#/ i've been meaning to write this out for a WHILE

[thinkingaboutbees]

Hi, I'm the OP of this thread on Bluesky. I thought I'd come on here and upload some of the analysis I've done in later-additions to this thread, which weren't online when Tumblr-OP @carucath made this post, as well as a recent interaction with Rhianna Pratchett, all of which I think are useful bits of contextual info/expansion. I've seen a few people in the notes/reblogs saying things about the fan-desire to rush to defend their faves etc., and kind of discounting my analysis because of that. While I agree that fandom spaces absolutely do have a huge problem with that, and that retrospectively reading Neil Gaiman's work looking for 'signs' that he was a piece of shit the whole time isn't actually constructive/doesn't really add anything useful to the discourse, my intent with this thread wasn't to try to absolve PTerry or put distance between him and Gaiman (though I can see how it reads that way). I'm more interested in looking at how 'known' people like Gaiman move within fandom spaces, as well as how our parasocial relationships with public figures, and the cult of personality which some people build up around them, can often help to protect them or even enable their behaviour (worth remembering that a number of the women Gaiman assaulted/abused have talked about being fans of his work, or meeting him through fandom spaces, or, even when not fans of his work as in the case of Scarlett, still being a bit over-awed by his fame and reputation). I suspect that Gaiman's embellishment of his relationship with PTerry helped to build up his persona in SF/Fantasy fandom spaces after Pratchett's death, contributing to his personal Cult of Personality and fandom parasocial relationships with him. Over the last 5 years especially, Gaiman has had a pretty meteoric rise in the public eye outside of online SF/Fantasy fandom spaces & conventions. In particular a number of his works have been adapted for TV across various large streaming-platforms following the success of Good Omens, with high-profile names attached to them, and large marketing campaigns. By positioning his Good Omens adaptation as 'Terry's dying wish' of him, Gaiman has gained a lot of attention for it and for his other work, increased his own public standing, and thus directly profited off of Pratchett's legacy and the public perception that the two were close friends. (Obviously GO was adapted with the support of Rhianna & Rob, but, as you'll see in these other threads, we probably should think of it as being primarily a PTerry novel, with some minor input from Gaiman). Some personal context: I hold two degrees in English literature (both with Firsts, or a 3.7-4.0 GPA for the Americans on this thread), as well as a research-Masters degree in Creative Writing (with a high 2.1, because I developed a chronic illness which made me bedbound for 6 months of that degree lmao). I have a long-standing personal and academic interest in both Gaiman and Pratchett's work, and have written multiple essays on Terry Pratchett's style & his approach to genre, including some for my Masters degree. I generally stay out of fandom spaces these days, and these threads have sprung out of my own prior research and academic work. While I'm yet to seek a PhD, I have previously been employed by the English Literature department of the main university in my city, where I was the tutor for one of their undergraduate courses (this means I was responsible for organising and running the weekly group tutorials/workshops which make up the other contact-hours for students outside of lectures, providing one-on-one support and feedback for students who asked for extra guidance but didn't feel it was complex enough to go to the head lecturer, and for marking student-essays). I do eventually hope to go in to academia/lecturing, but right now am taking a few years off from studying since finishing my Masters to pay off some of my student loan debt, get my health back on track, and to focus on my creative practice and writing career.

There was an interesting thread on Bluesky dissecting Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's relationship

TL:DR - It seems like Gaiman has been exaggerating the level of closeness between them for YEARS

[witherby]

Please help a starving Anon..... I need more Mother Hen Hal from you...The way you write him and the characters are so good and perfect(idc if anyone disagrees), i am dying../silly/nf

It can have anything you wish to add, maybe a sprinkle of hurt/comfort (let's not forget the queers(BatLantern) too/verysilly)/lh

Yeah, you can absolutely have more mother hen Hal!!! This one is a little early in the relationship, pre-Flittermouse, and Dick-centric.

The Littlest Wayne: Mother Hen (Dick)

"B! Thanks for coming to get —"

Dick stops and tilts his head as the window of the Lambo rolls down. It's not Bruce, here to pick him up from a celebration at Titan's Tower he was just a smidge too drunk to drive himself home from.

It's Hal.

"Hi, kid," he greets. "Bruce was asleep when you texted. I told him to chill out and I'd get you instead."

"Oh, hi," Dick says, a little off-kilter. His grin only wanes a little. "Yeah. Okay."

He walks around the car and climbs into the front passenger seat, brows furrowed. It's the first time they've been alone together since Bruce told the boys that they started seeing each other.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Have you eaten in a while? Might hit a drive-through before we get back. My treat as long as you don't tell Alfred."

Dick nods slowly, staring at Hal like he can't quite figure everything out. Hal just shoots him an easy smile, then focuses his attention on the road.

They're quiet for a while, the radio playing some top 10 hit softly through the speakers neither one of them recognizes. When Hal pulls up to order them some food (and how curious that he knows Dick's usual) then waves away Dick's effort to pay, the man can't help but say something.

"You don't... have to do that."

"It's like thirty bucks, champ. I've got it," Hal chuckles.

"I don't mean the food."

Hal looks at Dick curiously. It's probably the fact that he's still pretty sloshed, but he feels especially vulnerable in the car with him, and can't quite keep his thoughts to himself.

"You don't have to pretend to care about Bruce's kids just because you're dating Bruce." Even as he says it, he knows it was mean and dismissive. Dick chews on the inside of his cheek and can't figure out how to take that back, so he stops talking.

Hal doesn't respond. Dick can't make himself look at Hal's face, so he fiddles with the Nightwing charm dangling off his cellphone.

"Here's your meal, sir. Enjoy," says a fast food employee. Hal thanks her quickly, then pulls into a parking lot and kills the engine. Dick listens to him rustle through the bag and sort out what belongs to whom for a minute, then gently takes his portion from him when it's offered.

"Hey," says Hal. Dick pretends he's too preoccupied with opening the sauce packet for his chicken nuggets to look up. "Okay. I'd probably be a little skittish after dropping a bomb like that, too. So, just listen for a sec, okay?"

"Kay," he mumbles through a mouthful of fries, trying very hard not to feel like he's eight years old and sitting in Commissioner Gordon's office, waiting to find out if Bruce will assume guardianship and take him home, waiting to see if he'd be accepted or rejected.

"I think Bruce is it for me."

Hmm. Okay, not the words he expected to hear, but Dick is listening.

"You've probably heard that from his exes before. Something about Bruce is just...captivating. He's got his own gravitational pull, and I'm not interested in getting knocked outta orbit."

Hal pops a couple fries in his mouth. Dick sees his shoulders shrug in his periphery.

"I'm in love with him, is the point. Have been for a few years now, but I didn't think it was reciprocal until that battle in Coast City. But Bruce isn't just Bruce, is he?"

Hal reaches across the center console to gently squeeze Dick's knee.

"He's Bruce, and Dick, and Jason, and Tim, and Damian. He's got a whole gaggle of wonderful sons I'd love to get to know."

"We've worked together tons of times before," Dick says. He's barely picking at his food, too busy trying to figure out Hal's point.

"Sure. I've worked with Nightwing a lot. But that's not all you are. I don't really know anything about Dick Grayson, and I'd really like to."

Hal pulls his hand away and picks up his burger to take a bite.

"All this to say...I know you guys are mostly grown. You're used to having one parent and don't really need another one, and, damn, I don't know the first thing about any of that. But I'm in this for the long haul, and you can rely on me. I don't want any of you believing you're just an afterthought to me. Okay?"

Oh. Oh.

In lieu of an answer, and also because his throat feels too tight to speak, Dick just nods and goes back to eating. They finish their food in silence and Hal gets out to dispose of the trash, then turns the engine again to take him the rest of the way home. As he parks and they leave the garage, Dick throws his arms around Hal. He pretends the stinging in his eyes is some weird effect from the alcohol when Hal hugs him back just as tight.

"Goodnight, kid," he murmurs. "Go take a glass of water and some ibuprofen to bed with you for that hangover in the morning."

"Yes, mom," Dick snorts, teasing, but he detours to the kitchen with a shy little grin anyway.

[plaidos]

do you really think radical feminism is unsalvageable from a transfeminist perspective? i've been reading a lot of Talia Bhatt's writing lately, and it really reminds me of a lot of the stuff you've talked about on your blog; i find her argument that allowing TERF ideology to subsume the entirety of second-wave feminist theory is throwing out the baby with the bathwater to be incredibly compelling. a theory which centers patriarchy to be the radix of gendered violence and oppression, which is uncompromising and does not give into liberal feminist ideas about womanhood being a "meaningless category," gender liberation involving essentially defining trans women out of existence, etc, seems sorely needed at a moment where liberal feminism has vaguely hand-waved in trans rights specifically in order to prioritize trans *men* and valorize masculinity while continuing to abjectly marginalize transfems, and i find Bhatt's total rejection of white cis TERF co-option of radical feminism and reclamation for the new wave of transfeminist thought to fit that need. anyway that's not intended to ask you to argue with me or anything, i'm just as interested in hearing why you disagree as i am in hearing if you do agree, and i'm not looking to convince you or be convinced either way! i've just been thinking about this a lot lately since stumbling across her (honestly incredible) theory on third-sexing and getting introduced to the concept through that, i'm still working through my thoughts on it and looking for more to read both on it and in opposition to it, and the discussion on radical feminism prompted me to see if you had any thoughts; no worries if not.

yeah i mean @taliabhattwrites and i are literally mutuals on here even so i would hope im not jsut totally denigrating her incredibly insightful & groundbreaking commentaries on the subject when i criticise the second wave haha!

like i don’t know if i have/would say “radical feminism is unsalvageable” because im not even sure what that would mean right? like radical feminism isn’t a concrete object that we can literally build/tear down but yes of course there is almost always worth in reading feminist history & perspectives even those that we fundamentally disagree with because as you said there is a lot to be gleaned from the theories & works & histories.

im honestly not sure where you’ve gotten the impression that like i would just throw out “the baby with the bathwater” so to speak because to be honest i’ve been trying to be pretty careful about not just dismissing all radical feminism as fundamentally transmisogynistic specifically because of the incredible value i’ve found in Talia’s approach

[shockercoco]

Shambles

Feyd Rautha x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, knife kink, blood kink, fingering, oral (f! receiving, squirting, penetration

Word count - 2783

a/n - request: "Hi! Your fic Bloodlust (feyd) has me in SHAMBLES. 🥵😂 I’m so in love with it!!!!" - read the rest of the request here @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascalI . I got this request about 4 months ago, but I've just been so distracted with college that, as you can see, I've taken forever to get to it. I do want to be more active on tumblr, but I'm also writing a feature length screenplay on the side. As always, tysm for the love while I've been gone and your patience, and I hope you guys enjoy :)

“Which one do you suggest, my darling?” Feyd asks you, his bare back to you.

You look over at Feyd from your place on the bed, who stands in front of his walls of weapons. His fingers ghost over a few before glancing back at you, waiting for an answer. His injury from his fight is no longer leaking on his arm, but your red handprints are still very much visible on his body.

You know he means to use one of the weapons on you, but hearing him say those words out loud made your throat dry and heat drip from your opening. You feel your walls clench around nothing at what’s to come. “For what?” you innocently ask.

Feyd doesn’t take his eyes off of the wall when he answers, “You know exactly what I mean.”

You hate the fact that this situation is turning you on, when it should be doing the exact opposite. Turning on your side, you point towards a weapon. “How about that one right there?”

Feyd turns his head to look at you, and then follows to where your finger is pointing – the smallest knife on the wall. It honestly looks kind of pathetic next to the others. He smirks to himself already knowing you would choose something like that. “Are you sure? That one’s kind of tiny, don’t you think something more commanding would be more fitting for a woman such as yourself?”

“Big things come in small packages,” you tell him, giving him a small shrug.

You know Feyd’s extremely skilled with almost any weapon in existence, and you trust him enough to know that he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, but that still doesn’t stop the fact that he’ll be putting an actual blade to your skin.

Feyd’s eyes linger on you for a second, before breathing out a small laugh and removing the tiny knife from its place on the wall. The knife is barely longer than the distance from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, but it’s still sharp and intimidating. He rotates it in his hand, watching in excitement the light catch it, before turning away from the wall.

You feel your heartbeat speed up as Feyd walks towards the bed, his strides slow on purpose as he continues to rotate the knife in his hand. Your gown is gone, but your body still feels hot. He stops right in front of the bed and looks down at you, his smirk never faltering.

Feyd lets out a small hum as his eyes travel up and down your bare body, your soaked panties being the only thing giving you some sort of coverage as they cling to your opening. You would be lying if everything pooling in your panties was from your previous orgasm. 

You shift a little as he stares at you, starting to feel uncomfortable. His smirk widens as he notices your movement. He knows how much you hate his intense gaze – that is when it’s on you. You enjoy watching Feyd stare down his opponent in the arena.

“Should I clean myself up for the lady before we get started?” Feyd questions, referring to the blood stains on his bare torso.

“No,” you don’t hesitate, but watching Feyd’s expression makes you regret how eager you just sounded.

Feyd’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Well, look at you. You’re changing, my love, and I’m enjoying every second.”

“You’re a bad influence,” you tell him, to which he nods in agreement.

He only admires you for a moment longer before sinking to his knees in front of the bed. You let out a small squeal as he grabs you by the ankles and pulls you towards his face, your legs now dangling off of the edge of the bed. You push yourself up onto your elbows to keep him in view.

Feyd’s smirk seems to turn sinister as he’s now face to face with your covered cunt, his eyes mimic the shade they turn when he’s in the arena. You begin to feel like his prey. Feyd’s mouth waters at the fact that your wetness has made your panties almost transparent, allowing him to see the outline of you and your sweetness pooling at your entrance.

A gasp leaves your lips as Feyd lays the flat side of the blade on the skin of your leg, gently tracing up to your thigh and then to the edge of your panties. Goosebumps form on your skin at the feeling of the cold metal floating across you.

You watch as Feyd carefully places the blade over you through your panties, making your body slightly jump as you feel everything through the thin fabric. Your body feels as if it’s buzzing, and Feyd’s just getting started.

Feyd tears his eyes away from between your legs to look you in the eyes, giving you a questioning look as he looks for any sign of you wanting him to stop. When Feyd doesn’t see anything, he continues his movements.

Given the extreme sharpness of the tiny weapon, it only takes a small press for your panties to begin tearing. Once the fabric has been rendered useless, Feyd tosses it aside and moves his face closer to your cunt, enjoying the way your hole winks at him.

