#like by all means criticize it the series fucking needs it

[loverofstufflof]

Airing out my LMK trailer/S5 thoughts cause u gotta do this somehow

Most glaring, animation. It’s not bad, by any means. I’d certainly be proud of myself if I were able to come up with it.

However, I think it’s important to consider the context of the show’s style, and how it’s been improving significantly over instalments. Also, it’s Flying Bark. Flying Bark is just gonna make banger animation.

Am I a bit disappointed when comparing it to Emperor’s Wrath? Yeah. Especially when we’ve been waiting a full year for this—twice as long as usual.

But I’m not saying I won’t be watching the show because of it. I still love this story. Fuck, my favourite series is Epithet Erased. The show that’s best described as JPEGs wiggling around your screen for 2 hours. I can handle less than expected animation if it’s made up for by good writing.

I’ve been seeing a lot of people attacking invisible fans that claim they’re going to boycott the show because of this. Respectfully, source? The most aggressive criticism I’ve seen is “man that’s disappointing ig, still excited tho”. Who are you guys even fighting lmao. (Unless this is something happening on other platforms and you’re just venting on here which, valid)

Nevertheless, as I’ve said before, it’s not bad animation, just not up to the standard we’re used to. People are allowed to be disappointed. Let them be. This show isn’t flawless.

It’s looking to be real, all things considered. We’ve never gotten a fan leak this elaborate before, and it contains a lot of elements that were just recently revealed. Unless they’ve been getting announcements much earlier than we have (considering this fanbase’s sleuth skills, I’d doubt it) then there’s no other explanation other than it being official.

Official, however, doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed to look that way the whole time. The animation is being done by another studio, yes, but only partially. Flying Bark is still here for the fun. This other studio also isn’t incompetent, they’re behind things like Carmen Sandiego. They know what they’re doing.

They’re also primarily handling additional material, means promotions, meaning trailers. Listen, it’s a bit of a stretch considering the fact that all trailers so far have been taken directly from the show, but also it’s industry standard to make a trailer before you’re even done, meaning you gotta cut some corners for the scenes you’re showing until you polish them up in post.

We know LEGO has a habit of keeping LMK things in their vault until they need to, this may be something they had lying around from early prod and released to maintain hype.

Any which way, this development is very much temporary, only applying because the team is currently working on a movie and need to momentarily lessen their workload. Even if the odds are against us and S5 looks like a PowerPoint presentation, it’ll likely go back to normal later.

Biiig animation rant aside, I am a tad bit sad about the direction the story is going in (namely the abandonment of Red Son) and the fan service is a bit much, but honestly what else are we expecting from JTTW fanfic.

I’m stoked to see more Macaque though—he’s looking to be becoming a proper protagonist, which is great for angst! Yippee!

One thing I haven’t seen anyone talk about is the complete lack of Nüwa. You know, the character they’ve been teasing this whole time? Where is she? Not in the trailer. Not in the posters.

Makes me wondering if this is a part of the new season, teasing the next one, the one Nüwa’s in, later.

#not rereading this for grammar or whatever my phones about to die and I need to post this #get my thoughts out somehow #WAAAA #hope I come across as nonconfrontational here I genuinely just wanna talk #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk s5 #post!

[lesbiansanemi]

Like I love to criticize jjk as much as the next person but all these really annoying ppl who are saying the series is bad because characters are dying…… 1. Grow up. 2. Why in fresh fucking hell did you EVER think everyone was gonna make it to the end of this series

#I 100% get having issues with HOW characters died #like I’m still pissed about everything regarding yuki’s death #and while I wanted Gojo to die I also wasn’t satisfied with the death we got #but like…. to act like the series is bad BECAUSE these characters are dying and not HOW they’re dying #how are you missing the series core themes….. #how are you missing that the point was that everyone was gonna die #like either yuuji was gonna die to solidify that Gojo and megumi failed #or Gojo and megumi were gonna die so yuuji is cursed to living knowing HE failed #like I just always acknowledged???? that was the direction the series was going????? #so to see people get GENUINELY PISSED that characters are dying and yuuji will almost certainly end the series unhappy…. #like I do not know how to tell you that was always gonna be the point….. #and if you thought the series was meant to have an overly happy ending you were NOT paying close enough attention #like it’s not a happy story? it hasn’t been at any point? #why would it END happy it would feel so out of place? #idk it’s just confusing to me #like by all means criticize it the series fucking needs it #but you are complaining about the wrong fucking things #idk this also might be my thing where if ppl genuinely get so attached to characters that you get unreasonably angry when they die #and can’t ackowledge that sometimes it makes more sense narratively for them to die #to the point where you like throw fucking fits about it…. #I dunno….. I think you just need to take a step back #or at least know yourself well enough to not get into media where it’s obvious characters are gonna drop like flies 🤷🏼‍♀️ #like I get major character death isn’t for everyone and that’s fine #but if it viscerally upsets you to that point #yeah…. yeah I think you need to take it upon yourself to avoid stories that are obviously gonna contain it like idk #kaz rambles

[everysongineverykey]

D/smp is known for ableist, transphobic, homophobic and racist shit so, you probably shouldn't be okay with having 'd/smp mutuals'. Seriously. No hate or jokes to the dead guy, he didn't deserve to die, but the rest of them are still alive and they are terrible racist people.

bestie respectfully where did i ask

#all of my d/s/m/p mutuals are lgbtq. and i believe in critical thinking. i have no interest in it myself #but if an lgbtq person wants to engage with something that 'has homophobic/transphobic shit' #i'm not going to stop them. i trust their critical thinking skills #i mean. a lot of the media i love has homophobic/transphobic aspects #d/s/9 in particular. one particularly unfortunate transphobic episode. #because it was made in the nineties. and i still love it! i get that d/s/m/p is made today #and thus has less of an excuse but you get the idea. nothing is perfect. #if you need to unfollow me cause i interact with d/s/m/p fans go ahead i totally understand #if that series holds baggage for you. but like i have both mutuals and irl friends who are fans of it #and i'm not ready to drop them over a bunch of fucking youtubers

[army-of-bee-assassins]

i feel like this season of h/dm has gotten considerably worse but also i'm not 100% sure i'm remembering the previous seasons correctly. i remember mostly liking them and just finding some things weird. but maybe it was just as bad as this season and the amount of time that's passed since i watched them has simply made me forget how much stuff i didn't like

#i think i'm pretty fucking easy to please with tv shows too like i don't have a very critical eye for this kinda stuff #but maybe it's because it's a book adaptation and as always we gotta feel strongly about those #i just feel like the dialogue is absolute shit like who is even writing this - did it change? maybe it was always shit idk #and just random plot changes that i hate #some big some small but like #why was lyra the only fucking one experiencing pain on the boat!!!! that's straight up not canon and literally makes no sense w/in canon #and we got our first glimpse of atal and there was zero indication that she uses a wheel #it didn't even look like she could i mean she had four normal hooves #the seeds are so important to the story what are they doing with this!!!! #maybe we'll see them using wheels next episode but idk how #idk the acting is still mostly good imo #i feel like the actors are doing their best with very fucking stupid scenes #anyway all of this is just sorta making me feel like maybe this just isn't an adaptable book series #at least not as a tv show where you have to stretch things out so much so they're just inventing bullshit to fill the gaps #hdm lb #i hadn't really wanted to make a tag for this but #there have already been so many things i've wanted to complain about here and i'm sure it will only continue #so ya know blacklist as needed (esp if you're enjoying the show - i'm so sorry i don't want to ruin ur experience) #edit: OH i forgot to complain about costuming/makeup too!!! #shouldn't be a big issue but god it's also (imo) just hot fucking garbage in this season #did they get the non-unionized people??? overworked and underpaid?? #did they have zero budget for this fucking hbo show??? #i feel like they didn't even fucking try #those ugly orange jumpsuits and the horrible makeup for the angels #okay sorry i will stop complaining now (until there's more episodes next week lmao)

[vexwerewolf]

The thing is, D&D is not a game.

