishly.

You smiled fondly at him as you contained to wipe up and Bucky disappeared into the back.

“Oohh who’s got sticky fingers??” joked Sam from his bar stool as he elbowed Scott. “Someone helping themselves to a lil’ bonus?”

The group laughed and mock accused each other. You began to giggle as Sam dramatically mimed a burglar stance and pretended to lean over the register to pilfer cash. One of the girls pretended to be a cop, chasing him around the bar with a box of napkins.

Everyone’s laughter and merriment was halted when Bucky suddenly re-emerged, shouting your name so loudly that each head snapped to look in his direction. The entire room was now silent as he stood facing you.

You felt your blood run cold. The tone he had used was never one you’d heard from him before. It was…icy and soulless. Even when he’d been mad at you he’d never called to you liked that. You blinked in confusion as he glared at you, his face an angry snarl. There were no traces of the softness and affection you’d seen in those same eyes just minutes before. This was the President of the Howling Commandos MC addressing you, not Bucky.

“Buck…” you started but he cut you off, lobbing your purse onto the bar in front of you.

You stared at it in confusion as he suddenly dipped his hand inside, throwing its contents out as you could only stare, your bewilderment fusing you to the spot and rendering you speechless. Your keys, your wallet, your water bottle all bouncing off the bar as the group began to protest.

“Bucky man what the fu-”

“Dude! Not cool! What?”

And then silence as he held up what he’d been looking for.

A wad of cash.

The room went silent again bar a few gasps and mumbled whispers. Your heart fell into your stomach as you realised what he thought it was.

“Bucky…that’s not-” you futilely tried to explain.

“What? It’s not what?” he barked as he slammed the cash onto the bar. His eyes were ablaze with rage. “Not the cash you stole from the register? Just a pile of bills that made its way into your bag?”

“No! No! It’s my Granny’s! I found it at her house!” you shot back desperately, your voice high from the horror of the accusation. “She wanted to donate it…I found it in an envelope in her closet. I was going to drop it off today but I lost track of time and-”

“Save it,” he warned through gritted teeth. “Don’t lie to my face. Don’t try and use your dead grandmother to cover up your lie”.

You blanched, your face crumpling as you took a step back in horror. How…how could he think this of you? How could he say that?

“I’m not lying,” you said softly.

“Can we check the security footage?” Sam asked calmly. “If she says she didn’t do it…the footage will show that-”

“That camera’s out,” Steve interjected monotonously. “Blind spot”.

“And she knew that…” Bucky snarled.

“I didn’t do it,” you squeaked out, the humiliation swelling as tears fell down your face. You could feel the collective gaze of the Howling Commandos on you but were too mortified to look at them.

“If she says she didn’t do it…” Nat reasoned, but Bucky cut her off as he glared at you.

“I can’t believe you’d do this. After everything. I give you a job here. I get you all set up. I trusted you…I…I…” he looked pained, running his hand through his hair.

You thought he was going to say something about the two of you, but you watched him swallow and look around, then he suddenly seemed to remember the others were there. You tried to explain yourself, babbling with objection but he continued to talk over you.

“I…And you lied to my face about it? And even now I’m holding the money and you still deny it? And you know the worst thing? If you needed cash…I would’ve helped you out. If you had just asked rather than stuck your hand in the register…Shit. Is this the first time? Or just the first time you got caught? Have you been doing it since day one?”

“Buck…” Steve said, his tone difficult to establish.

Your insides swirled as your eyes focused on the discarded purse in front of you. You simply couldn’t believe he would do this to you. In front of everyone. Did he really think you were a thief? That you were capable of such a thing? That you’d lay in his bed and kiss him awake each morning, hold him tightly and whisper sweet nothings to him, then steal a few dollars from his business? Did he really think you’d risk your job and your relationship with him for less than two hundred bucks? Did he think you’d do that to the person you loved?

Well. Yes. Clearly, he did.

Your heartbreak became something hotter as your tears felt warm on your face. You thought about the betrayal of him digging through your bag in the back office, despite being sweet as pie to you beforehand. How he didn’t believe you, didn’t even want to hear you out. It was clear he had never trusted you. Even after everything. It suddenly hit you that he could never return your feelings, not if this is how he treated you.

Your hands twisted into fists at your sides, and you finally looked up at him, your face flushed, your hairline sweaty.

“I didn’t do it,” you told him flatly. He scoffed and tried to interrupt but you kept going, your voice starting to even out as your anger focused and grounded you.

“I told you. That money is for the animal shelter. Don’t believe me? Call them. I spoke to them about it today. I told them I was dropping off $175 in cash from Granny”.

You picked up the bills and pushed them into his chest. “Look at them. Look at how old they are, how they’re obviously stale and untouched. They’re not fresh out of a register from some guy’s wallet, they’re old and they’ve clearly been in stored somewhere a bundle for a while”.

You snatched them away and forced them into Steve’s hands. “See?”

He looked down at them, his brows furrowed with concern as one of his fingers ran over the crease of the pile. His eyes flickered to Bucky then back to you. “They do look kinda old…”

Bucky didn’t speak, but you saw a suggestion of panic in his eyes.

“I don’t steal. And I don’t need this job,” you barked, throwing the cleaning rag onto the ground. “I don’t work for people who don’t trust me. Maybe ask your buddy Tom about this, the guy who still can’t get through a shift without at least one fuck up, who also knew about the camera, and and zoomed outta here like he’d just been paroled”.

“Tom wouldn’t…” began Bucky but you cut him off again, your tone dripping with venom.

“Stick this job up your ass. Stick your head up your ass. And keep the damn cash. I’ll fund the donation myself”.

You threw the cash at Bucky who flinched. His eyes suddenly wouldn’t meet yours. You then picked up the tossed items from your purse and quickly shoved them all back in, your hands shaking. You wiped your eyes on the the back of your hand and looked up at the MC, who all stared back at you solemnly. Their expressions ranged from confusion to pity.

You nodded at them, then made your way to the door on wobbly legs.

“Wait…” called out a voice.

You turned, coming face to face with Amber who watched you with interest. Your heart sank. You couldn’t take anything else. Alright. She won. Take him. Just leave you be.

“I believe you,” she said gently, then offered a small, sad smile.

You smiled back as you choked on your surprise, chewing on the sides of your mouth as you tried to stop the tears. Who would’ve thought she’d be your one ally?

“Thank you, Amber”, you managed quietly.

Bucky had his back to you, seemingly unable to face you. Coward, you thought.

And then you were gone.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

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the-blue-eyed-firebender · 2 months

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Just a lil Royai fic rec.

I'm new to the FMA fandom, but these two now live in my head rent-free. And so do these fics. Enjoy!

Catharsis by kekkubean

Rating: M

Word count: 5K

Summary: She knew better. And now a little girl was dead because she wanted to believe that her father’s behavior existed in a vacuum.

Or,

When Riza learns of the Tucker incident, she doesn't handle it well.

Excerpt: At her feet, Hayate whined, she imagined disapprovingly. It was definitely too early to be drinking, although thankfully she skipped training him on understanding the appropriate hours for alcohol consumption. Riza met his gaze and they regarded each other for a moment as the burning subsided slowly. Hayate cocked his head to the side, curious, and whined again softly, as if he could read her wretched mind.