His eyes close as he breathes in your scent, a pleased sound leaving him as he smirks. Your hips jerk as he places a thumb on your clit and begins to rub tiny circles into you, before running his thumb up and down your slit. Your eyes close and your head tips back at the feeling.

“Looks like I already prepped you well,” Feyd says, mainly to himself as he watches his thumb move along your folds with satisfaction. A clicking sound forms from your wetness being spread around.

He quickly dips the tip of his thumb into your opening before pulling it back out and going back up to give attention to your clit. A small whimper leaves your lips as your back hits the bed, no longer having the strength to hold yourself up. Your limbs already feel weak.

You suddenly feel something stiffer and harder touch your clit. You glance down to see Feyd rubbing the tip of the knife’s handle into you. Your mouth falls open as your hips subconsciously begin to move. 

Feyd then slides the handle of the knife through your folds, spreading your lubricant around the handle. He clenches his jaw as he feels himself grow hard from the sight before him and the sounds of your pants growing louder in his ears.

Once the handle seems to be coated enough, he dips it further down for it to prod at your entrance. Your hands grip the bed sheets in anticipation at what’s to come, nerves flooding your stomach as your heart continues its fast pace.

“Just do it al-,” you begin to say, but cut yourself as you feel Feyd apply more pressure and push the handle into your welcoming opening. A gasp leaves your lips at the off yet enjoyable feeling of the ridges along the handle rubbing along your inner walls. Your head falls back against the bed as Feyd pushes and pulls. 

The grasp Feyd has on the actual blade is not too tight, but the blade’s edges are still digging into his palm. Feyd lips part as he watches the handle repeatedly disappear inside of you, the corners of his mouth twitching. He quickly swallows when he feels his mouth start to water in hopes to keep himself under control.

“You’re such a pleasant sight, my love,” Feyd muses. “I could look at you all day.”

But when he says this, he never takes his eyes away from you dripping opening. The grip you have on the sheets tightens as you moan at his words

“Oh my god,” you mewl, your eyes rolling towards the back of your skull.

The sound of your slick grows louder the longer Feyd continues his motions – this just turns you on more. You can feel yourself dripping onto the fabric underneath your body. Your back arches as your hips move with Feyd’s hand. Everything is so lewd and unlike anything you’ve ever done.

“Feyd-,” you breathe out, accidentally cutting yourself off with a whimper. Your body is trembling and you can already feel yourself approaching the end.

“I know, I know,” Feyd coos, finally looking up at your blissed out expression. He smirks at the way the back of your head digs into the sheets, your eyes squeezed closed with pretty noise repeatedly leaving your lips. Feyd notices your squirming becoming more evident and does everything he knows to bring you to the edge.

He suddenly pulls the handle out of your cunt and tosses it aside on the bed, your walls desperately clamping around nothing at the sudden loss. Your eyes open in confusion as you tilt your head down at him. He doesn’t give you a chance to question him before he’s shoving two long fingers inside of you.

“Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes!” you cry as Feyd curls his fingers along your sweet spot.

Feyd places his unoccupied hand on your stomach to pin your body to your bed and to give himself more leverage to roughly finger you.

“Come on,” Feyd grunts to himself.

It doesn’t take much longer for your climax to arrive, causing every inch of your body to feel tight and loose at the same time. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out as your eyes widen and roll back.

“Fuck!” you pathetically sob out. The wet squelches of your cunt grow louder as Feyd’s fingers contine.

Your arousal comes out in spurts around his fingers – some landing along his palm and forearm while the rest pools onto the soaked sheets. Feyd tries to prolong your squirting as long as possible, his smirk never faltering as he uses more force to hold your body down. The crazed look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you hate the warm feeling beginning to form again in your stomach.

You squeal as you blindly bring a hand between your legs, your thighs closing around his hand. This has no effect on Feyd at all. You choke and pant as you use your shaky hands to try and crawl away from the tortuous pleasure. A deep chuckle leaves Feyd’s chest as he allows you to pull away and watches as you push yourself back to the headboard.

Your chest heaves as you stare at the ceiling to help you collect yourself. This, though, causes you to miss the wonderful view of Feyd removing your juices from his fingers with his mouth. He groans as his lips surround his fingers and his tongue savors your flavor. Your sweet taste doesn’t help the thick bulge growing in his underwear, but Feyd finds the pain pleasurable.

“What a mess you’ve made,” Feyd muses.

The thin layer of sweat covering your body contributes nothing to how deliciously filthy you feel. A constant buzz is running through your limbs and your head feels light. Your eyes catch the sight of the abandoned knife a couple inches from your body – the wetness coating the handle can be easily seen.

You’re brought out of your little daze with the feeling of large hands wrapping around your ankles. 

“Don’t tell me you’re tapping out already? You would think I’ve trained you better than that with the many nights we’ve shared,” Feyd’s tone is condescending as he talks, his expression smug.

Nothing comes to your mind that seems worth it to say, so you just stay silent and continue to try and catch your breath.

“Come on, my sweet, I know you have more in you,” Feyd purrs as he pulls you back down to the end of the bed.

Just as your heart rate was about to return back to normal, you feel it pick back up again at the meaning behind his words. Your legs feel limp, so it’s easy for Feyd to spread them apart and place his face between them, his eyes never leaving yours.

His warm breath tickles your sensitive opening, causing goosebumps to appear across your skin as you tremble in his hold. Feyd moves his attention to your messy folds, which take up his field of view in such a perfect way. He blows a puff of air onto your cunt and watches as your body jumps and your walls clench around nothing as your arousal continues to seep out.

You can help but let out a soft moan at the feeling.

Feyd sticks his tongue out to give you a small kitten lick before slipping his tongue back into his mouth. Your thighs go to close again, but Feyd keeps them apart with his hands. He tosses your legs over his shoulders to make sure your precious cunt is as close as possible to his face.

“Feyd, baby,” you softly whimper out as you look down at him.

“Will you let me have a taste? A powerful woman such as yourself deserves to be cleaned up,” Feyd teases as his eyes meet yours again, “Don’t you think?”

You let out a small whimper as Feyd begins to place light kisses on your trembling inner thighs. He doesn’t break eye contact as he waits for your answer.

“What do you say?” he questions, hovering his mouth over your drooling cunt.

“Yes, just do it,” you weakly breathe out.

Feyd barely lets you finish your sentence as he dives into your opening, swiping and licking up every bit of your arousal he can find. He begins to thrust his tongue in and out of your opening, making you whine. Despite your sensitivity, you buck your hips into his face, giving Feyd deeper access to you as he holds you tight against him.

Feyd groans against your folds, sending the vibrations through every nerve ending in your body. You choke on a moan as a gasp leaves your lips and your back begins to arch again. Feyd slips his tongue out to place it on your clit, wrapping his lips around your swollen bud and gently sucking before sliding back into you.

It doesn’t take long for you to be brought to the edge of your next orgasm with the way he’s messily lapping at your folds. He feels your thighs begin to shake even more and doesn’t get deterred when he feels you tighten them around his head.

Your body begins to thrash in his hold, but Feyd only tightens his hold on your body as he continues to shove his tongue in and out of you. When you feel Feyd move a hand and place his thumb on your clit, you immediately fall apart – repeatedly bucking your hips into his face as your hands scramble along the sheets to try and find something to grab ahold of.

Only when Feyd finally pulls his lips away from you is when your body relaxes in his grip. Feyd hums as he licks your juices from his lips, closing his eyes to savor the taste. You don’t get much time to calm down before Feyd is removing the rest of his clothing, situating his hips between your thighs, and letting his aching cock rest against your abdomen. 

You feel yourself throb as you look down at his length on your abdomen, watching it twitch and the precum slowly leak from the tip.

“I hope you’re ready for another, darling. After all, I still haven’t had my release,” Feyd sends a fake pout your way. You want to roll your eyes at him, but you barely have energy left. 

“Baby…I can’t,” you whine, and Feyd just shakes his head.

Feyd places a gentle hand against your cheek as places his forearms on either side of your head, trapping you with his arms. He moves his lips towards your ear to whisper, “You can, and you will. I believe in you.”

Your inner walls clench around nothing at his tone and the feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck. Feyd doesn’t give you a chance to say another word before lining himself up with your entrance, meeting no resistance from your soaked and welcoming opening.

The both of you share a moan as he pushes all the way in. Feyd leans his head onto your shoulder, needing a second to get control himself as he feels your tight, warm walls sucking him in. You can’t see the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull and his jaw clenches, before his hips begin to move against yours.

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[potatoes83]

I appreciate the modifier "almost". Now, there was definitely a shift between the idealism of the white picket fence, the perfect family, Honey, I'm home world of the 50s and 60s, and say Married with Children, or The Simpsons. Both great sitcoms in their own right, but it was definitely a relatively new trope of the tit for tat between Peg and Al, or walking through the door to find Lisa on a hunger strike, and Bart smashing a hole through the drywall with a hammer, because reasons.

But there was this trope that definitely started more in the mid to latter period of our idealized Americana, and it most quickly comes to mind with The Flintstones. Now, I've opined on this before, but it bugs the hell out of me, because it's one we haven't yet been able to crack. It remains insidious. There's two sides to this. The first, and perhaps most obvious, is the fact that while Fred and Wilma love each other, one wrong move and she can be an absolute balls cutting bitch. Like seriously, if you have to sneak around to go bowling with the water buffalo lodge, crawling through the window of your own home because it's late and Wilma is either waiting to beat your ass with a cast iron skillet, or get pissed off and go to her mother's with the kid, what the hell is that? Like, living in the real non-idealized world, I don't have to worry about these sort of retributions. There is not going to be punishment or resentment because I want to hang out with my friends.

But then the other side, probably more subtle, is the fact that Fred is a freaking clod. And in this trope, the man always is. Wilma is pissed because Fred managed to forget their anniversary, went out bowling with the guys instead, said he'd be home by 8:00 to watch the kid because Wilma has a graniteware party or some shit that she told him about weeks ago, and instead comes sneaking in at a quarter to 12.

Now of course, the writing on this is just cheap humor. Supposedly relatable, one of those "uh oh, Fred's in the dog house again, we've all been there" sort of things. That's the point of a sitcom, it's idealized, dramatized, all sorts of other ized... but this thing started around that time, and it remains damaging to this day. Because if you look at male female couples as portrayed by the media, you see one of two things.

Going back to the age of The Flintstones, Fred is this big stupid blowhard popping off to anyone who will listen that he's the man of the house, he's not going to take no guff from Wilma for hanging out with the guys, and then comes home completely cucked both because she's downright vicious, but also kind of has a point because he's in the wrong, and is too arrogant to realize it because man. She's been cooking and cleaning all day, she asked him to do one thing, and he managed to screw it up because man. And you see that these days. Oh, she's pissed off, well he's just going to double down, he's going to tell her who the man of the house is, and then he gets the look. Granted, you see this one quite a bit less as time has gone on, because in general, you see strong men a lot less.

So then there's the other thing, and this is a more modern take, where the man is just a fucking idiot. I mean just this completely helpless man-child, thank goodness he is with this snarky judgmental always right woman, because if it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be able to tie his shoes. Anything more complicated than football, nachos, and grunting, he is invariably going to fuck up, so we need her to come to the rescue by clicking something on her cell phone and calling in professionals to deal with it. Of course, while giving a snarky comment, and a holier than thou look. Good thing he's busy watching the game, he won't be in the way when she's getting railed by the plumber she had to call because he couldn't figure out how to put soap in the dishwasher.

What It ultimately boils down to is partnership. I won't even say equality, because that word has been really somewhat co-opted, and wouldn't come across is what I'm trying to get at. Marriage is a partnership. And there are traditional roles. But that is certainly not to say that you are locked into them. Historically, the man does the outside yard work, maybe not the flower gardening, works and provides for the family, the woman takes care of the inside stuff, the cooking the cleaning the vacuuming and all that. He provides for the home, she makes the home. And there is nothing wrong with this, that was a big change with the radfem movement of the 60s, was this idea that so-called traditional gender roles were somehow subjugating to women.

So in our case, I'm the primary provider, I maintain the outside of the house, the home repairs and upkeep, let's call that the traditional masculine gender role. But then I also do most of the cooking. I enjoy it, and I happen to be a trained chef. I'm also home first by a couple hours. The laundry is, I would say, probably split evenly if not leaning a little more towards me, but then it's like I'll do the laundry, but she'll fold and put away all the laundry. Partnership. What It ultimately boils down to is what needs doing. If I'm in the kitchen and the dishwasher needs unloading and reloading, then I'll probably do it. Or maybe she will. She might vacuum, I might vacuum, it just depends who decides to take it upon themselves to do it.

So in a partnership, neither of you are stuck doing a certain thing, or more to the point condemned to do it because of some arbitrary rule. Like she has never mowed the lawn, but that's because it's something that I really enjoy doing. It's a great way to blow off the stress of the work week, it's something that I just really like. And I can't think of any chore around here that she's done that I haven't, but that's because I lived with roommates or out on my own for quite a few years.

I'm getting off on a tangent here, but the point is, we somehow went from an idealism that was based on a reality of partnership, to this almost him versus her scenario. If I had to sneak around and lie to hang out with my friends because she's going to be pissed off no matter what, I wouldn't have married her. And she is strong, intelligent, and beautiful, so if I was one of those "woman, I worked all day, get in that kitchen and cook me a steak" kind of lunkheads, I would hope she wouldn't have married me either. I recognize that. I'm 41 years old. And was raised with two parents, both of whom were in a partnership to run the house and raise a family.

I mean, imagine being a young man today. If you have any kind of strength or self-confidence, you're told that's toxic masculinity, and you just can't be doing that. All your masculine role models in the media are cucks, and why would you want to date the judgmental trash that is portrayed as a woman. This shit needs to change, and I'm not talking a Hallmark movie script either; real, substantive change. Nuclear family, backbone of society, partnerships, in which both parties better each other. 🥔

[admirationandromantics]

Best Friend's Brother

This request is literally 10 days old, which, to some, might not seem as a long time. For me however, it is. I'm sorry, but as I've described, I'm just trying to balance writing and school right now, so I'll be writing a little less than before.

Word count: 1,6k (unedited)

could u write a best friend older brother trope josh x reader. luv you works btww xx -anon

I knock on the door, waiting for Beth to open up. We���d planned a movie night while her parents were gone, and Hannah was at Sam’s. Josh was still home, but she told me he wouldn’t be a bother, and would probably stay in his room the whole night. 