I know that sounds insane, but hear me out: D&D is not a game, it is a games console. You don't actually "play D&D." You play "Dragon Heist" or "Tomb of Annihilation" or "Ghosts of Saltmarsh" or "your GM's homebrew campaign" or "the plot of Critical Role Season 1 reconstructed from memory" on D&D.

For quite a long while now - possibly literal decades - D&D hasn't even been the best games console, but it's been "the one everyone knows about" and "the one my friends have" and in fact it's "the one whose name is almost synonymous with the entire medium of TTRPGs," like how "Nintendo" or "Playstation" could just mean "games console" to people who didn't understand games consoles. They might not have heard of a "tabletop roleplaying game," but most people have heard of "Dungeons & Dragons."

For this extended metaphor, D&D is Nintendo back in the 90s, or Playstation in the 2000s. Sometimes you say "oh let's go to my house and play Nintendo" or "c'mon dude I wanna play Playstation" but you're not actually playing Nintendo or Playstation, you're playing Resident Evil or Super Mario Bros or Jurassic Park or Metal Gear Solid or whatever on a Nintendo or a Playstation.

Now, this metaphor is going to get even more tortured, but remember how when the PS2 and the original X-Box came out, they used a standardised DVD format, but the Nintendo console in that generation, the Gamecube, used discs but they were this proprietary tiny little disc format that they had control over? That essentially meant that it was really difficult to make third party titles for the Gamecube that did literally anything that Nintendo didn't want them to do, and also essentially gave Nintendo an even greater ability to skim money off the top of any sales?

So that must've seemed like a smart business decision in their heads. But the PS2 and the X-Box used DVDs. This was a standardized format which gave Microsoft and Sony way less control over who made games for their consoles, but that actually turned out to be a good thing for gaming, because it meant that the breadth of games that you could play on their consoles was massively increased even if some of them were games Microsoft and Sony didn't really approve of. (Also it's worth nothing that the PS2 and the X-Box could just play DVDs, which meant if your household was on a budget, you didn't need a separate DVD player - your games console could do it for you! This was actually a huge selling point!)

What Wizards are currently trying to do now is kinda-sorta the equivalent of Sony suddenly announcing that the PS5 will only accept a proprietary cartridge format they hold the patent on, will control the content of and charge money for the construction of. This possibly seems like it could be a moneymaker in your head because you hold market dominance (apparently the PS5 has 30 million units shipped compared to X-Box Series X 20 million units) and so many people make games for your console, but what it actually means is game devs and publishers will abandon your product. If it takes so much more work, the scope of what they're allowed to do is so much more limited and they're going to make less money off of it, they just won't bother. They'll go make games for the X-Box or PC instead.

To use another computer metaphor, D&D is Windows - it might not be the best system but it's the system most people are familiar with and so it gets the most stuff made for it, but there's is an upper limit on the bullshit people will take before they decide fuck it and get an Apple or learn how Linux works.

TTRPG systems are a weird product because you're not selling people a game, you're selling people a method to play a game. All the actual games are created by the community - even prewritten campaigns needs to be executed via a game master. Trying to skim money off the community will mean they'll eventually give up on you.

#open gaming license #dungeons and dragons #ogl #ogl 1.1 #opendnd #wizards of the coast #one dnd #d&d #dnd #tabletop gaming #tabletop roleplaying games #ttrpgs

[ginalinettiofficial]

also. while i’m ranting about stupid shit in the tumblr tags.

#d speaks #another thing that’s slightly annoying me rn #which is 100% a me problem ofc #is this fic i’m reading #i’ve loved this whole series and all the other chapters #but then this character just had a slightly violent/aggressive meltdown #which is fully acknowledged as being a meltdown. and was triggered by some HEAVY stuff #and like. in the middle of the ‘comfort’ in this hurt/comfort… they had the person who was comforting them #say shit like jsyk you’re not gonna be punished because punishment is bs (valid) but your behavior WAS unacceptable and you need to apologiz #which is BEEP NO WRONG NOT VALID ACTYALLY!!!! like. hooo that made me big mad. it was said in the most kind/‘this is right’ way #and like. i can tell that the fic is gonna continue on with that being the correct response to the situation #which just makes me a little bit sick to my stomach!!! esp because the character was ALREADY EXPRESSING DEEP REMORSE #like absolutely fucking not !!!! miss me with that!!!! #idk maybe i’m just very triggered by a very clear depiction of an autistic meltdown being labeled ‘unacceptable’ #like yes violence is wrong and saying mean things and throwing shit is wrong. #and yes impact > intent #but like. when there’s no control to be had like there isn’t ANY intent because the actions taken were fully not in that persons control #yes it’s important to focus on the impact absolutely but also???? shaming someone for it is just. not it #idk i can’t words right but. having dealt w meltdowns as caregiver??? it’s not fucking okay to criticize the child about what they did #ESPECIALLY not during the immediate aftermath/when they’re still coming down/don’t have space from it yet #like it’s one thing to say something the next day under the context of like. hey so let’s discuss what happened and how we can prevent it #and deal with issues caused by it. and maybe even say like let’s make a plan for a healthy physical manifestation of aggression if you need #but to just straight up say ‘btw your behavior was unacceptable’ is just wrong!!! just wrong #anyways i had a dream about M & C last night actually (M is the boy who used to have big meltdowns w aggression) #so maybe i’m also extra sensitive to this rn #because yea ofc we don’t want to say it’s okay to throw or break shit or lash out verbally. but also??? it is NECESSARY to acknowledge that #that shit is often happening at a base level with no conscious decision making coming into play??? and therefore isn’t something to critique #like okay here’s what it is. it’s like when parents blame a kid for wetting the bed while asleep. they’re asleep they weren’t in control #their body was doing instinctual shit and that’s not their fault and it’s not something they deserve to be guilted over #and this i think occupies a very similar space in terms of like. the mindset you need to have when discussing it after the fact

[bo0tleg]

One thing I like about Top Gun (1986) is how believable the development with Ice and Mav's dynamic is.

I've seen a lot of the "Rivals suddenly become buddies after traumatic event together" in media, but I don't think I've seen it done better than in Top Gun. Mostly, I attribute it to how much build up it has.

Most of the time, the 'Rivals' hate each others guts throughout the entire movie/series and then they go through an extremely traumatic event that binds them for life and shifts their entire concept of each other. Ice and Mav never once changed how they saw each other, it just changed their understanding of it.

Ice saw Maverick as dangerous and Mav saw Iceman as stuck-up and commanding. And they weren't wrong, by any means.