She briefly, morbidly wondered if Alexander and Nina shared thoughts, or if one of their minds dominated the other in that body, or if it were an entirely new—

Riza slammed her palms on the table, instantly suppressing the thought, and abruptly pushed herself up to standing. Hayate jumped and slinked off into her bedroom. She stood swaying for a moment, trying to gain her balance and some semblance of her sanity.

My thoughts: This one is canon to me. I can offer no higher praise for a fic. Before reading this, I never considered how Nina's fate might affect Riza, but it just makes so much damn sense. The way kekkubean writes trauma is blade-sharp. And the pacing, the dialogue, the characterization - exquisite.

Anytime by myrhymesarepurer

Rating: G

Word count: 838

Summary: It was not his Captain standing there in front of him. It was his master's daughter, so brutally burdened with ink, secrets so cruelly exposed to the world by one blasted broken zipper.

Excerpt: She lifted her head and blinked, feeling a great bit foolish that she stood in front of her superior, tortured over an issue he managed to solve in, oh, less than one second.

How very Roy Mustang.

My thoughts: I've read this so many times. It's one of the first I read in this fandom, and I keep coming back to it. It's short, poetically formatted, and utterly perfect in it's simplicity.

Beautiful People by That Hoopy Frood

Rating: T

Word count: 6.4K

Summary: Soon after the conclusion of the Ishvalan Civil War, Captain Maes Hughes receives a phone call in the middle of the night. The message is short, concise... and perhaps the most terrifying thing Hughes has ever heard.

Hawkeye's apartment. Now. Come alone. Someone has been hurt.

A promise was once made amidst the sands of a distant desert land: oaths will be upheld, and secrets will be scorched away. The sinful had waited too long; Roy Mustang was indebted to his promise, and Riza Hawkeye had come to collect.

Shut the door; it's starting to rain.

Excerpt: "You asked her to follow you… she would have walked over burning coals for you…" Hughes felt hot, angry tears running down his face. His glasses fogged. His voice cracked. "You were supposed to fall in love with her, Roy! You were supposed to marry her and have kids and be just be happy for once in your goddamned miserable life… now look what you've done. Look at what you've done."

My thoughts: Riza's back-burning is one of the most starkly absent scenes from the FMA canon. The scene has been written and rewritten in fanfiction many times, but this particular fic fills the gap in a way that is just perfectly brutal and raw. The addition of Hughes' presence makes the whole thing cut like a knife. Like Catharsis, this one is canon in my mind.

And now, a shameless plug:

The Counteroffer by theblueeyedfirebender

Rating: T

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: On the eve of Mustang’s inauguration as Fuhrer, Riza Hawkeye submits her resignation.

Excerpt: He pulls a manila envelope from the drawer and stands, sliding it across the surface of the desk in her direction. Her gaze falls to the hand he’s extended, long fingers and pale skin, the lingering scar of a transmutation circle still faintly visible, crosswise marred by another, thicker scar, twin to one on his other hand.

Something snags in her throat, but she swallows it down and picks up the envelope. It’s thin, like it contains nothing at all. “What is this, sir?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, as if the routine honorific has stuck him somewhere unexpected. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. “A counteroffer.”

My thoughts: My first-ever FMA fic, complete with an ACOMAF Chapter 54-inspired confession (iykyk).

#if you know any of these authors on tumblr please tag them #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #fanfic #fanfiction #royai fic #royai fanfiction #royai #fma royai #maes hughes #black hayate #ao3 #fic rec #fma brotherhood #fmab #fma fanfiction #full metal alchemis brotherhood

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vashsmunch · 7 months

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Nico NSFW

Wolfwood x GN! Reader (MINORS DNI!)

Synopsis: uhh shapeshifting Spanish wolfman grrr woof woof

Tags: 7.3k words, sort of hurt/comfort(?), slight electrical play, orgasm denial (not really), mention of blood, praise kink, oral, fingering, voyeurism (not really), emotional sex, PORN

A/N: okay, so this is the LONGEST thing i've ever written. like ever LMAO :') i've also never written ww before so please lemme know if i need to change the characterization! and yes he speaks spanish, he's a dog that suddenly speaks spanish don't question it

dedicated to bee, jackson and alexa

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Mi tesero... please..."

You froze in the front doorway as the words rang throughout the house. More like a plea? Your mind spun with a million thoughts, and none of them could have explained that sound just then.

The day had been pretty mundane, at least until you heard that noise just then. You had left your new puppy alone in his crate so you could go out to run errands, just picking up groceries, a couple of treats, and other things. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach as your thoughts ran to the worst, and you couldn't help but curse yourself for being careless. God, what if he had hurt himself?

When you first adopted him, he was very apprehensive, snapping and snarling at you every time you got close. Hostile might be a better word, considering how he had almost bitten off your hands more than once. He wouldn't sleep around you either, and it was only when you were out did he collapsed from exhaustion.

Honestly, this behavior wasn't shocking considering the place he came from. When you stepped foot into the shelter, the first thing you noticed was the smell. The place was musty in every sense of the word, and you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose when you saw the owner. He was unshaven, unkempt, and looked as if vacuum dust had been personified into a man.

As he took you to the back where all the animals were held, your heart broke into tiny pieces. Lining the walls were dozens of cramped and dirty crates, each of them housing a different dog. One thing they all had in common was their appearance: matted fur, sunken faces, and dull eyes. You had to avert your eyes from their tired gazes, fearing that you might break down entirely if you looked too closely. The owner's words flew in and out of your ear as you kept your eyes trained on the floor, walking until you felt something ground you to your spot. You looked up and to your right to see a huge puppy, an insanely large one at that. He had long black fur and a piercing stare, it was intimidating, to say the least. Upon closer inspection, you saw that he had scars branding the length of his body, and they looked like crucifixes.

What kind of religious Catholic fucks…

You took a step closer and he immediately tensed up, growling loudly. His eyes were filled with pure hatred, and you couldn't tell if it was towards you, the owner, or both of you. You were kind of glad metal bars were keeping the two of you divided, the chances of him lunging forward and attacking you were high.

The owner's eyes glanced over to you transfixed, and he let out a heavy and somewhat irritated sigh. "Ah, him. Don't bother, he's a lost cause. The last owners gave him in pretty bad shape, and he don't trust anyone now."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as he said this, knowing that the conditions the poor puppy was in weren't helping. Anything would be miserable in a dump like that.

As the rather pessimistic tour resumed, you couldn't help but let your thoughts wander back to that dog. Were the odds of him mutilating you to the bone high? Yes. But were you also ready to take that chance? The answer was clear. You stopped the owner in his tracks, pointing back at the puppy's cage.

"I want him."

He gave you a rather incredulous look, then shrugged as if he could give less of a damn. "Your funeral, buddy."

It had taken weeks to carefully break down his walls piece by piece, and slowly he grew to understand you weren't a threat. The way he'd lay next to you on the couch and nuzzle your hand to get you to pet him, made your heart thrum and ache all at the same time. Who had hurt him so badly? Your hand would run through his soft black fur, caressing his ears and a soft laugh left your lips as his tail thumped onto the sofa pillows. Sometimes, he'd wait for you by the door when you stepped out for just a moment, either to talk to neighbors or grab the mail. When you came back, his black eyes lit up with a brightness that you had only prayed for when you first took him home. It was that day you made a promise to yourself; No matter what the case was, you'd never do the same to him.