I have met him many times before, and would even call us friends. Though at the same time, I often wonder if he looks at me like another baby sister, despite only being one year apart. He often gives me a hard time, teasing me and joking around, but most times, I don’t mind. I usually also hope that he never means anything with his small occasional comments, because nothing will happen either way. My best friend’s brother? That would be a problem just waiting to happen. 

Josh and I have been drunk together, partied together and been on get togethers together, though I’m not familiar with everyone in their group yet. 

I stand outside, my patience running low in the cold weather, wishing I brought a scarf. I hear footsteps coming from inside. Finally. The door unlocks, and a broad, tan Josh in a thin rolled up sweater and some sweatpants stands there, arm against the doorframe. He gives a small smile, looking me over. 

“Well, look who decided to come while the parents are out” he coos, a small whistling sound coming out of his lips. 

“Well, hello Joshua, care to let me in?” 

He smiles, contemplating whether to make this difficult or not. I look around, sighing and waiting for an answer, thinking about shouting Beth’s name and telling her that her brother is being a prick. Luckily, he opens the door further, making space for me to walk inside. “Thank you” I say, trying to hide my smile a bit. I’ve been here many times before, so I immediately know where to hang my coat and leave everything else. Josh keeps standing there, watching me. 

“Beth is out, said something about getting snacks for your movie night” He explains, and I nod. The store is not far from here, so she will probably be back soon. 

“Well then, do you know which movie she’s got planned?”

“Of course I do, I’m the one who helps pick them out”

I give him a curious and sceptical look, not having heard this before. He keeps his gaze locked on my gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. 

“Have you?” 

“Every time” 

My mouth opens a little. Beth is always talking about her great taste in movies, never having mentioned this before. 

“No, are you serious? Beth has never given you any credit”

“Little sisters… what do you expect?” 

I hum, not knowing how to respond to that. I walk inside, him following closely as I sit myself by the kitchen counter. 

“So, what movie have you chosen then?” I ask, looking up at him again. Instead of sitting, he just leans against the counter with one arm, body turned my way. I can’t help my gaze, looking over his revealed forearms. 

“Something a bit different than usual…” he smirks, eyes following my gaze down to his arms. I break free, leaning forward a bit. 

“Okay, what movie?” 

“A scary one” 

“No”

“Oh yes” 

I whine, leaning back again. I hate scary movies, I hate jumpscares and gore. Why can’t people just like normal, funny, cozy stuff? 

“Josh, are you serious?”

“And there we go, you’re starting to use my nickname” 

“Joshua! Are you serious?”

“Well, that lasted for long”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. This is not how I want to spend my night, and considering that the walk home will be dark and scary, this movie will definitely fuel my fears. 

“Hey, calm down, it’s a good movie, maybe you just haven’t seen a good scary movie yet, this one might change your mind about the whole genre” He smiles, a hand going to my arm. I can't help the small blush coming from the touch, his fingers warm and comforting. I don’t want to do this, but I really can’t object when Beth is the one getting everything ready, and I just need to show up and have a good time. Or pretend I’m having a good time. 

The door opens, and his hand is immediately removed as Beth comes in, a big bag in her hands. She doesn’t notice me at first. 

“Beth!” I exclaim, and she lifts her head, nose a little red from the cold outside. 

“Hey, oh sorry, I didn’t have time to go earlier today” 

“That’s completely fine, here, let me take it” I state, walking over and taking the bag from her hands as she starts undressing. 

“My brother didn’t bother you?” 

I look over at him, and he just gives a small laugh, shaking his head and putting his hands up defensively. 

“No, he was fine” 

“Good, now, let's go” She smiles, leading me away from him, into their living room. She finds a couple of bowls, letting me distribute the snack in them as she works on getting the movie going. 

“Okay, so I know you’re not a scary movie-person, but I know this one is really good, so please, keep an open mind” 

I laugh a little, thinking back on the fact that Josh is the one who actually picked this out. 

“I’ll keep an open mind then” 

“Great” 

The movie starts, and we both sit down, a blanket over us as the lights dim. At first, the movie seems fine, the occasional jump scare, which scares me much more than it does Beth. Still, I keep watching, body tense and uncomfortable, but I can’t take my eyes off it. We’re in the middle when someone gets violently cut up, and the camera doesn’t bother to show us anything else than the blood and flesh flying everywhere, the gore not stopping. I take a breath, pulling my eyes from the screen and standing up. 

“I just need to use the bathroom”

“Gonna puke?”

I laugh a little, the tension in my shoulders easing as she talks. 

“No, but if there’s no important information in this sequence, please feel free to skip it, I'll be quick” I say, already making my way to the yellow-lighted hallway. It's light, in contrast to the room I was just in, and that makes me ease up a little more. Gosh, if this was to keep going, I wouldn’t dare walking home tonight. 

Suddenly, I hear a click, and the light goes away, leaving me in the dark hallway. I stop, looking around, unsure about what just happened. Another breath escapes my lips, reminding me that I can’t keep holding my breath everytime something startling happens. The hallway looks empty both ways, so I continue further, crossing my fingers that the light in the bathroom at least works. 

Before I can react, a couple of strong arms grab me from behind, caging me. I’m about to yell out, but as if anticipating it, the hand goes over my mouth, muffling my screams. I’m slammed into the wall, not too hard, luckily, but I close my eyes before the impact arrives. As I open them again, a smiling Josh is standing in front of me, biting his lips to hold in his laugh. My heart is still beating fast, breaths coming in and out in a rapid manner. I grab his hand roughly, dragging it off my mouth. 

“Joshua Washington! Are you fucking insane??” 

He bursts out laughing, arms against the wall beside me, holding himself up as he leans over. I shake my head, mouth still a little open in shock, whilst he can’t stop laughing. 

“Maybe, but you should’ve seen your face!” He chuckles, one of his hands going to his stomach to compose himself. It’s probably hurting right now from all the laughter. 

“Joshua! What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“Okay, okay, calm down, just a little prank on my part” He smiles, finally calming down. 

“I have been watching a fucking horror movie, and you pull this shit?”

He bites his lip again, tilting his head a bit to examine me. 

“Oh, come on now, you’re totally thinking it’s funny” 

“No, I’m not” 

“Or you’re into it or something…”

“Wait, what, no I’m not, what kind of sick-”

Before I can process what’s happening, his lips are on me. I feel his breath, his body close, soft lips moving ove mine. My heart is still beating rapidly, but oddly enough, it calms with the way he’s touching me. Tender and carefully, not like himself at all. His hand goes to my waist, body pressing mine into the wall, opening his mouth a little. I hear a little groan leaving his throat. He pulls away, faces close as his eyes go over me, looking up and down. I almost think he looks a little vulnerable, but his signature smirk finds its way to his lips again. 

“Well then, calmer now?” 

I look at him, confused, conflicted. I scoff, shaking my head a bit. 

“No, I think I need a little more help” I state, hand going to the back of his neck, pulling him into me again. Capturing his lips on mine, already opening my mouth. He does the same, one hand on my hips, pulling me into him. 

“Hey, finished in the bathroom soon? I’ve paused the movie, the gore is over!” Beth shouts from the living room. We both pull away from each other and look over to the living room, luckily not seeing her there. I look back at him, seeing his chest heaving, hot breaths coming from his mouth. He turns, looking into my eyes. 

“Guess we better finish calming you down later” He smiles, pushing himself off me and the wall, walking back to his room. 

Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?

[27spoons]

Feeling Myself | Natalie Scatorccio

summary: Your best friend's been ignoring you since you hooked up a few days ago. Determined to speak with her again, you decide to visit her in the changing rooms after a soccer game. What's the worst that happens?

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

warnings: porn/what plot, smut (afab!reader), slightly ooc nat (in the name of porn), no proofreading we die like jackie

a/n: this shit corny asf LMAOOOO (this is a "what-if" from part two.) (also see: i had a thought while writing part two. this is 90% smut.) (this is also 10x as crude as the previous smut I've done sorry not sorry)

wc: 3430

[you don't need to read either part to read this.]

part one / part two

A quick recap of the events that took place the past week.

You slept with your best friend at a party. Your best friend who happens to be knee-deep in denial when it comes to her sexuality. She's been avoiding you like the plague since then. You've just finished watching her play a soccer game, and now you're awkwardly standing outside the locker rooms.

Great. Recap over.

Okay, thirty minutes is overkill, especially for Nat, who typically likes getting in and out as fast as possible. Sure, maybe you'd spend thirty minutes in a shower at home, but in a public place? With the floors that definitely have bacteria on them that could kill a Victorian child?

That's practically a carnal sin.

You aren't sure why you're steeling yourself; I mean… odds are she just left through the other entrance, right? And it's not like you aren't allowed in this change room, it's just the general change room for the school facilities…

Whatever.

You stand up straight and throw the door open to the changing room, not that surprised to find it completely empty—save for the sound of a shower running in the back of the space. Realistically, if it is Nat, you should probably let her finish her shower. You don't really know where the two of you stand right now, and intruding on a shower hardly seems like a good time to find out. And, if it isn't Nat, intruding on a shower would be a really, really bad idea.

Still, you decide to investigate further. 

Quietly making your way toward the shower stalls, you glance around and look for anything that could give you an idea about whoever it is, showering and praying to whatever God there is that it's Nat and not some random stranger. 

When you reach the benches in front of the stalls, you let out a relieved breath you didn't even realise you were holding—you'd recognize those combat boots anywhere.

Is confronting her while she's in the shower the most intelligent idea? No. But honestly? You're more than a little frustrated and pretty sure that she'll continue to avoid you unless you do something now.

So, you do the mature thing, much like she did.

You storm to the front of the stall and bang on the door, "Natalie?!" You call out, voice slightly shaky at the idea that it might not be her after all. 

A long, tense moment of silence passes after you speak, save for the sound of water hitting the tiles below. You start to panic, worrying that you really did just knock on a stranger's shower stall, scaring the everliving shit out of—

"Are you fucking kidding me?" A voice, unmistakenly belonging to a certain Natalie Scatorccio, rings out over the sounds of the shower, "You couldn't fucking… wait until I wasn't fucking showering?!"

"You've been avoiding me!" You yell back, "What the fuck was I supposed to do? You haven't been showing up to class, you've been avoiding my calls… I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" She yells back, "Maybe wait for me to come to you when I'm ready to talk, ideally not when I'm in the fucking shower?!"

"Yeah, well…" You mutter, realising that… yeah… maybe this wasn't the best time, but you're already here! There's no backing down now! "That's not the point!" You eventually continue, "Why have you been avoiding me since Friday night?"

She doesn't respond for a long moment.

"Well?" You scoff, calling over the water, "Natalie? Are you gonna answer me—"

The stall door flings open, revealing a very naked and very wet Natalie Scatorccio.

Your jaw drops. Sure, you saw her naked during the night of the party, but this is much different. She looks very upset with your sudden appearance, and for a moment, when she draws her hand back, you worry she's about to clock you in the jaw. And, honestly? You'd probably deserve it.

What you aren't expecting, however, is her to grab the back of your head and mash your lips against hers, all tongue and teeth.

It's only a moment's hesitation before you return the kiss, and she's drawing you back into the shower stall. "We better be alone," Natalie murmurs, tugging your hoodie off and over your head as it begins to soak through. "I'm not about to have one of the girls walk in on this." 

"No, uh, yeah, we're alone." You stammer out, kicking off your shoes and pants, "I wouldn't have caused a scene if there were still people in here—"

"Good." Nat breathes out as she tugs you into the shower's spray, despite the fact you haven't even gotten the chance to remove your underwear yet. "Because I haven't been able to stop thinking about this." And her lips are back against yours, free hand immediately moving to find purchase between your thighs, fingers rubbing you through the damp fabric. (Which, you'll note, is now damp for more than one reason.) 

"Holy fuck—" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, your head falling back to hit the shower wall, one hand attempting to find some sort of grip on the wall while the other grasps uselessly at her wrist, "Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you in the time we weren't talking?" You ask breathlessly, hips pushing into her hand.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about this." She murmurs, fingers pushing the soaked fabric aside and pushing two fingers through your slick folds, teasing the length of your slit for a few moments before she quickly sinks two fingers into the wet heat at the apex of your thighs.

"F-fuck—" A full-body shiver rakes through your form as your back arches off the wall, a shocked gasp leaving your lips once she starts fucking her fingers into you with reckless abandon. "Jesus Christ—" "You seem to be saying his name a lot. Last I checked, it's my fingers inside of you and not his." She says with a smug grin, resting her free hand on the wall next to your head. "Unless you got really religious in the past few days."

"Asshole." You grunt out, nails digging into her wrist as you desperately roll your hips against her hand, "You are knuckle deep inside me, and I'm not about to just start saying your full name—"

"No." She cuts you off, "But you could just say Natalie."

"That's not—" She cuts you off when she stretches you further with a third finger, and you're almost positive her wrist has to be cramping with the angle it's at, but she shows zero signs of stopping or slowing down. "—the point—" You stammer out, eyes screwing shut as squelching sounds from her fingers fucking your pussy manage just to be loud enough to be heard over the rush of water beating against the porcelain.  

"No, you're right. The point is that you shouldn't be thinking of anyone else while I'm the one inside of you."

If there was something you expected Nat to say, that was not it, but you can't help the way you clench around her fingers at the comment.

"Oh, shit." A low laugh spills from her throat, "You like that, huh? When I'm all possessive? Didn't realise you'd be into that sorta stuff."

"Fuck off." You mutter, "I've never heard you get possessive before. It's kinda hot."

"Yeah? Guess I'll have to keep that in mind." Her palm grinds hard into your clit as her fingers brush against that spot inside of you that has your hips bucking and losing the rhythm you had found. "Oh. That was a fun spot." Nat murmurs to herself, "I liked that. Let's do it again."

So, she does. She presses her fingers right against that spot with every flick of her wrist, and you can't help but wonder how the fuck she became so damn good at this when at times, it felt like she barely had two brain cells to rub together that night of the party—

Shit, you didn't even notice the fact she was trailing her lips along the hollow of your throat, tongue collecting the water that streams down your body from your face. "Nat—" You gasp when you feel her teeth bite at your jaw, "Shit—"

"Mm, yeah." You can feel her grin against your throat, "See? Knew you had it in you to say my name. Just needed some gentle encouragement, is all."

