#red/blue dynamic is RIPE

[xiaoluclair]

max going from mainly gold boots to mainly blue boots this year, charles going from mainly black boots to mainly red boots this year, the narrative is literally shitting itself with dynamics.

#THIS is why max changed his boots actually #the boy understands NARRATIVE #xiao: waffle #waffle: mv1.cl16 #they look even more polar this year head to fucking toe #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #red/blue dynamic is RIPE

[rippersz]

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕴𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘

Medusa!Larissa Weems x Blind!Reader (wlw/fluffy/mythological)

"You and only you, can make the rest of my life peaceful," ~ Madeleine Smith

~~~~~~~~

A gentle ebb and flow threaded through the leaves and water. The small waves in the river went forward, the green strands of the grass went back, and so in tune they were when the other changed direction. Forward and back and back and forward. They paid no mind to the birds - those of which flitted from one nest to the other. Nor did the rabbits or deer, grazing and passing through, interrupt their little dance. Forward and back and back and forward. The fish swam with no place in mind and the wolves were silent in their daily musings - tasked to do with whatever it was that wolves were tasked to do on such a sweet day.

The snow of the previous season had been shed; soaked into the ground over the past two weeks while the sun stretched her arms over her head and yawned with a big hello. She carried Spring along with her and spread her over the ground, making love until evening so that the fruits of their desire fell into seeds. Figs, apples, berries, nuts, and foliage dotted the bushes, the nettle, and the trees. All slowly growing ripe in their waiting, blooming in large families to match the quick growth of the flowers. White flowers, pink flowers, red flowers, yellow flowers; lilacs and lavenders and daisies and on the far side of the traveled grounds, even roses.

It was picturesque. Undisturbed. Serene in a way that many places weren’t. The breeze was constant and fresh and the sun peeked from behind big fluffy clouds, announcing her presence with a soft whisper.

And so beautiful it was that she was perfectly content with leaning beside the stone wall of the cave’s entrance; eyes trained on nothing but the journal in her hands. It was worn and old, made from leather with a latch clasp that was slowly rusting, but it was thick and good - full of notes and ideas and places and numbers. 1546 years of being alive as she was, tallying each day until the bitterness overwhelmed the distinct pride of prolonged survival and the tallies became a thing of the past. After all, there was no need to count when the days weren’t numbered.

Sure, there was a bounty on her head, but that didn’t matter. Not in the glory of a new Spring. There was no room for bloodshed on such a beautiful afternoon - and so she was not worried about a bumbling blistering fool with a great ego and dull blade. And so she was not worried about a feral creature with no regard for predator and prey dynamics. And so she was not worried about a-

“AGH!”

-woman?

Her head snapped up, rousing small hisses from the slumbering children.

The woman, she quickly confirmed, had fallen into the river. On her hands and knees, she wavered in the current and let out little sounds- huffs and grunts and even a small curse of ‘Gods, honestly!’- while she scrunched up the fabric of her skirt in her hands and struggled to her feet. Her hair, scraggly and unclean, hung over her face, wet at the ends and dry at the top.

A part of her felt the need to offer assistance, but common sense told her to stay put - and only to watch. Eventually, as time would say, the strange woman managed to trip her way over to the river’s bank and press her hands into the mud and rock. Then she scrambled up, her sandaled feet working in earnest to help lug her body over the edge and finally- finally- leave her belly up in the grass, heaving great breaths of air. Up and down her chest fell while she faced the sky. Her skirt, patterned and brown, hung below her knees and stuck to her legs; and the shirt, white and flowing and clearly a bit too big for her frame, turned see-through with the water-lined hem that rested against her sides. Her feet were bare in her simple sandals and aside from a blue worn shoulder bag- one that strapped sideways along her front- there was nothing particularly distinct about the stranger. She was just a woman returning home. Or a woman searching for something. Or a woman on a mission to provide for her family.

But whichever she was, woman with a purpose or not, she was no friend. And so she made no move to leave her cave and instead, sat, and returned to her journal.

So the breeze passed.

And the clouds strolled.

The river went forward. And the grass went back.

And for a good long while, nothing happened.

Then there was a shuffling, and a noise of effort, and a soft simmer of hisses began to rise. Feeling the slow slipping of movement on top of her head, she looked up.

The woman had gotten to her feet, apparently done with her momentary bask in the sun, and began ringing out the water at the bottom of her skirt. The bag she had was on the ground, and everything in it was spread out on the grass. From her point by the cave, a good distance away, she could see a few bits of light clothing, a comb, a small stone knife (which needed a good sharpening), and two wrapped bits of woven leaves and twine. There was no scent of meat in the air, aside from the flesh of the fauna within the forest, so she figured the woman most likely carried berries and nuts for nutrition. Which was, judging by the contents on her person, certainly not enough in an effort to run away.

The woman looked up. Her body jumped - like a spooked young doe, and her own body tensed. Silently, she told her children to hush. Then she thought, wished,-

‘Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t-’

Apparently deciding that there was nothing to worry about, the stranger kept her back turned to the cave and went back to wringing out her clothing. The hisses and movement had ceased, but the children were still vigilant - watching with perceptive sapphire eyes as the stranger then began to- oh!

She looked away, turning her head so quickly that the children jerked with her. One of the younglings instantly took the opportunity to slide along the shell of her ear and give a mean rumbling clicky-hiss. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to flick the child back into place; paying more attention to her own behavior than anything else.

The woman had reached to take off her shirt- to draw it above her midriff and throw it onto the grass. The river, mixed with the Springtime air, was a good place to stop and bathe, she supposed. It was her plan later anyway to go for a dip herself, if not to feel clean then to at least wash the little companions she carried with her. But the woman beat her to it. And in the silence as she averted her gaze, ignoring the blush of heat on her pale cheeks, the soft sounds of clothing hitting the ground some feet away filled the air. And when that was said and done, a few splashes and small shrieks - drawn from the chill of the river.

When it was quiet, and she was comfortable enough to sneak a look, she found the woman’s back turned to her still. Her hair was wet and slicked, sticking slightly to her neck as she turned this way and that and- oh. She had soap too. So that must have been in one of the two woven bundles.

‘Hm. Smart.’ But not entirely. It wasn’t good to stay long bathing out in the open. Hunters and gatherers and silly stupid mortals had a habit of coming around at the most inopportune times.

She knew that very well.

Though… since the woman was washing up near her cave… there was no harm in observing the scenery. No harm in taking interest in the sun. No, not at all. They would each have their privacy, and as long as the woman didn’t turn around, everything would be fine. And she could keep an eye out… for birds, of course. Not hunters. No no.

So that’s how it went.

The woman bathed, humming to herself, keeping her back to the cave and turning only to lather soap on another part of her body. Completely unaware of the forest creatures watching her. And one creature in particular made it her mission to watch the land, observing and peering; hearing the crackles of branches and chirping of baby birds, listening for footsteps or voices. But none came. And soon enough, the woman was rising from the river, putting on her sandals, and going to sit on the laid out skirt from earlier. She had no cloth to dry off… and so would use the sun.

‘Hm. Not so smart.’ A hiss or two from her children told her they agreed.

It was not right for a woman to be so vulnerable like that. And out in the open. If she weren’t there, the stranger could be hurt. Or worse - killed. But it was good then that she wasn’t alone, wasn’t it? That she had a guardian of sorts… who would kill her too if only she looked her way.

Did- had she fallen asleep?

Like that?

In the middle of the grass with her belongings spread around her and her body, soft and nude, bared to the sun?

‘Is she mad?’

Maybe she was. Or maybe she was just young. Maybe life hasn’t hurt her too severely just yet. And maybe Larissa was being harsh.

Hm.

Well.

It didn’t really matter either way. There was nothing else to do, and though the stranger wasn’t really ‘company’, she was still action. So there was no desire to chase her off and there was no desire to see her maimed - thus, Larissa sat. She tucked long pale legs beneath her, shifted the white chiton to fall on her shoulders just so, and kept her journal close at hand. Night was due to fall soon enough, as it always did in early Spring, so the tools for a fire were already prepared behind her - waiting to be utilized and set later. Hopefully the woman would be gone by then.

But she wasn’t.

At some point, she’d gotten up to change into different clothing; a dress hand-stitched from red dyed fabric. It was pretty, yes, but not very practical for running away.

‘But good clothing was probably the only thing she had.’

Which was most likely true, Larissa mused. Many young women, richer than most, took it upon themselves to run away. Their reason for doing so depended on who they were. The stranger in the red dress, who decided to lay on the grass and fall asleep again, was a woman of status but not to the point of being a royal. If that were the case, there’d be men on horses trailing close behind. Unless they hadn’t found her yet… and were using dogs to track her scent…

The children stirred, hissing with disdain and fear.

She watched the young woman with anxious eyes.

Such a naive thing could lead to her death, once and for all…. and how ironic would that be. A scorned woman with a passion for soft things… destroyed by a soft woman with a passion for a free life. Had they both wanted that at one point? Or was it still something they desired?

The children settled. She continued to watch the land.

But eventually, as Spring would have it, the peacefulness of the quiet had her lulling off to sleep as well. And she only awoke to the feeling of soft kitten licks at her cheekbones. The repeated lap at her skin had her groaning and flicking the offender away - only to have two more slide up and continue twice as hard.

“Ugh, what is it?” She groaned, scrunching her eyes together before pushing herself upright.

The licks turned to urgent hisses- and her darlings started writhing with anxiety- telling her to get up! And if possessed, she stood quickly and looked out into the sudden dark of night. The sun had disappeared. There was not a single light out there in the black. But there was movement. Breath.

The woman. She was still asleep. Dreaming about whatever it was that women liked her dream about.

Larissa frowned.

Well she couldn’t just leave her out there, could she? No! That was- that was… inhumane. Terrible. A fate worse than anything. And if she woke up to the screams of the stranger- if she woke up to her pain… she could risk killing everyone in sight. Literally.

A young king nipped at her ear.

She huffed. Well. It just wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do at all.

And so she collected the fabric of her chiton in her clawed hands and marched forward to the sleeping beauty. The creatures were stiff with observation, keeping their reptilian eyes sharp and alert as she moved - quiet as a snake and dangerous as… well. Herself.

When she was finally standing over the stranger, she let the cloth fall from her hands. The woman, in comparison to her, was short. And vulnerable. And maybe she’d just take her to the edge of the nearest village… or something like that. Something far from her cave and her life. But as she finished slipping the woman’s belongings into her bag (which had since dried from her fall in the river), a whisper rumble of thunder from the clouds above had her sighing. Well. A Spring storm was usually a good sign of the incoming year, but to have one so early was… less than favorable. Her plans, too, were foiled. The children quite disliked the rain, and getting her own clothing wet was something she desperately wanted to avoid (the heavier material took much longer to dry than what the strange woman wore - so she’d have to resort to at least another change of clothes for a day. Which she seldomly tried to wear.)

‘Well. We can’t leave her out here. So as long as she keeps her back turned, we won’t have any trouble now will we?’

No, probably not. Hell for all she knew, the woman could sleep through the whole night and then she could put her back outside in the morning and she could tottle off on her way as though nothing ever happened. Or she could wake up in the middle of the night and take Larissa’s head. Yes. Or that could happen. Which would really be quite terrible. Most likely painless, but still terrible.

The thought of that had Larissa pausing. The woman’s sling bag fell limp in her hand.

Was she taking too big of a risk? Never before had she helped a stranger like that, but she was not unfamiliar with such kindness. It was hard to find in her years, but she’d witnessed the sweetest acts of tenderness amongst strangers. Usually between two women.

She frowned. Some of her children turned, peering over to look down at the sleeping stranger.

Her hair covered her eyes and her limbs were spread out like she was sleeping on the comfiest bit of cloud that ever existed. Like she had no cares at all. It was both endearing and confusing. How could a woman sleep so soundly in the wilderness? How could a woman sleep so soundly in the open? Did her lack of awareness make her an omen of danger? Or was she a passing soul Larissa could provide help for? Someone to make her feel like she was human again… Like she was capable of being good instead of being what she… was.

A flash of lightning in the distance, above the forest before her, told her it was time to hurry up. Spring held no qualms about trapping the world in a downpour, and she didn’t feel like trekking through mud before bed.

So making up her mind quickly, Larissa slung the stranger’s bag over her shoulder and bent down to pick her up. She tried to be mindful of her sharp fingers when sliding her hands beneath the woman’s back and thighs; though surprisingly, for all of her mortal weight, she was easy to carry. Strength, Larissa had figured early on into her ‘new life’, was one of the very few advantages she’d gained after her transformation. But never before had she picked up a human. And never would she do it again as she realized how difficult it was to keep from jostling them. She was just so… limp. Her head lolled a little bit and her arms ragdolled and she looked more like a young woman than an adult stranger. But nonetheless, Larissa carried her back to the cave. The children were silent, understanding somehow that they were not to wake the mortal with their clicks and hisses and little rattling sounds. As endearing as their mother found it, the human would not take too kindly to their existence - before she turned into nothing but a statue, of course.

‘Don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up,’ Larissa thought desperately to herself as she padded into the cave and placed the woman onto her bed. There was nowhere else for her to rest, and it wasn’t like Larissa was planning on getting much sleep in her company anyway, so onto the little nest of stolen blankets, wool, and pillows she went. Slipped so easily from Larissa’s pale arms - and then cared for even more when she went about gently turning her around onto her side, belly facing the cave wall, before pulling the mismatched bed coverings up to her shoulders.

The thunder and lightning from the world beyond was growing more intense by the second, striking a worried chord in her heart that had her quickly placing the woman’s bag beside her body and flitting around to get her home comfortable for the evening. The routine followed as it did every night. Gently unwind the twine that holds back the bramble, vine, and leaf-woven curtains to each side of the cave wall; being careful of the sap-gum that held everything in place. Then gently arrange the curtains, as thick and prickly as they were, to cover the entirety of the cave’s entrance. Once that is finished, move around in the dark for the corner in which the fires are conducted - then go about striking the rock and the wood and adding the sticks and gathering a flame and letting out a sigh of relief when the warm glow fills the grey emptiness of the space.

She had planned on going hunting that evening, before sundown, but the stranger stole all of her attention away; and searching for meat during a storm was a fruitless mission. They were both lucky then that Larissa had enough forethought to search for various nuts, grains, and fruits the day previous. They were stored away behind the fabric of her pillow… which was preoccupied by the woman’s sleeping head.

The world rumbled as Larissa propped herself up against the cave wall. There was never much to do besides ponder, write, sleep, and hunt… so she turned back to her journal, deciding to spend some time detailing the woman she came across. Her hand moved with sharp twirls and scritches, writing of how strange the mortal was; how innocent; how peaceful she looked sleeping in her bed, completely unaware of the monster that lurked behind her. Like a daisy in a pretty green field… soon to be trampled beneath the hungry paw of a bastard wolf; left without the gift of seeing so she couldn’t even anticipate her untimely death. It was rather sad. It was rather brutal. No woman deserved a fate such as that - for she was only running away and did not think she would be dragged into the cave of a beast.

As the embers of the flame died, the woman continued to sleep. There reached a point where Larissa thought she was dead. Despite being able to hear the warm thump of her heart, she still stood and loomed over the stranger - only to find that yes, she was still alive. Just resting.

‘Must have been quite a long journey if she’s been asleep for that long,’ she mused to herself, turning away to tend to the puttering glows of their fire.

Though as soon as the rain started, coming down in thick pats upon the mud outside of the cave, the huddle of blankets in her bed stirred, and her children stood - turning to glare at the sound. A soft swishing fell into the thunderstorm’s undercurrent as the woman moved her legs, kicked them out to stretch, groaned softly beneath her breath, and turned onto her back. She pawed at her hair, eyes still closed, and Larissa reached up to wrap her index finger and thumb around the snout of her eldest child.

‘Don’t speak,’ she quietly commanded the bunch, ‘I do not want to be the last thing she sees.’

But the crackling of the fire, paired with its warmth and light, had the woman releasing a confused hum as she shuffled onto her hands and pushed herself up to sit. Larissa watched, silent, while the stranger slowly came back to her senses and regained consciousness.

“Is there- what-” she spoke, soft voice trailing off into a myriad of inaudible questions.

The child in her grasp wriggled, having had enough of its mother’s scolding, eager to rejoin the others in their free scrutiny. She finally let it go, tapping its pale head with the tip of one finger, and then slid the journal from her lap and placed it onto the cave’s floor as quietly as she could. Spooking the woman was the last thing she wanted to do, but as she stood to her full height and gently pulled some of the loose fabric of her chiton closer to her body, the stranger jumped anyway - and instantly got to her feet.

Larissa’s heart stopped, tripping over itself as she jerked her head down.

“Wh-Who’s there?! What do you want with me?! I have a knife!!” The stranger’s voice, scared and loud, full of false bravery, was quieted by the rain and thunder.

��You don’t have a knife. You don’t know where it is,’ was Larissa’s inner thoughts- right as the woman began murmuring to herself.

“Wait. Where is the knife…” and only when there was the dull sound of knees dropping onto fabric, did Larissa finally bring her blue eyes up.

The woman, in her absence of the knife… went looking for it. On her hands and knees… patting the ground… searching through the fabrics of the bed and slapping her soft palms against the stone of the cave’s floor… frantic and confused…

Larissa frowned.

“It’s in your bag.”

—

You jumped, letting out a harsh breath while your heart skipped up into your throat.

“Who goes there?! Who are you?!” Your voice was shrill, loud and scared as you forgot about the knife and went pushing yourself back up into your feet. “I-I know how to fight!” You yelled into the darkness, putting up your fists.

It was a lie of course- you had no idea how to fight- but that didn’t matter. As long as the person- woman?- thought you were tough enough to hold your own.

But when you huffed and puffed and bared your teeth, keeping your fists up, nothing happened. Complete silence filled the air, interrupted only by the rain and the flicker of a fire nearby. You could feel its warmth on you even in your panic - even as you stepped back and back and back until your shoulders hit something hard behind you. It was a wall; a curved imperfect wall that told you you weren’t in a cabin or home with extremely open windows, somewhere in the woods, but were instead in… in… well. You didn’t actually know. It’s not like you could see and just find out. Though despite that, you still looked around wildly - keeping your ears open for movement.

There was none.

You frowned.

“…How… are… you…?” It was a woman! The voice, spoken in front of you, across whatever space you were in, was smooth and deep. Accented. She sounded strange. Foreign. And also incredibly confused. Almost… astounded? Like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“Don’t make me ask again,” you warned, reminding yourself that some women could be just as dangerous as men, “what do you want with me?”

“Blind…” came the soft response; so quick- it was in the air before you finished speaking; so quiet you had to strain to hear. “You’re… blind.”

Well. Yes. It was a rather defining feature; one that many noticed and took advantage of. One that people thought they could ‘work with’ and use to trick you - but you were clever. And strong. And personable in a way that many didn’t expect. The stranger across from you though… she was still just another potential danger. Still just a thing to be aware of. And so you cleared your throat and nodded, putting your hands at your sides and curling them into fists.

“Yes. I am. And what about it?” You sniffed, tilting your head up, trying to seem braver than you were.

No amount of cleverness, after all, could save a blind woman from a tricky death. If the river you had fallen into earlier was a cavern or a very deep pit, you would have been finished. Thank goodness you took advantage of it at the time.

“…Nothing. I apologize. I have- never met a blind person before,” the woman spoke, stilted and cautious. Still with an undercurrent of awe in her voice. It was peculiar, the way she was acting, but you shrugged it off. The apology was unexpected but not unwelcome. It had you squinting into the nothingness of your vision.

“Well. Now you have.” You nodded, suddenly feeling rather awkward.

—

Yes. She had. You were right.

Right and blind.

Blind. Unable to see.

The children froze, and she felt the way they looked at each other, unsure and confused. No doubt wondering ‘What issss happening?’ They were too familiar with mortal skin turning grey and hard at the smallest glimpse in their direction to understand what was happening. All they knew was their mother and solitude. And she, likewise, had no concept of how to deal with a stranger that did not want to- or simply couldn’t- kill her.

The milky color of the stranger’s eyes, although rare and odd, was beautiful. Like the wispy white of the clouds when they blanketed the moon at midnight. Light and dark at the same time… grey under a matter of circumstance. The cherry on top of the woman’s strange existence. Shocking to a new face but glorious to a trained eye. Her children observed the mortal with unending curiosity; casting violence aside as they slithered to their tallest heights and curled down, swaying their small pale heads. The situation was lost on them, but that didn’t matter. They’d understand eventually. Perhaps when the woman was gone the previous morning and she could muse over the mortal out loud to herself.

But until then,

“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t sure what else to ask.

—

You felt your stomach rumble- speaking to you as though the mention of eating had woken it up from its slumber.

“Um yes… you’re not going to poison me though, are you?”

There was a short gasp.

“Goodness, no. Why would I do that?”

She sounded so outraged- so shocked by your question- that you almost smiled. You couldn’t see her expression, but there was sincerity in her velvet voice. Like she was genuinely surprised, if not offended, that you’d ask her of all people that. It didn’t matter if you’d asked in slight jest or not; she didn’t seem to understand the consequences that came with literal blind trust.

“Some people like to take advantage,” you murmured, shrugging at the same time. Most women understood what you meant. People during that time, men in particular, saw the weak souls of the world and let their eyes light up with the chance to exert power. It was common. It was difficult. The woman opposite you, you were nearly certain, understood the sentiment as well.

“I–… yes. I realize that,” she stated, her voice growing firm. “But I’m not going to poison you. I’m not a m-” There was a soft hissing hush that filled the air, cutting into her words with a sharp strength you couldn’t ignore

What on Earth…

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” was the quick response. “I have nuts and berries I found not too long ago. Will that be enough?”

Your brow furrowed. What was she hiding?

“Um yes- yes that would be lovely… thank you.”

And with that, the stranger let out a hum and went walking around, shuffling along to grab a few things while you stood there on (what you assumed was) her bed. It was soft; pillowed with linens and fabrics and blankets that felt as though they’d come from all over the world when you shifted from one foot to the other. You frowned at the odd feeling and stepped off of the coverings- not wanting to flatten or dirty her sleeping area. It was kind of her to even put you there in the first place; though you wondered if she’d carried you herself or dragged you along. Not many women in your time, or the village where you were from, had the strength or initiative to pick up another woman and carry her anywhere, let alone their own bed. But if you were dragged along the grassy terrain outside, you surely would have felt the bumps and stops, no?

Either way, as soon as you stepped onto the hard ground of- well- wherever- you were at, you turned to the sound of movement and cleared your throat.

“And um… thank you for taking me here. Keeping me safe. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. So- I appreciate it.” You fidgeted; keeping your hands at your waist and picking at the soft skin around your nails.

The shuffling paused.

“…You’re welcome.” The stranger replied softly.