With that in mind, you raced through the house, almost slipping on the steps in the stairwell in your hurry. "Wolfwood? Baby?" As you got closer to your bedroom, you heard a sound that turned your feelings from anxiety to confusion, then to complete and utter ruin.

There were moans. There was moaning coming from inside the room. Heavy panting, sounds of your bed frame creaking, and little whimpers of your name.

“God... fuck... FUCK."

You jumped as a yell rang out past the door, the voice sounding desperate and needy. It was followed by a broken whine, and it was only then that you realized what the voice sounded like.

It couldn't be. Could it..?

To soothe your curiosity, and out of pure worry for your beloved pet, you cracked the door open to look inside. You couldn't help the way your eyes bugged out as you were greeted with a scene that you weren't expecting in the slightest. A dark-haired tanned man was sitting on the edge of your bed, hunched over as he fisted his cock with a piece of fabric. The cries and curses that spilled from his lips had your knees weak, and this would've been all fine and dandy if it weren't for the fact that a MAN was in your bedroom. Realization came to you as you stumbled back a bit, as you finally understood the gravity of the situation. There was a stranger (a handsome stranger) in your bedroom, leaving no indication as to how he got into your house, and even less as to why he was jerking off. In your ROOM.

You stood there flabbergasted as the grunts continued, each one making you grow even more aroused to your dismay. Was this some kind of sick fantasy you didn't realize you had until now? Whatever. Composing yourself, you took some steps closer to press your face against the crack of the door again, determined to take a closer look at him. For whatever you knew, this could be some sick maniac freak hellbent on killing you. That would explain how he had gotten into your apartment without triggering the alarm system. As your eyes glanced around the room, you noticed the little details you hadn't before. The bed sheets were absolutely trashed, messed up with rips all over them, and your dresser drawers were opened, looking like they had been rummaged through. There was a suspicious-looking puddle of white liquid on the floor, and you didn't even want to think about the possibilities of what that could be. Your eyes flickered back to the man, and you felt your heart stop. Was that…

There's no way.

That was YOUR underwear. That was your fucking underwear he was jerking himself off with.

Before you could let out an earth-shattering shriek because of the pure terror the scene had let wash over your body, you took a closer look at his chest. It was then that you froze. There were two crucifix scars branded onto the skin, almost like they had been seared on with a fiery iron. Each one ran down the length of his torso and stomach starting from his nipple, and the pale flesh was a stark contrast to the melanin he possessed. As you stared some more, it occurred to you that they seemed familiar. Almost too familiar. And that's when it hit you: that was Wolfwood. You weren't sure how, and you couldn't even begin to rationalize it in your brain, but that was him. You could just feel it. That was your puppy, turned into a fully grown adult man, and that man was fucking himself with your underwear.

Suddenly, you slipped through the door, and you lost your balance. You fell to the floor, and you kept your gaze fixed on the ground as complete horror struck your body again. There was pin-drop silence in the room, and you couldn't even bring yourself to look up at him. No matter what the case, you had been spying on him masturbating. The thought in itself sounded so unlike you, but that's how it was. And now you couldn't help the sweat that beaded on the edge of your forehead, completely dreading what happened next.

Out of the corner of your view, there was a flash of black before your back hit the floor with a dull thud. You blinked your eyes open to see dark brown irises staring into your very soul, as a tight pressure formed on your wrists. It took you a few seconds to register that the man had you pinned on the ground, his body hovering over yours. His very NAKED body, hovering over yours. Before you even got the chance to become embarrassed, a low growl left his lips.

"Dulce pecadora... You were gone for way too fucking long." Wolfwood started nipping and licking at your neck, each long stroke of his tongue sending full-body shivers down your spine. He tugged at your head to give him more access to your skin as he started to roam his hands down the length of your body before his hands settled on your hips.

You hissed softly, getting lost in the feeling of him touching you before you pushed him away, panting. "Wait... Wolfwood, wait."

He let out an impatient huff as he sat back on his heels, and it was only then that you noticed his tail wagging back and forth. You hadn't realized the fact that he still had his tail and ears, as well as his abnormally long claws. They dug into the flesh of his thigh as he stared at you annoyed, his throbbing cock slapping against his navel. It was freakishly big (just like the rest of him) and you pulled your eyes away to meet his gaze. "Explain."

"What is there to explain?" Wolfwood rolled his eyes, seeming to get more irritated by the second, and you didn't even know why.

“I don't know, maybe the fact that I had a dog, and now a grown-ass man is masturbating in my bed? You know I almost called the police on you right?"

His eyes darkened at the mention of the police, and you couldn't help but feel there was something deeper there that needed to be discussed. However, you pushed it aside and rested your body on your forearms, looking up at him. "What exactly are you?"

"I'm a man. Clearly."

“What are you really?"

"Ay Dios mío," A deep sigh left his lungs as he looked at you intensely. There was a mixture of emotions that you couldn't decipher, but there was one that you recognized without a doubt. Lust. You'd unpack that later. "I didn't stutter, I'm a man. There are uncertainties ‘round it that I'm not even sure ‘bout, but the fact is I'm human now and that's it."

You glanced around him to stare at his tail, then back at him.

"For the most part, anyways."

Sitting up, you rubbed your temples becoming keenly aware of the situation you just landed yourself into. Your presumed dog was now an actual person and said person had started calling you pet names whilst kissing and licking at your neck. "Okay, so what is..." You waved your hand at the mess that had become your room. Now that you looked closer, it turns out that mysterious liquid on the floor was cum. Great. "...This?"

"Rut."

You stared at him incredulously, completely lost. Did he just say rut? You knew very little about animal biology (did he even count as an animal anymore?), and at no point had you ever been interested in whatever could make one come a literal puddle onto the hardwood you had just cleaned the other night. But the way he was looking at you, and the way his cock started to swell and grow impossibly bigger, you could get a general idea. "What, like some kind of sex craze thing?"

"More or less. 'M gonna be honest, I didn't even know this shit was a thing until..." Wolfwood looked up and down your body with a gaze so impossibly hungry, that you thought you'd melt on the spot. "You. This whole thing is ‘cause of you. And now... I need you to take responsibility."

There was a blink. A second one. Then suddenly your whole body was flooded with heat as you looked at him, eyes blown wide open again just like when you first looked into the room. You could see the faintest of deep red blooming at the base of his neck, and it somewhat comforted you that he also understood the ludicrousy of what he just said. "Excuse me?"

Wolfwood let out a string of Spanish words that you could only assume to be curses as he stood up. Your eyes immediately flickered down to his pulsing cock; his tip was already beading with precum, and you couldn't help but wonder how many rounds he had done before you came in. You hurried to your feet as he started to come closer, and soon he had you pinned against the door, closing it shut. His breath was hot and heavy with exasperation against your face, and he trailed a long nail up the skin of your arm and shoulder before it rested underneath your chin. Your mind spun with a thousand thoughts as he tilted his head at you, raising your chin to meet his gaze. "You can deny all you want, but if you were truly against it, you wouldn't have been watchin’ me, mi picante." He smirked at you, running a tongue over his bottom lip as he watched you squirm.

Then, his face got rather serious as he pressed his forehead against yours. He was burning up, his skin impossibly hot as he shut his eyes, seeming to relish the feeling of you being so near. "Look. I know this is... weird. Hell, if there's anyone confused, it's me. But I need you. Like I haven't needed anything else before. Will you help me? Like you did before?"