You can't even form coherent thoughts at this point. You aren't sure what turns you on more: doing this in a public place where anyone could walk in and hear the deplorable things currently transpiring, the fact that Nat seems to be eager to have you like this, the way her lips trace along your neck reverently, or her completely making you forget the whole reason you walked into the changing rooms to begin with.

Nat spends some time alternating between the stretch of three fingers and the ruthless pace of two, occasionally completely retracting her fingers in favour of circling your clit with the pads of her index and middle before sinking them back in.

"You, fuck, I'm close." You stammer out the next time she sinks her fingers back into the tight heat, "Don't fucking stop—"

She shakes her head against your neck, "Not stopping." A shaky exhale, and you start to feel her hips rolling against your thigh, "Not stopping until I feel you fucking come around my fingers."

Your eyes roll back into your head at the words that fall from her lips, and you find yourself gripping her arm again for support. "Oh, holy fuck, Natalie—"

With a stuttering movement of your hips against the heel of her palm, you find yourself crashing into a climax that you were not expecting to get right in the fucking changing rooms.

And, despite how you clench around her fingers and your knees buckle slightly, Nat doesn't even stop. Not for half a second. The crude sounds of her fingers fucking your spasming pussy at breakneck speed don't slow, and your head thrashes back and forth against the wall, "Nat, fuck, wait—"

"No." She hisses into the side of your neck, biting at the skin, "I'm not done yet."

Thank causes a broken groan to slip from your lips as her fingers press against that one spot over and over again to the point the edges of your vision start to turn fuzzy amid the ecstasy. "F-fuck, I just came—"

"I know." She growls out, fingers seemingly plunging in deeper to your tight heat with every thrust of her wrist, "And I want you to come again."

"Oh." You exhale, eyes screwing shut again, "Oh…"

Nat grins at your breathless sounds, "Yeah, baby. Like that." Three fingers, "Fuck, love how tight you feel around my fingers. How fucking wet you are for me." "We're, ah, in a shower. Of course, I'm wet—"

She bites down on your neck particularly harshly at your words, "Shut up. You know that isn't what I fucking meant."

"N-no, but it's funny—"

You barely even register it when Nat drops to her knees before you, bringing one of your legs over her shoulder, "God, shut up."

And, well, you don't get a chance to speak again before she's burying her face against your heat, fingers continuing in their harsh movements as her tongue attaches itself to your clit, swirling around and sucking at the nub.

One of your hands immediately finds itself tangled in her blonde hair, the other trying to hold your body up against the stall wall behind you, which proves… to be a hard enough task on its own, given that the walls are slick with water and smooth.

"Oh, fuck—" You hiss out, tugging slightly on her hair, "Shit, give me a second—"

Nat doesn't. She doesn't stop or slow, either. Hell, she doesn't even humour you with a response, just choosing to focus on her task at hand: making you come again.

It's slightly embarrassing how quickly you're right back on the precipice of an orgasm. You'd probably be mortified if you could form thoughts other than "yes" and "please."

You swear you can feel the way Nat smirks against you as she wraps her lips around your clit, creating a suction that has a full-body shudder raking through you and—

…

Even Nat has to stop for half a second when she feels you come again, less than a minute after the first one. "Fuck." She breathes out, looking up at you with her jaw slightly slack, fingers still buried inside of you. "Did you just…?"

Realistically, you could lie. But you get the feeling this is a hypothetical question.

"I… I told you I needed a second…" Comes your stammered response, "That's… I'm not… I don't… it's just…"

A dark chuckle leaves Nat's mouth as she removes your leg from her shoulder, ensuring you can stand properly before she rises back to her feet, "Mmn, I'm not mad. If anything, it's kinda flattering."

You scowl slightly at her, "What-whatever." 

You decide it's her turn, now. 

As fast as you can move without slipping on the tile, you pin Natalie to the wall in your place, lips finding her neck, tracing up the path of a water droplet with your tongue, then further up still until your lips are back on hers.

One of Nat's hands comes to rest on your shoulder, the other tangling itself into your hair as your kiss grows more and more heated. Although it's a little tricky to do with the slick walls, you spread her thighs slightly and press your knee up between them, encouraging her to grind down onto your leg. It's your turn to smirk now, finding some sort of pleasure in the way she immediately presses her pussy against you, hips rocking with urgency.

"Yeah," You grunt against her lips, "like that. Keep doing that." The blonde whimpers back, grinding herself faster, "Please." She breathes out, "I need more."

"What?" You chuckle, "Sorry, I didn't get that. Mind saying that again?"

She slaps your shoulder, "Stop being such a fucking tease, asshole. What do you want me to say? That I want your fingers inside of me?"

You grin, "Yeah. That works, actually." One of your hands runs down the flat of her stomach, two fingers run across her folds, not quite delving into the warmth between them. "But the begging is a little hot."

"I'm not going to beg." She immediately answers, "If you aren't gonna fuck me, I'll find someone else to do it."

Your jaw tenses immediately at the comment, and you aren't quite sure if it's jealousy or something else, but the very idea of that pisses you off to no end. "No the fuck you aren't." You hiss out, sinking your index and middle finger into her cunt without another word, earning you a keening sound. "I'm the only person doing this to you tonight."

"God, yes." She almost moans out the words, "Harder."

A scoff, but you oblige her anyway, turning two fingers to three and fucking them into her faster, grinding your palm into her as the digits move, and Nat doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for someone with long fingers.

She presses her tongue back against yours, using the hand that's tangled in your hair to guide your mouth where she wants it—against hers.

The press of your lips against yours makes the movements of your hand slow momentarily, but you quickly recover your speed when Nat tugs at the hair on the nape of your neck, reminding you that there's an end goal to this.

"Mm, my bad." You murmur, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of her lips, "Your mouth is very distracting."

Nat rolls her eyes, "Yeah? Then maybe you should be somewhere it won't distract you." A half-grin twitches itself onto her lips, and the hand on your shoulder presses down, "On your knees, ideally."

"Just say you want me to eat you out." You lower yourself onto one knee, "Saying what you want is hot." Nat grins down at you and runs her fingers through your hair as you get down on your other knee, "Don't need to say what I want. You're already doing it."

You roll your eyes at her as you press some gentle kisses to her inner thighs, humming when she parts them for you. "Maybe." A small nip to the soft skin, "But I do enjoy you telling me what to do."

"Oh, yeah? What, you into being dominated?" She laughs lowly, "Interesting. I'll have to keep that in mind."

"You say that like you plan on doing this again." You take one of her legs and hoist it over your shoulder, pausing a beat, then taking the other leg and repeating the motion. "Do you plan on doing this again?" Nat gasps when you have her sit on your shoulders, fingers tightening in your hair, "Fuck, you keep pulling shit like this, and I just might keep doing it."

A grin graces your lips, "That so? Guess I'll have to keep you coming back." A chaste kiss to her clit, then you're delving your tongue into her cunt, greedily slurping at the wetness that's collected between her legs. 

Your fingers dig into the meat of her thighs, holding her against your face, encouraging her to squeeze your head like a goddamn watermelon. You could, quite honestly, die happy with your head where it is right now.

Nat is rolling her hips against your face, your nose brushing against her clit as your face remains buried in her pussy, obscene sounds echoing against the walls, and you aren't even sure when the shower clicked off, but you are aware that it makes the two of you much more audible.

You'd pull your head back to tell her or move one of your hands to swat at the button to turn the water back on, but you get the feeling she could care less how audible what's transpiring between the two of you is.

So, you try to put that into the back of your mind, letting the sounds of your mouth against her and Nat's broken gasps act as fuel for the way you fuck her with your tongue. 

It's a handful of minutes before her breathing becomes more stuttered, her grip on your hair starts to hurt slightly, and you don't think she would let you up for air if your face were literally turning blue, but that's okay.

In fact, it's more than okay, considering you feel her pussy pulsate around your tongue as a whimpering moan breaks from her throat, hips continuing to rock against your face for a few more seconds before ceasing. 

"Fuck." Her fingers run through your hair, as if serving an apology for the way she was tugging on it. "You're fucking good at that." You shoot a lazy grin up at her through between her thighs, which were effectively acting as earmuffs. "I aim to please. Happy that my goal was met."

Her head falls back against the wall as she laughs, "Yeah. Now, put me down."

"Mm, sure you can stand?" You tease, nipping at her thigh again.

"Positive, asshole." She rolls her eyes fondly, "Let me off."

A dramatic sigh parts from your lips, but you relent and help her get her feet back on the ground, "Fine, fine." You stand back at your full height, looking down at her slightly as you lean against the wall, "But I really wasn't done yet."

"Yeah, well, I was. I'm not in the mood to get caught by someone in here." She shoves your shoulder, causing you to take a step away from her. "We both got off."

You click your tongue, "Seriously? C'mon. Don't be like that…"

"We can get off more later."

"Oh?" You quirk an eyebrow, "That mean I'm coming back to your dorm?"

"Well. That was fun." Nat ignores the question, pushing off the wall and hitting the shower button again. "Now. I need to finish showering. You staying or leaving?"

You scoff, "Staying, I guess." You spare a glance down at your soaked clothes, "Gonna be soaked the whole walk home, anyway. Not in the mood for that walk."

She laughs deliciously, "Oh, trust me; if I have anything to say about it? You'll be soaked at home, too."

A beat. "And you said my dirty talk was terrible."

a/n: ok NOW crush act two part one next fr fr

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 1

Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Inspired by @beckyninja ' Titus x Reader fics and @hatsubara-8chan' s Titus x Theia art. Thank you guys for giving me the confidence and inspiration to finally do something with my own oc :)

I know x reader stuff is my forte, but it would mean so much if you guys checked this series out too. It was super fun to write and I think you all will really enjoy it.

As always, apologies for grammar and spelling mistakes. While this part is sfw, some future parts will be nsfw but I'll note that up the top. Typical 40kness and violence, also I've just gone and made up an entire og backstory for Gadriel lol.

Hope you guys enjoy! And thank you so much for reading xoxox

Love, Memestrider :)

Ellicent sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his collar and staining it dark. She'd been like this for ages; she didn't know how many, but it was enough that the grimy windows in front of them had darkened to black slabs with the disappearance of the sun and rolling in of night. She felt embarrassed by it. Ashamed. Kids down here lost their parents all the time, and her Dad had been sick for a long time. Knowing that should've made it easier, but it didn't. Her heart was still shattered. Her soul split in half by a stake of grief and anguish. She sobbed like a baby. Like a weak thing that the Underhive should and would eat alive.

But he didn't seem to mind.

His grip was as gentle as it was tight, as if he were trying to wring the sadness from her very being. He stroked her hair, rubbed her back, let her hide her face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he said. He'd said it many times before, but this one was no less genuine or earnest. Ellicent's throat ached too much to reply, so she only shook her head.Tentatively, he drew away from her. Not enough to break their embrace all together: just enough so he could look her in the eye.

"You know we have to leave him here, right?"

Swallowing another sob, Ellicent nodded. Down here, there were no medical services or law enforcement to collect the dead: there were only scavengers and cannibals. They'd find her Dad eventually, but if they kept her Dad in here, he might stay safe for a little longer.

"I know," she said. "But... but what about me? I can't- I can't stay here."He answered without hesitation or thought. "You can come stay with me."

"Wha- what?"

"I know Mum will let you. And if she says no, I'll make her. But she won't say no. I know she won't."

A dozen questions sat on Ellicent's tongue, but she was either too tired or too sad to ask. Sinking into his arms again, she wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "Okay."

"It'll be okay, Ellie. I promise, it'll be okay." Ellicent closed her eyes.

"Thank you, Gadriel," she whispered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Remind me," Chairon says, using the box so he could be heard over the rumble of the Thunderhawk. "Which xenos is our target supposedly allied with?"

Gadriel checks the slide of his bolter for the umpteenth time.

"The dark eldar," he replies. "Specifically, the pack that has made this planet their favoured hunting ground."

"What about the necrons?"

"What about them?"

"Did the briefing not state that Severus' gang often makes use of necron technology?"

"It did," Gadriel says. "But that technology is stolen. Pillaged from only the Emperor knows where."

Through the static of the vox, Chairon's scowl sounds particularly vicious. "Damned heretics. Have they no pride or dignity to speak of at all?"

"Of course they don't."

Gadriel looks to his left where Titus sits beside him. Like his and Chairon's, the face of the lieutenant's helm is cast as a mouthless, red eyed glare. Somehow, though, Titus' glare appears even more intimidating.

"Creatures like Severus are among the worst kind of heretic," he says. "Chaos can corrupt the unwilling. Mutancy can affect the innocent. But to work with the alien? To turn one's back on their own species? That is a choice. One that is made willingly, without coercion or subterfuge.

"An uneasy silence settles across the vox. For a long while, the only sound comes from the roar of the Thunderhawk's engine and the collective of the three Astartes' power armour. Eventually, Gadriel is the one to break it by clearing his throat.

"Forgive me for saying so, sir. But, it sounds as if you speak from experience."

Titus turns his head towards Gadriel. The dim bar lights lining the Thunderhawk's interior reflect sharply off the golden laurels welded around his helmet's crown.

"You remain as sharp as ever, brother," the lieutenant remarks. "And you would be right. Severus' gang is not the first group of xenos collaborators I've encountered."

He pauses for a second. "As I said, they are the worst kind of heretic. Worse than political dissenters or atheist zealots. By a long, long way."

Silence falls once more. This time, however, it is morose. Sober. Behind his helmet, Gadriel chews the inside of his cheek in thought. It's a habit he's had ever since he was a boy- one so innate, not even Astartes re-education could snuff it out. He's reviewing the mission briefing in his head. Specifically, the intelligence regarding their target. Archibald Severus- a rogue trader turned planetary crime lord. Typically, such a man would not be a concern for the Astartes- such things were usually handled by the Inquisition alone. But Severus has been particularly problematic; almost all of his people wield necron weaponry and his Drukhari allies have all but brought the planet to its knees. Also, the Ultramarines just so happened to be in the area. Fortunate for the people who live here, though not so much for Severus. The last thought amuses Gadriel enough to make him smile. Yes. Very unfortunate for him indeed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Thunderhawk drops the fireteam amidst the exterior district of a hive city. The street upon which it lands is wide, dusty and long abandoned. Blade and plasma scars line the walls of every surrounding building, reminders of the countless dark eldar attacks the city has endured over Severus' tenure here. The Astartes quite literally hit the ground running. Bolters in hand, their objective's location marker pulsing in the top centre of their heads up displays. The objective in question is a warehouse- once a hangar for Imperial Guard aircraft, now just as abandoned as the rest of the district. Severus will supposedly be there, though the exact reasons why are unknown. But that doesn't matter to Gadriel. If the man is there, he will die. As surely as the blood of the Primarch flows through Gadriel's veins, that traitorous xenos-sellout will die.

