IDEA. AIRON MAN BESTIES WITH A ROGUE DOOMBOT WHO'S JUST TRYING TO BUILD THEIR OWN PERSONALITY AND LIFE OUTSIDE OF THEIR IMPLANTED MEMORIES..........
COULD BE AN ACCIDENTAL GAINING OF FREEDOM OF CONSCIOUSNESS, LIKE W/ SENTIENT ARMOR, BUT I ALSO THINK IT COULD BE RLLY NEAT IF THEY WERE A PROTOTYPE DOOMBOT THAT ENDED UP HAVING MORE FREEDOM AND CAPABILITY FOR GROWTH THAN INTENDED AND THEY'VE BEEN LIVING THEIR OWN LIFE SINCE (IDEALLY W/ VICTOR'S SUPPORT BC RESPECT FOR THE AUTONOMY OF HIS CITIZENS AND CREATIONS AND ALL THAT)
BONDING OVER THE TECHNOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS AND LIMITATIONS OF THEIR FORMS, THE PRESSURE TO APPEAR A SIMULACRUM OF A BIOLOGICAL ENTITY AND THE FEAR OF HOW OTHERS WOULD VIEW AND REACT TO THEIR TRUE SELVES, THE "I AM CONNECTED TO MY CREATOR, BUT I AM NOT HIM IN THE WAYS HE WAS HIMSELF AND I AM MORE THAT WHAT HE MADE ME FOR," THE STEMBOY SWAG, ETC........
I ALSO THINK IT COULD BE FUNKY TO EXPLORE LIKE. I AM AN INDIVIDUAL DISTINCT FROM MY CREATOR BUT I AM STILL TIED TO HIM. DO I FEEL OBLIGATED TO ONLY DRAW FROM HIS VISION? DO I FEEL GUILTY FOR ADDING ELEMENTS OF MY PERSONALITY TO HIS DESIGN OF ME? WOULD HE BE PROUD OF WHO I'VE BECOME?
TRULY THIS WAS JUST MEANT TO BE A VAGUE NOTION OF A POTENTIAL CHARACTER BUT I STARTED THINKING AND GOT HOOKED DJSLHFLSHFLS BUT YES HELLO
oh there literally are already feral doombots just Around. thats canon. they are... already sapient as far as im aware (but like, sapient in that they have enough of victor's memories and personality to successfully pretend to be him and sometimes for them to not know they aren't him. also they can feel pain. questioning why victor has made ten thousand cannon-fodder robots with also his whole brain in them which also can fully feel pain is a different post) but yeah feral doombots my beloved
there’s like…. at least two i know of. the one with the fancy coat and the one calling himself vincent that actually looks like a human, i love them. i have so many thoughts about feral doombots just Around and Vibin and its not like victor gives a shit. he can make new ones. whatever.
but also ;-; that's So good, especially if its somehow pre-reveal for iron man being Known as anything other than like, a human in an armor so perhaps he meets a doombot somehow (maybe it's stealing replacement parts from SI and when IM realizes that its not... actually taking anything dangerous hes like. oh. oh. because he's smart enough to also know why he isnt just going to get repaired like normal) and it's just, this sense of Recognition that iron man cannot say anything else
i think it would be good if it was like. iron man offers to help fix the bot. oor just, helps him. no expectation of anything else. and the doombot is supicious because of course it is, it was programmed by Paranoid Bastard Supreme, and it's not like iron man can even tell it why he wants to help it so badly, because even if he doesn't think it's actively a danger that doesn't mean giving it the information that he isn't human like everyone assumes wouldn't be... an incredibly bad idea. it's still attached to a supervillan, after all
(also sidenote but i am frothing at the mouth about potential doomquest in this universe it would be SO funny,,,,,, king arthur sends a pretty lady to iron man's room for "companionship" and iron man is just like. ah. ok. i dont know what is expected of me right now. also doomquest is very good to me, specifically, because its one of the only early comics things where almost anyone has more respect for tony than for iron man, which i enjoy, i think it would be SO good for airon man au especially if iron man is like. in danger of just... running out of power. technicallyyyyy i think this should also be a problem in canon, i think doomquest happens during chestplate era, where hes largely not able to go more than about a day without Dramatic Wall Outlet Time and yet hes fine just vibin in camelot (famously deprived of wall outlets) for at least a couple of days, but YEAH SEND AIRON MAN TO CAMELOT i think hed be both freaked out and also. sad that tony couldn't experience it. i think the background radiation of iron man's life is just... sadness that tony cannot experience any of the cool things he does)
but like... him continuing too help this doombot. maybe the doombot also helps him out somehow, as well. maybe subtly interveening in some fights. maybe giving iron man some neat lil tech tips. maybe a;klsdjfasdf the doombot still wants like. Something To Do and not just sit idle all the time or something so iron man hooks 'em up with a fuckin. tech support job. or like, product testing, for SI. something where he can just fix shit thats been broken in the stupidest ways or, try to destroy other things. who knows i dont. but maybe theres an attack at SI and iron man deals with it but hes damaged, and normally he'd like. hide away and do a quick n dirty patch job just so theres not obvious holes into nothing, but. the doombot follows him. and finds him. and its just... looking at eachother. knowing "oh fuck we're the same" and also "oh fuck he knows"
i think they should help fix eachother up and be buddies anyways it'd be good
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Diehard
Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.
Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.
Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986
Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.
He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.
“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.
The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.
Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.
Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.
“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.
“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”
Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.
“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”
You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.
Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.
It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.
“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.
“You can take it,” Joel grunted.
The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.
But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.
It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.
Instead of answering, you whimpered.
You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.
“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.
Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.
“Use your words.”
“Too— too—”
Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.
“Too what? Tell me, baby.”
You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.
“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”
Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.
“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”
It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.
And again.
And again.
Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.
Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:
“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”
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It is both historically ignorant and unimaginably disrespectful to the native peoples of this continent to say inane shit like this, which erases and renders invisible the centuries of Native resistance to displacement, genocide, and settlement, resistance that was violent, resistance which killed settlers, resistance which, importantly, has not concluded. Wounded Knee, Standing Rock, Gaza, all of these events are expressions of indigenous resistance to colonial occupation. It is utterly racist to regard indigenous resistance as a spent force, because it very much is not.
Palestine will be free. There will be LandBack. Colonialism will die screaming everywhere on this earth it has sunk in its hooks. Accept these principles or cease calling yourself a leftist.
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