You felt a part of you melt at his words, knowing he was referring to the shelter. It hadn't occurred to you that as much as you need someone to be near, he was probably craving that too. Whatever happened in his past, it made him cold and calloused and it was clear that you were the only one he trusted in that moment. And with that in mind, who were you to deny?

A soft sigh escaped you as you stepped forward to press a kiss against his cheek. "So, so needy, aren't you, Nico?"

He froze in his place, notably getting even hotter as his tail started wagging. You couldn't help but smile, he really was just a puppy at heart. Nicholas D. Wolfwood, that was his full name. Rather long, but it just felt right when you first got him. You didn't pull out that nickname unless it was for special occasions, and you felt like this qualified as one. A hand trailed up his cheek to scratch behind the ears on his head, and he let out a broken whine. Slowly, you pressed him backward to lay on the bed, throwing the ruined bedsheets to the side. You couldn't help but note the way his legs trembled at your touch, and you filed that away in a separate compartment in your brain. You'd be using that later.

His body writhed underneath you as you continued your ministrations, kissing up and down his neck. You let your hands roam the dips and curves of his body, paying special attention to his scars. He tensed up and you eased your touch, coming up to his face to kiss him gently on the lips. "Hey, hey... it's okay. It's me, remember? I won't hurt you, I promise."

God, how you wished he would believe you. More than anything you wanted to find those assholes who had broken him to the core and make sure they didn't live to see another day. Wolfwood, as strong as he was, was just another being. Despite whatever happened, now he was human. JUST a human. Someone capable of any and all emotions. He could feel joy, suffer from sorrow, and even this. Even this "rut" he was going through. And while it had been off-putting at first, all of this amounted to the fact that none of it would change how you felt. You cared about him like you had never cared about anyone else before. Just like he needed you, you needed him. Ever since he came into your life, there was something to actually look forward to. The days that had once been bleak and dark were now filled with life, and it was all because of him. He with all his gruffness, sarcasm, and sassiness, even as a puppy, was your reason for living. And you'd be damned if you let anyone else treat him as anything less.

You felt Wolfwood caress your cheek with his large and calloused hand, and his thumb brushed at the skin. "You're crying." It wasn't a question as to why, more of a remark.

“Yeah... I guess I am." You let out a soft laugh as more tears flooded your vision and streamed down your cheeks. How utterly unsexy of you, but you couldn't give a damn. All this time, it had never really occurred to you just how much you cared about him. It had only been a matter of time before the feelings spilled out. And here they were, crashing over your body like a tidal wave as you shook violently. You held him close and sobbed into his shoulder, saying nonsensical words that neither you nor him could decipher. There were whispers of apologies, utters of praise and then some more.He said nothing and just held you; at that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. He was the gift you never knew you needed, and you couldn't help but internally scoff at the nickname they had given him back at the shelter. The Punisher.

If he was such, then maybe masochism really was something you were into.

Eventually, he broke the silence with a quiet gruff. "You're crushin' my dick, ya know."

You let out a loud laugh as you moved off of him, kissing his forehead as an apology.

"Sorry, sorry," You wiped the tears off your face and sat on the bed next to him, absentmindedly tracing patterns onto the flesh of his thigh. "Can you explain more to me about what you need right now? Yes, you're in... rut. But how can I help?"

He exhaled shakily as he felt your touch on him again, and he leaned back against the headboard, trying to ground himself from the pleasure that was overtaking his senses. "Long story short, I need to fuck you," He looked back at your shocked expression and couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But that's what needs to happen to fix this shit," His eyes seemed to undress you with every glance, and he couldn't help but relish in the way your cheeks heated up. Even so, his hand moved down to take yours, gripping it slightly. "However... I ain’t gonna pressure ya into anything you don't want. We can deal with this no matter what happens, and fucking doesn't gotta be one of them." Wolfwood's other hand came to take your chin, prompting you to look into his eyes as if trying to convince you of the same promise you made him: that he would never do anything to harm you.

You nuzzled into his palm, finding comfort in the roughness of the skin. It was a story of his life, hard on the exterior to match the man they belonged to. But he held you like you were the only thing keeping him together, his one steady rock in the turbulent life that he had led before meeting you. It was with a gentleness you had never experienced before, and you couldn't help but beam. "I trust you. If you wanted to hurt me, you would've done it by now. Let me help you."

As you said this, he bore a shit-eating grin and smashed his lips against yours. A whimper left your lips as his hands fondled at every patch of skin they could find, as if trying to solidify the fact that you were here, with him. It was heated and hungry, leaving your mind foggy as he pulled back, not only for air but to tug at your clothes. He looked up at you again, and you tilted your head at him. "What are you waiting for? Be a good boy."

An uncharacteristic whimper left his lips and he murmured under his breath as he tugged at your bottoms. "Lift your hips for me, media naranja,"

You let out a tiny hum, doing as he asked without another word uttered. As the fabric slipped off your body, his face flushed an even darker red, staring at your lower half. "Like what you see?"

“You're gonna be the death of me, ya know that?" he groaned, tucking his face into the inside of your thigh to presumably hide his embarrassment.

Your giggles turned into a string of broken moans as he started to mark your skin with nips and bites. His teeth were noticeably sharper than the average human's, but that only spurred you on. You sat up on your forearms to look at him with need. "You're going easy."

He looked up at you with hooded eyes, his expression glazed with desire. "For your sake, mi corozón." He looked so utterly fucked out just from tasting the skin of your leg, you couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd be once he was actually inside of you. Despite all of this, you could tell he was holding back.

You held out a hand to caress his jaw and you slowly opened his mouth. A finger grazed his pointy canines, admiring the sharpness. Suddenly, you were pressing against it, hard enough to draw blood and enough to get Wolfwood's flowing as well. "I'm stronger than you think," you bit your bottom lip as you tucked your bleeding thumb into his mouth, prompting him to suck it dry. He eagerly lapped up the ruby droplets, and his pupils dilated to the edges of his irises. Sitting up, you took his face in your hands to tug him up to yours. A smile graced your face as you sweetly whispered into his ear, "Don't stop. Even if I beg you to."

Wolfwood gaped at you, absolutely dumbstruck, before his eyes narrowed. In a flash, he flipped you around, and your back hit the mattress with an unceremonious thump. His body was pinning you against the bed, as he panted hard against the skin of your neck. "I don't think... you understand what this is gonna be like. I’m gonna ruin you. I'll fuck you so hard that you won't want ever anyone else's cock inside of you by the time I'm done. I'm giving you one last chance to back out."

There was a long pause as he pulled back to stare intensely, and you matched his gaze with the same amount. He was giving you the option to leave, and you weren't interested whatsoever. A smirk crept onto his face as he confirmed your determination, and leaned down to the dip between your nipples, kissing your sternum. He teased you, trailing his lips and fangs all the way down your torso, leaving you a sweaty mess from the tension alone.

"W-Wolfwood... fuck..."

"Nico." He looked up at you from between your legs, and you let out a tiny breathless whimper from the feeling of his tongue lapping and tracing patterns into your pelvis. "Please."

"Nico."

His eyes softened, his lips letting out a soft howl of approval as he finally graced your heat with a kiss. Strong hands came to grip your legs as your hips thrusted up into the air, white-hot pleasure flashing from behind your eyelids. Nico folded your body in half, having your knees practically touch your shoulders as he pulled you closer to his mouth. He devoured you like a man left starving for days, encouraging every roll of your hips as you tried to match his fervor. It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough. He was so close yet so far, feasting on everything you were willing to give him.