The warehouse in question emerges from around the next street corner. It looks like a giant concrete brick dropped in the middle of the district block. Gadriel falls in behind his brothers, covering the rear while Titus leads the way and Chairon covers their flanks from the centre. But the area is empty. As if the entire district had been evacuated or disappeared. Considering what this place has endured over the last several years, that is probably not far from the truth.

"Gadriel," Titus says over the vox, breaking Gadriel's reverie. "Auspex."

The team halts against a nearby wall. The warehouse is now directly in front of them. Moving in perfect unison, Gadriel switches position with Chairon. He sidles up beside Titus, takes one hand off his bolter to extract the Auspex scanner clasped to his belt. He holds the device up and studies the screen for several seconds.

"Motion detected," he reports. "Ten hostiles, one hundred and fifty metres ahead. Baseline, by the sizes of the pulse."

"One must be Severus," Chairon says.

"Hopefully," Gadriel replies.

"But not certainly," Titus says. The lieutenant says nothing more, but Gadriel hears his unspoken order nonetheless: maintain your guard.

Despite their size and weight, the Astartes move like panthers on the prowl. As it is still light outside, they stick to the shadows where they can. Reaching one of the warehouse's walls, the fireteam lines up, Gadriel in front with time with Titus and Chairon covering him.

"We will breach the wall here," Titus says. "Overwhelm them with speed and surprise."

Chairon and Gadriel both acknowledge the order with a curt "yes sir". Internally, however, Gadriel is somewhat amused by Titus' choice in tactics. *One would be forgiven for thinking we were White Scars. All we're missing are the jet bikes.*

Chairon moves in between his brothers. He holster his bolter to his hip before reaching for his belt and extracting a fist-sized breaching charge. He plants the explosive on the wall, primes it with a button press, then motions for Titus and Gadriel to stand clear. Gadriel crouches down on one knee. His secondary heart joins his primary in beating, flooding his body with adrenaline. He looks between his brothers. Both give him nods of acknowledgement. Chairon touches his forearm, ready to activate the charge. As his fingertip brushes the button, however, Gadriel's Auspex let's out a chime.

"Hold," Gadriel says before pulling up the scanner. He furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"What is it?" Titus asks.

"The Auspex has changed. All but one of the pulses have vanished."

"Vanished?" Chairon asks.

"That's what I said."

"But how?"

"I do not know."

"It matters not," Titus growls. "Chairon, blow the charge n-"

Before he can finish giving the order, the wall explodes on its own.

The shockwave slams into Gadriel with the force of a meteorite. It throws him backward, knocking him off his feet, sending him rolling over his side before landing on flat on his front. All three of his lungs are emptied of air and his ears ring as if glass were being shattered inside his skull. Gadriel ignores it all. Recovering his footing with staggering ease before raising his bolter in the direction of the enemy.

Only he can see nothing. Just the charred concrete debris at his feet and a wall of thick black smoke. Even through his helmet's filters, the smell of it is choking. Like the polluted air of an Underhive amplified and condensed. Gadriel clenches his jaw.

A gas grenade. Only it exploded with the force of a breaching charge.

It has to be Severus. He must have known they were coming, that they were there. Gadriel curses to himself.

We were too loud. Too forward. Not cautious enough...

"Brothers! Status!" Titus' voice crackles over the vox. Gadriel whips around to try and find the lieutenant, but the damned smoke is too opaque. "Alive and unharmed," Gadriel hisses. "But can't see a damn thing."

"Acknowledged." By contrast, Titus' voice is calm and level. "Chairon? What's your status?"

No reply. A fury like fire ignites in Gadriel's chest. "Brother!" he shouts. "Are you there? Tell us where you are!"

A flash of light catches his peripheral vision. Gadriel spins to face it, snapping his bolter sights up as he does. It's small, but sustained, growing in luminosity with every second. But that isn't what makes Gadriel's breath hitch. It's the colour. A shocking, neon green. Too vivid to be natural, too bright to be electronic.

Gadriel's eyes widen. His thoughts scream a single, terrible name.

Necrons.

With an plasmic screech, the particle beam blazes towards him. It aims for his chest, right over his primary heart. Gadriel manages to twist out of the way in time, but not before the beams edge grazes the top of the aquillia on his breastplate. Gadriel aims his bolter in the direction the green light, only for it to vanish as he opens fire.

"Contact!" he shouts down the vox to Titus. "Necron weaponry confirmed!"

The light reappears on his left. Much closer than before. Gadriel fires upon it and he hears his bolter round sing as they slam into alien metal. He dive-rolls to the side, anticipating another particle beam. But no such shot comes. Instead, the light swells. Growing from a dot to a long, curved streak.

"Throne!" Gadriel hisses. Throwing his bolter into the holster on his thigh, he draws his power sword. Just in time to parry the crackling, green energy blade that comes careening towards his head. Both weapons spark and hiss when they make contact. Faster than a blinking eye, Gadriel surges forwards to slash at the arm holding the necron blade. But his opponent is quicker. Smoke swirling about them, they duck his attack before launching a kick at his knee. Pain spikes through Gadriel's leg and he feels his balance slip. It surprises him. There aren't many things that can kick out an armoured Astartes' knee.

A necron warrior, though, is definately one of them.

The energy blade comes for his head again. Gadriel throws his chin up to avoid it, but in the process looses what little balance he has left. He lands on his back hard, grunting as the last of the air in his lungs is forced out by the impact. In the same instant, his opponent is on top of him. Erupting from the smoke like a daemon from the Warp pinning him down by crouching on his breastplate.

Now close enough to see them through the smoke, Gadriel lays eyes on his attacker for the first time. What he sees, he can only describe as abominable. At first glance, they are human- female, from her shape and build- clad in tattered, studded leather characteristic of those from an Underhive. Her hair is a stunning shade of scarlet and she has it up in a pony tail so long it flows behind her like a cape of ribbons. But that is where all semblance of her humanity ends. Instead of a left arm, she has a robotic appendage, the clawed, green-veined forelimb of a necron warrior, with a green plasma blade bursting from its knuckles. The same is true of her right leg, the foot of which is pressed savagely into Gadriel's chest, strong enough to keep the Astartes pinned. A necron rifle- the source of the particle beams, surely- hangs from a strap looped across her back.

Hatred contorts Gadriel's face into a snarl. Abandoning his power sword he reaches for his bolter, which is still holstered to his thigh. Wrenching the weapon free, he throws it up just as the cyborg-abomination above him raises her energy blade. Her face, too, is twisted into a snarl.

Time suddenly slows. Gadriel's finger stops shy of the trigger.

Her face...

Hatred turns to confusion turn to shock. His thoughts are a racing, jumbled mess. His mouth opens without him realising and he hears his own voice. It speaks a name he hasn't heard in over fifty years.

"... Ellie?"

The cyborg freezes. The snarl on her lips dies.

"G- Gadriel?"

Both of Gadriel's hearts stop. His mind is simultaneously paralysed and raging like a warpstorm. His bolter falls from his hand, clattering off his breastplate to land beside him. Gadriel doesn't even notice.

"Sergeant!" a voice bellows over the vox.

Sparks suddenly burst from the woman's back. As quickly as it had vanished her snarl returns. Leaping off Gadriel, she whips around. Her energy blade retracts into her arm and she reaches for her rifle. Gadriel turns his head to see Titus charging for them with his bolter raised.

The woman hesitates. Glances at Gadriel. Behind his visor, Gadriel meets her gaze. His eyes become wide and watery.

It can't be.

More of Titus' rounds slam into her, this time pinging off her necronian arm. She staggers backward, dropping her rifle so it's swinging limp against her hip. Another moment of hesitation. Gadriel opens his mouth to call her name again. But before the word can leave his lips, she's moving again. Turning her back and vanishing into the smoke screen. When it finally fades, there is no sign of her. Not even a drop of blood.

Gadriel swallow thickly. A lump has formed in his throat, large enough to make it difficult for him to breathe.

"Brother!" Titus clasps his arm, hauling Gadriel up into a sitting position. "Are you alright? Are you wounded?"

Gadriel says nothing. He doesn't remember how to speak. Nor can he even see his brother kneeling beside him. The only thing his mind can see is her. The day her father died. The day on the rooftop. The night they had spent together in her bed.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

"I love you."

"I-"

"Brother?" The concern in Titus' voice is palpable now. "Gadriel. Can you hear me?"

Gadriel finally looks at the lieutenant. He nods, but still refuses to speak. He doesn't trust himself to. He's afraid that if he did, he might start to weep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That's it! I hope you liked it! The first part of any story is always kinda slow, since you gotta set everything up, but I tried my best to keep things moving fast-like.

Thank you again for reading xoxoxoxo

Part 2 will be up in a few days probably. Hopefully I'll see you all then :)

Update: pssst, you can read part 2 here!

Tag list: @yurihasurunbara @beckyninja @nereidof40k @hatsubara-8chan @moodymisty @solspina @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @wolf-feathers12 @egrets-not-regrets

[sunshine6ixty]

i think this is where i've landed with the whole gaiman thing.

some background, i was a gaiman girlie. i paid money to see him speak, i volunteered for a signing, i've taken pictures in front of the world's largest carousel; hugely formative, resonated on a level that nothing else i've encountered did, and so on and so on etcetera. (i got to say "mr gaiman i wouldn't be who i am today without your books" to him, which is a Different Flavored Memory now than it once was, i can tell you)

and like. though his books had a familiar and fond place in my life, i'd already gotten to a point of... nebulous disenchantment? not disgust or anything-- just that nature was taking its course, and i was drifting away. i started reading neil gaiman at age... what, thirteen? maybe eleven? and i read his work consistently for a while. i'm in my thirties now, and i haven't been keeping track, but i've read american gods once a year for at least the past five years. it was just... kinda time, in a way. he seemed like he'd said what he had to say, and was coasting in a perpetual victory lap, which i was fine with. i'd just... keep picking at the gaiman books again when i was bored.

and i remember thinking, around when i first noticed this distance i'd been feeling, that i was just... running dry. things felt stale and i didn't know where to look to change that.

and then this all happened.

and all of a sudden, my perception of this person has been wrenched into a completely new perspective. just, twisted sideways, seams popping, eyes bugging, can't-unbreak-the-action-figure wrenched. the spell is broken, in an ironically gaiman-esque way, and this mythic figure (~*nEIL GAIman*~) is revealed to be just a shitty, spoiled brat of a complete fucking monster.

i've read the article, i've heard the stories about how weird he was for doctor who, i've seen not-unreasonable allegations of plagarism floating around-- suffice it to say, he's just a shit of a dude. he's... not special. not really. he's a good writer who said one thing with his work, and lived another. who saw something that resonated, and put his name on it. who said something that we felt, and said he gave it to us.

and i realized, from this angle, that the reason i was feeling so dried out was likely because neil gaiman (some might say purposefully) took all the fucking air out of the room. like, nobody was neil gaiman, right, so what right could you have to try to do a neil gaiman? he was the only gaiman. the apex of gaiman. peak gaiman. the mystical, profound, monotheistic god of dark poetic storytelling.

but like. he wasn't. it turns out, he was just a shitty dude. magic or no, he was mostly just entitled.

and i think that sort of broke something in me. if the curtain was pulled back and there was just a weird, shitty little dude in there, then what the fuck have i been doing? in an... i-should-probably-talk-to-a-therapist-about-this sort of way, neil gaiman kept me from writing! like-- i was a kid who took pictures of graves at age five, who made up a story about a child bricked up in the school belltower who's ghost still wandered the halls (and published it in the school newspaper, next to what flavor milk does mrs k's 5th grade class prefer), who believed there was a door to another world beneath their neighbor's ornamental bush, who mapped the lost city (/junk dump) in the open space drainage ditch! this is the stuff i did before i knew gaiman! i liked gaiman because i was into this stuff already, and then after a while, without me really noticing it, neil gaiman became this stuff. the only source of it. the only rightful creator of a gaiman.

and like... if you know you can't do it like neil gaiman, because he's him and you're not, you kind of start despairing before you even begin, right?

fuck that.

i think, what i can take away from the whole debacle is this: it's time for all of us who have ever felt like this to do a gaiman.

... by which i mean, make our art. not the other stuff.

you have every right to be as audacious as neil gaiman with your art. take it as seriously, tell everyone it's as important. put that thing down on paper; the thing you otherwise wouldn't.

look, chances are, you're actually a better person than neil gaiman. he sucks. he was a skilled craftsman, but skill can be learned. what he did was practice and talk himself up. and there is nothing magical about neil gaiman that hasn't also run beneath our fingertips.

there was never anything unique about ~*neiLGAiman*~. not really. neil just made him up to be the special-est most darkest and dreamiest boy there ever was, and it was a fucking lie, and its insidious the degree to which it ate an entire genre.

because, honestly? i want to read more shit like neil gaiman! i've been hungry for more of what he said was solely his for so fucking long! i want to see what weird, fever-dream stories we've all been sitting on because he ate the entire ecosystem! i want to read all of the beautiful, terrible, fucked-up magical things from everyone that never saw the light of day because neil was too busy basking in it!

and now that the mask is off, it's fucking time. i'm going to take my shit back, neil. fuck you.

in a weird, fucked-up way, what a relief.

[genericpuff]

Who is your favorite LO character? Who is your favorite LR character?

i feeeeel like my answers change every time i get asked this question JFDSKLAFJSDALK but that's okay because it just means i'm constantly finding new ways to analyze and explore these characters >:3

LO faves: Minthe and Hephaestus.