From the beginning, they have tension between them because of how different they are. And it ends up in the audience seeing Ice as the 'Antagonist' because that's how Mav sees it, and we're seeing it from his perspective as the protagonist. But Ice was never inherently wrong, in fact he was right.

Other than his first scene, Iceman always has a point in what he's saying. He's criticizing Mav, not insulting him. Sure, he does it in a brash way because masculinity, but he's not trying to insult him, he's trying to knock him down a peg and wake him up to reality. All Ice wants is that he starts to act as a team player, start caring about everybody's safety AND his own, rather than being reckless for the sake of being reckless. But Mav sees it as an insult because he can't process criticism in a healthy way (due to how he grew up). The same thing happened with Charlie, for the record.

And so the strife between the two begins. What I like about it is how it bleeds out of them over time, becoming more settled as the movie goes on. In the locker room "You're dangerous" scene, the tension is palpable. It's obvious they're agitated by each other, and feel the need to prove they're the correct one.

If you pay attention, this whole... demand for superiority goes away as time progresses. They're fine with each other's presence, it's not like they're constantly at each others throat all the time. In the shower scene, Ice dropped all of the aggression and competitiveness from his tone and is instead just laying out what he thinks. He's not undermining Maverick, he's not lecturing him like a child. Iceman is just telling Maverick exactly how he sees the situation in hopes that it would make him realize what the fuck he's doing, but with little hope that it'll actually work.

That doesn't mean Ice is always correct either, he doesn't understand why Mav acts the way he does, thus fails to take into consideration the emotional trauma behind it. Which only causes even more strife.

The entire time, Iceman isn't being a dick for the sake of it, he just wants Mav to stop being stupid (by his standards). And Maverick doesn't understand it because all he gets from what Ice says is insults.

Maverick isn't good at understanding what people mean to say if it's implied, you need to say it to his face. This is the reason he stayed quiet in the shower scene, because Ice finally laid everything out in simple words that he can understand without making it sound like a dick-measuring contest.

Thing is, the tension mellows out. At the beginning, you could see the tension and cut it with a knife. By the middle you can see them getting used to each other without jumping to constantly trade jabs (namely: the volleyball scene, it's just a bunch of guys being dudes, and the scene where Charlie says that Mav flew recklessly in front of the whole class, Ice doesn't comment on it in any way). Over time, they've settled down into their tension without needing to address it all the time.

Then Goose dies.

And the tension between them is still there.

Just because Goose isn't there anymore, doesn't mean their whole dynamic vanishes all of a sudden. You can see their hesitation towards each other (especially Ice), and that's great! It demonstrates that Goose dying doesn't magically resolve their problems with each other in solidarity.

Ice tried to give his consolations to Mav, and is awfully awkward about it. You can see on his face that he wants to say more, but doesn't because he knows it's not his place given their history. And not much is said, but a lot it communicated. (Val Kilmer is a killer actor for this, OH MY FUCKING GOD BLESS THAT MAN)

Even in the graduation scene you can see how out of their depts they really are with each other. A stilted congratulations, that was it. But they're trying, and that's what matters.

A scene I think gets overlooked a lot is the scene right before the Layton, where Ice expressed his worries about Mav to Stinger, and Mav heard him. Because I feel like that was a shift that was more drastic than the Layton itself for them.

What Ice was doing in that scene wasn't doubting Maverick's flying abilities, it was his mental health. Sure, he passed the psych eval, but that means next to jack shit when in a real combat situation so close after his backseater dying. And Ice might be worried that he's gonna be left hanging, but with the way he was speaking I'm more inclined to believe he was more worried about Maverick's wellbeing than himself. Ice almost looked resigned. He knew it was gonna get dismissed because that's the military for you, but he still wanted to try to vouch for Mav to stay groundside, if only to keep his mind at bay.

But Maverick heard him, and as usual, he read it as an insult. He wasn't wrong to assume Ice didn't believe him capable of flying the mission, which wouldn't be a lie, but failed to realize that he had more than one reason to want Maverick on the ground rather than in the air. And for the first time, Maverick believes him.

Up until this point, Mav dismissed all of Ice's so called 'insults' because he was certain in and of himself. But now he isn't anymore.

And it affects his performance in the air. I'm not saying he was as shitty as he was at the start of that combat because of what he overheard, but I am saying that it certainly didn't help matters in the slightest.

So their weird 'stepping-on-eggshells' situation is all over the place by that point. Because they started to care about each other despite not being what one would call proper friends yet. It's establishing a potential friendship by implying that 1. Ice cares about Mav's wellbeing and 2. Mav cares about what Ice thinks.

On the ground, they have the wingman exchange, and their suddenly buddy buddy. Thing is, it wasn't sudden at all.

They've been setting this up the entire fucking movie.

Going back to what I said at the beginning: Ice thinks Mav is dangerous and Mav thinks Ice is stuck-up and controlling. After the Layton, they still think those things because they weren't wrong to begin with. What changed was that instead of seeing it as something that pitted them against each other, it was seen as something that simply was about the other, and that there was no changing it. It could be good.

Mav being dangerous could be good and Ice being stuck-up and controlling could be good, because those were just traits of who they were. By the end of the movie they didn't change how they saw each other, just how they interpreted each other.

And it was built up during the entire fucking movie.

There was a reason to why they acted the way they did with each other because of the stilted interpretation they had of each other. From rivalry to friendship (and perhaps more later down the line), it's glaringly obvious throughout that it wasn't a sudden shift, it was exponential.

That's why I think it was so well developed, because you could see it coming.

#I implied that Mav is autistic here and there because yes #i just love them your honor #this is what I call good writing folks #take notes #top gun #tg86 #icemav #iceman x maverick #top gun iceman #tom iceman kazansky #iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #top gun 1986

[writingseaslugs]

Diasomnia NSFW Headcanons

Me: Don’t give Malleus a breeding kink, don’t give Malleus a breeding kink…EXTRA BULLET HE HAS ONE! I really cannot contain myself…I don’t apologize. Also might’ve been a little drunk while writing this, so I will not be taking criticism. I drank a glass of Moscato midway through Malleus, a shot of fireball/rumchata at Sebek, and a second shot midway through Silver. So you know…I did the best I could while under the influence of my bad decisions.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series is aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please do a quick read of THIS post. This post also has explicit content. If you’re under the age of 18, or are uncomfortable with this form of content, please skip this post. Content Warning: Marking, Edging, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, Body Worship, Soft Sex, Consensual Somnophilia.

Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia (You’re Here)

NSFW Headcanons

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is the biggest student at NRC…and not just in the height department. He’s pretty well endowed, and the anatomy might not be totally human, so be prepared to feel like you’re being split in half when he’s inside you. This bodes well since he has a size kink, and being a bigger presence to his lover is a huge turn-on. Watching his lover squirm when they see his size for the first time as he assures you it’ll all fit as long as you let him prep you for a while. The size kink goes both ways as well; if he has a lover who is somehow taller than him, he’s going to love being manhandled by them.

Fae have stamina for days, which means it’ll be hard to catch up with him. There’s likely never going to be a moment when he’s on top that you can keep up with his stamina. He will always manage to outlast you as he overstimulates your body until it’s almost at the breaking point. He’ll give you a break, though, and never judges since he knows you are simply a child of man. If you happen to be on top that night, though and drag him to orgasm time and time again until he’s twitching under you, you might be able to outlast his stamina. Maybe.