He took everything with no complaints, complete and utter devotion in his eyes as he forced you to look at him. Forcing you to look at how ruined he was making you. Your body was an offering he could never bear to refuse, and it was then that he felt that maybe the brandings on his chest were alluding to something hidden within him. If he was purposed for holy reasons, this couldn't be anything but sacrilege. How delicious the taste of sin was.

With a cry, your orgasm washes over your body, so gentle and intense all at the same time. Just like the man who kept you in place even as your legs shook, continuing to coax you through your high. As he finally came up for air, your wetness was smeared all over his mouth, his tongue poking out from between his lips to lap it all clean. He gave you a pathetic little face as he unhurriedly thrust his cock against the mattress, looking for some kind of relief. "Wanna... inside.."

Your lips curled into a smile as you cooed sweetly at him, your hand coming to cup his cheek. "You gotta speak up for me, Nico. Otherwise I won't know what you want."

He whined, looking torn as he debated saving his pride versus finally getting to feel you. "Please... lemme feel inside… baby please…" The big bad dog who'd supposedly had you by the throat was now in the palm of your hand, waiting for your next words. And you couldn't be more pleased.

Placing a kiss on his forehead, you whispered against his skin. "Not yet. You can be a good boy for me, right? You're so good." Ignoring his protests, you got out of bed, your legs shaking a bit as you gripped onto the bed frame to steady yourself. The absolute distraught look on his face as you left the room was priceless, and it only encouraged what you were about to do.

You grabbed a small blanket and wrapped it around yourself as you made your way downstairs again, trying not to flash any neighbors who happened to be looking in your first floor windows. As you got to the kitchen, you grabbed the bags you had carried in earlier and open them up, smiling as you took what you were looking for out.

Before you had come home, a friend had asked you to come over to their apartment. She handed you her gift, saying it was only for precaution and hopefully you’d never have to use it. Having a notoriously aggressive dog does require some after all. You hadn't given it a second thought, pushing it to the bottom of your bag, because you weren’t a fan of hurting your puppy like that. But as you pulled the shock collar out and gave it a once over, you couldn't help but think this was all some divine intervention.

Making your way back upstairs, you first grabbed the leash you used for walks and attached it to the collar, tugging to make sure it was secure, then made your way to the bathroom. You hadn't had sex in a long time, so you were taking no chances. After spending a long time cleaning yourself up to acceptable standards, you entered your bedroom again and saw Nico kneeling on the mattress, back straight and mouth slightly parted. He looked at you with impatient yet forgiving eyes, as if he was trying to impress you with his obedience. You smiled as you came closer to the bed, and rested your hand on his neck, letting him ease up.

His eyes drifted to the collar in your hand, then back up to you. You couldn't gauge the expression on his face, so you decided to explain gently. “I want to try something,” you gave him the collar, and watched as he turned it over, looking at it blankly. “This is a shock collar. It’s not made for humans, so I’ll turn the voltage all the way down. I think you’d feel really good with it on, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

You used your thumb to tilt his chin up to meet your expression so he could see how serious you were. “I would never hurt you. Just like you’d never hurt me. Do you trust me?”

He was silent for a few moments before he looked into your eyes, nodding. “I do.”

You beamed at him, and planted a gentle kiss on his nose, watching his tail wag in excitement. “That's a good boy,” Taking the collar from him, you carefully wrapped it around his neck before clicking it together. A perfect fit. You had him lay back against the headboard and you reached over to your nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, noting the way his eyes brightened. Clicking the cap open, you helped him drizzle some onto his cock, which you were only now realizing the sheer size of. From a quick glance, you knew he was freakishly big, but up close, he was absolutely massive. It was throbbing, his mushroom tip leaking with big drops of precum, with what seemed to be a large sphere at the base of it. As your hand grazed over his length, he twitched violently, and it seemed to swell even more.

Is this even going to fit?

Deciding to go a bit easy on yourself, you tugged him closer by the leash, brushing your lips against his own. “We’re gonna start slowly, okay? I want you to feel everything,”

He reluctantly nodded and let out a shuddering gasp as you started to play with the head, his hips coming up to thrust against your fingers. “S-sensitive…”

You tutted softly and grabbed the remote that controlled his collar from the nightstand. You pressed a button and he jolted with a yelp, not expecting the light zap that hit his neck. “I told you to be good. Don't disobey me now.”

His eyes brimmed with unshed tears as you continued to touch him, eventually wrapping your entire hand around his cock. It was so big that your fingers barely touched together, but you gave him a tiny pump to gauge his reaction. Nico’s eyes rolled back as he clenched his fists, trying his hardest not to move an inch or disobey you. “Hah… ngh…”

“Hmm… so pretty. And all for me. You’re just so eager to fuck me, aren't you? So, so eager~”

Nico threw his head against the headboard, letting out a tiny constrained mix of a growl and a plea as you sat up on your knees to shuffle his cock between your thighs. His eyes were squeezed tight before he opened them to look at you, silently begging. He didn't want to risk the collar again, but he was getting desperate and you knew this. You gave him a light tap on the cheek before nodding. He jumped on this opportunity, taking your hips to squeeze your thighs together against his dick as he humped your legs. A long drawn out moan of relief left his lips as he pulled you down to him, kissing you fervently. Even the slightest bit of touch, he was so grateful for. You, he was so grateful for.

You played nice, letting him pull moans and coos of praises out of you, telling him how good he was, how about beautiful he looked fucking your thighs. Falling apart just from the slightest bit of touch, not even inside you yet. “Feels so good, doesn't it?”

“Yes!” he panted out, started to go faster as he tightly gripped the flesh of your hips, surely to leave a bruise later. “So, so good, Jesus God- please…”

Your eyes softened as you whispered, your words almost lost amongst the sound of slapping skin and creaking wood. “I want you to hold out for me a little longer, okay? You’re doing so perfect, you feel sooo right~”

Nico looked at you with teary eyes, sniffing as a wet droplet dribbled down his cheek. His lips were flushed and bleeding red from how he bit down on them, and as you moved him to kiss them bare, he whimpered. “Mi vida, please. Estoy desesperado… I need to… to-!” He howled as finished, his cum splattering all over your thighs and lower back as he slammed against you one last time. Sobs of relief spill from his mouth as he clutches you tightly, his cock still hard and twitching between your legs.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, placing apologetic kisses to try and soothe him. Even thought he didn’t last, he was trying so hard to, and that’s what mattered. As long as he felt good, then everything else could wait. “Are you okay, Nico?”

He let out a few shuddering breaths before nodding softly. “Yeah… ‘m just tired,” His dick twitched again as you shifted your weight on your legs, and he let out an exhausted chuckle. “That part of me isn’t, I guess,” Pulling back, he regarded you with a quiet expression. “Well, before we go any further, I gotta tell you something.”

You tilted your head, looking back with a quizzical expression. “You painted a bodily fluid mosaic on my back and now you want to say more? 'Tis a bit late for that, is it not?”

Caught off guard by your question, he laughed loudly, pressing your lips together as his body shook in amusement. “Such is the curse of being attracted to you, estrella,” he gingerly pulls you off of him, his dick still rock hard despite the sheer intensity of his previous orgasm. “It’s got more to do with what…” he motions to the base of his cock, where that mysterious sphere was. “That is.”