Minthe because she obviously gets such shit treatment in the comic and subsequently from the fanbase, but she's a lot more relatable than 99% of the characters in the plot, she feels like she has actual depth and a real character arc, even if that arc ended with an unceremonious whisper. It goes to show how great of a character she was that Rachel practically had to nerf her out of the plot, because it was often only ever at its best when she was present. Funny how as soon as she was written out, there was nothing interesting going on with Hades or Persephone anymore - the plot was literally so boring without her that Rachel literally tried to create a Minthe 2.0 through Leuce, and we all know how well that went /s

As for Hephaestus, nothing super specific, I just like his vibes. Maybe it's just my absent older brother issues, but I would love to just like, hang out with him, game in the same room as him, just autistic parallel play stuff, I think he would be into that. Only complaint is the design flaw of giving him running blades as the default prosthetic, that can't be comfortable for his hips and joints. But that's not his fault u.u and that's basically my only complaint about him which makes him a winner in my book, esp compared to the rest of the cast. He might not be in the comic all that much, but that was clearly to his benefit because it seems the more attention Rachel pays to a character, the worse they wind up being in the long run due to poor writing. Hephaestus is in the comic just enough, not too little, not too often.

So yeah, Minthe and Hephaestus are both 10/10 characters written by a 0/10 writer. They did the best they could... not Rachel of course, she did literally the bare minimum of "representation" which often came across as ignorant white knighting at best and blatant stereotyping / stigmatizing at worst, I mean that Hephaestus and Minthe did the best they could as genuinely interesting characters with unique circumstances and disabilities who were being written by an amateur Wattpad-level writer with a privileged white guilt complex lmao

LR faves (within the cast that's currently been introduced): Persephone and Dionysus.

I know, very different from my LO choices, esp considering Persephone herself within LO is literally one of the most insufferable characters by the end, but I'm frankly having a great time rewriting her in my own way, especially in regards to her specific role as the "wrathful side" of Kore. I know I've gotten questions regarding the interpretation of Kore as a DID system, and while that interpretation is totally valid, the angle I always approached it from was that repressed trauma and emotional bottlenecking. Obviously those two things are, in and of themselves, contributing factors to DID, so far be it from me to tell people they can't identify with Kore / Persephone as DID representation. It just motivates me even more to give her the character arc she deserves and never got. It's gonna be messy. It's even gonna be downright ugly at times.

But I hope, in the end, that anyone who identifies with her struggles will find closure and comfort in the resolution of her story. It's certainly a challenging tightrope to walk, between honoring the themes of her original myth, retelling a version of her that almost existed in LO (a version that I was hoping for and never got), and dissecting the implications of my own version of her throughout LR's narrative, but it's a challenge that I've been having a great time undertaking and all I can hope for is that I can meet and possibly exceed my own expectations - as well as the readers - in the end. This is Kore's story - it's also Persephone's.

As for Dionysus... he's just a very, very fun character to write, and someone who I had the advantage of introducing before he was depicted in LO. It wasn't intentional but it sure as shit paid off because even though I'm sure some will assume that this is my own re-interpretation of Rachel's version of the character, myself and anyone else who was there at the time can vouch that Dionysus was aaaalllll me, baby LMAO

All that said, we're obviously going at it from a VERY different angle than how he was tackled in LO, but I'm hoping people enjoy his presence in the story, especially as he becomes more involved (which is very, very soon wink wink) The roles have definitely reversed here with Dionysus taking on more of a "parental" role to Kore rather than the other way around. I feel like his characterization has only grown stronger in hindsight compared to what we got in LO, especially where he's one of the only characters who beat LO to the punch and wound up being in a sort of arms race with Rachel's depiction ─=≡Σ((( つ•̀ω•́)つ

[angelatmidnight1]

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

A/N: I've had a stressful couple of weeks and wanted to write a quick story with ler!Astarion and lee!reader. This was inspired by one of the helping lines he has where he says "you look good helpless". @tickly-deer-boy here is a quick Astarion fic!

Summary- Tav is stuck, and Astarion comes to get them out of trouble. He had no idea that they were ticklish…and gods, is it entertaining. 

Paring- Astarion x Tav (platonic).

Word Count- 1.8k.

Warnings- None. But please note this is a tickle fic!

Tav grunted in frustration as they tried to wriggle free from the narrow space between the crates. Their movements only caused them to get more wedged in the spot. They were reaching forward, straining to reach Lae’zel’s outstretched hand, only to just be out of her reach. 

“K’chaki. I told you to go around.” Lae’zel grumbled in exasperation. She withdrew her hand. “We waste precious time while you struggle. At any moment, we could become ghaik.” 

“I know that,” Tav groaned and tried to launch themselves forward. They barely moved an inch, and now their waist was fully stuck between the crates. “It’s almost like you’ve been saying the same thing since we crashed! If you’d shut up and give me your hand, I’d be out of here already.”

“You cannot reach my hand,” Lae’zel pointed out as if it was as obvious as day. “And I have no time to wait and make up for your shortcomings. Had I known you would slow me down, I would have left you to your fate on the nautolid.” 

“And you would have no astral prism. You’d turn into a mindflayer before me,” Tav grunted and decided to change tactics, twisting their hips to try and dislodge themselves. It didn’t work. Lae’zel checked her pack, believing she’d been the one carrying it, only for Tav to give a mocking sneer. “Honestly, it’d be an improvement. You wouldn’t be talking so much if you had a mouth full of tentacles.”

Lae’zel scowled. She took a step forward, hand on the hilt of her sword. “You think it’s wise to provoke me in your position?”

Before you could challenge her, Astarion’s silky voice sounded from somewhere behind you. “Now now, darlings. Let’s not turn our blades on each other. We’ve so many enemies we could stab instead..”

Tav heard the sound of his shoes crunching over gravel as he approached them. The sound stopped when he froze, taking in the scene of the trapped leader in front of him. “Oh. Oh dear. Someone’s gotten themselves in a spot of trouble, hm?”

Tav didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking. They bristled, and they would’ve turned to leer at them if they hadn’t been pinned at the waist. “Hilarious, Astarion. Truly. How about doing something useful and helping me?”

The vampire clicked his tongue. “My, so touchy. I’m almost tempted to leave you there. Who knows what a less friendly adventurer would do if they found you?”

“You wouldn’t,” Tav retorted. “You’d miss me too much. Who else would wake up day after day to tell you how handsome you are?” 

“Cheeky,” Astarion smirked. “Still, I’m not convinced to help you. If only there was a word you could say that would make me reconsider. Something like, oh, I don’t know…please?”

“To hells with that,” Tav palmed the sides of the crates and pushed at them. Besides the occasional, minuscule move, they remained right where they were. Their face contorted with exertion, and they heard Astarion snickering behind them. 

“That’s four words, and I'm not looking for any of them.” Astarion stepped closer and leaned against the crates. “But by all means, keep squirming. You look good helpless…”

The heat rose to their cheeks, or maybe that was from all of their struggling? Tav wasn’t sure. They gave up on pushing the crates and twisting their body to and fro. Then, exhaling through their nose, they grumbled, “Fine. Please help me, Astarion. There, happy?”

“Your groveling skills need work,” he snorted. “But it would be cruel for me to expect a grand performance in your state. So of course, my dear, I’ll help you.” Astarion moved behind them, hands outstretching to rest on their sides. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and he rotated them to determine the best angle to pull them from. The light touches sent shivers up their spine, though he didn’t seem to notice. If anything, Tav would’ve chalked it up to the cold. Astarion moved his hands higher, now resting just below their rib cage. His fingers slid along their skin, looking for gods know what, and they jolted.

“What are you doing?” Tav cried incredulously. Lucky for them, he couldn’t see the grin tugging at the corner of their lips.  Lae’zel had already stormed off, leaving the two of them alone. 

“Helping you. Obviously.” Astarion rolled his eyes and readjusted his hold, returning to their sides. This time, he was squeezing them in an attempt to get a better grip. “And I’d have an easier time if you would hold still.” 

Tav choked on a giggle. They did the opposite of what he said and fidgeted some more. Suddenly, the impossible feat of getting themselves out on their own didn’t sound all that impossible. “Forget it, Astarion. I’ll d-do it myself..”

“Nonsense. Stop squirming, and I’ll pull you out.” 

“No, but-” 

Astarion’s fingers ghosted over their stomach, and they squeaked. He froze, and Tav felt their heart do somersaults in their chest. 

“What is the matter with you?” Astarion took his hands away from their belly, fingers resting just above their hips. The confusion was as clear as day in his voice. “You’re acting as if I’m hurting you.”

Tav remained quiet. They feared that they’d end up giggling if they spoke. 

“Tav? Am I hurting you?”

“...No.” Tav hesitated, shaking their head. They wracked their mind for a plausible explanation. “It’s just, uh, your hands. They’re cold.”

“Cold enough to feel through your clothing?” Astarion raised a brow, tone flat. “Odd. You haven’t told me that before..”

Tav didn’t even believe the tale they’d spun. “W-Well, they’re just that c—ah!” Tav squealed when he lightly pinched their hip. “Don’t do that!”

They went to smack at his hand, but hit one of the crates instead. Although they couldn’t see it, Astarion’s eyes brightened with mischief. 

“Oh, now I understand…” Astarion grinned a predatory grin, rolling his knuckles against their hip. Tav squirmed, biting down on their lip to trap the impending giggles. “You’re ticklish, aren’t you?”

“Noho!” The word alone sent butterflies in their stomach. They brought one of their hands up to their mouth, their other hand uselessly hitting the top of the crates. “Damn it Astarion, just pull me ouhuhut!”

“I’m trying, Tav, but you’re not making this easy for me.” Astarion shuffled closer to them, now using his thumbs to deliberately knead into their hips. Tav gasped and giggled into their hand, feet stomping into the dirt. “It’s impossible to get a good grip with you kicking around like this..”

“You’re nohoht trying!” Tav argued, bucking their hips as Astarion kept kneading into them. The ticklish sensations surged through them like electric shocks, and it was harder to suppress their frantic giggling. “Gah! S-Shihihit! When I get out of hehehehre, you’re dehehehad!”

“I’m already dead,” Astarion snorted. “But do tell me, what is so funny? Surely I am not tickling you?”

Tav growled in between their giggles. They giggled harder when he changed tactics and squeezed their hips again, again, and again. Both hands flew to their mouth to muffle their squeals. 

“Darling,” Astarion purred, “I need an answer.” 

“Gohoho to hehehell!” The dam broke, and Tav giggled freely. They twisted and bucked as much as their trapped position allowed, clawing at the crates. “Stohohohp it!”

“Stop what?” Astarion feigned confusion, nails skittering along their waistline. “I’m only trying to help, just as you asked! You’re stuck in here good, I’m afraid.”

“Nohoho! I’ll f-freehehee myself!” Tav sputtered as he dragged his nails up their belly. They shouted and shook their head back and forth, laughing loudly. “Let gOHOHOhahaha!”

“I can’t do that, dear. That would make me a terrible friend,” Astarion tutted. He stopped scritching at their belly, teasing their sides with featherlight strokes. “And, while I’m on the topic, do you know what else sours a friendship?”

Tav’s laughter died down to short, breathless giggles. Their cheeks were well beyond flushed, and they fidgeted in anticipation. “I—hah—don’t know... what?”

“Lying,” Astarion grinned and gently pinched just beneath their rib cage. Tav squealed and bucked. “For instance, pretending not to be delightfully ticklish when you very clearly are.”

Tav’s eyes widened, panic flashing across their face. “I’m—I'm nohot—”

“Ah-ah, there it is again.” Astarion double downed on his efforts, kneading one of his thumbs into the side of their belly. Tav shrieked and kicked their legs uselessly, falling back into another laughing fit. “You are an insolent little pup, aren’t you? Lying is one thing, but lying to a friend? Lying to me?” 

As if they weren’t already stuck enough, Astarion wrapped his free arm around their waist, making it much harder to squirm or kick. He continued tickling their stomach, alternating between gently scratching along their skin with his nails and kneading with his thumb. He moved at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world. And, truth be told, he did. Tav’s laughter took on a more desperate note, and they threw their head back. 

“NAHAHA! Alright! Okay! I’m sohohohorry!” Tav shouted and pounded their fist against the damned crates. They doubled over, or at least made an effort to, and squealed with laughter. “I’m sohohohohrry!”

“So you are,” he hummed. “And yet, I’m not fully convinced. You’ve already lied to me once. Who’s to say you aren’t doing it again?” He dropped to his knees, lazily raking his nails down the backs of their thighs. Tav shrieked and kicked around even more. 

“I’m nOHOHOHohohot! I’m not!!” Tav grit their teeth and giggled madly. They tried to lift their legs out of his reach, but he chased after them with minimal effort. “PLehehehehease! I’m nohoht lying!”

Astarion laughed. “You learn fast. It’s still a no, though. I’m just gutted that you would lie to me.” He pretended to sound sad while he spidered his nails along the backs of their knees. Tav howled, curling in on themselves as much as possible. “After all of the time we spent together! After I offered to help you..” 

Tav cackled when one of Astarion’s hands snuck back up to prod at their belly. He swirled his pointer finger in random patterns, scritching just shy of their hip bones, around their navel, and ending at their lowermost ribs. He did the same thing in reverse, eventually settling back on the ground to squeeze and tickle their knees and thighs. His fearless leader was a puddle of squeals and giggles, and that’s one crime he was happy to be guilty of. 

“I CAHAHAHN’T!” Tav went back to pounding their fists against the crates, eyes shining with tears. “Astarion, plehehehehehease!”

After what felt like forever, Astarion stopped tickling them. He gripped their hips and, with one firm pull, dislodged them from their trap. They fell back into him, and he held them up, still by their hips. “There you are, you’re free!” he snickered. “You’re welcome.”

Tav exhaled, shutting their eyes. They were coming down from the ticklish sensations, chest rising and falling from each breath they took. They were still smiling a bit, so what they said next had very little bite. “Bastard.”

“Careful,” Astarion tapped his fingers against their hips, and Tav lurched forward. “We wouldn’t want this little secret to slip to any of our friends, hm?” 

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (37)

***

"Five bronze," Babette says, when Silco asks if he can borrow clothes for a day. "With a thirty bronze deposit, in case they don't come back in the same condition."

In case they don't come back at all, Vander thinks. "I should come with you."

Silco rolls his eyes. It's not the first time Vander's suggested they should do this together and every time Silco says he'll draw less attention on his own. Someone Vander's size is going to be noticed in Piltover.

"I mean it," Vander says. "You've never even been over the bridge before. At least I've been in Piltover."

"As a child. Picking pockets while your mother worked," Silco replies, picking through the choice of shirts Babette spread over the table. "There is no way anyone looks at you and doesn't immediately know you're from the undercity."