He is a switch, despite what others may think. Outside around others, he keeps his appearance up, but when it’s just the two, you’re on equal grounds at all times. If you want to be dominated, then say no more. He’ll have you screaming his name until you lose your voice; fucking you dumb is a fun pastime of his. If you want to be on top, he’ll let you play with his body to your heart’s content. He still is in charge during those moments, though, unless you manage to really overstimulate him or edge him until his brilliant green eyes are starting to tear up.

It’s not unheard of to leave his room with a few new bruises and scratch marks. He’ll heal them for you instantly if you ask, but honestly, he really likes how well-marked up you are. It’s never on purpose either; he just kind of loses himself sometimes and forgets how delicate humans are. He’ll apologize and kiss every inch of skin he might have injured and promise to be more careful moving forwards…unless you’re into that kinda thing.

When the mood strikes him, he’s going to have his way with you. Doesn’t shy away from public sex at all since he will be able to tell if someone is nearby and take the appropriate measures. If he wants to absolutely ravish you while he’s in class, the moment the bell rings, he’s going to find you and drag you somewhere and fuck you against the wall. Be careful what you wear around him as well. You have something on that he wants to tear off you like a present; he will with no remorse. Even if it’s your favorite underwear, he swears he will buy you fifty more of them later.

Bonus Bullet: He has a breeding kink. Not only from being a dragon fae but from being royalty and the thought of one day needing to produce an heir. He’s going to have you in a mating press, chest against his, as he tells you how good you’re taking his cock. Coming inside you several times as you go into overstimulation, fucked dumb by him, all while he wipes away your tears and tells you you’re doing so good for him. Watching his cum flow out of your abused hole and maybe even plugging you up after. Even if you are AMAB or on birth control, he’ll still do this. Seeing you so thoroughly fucked full of his cum makes him absolutely feral.

Lilia Vanrouge

There is no doubt about it, Lilia has experience when it comes to being intimate with someone. Whether you’re experienced or not doesn’t matter to Lilia, he can still show you a thing or two. In fact, he’ll be begging to show you what he knows, using techniques that have made past partners squirm. He will have you begging for more by the end of it. His mouth isn’t just good for smart quips, after all.

Very open to kinks and honestly has probably partaken in them once or twice. If you name a kink that’s new, he’s going to be intrigued and want to test it out and see if he’s into it. If you’re really into something and bring it up, he’s more than happy to show you. He has a pretty extensive kink list that he’ll sit you down and go through to see what you’re down with trying. Biting his partner is definitely one of them, and he’s had several partners in the past swoon over his sharp teeth. If you’re willing to let him mark you with bites and hickies, he’s going to be a very happy man.

You get the best of both worlds when it comes to Lilia. You can have him be small and breedable if you want, fucking your cock or strap into him while he’s moaning and whining mess, begging you for more. Or he can take on his more mature and taller form, looking over you while your wrists are tied as he drives his cock into you. He’s happy with being a top and a bottom and will be happy if he has a partner willing to indulge with both sides. Not to say he won’t be submissive in his taller form and dominant in his smaller form. He is versatile and enjoys making his partner or himself a mess in whatever way possible.

Lilia loves to tease his partners in friendly, romantic, and sexual ways. He’ll be between your legs for hours if you let him, bringing you so close to coming only to lift away and tap his slick-coated chin, pondering out loud if he thinks you deserve to cum. If you return the favor, expect him to be overdramatic about it. He’ll be so loud with your lips around his cock, begging you to let him cum with tears flowing down his red face. Some of it’s just for show, but damn, it’s easy to rile you up even with that sight. He’s also going to edge both of you, taking his cock out of you as soon as the two of you are almost at the edge while leaning down and kissing your cheek and neck, saying, “One more time, and we can cum together.”

He’s going to adore teasing you between classes. Coming over and whispering something dirty in your ear as you pass by him. Putting his hand a bit too high on your leg while at lunch. Maybe dragging you to an empty classroom for a heavy make-out session before parting and telling, talking against your lips, that you should head to your next class. It’s a fun game of his to see how far he can take it before you’re the one grabbing him by his arm and dragging him to an empty broom closet and begging him to make you cum before you go crazy. Depending on his mood, he might just use his hands while calling you a needy little slut to get you to cum and then leave you in your messed-up underwear until after school.

Bonus Bullet: Make fun of his height, and he's going to see that as a challenge. Either he's going to take on his larger form that towers over you at 6'8" (203.2cm) and tell you how tiny you are compared to him now as he impales you on his cock. Or he's going to drag you to his room and tie you up and fuck you in his short form, edging you for hours while saying you should be nicer to short people judging by how well they can wreck you.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is…sadly, not well-versed in sex. He knows how babies are made, but his fae mother probably never sat him down for the bird and the bees, he probably never spoke to his father about it, and Lilia had just assumed he knew. Not to mention the lack of friends his age, and well…there’s some explaining to do. He’s not clueless; he knows what to do. He just doesn’t know about all the technical things, like foreplay. So it’s going to be fun to teach him all those things and watch as his face goes red when you tell him he needs to use his hands to stretch you out before he can stick his dick into you.

It might be a little awkward because he will be asking to ensure he’s doing things correctly. What kind of man would he be if he couldn’t even please his partner? So as he’s first exploring your body, caressing every inch of skin he can, he’s going to be asking what feels right. It’s almost going to be sensual as he gropes your chest, tweaking your nipples and watching as your back arches up into his touch, and he smiles, asking if that felt nice. The moment his hand goes between your legs, he’ll be a bit nervous but hearing you moaning out his name breathlessly is going to encourage him to keep at it.

His composure is going to be lost pretty fast when he’s fucking you. For once, he might be speechless as he watches your face morphing in pleasure. His entire face will be painted scarlet at the sight as he stops thrusting to admire you. When you ask him why he stopped, he’s going to stutter out an excuse before giving a harsher thrust. His hair is going to be disheveled, and the fluffy locks might even be in his face. He’s going to look absolutely wrecked when he feels your walls convulsing around you, and if he had any thought to pull out, it’ll be lost as he’s coming hard in you.

He will worship every inch of your skin. Every mole, freckle, blemish, scar…you name it. If you have curves, he’ll pinch them between his fingers and tell you how beautiful they make you. Expect to be bombarded with praise. You think his obsession with Malleus is bad? He could talk about your body, what noises you make, your expressions…he could go on for days. Just make sure to inform him not to accidentally slip up around friends when discussing you. The last thing you need is Sebek telling everyone how you are in bed and how last night your moans went a pitch higher than normal when you came, and how you left scratches all along his shoulders that he swears he’ll wear with pride and hopes they scar.

He’s a service dom to the max. He’ll always want to be on top because, again, “What kind of man would I be if I hogged all the pleasure to myself by letting you do that?”. He can be convinced, though. Ask if you can suck him off, and he might tell you it’s not necessary, but if you give him the puppy dog eyes, he’ll oblige. Watching as he bites his knuckles in an attempt to be quiet before breaking and moaning loud enough for the entire school to hear is ethereal. He’ll never ask you to do those things, but if you offer, he’ll allow it since you want to, and he has a hard time telling you no.