It was almost like she wasn’t sure what to say. Like she didn’t hear the words ‘thank you’ very often. Like maybe she didn’t come into contact with people very often. And perhaps she didn’t. How else could she have found you if she didn’t live away from civilization? It wasn’t unheard of; it was just not very common. But, as you always said, to each their own. There was no room for judgment, after all - the woman probably ran away in a similar fashion as you did. In the very beginnings of morning, before the sun even rose, with everything you could think to carry in a satchel slung across your shoulders, heading out into the world as though it wouldn’t prove to be as dangerous as the life you left had been. The only difference being that nothing could make you want to return to that - not even the scary sounds that came out of the forest at night. The woman, even if only for one evening, was a saving grace.

And still a stranger.

She puttered around some more, dragging soft things across the ground- leaf bowls you assumed- and poured water into clay cups.

“I never got your name, you know. So I can remember you.” It was a hesitant thing to say, but you figured that if you somehow made friends with the woman, you could come back to her one day if you ever needed the shelter. Or the company. The world was tough, after all; and not always did a woman succeed on her own.

That woman had, though.

That woman, who stopped her actions again and allowed the combined ambience of the rain and fire to melt into the space.

That woman, who inhaled sharply before exhaling into one spoken breath:

“Larissa.”

(Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you'd prefer the other layout/way of editing with the text dividers and character gifs. This Medusa thing may become a little series like Cannibal Larissa. Let me know what you think? Until next time, darlings - Rip x)

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(Tags [please know that Tumblr will not let me properly @ some accounts] : @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet )

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[pagannatural]

2.08 Crossroad Blues

-Absolute classic. Sam’s bossy ass saying Dean’s notoriety means they have to be more careful now, Dean flirting by calling him “you innocent, harmless young man you.” Sam feels overshadowed, or maybe he just wants them to be mentioned as a pair.

-Dean doesn’t want to help people who made demon deals, because he feels they’ve brought this on themselves. Sam notices that Dean is being weird about this when normally saving people is his jam. Sam notes this red flag in Dean’s behavior.

Something I just realized is that Sam didn’t seem to be this observant with John. Dean knows both John and Sam well but in different ways. He learned how to read John but he can sense Sam like a part of himself. Did Sam not learn how to read John? Did he not have to because understanding Dean was more central to his world and wellbeing? He looked up to Dean and trusted that they could take care of each other. This is part of what makes the dynamic between the three of them so striking. Sam didn’t seem to have that slight fear of John that Dean did, that comes from trying really hard to predict what a parent will say or do next.

-Dean kicks in the front door when Evan locks it, leads the way inside, and goes to kick in the office doors but Sam stops him by grabbing his leg

which leaves him sort of leaning into Dean and holding his leg. Sam then opens the door because it was unlocked. I love this moment because it shows how close they are that Sam feels comfortable intercepting him physically and knew right away what Dean was going to do. It also shows Sam’s role in their relationship tempering Dean’s brute-force reactions, helping him slow down.

-Dean tells Evan unsympathetically “I think you did it for yourself so you wouldn’t have to live without her.”

This episode is so complex when you watch it in context. Right now Dean is mad at John for saving his life because he feels guilty, and because he was brought back to a world heavy with the crushing weight of his father’s absence and horrifying last edict.

But John most certainly didn’t bring Dean back because he didn’t want to live without him—John died right away. This is Dean contemplating bringing John back because he really needs his dad right now. He’s exhausted and he’s confused and he doesn’t know what to do about Sam and the responsibility is killing him. He looked up to John and thought he had all the answers. The temptation to make a deal and bring him back is ripe.

And then— we know that actually Dean would sell his soul for someone just like Evan did, like John did—someone he would rather die than live without, someone he loves with a desperation similar to Evan’s love for his wife. That person is Sam. Dean doesn’t realize this yet.

-Sam can tell what’s going through Dean’s head and becomes worried and scared, asking him not to go to the crossroads demon right now because “I don’t like where your head’s at.” He’s incredulous.

Dean argues “You’re not allowed to say no, Sammy, not unless you got a better idea.” This sounds like it’s one of their rules for hunting. They’ll try the next best idea whatever that may be because doing something is better than doing nothing.

Sam says “Dean you can forget it, alright. I’m not letting you summon that demon.” He’s being SO protective. Dean will do whatever Sam says unless Sam says Don’t go do something dangerous.

Sam tries to make Dean stay.

They talk about the likelihood that John made a similar deal, and Dean swallows and says “what if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul.” He waits for Sam’s reply, and seems truly afraid of what Sam will say, like Sam would say John shouldn’t have done that.

Sam gives him this look that’s got some fire in it, some conviction. Maybe he’s mad at Dean for his self-hatred.

Sometimes I forget that at this point in the story, Sam has almost lost Dean twice. Both times Sam was willing to do anything to get Dean back. He finally has his big brother back after years apart, and he is no longer in a position to really be able to go back to his normal life. He needs Dean, and he chose Dean. I don’t want to come across like Sam doesn’t care about John because genuinely I think it’s made clear that he does, but it is very much supported by the text that Sam would rather have Dean back even with John in hell than lose Dean. He told Dean that he’s the only one who’s always been there for him, he trusts Dean, he feels loved and protected by Dean, and when Dean and John were both in peril he went to Dean.

But we don’t get to find out what Sam would say to Dean’s question, because they’re interrupted. Sam unhappily watches Dean go.

-This whole scene where the crossroads demon offers to bring John back in exchange for Dean’s soul is so, so beautifully acted by Jensen. Dean’s plan all along is to trap the demon and exorcise her, and if he’s going to follow through, he can’t make that deal. He wants to. He feels guilty enough about John’s soul burning in hell for him forever, on top of his grief. When she finally steps into the trap he looks like he might cry. It worked, he moves forward with his plan without taking the deal offered. Why doesn’t he? It’s not what his dad would’ve wanted, obviously, and it’s not what Sam wants. Sam was explicitly worried about Dean making the deal and told him not to go. But I think it’s mostly that Dean hates demons. He makes quite a few sexual jokes this episode and talks about hitting on the front desk girl at animal control, but when the demon kisses him to seal their deal, he doesn’t even make a lascivious joke, he’s just disgusted—and the demon is possessing a beautiful woman who’s his type. His hatred for demons is personal. Demons quite literally killed his parents, ruined his life, and are mysteriously targeting and trying to corrupt his baby brother. They represent that black and white pure evil that he wants to salt and burn from the earth. So his feelings make sense.

-Dean talks about the way John died while he and Sam drive away. Dean doesn’t understand yet, what could make someone sell their soul to a demon.

I don’t think he has entertained the idea of what he would do if Sam died. The king of denial just won’t let it enter his brain.

Sam understands, though. He answers Dean really softly.

This is logical to Sam. He wanted John to prove he gave a shit about Dean, and he did. John did something right, and even though it makes Dean feel guilty, Sam would rather have a guilt-stricken Dean than no Dean.

#samdean #supernatural #spn meta #wincest #spn 2x08

[inyourreves]

"Fixing" Red Velvet's Birthday Music Video because I'm an unsatisfied snob 🎂

1. Styling👗

The fact the girls wore very basic and casual outfits, especially when the MV is so campy, felt timid. Yeah it's trendy and palatable but it's boring. Birthday was ripe for Zimzalabim-esque fashion but actually getting it right.

Not a one-to-one but a general gist of what I'd like. When the girls are interacting with zany characters and environments, it'd make sense they'd match it. Furs, frills, bows, patterns, and a lot of colour! Make them look like walking birthday presents 😫

2. Staging🎭

I seriously have a bone to pick with how so many of the shots made the story hard to follow. The MV generally suffered from terrible lighting, bad framing, and fast cuts.

It sounds nitpicky but the "red light green light" clip was so easy to have filmed more clearly and dynamically by putting the camera over Yeri's shoulder. Also, Yeri turns her head away from the camera that makes her action hard to read. If anything, why didn't the director just do another take and asked Yeri to turn her head the other way???

The other 2 shots are so dark. I didn't even notice Joy's enemy in the corner until I took the screenshot and a lot of people missed Wendy's because he's way off at the side in the dark.

The fourth pic is... Everything wrong. It's dark, it's poorly framed, and I didn't even notice the girls' summoning circle until the third watch. These were just the glaring shots but these issues were littered throughout the MV.

3. Set Design 🛋️

Honestly, a lot of it looks good! But since I'm nitpicking and reimagining the MV, I would still change it a bit. Because the story is Red Velvet going through this building to crash the Gingerbread Man's party, I would've made the sets look like rooms. It'd visually be more cohesive and interesting. The girls are picking up keys too so it'd make sense to see them unlock some doors.

Again, this is the gist of what I'd like. I think it'd be cool to see each themed room be cluttered and claustrophobic and as if you just entered a wormhole. The blue room with the fluffy enemy only had a tree but it'd have personality with some blue, monochromatic furry furniture. Something like the sets from "But I'm a Cheerleader".

I liked the knock-off Edward Scissorhands set, all it needed were walls, either grass walls or a red. And as for Seulgi's enemy, I would've put them in a room with props like a giant dog bowl and dog house and make the room look like a playpen. Just a few examples that I think would help enrich the world building and showcase these characters' quirks better!

In conclusion...

I love the concept and idea for Birthday and we'll probably never see another concept like it which is why I'm so devastated it fell flat. It was the zany, campy, maximalist music video that was too good to be true. Red Velvet music videos have honestly been lukewarm as of late and I'm hoping for when they can return to their iconic era.

#red velvet #red velvet birthday #small artist #kpop

[mercaritee]

Mark Henry Win Cody Win t-shirt

Mark Henry Win Cody Win t-shirt, hoodie, tank top, longsleeve

Instead of combining with safe neutral colors like white and black, in the Mark Henry Win Cody Win t-shirt Besides,I will do this Xuan Summer 2024 season, designers prefer to combine orange with classic navy blue, creating a timelessly elegant color scheme. time. Miu Miu Spring Summer 2024 makes burnt orange shorts less dazzling when combined with a dark navy polo shirt, and a belt of similar color but brighter shade. However, the dynamic spirit of summer still does not “cool down”. On the runway of Dries Van Noten Spring/Summer 2024, the fashion world admired the unique color duo between navy blue on a cropped bomber jacket with green trim and deep orange on a flowing, patterned chiffon dress. complicated.

From prestigious fashion catwalks to luxurious red carpets, red has been asserting its position in the Mark Henry Win Cody Win t-shirt Besides,I will do this color trend race. Returning to the Spring Summer 2024 season, this popular color scheme is transformed with a new shade – darker, more luxurious and much more powerful. It is not a bright, brilliant red color, but a burgundy color – a red color mixed with brown like wine red or the color of ripe cherries. Sabato De Sarno – Gucci’s new creative director opens his era at the Italian fashion house with a deep red color that, as Sabato De Sarno calls it, “Gucci Rosso”, is found on pencil skirts, blazers and outstanding accessories. Gucci combines burgundy with a cool gray color like the gray sky from Fall and Winter. This unique color pair was also found on the Prada runway, on the combination of a red-brown, meticulously embellished polo shirt and gray shorts, or on the sparkling silver tassel below the waist. Although they are both typical colors on the cold season fashion color palette, the meeting between burgundy and gray brings a special balance in the hot color palette of the Spring and Summer season.

Buy this shirt:  Mark Henry Win Cody Win t-shirt

Home:  Mercaritee

#Mercaritee #t shirt

[artistsoftheapocalypse]

Hiya wastelanders! It's the last Saturday of the month! You know what that means? ;)

I'm Halk, you might know me as tarberrymentats, and I'm your lead artist for the very much expected...

!! SHIPPY SATURDAY !!

[ FAQ :: Sketchy Record ]

:: Lead Artist ::

Halk :: They/Them :: @tarberrymentats :: Ko-Fi / Redbubble

:: Mods ::

Noct :: She / Her :: @hope-of-the-wasteland

If you don't know me, hello! I'm Halk, short for Halkuonn, also tarberrymentats in the Fallout fandom. I'm a freelance artist, brazilian goblin, ghoul lover among may other things.

But, I know! You're here for the good stuff. The soft stuff. And I shall keep you no longer! This post means you can submit your requests for the sweet shippy weekend, but be sure to read below the cut on how to send a valid request!

UPDATE: The work hasn't even started, but thanks to the response to the prompt, I'm closing the requests!

Thank you so much for everyone who submitted an ask, and if you didn't make it in time, don't worry! Sketchy Saturday (and Shippy Saturday!) are here to stay and you'll get another opportunity next weekend!

When you give Acts of Service, you give up your time. This non-verbal form of love can be time-consuming and exhausting, but if it’s what you partner needs, then it's worth the effort.

To make a VALID request, please send an ASK to the @artistsoftheapocalypse​ ASKBOX containing the following:

The TWO CHARACTERS you’d like to be sketched up —- All Fallout characters welcome —- Canon? YES. OC? FUCK YES. —- TWO CHARACTERS PER ASK.

The NATURE of their relationship —- Romantic? Platonic? Familial? What is their dynamic? 10 words or less, please. —- Is either individual touch adverse? Uninterested in physical contact and/or repulsed by it? Please let me know so I don’t draw OOC physical affection.

WHO is serving the other? HOW? —- An Act of Service is something done in benefit of the other that may not necessarily be out rightly romantic. —- Can be as simple as 'bringing water'. —- Can be specific, like 'making sure their mutfruits are ripe’. —- Below are some themed suggestions! You can come up with your own! DEALER'S CHOICE is NOT an option here!

- Washing or fixing their partner's armor. - Turning their favorite junk item into an accessory somehow. - Helping them build or repair things on settlements. - Giving their partner a haircut or a shave. - Patching them up after a fight! (Light to no gore.)

Pick a COLOR BELOW or ask for DEALER'S CHOICE. —- Navy Blue —- Red —- Blue —- Turquoise —- Pink —- Burgundy

IF YOU’RE SENDING IN AN OC! —- First time? Cool! Send in your request ask to OUR [ ArtistsOfTheApocalypse ] askbox FIRST —- THEN send reference info to @tarberrymentats' TUMBLR IM —- Why? It keeps things cleaner and more organized. We from AotA keep a communal reference folder. That way, even when we have a different lead artist, we still know who your OC is!

That’s it! Here's a thoughtful message from Loor:

As always, remember to be kind to our volunteers; both artists and mods, who will all see your asks. Remember to say please, thank you, and reblog the finished works, as well as leave feedback in reblog responses or in the tags. Stuff like that is what builds up the foundation of our community, and keeps it going strong.

I'm excited to be part of Sketchy Saturday yet again and can't wait to get to doodling your requests! See you all tomorrow!

- Halk

THE ASKBOX IS CLOSED!

#Sketchy Saturday #Shippy Saturday #Prompt Post #Announcement Post #Acts of Service #AotA #Artists of the Apocalypse #Lead Artist: Halk

[wingsonghalo]

Hey! I’m positive you would’ve answered this before, and for that I’m sorry, but I was wondering who you ship Apollo with? I adore your writing by the way :))

Hey there!! Thank you so much for reading my stuff!! <333

This is actually a pretty complicated question, since the answer varies depending upon what timeline I’m thinking about XD Ordinarily, I ship Apollo with Juniper. I think they’re a wholesome ship and they obviously care about each other. I also respect and enjoy Klapollo, because they have a great dynamic and a lot of mutual respect (albeit grudging on Apollo’s part).

But the Apollo ship I am most in love with is Claypollo. Hear me out!!

Two characters, one with a red motif and the other with blue. They’ve been friends since they were young. One of them lost a parent during the time they were friends as children. Sound familiar??

There was no reason for CAPCOM to kill off Clay Terran except to give Apollo a reason to angst. They really didn’t have to do that. What if Clay Terran had survived? Apollo could still have sought revenge, could still have taken the actions he took as Clay lay hooked up to machines in the hospital. Being comatose is narratively very similar to being dead, only there’s more hope involved LOL. Anyway, on my server, WingSongServer, we have an RP, and in that RP, our Clay Terran-- @the-wizard-ell-- survived the attack by the Phantom with a nasty scar (and a not inconsiderable dose of PTSD). The heartwarming best-friendship Clay had with our Apollo (@djbitterblade) lent itself so well to a shared history ripe for exploration, and a future of fumbling friends-to-lovers drama and fluff. The two characters’ chemistry was fantastic, and it was basically a group effort among our entire RP section to get the two together LOL. This led to me writing a LOT of Claypollo drabbles and stuff, as well!! I even saved the RP in document form, complete with edits and cleanup. It’s open on my computer right now actually!!

SO YES!!! I enjoy a variety of Apollo ships, but my favorite one is Clay Lives AU Claypollo. LOL

Thanks for asking!! <3333

#claypollo #apollo justice #clay terran #junipollo #klapollo #ace attorney #stuff i write #ask

[renaerys]

What are your thoughts on the blues? The reds are my otp and I like the greens but I have to confess the blues don't do anything for me. My frustration with this ship stems from people making them "perfect ". They're always the first to get together, stop hating each other early, rarely have turmoil and if they do they get over it quickly. They're written as too cutesy imo. I feel like people think just because bubbles is the sweet one and boomer being her counterpart that means they would get together quickly. It's annoying because the blues can be complex if people bothered to attempt to flesh them out. Bubbles is still a ppg and boomer is still a rrb. Contrary to popular belief and writing they would have difficulties moving forward from enemies to friends then lovers. I really feel the reason they're the least popular of the 3 ships is because they're rarely fleshed out in fics and given obstacles to overcome. Even singular fics focusing on them leave much to be desired. I feel for blues fans because I know they're frustrated with the content for their ship and how it's written. I'm not into the ship and I'm frustrated along with them because Bubbles/Boomer have the potential to be a great ship if people took the time to actually flesh them out. It's not right that the reds get to be complex and so do the greens but the blues...just get to be cute and one dimensional. You and maybe 2 other authors are probably the only ones who actually give them a personality and character. Definitely not trying to bash authors but I do feel as though this a discussion that needs to be had. The blues deserve better and this is coming from a reds fan.

Thanks for this thoughtful ask! I’ve heard this concern before from others, and I also have issues with it generally. I can’t speak to other authors’ intentions and don’t pretend to know their preferences or interpretations, so please keep that in mind for what I am about to say here. I am speaking only for myself. 

Based on what I have seen in this fandom and conversations I’ve had with fellow fans, I think there are a few different explanations for the issue you raised, none of which is dispositive. 

1) Certain creators may not like Blues as much as other ships, but because Color Code is pretty much expected in most PPG/RRB fics and art, they throw the Blues in there anyway and end up de-prioritizing them. That’s not unexpected, but probably explains the lower effort put into them compared to other ships. It’s side-ship syndrome and you see it across fandoms. Unfortunate, but pretty ubiquitous. 

2) There are fandom headcanons regarding ship dynamics and character personalities that appear to be widely accepted, and among those is the lovey/saccharine Blues dynamic. That’s neither good nor bad, but it is pervasive. In concert with 1) above, you have a recipe for a low-effort side-ship that the author/creator isn’t super excited about, and it shows through the recycled tropes that barely reach beyond a skin-deep level of nuance. I suspect that the popularity of high school fics exacerbates this issue at least in part. High schoolers probably are not dealing with experiences such as getting older, questions of marriage/family, careers, debt/finances, and other hazards of adulting that are ripe for interesting dramatic tension and added layers of complexity in a relationship. Again, this is neither good nor bad, just an observation. 

3) Separate from 1) and 2), I get the impression that a not insignificant portion of the fandom actively updating fanfic these days is on the young side (teenagers/early 20s) and/or does not have a lot of personal experience with romantic relationships. None of that is bad! Please don’t mistake me, it’s awesome that there are young people creating and contributing, learning and having fun. I encourage and support them; I used to be one myself (and I still have so much to learn and improve on, as we all do). No one can improve without a safe space to practice and learn, and I feel very strongly about contributing to making that space safe and welcoming to creators of all skill levels. The downside of a younger or inexperienced pool of active writers is that it is probably more difficult for those writers to write nuanced, “realistic” relationship dynamics--if they have not lived those experiences themselves (or at least been around long enough to watch them happen to their peers), then how can they possibly be expected to write about them in a story in a believable and honest way? It’s a tall order, and an unfair standard to hold them to. I’m sure some can do it, and my hat’s off to them; they are certainly better writers than I am. But I suspect most cannot. I say that from a place of experience having been there myself. I look back at my fics from like 10 years ago and cringe fondly (what could I have possibly known about adult relationships without ever having been in one myself?). 

And that’s not to say teenagers can’t experience meaningful romantic relationships. They absolutely can and do! But when you’re living it in the moment, it becomes hard to take a step back and objectively analyze it as an experience. That really only comes with age and lived experience, which allow you to look back on those times without being emotionally compromised by your personal feelings. You can see the “good” and the “bad” much better in hindsight. And importantly, you have the emotional intelligence and maturity to write about it honestly. What might have seemed romantic at 16 might feel very different at 26 when you factor in experience, worldliness, and cultural/life education that really can only come with age. At least, that has been my experience. (I reiterate that I am only speaking for myself and my journey, not for any other authors.)

All this for my point 3) is to say that the frustrations you have expressed with Blues in some stories coming off as “too cutesy” or being “perfect” or “rarely hav[ing] turmoil” in their relationship are likely due to the fact that at least some of the writers of those stories probably don’t have the life experiences that would adequately prepare them to write a nuanced, complex, romantic relationship. Real life relationships that are “successful” are hard. They are work. Happiness takes so much work when happiness requires another person’s engagement and fulfillment as an equal member of your team. The honeymoon phase is real, but it doesn’t last, and I think that is where some stories miss the mark. I’m all for Blues (or any other ship) to be genuinely happy in love. Who doesn’t like a happy ending? But romantic success isn’t a destination, it’s a never-ending journey with ups and downs. Personally, I’m interested in reading about the ways a ship navigates those ups and downs, and how the characters decide that despite hardships, it’s worth weathering the struggle together because they are happier together than they would be apart. 

But that’s so hard to execute! Professional writers, filmmakers, and screenwriters think it’s hard to execute! I have tried to do it myself, and I look back on my recent fics and I’m like okay cool, but we can and should do better next time. It is not easy, and I don’t want to give you the impression that I think I’m amazing at it or that it’s not hard to pull off. That could not be further from the truth, and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is lying to you. It’s definitely a discussion that should be had in any fandom no matter the shipping preferences. All I can say is that I encourage my fellow writers and creators to keep practicing. We can all do better.

#i guess i'll tag this unless someone yells at me #ppg blues #boomubbles #this ship is lovely and i love reading them in fics <3 #but there's always room for all of us to improve #Anonymous #ppg meta

[mbti-notes]

What do you think is the best way to deal with the fear of things getting even more conservative and harsh? I'm so scared about the future, living in a dystopian society and having all my rights taken as a non binary queer person. Infj.