"But you'll blend right in?" The worst thing is that Silco might blend in up there. He's always been a little too pretty, manners a little too fine, to fit in well in the mine.

"In the right clothes, hopefully." Silco holds up a black vest and a burgundy shirt to Babette, but she shakes her head. Silco picks up a pale green shirt instead, with an embroidered collar and fabric so thin you'd be able to count his ribs. "It would be a different story if Babette had any clothes that would fit you. You don't, do you?"

The yordle tilts her head, sizing Vander up shamelessly. "A pair of curtains, maybe."

"Cute," Vander says and Babette shrugs at him.

Silco strips off, and pulls on the too-thin shirt. "This isn't dangerous. It's not illegal to enquire about land ownership with a council office."

"And we all know enforcers have never arrested someone doing something that's technically legal." Vander crosses his arms, still unhappy. He watches Babette fetch a different vest, a rich blue, and a silver-grey long jacket to finish. The jacket is a little too tight on the waist, doesn't quite button up, but the overall look…

He looks like a topsider, wearing pale colours that would be smeared with soot by the end of the day. A shirt too thin to be practical, a jacket cut too close to be comfortable. He looks like someone else.

"Do up every button." Babette eyes Silco carefully. "You might need a tie."

Neither of them has any idea how to tie it, but Kane hustles Silco out of Babette's kitchen and makeshift office to sit him in front of a mirror. It takes a few demonstrations and a few practice runs, but Silco gets it eventually. Silco eyes his reflection, all sharp, pressed lines and soft colours. "What do you think?"

Kane laughs, her blond curls moving with the sound. "You look like a topsider wearing your best clothes. Try to look a bit more relaxed, like you wear this every day."

Silco looks at Vander in the mirror. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd feel better if I was coming with you," Vander says, and there's a flash of worry on Silco's face that suggests he might feel the same. It's gone quickly but it was there. "But I'm itching to punch you, so you look like a Piltie."

"How reassuring."

***

Vander does his best to hide his nerves, but he doesn't truly relax until Silco turns up at the mess hall, two hours before curfew. He's back in his own clothes: thick dark pants, dark cotton tops soft with wear, sturdy mining jacket. Seeing him is such a relief it makes Vander grin.

"Finally," Connol says, getting up and taking the spare seat next to Benzo, leaving Silco space to slide up against Vander. "He's been waiting for you all night."

"I was at Babette's." It's not a complete lie. There's dark liner along his lashes, a sure sign that Silco changed at Babette's on the way here. "Her workers had a few requests."

"If you get any more of that red lip stain," Felicia says, leaning across the table, "I want first dibs. I'm nearly out."

"Noted," Silco says, going so far as to pull out his notebook to actually write it down. He does keep records of requests and waiting lists.

Vander finishes his next drink and then makes their excuses. It's not that he doesn't trust his friends, but talking in a crowded hall isn't smart. They walk to the far side of the courtyard and then duck into the old mining tunnels, following their path back to their room. These days, Vander could walk that path in the dark.

"How did it go? Any trouble with the enforcers?"

"Turns out the enforcers don't bother you if they think you're one of them." Silco steps through the tunnel, sure-footed and certain, even with the lantern turned down low to preserve power. "It went better than expected. The land is abandoned, it was never sold. There's no access to the river or water, and no coal beneath it. It's considered worthless."

Just because Pilties won't pay for it, doesn't mean they'll give it away for free. "But it still has a price, right?"

"Administration fees to transfer ownership. A certificate fee to be able to prove it. I even had to pay for a copy of the forms to complete," Silco pauses, looking up at Vander as he holds the door open. He closes it behind Vander and locks it with a little metal latch Connol made. "Eighty-seven gold all up."

"So not impossible," Vander says, "but…"

"More than we have right now," Silco finishes. "There's a delivery of gas masks coming next week, that will get us close. But I'll have to check with the harbour master and see what ships are due before the end of the month."

Vander shrugs his jacket off and hangs it up. Everything they buy is based on trust and spoken agreements. They're not topsiders with legal contracts. If they don't have the funds to pay for each delivery, the next delivery won't come. They can withdraw more funds when the cash box comes next but they'll need enough funds to pay the next month's deliveries as well.

Silco holds out his jacket and Vander hangs it inside his own. They get undressed quietly, Silco lost in his own thoughts, as he undoes buttons and hangs clothes around the room. Turn the lantern down until it's a bare glow in a room of shadows.

"So it will take some time," Vander says, getting into bed. He holds the blankets up until Silco slides in beside him. "We didn't expect it would be easy."

Silco gets in, bare skin cool against Vander's side and feet this side of freezing. He curls up against Vander, head resting on Vander's arm. "Is it too much to ask that something could be easy?"

Vander presses a kiss to Silco's forehead. "Maybe this is the easy part."

"What?"

"You and me," Vander murmurs against his skin, wrapping an arm around Silco's lean chest. "Maybe that's the bit we get easy."

There's just enough light to see Silco's smile, the pleased glitter in his eyes. "Maybe."

***

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 18: Mike's Bedroom Scene . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Everyone knows this scene, everyone here LOVES this scene (or they better love it). It's so ripe for analysis in every single way, not even just for byler, but for things that happen later on in the season. I think shots like this are extremely thought out. They chose a wide angle shot to show you Mike's bedroom for a reason. They also showed you this bedroom right after seeing El's, to show the contrast between their two lives and how they view each other.

I've already talked about this contrast between their two rooms and the fact that Mike has nothing from El in his room in this post.

1. Rainbow Letter + Closet

I want to talk about something else before the glaringly obvious queer coding first: and that is the fact that El has her own stationary specific for writing Mike's notes, while it is canon that Mike just writes his letters to El on some scrap pieces of paper, showing the unequal amounts they are putting into their relationship:

Anyways, back to El's letter to Mike having literal rainbows on it. For El, this is some clear foreshadowing for her being in the rainbow room, and we can all agree on that right?

So if we can agree on that, then I think we should agree that it could also be true this is queer coding for Mike. It's the first thing you see in this scene, even before you see a shot of Mike himself. Also the fact that the next shot of the scene is Mike next to the open closet with the light on, kind of implies or foreshadows his story being tied to queerness for the rest of the season.

Having the light on in the closet is also to draw your attention toward it. I've talked before about how often in film it is to use light to mean truth, meaning this would imply that being in the closet is the truth that Mike is hiding, since a lot of this scene is taken up by the fact El's lying to him. So what does he have to hide? The set designers utilise light in this scene very carefully, which I will touch on in the later sections <3

2. Posters

This is such a famous piece of evidence that I feel like I don't really need to say anything here lmaooo, like we can see in multiple different shots that instead of having posters of literally anything else on his walls, he has posters of men. Specifically buff men (or a dragon if u wanna be pedantic guys).

This seems so on the nose that it has to be queer coding, just like the scene where Mike goes to the wrestling gym while on his search for a DND replacement for Lucas, and stuff like this has been used on many different queer coded characaters in media for a long time.

I've heard people argue that there is also a girl character in the Conan the Barbarian poster, but honestly, if you watch the film you would know why this is not a great thing to say or equate women to lmao... Basically this film does not shy away from the fact that men in this time period treated women like property so I'd be careful saying that.

If you want to go past talking about the fact this CtB poster is just a poster of a buff man, I'd say that it could symbolise Mike's need to be normal and fit into the "male role" in society that we saw in S3. To be honest, if I saw a guy with this poster, I'd.....run, girl RUN

So anyways, not only is there one poster of a buff guy, there is another. The one on the left is a poster designed by Rick Ruhman, whose other posters can be seen in the show, like in Reefer Rick's house. Buff dragon poster you'll always be famous <3

This is two instances already of Mike being associated with buff men, um, and to be honest that should be enough, but it's funny that there are two other instances of this happening in the show. Another is literally in episode 1 of S4, where Mike goes to the wrestling gym, and another is when he mentions Superman in relation to El for some reason, rather than calling her 'Supergirl' like Argyle does 10000 times.

This is a pattern, everyone. And can be compared to the fact that other male characters who were around the same age as him have posters of women surrounding them in different scenes.

In Steve's room: he was 17

In Lucas's scene with the other basketball guys: he is same age as Mike

3. His Noticeboard

thanks to @runninguplenorahills for this very good photo haha

First of all, want to establish that the lamp is placed next to this notice board on purpose, in order to draw your attention towards it, just like his closet earlier on (and later, you shall see). So you are meant to view this notice board as having little hints on it.

And there are! Not just towards his queerness. and they are pretty much confirmed to be foreshadowing for some of the plot points in S4, so other stuff in his room could also be foreshadowing , but for his queerness too.

These Garbage Pail Kids cards clearly foreshadow some events of S4. I think Heavin Steven may have something to do with Steve literally biting the head off of a demobat, which makes sense, or it could be about him randomly pouring his heart out to Nancy in the caravan. Evil Eddie obviously foreshadows that everyone thinks Eddie is the head of an evil cult and has murdered a woman, which is what's happening in the card. Live Mike is either a reference to Eddie playing his guitar later on, or it could be a reference to Mike's monologue where there are many lightning strikes at the most interesting times... Finally, Mad Max's card shows a brain being outside someone's head, foreshadowing her mind visiting Vecna's mindscape and her being braindead by the end of the season.

Also on his notice board are:

Escape Fun City: reference to California

Pizza Sticker: foreshadowing his time in the surfer boy pizza van and the pizza place.

Will's Drawings: obviously showing that he places more care in Will's drawings than El's letters which I talk about on one of my previous posts. He also still has Will's drawings in his basement.

So how is this byler evidence? Well, I really think this proves just how much thought and care went into making Mike's room foreshadow some later plot points, because the audience can hardly see what's going on here, but it still foreshadows stuff. This leads me onto....

4. The One Way Sign ;)

This one is a classic, and if you don't know this already, then I guess you must be new here hello

I just want you guys to think for a second about the intentionality of this. And I want you to imagine people setting up his room for filming. Because it wasn't just created out of nowhere, people genuinely thought about each decision. Imagine this just being written off as a coincidence, because let's lay out some facts here:

A light has been set up in Mike's closet

That light has been pointed so that it is a beam towards Mike

The closet door has been opened for no practical reason

A one way sign has been ordered, put on the wall in this specific spot.

A one way sign does not foreshadow any other plot points in S4.

I am baffled when I talk to people and they don't think this type of stuff is intentional. It's a blink and you miss it hint, yes, but those types of hints are supposed to be subtle so that when you look back on them, they make a lot of sense.

Overall, this shot of Mike's room is the perfect introduction to his character this season and makes the most sense. There is no other way that he could have been introduced in S4, in my opinion. It's subtlety is only for people who care enough to look, but it heavily queercodes him nonetheless. Just because they're small, doesn't mean they are insignificant.

[clementineofmine]

Not Looking for Happy (But Found it Anyway)

I've been writing this series of kinda stand-alone happy-fuzzy (or as close to that as my whumpy heart can get lol) Hargreeves-siblings-returning-to-their-timeline-and-figuring-their-shit-out epilogues for my Same Weird Family post S2 series for a while now and just posted the latest on A03 (hooray).

And, since we all live in the worst-timeline and maybe some of you could use a distraction as much as I could, I thought I'd put the latest chapter of Diego and Five eating breakfast up here on tumbles as well. Enjoy, and stay safe out there my friends...

---------

Diego was making eggs, concentrating on the way the whites bubbled in the cast iron skillet, when he heard soft footsteps approaching the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder, and was mildly surprised to see that the footsteps belonged to Five. 

“Mornin’,” he greeted Five with a nod. Per tacit agreement, Diego pretended not to notice Five pretending not to notice Diego look him up and down, assessing his healing progress. Five had done a surprisingly adequate job of taking it easy over the last few weeks, and to everyone’s surprise he had even (mostly) tolerated Diego’s self-appointed role of charge nurse. 

Though they didn’t talk about it, Five had been in bad shape when they had arrived home. Diego wondered just how much Five remembered of that time, or ever thought about how close he might have been to not making it home at all. Between the abuse of his powers and the further abuse in Reginald’s dungeon, Five had emerged with the constitution and complaints of an old man, despite his previously healthy-ish teenage body. 

But that didn’t mean they had to talk about it. Just like they didn’t talk about how Diego’s broken nose was healing a little crookedly, or that he would carry an additional facial scar as a permanent reminder of his fight with Reginald. 

But today, things seemed to be looking brighter for both of them. Diego was pleased to see Five was standing squarely, if a bit stiffly, and most of the visible bruising had faded to pale shadows on his face and neck.

His assessment done, Diego returned his attention to the egg pan. Just in time too, as Lila didn't like her yolks runny (a preference that Diego thought bordered on the verge of obscene) but didn't like them hard either. 

Diego was pretty sure that she had made up the last preference just to be petty. Eggs should have a nice jiggle, like your ass in a nice pair of pants she had complained the last time he had overcooked them. 

“So what are you making?” Five asked, his tone a too-forced casual.

“Eggs,” Diego answered noncommittally, continuing to survey the eggs’ progress. He had heard from the others that Five was attempting small talk this week, and didn’t want to cut him off, but also wanted to avoid another reaming out from Lila.

“Hm,” Five said, and Diego could hear the frown in his voice. “Luther said you ate your eggs raw.”

“Luther’s a dumbass,” Diego retorted. 

They fell into silence again. 

He wasn't avoiding talking to Five, Diego kept telling himself as he used the spatula to pry up the eggs. 

“That wasn’t a no,” Five pointed out. “So why are you cooking them?”

Diego felt his lips pull up into a small, tight smile, not quite a grimace, but certainly not an expression that reached his eyes. “These are for Lila,” he explained, carefully maneuvering the perfectly cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a ceramic plate. 

“Oh,” Five said. “I see.”

Silence.

Diego felt a pang of guilt, sighed, then took pity on his brother still awkwardly standing in the doorway and waved him towards the table. “Sit down, Five. I'll make you some too. How do you like yours?”

“Not raw,” Five said dryly. 

As he wiped out the pan, Diego turned to Five and raised an eyebrow. “Come on, man. I already get enough shit from Lila.” 

Diego watched Five avoid his eyes, looking around the kitchen as if the answer would be found on one of the glass cabinets. 

“Over easy?” Five finally said. 

The way it was said, Diego was instantly certain that Five had picked a style at random. He felt a pang of frustration but kept his face carefully neutral. “Over easy,” he confirmed. Then, “You sure?”