Sitting back on your heels, you stared at it. It most likely had something to do with his animal… thing, but you weren’t sure what the hell it was supposed to even be. Or do, for that matter. It took you a few seconds for it to hit you, and you looked up at him shocked. “That’s gonna go in me?”

“Yeah… Trust me, I’d rather it not. I get that I’m already…” he quirked an eyebrow at you and a glimpse of a smile graced his face. “...well endowed, but this shit’s not gonna end unless that happens. I gotta be honest, I’m more worried about what comes after it’s inside.” (heh no pun intended)

You gaped at him incredulously. “What the hell do you me after?”

He reached over to flick your forehead gently, slightly exasperated. “Lemme explain, will ya? It acts somewhat like a seal, so when I finish, none of it escapes,” he took note of the flushed expression you wore, and he went on to clarify. “If you got a condom, then that’s that taken care of. But if not, then it stays inside until the swelling goes down and I’m able to pull out. And I’m not sure how long that takes.”

Your eye twitched as he finished explaining, and you couldn’t help but sigh. “If you mess up my mattress like you did with my bedsheets when you pull out, I’m gonna kill you.”

Nico chuckled and pulled you in for another kiss, his hands tangling with the hair on the nape of your neck. “No promises, darlin'.”

Any tension and irritation you had faded as he pressed his tongue inside your mouth while he tugged you back into his proximity. Except the tiniest amount that still resided, which had you bring your hands up his chest to tug and twist as his pebbled nipples. He hissed softly, grinning against your lips as he matched your teasing ministrations. "Ah... Santa Madre... Eres el deseo que nunca puedo resistir." His thumb traced your jaw, tipping your face to the side so he could have easy access to your neck. The sounds he made while marking you as his couldn't be described as anything but scandalous. Muttering filth and debauchery as he bit into the skin, pulling blood and then licking it clean as an apology.

You stuttered and tripped over your words, your vision going dark with pleasure. "N-ni..." Words were becoming hard to articulate, and you didn't know if you could take the teasing any longer.

He tutted, sucking harshly on your collarbone before looking up at you through his eyelashes. "Look at you... can't even say my name properly," He took you by the back of your head and pulled you closer, whispering. "Forgotten our manners, hm? You're feeling a little too good, aren't you..." A soft kiss was left on your nose, gentle and affectionate. "Quiero hacerte sentir el paraíso, cariño. I'll take good care of you, don't worry."

Nico laid you in front of him again, and through the fog of your desire, you could vaguely make out him reaching for the bottle of lube again, taking your hand and lathering your fingers. He leaned over you, breathing heavily as he moved both of yours down your body to your puckered little hole. His sharp nail gently trailed the circumference of it, making you whine desperately.

"I don't wanna hurt ya... Once you've prepped yourself, I'll give you everything you need. Okay, darlin'?"

You nod slowly, pressing into your swollen flesh and making your back arch with tension. It didn't feel as good as you imagined Nico's would have, and this only spurred you on more. You looked at him, trying to be convincing and alluring as you went knuckles deep, weeping with lust. Without another second wasted, you started to thrust in and out, your eyes heavy-lidded. Your hips were raised towards him so you could angle deeper into yourself, letting yourself get lost in the feeling and adding even more fingers. With every calculated move, you were testing him, BEGGING him to fuck you; and you weren't gonna stop until he finally gave in.

He let out a deep groan as he pulled you by the hips towards him, reaching down to brush the hair out of your eyes. "You're that desperate for me, huh? You wanna go dumb from me driving my cock into you?" Nico gripped your wrist, gently pulling you out from your sex, and starting to grind his cock against you. Even after all of that, he was still trying to give you time to adjust and back out, he was on the... larger side after all. But truthfully, you were getting really damn tired of the courtesy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him down to meet your gaze. "If you leave me aching for your dick for one more second, I'll neuter your ass."

He grinned and gave you one last peck on the lips. "Just making sure." Suddenly, he thrust into you, filling you all the way to the base of his knot. Your mouth dropped open and before you could even register the pain, he let out a deep, resounding snarl and started pounding into you hard like a man gone mad.

There were screams and wails ripped from your lungs as you scratched at his back, but he wasn't deterred. If anything, he relished in the pain. Every clench of your puffy walls around his cock was a testament to how good he was making you feel. That he was the one who was turning you into a babbling mess, a wreck that couldn't stop their legs from shaking and trembling.

In that moment, as ludicrous as it was, he knew that he loved you. He loved you so much, with every inch of his cold, scarred heart. You were the one who brought him into your home, asking for nothing in return even as he growled and snapped at you. You treated him with a kindness that he had never experienced, and the only thing he could offer in return was the promise that he would make you feel this good all the time. No matter when you wanted it, no matter how you wanted it, he would be that person for you. And even then, he would try. He would try so fucking hard to be the man you deserved because he knew that he couldn't let anyone be with you ever again.

Nico buried himself in the crook of your neck, kissing every area that he could even process was there, absolutely drunk in the feeling of you around him. God, you felt so good. You were so, so good in every way. He would take care of you, and make sure you never felt lonely ever again. Every bite and mark he left was a testament to how much how cherished you, and how you were his. You were his, as much as he was yours, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He pulled back, pressing your foreheads together as his hips continued to slap against yours, creating a lewd symphony of noises.

"Eres mi todo."

Your eyes brimmed with tears and you smiled, pressing your lips together in a sloppy kiss. "Never leave me. Please."

"I won't. I promise."

Both of your moans got louder and you felt your stomach twist, that familiar explosive feeling building up. The stickiness of your skin melding together, the warm feeling that washed all over you, this is the closest you were ever going to get to heaven. He ruthlessly reached into the deepest parts of your body, absolutely ruining sex with anyone else for you. You couldn't stop the salty streams from flowing down your cheeks as you tried to speak, your words coming out broken and hoarse. "I love you, God, I love you!"

Nico hushed you with another kiss, understanding every unspoken word that you were trying to say. "You feel so perfect... like you were made for me. You're so beautiful, mi alma gemela." His thrusts got faster until he finally slammed his entire cock into you, knot and all. You screamed out in rapture, finally coming and violently shaking from underneath him. Your orgasm ripped through your entire body, leaving you absolutely breathless while stars exploded from behind your eyes. It was the most intense thing you've ever experienced, and you could barely register the feeling of Nico's hips stuttering to a pause, a loud moan dripping from his lips as he spilled himself deep into the crevices of your heat.

You dug your nails into the skin of his back as he filled you to the brim, feeling that maybe this was where you were meant to be all your life. With him, in the most intimate way possible. God, you loved him.

Eventually, the two of you came down from your shared climaxes, and you relaxed into the bed, while he rested on his forearms above you, panting hard. You were absolutely spent, and you couldn't help but cheekily smile up at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. "So... I'll take it as you enjoyed that?"

He let out a loud, tired laugh as his hands came to cup your face, nuzzling against your cheek. "Eres un pequeño liante, ¿sabes?"

You hummed in response, relishing in the feeling of him on your skin. “Also, you wanna explain how you just suddenly know Spanish?”

“Call it a quirk.”

#trigun stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun wolfwood #wolfwood x reader #trigun x reader #trigun x you #wolfwood x you

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sourpatchys · 7 months

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May I request France era Daryl? Reader sees how stressed he is and, though she is feeling the same way, she wants to take his mind off things. Cue some sexy times.