I suppose you’re referring to US politics? Please be more specific because the majority of my readership isn’t from the US. You’re asking a loaded question that basically requires me to agree with the premise that everything will be doomed. I can’t agree with that, since I purposely don’t approach politics in a reactive way.

When you’re drowning in fear, you’re not thinking straight. One of the reasons political discourse has reached the lows that it has in the US is because of incessant screaming and hyperbole. The political mediascape is a for-profit machine that is designed to work people up, manipulate their emotions, and keep them living in fear of “enemies”. This creates the mindset of being in a constant fight for survival against various abstractions of “evil”, and it’s much easier to separate you from your money when you’re so threatened that you’re willing to pay to feel safe/validated. The more that people get sucked into this war mentality, the less capable they are of making wise political decisions, since every important problem gets made into an oversimplified “wedge” issue to test your loyalty to your team. 

The world is a lot more complex than red vs blue. To make a living, I have to follow news from around the world very closely. Yes, people get heated about politics, but observe the political reporting from other countries and you will see a difference in the tone and quality. In some countries, there are, gasp!, more than two viable political parties, and thus, more ideas and approaches to choose from. The US has commodified political fear and outrage like no one else by purposely pitting people against each other like rival sports teams, in a state of perpetual conflict, and, most importantly, always distracted from the underlying power structures that are making their lives worse.

To be clear, I’m not a conservative, though I’ve been surrounded and preached to by conservatives my whole life - I engage with them continuously. I am certainly angered by people being stripped of their rights and opportunities. I am certainly depressed when I see people abused and oppressed. I am certainly frustrated when my life suffers from the decisions of politicians I did not vote for. However, I staunchly defend freedom and diversity of beliefs and values. I often have to remind people that many countries and cultures around the world are conservative, and they are not abject hellscapes. Do not equate conservatism with dystopia, barbarism, fundamentalism, extremism, terrorism, xenophobia, or lord of the flies - it doesn’t matter who is doing it, hyperbole and stereotypes are dehumanizing, which enables the violence of war mentality. Conservatism, at its best, is actually needed by society to function well. Progressivism, at its best, is actually needed by society to function well. Intelligent political discourse begins with each of us getting our facts and concepts correct, otherwise, there’s no hope of cooler heads prevailing. It’s important to correctly identify the cause of a problem by labeling it properly.

Every system has flaws and every system will eventually fall apart when those flaws are left to fester and worsen. The US is supposed to be a democracy, right? A democracy is only ever as smart as the people participating in it. Can you say, with a straight face, that Americans have a deep understanding of their political system and work hard to be well-informed of all the political, economic, social, and international issues that the country grapples with? Can you say that the majority of people even understand the political terminology they use? 

The US is admired around the world for its individualism. Individuals succeed and fail by their own hand. Individuals are free to pursue their own happiness and well-being. “The Land of Opportunity”, right? Americans have exported this idea, drawing immigrants from all around the world. However, individualism, taken to an extreme, exacts a very steep price. The bonds which hold individuals together to form a well-functioning society gradually weaken over time. This is a huge problem if you hope to make good collective decisions, which is what elected officials are tasked to do.

The language and currency of politics is power. With power, you get to write the rules. Without power, you are subject to someone else’s rules. It’s really that simple and crass. The purpose of there being many different voices in a discussion is to make sure that no 1 agenda/group gets to dominate the discussion and become too extreme. Opportunists, corporations, and media companies figured this out a long time ago, so they do what they can to shut down nuanced debate and discussion. They all have a deep vested interest in hyping up the individualist ethos of American culture, not because they actually care about “culture” in any noble sense, but because they know that individuals have very limited power. One person alone cannot disrupt the status quo, and keeping everyone psychologically isolated means that those with power can keep enriching themselves without disruption.

Currently, almost every major aspect of American society is designed to stop you from realizing and using your power. Media keeps you locked in fear, feeling victimized, demonizing each other. Big corporate interests keep you hyperfocused on your own emotional vulnerabilities, telling you to earn and consume your way to a false sense of power, as they quietly dismantle workplace and social supports that would preserve your actual power. The prevailing social mandate to be ever productive and “successful” keeps you running like a hamster on a wheel, with little energy to spare for anything else. You are expected, at adulthood, to become a self-made person, never having to rely on anyone for anything, thereby eroding your ties to your roots and kin. If you fail, you are shamed and dubbed a loser, and expected to redouble your efforts to chase higher social status. And some people simply choose to drop out completely, thus relinquishing any social power they had.

In US society, those in power abuse the archetype of the “individual” and the virtue of “independence” to siphon more and more power. Individualism, in its most immature form, is really just self-centeredness. Everyone is only out for themselves and grabbing what they can before someone else does. People fight each other for scraps. And the ultimate goal of life is to have more than the people around you, such that you have the power and privilege to shield yourself from the other hungry dogs. There is no bigger picture to aspire to beyond one’s own survival and daily pleasures. If this is the underlying ethos of your society, are you surprised that the political system reflects it? A lot of people around the world look at the US and mostly see a bunch of immature adolescents. 

Transcending social forces isn’t easy. Power is always unevenly distributed, so it is always ripe for abuse, and fighting against abuses of power requires sustained effort. Therefore, it’s important to understand the many ways that power is used to oppress. I’ve spent a lot of time studying historical movements, political philosophy, and power dynamics, so my view of politics is always the long view. I believe that political progress is constant work. I don’t believe in end goals or being free to rest on your laurels. I believe history teaches us that, whatever your political allegiances, the complacent eventually become the victims. I believe that social change is relatively easy to understand by observing the way that power changes hands in society. 

Politics boils down to an endless series of change-and-backlash sequences. Whenever one group takes a significant political step, someone somewhere will lose out on some power and privilege, and they’re not going to take it lying down. Fear and anger drive the changes, and fear and anger drive the backlashes. Rinse and repeat. When the tide turns against you, it only means that it’s your turn to step up again. Fear and anger are not reasons to give up, rather, they are the wake up call that spurs the next round of changes. From conflict comes motivation.

Political power is gained through organization. The fastest way to accumulate power, especially in a democracy, is to stand together and pool your resources. But what is the motivation for organizing? Usually anger. Civil rights are never won by waiting around for the privileged to relinquish their power. No, people get together to claim their rights, DEMAND change, and MAKE the changes that they want to see, refusing to surrender to oppression. They loudly infiltrate social spaces, influence officials, run for office as representatives, and accumulate the political power to rewrite the rules. This is true whatever your political stripe. This is what conservatives have excelled at for the past thirty years in the US. 

However, as soon as you change the status quo, there will always be people that want to reverse it. It is difficult for younger people to grasp, but politics has no end, it is merely an ongoing struggle for power, as power changes hands from the complacent to the aggrieved, and then back again. For example, LGBTQ people view a right-dominated supreme court as a danger to their existence, for good reason, and that should motivate them to fight back even harder to reclaim their right to equality. Conservatives view a right-dominated supreme court as progress, and having achieved that success, they will become complacent, which provides the opening for progressives to regroup and rise again. 

The only escape from this cycle comes in the form of death or transcendence. To transcend means to see the bigger picture of what can be achieved, so that you are able to set aside the petty and work for something greater. Human beings have had their transcendent moments here and there throughout history, so they are certainly capable of it. Progress on civil rights has indeed been made over many decades, but there is always more work to do, as long as there are people that don’t view it as “progress”. For example, the fact that, after decades of tireless activism, the majority of Americans now support same-sex marriage, is something you should be building upon, rather than only focusing on the setbacks.

If you think that I’m singling out the US, I’m not. Oppression happens everywhere. It is a part of human nature to be egotistical, complacent, and short-sighted. But that’s not the only part of humans. For a democracy to work at its best, we have to appeal to the better parts of our human nature, i.e., the parts of us that: understand and care about how we affect each other, appreciate hard-won freedoms and never take them for granted, and envision a better future and plan well for it. The best changes come from passion and inspiration - not fear and anger. If you, as an individual, are not capable of bringing out and offering up your own better nature by transcending the worst parts of yourself, you can’t really expect the sociopolitical system to be capable of it, either. If you, as an individual, always lose sight of the bigger picture that you’re aiming for, then how will you help others see the importance of your cause?

Gandhi said: “We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.”

IMO, the job of a good citizen involves: 1) caring about the broader impact that your vote has and educating yourself properly so that you make wise voting decisions, 2) exercising your power by actively participating in organizations that advocate for the changes that you want, and 3) having enough self-awareness to avoid being emotionally manipulated into making destructive political judgments. Humans aren’t perfect, but they don’t have to be to create a well-functioning society. Humans make better decisions when the social atmosphere encourages them to open up the mind and heart. We all have a part to play in creating an encouraging social atmosphere for people to deliberate more carefully on their political beliefs.

Are you an unwitting pawn of the media, rewarding the players that only care about getting your eyeballs for ad revenue? Are you only caring about political issues because you read something that incited your outrage? Are you resigned to cynicism, indifference, gloom, or paranoia? Are you all about “owning the enemy”? Are you only concerned about your own prospects in life? Are you waiting helplessly for someone to hand you what you deserve?

OR: Are you joining organizations that create positive change? Are you listening to the experiences of the people around you and understanding how their reality informs their politics? Are you doing the hard work of inspiring the people around you to be their better selves? Do you hope that everyone in your country has a chance to live their best life? Do you stand up to support people in need and work to eliminate injustice? Will you learn the best way to (re)claim what is owed to you from those that deny or oppress you?

You are only one person, so your power is limited. What are you doing to amplify your voice and extend the reach of your power? Are you dying or transcending? A democracy is only ever as strong as the people participating in it.

#politics #lgbtq #history #conflict #power #media #social media #ask

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid

Pairing: Klance: Keith Kogane/Lance Mcclain

Tags: Vamp Lance | Klutz Lance | Idiot Keith | Shiro & Keith are adopted brothers | Enemies to idiots( ...I mean) | Enemies to idiots | Mentioned mpreg | Lance isn’t a full vampire( but keith is a full idiot) | Idiot Lance | Paranormal Investigators Pidge & Hunk | Hunk is a scaredy cat | Lance has a black cat name Blue | Fluffy bits | Lance is 44 | Hunk is 24 | Pidge is 22 | Keith is 26 | Shiro is 30 | Bottom Lance! | Vampire dynamics are a bit whack | Smutty bits | Mentions of men making babies | Lance might be a vamp but it turns out he’s useless | Lance’s mum’s name is Miriam | Papi Jorge | Keith is a special flower | Comin’ at ya in bite sized pieces | Fluffy dumbarsery with some tears | Slow build because they’re stupid heads | BOM are hunters | Shiro & Lance are lowkey bros | Keith’s got issues( but he’s got trauma to work through...that’s why he’s repetitive) | Updating tags to include mgreg themes | Not beta-ed | If pining was an Olympic sport these fools would share gold | Langst | Klangst | Hurt and comfort | 

Summary: Lance has lived a pretty simple life since being turned into a vampire. He’s got his house, his cat, and his two besties that have no idea he’s a vampire thanks to his awesome acting skills... He thought he was happy, that things were fine, that he wasn’t drawing too much attention to himself... and then he met Keith.Big, dumb, hot, emo, stupid Keith. Keith that went and flipped his life upside down, because, seriously, Keith really was a special kind of stupid.Vampire Lance x Vampire Hunter Keith

READ ON AO3

People sucked. People truly, madly, unequivocally, completely and totally sucked. That’s why Lance had brought his farmhouse outside a the tiny speck of a town barely found on most maps. He hadn’t lead a particularly long life, at least not when compared to others suffering from the same condition as he had, yet in his short time, he’d come to hate people. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t hate everyone. He had two best friends that meant the world to him, Pidge and Hunk. Both paranormal investigators, and both blind to his unusualness. No. What Lance held issue with was the continued hunting of his kind by the Vatican. His “ancestors” may have bathed in blood, and sacrificed virgins, all that kind of hooky-huha that one reads in scary stories, but before he’d been made a vampire, he liked to think he’d been a happy enough well liked kid, and he liked to think that even these days he still carried an air of that charm whenever he was forced from his home.

Garrison was a tiny town 50kms away from Platt City, founded during the Third World War, the city held plenty of ghostly secrets which had drawn both Hunk and Pidge to the area. Boasting a single Main Street, the highlights of the town were limited to tourist traps and three pubs on the Main Street. It was while studying at Platt University that he’d met both his best friends, twenty years his juniors, yet thanks to his unwanted immortality his body had stopped maturing roughly around the age of 18, making it easy to join the crowded university with a few falsified papers. His intention was to refresh his legal skills in order to keep up with the time’s. With the help of his Mami, he’d moved somewhere small and private, to a dead beat town that accepted weirdness as an everyday occurrence thanks to the tourists that came to see the ghosts of soldiers passed. When he’d been a kid, he’d always dreamed of being an astronaut, yet had chosen law to help those less fortunate in some kind of redemption for his condition. Being immortal meant keeping up with the times, though his house retained much of its old “Victorian” charm. Plus, with Platt being so close, it made for an easy drive up there every three weeks to pick up new blood bags. He was in no way a stereotypical vampire other than his need for blood. He wore glasses, because his eyesight was so good his mind couldn’t process everything he was seeing. This came with the unfortunate side effect of being clumsy as hell. He’d come from a Catholic family, meaning he believed in the presence of God. He’d also never drunk from a human, and never taken a human as pet or a lover like some did. When he wasn’t tagging along with Pidge and Hunk to ensure they didn’t accidentally summon something nasty, most of his time was devoted to providing low cost family legal advise.

Perhaps because he hadn’t been born a vampire, he’d retained many of his human ways. Sunlight didn’t turn him to ashes. Garlic gave him pretty bad stomach cramps and indigestion, which could be fobbed off with the excuse of an allergy. Silver gave him hives, again, something that could be passed off as an allergic reaction. He refused to harm animals for blood. He refused to bite another human, despite the fact a bite wouldn’t turn one anyway. They needed to be drinking his blood for that to happen, and after how he’d been turned, there was no way he’d ever do that to a mortal. He showed up in photographs, though his eyes always came out red instead of their usual bright blue. Mirrors weren’t exactly his friend, but not because he couldn’t see himself, instead because he hated seeing himself. They didn’t magically show his “vampire face”, instead they reminded him he’d never grow old. At the ripe age of 44 he looked 18. Even when he turned 100, he’d still look 18. It was thoroughly depressing. Unlike some vampires he didn’t have a coven, or a pack. His house only held him and his cat Blue, who he’d found as a tiny kitten under the steps leading up to the porch. She’s was black, fluffy, and an absolute princess in his eyes. Other than the general upkeep of his house, blood costs and the very occasional splurge on new clothes, most of the money he made went to spoiling his little princess. He wasn’t sure if Blue was part vampire, her teeth had always been sharp, as kitten he’d dug her out by the scruff of the neck, her tiny little teeth were far too cute as they buried themselves into his hand. She’d never acted like she was, but she also preferred to stay inside and had a personality that rivalled some of the most twisted “Queen” vamps he’d met. Then again, everyone knew cats were temperamental arseholes, so maybe Blue was simply being the snobby cow she was born to be.

All in all, Lance had nothing to complain about in his life. He was happy, content, safe in the knowledge no one about to ruin that anytime soon.

*

Pulling into the parking lot of their usual dive, Sal’s burgers wasn’t the most popular place in town, making it the perfect place to hang out. Located 10kms out of town on the road to Platt City, seemingly an inconvenience the locals, most of Sal’s customers came from tourists needing to stop because their kids needed the toilet. A few of the older locals had dedicated seats at the service bar, and maybe one or twice a week people spiced it up from their usual coffee shops on Main Street, but all in all, the lack of customers is what Lance loved about it. The whole place looked as if the 50’s had left it behind, from its pastel pink exterior to the cheesy green and silver breakfast stools at the c go heck board service bar. From his parking space he could already see Pidge and Hunk waiting for him in their usual booth. Hunk’s head thrown back as he laughed at something, probably at Pidge’s expense.

Cutting the engine, Lance grabbed up his wallet, phone, and gloves. He wasn’t exactly the warmest of people to begin with, but this freezing weather was likely to turn him into an undead popsicle. Already dressed in his favourite khaki jacket, Lance did a quick double check pat down before climbing out his battered blue four wheel drive. She was old, had one too many rust spots and didn’t like starting on days like today, but he’d had her since he’d graduated college the first time around. His Mami was always nagging at him to get rid of her, to use some of his money to buy something better, something that didn’t have roll down windows and a dodgy CD player. His first car was his first real taste of freedom after being turned. They’d been through a lot together, leaving him unable to say goodbye to her. That’d be like cutting him own arm off.

Sal gave him a wave as Lance walked in, the man was a teddy bear under his perpetual 5 o’clock shadow and greasy apron. His policy seemed to be that if someone couldn’t respect him like this, they weren’t worth his respect in return

“Hey’a there, Lance. Pull up a seat and I’ll bring your usual over”

“Thanks, Sal. You’re the best!”

Sal grumbled, Lance pretending he didn’t hear every low word about him. Bringing up that Sal secretly liked him well enough would only leave the old man flustered. For the sake of their “friendship”, he played along with Sal’s mumbling translating into how much of a pain he was. With a bounce in his step, Lance headed over to Pidge and Hunk, throwing himself into the booth as he wrapped his arms around Hunk

“Lance!”

“It’s soooo cold! Warm me up!”

Hunk hugged him back

“I’ve got you, bro! You’re freezing...”

“And you’re late. You were supposed to be here half an hour ago”

Lance sighed dramatically as he rolled his eyes at his favourite tech gremlin

“You know how she gets in cold weather”

“Who? There better not be anything and wrong with my Princess”

“Pidge, you should know by now that when Lance talks like that, he’s talking about his car... right?”

Lance grinned

“Of course I’m talking about my girl. And my Princess is perfectly happy. Blue was curled up under my blankets when I left”

Pidge pouted at him

“You could have brought her with you. I miss my Blue cuddles”

“You could try coming by the house. She was in a mood when I left”

Lance had a backpack carrier for her, but Blue would have frozen her perfect little toe beans out in the weather today. He’d left the heated blanket on a timer for her, unable to keep from spoiling his princess. Pidge’s hand left her laptop keyboard to grab her mug of coffee

“But your house is soooo far away. Anyway, we’re here to talk about work. I was on this forum last night, and someone swore they met a werewolf. Can you imagine? Hunk told me to stop scaring him”

Hunk... Hunk was the biggest ray of sunshine Lance had ever met. The poor man got every single form of motion sickness know, but that never once stopped him. He was terrified of ghost stories, not the best constitution to have when one is a ghost hunter... No, paranormal investigator. He’d been told there was a difference, but honestly it all sounded the same. People loved to think of the unknown, that world existing just out of their everyday mundane lives. Having been in that world for as long as he had been, Lance would happily pay for a boring mundane life

“I wasn’t scared... I’m... cautious”

Pidge clucked at Hunk, Hunk flipping her off. Laughing at him, Pidge wasn’t easily swayed

“You’re a chicken. What about you, Lance? Do you believe in werewolves?”

Werewolves were dicks. He’d bumped into a few over the years, and they’d done nothing to persuade him that they weren’t. The only thing they had going for them was their commitment to their mates and family, other than that, they were testosterone filled morons with claws.

“I don’t know... I feel like they’d all be too stupid to hide their existence”

“Wolves are incredibly smart... Fine, let’s put that one the back burner. Now, about work, there’s a group of tourists that want to come through the old hospital. The visitors centre in town gave me a call about it. Apparently they pay reeeeeeally well”

They’d have to. The old hospital was “cursed”. It’d been converted into a professional centre, but three years after the renovations they closed the building down thanks to the high number of injuries. If there were ghosts there, it was doubtful they’d care to bother with the employees. They all had their own issues. Lance held the opinion it was more a spate of psychosomatic symptoms resulting from the first accident. The building had been handed back over to the town, where it’d sat empty until it reopened as a military museum. With a bored sigh, Lance resigned himself to the fact that Pidge had already gone ahead and decided this was happening. Patting Hunk on the arm, the big man let him go

“When is this all supposed to be happening?”

Pidge’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Lance loved that about her. The top of her head barely came to his chin, but her pint sized stature didn’t stop her. She was always up for a laugh, and frightfully adapt with all things technology based. One of their first conversations came about because Lance had dropped his phone down the stairwell, smashing the screen as it bounced. Seeing her notice pinned up at the campuses cafe, he’d reached out to her with no idea they’d still be besties so many years later. From memory she had an older brother who was as much of a nerd as she was, while her mother and her father both worked in some private sector. He’d met them once over a family dinner Pidge dragged him to, seen them half a dozen times on their front steps as Pidge fled from their parental yelling, and finally been stuck in a very awkward conversation with Pidge’s father, Sam, when he’d found Bae-Bae, the missing family dog who Pidge had brought along on one of their ghost hunts

“Tonight. We’ve got permission to start once the museum shuts for the day. The tour starts at 8, so we’ll go in, set up, have something to eat, then scare the shit out of them at 8”

“You didn’t tell me it’s tonight!”

Poor Hunk. His poor heart had no time to come to terms with this. His worrying only made Pidge smile wider

“Relax, it’ll be fiiiine. Lance is coming with us. He’ll protect you from anything spooky”

“Why do I have to protect you? What are you going to do? Sue the ghosts for giving you the heebie-jeebies? Sorry, that’s not my specialty”

Pidge slid her glasses down to the tip of her nose as she puffed her chest out

“Ha, he, ho, I’m Lance and I have a fancy law degree! Those ghosts better think twice before looking at me”

Lance laughed way too hard, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, his black frame glasses nearly falling off. Pidge pushing her glasses back into place as Sal brought over Lance’s pancakes and coffee. The man simply placing them down before backing away without a word

“Oh my god, Pidge. That was awful”

“It wasn’t that awful. So, Hunk, you’re in snacks for the night. Lance is in charge of driving, and I’m in charge of the tech. What are we forgetting?”

“That we value our lives and don’t really want to do this?”

Pidge sank lower in her seat, a soft thud coming as Hunk gasped in pain

“What was that for?!”

“Being a chicken”

“I’m not a chicken”

“Are too...”

Picking up his fork, Lance calmly cut in on their fight

“Children, don’t make me seperate the pair of you. Hunk, you’re big, brave, and very manly. Pidge, you’re so fucking short you couldn’t even covertly kick him under the table. If we’re going out, I need to stop by home on the way. Blue needs her wet food for the night, and no, she’s not coming tonight. It’s going to storm as it is”

Crossing her arms, Pidge slumped back in her seat

“You just want to keep my Princess all to yourself. Hunk can leave his car here and we’ll take yours”

“I thought my house was too far away to visit?”

“It’s not when you’re the one driving. Hurry up and finish your pancakes, I wanna go already”

Lance looked down at the forkful he’d been about to load in his mouth, purposely cutting the stack in half to annoy Pidge. Scoffing down Sal’s pancakes was an insult to the man who’d made cigarette ash in pancakes edible. The lack of hygiene may have been another reason why the locals stayed away, but when you’re immortal, standards kind of went out the window

“Laaaaance. Nooo. What are you doing?”