Bonus Bullet: No public sex. He is far too loud, and you will be caught instantly. There’s also no sneaking when you two are having sex. If it’s in Ramshackle, make sure Grim is out because even he can’t sleep through that. If it’s at Diasomnia, the dorm is going to hear you two. Lilia will chuckle and congratulate Sebek, which will make the boy beam. Malleus won’t say anything, but Silver will be visibly annoyed. Lilia might suggest that you keep your affairs at Ramshackle next time…or he could always let you borrow a gag for Sebek.

Silver

Since Lilia raised him, he was given sex ed like a normal kid would when they reached puberty, but Lilia had drilled into Silver the importance of protection and how he didn’t want to be a gilf anytime soon. Silver took the protection part to heart and will be using a condom unless you tell him it’s okay and he doesn’t need to. He also knows a thing or two from overhearing people talk when they thought he was asleep. He’s not clueless, but experienced is another thing…thankfully he’s a quick study.

Generally, having sex with Silver isn’t really “Fucking” but more of “Making Love.” He’s going to be gentle and make you feel wanted like you’re the only thing that exists at the moment. It’s almost suffocating how the air sometimes changes when he begins having sex with you. You’re going to feel cherished and secure in his arms. He’s going to kiss you all over your body and murmur sweet nothings to you as he slowly brings you to an earth-shattering orgasm. Your entire body will feel like a live wire as you feel every vein of his cock rubbing inside you.

Silver tends to sleep over at your place more often than not, as long as Lilia assures him Malleus will be fine. So if you wake him up with kisses, he’s going to slowly reciprocate before groping your body and pulling you close enough to feel his morning wood through his pants. Slowly riding him with the morning beams of sun coming in through the cracks in the blinds is going to be the best wake-up call he could ask for. If you get tired of doing that, he’s more than happy to flip you onto the bed and slowly grind his cock into you until you’re both coming. Just be careful not to fall back asleep after that.

When the mood strikes him, he can be a bit more energetic in bed. Especially if you request him to go a little bit harder next time, he’s happy to oblige. He’ll keep fucking into you until your legs are turned to jelly. His hands touch every inch of skin as he roughly thrusts into you, pulling each orgasm out of you until your brain is short-circuiting. He might be the number one sleepy boy in the school, but his stamina is nothing to scoff at. He’s still a trained knight, and his body is up to par because of it. He can also try a lot of different positions with you, even fucking you against the cool tiles of the shower without worrying about slipping at all.

Sex with Silver is amazing, in all honesty, but the best thing is after. He’ll make sure you’re both cleaned up and then cuddle you. Normally he likes to be the big spoon so he can wrap his arms around your midsection and pull you against his chest. You’re almost like a stuffed animal for him. He’ll leave kisses along your shoulders and tell you everything he thinks about you and how much he adores you. He’ll keep this up for a while until suddenly, he drifts off and is quiet. It’s a clear sign he fell asleep, and his grip will loosen enough to turn around and face him to see his peaceful sleeping face.

Bonus Bullet: He’ll only be okay if it’s discussed beforehand and it's in a private location, but he is okay with you using his body while he’s asleep. He knows he’s got a condition of some kind, and that might leave you feeling needy at moments while he’s asleep. Not to mention he might get tired midway through sex and just fall asleep. So if you have discussed it, he doesn’t mind you using his body to pleasure yourself. If he wakes up to you riding his cock and moaning lewdly, he’ll think he died in his sleep and went to heaven somehow. Remember, though, it has to be consensual. He probably wouldn’t appreciate you doing it if it hadn’t been discussed.

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST #TWST x Reader #TWST Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Disney #TWST Disney #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Lilia x Reader #Silver x Reader #TWST Silver #Twisted Wonderland Silver #Sebek Zigvolt #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader #Sebek x Reader

[sunkissed-zegras]

. "you're an idiot." / "but i'm your idiot." W jack hughes ;)

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬 | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 412

♡ ─ warnings | lots of shit talking (LMAO), mention of nose jobs and jack being mean (not to reader), nothing else

♡ ─ ev's notes | i love shit talking w boys cus they make it so entertaining HAHAH

"And then she said that if I had a problem with her, I should just say it to her face. And when I did, she started crying." You scoffed as you explained your friend-group drama to your boyfriend, Jack.

You were both on your bed as Jack laid there, you were sitting up explaining it. He looked very intrigued as he listened intently, nodding occasionally to show he was following along.

Jack raised an eyebrow, his expression amused. "Wait, so you told her what was bothering you, and she started crying? What a bitch." He rolled his eyes as you let out a laugh.

You chuckled at Jack's blunt response, appreciating his straightforwardness. "Yeah, it was pretty unexpected. I mean, I thought she wanted honesty, but I guess she couldn't handle it."

"Wait, isn't she the one with the fucked up nose from the nose job?" Jack's eyebrows knitted as he thought for a moment.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at Jack's unexpected comment, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, that's her. The one with the botched nose job. I swear, it's like she can't handle criticism on any level."

Jack smirked, clearly finding the irony amusing. "Well, maybe she should've spent more time picking a good surgeon instead of judging other people. And what did you even say? Nothing as bad as I would've said, you're actually nice." Jack scoffed.

You let out another laugh as you shook your head. "Oh my gosh, you're such an idiot." You said playfully, giving Jack a playful shove.

"Sure, but I'm your idiot," Jack teased, dodging your shove with a grin. "I call it as I see it. If she's gonna dish out judgment left and right, she should be able to take a little in return, right?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, "Yeah, well, next time I need a reality check, I'll be sure to come to you. But seriously, I didn't even say it that harshly. I just mentioned how her constant judgmental attitude was getting on my nerves."

Jack nodded in agreement, "Some people thrive on that stuff. Drama queens, I tell ya."

"Exactly," you agreed, feeling grateful to have Jack to share these moments with. "Anyway, enough about her and her botched nose job. Let's focus on something else."

Jack nodded. "Agreed. How about we order some pizza and watch that new series we've been talking about?"

You smiled, feeling a sense of happiness wash over you. "That sounds perfect."

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#❀ evangeline's 1k celly!!⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl fic #hockey #nhl oneshot #nhl fanfiction #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #jack hughes fic #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes x y/n #luke hughes #hughes brothers #new jersey devils #njd

[bwabys-scenarios]

Heyy what do you think Chrollo’s icks would be? 😵‍💫

IM SO SORRY TO THE CHROLLO STANS BUT THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG

Chrollo’s Icks

-MANSPLAINER

-literally learns everything there is to know about your interests and then explains the complexities of it to you like you’re a fucking IDIOT. he thinks you’ll love it because he’s interested in YOUR interests, but it only pisses you off

-he tries so hard to be suave and cool that it makes you cringe. you’re pretty sure you heard the line he just used on you from a shojo anime…

-he’s really rude. it’s not on purpose, I swear, but if you wear something he doesn’t like he’ll just look at you all displeased. “are you really going to wear that to the function? I did tell you it was formal… right?”