Title: The Theory of Touch

Rating: NSFW❤️‍🔥 18+

Word count: 1.6k

Time: Daryl Dixon ep 1

Summary: Daryl and Reader haven’t met eye to eye since they were in America, with Daryl’s guilt over the situation, reader can’t seem to get through to him— until finally, they do. FEMALE reader!

A/N— please ignore the fact that the reader didn’t have a bra or shoes on. Just pretend she took them off to dry or something idk. Also! I haven’t written smut in over a year so I do apologize if it’s not up to par with my other works!

France. You hated France.

You couldn’t read any of the signs, you couldn’t understand any of the labels, you didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know how to get home.

You were lost, in a vacuum of uncertainty.

Daryl wasn’t really helping. Once you’d washed to shore, it was as if a switch flipped and he turned into a shell of the man you knew. He wasn’t speaking to you— he couldn’t even look at you.

You knew— he felt guilty. He was the one who started the fight that got you here. He wouldn’t talk to you in the cell either, apart from a grunt or a nod— he even shrugged you off when you tried to hold his hand.

You missed the man you’d married. He’d had his moments in the past— but they’d never lasted this unbearably long— not with you— never with you.

Finding that little abandoned boat was probably the best thing that’s happened to either of you in weeks. Not only was the past owner English speaking, but he had laid out a map, and unknowingly gave you the strength to keep going.

Even so, the issue with Daryl persisted long into the night. His spark was gone.

“Daryl.” You called, scooting over to him on the creaky floorboards. His back was turned to you as he stared up towards the cloudless sky, picking at the bones from the fish you had shared earlier in the day.

Of course, he didn’t answer.

“Daryl talk to me.” You borderline begged, reaching your hand up to grasp at his shoulder, begging to whatever god may be listening that he wouldn’t shrug you off again.

He didn’t, though he didn’t seem to be paying you any mind either. His coastal blue eyes still staring up, a newfound gleam settling itself over them. He was fighting back the urge to cry.

“I love you.” He finally cracked out, his head falling as his body shook.

He just didn’t know what to do. He had promised you so many years ago, that he’d protect you, that he would keep you safe no matter the cost. All he’s managed to do is cause trouble. He didn’t deserve your kind words. He didn’t deserve your love.

But his love was all he had to give. Not salvation, not protection, not even a roof over your pretty little head.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held him close, peppering small kisses along his tear stained cheek.

“I know you do, I know you do— I love you too.” You repeated over and over again, begging him to see you, to see that you were okay, to see that you loved him just as much as you did yesterday, just as much as the day you’d met him. He was your life, your reason for living.

The kisses continued, soothing their way up and down his neck, behind his ear and along his hairline. You needed his touch— and he needed yours.

After what felt like hours, he finally turned your way, his calloused hand making its way up to cradle your soft cheek as he leaned in, his lips finally encapsulating your own.

This kiss— it felt just like the first kiss you had ever shared, the absolute desperation in your body’s screaming to be satisfied. You couldn’t live without each other’s touch.

You quickly became breathless as his body pushed into yours, his teeth dragging along your lower lip as he begged you for permission to deepen the kiss— you of course, complied.

His tongue felt like fire against yours as his hands ripped their way under your clothes, his cold fingers tracing the indentation under your breasts, warming themselves up before engulfing them whole, squeezing and twisting your malleable skin.

Soon you felt your own hands doing much the same, sneaking their way to the hem of his shirt, begging for him to rip it off.

The cold air of the night long gone between the friction of your bodies.

Soon both of your shirts were long gone as he pushed you to the floor, the freezing feeling of the damp wood bringing you down from your high as Daryl crawled his way between your parted legs, his head darling straight for your neck as his hands once more moved to cup your breasts.

His mouth traced every vein and artery you had, sucking in perfectly round bruises as he skillfully made you lose your sanity.

The ache between your legs unable to be soothed as his hips were angled just perfectly to make it impossible to create friction.

“Baby please—“ you begged, silently groaning with half lidded eyes as you clawed your fingers down his spine, unable to take the sweet torture after weeks without it.

He didn’t listen to your begging however, he only moved his body downwards, making sure your legs had no chance of coming together. He wasn’t a sadist, but he did love to see you beg— to see you completely undone.

His tongue darted down your chest, leaving bitter kisses down its path, avoiding your nipples all together— he had a different craving that day.

He traced all the way down to the hem of your pants, tracing his fingers across the seams, sucking away at the spot right above where you needed him most.

You were almost in tears, feeling the hot building pressure begging for release. You dared not beg as you thrashed your body around, you needed him now, you couldn’t handle it any longer.

Ripping your hands from above your head, you threaded them into the archers hair, pushing his face where you needed it, almost growing as you did so.

He chuckled, his first real laugh in heaven knows how long, as he slowly undid your button and zipper, ripping down the rest of your clothing before sliding his hands under your thighs, pushing them up, refusing to give you the power you so desperately wanted.

With your body open to him fully, he took a glance at your beautiful wet folds, how they quivered in the newly chilly environment, as he brought his head down to you once more.

The first dart of his tongue was nothing but that— a tease to rile you up, purposefully missing all of the parts that needed attention.

“Daryl— Daryl please I can’t handle this— please!”

This time, he did listen to you, his tongue darting out once more, immediately circling your clit in a way that had you arching your body in utter relief.

His skillful tongue flicked and prodded, finding all of your weak spots using nothing but muscle memory, the hot boiling feeling building in the best way possible as you came closer and closer to your sweet release.

Soon his lips closed around your sensitive bud as he started sucking and lapping, his hand releasing your thigh as he slowly slid a finger into you, his calloused fingertip immediately finding the soft spot that drew you mad.

Your moan was quiet as you finally got your release, it came like hot boiling lava. You were positive you’d never had an orgasm so unbelievably blissful.

He rode you out throughout your high, slowing down his motions as your body began to twitch, your thighs quivering uncontrollably.

Soon his mouth and hand were removed, his eyes glancing into your own, both pairs half lidded.

A small laugh filled the space between the two of you, you were finally becoming yourselves again.

Daryl had planned on giving you time to recover, you were still heaving, your eyes completely glossed over— though you had other plans as you shoved your heel into his side, urging for him to continue.

You still needed his touch— you weren’t satisfied.

You watched as his beautifully crafted hands popped open his jeans, sliding them down to his knees.

He never was a guy who enjoyed underwear— and today was no different.

His cock sat firm between his legs, the tip already glistening with precum as he stroked himself, preparing his body for your warmth.

“I love you Daryl.” You whispered, looking him in the eyes as he began to trace the tip of his cock between your folds.

Instead of replying, he once again smashed your lips together as he slid himself inside you, the stretch once again igniting that soft burn between your legs.

The first few thrusts were deep and slow, his body colliding with yours over and over again as he began to create a blissful rhythm.

Your lips stayed connected as you once more fought for dominance, your tongues dancing with the melody of your body’s.

Daryl’s hands were gripping your hips so hard with every thrust, you knew you’d be sore, but just knowing he was touching you, that he was feeling you— it was worth it.

Every thrust lit a fire under your skin, constantly hitting that soft bundle inside of you— your head felt like static, all you could feel was him— his body— his breath. You were in heaven.