“Enjoying my breakfast. Order another coffee... actually, order some warm milk, I can see you practically vibrating from the amount of caffeine in our bloodstream”

“I’ll have you know that the level of blood in my caffeine stream is just fine. Plus, you’re like the only person in the world who enjoys Sal’s pancakes!”

“Oi! I heard that, Katie Holt!”

Pidge ducked down further in her seat at Sal’s voice. A couple of regulars laughing at her embarrassment, as Pidge blushed

“Now look what you’ve done”

“Not my problem, Pidgeroonie”

“Watch your back, I’m going to get you tonight, then steal away Blue”

Lance shrugged, unfazed by her threat. Tonight would be another lame arse tour under the belt, the most exciting thing they could expect was some jump scare.

#accidentally started a new fic #klance #bottom Lance #mpreg #voltron

[dansnaturepictures]

30th June 2021: A memorable day of insects, flowers and birds to end the month 

My lunch time walk today centred on three pillars of captivation. Two delightful areas of flowers and some insect watching in the meadows of the east of Lakeside. The first area of flowers was the precious flower bed area around the estate before getting into Lakeside which served even more as an oasis today with the high green area grass cut. I loved taking in the plethora of fantastic colourful flowers in this area, the area shown in the first picture I took today in this photoset it does look so beautiful and I took the second-fourth pictures in this photoset of some of the lovely flowers as well as fifth showing the similar looking but different sized oxeye daisy and chamomile. I also saw poppy, varied coloured yarrow both white and pink, varied cornflower, clovers and others. 

Getting into Lakeside by the allotment areas and the ever growing grass in perfect conditions of hot sunshine alternating with some wetter days was perhaps taller than I’d ever seen it here which is fantastic. The sixth picture I took today in this photoset shows this area. I saw some nice colourful honkeysuckle my first on patch this year after some at RSPB Valley Wetlands on Anglesey last Thursday and took in some special nettles by the entrance. 

Then I reached the third rich area of flowers along the back path bits behind some trees and after reflecting yesterday how I’d only seen the one here this year compared to loads last and thinking my season was probably over for them I was stunned to notice a strong group of bee orchids in a slightly more open area than the first one this year that I saw. I adored seeing their intricate markings bringing a splash of colour and wonder to the area, I do find them so attractive and lapped up chances to take shot after shot with my macro lens taking three photos forward of different bee orchid flowers including the seventh picture in this photoset. A very special moment. When turning to wander back onto the more main path I was thrilled to notice some splendid and ripe pyramidal orchids glowing pink too I had some great moments marveling at these and taking a photo which I tweeted on Dans_Pictures. Bird vetch and bird’s-foot trefoil made a dynamic duo blending well to paint the landscape yellow and purple with the vetch going quite high up as the eighth picture in this photoset shows. I then saw some fantastic moon carrot looking a sweet blend between white and purple I learnt this one today. And on it I had the welcome reunion with a beetle species I learnt last summer when i got an astonishing view of a smashing bright scarlet comment red soldier beetle. My welcome first of the year which has started so well for solider beetles for me. 

The third pillar of fixation was completed with a gorgeous burnet companion moth flying by and into the grasslands a nice first on patch view of one this year. Then as sun poked through the grasslands came alive with butterflies and I was in my element chasing them with my macro lens. Its arguably the highest amount of individual butterflies I’ve seen so far this year, Small Skipper and Meadow Brown with their orange flair and Ringlet with strong showings. And it was teeming with the species in which I nickname this area after, the Marbled White. I lost count of how many of these exquisite summer species I saw today. I had the thrill of the chase of trying to photograph butterflies with my macro lens getting close to doing it with so many of them but as the sun had just emerged they were flying so I didn’t quite manage another photo this year of them. A goal for future walks but it was just so fun to see them. I loved noticing a female with its lovely brown markings. This reminded me of a time in 2015 when I’d not taken many pictures of them I was really pleased with over the years and I was of the view that they’re not a butterfly that stopped often or were easy to photograph back then. So I now feel lucky to have seen so many and taken so many pictures of them each year at this strong area for them which I am so proud of. 

When in the meadows a blue tinged mini insect caught my eye in the air going from flower to flower which was the actually glossy emerald swollen-thighed beetle which looked dashing and I enjoyed taking in on an oxeye daisy. Last year in the spring swollen-thighed beetle was the massive species I learnt and saw again and again and common red soldier beetle that species for the summer beetles one of the key areas of nature I learnt so much more and explored in 2020. So seeing them meet on the same day in 2021 was great, these meadows were the first place I saw any swollen-thighed last year and whilst seen elsewhere this year at Lakeside it was the first I’d seen at this side of the country park this year like the bee orchids so maybe this side of it is catching up a bit. 

I took the ninth picture in this photoset of a view of the bowl area and cutting through here I found the body of a deceased dragonfly, not just any dragonfly but the Golden-ringed Dragonfly one of my favourites which I’d never seen at Lakeside before. I liked keeping hold of this treasure for a little bit of time today to study it, looking at the natural work of art and feeling its surprisingly thin wings. Feral Pigeon joined other great birds I saw this week in the garden this week as I worked this afternoon. On another visit round my Dad’s tonight screaming Swifts flew extraordinarily close overhead again and I took in herb-Robert, more great flowering which I posted a phone photo of on the bush and some redcurrants some of which I ate as we caught up with the next door neighbours I have always known too. This evening before and after being there with a lot of sun before the sky was a nice thin layered interestingly shaped collection of clouds which was beautiful. I took the tenth picture in this photoset as the sun was setting. Another great day. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Common Red Soldier beetle of the year, one of my favourite butterflies the Marbled White, swollen-thighed beetle, Small Skipper, Meadow Brown, Ringlet, Small White, Burnet Companion, Goldfinch, House Sparrow, Starling, Swift, Jackdaw and Magpie well from home again, Feral Pigeon, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove and bee. 

#woodpigeon #feral pigeon #collared dove #burnet companion #moth #goldfinch #house sparrow #uk #marbled white #beetle #beetles #swollen thighed beetle #swift #birdwatching #nature #photography #butterfly #butterflies #wildlife #happy #flowers #bird vetch #bird's-foot trefoil #colourful #cornflower #lovely #england #earth #world #special

[the-mad-starker]

I Don't Need To Know Your Name To Make You Scream Mine

Length: 13,663

2nd RP turned fic written with @starkerkeyz​ 😱 More smut, as promised 😏

Mads💗: this is the most flimsy excuse for sex and I feel like we were everywhere.. from playmating to Peter trying (not so hard) to be innocent. Oh! I'm also using this as a square for @starkerbingo​, yayy. This definitely fills the Slut square on my card.

Keyz 💖: Tony couldn’t keep it in his pants once he caught a scent of that cute little omega intern, what can I say ;) I'm using this as my 500 tumblr follower celebration fic! Thanks so much for the encouragement from such an awesome community!

Warnings: intersex, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, vaginal sex, dirty talk, slutty Peter, lingerie, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding, marking kink, omega/omega, manwhore Tony, possessive SIM, mentions of past Tony/Others

(Ao3 Link - includes Nff moodboard/images)

💗💖💗💖

It's god awful early, 6 AM to be exact but Peter wakes up that early for one reason.

It's his first day going into Stark Industries and there's no way in hell he's going to be late. The issue is… There's a chance he'll meet Mr. Stark so the previous night, he goes to sleep thinking about him… And the next morning, he wakes up still clinging to the remnants of a dream that's too much like the start of a porno scene.

He wakes up and oh, his body aches… Now he's glad it's early enough that he has some time to take care of himself.

Beneath the covers, he starts to rub against his pillow. He's on his side and he feels so good, mind a bit fuzzy from sleep and still imagining Mr. Stark purring in his ear… touching him…

He has to hold back soft whimpers just in case his aunt hears him but it doesn't stop him from slipping his fingers down between his legs. His cocklet is already stiff, peeking out from the lace panties he wore to bed. And even further south, his pussy is already throbbing, desperate to be touched or fucked… God, he wishes Mr. Stark could see him now…

It doesn't take long, it never does when he's thinking about Mr. Stark. He has to bite down on the corner of his pillow, hips twitching needily as he brings himself off with fingers thrusting inside and his cocklet rubbing against cotton.

It only takes a few minutes but he's worked himself up to a sweat. He lets himself bask in the glow for a few minutes before he rolls out of bed, limbs heavy and languid from the exertion. His outfit, previously chosen the night before, hangs on his closet door.

Peter slips into the cute but professional business skirt and buttons up the dress shirt. He almost walks out of his bedroom when he realizes he almost went in commando. At the last moment, he slips on cheeky light blue lace panties.

He thinks about Mr. Stark's blue eyes and shivers in excitement.

The commute to SI goes by in a blur and then he's there… Pepper Potts is waiting for him and all the other incoming interns and he's finally in. Finally one step closer to meeting the omega he's had a crush on since before he even had his first heat.

--

Tony waits for one hour, as Pepper requested, and then steps onto the floor that the interns are having orientation on. 

He’s dressed in a well tailored business suit, professional and domineering, and the form fitting black dress pants hide his silky pink panties. Pepper had said to play nice today so he left the black sheer mesh pair and the blood red peek-a-boo set up in his penthouse. 

Every year he fucks at least three interns on orientation day.

“Go easy on them.” Pepper materializes beside him before he can even begin stalking the pretty scent of cherries through the cubicles and empty offices. 

He turns to her with a small smile and indulgent blue eyes. 

“I’ve already given you your hour.” With that, he heads off. 

The smell from before is so ripe. It makes him think of sinking his teeth into something sticky and juicy. 

As he walks, he allows his senses to spread out, to take in the other interns' scents and orientations. The one he’s going for is an omega but there are a few betas and two alphas. Maybe he’ll try breaking one of the alphas after he’s tasted whatever sticky parts this omega would beg Tony to get his mouth on.

When he spots the kid, he stops. He's standing outside of a normal person’s hearing and scent range but well within the scope of his extremis enhanced senses. He rakes his blue eyes over the lithe body and succulent ass, nanites whirring to life and recording it when the intern bends over and adjusts something on the front of his skirt. 

A heady feeling of heat and ripeness again hits his nose and fills his lungs with longing and arousal. 

This omega looks so sweet and innocent in his skirt and stockings. Tony wants to bend him over and taste that sticky honey scent from between his legs before fucking the sweetness right out of him. 

Peter's nervous on his first day but even he can't ignore the strange tingle of awareness he feels.

It's a familiar feeling and it often indicates when alphas are staring at him. It doesn't exactly set off his Spidey senses but it does make him feel a bit more aware.

He straightens, smoothing away non-existent lines on his skirt. He has a polite but distant smile on his face before turning to confront whoever it is.

When he sees who it is, he freezes. There's no mistaking Mr. Stark for anyone else and Peter almost takes a step back.

He picks up the older omega's scent and it's the first time he's ever smelled anything so alluring. It makes his knees feel weak and he regrets wearing heels today because it only makes him feel unsteady on his feet.

His thighs tense as he presses them together. Peter's never reacted like this with anyone, not even with an alpha. His face feels warm, a soft red flush working its way across his cheeks and down his neck. 

He's getting wet… He hasn't even met Mr. Stark, just gotten a hint of his scent and he's already getting aroused...

Some of the surrounding employees notice, looking up from their desks and discretely sniffing the air. That's what makes Peter take action.

He lowers his eyes but hurries towards the omega bathrooms. He needs some cold water or something to get rid of his inappropriate reaction. 

If Mr. Stark knew how terribly aroused he is just from one whiff of his scent, who knows what the other omega would do… Make fun of him…? Fire him? 

He heads towards the doors, hoping the older omega doesn't catch his scent.

Tony smirks at the reaction. He’s used to people sensing his eyes on them eventually, humans still have that prey instinct inside all of them, but the blushing and fumbling and quick exit is always a treat. 

Would the boy stutter and stammer, too? Would he question it, so sweetly, when Tony slips his hand over his mating gland? Push his legs together and wonder why he's getting so hot down there from another omega?

Would he ask what Tony's doing, while blushing all down his neck when Tony slides his hand up his skirt?

Tony follows after the other omega. 

When he smells the aroused omega pheromones and beginning of slick, his dick starts stirring. His pussy has already been hot since he looked through the photos of all his interns for this year. He’s got some beautiful candidates and one of them smells mouth watering when they’re horny. 

He gets to the bathrooms and makes the decision to give them some alone time. He logs into his security AI with a blink and makes sure all prying eyes will be diverted to the other bathrooms on the opposite side of the floor. Pepper will know it’s him; this won’t even be the first time he’s fucked an intern in this very bathroom.

Her hour is up and he doesn’t care. 

This omega is going to learn the taste of his slick and the feel of his cock at the back of their throat by the end of this little meeting they’re about to have.

Inside the bathroom, Peter immediately heads into one of the stalls. He pushes his skirt up and God, he's dripping. His panties are soaked but instead of grimacing, Peter just feels even more turned on.

It's almost noon… Would anyone notice if he took some time in the bathroom? There's an itch beneath his skin and Mr. Stark is to blame…

Peter can't go back out there smelling like pent up sexual frustration… And here he thought that getting off once this morning would've curbed his appetite.

He bites down on his bottom lip, remembering how Mr. Stark had looked. So smart and just sexy as fuck standing there… And his scent…

The omega presses a palm against his cocklet, shifting his weight from foot to foot just to feel his thighs rub together.

He'll do it fast… No one would even notice he was gone. He leans against the stall wall, breath turning shallow as he pushes his hand into his pantyhose and underwear… Slips a single finger between his wet pussylips and stifles the soft moan he wants to let out.

Tony opens the door and is hit with the intense smell of aroused omega slick. His brain translates the scent into that ripe cherry smell from earlier and he can't help grinning to himself. 

"Are you alright in there?" He calls out over the noise of the door locking behind him. There's only one stall with the door shut. He leans against the sinks in front of it.

Peter has two fingers in, knuckles deep, when he hears that familiar voice. It's only familiar because he's watched every single footage of Tony Stark that's ever been recorded and even some that aren't exactly meant for public consumption.

He freezes, heart racing in his chest and tries to slowly, quietly, extract his fingers. The wet sounds they make slipping from his pussy sounds so loud to his ears. He can only hope that the other omega doesn't realize what he's interrupting.

Through the crack in the door, Tony can see the shape of a shoulder and dark, businesslike fabric. He hears something sticky and wet and  traces his eyes downward. He spots that skirt from before, shifting into place almost guiltily. 

Even better. 

"My name is Tony Stark." Like the kid doesn't already know. 

He likes playing dumb and kindhearted to the interns who don't know him. He kind of loves the starstruck reaction he gets from the fannish ones when he introduces himself. 

He imagines this omega having the same reaction and can feel the blue of his nanites flaring. Then he imagines getting his hands under that skirt and curls his fingers in anticipation. He can't wait to get a taste from the source. 

"Do you need some help?"

Peter has a mini panic attack right there. Of course, he knows it's Stark but– Why did he have to walk into this particular bathroom? Amidst all that, he does feel pleased that he's getting attention from the older man… Even if it's the kind that would humiliate him if Stark finds out how much he looks up to him.

"I'm fine!" He replies hastily, "Just needed a minute… I'm, ah, one of the new interns… Just nervous…"

Peter pauses, hoping his boss is just being nice and now that he's done his duty, he'll leave.

"I'll be out in a minute," he says to reassure the other omega. "Don't mind me, please, sir."

Another pause. He doesn't even move since he's straining his ears to hear what Stark does.

Tony perks up from the fresh wave of scent that comes from behind the door. Now he knows the primary gender of his intended omega conquest. He was going to bend this omega over and wreck their pussy regardless if they had a dick or a clit to pair with, but it’s nice to imagine the cocklet he’s going to be stroking soon.  

He crosses his ankles and his arms, amusement coloring his expression. Only concern makes it into his voice when he speaks. 

"I'll wait for you. It's no trouble and I like to get to know my interns." Tony wishes Pepper were here so she could smack his shoulder with exasperation for that one. Pepper is the only one willing to call him out on his shit anymore. 

Peter doesn't know what to say to that. Maybe if it's just another intern or something, he would've told them to mind their own business, but this is Tony Stark.

He doesn't want to risk offending the older man in some way… Peter just hopes that even if Stark can tell he's a bit off, he won't be obnoxious.

"O-Okay," Peter finally relents, steeling his nerves as he prepares to leave the stall.

He grabs some tissues and wipes the slick off his fingers. Tosses it into the toilet and quickly tries to make himself presentable.

Tony looks down at the swaying fabric of the other omega's skirt and imagines pushing him over the sink at Tony's back. He could flip that skirt up and expose whatever underwear the little minx is wearing beneath. He could pull it to the side and stuff two fingers inside instead. 

He could make the omega moan his name just as sweet and flustered as he called him 'sir'.

The toilet flushes and then the stall door cracks open.

Peter slips out of the stall, pressed against the door with his eyes looking away demurely. When he glances up, he sees that his boss is right there, directly in front of him.

"Mr. Stark," Peter murmurs respectfully. "I'd, ah, offer to shake your hand but…"

The reason is left unsaid but Peter then heads to the sink next to the watching omega. He wants to put more distance between them but his avoidance is too obvious with that… So, he pretends like nothing's wrong.

Don't look, don't look, don't look…

Peter dares to glance at the other omega and his face feels warm again.

Tony has to avoid the urge to eat him up right then and there. The way the omega blushes and can’t seem to look him in the eye, combined with the smell of his arousal floating between them, makes Tony want to shred the skirt to pieces. He’d make him walk around SI with his juicy pussy on display.

He puts all those thoughts away and turns his body to crowd up close to the kid, schooling himself into the persona of a caring mentor.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Tony’s hand comes to rest on the omega’s lower back, just above the hemline to the skirt. If he pushes, he could pin the other omega down into a presentation right here. 

Peter's eyes dart to Tony's. Wide honey brown and soft pink lips tremble at the touch.

“I promise Pepper doesn’t bite.” Tony smiles like he’s told a funny joke. His thumb rubs, friendly and soothing, hiking the shirt up in the process. He acts like it’s all perfectly normal and sets his thumb on the newly exposed skin. 

"Mr. Stark…" Peter breathes. 

Just that single touch has his body heating up. Warmth spreads from where the older omega is touching him and Peter just knows how obvious he is. He knows Stark knows too… The way the older man looks at him, as though Peter's something to be devoured, gives it all away.

Peter's scent is telling Mr. Stark everything.

"I don't think it's Ms. Potts I should be worried about," Peter says in a whisper, more to himself than to the older man.

He tries to step back, to retreat, because he's one second away from just advancing and pressing himself against his boss. One second away from giving away that he'd let the older man do anything to him…

"T-Thank you for your concern, sir," he ducks his head, "I should get back– I'm supposed to find… to find…"

There's a senior employee he should be shadowing on his first day and he knows the name. But with Stark's scent tripping up his mind, that name eludes him now.

Tony doesn’t pull his hand away from the brunette’s back when he tries to make his escape. Instead, Tony brings his free hand up and cups the boy’s chin. He pulls him up firmly; it hardly takes any prompting before he’s moving along with Tony’s wishes, anyway. 

Such an obedient omega.

“Don’t worry about them. I’m going to be your mentor at Stark Industries, now.” Tony leans above the shorter omega, loving the way the kid melts into his space instead of pulling back. “You’ll report to me for the duration of your internship with my company, or Pepper if I’m not available.”

Tony’s pinky finger dips teasingly below the hem of the skirt at the same time his thumb rubs a circle into bare skin. Peter's breath hitches in response and he sways forward, wide eyes blinking slowly. A bit starstruck.

"If you, ah… If you think that's best," Peter murmurs. 

He doesn't know what to do with his hands… But one, he places hesitatingly on the other omega's arm, a featherlight touch.

"I'd be honored to work under you, sir," Peter says truthfully, breathlessly. 

He can't look away… Mr. Stark is so close and doesn't seem too bothered by their proximity. He's even the one initiating it.

Tony's grip on the kid’s chin is firm but nowhere near hard. 

“Just look at you.” Tony locks his blue enhanced gaze onto soft brown and sees the heat and the longing he’d hoped to find. His lips curl up at the edges, showing teeth. “What were you doing before I got in here?”

"I…" Peter bites his lip. His face burns because he was touching himself, trying to get off so he'd stop smelling like an omega in heat, ready to be fucked. "I was just trying to calm down a little bit…"

They're so close… Peter could just lean forward and he'd be able to kiss the other omega. He wants to so badly but… but…

His grip tightens on Stark's arm.

"Mr. Stark… What are you doing…?" He questions boldly. 

His voice still has that breathless quality to it. That and a hint of pleading, as though Peter wants whatever this is to happen but worries it might be in his head. 

Tony’s cocklet hardens beneath soft panties and hidden lace. He wants, simultaneously, to keep stringing this pretty little thing along with the kind and caring act; but also to spin him around and bend him over for Tony to plow into right then and there. 

He looks so soft. He smells so ripe.

His; all for the taking.

“I’m just taking care of you. Omega to omega.”

Peter wants to protest. He can take care of himself but the words don't leave his lips. All he can do is watch, heart pounding away and body heating up quickly beneath his new mentor's attention.

Tony leans in close to the kid’s wrist near his arm. He locks blue eyes onto brown and then inhales the omega’s pheromones from one of the most potent of sources. His pupils blow out from the scent of sex and heat and the punch of arousal that overcomes him when he notices a small, glistening streak of omegan slick on the outer edge of the kid’s forearm. 

It smells like cherries.

Tony lets go of the younger man’s chin and drags his arm back to himself so that he could drag his tongue across the smear of recent slick, never breaking his gaze from the other omega. He grinned and licked his lips.

“You missed a spot.”

"Mr. Stark…! That's…" Peter can only stare, wide-eyed, as the other omega's tongue slips over his skin.

His body reacts, how can it not? All those things that say only alphas are made for omegas are so, so wrong. Peter shifts his weight from foot to foot, pressing his thighs together because he's getting wet again…

"Mr. Stark… I don't think this is helping..." he murmurs but he doesn't pull away. If anything, his scent deepens and his body relaxes. He's giving in and so easily too…

There's just something about the older omega that has Peter going all soft and sweet for him. His hand curls inwards so his fingertips brush along Stark's hair.

“No? How about this?” Tony pulls him in close with a flex of the hand that hadn’t left the small of his back this entire time. He hooks the other omega’s arm around his neck so they’re chest to chest and breathing the same air. Down below, he can feel an answering bulge against his stiffened cock. 

Peter manages to muffle a moan before it makes it out of his mouth. His hips twitch forward, getting more of that friction he sorely needs. Pressed chest to chest… Every part of him comes alive, feels heated where they're touching.