-analyses everything you do, but is often wrong. will try to predict what you’re going to say/do next only to be proven wrong, embarrassing himself

-snobby when it comes to books, even if his favorite thing to read is manga. will criticize you for liking the Percy Jackson series with a copy of Naruto in his hand

-he’s handsome and he knows it. is a bit too cocky about his looks and ends up relying on them too much. unfortunately, you don’t care about how handsome he is after he’s missed the fourth date in a row

-speaking of dates, he’s bad about canceling last minute and/or leaving mid date for his job(if you can call it that)

-he’s so clingy at times, sometimes when you would rather not be held. then when you’re in need of some comfort or cuddles, he’s distant and cold. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME

-has definitely used a line from fifty shades of grey in the bedroom, turning your coochie into a desert immediately

-gives you gifts that you don’t even want, like expensive jewelry and clothes when all you wanted was some roses and a teddy bear. he often buys you things that you can wear that are HIS style. not yours

-if he’s gone for a while he may send someone to watch over you, that person often being Feitan or Pakunoda. Pakunoda is okay, bringing you desserts and hanging out. Feitan however watches you from a distance, and only after you call the police on him because he looks like he’s going to murder you, does Chrollo inform you that Feitan is his friend. Feitan isn’t a bad guy though. Once you invite him in his creepiness dies down. A little.

-talks down to you a lot

Things that ick him out

-people that smoke(he hates the smell)

-sloppy/messy people

-if the person he’s interested doesn’t like his friends, he loses interest in them immediately. He may not want you to be around the Troupe a lot, but you at least have to like them. They’re basically his family!

-never, and I mean NEVER try to convince him that his lifestyle is wrong or try to change him. He’s not changing, and you’ll only give him the ick. If you want chrollo, you gotta accept him, flaws and all. And those flaws are him being a wanted criminal

-he doesn’t like people that are ungrateful or take life for granted.

-anyone that insults Meteor City will not only give him the ick, but will cause that person to lose a limb. if you aren’t from meteor city, you don’t get to trash talk it

-he hates strong perfumes/lotions. it gives him a headache

Random HCs

-despite all his icks he’s actually a really sweet lover. genuinely cares about you and your well being, and his icks will improve over time if he’s pushed in the right direction,

-I think we all know this but chrollo is a huge cock warming fan. it doesn’t matter if he just wants to read a book at his desk or is out at a restaurant, he’s amazing at hiding the fact he’s buried deep inside you

-if you two get a pet the pet will always end up hating him or loving him more than you, there’s no in between

-he’s so silly, he pretends that reality tv is below him but will also watch it from the kitchen when you’re not paying attention, gasping when they do something shocking

-he’s actually a little shy the first time you two have sex! it’s not that he’s a virgin, he just loves you so much he’s a bit scared he’ll cum too quick. he’s been imagining this for a long time, and just seeing you naked underneath him is enough for him to be leaking profusely

-he has autism. this is a very biased headcanon because I’m also autistic, but just look at that guy, it screams undiagnosed autism

#chrollo lucifer x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #hunter x hunter chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo headcanons #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo hcs #chrollo smut #chrollo imagine #chrollo fic #x reader #anime x reader #headcanon #requests open #reader insert #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #smut requests #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter headcanons #hxh headcanons #hxh hcs #anime x chubby reader #chubby reader #chubby!reader #fem reader #female reader

[deathsweetblossoms]

The Prisoners Throne thoughts

Spoilers beneath cut! Heads up for a critical review but a positive Jurdan review 😂

Also did anyone catch the Roiben and Kaye mention? It was subtle but it was there..

I’m a little all over the place with my initial thoughts on the whole thing, but here are my main takeaways:

The pacing was weak, especially in the build up (or lack of build up) to Oak’s discovery of The Ghost being the main poisoner of his mother. In the span of two chapters, Oak goes from incandescent rage towards Ghost and his sisters/family, to then processing all of that because of the Ghost’s death?

My issue here is we never really saw Oak talking to his family despite his POV lamenting that they avoid uncomfortable topics. He’s right. They do. And so I would’ve liked for a genuine heart to heart.

On the topic of the Ghost’s death — what the fuck? Also incredibly weak. We didn’t spend enough time getting to know Garrett for that death to be impactful in any way (unless you are me and you’ve been crushing on the Ghost for years). The attitude around the entire thing was so blasé that I genuinely thought he was going to be brought back to life in a few pages.. I just don’t understand what Holly was trying to do here.

Overall this probably needed to be a trilogy so she could develop more of these ideas, because even the romance with Oak and Suren felt a little off kilter to me.

Otherwise, every Jurdan scene was incredible. Cardan, despite his few appearances, carried this whole book on his back for me. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE OAK. The tragedy of his upbringing, the way he was supposed to have a happy childhood but was turned into a monster by Madoc is so bittersweet.

I think the abdication of being heir was solved a little too easily? But it did leave the door open for some speculation about a Jurdan baby 👀

I was right about the political problem being about the Undersea and I’m really wondering if she’s going to write that from Jurdan POV or from Nicasia.. so that’s exciting!

I wish we had more *Elfhame* in this book. Where was the magic of TCP? I just felt something was lacking and I can’t put my finger on what.

Suren having a rebirth moment like Cardan only adds to my criticism that Oak/Suren has too many similarities to Jurdan that I wish had been avoided — BUT. I love the imagery of it and I’m happy our monster girl got the happy ending she deserves.

A lot of these Cardan moments had me going absolutely insane — him protecting Jude? Him playing with Leander? Oak pointing out that Cardan is brave and picked up a sword to fight in the end as well? Omg!!

How do I feel? Weird. I’m NGL, I feel kind of strange about this book. Perhaps I need to reread the duology or the entire series.

Some other odd things I noticed:

Lady Asha is still alive and kicking it at court? Lol.

Oak thought Taryn was the kind hearted sister who wanted a gentler world

The amount of dead deer imagery (the deer heart in the Citadel, the dead deer on Madoc’s clothes) that made Oak feel ill at ease was equal parts cute and sad LOL. My sweet hoof boy 🥹

The removal of Valerian’s curse and the confirmation that there was, in fact, a curse. What does this mean for Jude going forward?

#the prisoners throne #jurdan #the folk of the air #tfota #oak greenbriar #the prisoners throne spoilers

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

🤍AO3 Link

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #f!reader #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfic

[david-talks-sw]

I got a good feeling about "The Acolyte"

Not even kidding. Like, I've spoken before about why I'm wary of it.

George Lucas' Star Wars is something that intentionally has black and white morality, rather than shades of gray. Those movies are meant for kids and projecting a "gray" morality onto them then proclaiming it was George's vision all along is doing so in bad faith.

The narrative of the Prequels doesn't frame the Prequel Jedi in as negative a light as Leslye Headland, Dave Filoni, etc etc do.

See here for more details, but bottom line: yeah, a show that has a darksider as the underdog is bound to demonize the Jedi (who are the actual underdogs in the Prequels), and obviously that rubs me the wrong way.

BUT.

The trailer looks fucking cool. It really really does.

And more importantly? I've done some research... and Leslye Headland is ticking a lot of good boxes, in my book.

1. The Acolyte won't be a 10-hour movie.

I've criticized Disney Plus shows before, explaining that a big source for most of their issues is that these series are being structured as "long movies" rather than, y'know, actual shows.

But in this interview with Collider, Headland addresses that: it'll be a series. Not a long movie that you need to watch across four weeks.

Thank God. You have no idea how much that comforts me. Finally a showrunner who's, y'know, actually running a show.

And this goes hand in hand with what she told IGN, here, about how she's going about building suspense.

Yes! Exactly! That's how it's supposed to be!

Like, compare this to Baylan Skoll's storyline in Ahsoka.