The build up of his vigorous hips happened much faster than before, your body was already beyond sensitive, as you felt the elastic band inside you snap, you once again spilled your high squeezing yourself around his cock as your warmth overtook him.

“Gnh—!” He growled, snapping his hips a few more times before ripping himself out of you and spilling all over your breathless, heaving body.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, catching your breath, listening for any change of sound around you. As quiet as you both tried to be, any noise is still noise.

Once the coast was deemed clear and the two of you had calmed down and gotten dressed, it seemed your relationship had been put back into place.

Lying on the floor, your head cradled into Daryl’s chest, you spoke one final time for that night,

“We can get through this, I know we can.”

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion x reader #twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #twd daryl #daryl dixon show

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inksandpensblog · 4 months

Text

The Chosen One, magic systems, and the writing flaw that somehow hasn't caused AvA any problems yet despite being a notorious immersion-breaker

Limitations breed creativity. Specifically, limitations in a magic system (or powers system, same narrative function) breed creative and innovative implementation of said magic.

Avatar: The Last Airbender is oft cited as one of the best and most readily-available examples of how limitations can benefit the possibilities and intrigue of a hard magic system. Each of the four represented elements (or four "powersets") has inherent limitations, which benders must devise ways to work around or compensate for.

I haven't seen Mob Psycho 100 brought up as often, in regard to how it portrays psychic powers as a magic system, so I might be going out on a limb, here. But I believe that mp100 is a good portrayal of how limitations can benefit the portrayal of a soft magic system.

Specifically, it shows how limitations don't have to come from within the system itself.

Psychic powers don't seem to have limitations in and of themselves, aside from potency, as we see across the series that one can use them to do pretty much anything; it's even stated that some psychics don't understand how their own powers work, only having some idea of What they Can Do with them.

What this means for the magic system, is that the capabilities of any particular psychic will often come down to what the psychic is smart enough to Figure Out how to do, or what the psychic is Personally Comfortable doing.

Thus, limitations are placed on the magic by the characters themselves, whether consciously or not (a conscious limitation would be a character choosing not to use their powers in a certain way; an unconscious limitation would be a character simply never having it cross their mind that they could use their powers in a certain way. In a well-written character, such unconscious limitations may be traced back to the character's worldview or biases, or a lack of knowledge or expertise on their part, or some other trait inherent to the character). Two examples of the limitations Mob himself faces are his self-discipline (refusing on a moral basis to use his powers in certain situations) and his physical condition (he's fully capable of psychically-enabled superspeed but refrains because it "makes [him] nauseous").

(It should be noted that A:TLA also imposes character-centric limitations on its magic, but I choose not to highlight them for the sake of the contrast between examples, so they won't be conflated with limitations originating from the system itself.)

Now that I've established a precedent for this post, let's talk about Chosen:

Chosen has an ever-growing laundry list of powers. Pyrokinetics and laser-eyes are brought up most often, but he also has cryokinesis, as well as some amount of influence over wind and electricity, if his ability to conjure storms is any indication. Plus there's the rippling golden shockwaves he uses to force the virus out of hiding on the computer, not to mention the vacuum-punch of coalescing wind and light that he's so far used only three times across the entire series (and all in relatively quick succession, to boot), and that's not even considering his ability to manifest portals at will (which seems to be an active development, considering he had to blast the first one into existence kamehameha-style rather than simply lighting it up), and then there's the typical superstrength that most of noogai's handdrawns seem to possess, plus extremely strong resistance against Dark's vira-tech...the list goes on. Some people [read: me] even consider his mouth a power, albeit jokingly. (Not his ability to eat things that aren't food, as non-powered sticks have done so as well; specifically his mouth. Though, since eating non-food items doesn't seem to affect him in any way, maybe it still counts. I wonder, if Chosen were to eat all the League champion data, would he gain their collective abilities as Purple did? Or would the data simply be gone, unless he decides to regurgitate it as projectiles?)

Wow, that's quite the ranged powerset! So, what limitations does he have to keep it interesting?

Well, he can't fly without his pyrokinesis. (Except for when he can. Granted, this is rare, and seems to only happen when he's using his storm-powers.)

He's not invulnerable against the glitch-attacks shot at him by the Rocket mercenaries. (Until he is. Do we actually know when he stopped glitching?)

The electro-dart he was hit with had him down for the count. (Until it didn't. We never actually see him pull it free from his arm, do we?)

Huh, that's...not many limitations being dictated by the powerset itself. What about character limitations?

Um...he has abysmal aim? (I've seen my friend @k1ttyadventurer mention this, but I have yet to find specific examples.)

He gets overwhelmed when fighting multiple opponents at once? (Considering the potency and diversity of his powers, this mostly sticks out as an odd weakness for someone like him to have. Especially after seeing how some other sticks fare against multiple opponents.)

He doesn't watch his back, leaving him vulnerable to sneak attacks? (This is the one weakness that I've been able to find him consistently demonstrating myself, and I can point to multiple fights where it has cost him.)

He tries to refrain from harming other stickfigures? At least, to a point? (This is partially conjecture on my part, but I invite you to consider why "being overwhelmed when fighting multiple opponents" would even be on this tentative list otherwise. Some of my friends have also headcanoned that Chosen tries to scale his strength and fighting prowess to match that of his opponents, but I haven't tried to find evidence for this idea in canon.)

Poor communication? (We haven't seen what influence this may have on his power use, if any.)

...well.

That's...not much to go by.

It's hard to really define any limitations that The Chosen One might be working within.

In fact, the easiest limitations to identify are the ones he has forced upon him by others, rather than any that can be sourced from the magic system or from his own character.

The ball and chain, which disable all but the weakest of his pyrokinesis and also hinder his range of motion.

The Box, which dilutes his potency to ten percent and even turns his own powers against him, all while trapping him in a confined space.

I don't think many would disagree with the assessment that The Box is the first time that we really see Chosen try to work around or compensate for the limits of his powers. But I think it only fair to keep in mind that these are unique, situational limitations, brought on by factors completely out of his control, namely the environment he has found himself in; if he were to leave the simulated art program, or if an ally of his were to gain control of its toolbar, these limitations would no longer be a factor.

And so, I put these questions to all of you:

what limitations do Chosen's powers have?

are they in any way influenced by character limitations he may possess?

how on ethernet has Alan managed to avoid the "Why Don't They Just" plothole for so long when he's created a character with seemingly limitless abilities?

if you don't, in fact, think that Alan has avoided this plothole and you have found yourself asking Why Doesn't Chosen Just, what answers have you tried to fill in the gap with? (Can be Doylist or Watsonian, but please specify to avoid confusion.)

if the magic is undefined enough to be feasibly capable of anything, how has Alan avoided the Harry Potter Film trap of all Chosen's fights turning into vague light-shows in which all attacks look the same and the system holds no actual sway over the outcome of the combat?

what does all this mean for Second, whose only limitations so far seem to be the need of a tool for his powers to be channeled through (the pencil, Dark's console, debatably the art program, debatably Alan's pc), a simple Lack Of Awareness/Connection, and his own creativity?

I'll also link this essay, which spurred me to gather my thoughts on this topic as it's something I've thought about on and off for a while now.

Have at it, folks o7

#animator vs animation #ava shorts #ava the chosen one #ava tco #ava #avm shorts #animation vs minecraft #avm #alan becker #analysis #meta

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