“You came in here to take the edge off, right, sweetheart?” Tony pushes lightly at the young omega’s back with his fingertips, urging him to rock without words. He nudges the kid’s thighs apart by pressing himself in-between. His voice becomes edged with a low purr of satisfaction when the skirt starts getting hiked up slender legs one delicious inch at a time. 

Peter's hyper aware of everything going on and he shouldn't… they shouldn't… But it feels so good. He doesn't want to stop this.

Mr. Stark is nothing like an omega is taught to be but that sweet scent says he is.

Peter's never gotten so wet for someone like this. He wants Stark to touch him, wants to spread his legs for him...

“As your mentor, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable here at SI.” Tony runs his unoccupied hand up the lithe omega’s side, bunching his shirt up and exposing a low curve of wickedly defined abdominal. Tony’s cocklet flexed and leaked thinking about rutting against the washboard set of abs that promised to be.

Tony’s own smell of omegan arousal is beginning to spice the air around them. As much as he wants to fuck this young omega into the ground, his pussy's getting wet alongside his cocklet's stiffness. 

Maybe he’d make this omega reach back and finger him at the same time? He looks flexible enough. 

“Playmating is just part of the deal, right? Or maybe a little more, if you’re a needy little thing.” Tony nips at his smooth jawline, teeth getting so close to the scent-tender gland behind his ear. The brunette in his arms doesn’t fight or pull away from Tony’s slowly advancing biting. He sucks the gland between his small fangs. “Which I think you are.”

"Playmating… that's… what we're doing...?" Peter gasps, tilting his head to give the older man more access.

Words are hard to reach but his body talks for him.

A violent shiver shakes his body and he clings ever closer to his mentor. His hips start to rock. It's not a deliberate action, he's just chasing after what feels good. The weight of Stark's hands on him only makes the reactions worse.

He wants Stark to touch him all over…

The hard, solid thigh between his own feels good too… With the way Peter's rubbing against him, it's only inevitable that the wetness between his legs starts soaking into Stark's slacks.

Even with that knowledge, Peter can't stop moving against him.

“Yes. And you’re doing so well, gorgeous.” 

Tony barely has to put any pressure against the kid’s back to keep him moving now. He can feel how excited this is making the younger man and his eagerness is only fueling Tony’s ego. He nuzzles the bite marks he’s littered across pale skin.

“You’re already acting like a slut in heat for me.” Tony finally gives in and moves the hand not guiding his young mentee into rutting filthy and needy on his thigh; he places it on the swell of a fantastic skirt covered ass. He squeezes, pulling the fabric even higher up on that side, and purrs louder from the bouncy handful. 

Peter whimpers at the touch, fingers curling, nails biting into his palms. He pushes back against it, inviting his boss to do more. Squeeze, grab, play… Touch him there and find out just how wet he's become.

Everything about this omega is so sexy. It makes Tony want to keep him long past orientation day.

“Are you feeling like you could bend over for me? Am I making you wet, thinking about how empty you are without me?” Tony breaths against wet skin and the ticklish little hairs behind his ear. He kissed lightly. “That’s how it should be, baby. You’re meant to give me your slutty little hole whenever I want it.”

The tips of Peter's ears are bright red from the other omega's words. The way they're said, as though they were simply facts, really turns him on. He's always been a needy little thing but it's always been something he's kept to himself. He's had his fingers, his toys… But someone else doing this to him…?

It lights a sweltering fire inside him and he burns to do what Stark wants. 

Besides… They're both omegas… And if it's truly playmating, this is okay, isn't it? Stark, as a more experienced omega, is only trying to guide him. Perhaps the older man sees how badly Peter needs it…

"I've never–" he whimpers again. His face feels so hot… "Never presented to anyone… before… sir…"

With how weak his knees feel, he's not even sure he can but if Mr. Stark asks it of him…

"I can try…?" He murmurs even as he rubs himself against the older man's thigh.

It feels so strong and solid beneath him. Every bit of friction pushes his sense of propriety further and further away until all that matters is the hungry blue of his mentor's eyes.

Tony hadn’t thought the kid would go that far for him already. The desperation and willingness to please make his pupils swell out until only an icy aurora of glowing blue remains. Suddenly, the thought of walking this kid through his first presentation (and mounting) makes his pussy hotter than ever.

“For me? You’re so perfect, darling. Of course, you can try.” Tony gropes his ass with shameless abandon, digging his fingers in low and center. He cups upwards and feels exquisite heat and wetness on his first two fingers. He flexes his thigh to give the kid something even better to hump.

Peter shudders and promptly forgets what he's planning to do. Stark's hands feel too good for him to jeopardize stopping it. Instead, he makes helpless soft moans, trying to keep it quiet because everything in the bathroom echoes and…

He's so hot for this, he doesn't even care if people outside hear them. In fact, it only makes him drip even more and his arms curl even tighter around Stark's neck. Whatever this is… even if it's temporary or just playmating, Peter wants it.

“You respond so beautifully. I love how wet you get for me, gorgeous.” Tony lays it on thick and kisses his way down to that unbroken cherry of a mating gland. It’s whorish to bite and leave marks without breaking and mating. Pepper meant exactly this when she told him to play nice. He smiles as he lines his teeth up and pulls the lithe young thing tighter into him. “Just relax. I’m taking care of you now. And you’re doing so well for me.” 

Tony bites down.

Peter cries out at the sting of teeth but a curious thing happens. It feels even better. He feels the gush of slick drip down his thighs and he whimpers, staring at the other omega with wide, almost teary eyes.

He curls his hand into the older man's hair and urges him back to that sensitive spot.

"Again– Oh… Please, I–" He's lost his ability to string words together so all he does is continue to rock against Stark's thigh like a bitch in heat. "Please… Bite…"

“Of course, sweetheart. Since you asked so sweetly and you’re being so good for me.” Tony praises directly against the sensitized mating gland below his omegan fangs. He bites down again, the power over this other omega feeling as heady as fine wine. 

It's pure bliss and Peter's face contorts in pleasure. Lips trembling and eyes squeezed shut, dark lashes fluttering as he shudders through the pleasure.

Peter’s breaths come in shallow and his body feels so hot. He doesn't even recall his heat being like this, a sweltering force that leaves him shaking with need.

Tony rubs his two fingers deeper into sopping wet folds. He’s only a few layers away from where he’ll be burying his cocklet in a few minutes. But, much as he loves watching the kid fall apart on his thigh, Tony wants him bent over the sink so he’s facing the mirrors. Tony likes to watch the faces of his conquests when he fucks them from behind and this kid is, by far, too gorgeous not to watch squirm and beg for it. 

“Let’s get you presenting, baby boy. You’re more than ready for me. So nice and wet. You’re so slutty and ready for my cock to fill you up, aren’t you, baby?” Tony maneuvers his hands so one is in soft brown hair and directing the young omega’s gaze downward; the other snakes down between them to grip Tony’s cocklet through the dress slacks. He squeezes tight enough to bulge the veins of his calloused hand. “Tell me how much you want to taste this.”

"Oh…" Peter moans.

He can't look away. His mouth waters at the sight. He's felt Stark's cock press against him, proof that the older man is just as affected as he is, but seeing it…

Peter wants it, needs it… He wants to drop on his knees to get Stark's cock in his mouth, look up at him with pleading eyes, and just let the older omega fuck his face. His fantasies run rampant and he almost cried ‘because he wants so much…

His pussy feels so empty though and it squeezes right, desperately, in search of a nice cock to lock onto. He whimpers and reaches down with a trembling hand but stops himself from touching it.

If he does, he might fall on his knees. They certainly feel weak enough.

Tony watches the kid’s internal struggle with hunger burning like a bright blue flame in his eyes. He doesn’t give him any direction; he wants to see what he’ll do on his own. Tony can see how much he’s trembling. The smell of cherries perfumes the air between them and makes Tony want to eat him up.

Peter pulls himself away and losing Stark's warmth even for a few seconds has him shivering.

Peter, when he leans over the sink, doesn't even recognize the face he sees in the mirror. His face is flushed and there are deep red marks prominent on his pale skin. It's almost a shock to see them but Peter purrs at the sight.

Stark's bite marks…

His skirt has been hitched up. His entire outfit is a mess and he doesn't care one bit. He leans his weight on his upper body and reaches behind to push it up even further. Pantyhose and the light blue of his panties are exposed.

He looks over his shoulder, eyes pleading at the other omega.

"Alpha…" His voice comes out honey sweet, pleading for the older omega to mount him. "Ready for you…"

Tony growls lowly at the title and steps up behind the sweetly presented ass. He pushes the fabric of the skirt completely out of the way and palms both cheeks at once, pulling the other omega apart even though Tony can’t see anything but the shapely outline through the panties and pantyhose. 

With Stark touching and squeezing his ass, Peter's hands return to the counter. His entire body feels tight with anticipation, eyes watching what the older omega does through the mirror.

Peter feels a rush of heat shoot through him when he sees Stark looking, taking him in. He's not even completely naked. The underwear and pantyhose are still in place, but he might as well be with how tightly they cling to his body.

And they're drenched with slick, sopping wet with proof of how much he's turned on...

“You’re doing such a good job being my little slut. It’s like you were born to bend over for me. I hardly have to train you at all, do I?” Tony undoes the buttons to his slacks with one hand and then goes back to groping and squeezing at the handfuls of firm ass he’s got under his fingers. His pink panties look incredible against the other omega’s blue pair when he ruts his cock against the tipped up offering on display for him.

Peter tries to push back against it, wants to feel the dirty press of another omega's cock against him. He catches the motion in the mirror, how Stark's hips move, a slow and teasing grind against his needy pussy.

"Mr. Stark…" It's a soft plea, almost a whine.

“You bend over so pretty for me. I can smell how much you like being my whore. You already got your slick on my suit pants and now your slutty pussy is dripping all over my panties and cock. I’ll bet you’re being such a good omega and all you can think about is getting stuffed by my cock.” 

Tony’s starts thrusting against the younger omega as he speaks, cocklet driving into his folds through so little material but still not inside. He uses his grip on the brunette’s firm ass to hold him in place and spread him open at once. 

Both of their panties are ruined with their combining slick.

Peter feels the hot press of bare skin even through the thin layers and he whines, a soft cry tinged with desperation.

It's too much of a tease for the young omega. His cheek presses against the cool countertop but it does nothing to satisfy the heat inside him.

He throws a hand back and has Stark's wrist in an awkward grip.

"Please, sir," Peter manages to breath out, "I can't take it…"

Tony looks down to where the omega’s holding onto him so desperately. He doesn’t shake him off and instead chuckles, low and dark, when he witnesses the fumbling, heat drunk and fuck clumsy attempts to undress himself that follow. There’s something about seeing someone get cock stupid for his dick that makes him preen.

Peter attempts to shove the interfering layers off but the angle doesn't help. He wiggles in place in frustration, wishing he had forgone the stockings and just worn his panties instead. At least those, he could just slip to the side… Entice the older man into acting with a glimpse of his pink pussy.

But he's at Stark's mercy, bent over the bathroom sink, and being teased to tears…

"Please, f-fuck my pussy, sir," Peter chokes out. 

Peter feels like he'll combust from sheer humiliation because he's never said such dirty things, not even in his head.

“Well, since you are begging like you’re meant to and you bent over for me like a good boy, I think you do deserve something nice.” Tony rips the pantyhose right down the center. He cups the younger omega’s pussy with only the blue panties as a barrier. 

Peter whines at the rough treatment but it's not a complaint. His stockings… There's something so primal and arousing about having them torn while he's still wearing them.

He stares at Stark through the mirror and just wants.

The words come out in a rush, each one so close to begging.

"Need it, Mr. Stark… Please– It feels so…" Peter whines and tries to push back against the pressure he feels against his hole. "Please, use me…"

“These look so gorgeous on you, baby boy. I don’t want to ruin them just yet.” 

He rubs his fingers deep into soaked wet folds and grinds the heel of his palm into the dripping hole from the outside. Every brush of his fingertips against the panty covered and cherry-scent soaked material makes the omega clench and gasp above him. 

“You’re such a good whore. Don’t stop begging for me; I want to hear every dirty thing your slutty pussy craves. Slip these off for me and set them to the side. Leave the pantyhose on.” 

Tony playfully slaps the same sensitive spots he’s been caressing before snapping the hem of the pretty blue panties. This omega’s pussy is meant to be speared open on his cocklet and he can’t wait to sink himself inside without any barriers. 

Oh, Peter loves what Stark is doing to him. He just wants to let the other omega do whatever he wants but what Peter doesn't want is for Stark to stop.

The words make his mouth tremble.

Whore.

He shouldn't be so aroused at such a degrading term, but he is. His pussy aches, clenches and squeezes around nothing, and his stiff cocklet rubs against the counter.

Stark can call him whatever he wants and as Peter pushes himself up just the tiniest bit to obey, he considers it true. His fingers slip through the ripped pantyhose and grab hold of blue lace.

Peter doesn't question what he's doing even once. Just discards the last thing that had kept him decent.

Tony watches the omega obey him and clocks the way he’s shaking like Tony is his next fix as he slides the drenched cloth down his own trembling thighs. They’re crumpled up and put beside the sink the kid’s leaning over without a second thought and Tony’s cocklet burns to get inside.

This time, when Peter resumes his previous position, the omega presents properly. He reaches back and spreads himself open, a fierce but captivating blush on his face.

"Here…" Peter murmurs, looking over his shoulder to plead with the older omega. "...Play with me here, please, sir…"

His pretty pink pussy is on display but his gaze is fixed on Stark's hungry blue eyes. He shudders as need makes his body clench down, more slick and wetness dripping out of him.

“Tell me what you need.” Tony cups him like he did before, hissing at how soaked his hand gets from finally touching this lithe young omega’s pussy directly. He slaps the puffy lips again and dips his thumb into the wet folds, circling the hungry opening with his thickest digit while his other fingers massage and roll through the copious slick gushing across his hand. 

There's only one thing Peter wants when he gets like this…when he gets so scent drunk and aroused that nothing matters. Not his dignity, not some thought that he should be careful… He just wants.

"Alpha… please… breed my s-slutty pussy…" Peter begs breathlessly. "Feels so empty… Fuck me, breed me, sir–"

“That’s it. Good boy, omega.” Tony slips his own panties down enough to untuck his cocklet and balls. His pussy aches to be filled but he wants to fuck this omega more than he wants to be fucked by him. Maybe next time.

He uses the omega’s own slick to lube himself, stroking the heady scent right into his cock and making his dick leak harder. His other hand comes to rest on the boy’s lower back, right where it had been earlier. This time, he pins the kid down like he’d been craving to do ever since the first hint of cherries tickled his nose.

“Don’t stop presenting for me now. It’s going to feel so, so good, but I want you to keep holding yourself open and telling me what your greedy pussy wants.” 

Tony lines up and finally starts pushing inside. 

It’s as hot and sweet as he’d been imagining. 

Peter's entire body is tense as he braces himself for the initial penetration. A soft sound comes out of him, a gasped out "ah–" and his hands dig deeper into his own flesh. He's trying so hard to be good, to keep his pussy presented nicely for Stark to fuck.

“Fuck, sweetheart, your pussy was meant for my cock, wasn’t it? Such a perfect little whore for me.” Tony bottoms out quickly, balls slapping into shivering and jumping skin. 

Peter's pussy squeezes down in a vicious grip as though it's already trying to milk a knot out on the first thrust.

His fingers turn into claws and he gets his first real cock... It's different from his toys. So much more different.

There's a body pressing against his, soft, heated flesh against his aching pussy. And inside... Stark's cocklet is spreading him apart, hard and undeniable. Bare...

He squeezes down on it, memorizing the shape and feel of the other omega's cock. A soft whine starts up in his chest. He's finally getting fucked by Mr. Stark but somehow, it's still not enough. The need only grows, pressure coiling in his belly as he tries to weather through the intense sensations.

It's more than he ever thought he'd get from his idol but, it's not enough.

And somehow, Stark knows this.

The other omega’s skin is twitching like a horse’s everywhere Tony touches and every time Tony calls him a whore. A wicked smile slowly curls his lips.

“You love being my whore. I can tell; your pussy is sucking me in so greedy and eager. Ready to be bred by me. Craving my pup in your belly. You’ll only need to remember the feel of my cock in your needy pussy for the rest of your internship here.” Tony fucks into him hard enough his hip bones knock against the counter the sink is mounted to. He digs his fingers into soft skin and does it again, harder. “You’ll only live for getting my cock inside of you after this. You belong to me now and you’ll only come on my cock or not at all.”

It's overwhelming for Peter but he goes into autopilot, his body moving in an attempt to learn Stark's rhythm. It's tempting for the younger omega to just lay there and let Stark fuck him into a limp mess. But his body responds with needy whimpers as he tries to push back, tries to chase after the cock spearing him open every time Stark pulls back.

The older omega's words give life to his deepest desires and he echoes them, mind hazy with unprecedented need.

"Love it…! Ah! My– pussy loves it!" Peter agrees. His eyes squeeze shut as the pleasure threatens to steal his words away. "Loves your c-cock, M-Mr. Stark! Needs it, needs it every day…! Please– Wanna be full of Mr. Stark's cum… Wanna feel it dripping down my legs…"

He whines at his own words, desperate and hungry to be filled. His ears burn at the sound of their mating and the obscene words spilling from his mouth.

“Of course you need it every day. A needy little whore like you? I’ll have Pepper send you up on coffee runs so I can fill you up with load after load of my cum.” Tony thrusts steadily, cocklet fucking in as deep as he can get it on each pump inwards. His balls swing and slap with the power behind his pistoning cock.

"Breed me, alpha, breed my pussy," Peter begs even as he's getting fucked. "Wanna feel you… come inside… Please come inside…"

He's so wet that he can feel his boss's cock just slide right in, no resistance. And he feels it when Stark pulls away, his walls protesting at the loss, clinging onto the other omega's cocklet and begging it to stay inside.

“Your pussy is going to take every drop. You’re going to hold in this load until I’m ready to give you more this afternoon.” Tony leans over the round ass bouncing under his brutal fucking. He reaches up and buries his clean hand into soft brown hair, pulling so the kid’s neck is arched, baring it for the mirror. Tony can see the dark bruises of his teeth around the unbroken mating gland and tugs.

Pain and pleasure overlap and Peter's drunk off it. His head tilts back and it feels so dangerously vulnerable to offer his unprotected neck.

It feels right too… The way Stark holds him down and takes control is just like an alpha. The way he sucks bruises into Peter's skin is too. Everything the older omega does appeals to Peter's omegan instincts and they all scream at him to submit. To let this superior man have him and breed him up with his pups.

“You’re going to wear my bruises and everyone is going to know how easily you gave it up to me. Everyone will know that you’re my personal whore. They’ll all know you belong to me; your pussy is mine to stuff and wreck and you’ll give it to me whenever I want it.” Tony hauls him up enough to bite him again. He doesn’t care if he’s pushing his flexibility too much. The omega will learn to bend himself in half if Tony wills it. 

Peter cries out at the sting of teeth and his body convulses. Right over his mating gland… Still not deep enough to break but it was enough to have his pussy clamping down, rippling and massaging along the other omega's cock.

What pushes him over the edge is the change in position. He's pulled upright and the next time Stark's cock sinks into him, it hits that sweet spot inside him that makes him see stars.

He comes just from that, body rigid as his neglected cocklet releases. He rides the wave of pleasure for only a few seconds before he goes limp, body easily falling into whatever position Stark wants him in. The unbearable pressure in his belly has dissipated but he still feels that warmth, growing and starting up again with every thrust.

With his back arched and one hand still holding himself open, Peter drags the other arm to curve around Stark's neck. He doesn't have the strength to keep his mentor close but he doesn't need to.

They're already pressed so intimately together, Stark's cock pounding away at his hungry pussy.

"More…" Peter implores, "Ah– Need more… Please, Mr. Stark…" 

His eyelashes flutter like he's about to pass out and his head lolls back against the other omega's chest. 

"Need my cum in you? Need to feel full and bred?" Tony pants the words into the fresh ring of teeth marks he's left along the pale throat. He can last longer if he wants; the nanobots rushing through his body guve him an absurd amount of control over himself. 

He doesn't want to for this omega. For this needy little thing, he wants to pump him full of seed now and then do it again before he leaves for the day. 

Tony reaches around and grips the softening cocklet, stroking relentlessly, licking and sucking at the younger omega's throat when he cries out from overstimulation. 

"Beg me for it. Beg me to come in your slutty hole." Tony rams in, feeling the body in his arms get pushed up onto his toes from the force of it. Tony does it again, balls tight where they bounce against tightly coiled muscle and hot skin. 

"Beg to be my omega."

Peter gives a low moan as he's roughly fucked. His body's more than willing to be his mentor's toy and his eyes are glassy, mouth gasping the next words.

"Wanna be… Mr. Stark's omega…" Peter agrees in breathless pants. His entire body feels pushed to the limit already, especially with his cocklet being played with, even now.

He ignores it. The desire to please his mentor and boss overrides any physical discomfort he feels.

"Please, sir… Please," he begs so prettily, mindlessly babbling now, "Claim me– fill me… up! Please…!"

He's intentionally squeezing down now, moaning from the shocks of pleasure he feels when the older omega's cock sinks in deep. His poor, spent cock twitches in Stark's hand, coaxed back into hardness by the dual assault. 

His pussy… His cock… Peter groans, giving himself to the demanding sensations.

“Good slut,” Tony praises. 

He bites another mark into him and circles his thumb across the wet cockhead. Sweat beads under his suit. He could taste an answering salt on his tongue and behind his teeth. The bathroom echoes with the obscenely loud sounds of unrestrained fucking. His lips curl up over small omegan fangs, eyes glowing.

“Take this load, baby, and later, I’ll give you another.” Tony shoves himself inside with a snarl and comes thick ropes of cum as deep as he can get it. 

"Ah–!" The sound Peter makes is high pitched and shocked when he feels his boss come inside.

It's a flood of searing heat and Peter feels every minute twitch and pulse as the other omega empties inside him.

"Oh, fuck…" Peter gasps as he pushes back hard. He wants that cock as deep inside him as possible. His eyes squeeze shut as his body works on squeezing out every drop.

Tony squeezes his hand around the omega’s cocklet, stroking even faster. 

Peter's torn between fucking into his boss's hand and milking the cocklet inside him. He wants to be filled more than he wants to be touched though, so the younger omega only gives half hearted thrusts when Stark jerks him off.

Apparently, even that is enough for his eager body. Being fucked full and having his sensitive cock played with… Peter moans, almost miserably when his body shudders and gives in once more.