In no possible way was that emotionally-fulfilling. For 8 episodes we had no idea what he was after, and the season ended where we still don't know. What does he want? What is he after? Your guess is as good as mine, it's something Mortis-related.

So yeah. Maybe getting the Emmy-nominated trained screenwriter on board to run this was a good idea.

2. Maybe the Jedi will not be as demonized as I originally thought.

Don't get me wrong. 80% of what she says about the Jedi makes me cringe. It's the typical fan's interpretation and y'all know I disagree with that interpretation.

It's painful to see her refer to the Jedi as an institution (not how the Prequels' narrative frames them) and to see her frame "Balance" in the "oh there's so many of them and just two Sith, that means the Force is out of balance" meaning... but at least she acknowledges the Jedi are a benevolent institution.

They're not an "elitist force hiding in their ivory tower" as others have described the Jedi.

Moreover, there'll be a variety of Jedi POVs, many personalities.

Yord Fandar, is described as a strictly by-the-book Jedi Knight and guardian from the Jedi Temple, is an overachiever and a rule follower.

The question now becomes: will the narrative frame him as "your typical Jedi" or is it just this one guy? I'm hoping it's the latter.

I also like how her reasoning goes re: Jedi drawing their lightsabers.

Which explains the hand-to-hand combat seen in the trailer.

This teenager is coming at Carrie-Ann Moss with a dagger, of course the Jedi won't draw her saber.

3. She's a fan of Star Wars... but a screenwriter first.

You can tell in the interviews she's a fan. She's using words like "BBY" and "EU" casually. In the above-linked interviews she's bringing up the Nightsisters, Timothy Zahn, The Clone Wars, she mentions she has a tattoo of Ralph McQuarrie's concept art of Leia, the High Republic books, etc.

She's done her homework. She's a fan.

But the vibe I'm getting from these interviews is that she's weaving in these various lore-elements in a more organic way, rather than in the "fan-servicey" way Dave Filoni has been doing in his shows.

The references and Easter Eggs will be there, but the narrative won't bend over itself just so you can get it. Crafting a good story comes first, and Andor is a beautiful illustration of why this is true.

Which is why I was never bothered about one of the writers never having watched Star Wars before getting the job. You need those fresh eyes when you're tackling something of this scale.

That makes sense to me. Maybe it's because of my own screenwriting experience, but yeah. That out-of-the box perspective is precious.

And like, obviously, that writer watched the films eventually, but for some reason everyone who bitched about Headland omitted that detail and opted for a more bad faith interpretation.

Hm. Wonder why.

Maybe it's the same reason that months ago this clipped audio circulated socials without context, in which she debates whether Star Wars only came from George Lucas and only Lucas is the key.

The FULL context of that interview reveals that she's actually:

debating the "autheur director" myth and positing that it was achieved by a collective of excellent filmmakers and craftspeople that George was skilled and smart enough to recruit...

the studios now think it's a simple as hiring one guy and throwing money at him, because they have no idea what the fuck they're talking about. See Napoleon (2023) for example.

Yes, she also does a jab to the Prequels, which speaks to the generation of fans she's a part of... but overall she's giving Lucas props whilst also stating an ideological difference, that's it!

George is a proponent of the "autheur" theory, Leslye isn't.

However, guess what, in like half the talks George gave post-selling Star Wars? He's giving shoutouts to everyone who helped make the first film, even remembering their names.

So I'm not even sure he'd vehemently disagree with Leslye, in fact they'd prolly have a conversation about it and immediately bitch about how stupid studio executives are :D

But that's not as incendiary, is it? Again, the more I do the research, the more it feels like the reason most of these influencers are hating on her is purely sexist.

I mean, on IGN she's even acknowledging that she does plan on taking stock of fan reactions for Season 2.

It's not a guarantee that she'll incorporate the feedback, but at least that's more consideration than, say, JJ Abrams or Rian Johnson gave the fandom.

She's even bringing the moral ambiguity that the Gray Jedi-loving edge-lords love so much.

"No, she's a woke feminist! Anything she does is evil! Eww, girls!"

🙄

Needless to say... I'm gonna give it a shot.

I think it's gonna be a good show, I think it's gonna be a solid story.

I'm crossing my fingers that they won't as biased against the Jedi as it seems they'll be. Even if they are... if it's still an enjoyable experience, I'll gloss over it.

As @gffa states in this post:

Worst case? It's not a story from George. I can dismiss it from my headcanon without a moment's hesitation :D

#the acolyte #jedi order #star wars #leslye headland #george lucas #Youtube #discussion

[rookflower]

seeing nightheart arguments again as with every asc release so once again, a reminder that when people say "nightheart's arc (or that of any other warrior cats character for that matter) is sexist", 99% of the time they are not calling the character, themselves, within the universe, a misogynist. nightheart in the books does not hate women. liking nightheart is not misogyny. what IS sexist there is the choices the authors make when they are writing a character. because at the end of the day, the characters themselves are not real.

in nightheart's case, at the start of his story almost every female character in his life (sparkpelt, finchlight, squirrelflight, lilyheart, myrtlebloom, etc) was written as being needlessly cruel to him, in spite of their own characters, and the male characters in his life (bramblestar, alderheart, bayshine) were written as far kinder or more reasonable towards him. the issue was not the FACT people were being mean to him, but the blatant trend and malicious gendered stereotypes going on with how it was handled.

"but they've been redeemed by Thunder! they're all being nicer to him now!" yeah, but isn't it super fucking weird that it was written like that in the first place? that finchlight changed personality like the weather when she should have been a prominent enough character to have an established one, that sparkpelt needs to redeem herself for absences in squirrelflight's hope and tbc that were unfairly out of her control and were not even considered an issue until now it's convienent to make her son sad, that squirrelflight was treated as antagonistic and cruel over asking her adult grandson to do some chores or whatever?

"but that's the author's fault, not the character's!" the character is not real though. he doesn't have feelings that can be hurt, what is there are the words on the page, and a lot of people will look at a character's arc rather than imagining them as a real person or making up headcanons to fill in gaps. there is also nothing wrong with people disliking a character you like. that is always going to happen forever.

"so are you saying i'm sexist because i like or relate to nightheart?" no, nobody is saying this. nightheart is an insecure angsty young adult protagonist in a tonally silly book series who has a complicated relationship with his family and gets into relationship drama, of course a bunch of people are going to latch on to him, and there's nothing wrong with that. i know a ton of nightheart fans. people criticising him is not a personal attack on you or anyone.

"you're looking into this too deeply" man this is warrior cats tumblr, what are any of us doing here. sometimes engaging critically with a text is fun. sometimes, texts have genuine flaws and harmful biases within their writing and it's useful to learn to identify and analyse them. warrior cats is not and never will be peak literature and i don't think anybody expects it to be but that doesn't mean people aren't allowed to take critical approaches to it on anything more than a surface level.

#long post #asc #this is not an attack on anybody this is an invitation to understand where critical perspectives are coming from #you can enjoy a character while acknowledging flaws in their writing. it's okay.

[thefallenangelsgang]

Fuck it, I'm throwing my hat on the ring about the Emil announcing Nate from Fallout 4 is the bystander Soldier in the Fallout 1 opener.