He ends up leaning forward, hands catching the counter so he doesn't just slide down to the floor. They're still pressed together, but just that little bit of space is enough to have his freshly fucked pussy leaking slick and cum.

His thighs are a mess with their combined fluids ...

Tony only slows down once the cock in his palm shoots off, purring in satisfaction. He looks down to where they’re joined and nudges his hips in further, feeling how wet and filthy the kid’s pussy is with Tony’s cum and watching the slick dripping back out of him. 

Tony slaps his palm down on one pantyhose covered cheek, groaning from the immediate tightening and the way his ass bounces so beautifully in the ripped up material.

"Mmph!" Peter gasps at the slap but he doesn't protest, only tightens down on Stark's cock.

“Mine. My whore. My omega.” Tony grinds himself in with each statement. 

"Yours…" Peter echos. 

His legs feel unsteady but even then, he keeps himself upright. He loves the omega cock inside him, loves how Stark is pushing his cum in deep even when he feels more of it dripping down his thighs.

Tony lets go of the kid’s hair to scoop up some of the cum that’s trying to slide out around his softening cock. He brings it up and rubs the glistening white into the dark bruising on the omega’s mating gland. Nobody would question who this little slut belongs to.

Peter groans at the touch. His mating gland feels swollen and hot… He reaches up to grip the older omega's stained fingers and leads them to his mouth.

His tongue curls over them, licking up the slick and cum… Moaning as he shows his boss how much he loves all this. Shows him how much of a slut Peter wants to be for him. His pussy doesn't want to be empty, still wants more after being fucked full.

He gives a needy whine.

"Mr. Stark…" he murmurs. "I still want…"

“Still want more of my cock? You really are the perfect slut for me.” Tony lets the kid suck on his fingers as he brings his other hand up and cups the front of his throat. He feels the movement of muscles under his hold as the young omega works his fingers, an Adam’s apple bobbing against Tony’s broad palm. 

“If you’re still hungry for my cock, then you’re going to use that pretty mouth to get me ready to fuck your pussy again. Or maybe I’ll fuck your tight little ass this time around?” Tony rubs his softened cock against the other omega’s filthy passage, not willing to slide out yet from the warm wetness even as overstimulation prickles along his cocklet and pools in his pelvis.

Peter moans around the fingers and sucks on them, a preview of what he wants to do if his boss really wants him on his knees.

Tony pulls his fingers out and tightens his grip on the soft flesh of his throat. He brings his hand down in another playful slap to ripped pantyhose, squeezing the firm muscle with a purr. He leaves a sheen of saliva across the reddened handprint. 

The slap is just as surprising as the first, but this time, Peter isn't surprised by the rush of pleasure that follows.

He makes a soft sound, appreciative and wiggles in place like an excited puppy being given attention.

“You do have such a fantastic ass. Without a plug, your pussy will drip two loads back out, but you’ll be able to hold it in both holes at once, right, baby boy?” Tony says the question with a tone of praise and grinds his soft cocklet in a slow circle. He loves the sounds of pleasure he catches in his fingers, still wrapped around the omega’s slender throat. 

"If you want me to…" Peter bites his bottom lip as he tries to keep his words steady. "You'll… ah… have to just… fill me up again, Mr. Stark…"

He can't decide which appeals to him more… Feeling his boss's cum drip out of him or feeling it inside him… He doesn't give much thought to it yet, not when he still has a chance to get another load.

Reluctantly, he moves so that the other omega's cocklet slips out of it. He despises the feeling and wants nothing more than to have it back inside… but Mr. Stark gave him an order.

He turns so he's pressed chest to chest with the older man. Looks up at him with hungry eyes even as he reaches down and takes a hold of his mentor's soft cock.

It's so wet, dripping with both of them… Peter's slick and remnants of cum.

He murmurs his next words, high on sex, high on the other omega's scent.

"Please use my mouth, sir," he purrs, "Want another load… In my pussy… in my ass… Whichever you want, just let me have it…"

Then he sinks down to his knees and opens his mouth as an offering to the other man with his little pink tongue just waiting to taste it all.

“Oh, baby boy, I’m going to keep you to that.” Tony pets through the boy’s hair, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of him kneeling, his skirt fluttering back in place so the rips and cum doesn’t show and he almost could pass for innocent again. 

“Lift your skirt up. Spread your thighs and keep your skirt up so I can see how hard your slutty cocklet gets sucking mine.” 

It's the first time Peter shows any sign of hesitation.

It's one thing for Mr. Stark to take control and take what he wants from Peter… It's quite another for Peter to do those things himself.

But he does them and as he starts to drag his skirt up, his cocklet twitches and starts to fill. He really is an insatiable little thing and his face feels hot with every inch of skin he reveals.

"Like this, Mr. Stark?" Peter murmurs.

His skirt is bunched up around his hips, thighs spread, the ripped stockings showing flashes of pale skin beneath. Between his legs, his cocklet is flushed a pretty pink, already starting to drip in arousal.

He makes a lewd picture on his knees with his marked up throat and fucked out appearance. Some part deep inside of him wishes Tony could take a picture, proof of what the other omega had done to him...

Tony presses his soft cock to the omega’s lips, tracing the damp slit around plump lips before resting it along the offered tongue, cum and slick and all. 

Peter sighs in relief, holding still and letting the other omega do as he wants.

“Beautiful,” Tony murmurs, blue eyes recording every sheen of fluid and flushed red patch of skin next to finger bruises and teeth marks. The kid looks wrecked to hell and back. They can’t have been in here that long yet since Pepper hasn’t come knocking and his AI hasn’t flashed the overhead lights at him in warning. 

He’s still begging for more of Tony. 

“Get me nice and hard again, baby, so I can fuck that needy hole of yours full.”

The amount of lust and stamina from the young omega is so arousing, Tony is seriously considering kidnapping the young omega and chaining him up under his bed. As long as Tony keeps feeding him his cock, he’d be too fucked out and cock stupid to think about finishing school or working for a living. His only job would be pleasing Tony and being available as a willing cum dump.

Looking down at the blissed out, hazy brown eyes staring up at him adoringly, Tony doesn’t think the kid would find it a bad gig at all.

Peter can't resist anymore. If Stark had asked him to be his personal cockwarmer, Peter would have happily obeyed. But that isn't the case here… Stark isn't done with him and Peter has to get him hard again if he wants another load.

So, he gets to work and uses his tongue to lick up the mess they made. He doesn't mind the taste of his own pussy, but it's the hint of bitterness that he goes crazy over. His boss's cum mixed with his slick… Peter wants more.

He licks up every trace of slick and cum, running his tongue around the tip and when that's clean, he chases after the taste along the length. He whines when it's all gone, wants to taste more of Mr. Stark, maybe even get his mouth on the older omega's pussy but the conflicting needs clash inside him.

He falls back on Stark's order and goes back to his task. Soon, he's sucking on the older omega's soft cock, loving the way it fits in his mouth for now.

Drool leaks from his mouth, drips down his chin, but all he's focused on is getting Mr. Stark hard again. His mouth is just as hungry for him as his pussy is. His hand creeps up, small fingers circling around the base to hold it steady as it begins to harden in his mouth.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.” 

Tony lets the kid slurp and lick his way around his cock, enjoying the messiness and the hungry little noises the slut makes from the bottom of his chest as he tastes Tony’s cum. He weaves his fingers into the curling hair at the back of his head and pushes him down once Tony’s cocklet is hard enough to fill his mouth, fucking this hole like he owns it as much as he owned his pussy earlier.

Peter doesn't resist. He allows the hand to guide him and just rides out the rhythm his boss sets for him. Stark's hard cocklet fills his mouth, makes his lips numb from how hard and fast the older man is using him.

And yet, all Peter does is stare up at his mentor with wide eyed need, soft moans muffled by the cock in his mouth.

“Look how much you like being my whore.” Tony balances his weight and then lifts his foot up so he can pin the pretty pink cocklet down under his heel. He laughs softly when a spurt of pre shoots out over the toe of his dress shoe, leaving a noticeable smear. 

"Mm!" the omega groans, hips twitching towards the source of friction. 

Peter hasn't touched himself this entire time, too caught up in trying to be good for the older omega.

“Cute. You’re going to lick that up later.” Tony rolls his ankle, grinding the little cocklet harder into the omega’s pelvis before dropping back down to brace himself on two feet again. He reaches down and clamps his hand onto the bruised up nape of his slut, digging into the omegan sweet spot, and uses both hands to hold him still.

“Breathe through your nose.” 

Tony thrusts forward, too excited to go slow or to tone it down. His pussy is dripping copiously, his pink panties ruined where they cupped him below the balls. He doesn’t care. Tony just wants to fuck the wonderful throat of his personal whore. 

Peter tries to listen and obey. So far, he thinks he's doing a decent job but as Stark picks up the pace, the young omega realizes he still has so much to learn.

His breath stutters in his chest as he tries to accommodate Stark's fervor. His inexperience is glaringly obvious in the way his hand flies up, pressing against the older man's hip as though to stop him from going too fast.

The sounds change too. From soft and wet moans, Peter ends up making high pitched, almost embarrassing squeaks with every thrust into his mouth. They become obscene when the thrusts become hard enough that Stark's cock almost reaches the back of his throat. Wet, gurgling sounds as Peter accommodates him.

He's struggling to take it and now, whimpers are added among the sounds of his moaning. He just wants to be good for Mr. Stark and there, he realizes he's trying too hard.

He stops trying to control it and instead, allows the older omega to use him as he pleases. 

It gets… easier. Every thrust helps to empty out any relevant thought in his head. All that matters is Mr. Stark's cock and the way those brilliant blue eyes watch him.

Tony fucks the omega’s throat until he’s snarling with the pleasure of it. His dick pistons in and out of the compliant mouth, fresh pre leaking out across his tongue now. The smell of Tony’s renewed slick wafts up through the panties and slacks. 

Tony pulls the omega off by the hair after endless minutes of soft choking and wet skin on skin.

Peter's left gasping, mouth wide and lips swollen from use. For a moment, he fights against the hold, chasing after the hard cock bobbing in front of his face. He whines, trembling in loss, but then he licks his lips in anticipation. His body shudders, muscles tightening in excitement for what's to come.

It’s become too good and Tony worries about shooting off directly down that soft, bruised throat. If they were up in his penthouse and he had all day to ruin this pretty omega, then he would have held him down by the hair until he cried around Tony’s cock and swallowed his second load from the source. 

“Just look at you.” 

Tony marvels at how beautiful the omega is. His breathing is hitching with his first real breath that isn’t tainted by cock and cum, and his face is brilliantly red. The brunette curls around Tony’s fingers are soaked with sweat and he’s still holding the skirt up, still obeying Tony’s last command, even though his thighs are shaking like he’s going to fall over as soon as Tony lets go of his hair. 

“You take cock so well, sweetheart. You really were born to be on your knees.” Tony strokes one flaming red cheekbone. 

The younger omega shudders, turning towards his boss's hand and nuzzling against his fingers  

Tony nudges his cockhead against the kid’s chin, smirking when he’s able to move up and slip the tip back in with no resistance. He gives him just the tip, stroking himself so pre pools along the other’s tongue and across his lower lip. 

“You’ve been so good for me. You did exactly what I asked. My good boy. Are you ready for your last hole to be fucked?” Tony hopes he’s just as eager for that as everything else. A true whore for him to play with.

Peter squirms on his knees. His pussy feels achingly empty even though he could still feel Stark's load inside him… dripping and leaking from his fucked open hole. He wants to ask Stark to fuck him there again, just for a little… But he's looking forward to this… Wants both his holes dripping the other omega's load more than he wants his pussy filled twice.

"How do you want me, sir?" Peter's voice comes out a bit hoarse.

He gets up on shaky legs, presses close like the overeager teen he is, like a needy slut aching to be fucked. He nuzzles the other omega's neck, breathing in the sweet scent of arousal even as he takes hold of Stark's cock. He continues massaging it with slow, firm strokes, keeping it ready for him.

"Can you… fuck both my holes, Mr. Stark…?" He decides to ask. "You can… finish wherever you want…"

Peter feels naughty for asking, feels like he should just take what Stark offers. He can't help it though… The way Stark fucked him earlier… He wants it again, wants to feel his boss plowing into his pussy and fucking his ass open.

“I’m going to fuck you every day for the rest of your internship,” Tony promises, turning towards the younger omega’s brown curls.

He allows the boy to keep pumping him for a moment, just enjoying the pleasure of someone else working his shaft for him. When he’s ready to move things along, he grabs his wrist, halting him only for a moment before redirecting his hand down the front of Tony’s panties where his pussy's dripping.

Peter looks at the older omega with hooded eyes. He only feels even more aroused when he feels just how wet his boss is. With curious fingers, he explores Stark's pussy with a gentle touch. He runs his fingers along wet flesh, getting his entire hand drenched in the process.

He wants to lick every drop of slick off but doesn't want to waste this chance. Stark is the one who led his hand there, so it's safe to assume he wants Peter to touch him right? And what omega doesn't want to be touched where it really feels good…?

Peter presses even closer, sighing against Stark's chest, and poking his tongue out to swipe the sweat off his neck. At the same time, he inches his fingers deeper towards the source of all that wetness. He teases his fingertip over his boss's hole, breathing hard, and cocklet dripping with the sudden need to sink into something hot and wet.

The very idea makes his head spin.

Tony rocks his pelvis downwards, grinding into the long fingers sneaking their way through his folds.

Before he can get his shaking fingers inside, Tony hauls the slighter omega up off his feet, hooking slick-wet thighs around his hips. He starts walking with him in his arms like the omega weighs nothing, manhandling him wherever Tony wants him. 

Peter clings to the older omega with wide eyes. He has one arm hooked around Stark's shoulders for support while his legs tighten around his hips.

Stark's cock presses against his own, the length of it rubbing against his needy pussy. Peter gives a quiet moan, his hard cock dripping all over them both.

Tony walks until the door to the bathroom meets the kid’s back. He keeps coming, pressing them together from chest to groin, pinning the omega’s hand to his pussy and body to the door. His cock and the nano casing dig into him insistently.

Tony leans in close to the other omega. He grins wickedly and puts a hand over his mouth preemptively; there's someone walking passed the door on the other side.

“You’ll have to be good and you’ll have to be quiet.” Tony whispers against the omega’s ear. He bites the shell. “I’m going to fuck you like you’ve earned, baby boy.”

Peter's breathing is hard. His bosses doesn't know who he is, who his alter ego is, so he can't know that Peter hears everything. 

He hears the soft clicks of someone's heels as they pass by… Hears the soft whispers of his new coworkers murmuring about how Mr. Stark followed an omega into the bathroom and no one's seen them since…

"They've been in there a while…"

"Oh, yeah. Mr. Stark likes to get to the newbies."

"You should've seen the intern from last year… alpha and Mr. Stark wrecked them…"

"Oh shit… Maybe we should send someone? The omega that went in there didn't look the type…"

A soft, dark chuckle. "If he's not the type, he is now. Mr. Stark always gets what he wants."

The words make Peter's ears burn but he's so shameless that it turns him on even more to know that people outside know.

"I don't think I can…" he breathes out.

Still, he arches his back, hand slipping up to grasp his boss's cock… Aim it towards his hungry pussy and tries to sink down on it.

"Fuck me, sir," Peter begs in a quiet whisper. "Need it…"

"You will." Tony buries his fingers in the curls that are starting to get filthy and snarled with the slick and cum transferring off his hands and onto the once clean locks. He tugs, pulling until the boy's head tips back and gives Tony full access to his ravaged throat. 

"Maybe I should knock…?"

"Fuck that, I'm not getting killed for someone looking for a good time with a rich guy."

"But he wasn't looking for it…"

"He's Stark's bitch now."

Tony grins, pleasure burning through his veins. He times it so he's sliding his cock inside when whoever is outside says that last comment. He breathes out against the sweet smelling skin of his omega's throat. 

They know their place. 

They know who this omega belongs to. 

"Mmm. They're talking about you, slut." Tony kisses sweaty flesh, loving the way his pulse jumps under his tongue. He retreats, cock rubbing tantalizingly along slicked up walls. He slams back home, balls swaying from the force. 

"They're whispering about how you're mine." 

"Mm…!" Peter tries to keep his voice down but he can't.

He hears the words too and feels a thrill shoot through his body. His legs tighten around Stark's waist, trying to drag the older omega's cock back into his wet pussy.

"Don't care…" he groans, trying to get Stark to hit that sweet spot inside him.

His hand slips from between Stark's legs, dripping in the older man's slick. Peter can't help but suck on his fingers, glassy brown eyes gazing at the older man.

"Yours… I'll… be y-your slut…" Peter swears, "Just, ah– keep fucking me… there…"

He pulls the other man closer with both arms and legs, forces Stark to drive deep into his body. With his head hanging low, his mouth is so close to Stark's neck… He can't help setting his teeth there even if it's over layers of clothing.

He drags them up, mouthing at the other omega's sweat damp skin.

"F-Fuck me, sir…" he groans into Stark's ear. "Want them to know…"

“They’re already going to smell it on you, baby boy.” Tony pulls him away from his scent gland by the hair. He redirects the kids nose to the space behind his ear, forcing him to inhale Tony’s potent omega pheromones directly from his skin. He turns his head to do the same, scenting each other far too intimately for having just met and being mid-fuck. 

Peter breathes in the heady scent like it's a drug. It clouds over his mind and makes his insides burn with so much need that he doesn't know what to do with himself. All he can do is cling onto the older man, letting the other omega's scent fill his lungs while his cock fills his pussy.

Tony thrusts forward and nuzzles the potent smelling skin. For how tenderly he's scenting and kissing up above, his hips are setting an increasingly hard pace, fucking the omega into the door with only half an ear on all the speculation and whispering. 

The sound of skin on skin is echoing obscenely loud in the empty room again and Tony doesn’t care. Let them hear. Let them know. 

Tony sucks a hickey right over the other omega’s scent gland here, too.

“You’re mine now. Everyone will take one sniff and know who you let fuck you. They’ll get one look at these,” Tony lifts a hand and digs fingers into one of the many marks he’s littered across creamy pale skin. He fucks upwards hard enough that the omega slides up the bathroom wall a few inches. “One look, baby, at these beautiful marks of mine on your throat and they’ll know who you belong to.”

Peter sinks back down with a thoroughly pleased moan. He's barely paying attention to what Stark is saying, but he hears the possessive growl in those words and notes the greedy, almost covetous, hold.

He starts leaving marks of his own, latching his teeth into unmarked skin and sucking hard. If Stark wasn't wearing his suit, Peter's sure he’d have scratch marks too… but this is all he can do for now.

"Mr. Stark– Mm, yeah, fuck me…!" Peter starts moaning. 

He doesn't bother controlling his voice, he's too far gone to care about that. He still hears others talking about him but it only rouses his desires. So what if they knew Peter spreads his legs for his boss? They're the ones missing out since Peter has never felt so good in his entire life…

He whimpers even as he clings onto the older man. His lips constantly brush against Stark's ear as he's being fucked.

"Feels so good, sir… Love… having your cock…" Peter groans, sharp omega fangs nipping at Stark's ear. "Inside… inside… Love your cock… M-Mr. Stark… My pussy… Loves it… loves being f-fullll…"

“You little slut.” Tony bites him back, harder. 

He ruts up and in with powerful strokes of his cocklet, thighs and ass flexing beneath the clothing he still hasn’t taken off. His suit is drenched in fresh omega slick from himself and the whore practically screaming for more on his pistoning cock. 

Tony moves both hands to the omega’s pert ass, grabbing two handfuls and using his arms to pull the younger omega down to meet his thrusts upwards, getting somehow even deeper and rougher. 

Peter groans in appreciation. He immediately feels the difference and he moves into it. Muscles strain as he bounces on his mentor's cock, pussy squeezing and gripping tight. He feels sloppy and used and yet, here he is, still begging for another load.

The force Stark's puts into fucking him leaves him breathless and all too eager for more. He can't stop the way he whines and begs for it.

"H-harder…" Peter could barely get the word out as his body shudders with every thrust.

This omega could take it. He's built for a rough fucking and the small puddle of slick dripping out of his well fucked pussy is proof of that. 

“My little slut,” Tony amends with a snarl. 

He’s getting close again, if he let himself tumble over that edge. The voices outside are tittering; Tony doesn’t devote attention to them, not with something much better caught on his cocklet. His small omegan fangs dig into the new hickey, sucking it darker.

Peter whines at the pain but only clings even tighter. His pussy gushes with slick, soaking the other omega's thrusting cocklet.

“I’m going to give you another load, slut. When I’m done you’re going to thank me for the privilege of getting to hold it in for the rest of the day.” Tony orders it on a breathy exhale. 

He pulls the omega down onto his next thrust with slight extremis strength. His eyes glow blue with excitement. 

Before Tony even finished, Peter's already gasping his appreciation.

"Thank you, sir, thank you–" Peter gives the other omega more harsh nips and marks.

He encourages Stark to finish and more importantly, to finish inside him. He's more than ready to be filled again. His belly aches with anticipation and his pussy hugs the other omega's cock with tight, hungry clutch. It's seeking a knot, clamping down like a vice and trying to lock down tight.

Without a knot… Peter doesn't even care about being knotted, he just wants Stark's cum again.

"Come inside," he begs, "Fill me up, Mr. Stark, please…"

Tony comes with a low, snarling purr twisting from deep in his chest. His hips snap up, forcing the omega up the wall until Tony's hauling him back down, pinning his pussy to his cock so every drop stuffs the greedy omega up.

Peter feels the heat spill inside him and his pussy grows unbearably tight. His body doesn't know the difference between alpha or omega, doesn't know or doesn't care. It just cares about being bred so he clamps down on his mentor's cock, milking it for every drop.

At the same time, being fucked full sends searing white heat throughout him. Peter moans as his cocklet spurts out a pathetic amount of clear cum.  He mouths at sweat damp skin, licking weakly in the aftermath.

How many times has he come already? He pants against Stark's shoulder, gripping tightly onto the older man finishes.

Tony holds the omega close throughout his cocklet painting the slut's pussy white. He knows as soon as he withdraws that a cascade of his cum will drip out and pool on the floor to join the puddle of slick. 

The bathroom smells like a whorehouse.

"You're such a good hole for me, slut." Tony praises. 

He squeezes the plush ass he still has in his hands, rubbing the omega against his softening cock like he's a fleshlight for Tony to play with. 

"You're going to clean up just enough that nothing is showing when you walk out of here. The rest you'll have to hold in for the rest of your shift today." Tony instructs,  gripping the kid by the chin and forcing him to meet his eyes, brown on blue.

Peter feels dazed as he looks into the older man's eyes. He nods dumbly, dipping his head down to kiss Stark's palm.

"Yes, sir," Peter murmurs, looking at the older omega through dark lashes.

The thought of walking around with his boss's load inside him feeds into the desire still simmering in his blood, but for now, he feels sated.

Tony can’t believe how sexy this omega is. How obedient and slutty, too. The perfect little pet for Tony to play with for the next few months. 

Eventually, he’s sated enough of being inside and pulls back and out. As predicted, a flood of their combined juices follows Tony’s cocklet and spills across the floor between the tangle of their legs.

When Stark lets him down, Peter wobbles on his feet. His face flushes when he feels the rush of fluid, semen and slick, spilling from his fucked open pussy. It makes him feel… so hot and dirty.

The cleanup is going to be hell, but it was definitely worth it. 

Tony watches the lithe omega tidy himself up, fingering the blue panties he’d retrieved from the sink. To the omega’s credit, he didn’t once fight or hesitate about going back out without wearing these. No complaint about the ripped pantyhose. He was turning out less fussy than some of the paid whores and escorts Tony had used in the past, pre and post extremis.

He makes sure the younger omega sees it when he pockets the blue material; his own clothing had been done up and cleaned off long before the other omega.

When Peter's finished, he looks halfway decent. It's nowhere near the professional look he had earlier but he's passable.

Anyone who isn't aware that he's just spent the last hour being fucked wouldn't be able to tell. Maybe.

His skirt is just long enough that it falls a few inches above his knees. No one would know he's no longer wearing underwear. His stockings are ruined, and his shirt does nothing to hide the dark bites against his neck. He touches the bruises and knows they'll be gone within hours.

“You’re beautiful.” Tony murmurs once the omega’s finished straightening and wiping. 

Peter's eyes fly towards his mentor. For some reason, that comment out of everything that's been said and done is what surprises him. A sweet, gentle smile lifts the corner of his lip.

Tony grins wolfishly at the sweet smile. He knows, he knows how not innocent this omega is but he still wants to tease and torment the sweet young thing in front of him everytime he looks so pure and good.

Tony moves up close, herding the younger omega towards the bathroom door. He slips his hand up the back of one strong thigh, dipping under the skirt once again and zeroing in on his sweet pussy. He slips a finger inside, going knuckle deep with ease, and then pulls out just as quick. 

Peter's breath hitches.

"Mr. Stark–" It's a soft protest but Peter doesn't do anything beyond that.

“This is mine now.” Tony whispers softly against the omega’s warm neck. He gives one of the many bruises a tender kiss.

Tony gives a firm slap to an equally firm ass. Then he straightens up, schooling his expression, and unlocks and opens the door without warning. 

He holds it open with the air of a gentleman. All the tittering has stopped; dead silence for the next thirty feet. 

Tony’s eyes flare bright blue. 

“Welcome to your internship.” 

#starker #starkerbingo2019 #madstarker writes #keyz fic #Nff #moody mads #omega peter parker #omega tony stark #omega/omega #omegaverse

[theplumsoldier]

PREMIERE NIGHT

Request: Anonymous asked: So if you have time and motivation and like my prompt could you write a fic where y/n joins the Avengers cast to play young Black Widow maybe? and she’s in her early 20s but she’s got this massive crush on Chris Evans but is too proud to make the first move because she’s scared of rejection but he likes her too, and then there’s a party with all MCU members - maybe the Oscars or A4 premiere afterparty, where they get drunk and make out in front of everybody and then maybe smut ensues? Please xx

A/N: i cant see endgame until tuesday i hate myself. the people tagged are from various captain america or chris evans taglists of mine, hope none that did not want to be tagged were and if so, feel free to dm me so i can remove you from the list (:

Pairing: chris evans x reader

Word count: 2478

Warnings: smut, explicit scenes, vulgar language.

His admiration for you was enormous and quite difficult to describe. Before the fourth and final Avengers movie, you had only ever done small theatrical shows and minor close to dispensable roles, so when you were cast to play a young version of Black Widow it was utterly impressive you came and stole the show with your undeniable skills, even if your overall screen time was just about 10 minutes.

However, even with no more than little screen time, you had to undergo an insane training program and take ballet classes—even if that had been your own decision. Your dedication to make your time worth was evident and you took all the advice you could, always listening to directors and coworkers to make the best of your performance. This was one of those “once in a lifetime opportunities” people always spoke about and considering you had never attended any acting schools for it was a miracle you had even landed the role, and at the ripe age of 23.

Set was amazing in spite of the long hours as the dynamic was beyond magical. There was no question whether these guys were professionals, which should have put you off and feel a tad out of place, only they never failed to make you feel part of the MCU family—one man in particular.

It was nonsensical to think just two years ago you had been at the verge of giving up on acting and went to carry on the family business. The flower boutique had always been like a second home but in your final years of school, you had sworn if you were to spend another minute in that godforsaken place you would blow it up and your head with it.

Now instead with no hands nor brains in your ablaze childhood home, you stood with a drink in your hand and a huge grin on your face, greeting Scarlett Johansson for the first time since your last on-set encounter.

“So, what will our next movie be?” asked she and you grinned at her overt hint.

"Well, Feige has yet to turn down a Black Widow solo, soo. . .” responded you, dragging out the ‘so’ for obvious reasons. Nudging her lightly, you earned a laugh and she lifted her hands as if to say “one never might know,” but her sparkly eyes told you otherwise. One might know. “You have no idea how nervous I was when my faced showed up on that screen.”

“Oh, you had no reason to be,” dismissed Scarlett with a wave of the hand. “This is about the best family you could have landed yourself in.”

“I know that now! But, you know, the fans are so dedicated and I figured that would mean either they would love my portrayal, or like—absolutely fucking hate it, you know?” chuckled you nervously and sipped from your drink, eyes scanning across the room.

Scarlett laughed, “well, all I have to say is that I’m glad about the casting director’s choice, getting a new face. I cannot tell you who you were up against, but—trust me when I say, you trumped her in every way.”

Your eyes lit up with both joy and curiousness. “Oh, now you have to tell me!”

Hours had passed and you had never been showered with more compliments and good wishes in your entire life, the fact that they all came from successful personas made you think this was not the last the world had seen of you.

On several occasions had you had your shot at doing something about the immense crush you had on the infamous man of your dreams, however, both worry, perturbation and pride took away what courage the alcohol had built up the entirety of the evening. All you had ever managed to come up with, was your gratitude which was more modest than self-assured as your usual kind of flirting would sound.

Your weak knees and flushed skin was nothing that made you wonder; you knew very well why you were vulnerable to such, and you could only think that the man exposing you to the affection, knew it as well. At least, when your cheeks would burn red at his comments or touch, he seemed pleased with himself.

It was an unusual feel and one you did not like much, contrary to the butterflies fighting in your stomach telling you otherwise. His mere voice took away what confidence was only habitual to your customary tone and the scrunch of his nose when he would laugh never failed to take away your breath. The stunning suit he was clad in assured that even if you managed to hide your uncertain stance, you would show in other ways and some that made you shift just a bit too often. How you should have worn a pantsuit rather than a dress.

Some had kids and some had families, others had varying excuses but the truth was you had nothing awaiting you at home. You did not even have a home to return to for you were going straight back to your hotel after this. However, you did not mind, the thought of sharing a life with someone was nice, surely, only the truth was you did not long to leave. The night had been filled with such happiness, which to you was not wonted; how could you want to leave that behind? If so, it was for the reason to take care of your untamed amorous state.

Troubled with your own thoughts, you had yet to recognize it had been Chris to move beside you until he spoke up.

“No one to go home to?”

You could recognize the kindness in his eyes anywhere. With a soft chuckle, your finger traced the stem of the wine glass and blinked at him. “That should only be if room service's waiting for me. If not, then sadly, no.”

His eyes glistened in the dim lightening from the bar, the bright ones behind his head contributing to the lit glory hovering above him. With a smile, Chris sat down, the halo vanishing as he did. “You’re still checked in on the hotel?”

Nodding in affirmation, you raised the glass to meet your lips, your eyes never leaving his blue ones. It was funny how they seemed prettier than ever in this uncertain state. Against common sense and acumen, your judgment decided upon speaking freely, picking what topic you never would have thought yourself to feel confident enough to. Whether it was because you had had enough of being lonely or it simply was the alcohol taking a toll on you, allowing more candidness than needed, you did not know. However, you felt a sudden urge and the words escaped.

“You know I like you, right?”

Chris’ face remained its joyous, laid back look, only the corner of his mouth puckering up. He could not say he was surprised. At least not with your admitted feelings, however, your frankness was something else. Undeniably, he was aware and saying those particular feelings were not reciprocated, would be about the fattest lie of the evening.

“You only say that because you’re drunk.”

“Yes,” drawled you and confessed. “It’s still true though. I shouldn’t have drunk this much.”

“You have been nervous tonight—why?” wondered Chris, thinking of the observation of the night. Whenever spoken, talked or even as little as share momentary eye contact from opposites sides of the room, you had taken another sip from your glass.

With a sudden puff of discomfort, you felt all the more self-conscious. Now, this was awkward.

“I haven’t. Or I have—but, uh. . .” You had no idea how to respond, and from his insoluble expression and soft, awaiting eyes you were forced to find the right words. “I’m not usually like this. Drunk—I, it’s really your fault—”

“That you’re drunk?”

“No—that’s my poor sagacity. You make me nervous,” divulged you, not finding the courage in you to look up for the reaction you so longed for. Instead, your head fell back, sucking in a deep breath and you found him through the corner of your eye. “I guess I wanted to build up the courage to. . . I don’t know, I was afraid this was the last time I would see you.”

“Nonsense. You’re in the Marvel-family now—”

“I know, I know and it’s great, I just—I really like you.”

Silence imbued, the tension you felt pent up completely locking out any signs of the ongoing party behind you. Good thing you were sat on a stool otherwise you might just have fallen to the ground as you knees were about as weak as your sense of vaunt. This man shot you all the way back to your high school years and for making you all hot and bothered, you tried to convince you did not like him. But truly, what was there not to like. With a heart of gold and always decent presentation, sense of humor and bearing soul, he was the one.

“So if I kissed you right now, you would not mind?”

One of your eyebrows bounced in surprise and Chris stifled his chuckle, how glorious you looked tonight. “Right here?”

Giving you no time to contemplate, he leaned in and in a split-second, your lips were connected in a sweet kiss. Being what you had only ever dreamed of, you melted under his enchantment. He tasted sweet and fresh, his cologne lingering to your nostrils and you could only worry of what strong liquor he might sense. But it did not make him stop and careless to what eyes might lurk from behind, he pulled you closer by the neck and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. At his touch, his large hand forcing you closer to him, you hummed into his mouth, reaching up to rest your hand by his beard as you allowed his tongue to dance with your own. Sweet with a pinch of sourness, you lost track of time and only departed when you had completely abated the intensity of your surroundings.

Retreating, you distanced yourself with only a minuscule amount of space left between you, catching your breath.

“Perhaps this is not the best place to do this,” admitted you, a grin playing on your lip and a glimpse flashed in your eye.

“So we leave then,” proposed he and stood up, almost to fast and your eyes grew big for a moment, knowing what he implied. Was this real?

Holding out his hand, you did not hesitate for more than what seconds the stun took and you were then on your way. Pace steady and moderate, something you could keep up with in your heels and you held your head down as you exited and cameras flashed. Out of instinct, you went to retrieve your hand, thinking Chris, too, was not keen on being seen like this. But he did not let go. His grip even tightened and casting a fleeting look across his shoulder, he offered you a sincere smile.

Up in your hotel room, little time was left to settle or even wriggle out of your dress, for the second the door was closed, your lips were once again touching. Chuckling to yourself, you were pleased to know you had not been the only one longing for this moment.

Reaching behind to fondle with the zipper, you managed to pull it down and with the help of Chris, you were freed from its clutching grip on you. Pooling down by your feet, Chris' hands slid up the backside of your legs. On his knees, he peppered kisses, trailing up, closer and closer to your sex, ensuring you would drip the second he removed your panties.

With a final flicker of his eyes, he found you watching him closely with soft and lustful eyes, bottom lip tugged between your teeth and how the pleasure pulled at your features only made him harder in his pants. Taking the encouraging hum you emitted as consent, he rid you of the remaining garment. Licking his lips, he pushed you back to sit on the bed and adored the sight of you. So wet and all for him.

Moving his hands back down your legs, Chris lifted them over his shoulders and dug right in between your legs. His tongue blending with you arousal was enough to elicit a dulcet sound from you, moan after moan escaping as he took care of you.

His facial hair nuzzling where you were most sensitive as he licked long strokes, draining you from what you could offer, you knew he would have you shaken in a matter of seconds. Aching for more friction, his hand came to the rescue, thump grazing past your clit, earning an upward thrust from your hips. His other hand came around you and retiring for just a moment you bucked up to find what sensation had become vague, but when he inserted two fingers in you, the wait was worth it.

At a modest pace he began, just enough pleasure for you to adjust to his two fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, and when first the velocity increased, Chris’ tempo was adequate to make you cum hard right then and there.

The room resonated with your moans and you had to cover your mouth in order to quiet yourself, slightly embarrassed he had you wrapped around his finger like that. But soon his hand removed your own, wanting to hear you more than anything, desperate to hear what he did to you. It had been all too long since he felt this powerful and you gave him everything you wanted by allowing him to eat you like to the likeness of a starving animal. The vibrations, the shameless, guttural groans, the tremors—it was all in the mix of pushing you over the edge and your clawing in his hair as he continued drawing moans from you.

Upon your culmination, you finally released on his tongue, mellow same as wanton sounds escaping you in the process. Riding out your orgasm, you ground your sex against him, pulsating around his fingers and when you finally came down from your high, but Chris did not yield. Continuing, he merciless rammed into you, groaning loudly at the feel of you clenching around his fingers.

Cleaning you with his mouth, Chris relished in your juices and first then he parted from you, only to stand tall before you and his hands fiddled with his black tie. Dark eyes and glinting beard, loosened knot and then the sound of his belt clanging rang in your ears. He nodded down at you, a desiring shade peaking behind the blue in his eyes. “Turn around for me.”

TAGLIST: @patzammit @derekxsammy @woodworthti666  @littledeadrottinghood @littlemissirish @figure8ght @metalarmlover @athiestangel @ihclipse @denzmallows @crist1216 @tinageekandtraveler @mustbeaweasleyginger @feysandmaraudersdramatic @marshyymello @astrid345 @schilj79 @idiosadeoro @justtrynasurvivelife @pixiehex1985 @writing-parker @exuberantqueer @sodonutnutnut @lilymdonaldson

#chris evans #chris evans smut #captain america #captain america smut #chris evans imagine #captain america imagine #avengers #avengers smut #the avengers smut #the avengers #avengers endgame #endgame #theplumsoldier #marvel imagines

[violetwolfraven]

Newsies TDM AU

As far as I’ve seen this hasn’t been done yet so here goes.

Warning: this is gonna be long. Also the actual fic will probably show child abuse and blood but this only briefly mentions it.

For those of you that haven’t read it, in the Darkest Minds, most of the kids in the US die from a disease with no symptoms. But those that survive become Psi kids and develop abilities in color categories. Listed in order of how common they are, Greens have super intelligence and photographic memories, Blues have telekinesis, Yellows have electrokinesis, Reds have pyrokinesis, and Oranges have telepathy. The government basically locks them all up and severely abuses them, using White Noise which is painful sound frequencies that only Psi kids can hear, to control them.

Jack is 14 and a late bloomer. He loses his younger brother to IAAN but it turns out he’s one of the lucky ones. Nobody thinks to send him to a camp because nobody thinks he got powers.

In reality, Jack is about the hottest, most powerful Red in the country.

When his parents find out, they don’t send the PSFs after him, but they don’t want him either. They kick him out.

Jack doesn’t mean to get caught but he ends up in a camp that’s under construction. As far as he knows, he’s the only one there, being the only Red. He’s there for 6 months before his escape.

Snyder isn’t hard to evade with his powers and Jack’s pretty much home free when he hears screaming and as much as his instincts are telling him to runrunrun he can’t quite abandon whoever it is, so he turns back, nearly blowing his opportunity for escape.

He winds up with a 12-year-old boy with a bad leg who doesn’t talk much and seems to know more about Jack than he should.

Jack’s seen enough crazy things to not question this. He just gives the kid some space (except when he needs to do what Jack says or get caught again) and lets him talk on his own time.

The boy eventually says that his name is Charlie Morris, he’s been in that camp for a year and a half, he’s an Orange, and he’d been screaming because Snyder found out and was going to kill him.

Jack notices how Charlie kind of flinches whenever he hears his name, like he’s not used to it being said by a friend, so he starts calling him Crutchie, and Crutchie is fine with that so they get along great. They make a pretty good team, sensing a threat before it sees them and fighting if they can’t avoid it.

Eventually, Crutchie opens up to Jack about the camp, what it was like there and how he read Snyder’s mind that they were going to move all the other kids to a bigger one with better security.

Unfortunately, he tells Jack this the day before the move, so they don’t have a lot of time to plan a break out, but they manage and wind up with ~100 kids who have been there anywhere from as long as Crutchie to a shorter time than Jack, most of whom adopt the nickname thing once they find out about it cause no good memories come with their real ones.

Jack’s pretty excited to find his 13-year-old cousin, who now goes by Spot, who he thought he’d never see again after he got taken by the government. Spot is a Red, too, but was smart enough to pass as a Blue with the help of his friends.

But his parents gave him up and Jack looks a little too much like Spot’s dad so Spot takes his group of friends and moves not too far away to send for help, but far enough that they don’t see each other a lot.

A few other kids take small groups and spread out across the woods but a good portion of them stick with Jack or at least drift between the tribes, staying with whoever they feel like each night.

The tribes name themselves after neighborhoods in New York because they’re all city kids so why not?

Jack’s ‘Manhattan’ tribe ends up like this:

Yellows: Race (13), Sniper (9), Kid Blink (10), Finch (13), Jojo (13)

Blues: Albert (14), Romeo (13), Smalls (9), Elmer (12), Buttons (11), Mike (11), Ike (11)

Greens: Specs (14), Mush (10), Henry (12), Tommy Boy (12)

Basically for a couple years they’re surviving however they can but their dynamic is exactly the same as canon.

Jack, at the ripe old age of 16, has to give The Talk™️ to a bunch of 12-year-olds who are asking questions about the *cough* horny *cough* older boys’ jokes.

And he’s also So Stressed because at first he was worried about boys and girls of around the same age living together with no adult supervision but now he has to tell Race to stop sneaking out to Brooklyn and Blink we’ve got other seats besides Mush’s lap and nO Sniper you and Smalls can’t date you’re 11.

It’s not that he doesn’t support them but if anybody breaks up that could create drama that he doesn’t want to deal with.

But fast forward another year and they’re doing fine. They run hits on small camps to free new kids whenever they can and take in whoever comes their way. (Enter oc Newsies.)

All the tribes stay in contact and know each other are safe pretty much all the time and they’re strong alone but on the rare occasion all the tribes unite, they’re so strong with so many boys (and a few girls) that the government knows they’re there and at this point can’t do anything about them.

*record scratch, freeze frame* Enter the Jacobs siblings.

Davey (16) is an Orange, Sarah (16) is a Blue, and Les (10) is a Yellow. Their parents managed to keep them safely hidden until Davey got spotted.

So they had to run, and it isn’t too long before they bump into the Psi Tribes of New York, the Manhattan tribe.

At first, both Davey and Sarah want nothing to do with it, but Les points out that they might be safer with them because government knows about the tribes and hasn’t killed them yet.

Davey is extremely uncomfortable trying to read anyone, but he does when Sarah asks him too, just enough to feel that Jack is genuine in wanting to help them.

The Jacobs siblings are amazed to see this fairly large community of Psi kids living together, practicing their abilities openly and experimenting, testing the limits of what they can and can’t do. Les and Sarah love it. Davey is less certain.

Davey thinks that his abilities make him dangerous. He’s afraid that based on stories of others like him, he might go dark and hurt someone. It doesn’t help that it’s technically his fault they had to go on the run.

Jack helps him see that his powers are a part of him, darkness and all, and helps him get more confident in himself—“Hey, I got an Orange who’s practically my brother and he ain’t so bad.”

Davey won’t admit it but he likes it there. He likes it with Jack even if he thinks he his siblings will move on eventually.

They manage to stay there in relative safety for about a week before disaster finds them.

Disaster being Katherine, an 18-year-old late bloomer Green running from the government, who seem to want her more than any other Psi for some reason.

She’s with her friends Bill and Darcy, both her age and also Greens but the government doesn’t want them as much.

Jack isn’t going to turn them away just because of danger so he takes them in, but the government basically fences off the forest borders they can’t patrol and traps the tribes inside and the tribes Do Not like that very much.

But the soldiers are too scared to go in and really deal with them and yes they’ve got White Noise machines but there’s just so many kids of varying colors in there many of whom have been dealing with it for years so it wouldn’t really be effective.

So the soldiers just keep the perimeter up and hope if they wait long enough they can smoke them out.

That... does not work. The tribes know how to hunt and survive on whatever’s growing around in the woods already and they may have a smaller territory now but they make do. They may not like being trapped but they can deal with that, too.

So after a while the soldiers get impatient and send a message.

Surrender Katherine by sundown tomorrow or we come in and take her.

As concerned as they are for their own survival, none of the tribes are just going to hand Kath over. However being threatened like that makes them think of their own experiences in camps and they start getting angry.

Katherine has never been in a camp but she tells Jack that she saw the schematics for the biggest one in New York and there’s serious weakness there. As in, they could storm it with even their group of only a bit over a hundred kids.

Davey doesn’t think it’s a good idea but once he sees that Jack is doing it with or without him of course he agrees.

The entire Manhattan Tribe wants to try.

But other tribes, including Brooklyn, aren’t sure they want to make the first move. They know war is inevitable, but don’t know if they want start it.

The Blues dig tunnels out of the forest so they can get out and head for the camp.

Unfortunately the guy who runs the camp, Pullitzer, is expecting them since he knows Katherine saw the schematics.

Basically they go in and get beaten. Crutchie may be one of the most powerful but he doesn’t make it back.

Back in the forest, Jack blames himself.

As much as he likes Katherine, he starts thinking about handing her over to save the rest of his tribe.

Davey convinces Jack not to give her up and figures that since they already got their asses kicked the last thing Pullitzer is going to expect is them attacking the camp again.

Only this time Spot and the other tribes are willing to come with.

Jack still isn’t convinced and they have a conversation that goes something like:

“I can’t put the others in danger like that.”

“They’re in danger just by having their abilities. Look, I know you’re scared but—“

“You don’t know what it feels like! You’ve been here what—two weeks?”

“Actually, I do know what it feels like. You keep forgetting I feel everything you do.”

Jack eventually agrees right as Katherine comes to them with another confession.