First and foremost, it was a stupid thing to say. As he backtracks to later, the conceit of Fallout's protags is they are supposed to be anyone (and that issue is precisely why some people hate the extensive prewar character background given to you in Fallout 4). For the lead writer to pull a JK Rowling (why would you do that? None of those went over well) is such a major marketing misstep that it wouldn't surprise me if Emil gets reprimanded for it before we even get into the implication of what he said.

Emil your voice is as good as God when it comes to the canon. You can't just say shit like that and expect it to go well. Especially considering the implications.

Speaking of the implications, I'm not mad about Nate being a war criminal. It's a coloring I actually would welcome if the games discussed concepts like Capitalism, Racism, and War in any meaningful way anymore. And if Emil also didn't say this.

Fallout's canon is rooted in reality. That is part of its whole thing. It's fun to do goofy shit like becoming the Silver Shroud and having a make believe superhero fight with the Mechanist or write a woman obsessed with Nuka Cola so much she traverses two games to basically kidnap the CEO's cryogenically preserved head so she can talk to him for all eternity, but the setting is very much rooted in reality.

You aren't dealing with fictional countries, you aren't dealing with fictional races, you aren't dealing with fictional hypotheticals. That is The Elder Scrolls job. You are dealing with actual countries, actual racism, actual history, and actual fucking politics. You have to be mindful of what you are doing and saying. You can't just do things because it's an interesting plot device without first thinking about the implications.

Fallout's world is a heightened version of our own, a path we seem to stumble towards with ever passing year unless we do something about it. It fucking sucks. I'm sure writing it feels like prophesizing the future and eats your soul a bit. It would mine. But that doesn't mean Fallout can just take a sharp left in terms of story and reality and get away with it.

To have Nate be the bystander Soldier and then meet him when he has a very good thing going for him (an expensive house during an inflation crisis, a robot butler, he gets into a vault for free for fucks sake) very much speaks to life rewarding him for his crimes. There is no hatred in his words when he looks at the flag of the country that made him kill innocents. His speech is speaks of remorse for leaving his family and the cycle of war, it does not speak of the horrors. Of watching you comrades bleed out in the Anchorage snow. Of the scream of shells overhead. Of the fear in civilians eyes as your buddy puts a bullet between them.

You all have to see how it looks like the man is fine with what he had to do during the war, right?

Not interacting with these concepts enough paints a picture of apathy and acceptance. In this day and age where being keeping the government honest and responsible for their actions is so important, that isn't going to slide without it being EXTREMELY purposeful, which it is not. It's tone deaf and lazy.

I respect a lot of what Emil has done in the past, but I am not above keeping him culpable when he has something so delicate in his hands. I hope this situation is what he needed to get his head on straight, or is the light bulb moment where he realizes he needs to pass the torch onwards. There is no shame in subject matter becoming too much as time goes on. There is shame in letting a previously critical series become the very thing it was criticizing.

He is going to keep getting dragged until he realizes that or he manages to convince the fans to be complicit in the degradation of setting. In doing so he is going to lose Bethesda most of its biggest fans who well and truly love the series and what it stands for.

But that's just my take, and I'm just a kid who studies polisci and history and can't shield myself from the inherent horror of nuclear war no matter how much I try.

War really never changes

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout new vegas #fallout 3 #fallout 2 #fallout tv series #fallout tv show #emil pagliarulo #bethesda

[xamiipholia]

Since it’s been a year since Burning Shores came out, some thoughts on Seyka:

TL;DR: Great character, really happy with her as a love interest for Aloy. They do some really interesting things with her that I never really see addressed so I wanted to talk about them.

She is tangibly shown to be much more of a match for Aloy through gameplay. Compared to other npcs, she solves things faster, does more damage, is a much more formidable melee combatant, faster climber - she even has a fucking Valor Surge using her Focus that does pretty significant tear damage to large machines like Slaughterspines. Environmental storytelling- Seyka’s skiff has at least 2-3 Tiderippers’ worth of parts, meaning she’s been out on her own killing the things to build boat motors, and she has some ambient dialogue that strongly suggests she’s fought and killed Slaugterspines before. Is some of this npc tech advancements in Burning Shores? Maybe, but it feels intentional. 

Seyka has a natural probing curiosity about the old world that for the most part Aloy’s other companions didn’t have without some significant hand-holding from Aloy to get them started, and some of her close friend (but not base team) characters just don’t have at all. I don’t mean this as a moral judgement, everyone is different and has different strengths and priorities , but it’s absolutely critical that a partner for Aloy have that kind of curiosity - it’s such a big part of her character. While she lives in this new world, she’s never going to be entirely a part of it. Like she says, she finds belonging in individuals, and not really the tribes. I don’t really see Aloy settling down in Meridian or Mother’s Heart. She needs to have a life of exploration and discovery and Seyka seems cut from that cloth too, whether she was always that way or being marooned gave her a fresh perspective.

Seyka did risk death using the focus and decided to do it anyway- in Rheng’s notes he calls for capital punishment for her. The threat is never *too* present but honestly I think that’s a broader critique of the series and pretty consistent with the writing of conflicts in Horizon. I agree they could have played up the dramatic tension a bit, but this is a person who weighed the risk of a military execution by a totalitarian state and immediately decided it was worth it to save her sister and others. I think Aloy can intimately relate, given what she went through for Beta.

Even though it’s a DLC, she has a TON of screen time, probably comparable to Kotallo in HFW, and Horizon does SO much storytelling through gameplay and ambient dialogue. I think she’s given a LOT of narrative space to breathe. She’s also has her own musical cues and leitmotifs that do a ton of foreshadowing work through the DLC - in terms of musical cues and framing she’s very associated with the acoustic guitar, and the flute melody in ‘Her Sky, Her Sea’ has for Aloy and Seyka the same function that ‘It Can’t Last’ does for Ellie and Dina in TLOU2 - next time you play Burning Shores, listen for it. That and the guitar cues from ‘The Idea of Home’ and ‘For His Entertainment’ do a lot of emotional work. It’s great stuff.

Okay and lastly- YMMV on this one - I’ve def talked about it with friends before but I don’t think I’ve said it on Tumblr. I’m a firm believer that meta narratives and the way that stories are situated and created in our own world matter and that art deserves to be taken seriously and dissected. I love Horizon, but it, and Aloy as a protagonist, are absolutely drenched in white savior and colonial storytelling tropes. Every time I play Frozen Wilds, all I can think of is Jack Sparrow going “and then they made me their chief”. There’s a lot of iffy stuff in the games, as much as I absolutely love them. We’ll have to see how H3 goes, but Burning Shores is MUCH better about this and honestly Seyka is a huge part of it. The story centers itself on a queer woman of color who is pretty tangibly presented as Aloy’s equal with her own strengths and weaknesses throughout the story and takes the lead just as often if not more than Aloy does, which I find really refreshing. It doesn’t entirely fix Aloy’s white savior issues but I think it’s a really good move for the narrative that continues the themes found in HFW about community and connection.

Horizon Zero Dawn: The Frozen Wilds (2017)

#Seyka #horizon forbidden west #hfw #aloy #horizon #horizon zero dawn #guerrilla games #hzd #horizon burning shores #hfw seyka #horizon critical #The musical leitmotifs are gooooood shit #It was one of the things that really hooked me with the dlc because Horizon had never done that for a character relationship before #Also the last point is not a personal attack #I like lots of vaguely problematic things