She’s Pullitzer’s daughter. That’s the real reason he wants her caught so bad.

They use it to their advantage, having Bill and Darcy march her up to the soldiers only to go psych! Spot and Brooklyn tribe are waiting with an ambush to keep them busy while Jack takes Manhattan and everybody else to take down the camp.

They eventually succeed, getting Crutchie back in the process and saving enough Psi kids that they can definitely hold what’s left of the camp, the woods, and the surrounding areas by themselves.

So they just stick in that area living in their new large territory and the government can’t do much about them.

It will be another 3 years before all that stuff with Ruby and her friends happens.

But basically the Newsies have powers and are fine and also javey, newsbians, sprace, blush, and smallsper happen at some point in there.

I’m gonna write an actual AU about this but I thought I’d give y’all an idea of what to expect and I honestly don’t give a damn if nobody reads it.

Edit: if anyone has a Newsies oc they would be okay with me inserting please send me their name/backstory/personality cause I will make sure to at least mention as many as I can.

#newsies #the darkest minds au #jack kelly #davey jacobs #les jacobs #sarah jacobs #crutchie morris #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sniper newsies #kid blink newsies #finch newsies #jojo de la guerra #albert dasilva #romeo newsies #smalls newsies #tommy boy newsies #elmer newsies #buttons newsies #mike and ike newsies #specs newsies #mush newsies #henry newsies #katherine plumber pulitzer #javid #javey #sprace #blush #smallsper #newsies ocs

[bytheangell]

Not my idea but someone said imagine if flowers are linked to souls and the love between them. They would become more colourful when their love goes stronger and weaken when they have a fight. And they become gray not cause their love is gone but cause the other died. I mean.. this is painful but think how many times we saw flowers in malec scenes and their wedding! You can write about it if want, I would be grateful.

A Life Better in Color(Read on AO3)(Warning, Main Character Death)

Magnus knows what he feels for the Shadowhunter. It’s new, still fresh and uncertain, but it’s there. He grows much less uncertain when Alec lends his strength to him to heal Lucian. The trust that action takes on both of their parts, the bond it creates in that moment… Magnus isn’t surprised to see the vase of pink roses on the table grow a little brighter when Alec helps him up, and brighter still when Alec stays behind to help clean and share a drink. It’s small, barely a flicker, but it’s there. 

It’s a start. 

—

It’s difficult for Magnus to get a read on Alexander (it isn’t as if the Institute is ripe with floral arrangements, they don’t quite fit the all-black, I-could-kill-you-in-my-sleep aesthetic) so Magnus starts slipping him flowers. Just one here and there, pressed into the autopsy report he hands to Alec in the training room or conjured up while Alec isn’t looking to slip into his quiver when they discuss ‘payment’ for his services during Lydia’s trial. When Magnus returns, inevitably called back for either official business or to bail Clarissa and the others out of whatever new trouble they find themselves in, he keeps his eyes peeled for them. When Alec knows to expect him Magnus sees them on the corner of a desk, or resting by a rack of weapons. One day Magnus gets a single small flower - a forget-me-not, likely picked from outside in haste out of convenience and not for any deeper meaning - pressed into his palm as he passes Alec  in the hallway. Magnus checks it daily to make sure what he suspects Alec feels hasn’t grown any less (and secretly hoping it’s grown more). The steady sky blue is a comfort that this isn’t entirely unrequited despite outward appearances. Magnus knows it’s the most he’s going to get from the man who refuses to openly speak on anything he feels, and he decides that it’s enough to keep hope alive for both of them. 

For now.

—

Alec arranges for the flowers at his wedding to Lydia to be white. It’s the safest bet - nothing to fade during his inevitable internal struggle throughout the ceremony. They color Lydia’s bouquet red artificially before she goes out - they both know that while they respect and consider the other a friend, there’s no true love there. This way there’s nothing to betray to the crowd watching that the smiles on their faces are anything other than genuine. 

Everything’s going according to plan until Magnus shows up. 

Alec isn’t sure what he’s going to do until Lydia says she understands. 

He tries not to notice the way the flowers behind her fade ever-so-slightly to a creamier off-white as he turns away from Lydia to face Magnus, but he can’t tear his eyes away from a small pot of white flowers by the door. They’re the only ones he personally helped with arranging when they arrived and he was keeping busy to distract himself - and as his lips meet Magnus’ the flowers shift from white to a brilliant shade of red that just so happens to match the highlights in Magnus’ hair. 

For the first time all day Alec smiles a genuine smile. 

—

Magnus can handle Camille, but that isn’t the problem here. The problem is that he isn’t sure if Alexander can handle Camille and all of the devious tricks and manipulation she’s perfected over the centuries. He gets a clear read on Alec’s annoyance as the Shadowhunter ignores the Camille-initiated kiss he walks in on and goes to find Clary. For a few seconds Magnus thinks that maybe it’ll be a non-issue until he remembers the flower Alec gave him on the table where he sat it down.  

It’s muted, no longer a vibrant red. 

Magnus excuses himself and catches up to Alec, who immediately insists he doesn’t care about whatever he saw back there. Magnus simply holds out the flower to him in silent question. The conversation that follows isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. Magnus knows the life he lives, and the years that come with it, isn’t easy. Part of him expects Alec to walk away and never look back but instead Magnus watches him relax at Magnus’ reassurances. By the end of their conversation the flower, while not as bright as it started out, is a little brighter than before. 

And so are the gleams in both of their eyes as they share a quick kiss before going to find Clary. 

—

The longer Jace is gone the worse Alec spirals. It isn’t a fight so much as the simple fact that all of Alec’s love, all of his attention and thoughts and emotions, are entirely fixated on his missing parabatai. The colors drain around them and Magnus does his best not to take it personally. He cares about Alec, and Alec did break off his wedding to take a chance on him, but this is still new for both of them. He can’t imagine their budding romance would overpower the tumultuous fear Alec holds within him for the man who shares a part of his soul… but it still hurts to see a visual reminder of it at every turn. 

It certainly doesn’t help the blow of Alec’s harsh words when Magnus is unable to track Jace’s location. It wasn’t a fight before, but it becomes one now. 

When Alec comes to apologize he sets a small bundle of flowers on the table by the door. They’re a soft lilac in color, weak from the tension between them, the strain that Alec created by taking his frustrations out on Magnus. Alec isn’t sure Magnus will accept his apology… he isn’t sure he deserves to be forgiven. But he is, with the promise that he won’t push Magnus away again, and when Magnus walks Alec to the door a while later the flowers he finds there are a vibrant royal purple.  

—

The thing that Magnus realizes over the following months with Alexander isn’t that his flowers fade the most while they’re in a fight or apart for long periods of time; it’s that they lose their color fastest when Alec is stuck inside his own head, convinced he doesn’t deserve the love he feels, and especially not the love he receives in return. 

It’s those days that the bouquet on Magnus’ coffee table, the one that Alec continually refreshes with flowers he picks up at a market stand that’s along the way from the Institute to the Loft, always looks too soft and delicate, the colors practically nonexistent. When he wakes up to see them that way he reaches out to Alexander immediately. Sometimes it works, but more often it doesn’t. 

Learning to give Alec space is one of the more difficult things Magnus has done in recent years, but he works on it. Unfortunately, Magnus gets plenty of opportunities to practice. 

—

Alec, in all his life, has never seen colors as vibrant as the flowers around him after their first time. It isn’t simply the trust between them over the act of taking that next physical step, of letting his guard down enough to give himself over to someone else completely, but rather everything that happens around that moment which solidifies and strengthens the bond they share. It’s knowing Magnus feels just as vulnerable as he does and that the trust goes both ways. It’s seeing Magnus’ cat eyes and only becoming more infatuated, not scared away. It’s soft talks under golden sheets about fears and life and weaknesses. 

And Magnus, though the realization startles him straight down to his core, finds himself surrounded by the most dynamic colors in centuries, something he truly didn’t anticipate. Even with Etta there was always something small lingering in the back of their minds, something holding them back, something dulling Magnus’ world just a little. But not here, not now. He wonders if perhaps he’s grown too invested too quickly in Alexander Gideon Lightwood. Not that it matters, because he knows he’s too far gone to do anything about it now. 

It’s all they can do to embrace life in their kaleidoscope of growing love for as long as they can, because nothing perfect lasts forever.

—

After Valentine’s attack the emotions of the Shadowhunters and Downworlders present are so strong that the flowers around the church can’t help but be affected. The sorrow there is so strong after so many lives are lost in the blink of an eye that the flowers around them have almost all gone grey in silent memoriam, matching the stone walls that surround them. 

The longer Alec searches, the longer he can’t find any sign of Magnus, the more terrified he becomes that those flowers mourn for his lover as well. 

When they finally reunite, with the fear that consumed their entire beings slowly replaced with the comfort of ‘I love you’s, a single flower on the path beside them comes back to life.  

—

It takes a while for the colors to return to their life after Magnus gets his body back from Valentine. Magnus doesn’t blame Alec for what happend, not fully, but Alec can’t stop blaming himself and Magnus can’t help the instinct to flinch away from the hands so quick to bring him harm in that cell, from the authority so willing to authorize the use of an Agony rune on the body he was trapped in. 

But more than that, it’s the memories the Agony rune made Magnus relive, the ones he can’t shake which play out over and over again every time he closes his eyes. His mother taking her own life, his stepfather suffering at Magnus’ hands.

Both Magnus and Alexander each blame themselves, Magnus for allowing himself to be compromised and Alec for not believing Magnus sooner, and neither can fully love the other until they come to terms with this newfound hesitation between them. 

They never speak about it out loud but they throw away every flower in the house. It’s a dark enough time without the reminders. 

—

It’s a strange feeling for Magnus to carry so much weight over the blackening petals of a rose from someone other than Alexander, but the longer he gives himself to debate over what to do about the Seelie Queen’s offer the more certain he becomes that he’s only stalling - he already knows what answer he has to give. 

He checks the rose frequently, wishing for more time, for the chance to find some way out of this that doesn’t involve choosing sides. But in the end he can’t be blamed for his decision- after all, it’s Alec’s deceit, Alec’s lack of transparency and broken trust which ultimately forces his hand. They’re leaders; they have to do what’s best for their people, and this is simply the way it has to be. 

…maybe they could believe that if the last flowers they gave to one another before walking away were faded and wilted. They are at the start: the stems weaken and bend over with the weight of the blooms whose colors dull to soft pastels. It might be enough to accept that this is it, except when Max needs help Magnus is there in the blink of an eye. Neither one of them can help the hope that rekindles and when they look again later the stems stand a little straighter, the colors a little brighter. 

It’s their first reassurance that there’s no actual love lost between them despite the situation driving them apart, and if there is it’s not a complete abandonment. There’s still something there. There’s still something to save. It’s the only thought that keeps Alec going despite Magnus’ insistence that he can’t be with Alec and be there for his people as well. It’s the only thing keeping Magnus going the longer he forces himself to stay away and the more clinical his interactions with Alec grow when they do cross paths. 

Magnus knows his all-or-nothing reaction of siding with the Seelie Queen is dramatic, and Alec knows that keeping the information about the soul sword from the Downworlders was wrong, but it’s too late to fix either decision now. 

Every time Magnus stands behind the Seelie Queen, emotionless, he comes back to an empty apartment that’s a little more dull than the last time he left it. When he greets Alec with ‘What do you want, Shadowhunter?’ before nearly slamming the door in his face Magnus can almost feel the life draining from the flowers on the table behind him. 

He’s losing Alexander and he knows it. After all, one can only hold on to hope for so long before they have to face the reality being presented to them, and Magnus is presenting a harsh one to the man he still loves. 

It isn’t until the threat to their world is gone that they realize the victory, however impressive, means nothing without having the other to share it with. 

The flowers Alec helps him pick out on their long walk home after an alleyway reconciliation are the most colorful Magnus has seen in days.  

—

The immortality discussions between them are a trying time. Alec stays at the Institute to avoid a conversation he doesn’t know how to have. Magnus is too busy with clients to make social engagements with Alec and his family. They both know what’s going on but neither one of them knows how to fix it, not with words and not with actions, so they choose avoidance. Alec can feel his own insecurities draining the life from the flowers at his desk, just as they’re draining the life from the relationship he doesn’t know how to save. 

It isn’t until Jace’s life is on the line that they both admit they said things they regret. It should be enough, but it isn’t. Their relationship remains strained, a mixture of personal doubts and shaken beliefs over the idea that love may truly overcome everything else. After all, Clary’s love for Jace isn’t enough to save him any longer. Alec and Isabelle’s love for Jace isn’t enough for them to do what needs to be done in the depths of Jace’s mind. Worst of all, Alec’s love for Magnus isn’t enough to keep him from going to Edom to strike a deal with his father; in fact, it’s the very thing that sends him there. 

Faded flowers are all that greets Alec once the flames die out. Magnus is gone, and Alec is left to walk back out into the empty apartment and plan out his own worst-case scenario.  

—

It’s the strangest phenomena when Magnus loses his magic. For the days of back-and-forth - of Magnus having no magic, and then Lorenzo’s borrowed magic, and then no magic again - it seems as if the flowers that surround them are as torn as the two men living such drastically shifting lives. From the Loft to the Institute, it’s the same: the flowers are all split very particularly down the middle. One half is bright, thriving, as if desperate to make up for the other sides which fade more and more even on the days when things seem okay, a clear sign that the appearances being put forward aren’t the whole truth. 

Their love for one another is strong, and there’s no doubting it even on the darkest days. But there’s a disconnect. Though Alec suspects something’s not right even as Magnus smiles and uses the magic his body rejects, and Alec’s only proof are the flowers throughout Magnus’ firm denials anything is amiss. Alec knows that something is wrong, but he doesn’t know that Magnus can only allow himself to embrace their love when he feels he’s deserving of it, only when he feels like himself. How can Alec know when Magnus covers it up so well with eyeliner smeared on like war paint and yellow magic that isn’t quite right as a shield against the emptiness he feels right down to his soul. 

And so the flowers split in equal halves, faded and bright, the lie and the truth, the dangerous line being walked by both of them between what’s real and what’s for show. 

They wonder how long they can hold together as two extremes desperately clinging together as one before they split down the middle, too. 

—

There are no flowers in Maryse’s bookshop to give Magnus any indication that Alexander doesn’t mean every single word that leaves his lips that night. Magnus knows they’re true, he’s felt it in him ever since the moment Lorenzo took his magic back - he’s broken, useless, more of a burden than anyone would wish to keep around. Alec’s words confirm the suspicion Magnus had all along: that he would’ve been better of dying with the false magic at this fingertips than living an empty life without it. 

He has no home to return to, no way of knowing that every word Alec spoke was a lie to drive him away. Instead he wanders, lost and alone until a familiar pair of cat-eyes find him in the streets, while Alec returns back to the Institute and a balcony full of lifeless, drained roses where the red ones once stood. 

—

Alec doesn’t know if it’s going to work but he forces Magnus to wait before going to Edom just one extra minute. He returns with the closest flower he could find: a red tulip. He doesn’t know how the rules apply across realms but he can only hope that the colors hold true no matter what the distance. He needs Magnus to know that he’s not alone there, that Alec’s love for him won’t fade over time, or distance, or anything else that may come between them. 

When Alec manages to find a way to rescue Magnus, arriving in Edom with the same yellow magic at his fingertips that nearly killed Magnus not too long ago, Magnus tells Alec that he never doubted him, not for a second. 

Very out of place in a realm of dirt and heat and ichor, a single red tulip sits on the seat of a throne, more vibrant than the day it arrived. 

—

The day of the wedding the flowers around them are nearly blinding in their intensity. Knowing this would be the effect they intentionally chose ones which started on the dull side, but even so the way the flowers emboldened themselves as first Alexander, and then Magnus, walked down the aisle draws the eyes of everyone around them. If there’s any doubt that the love these two feel for one another grows stronger by the second that doubt is replaced by a brilliant assortment of colors growing brighter, bolder, with every second that passes during the ceremony. 

—

They always knew there would come a day when the flowers on the table would turn gray. Neither of them liked to think about it but such is life, and the mortality of man is undeniable, so they do their best to come to terms with it and live with the looming inevitability. They, like most everyone around them, anticipate the day when Alec would end up very unwillingly leaving Magnus behind on this earth. 

No one anticipated that it would be the other way around. 

Alec is just coming home from a rather uneventful day full of meetings and playing nice to pass some amendments that are going to make a huge difference in the way implementing Downworld Cabinets across every country with an Institute will go over. It’s a big win for them, one he can’t wait to share with Magnus. Except Magnus isn’t home when Alec gets there, despite the fact that his last client meeting that day should’ve ended hours ago. 

That’s when Alec sees the note on the table. ‘A friend in Marrakech needs help, last-minute emergency no time to explain. I’ll be late, call you later. Love you’. Alec puts the note down and resigns himself to heating up leftovers instead of going out for a celebratory dinner. He’s in the kitchen no more than 10 minutes but when he comes back out the flowers on the table are fading. It happens so fast Alec barely processes it before his hands fall to his side and the plate spills to the floor, forgotten. It’s over almost as soon as it began: all six of the roses are gray. 

Alec looks around the room, desperate for any sign that this doesn’t mean what he knows it means, but the marigolds on the balcony (Magnus swore they were low maintenance enough even Alec couldn’t manage to kill them), the purple peonies they picked on their walk yesterday because it matched the highlights in his husband’s hair (Magnus had taken one and tucked it behind Alec’s ear before placing a kiss on his temple beside the fragrant bloom)… every single flower in their home has gone gray. 

Alec takes a rose from the table and walks to the sofa where he sits down and stares at it, unblinking. He doesn’t cry, the shock is too fresh and the disbelief still lingering - this is how Jace and Isabelle find him an hour later after a number of failed attempts to reach him. They take one look at the flower he holds and know that he knows… and yet not having to break the worst of the  news doesn’t make it any easier for them to tell him about the ambush Magnus managed to save several warlock children from, but not himself. It was quick, they promise Alec - Magnus didn’t suffer. 

The knowledge doesn’t help ease Alec’s own suffering, however. 

The longer Alec goes without crying the more concerned his family grows for him, and yet he doesn’t allow a single tear to fall until after they left (not for good, just to grab some things before returning to spend the night, refusing to leave him alone). He gets the worst of it out before they return but he can’t shut it off any longer: now that he acknowledges it, it’s like opening a floodgate of emotions. 

Alec is furious at Magnus for putting himself in danger, he’s proud of the selfless legacy his husband leaves behind, he’s filled with frustration and sorrow and love, and yet the flowers around him don’t brighten or pale to reflect anything he feels towards the man he’ll never get to say a proper goodbye to - they remain a final, resolute gray, because no amount of love or anger can change things now, or ever again. 

The need to stay busy is overwhelming but Alec is forced to take a personal leave, so he organizes the funeral instead. It isn’t in Alicante, though it could be - that was the sort of difference Magnus made in this world, the kind that would allow a Downworlder to be High Warlock of Alicante, the kind that would allow his funeral on Shadowhunter grounds if they so choose. 

Alec knows, and Catarina agrees, that it isn’t what Magnus would’ve wanted.

When all is said and done, Magnus is buried next to Ragnor, along with his box of mementos which Alec adds the omamori to before closing once and for all.

Alec doesn’t allow any flowers at the ceremony except the single grey rose he leaves behind. 

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters #mcd #major character death #i mean the prompt kind of implies but just in case #I'm sorry this took me forever and a half anon but I hope you're still around to see this! and that you like it! #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #anon glamour activated #ask rune #long post

[fineillsignup]

I've been re-watching the og Naruto and the thing that's interested me the most is politics. I really wish there was more lore and explanations on like.. everything really. Especially clans and the whole kage-damiyo dynamic. I wanna understand more about the 4 noble clans of Kohona. What about interclan marriages? Are Uchihas only aloud to marry Uchihas or just other people with black hair/eyes. And also black ninjas. The question isn't why are there black people, but why aren't there more?

So the issue of genetics is a real wildcard in Naruto, which on the one hand wants to keep to a sengoku sword-and-sorcery aesthetic, but on the other hand wants to have super-advanced genetic engineering.

I’ve spoken before about the issues of clan marriage and since I’m on a 10 minute time limit I’m gonna suggest searching the keywords “clan endogamy” on my blog.

Black ninjas is an issue I haven’t spoken of as much as I would like on here and so that’s what I’m gonna focus on in my 10 minutes.

First off, we actually can’t be positive what the dominance/recession of genes are in the Naruto universe. Even in the real world, they are not as simple as many people think.

Assuming that the wild hair and eye colours beyond what’s found in nature in our own world are actually meant to be literal, it’s impossible to say, for example, what the genetics of green or blood red hair would be, or whether blue skin and gills are dominant or recessive.

We know that it actually doesn’t take much time for an isolated population to start going crazy-go-nuts with genetic traits. Even in the last few hundred years, the so-called “founder effect” means that certain traits like polydactyly (extra digits) are found way more commonly among the US and Canadian Amish.

Just because a gene is dominant does not in any way mean it will inevitably become universal. There is a certain gene causing extra fingers which is dominant, for example, and it’s one of the ones that is rampant among the Amish, but even among them it’s still rarer than not. So even if we assume darker skin tone genes are dominant, that doesn’t mean that darker skinned people should necessarily be the most common.

I have said before that I really admire how Kishimoto handled dark-skinned characters. While Killer Bee is slightly stereotypical “rapper”, even he defies expectations by being, in many ways, a kind of spiritual master to Naruto, with a fighting style that evokes kung fu classics, and with his efforts to incorporate the quintessentially Japanese music of enka. Ay is far more a stereotypical American character (and in particular an American wrestler) than a stereotypical black character. And as for characters like Karui, Mabui, Darui, or Omoi, there’s literally nothing stereotypical about any of them. I know that this is a low bar to clear, but anime has uh, not always cleared this particular bar, so credit to Kishimoto there.

The Land of Lightning appears to be mountains and valleys, and regions like this in the real world are classic places for a lot of genetic diversity in a relatively small region, which is another thing I really like about how Kishimoto characterized the place. I also have a headcanon about Cloud having a “raiding culture” where they would kidnap and bring back children to raise as their own, which would add to Cloud’s diversity.

Ten minutes are up, damn, this is such a great topic. Race in Naruto is something that, while I couldn’t really expect the original to get that into it, something that is definitely ripe for exploration in fandom. How do Cloud ninja internally conceptualize their race? Do they conceive of themselves as a single people? (To people thinking that’s impossible, it certainly is not. Many races in the real world have great internal diversity of melanin levels, because race categorization is a cultural concept.) How do people in Naruto “other” each other? To what extent is there a divide between civilians and ninja (who seem to have the most exotic traits, see Kisame above)?

#cloud #cloud ninja #anthropology of the ninja world #genetics #fantasy genetics #naruto analysis #race #10 minute ask a thon #naruto #i should have a tag for asks #good asks poorly answered by me