As the words left his mouth, Diego remembered that Grace had always made scrambled eggs, so it was more than possible that Five had never been asked how he liked his eggs before. 

The way Five's lips suddenly set and his jaw tightened confirmed to Diego that he was right. 

“Look, it's not a big deal,” Diego backtracked. He turned back towards the stove, and added more butter to the pan. “Over easy it is.” 

A sudden jolt of panic hit Diego as he saw the plate of steaming eggs cooling next to the stove. “Hey, Five, you mind taking these up to Lila first?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Five said. 

Once Five departed, Diego shook his head to clear his thoughts. He cracked six eggs into the browning butter in the pan. He looked at them, looked back at the package, frowned, then grabbed four more eggs and added them to the pan. 

Five was healing nicely, Diego mused, mentally checking through the list of Five’s injuries. He was on his way back to normal. But Diego also was very well aware that normal for Five Hargreeves wasn't something that he, anyone really, was familiar with. And would normal even be possible for a fifty-eight year old man stuck in a teenager’s body? Diego became again aware of the anxious knot that hadn’t left the pit of his stomach since they had found Five in Reginald’s basement. He knew he was driving Five, himself, hell everyone, nuts with anxiety. 

But he couldn't stop himself. 

Besides, Five had always driven Diego crazy: as a kid due to his overly competitive nature, and now, as an agent of chaos disrupting their lives. 

Five said it himself, he’s the four freakin’ horsemen, Diego recalled. And he was viscerally aware, more than the others, of the death that had followed in Five’s wake. 

Griddys. Patch. Kennedy. Dad (twice). 

How many countless others? 

Diego felt the knot twist in his stomach. He knew it was wrong, but it was hard not to blame Five for the destruction that they had all experienced. The chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. 

And Diego did feel a tiny bit justified being angry at Five’s antics. The killing sprees. Lying about the killing sprees. Normal people don’t act like that, Diego told himself. But he knew that didn’t justify blaming Five for everything else. 

Diego sighed and jiggled the eggs in the pan. What a fucked up family we are. But not so deep down Diego knew that he loved his fucked up family, and would hold onto them as long as he could. 

Even Five. 

And so Diego was doing what he could to take care of Five. Even though he knew it made him annoying as shit to himself and everyone else. 

Five came back into the kitchen just as Diego’s ruminations and the eggs were done. Diego shook his head to clear it, then divided the copious pile of eggs onto two plates. 

“Lila said ‘keep trying’, then some disgusting stuff that I’m not going to repeat,” Five smirked. 

Diego growled as he maneuvered the plates of eggs onto the table and went to grab forks. 

Five maneuvered himself into one of the chairs at the table. Interestingly, as he sat, Diego saw him lay a small package on the table. But he didn’t say anything about it, so Diego ignored it for now and simply slid a fork and a plate of eggs over to Five. 

“Goddamn it,” Diego muttered, clattering his own plate down on the table and taking a seat. “I've been making that woman eggs for weeks now and….She can make her own damn eggs next time.” Reaching for the salt and pepper shakers, he saw Five frowning at his plate. 

“Something wrong?” Diego asked, pepper shaker in hand. 

When Five ignored him, he kept talking. “Hey, look, Lila’s a limey idiot. These are good eggs.”

Five still said nothing. Diego continued adding his condiments, then shoveled a perfectly cooked egg into his mouth. They were good eggs. 

Five was still sitting motionless, now staring through the plate of eggs more than at it. 

“Something wrong?” Diego asked again, a new sense of unease limiting his enjoyment of the deliciously runny yolk. 

Five looked up, as if finally noticing Diego. He blinked, then shook his head. “No, I—nevermind.” He looked around the room again, as if seeing it for the first time. “Last time I was in here I, uh, used the stove as a bomb. It was—” he picked up his fork and stabbed at an egg. “—more kinetic than I expected.” 

Diego remembered witnessing the explosion from down the block. At the time, it had certainly been one hell of a distraction, and had given the Umbrellas the perfect cover to sneak into the Academy. “Well, we can’t all be perfect,” he scoffed. “Not even you.” 

Five’s face twisted. 

Immediately, Diego regretted the words. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Five’s mouth twitched again, but he said nothing. 

They ate in silence for a minute. “Lila’s wrong,” Five finally proclaimed through the last bite of eggs. 

“Come again?” Diego asked. 

“You do make good eggs.” 

“Uh,” Diego began, trying to hide his surprise. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He couldn't remember the last compliment he had gotten from Five. Hell, he couldn't remember ever getting a compliment from Five. 

Five reached down and slid the small package across the table to “Here. I got, well,” he amended. “I found something for you.”

Diego reached for the package. It was a small object, wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper. He unwrapped it carefully, feeling Five’s eyes watch him the entire time. 

When it was open, Diego placed the object on the table and simply stared at it. Then he looked up and stared at Five quizzically. 

“I thought,” Five began haltingly, “that you’d want to have it. A memento. To remind us that he’s finally gone for good.”

Diego looked down again at Reginald’s monocle. It somehow seemed to be staring back at him, which was creepy, so Diego palmed it, squeezing his hand around the glass and metal. It was cold, colder than Diego would have expected. “Where did you find this?” he demanded. 

Five shrugged and looked embarrassed. “There’s a secret compartment under dads liquor shelf. I saw it in the, uh, Sparrow Timeline. Thought it might be here, too.” 

“I…” Diego picked up the monocle and dangled it from his fingers, frowning at it. “Five, I threw this monocle into the river after Dad died.”

Five blinked, looked uncomfortable for a moment, then shrugged it off. “Reginald probably had a spare.” 

Diego twisted the monocle between his fingers and considered the idea. 

“Either that or we’re in a different timeline.”

At those words, Diego looked up sharply.

“I’m kidding, Diego,” Five said with a hint of a smile. Then, the smile transformed into a concentrated frown. “Well, maybe…the temporal math…hmm, it's not impossible…”

As Five rambled, Diego inspected the monocle. It was still cold, and he thought it was very odd that it hadn’t picked up any body heat from his hand. In fact, Diego realized that he now felt a chill in his fingers, as if something was draining the heat out of them.

On a whim, he put the monocle up to his eye and looked through it.

Immediately the world shifted and Diego’s stomach lurched. He squinted through the glass and panned around the room, frowning at seeing what had just been formerly functional kitchen appliances replaced by broken equipment and debris.

But when he looked up from the monocle, the image was gone.

He turned to Five, intending to interrupt his incoherent monologue to point out what he just saw. Yet the words died on his lips when Diego caught a glimpse of Five through the monocle’s glass. 

Where Five was sitting, Diego saw an old man with weathered cheeks and a scraggly beard. Diego blinked, and the image shifted to that of another stranger, another old man, this one impeccably dressed in a vintage suit. A pistol was expertly laid out on the table in front of him. 

Diego blinked again, and other versions of Five appeared through the monocle:

Five as a young adult, wearing a ripped and ratty version of Dad's hunting outfit, Diego’s own knife harness strapped to his gaunt frame. 

Five, still young and skinny, in a dirtier version of the Academy uniform. 

Then, the scene changed slightly and the uniform was clean, but blood spattered. 

The perspective warped dizzyingly, and suddenly this version of Five stood over Diego clutching an axe, his face contorted into a feral grin. Diego’s felt his heart palpitate as he looked up into Five’s eyes, glinting with madness, staring straight down into his own. 

Diego blinked rapidly, and the monocle responded with more visions. 

Five in suits and rags, his hands clutching weapons, briefcases, or unidentifiable objects. 

Five in a Sparrow Academy uniform, a black eye and a bloody lip complementing the ensemble.

At one point Diego could swear he saw a woman's face, with blond hair and a kind smile. But he blinked again, and the vision was gone.

Diego wasn't sure how long he was captured by the spell of the monocle, blinking through what seemed like an almost infinite number of portraits of Five.

“Diego? Diego?”

Suddenly Diego saw a familiar version of Five: Five as a child again, a young child who wore a frown too old for his face, his eyes pleading with Diego. 

With effort, Diego ripped the monocle away from his eye. For a moment, the world swam, then snapped back into focus.

“Diego?” Five said again, his voice tinged with impatience. “Are you okay?”

Diego stuffed the monocle into his pocket. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “I'm fine. Thanks for the present.” 

Five worked his jaw like he was going to say something, but Diego decided to quickly change the subject. “So, do you want to train sometime?”

The non-sequitur caught Five off guard and he raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, you’re almost healed,” Diego explained. “And I don't know what you did at the Commission…and I know you’re probably not at your peak, but…” he trailed off. “Look if I were you I'd be itching to get back in the gym,” Diego admitted. “And I started boxing again so…”

“Diego, are you asking me to fight you?” Five asked, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

Diego rolled his eyes. “I mean you don't have to spar with me or anything. Luther used to, but it's fine there's plenty of people at the gym. For someone of your age—”

The words dried up in Diego’s mouth as his memory superimposed the older versions of Five in his vision. Diego instinctively felt the monocle in his pocket. He could feel the coolness even through the cloth. “There's older…I mean younger…” Diego threw up his hands in frustration. “Fuck, I don't know how damn old you're supposed to be, Five!”

Five’s raised eyebrow went even higher, and the corner of his mouth twisted into wry amusement. He seemed to be relishing Diego's discomfort. He held the beat for a moment, then turned serious. “Sparring with you would be fine, Diego. I think….I think I'd enjoy that,” Five admitted. 

Before Diego could say anything, he continued. “I mean, as long as you don't mind your friends watching you get your ass handed to you by someone who looks like…” Five trailed off and gestured to his body. 

“Oh, I don't mind,” Diego said, leaning over the table and looking Five in the eye. He flashed him a ruthless smile. “Because, you see, that is never going to happen.”

Five stared back at him. For a moment, Diego could have sworn he saw that glint of madness flash in his eyes, and his adrenaline spiked.

But just as quickly the moment was gone, and only his brother remained. Five flashed Diego a wide, sardonic smile. “Challenge accepted.”

[laswells-ashtray]

How much Alerudy freak content do ypu have to give? The community is lacking. /np

Apologies, I've been meaning to respond to this and since you sent me this I've responded to other freak AlreRudy asks. I'm not gonna write a whole story but I am gonna explain more of their freaky behaviour.

Alejandro is weird about spit. He doesn't like getting spit on, in fact, that enrages him but when Rudy has him face down on the bed, working him open with two fingers and spits in his hole? With how close he already is, it damn near sends him over the finish line. It's degrading, it's humiliating and it almost makes him cum. Like most things Alejandro enjoys.

Rudy likes nibbling at Alejandro's ear lobes. Scraping his teeth over them, biting and sucking at them. He's weird about ears, we all have our things. But the sensation of having someone suck at his earlobes is wild for Alejandro, it's a confusing sensation at first. It sends a shiver down his spine and then Rudy scrapes his teeth over the soft flesh, barely allowing him time to adjust to the sensation before throwing him headfirst into another and it starts to feel really good.

Will sit with Rudy's knees bracketing his hips, one of the sergeant-majors hands cradling the back of his head as Rudy nips and sucks at his ears whilst the other hand palms at Alejandro over his boxers. Rudy can get off on just lazily grinding against him as they do this.

They sniff each other like bloodhounds, especially after the gym. Alejandro will lick all over Rudy's neck, doesn't care if he's damp with sweat that only encourages him. Something about Rodolfo under those lights, lighting weights when his tank is soaked with sweat and there's nothing but pure focus on the other man's face. Makes Alejandro wants to pin him down and lick his face.

I've said before that Rudy likes pain, he likes burning, searing pain right before he cums just to send him over the edge. He needs his vision to white out, ears ringing as his chest heaves and hips gradually still. Alejandro is more than happy to oblige because they've researched the best places to burn someone and how to heal it without potential infection. They've been doing it for a while, they know what they're doing.

But this just leads to cigarettes becoming a major part of their sex life and much to Rudy's displeasure, he struggles to watch Alejandro smoke outside of the bedroom without walking away with a hard-on. He's so used to watching his colonel lean back with a cigarette between his lips, one hand squeezing Rodolfo's hip as he gets the ride of his fucking life. When he sees Alejandro smoking in a normal setting? He thumbs over his clothes where he knows the old, circular scars reside on his body and tries to adjust himself in his pants without anybody noticing.

[gyaruhana]

Hai since you aren't taking actual fic requests right now and only headcanons I wanted to ask if you also do those rankings? If you haven't seen basically people ask a question like 'who would be the biggest gentleman in a relationship' and the person who asks either gives a few characters for the writer to rank and write a few sentences or let the writer choose which characters they think fit best

But yeah I've basically have been seeing this a lot recently and had to think of you and your blog because I think I'd be something nice and short to write when you don't wanna do hc's/fic's and could help with potential writers block !

And if you plan on doing that then here would be your first ranking request !! :3

So out of Thanos, gwi-nam and niragi who would be the most freaky and rough in bed?

(btw I know this is long and I hope this wasn't a bother to you, I just ramble a lot about things I'm interested in and I just love your blog and everything you've written so far and I hope you continue <33)

im in love with this ranking system thingy uhm oh em gee ?!?!?!?!

i will absolutely be ranking now it's such a cute concept😭😭

below is my personal ranking.. (also thank you for liking my writing it always makes me so nervous when people compliment me..)

No.3: Choi Su-Bong/Thanos (Squid Game)

Thanos is rough, yes. He likes choking you, he likes making you cry - not to mention he really enjoys edging you for as long as possible to watch your face contort in slight pain as you beg him to let you cum.

However, I'd argue he's not entirely the type to force you into anything if it makes you super uncomfortable. The only exception for this is when he's high and not really mentally present but most of the time he doesn't push you too far over the limit.

Of course, don't mistake this for me saying he's not rough! He totally is. But, compared to the others I'm ranking, he's def less extreme..

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No.2: Yoon Gwi-Nam (All Of Us Are Dead)

This is pretty self-explanatory.. we've seen plenty of scenes with him and he does NOT play.

Again, he also likes seeing you cry and choking you and blah blah blah but he's more freaky than Thanos which is why he's number two on my ranking.

He's ONLY degrading. There's nothing nice about this man. Maybe he would've pretended to be a little nice but he drops all that when he's fucking you honestly.

However, he's still only no.2 because while, yes, he isn't above being violent toward you and man handling you - he's not quite as bad as who i put as no.1

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No.1: Suguru Niragi (Alice In Borderland)

No.1 for a reason.

He's the roughest and the freakiest best believe it !! He really doesn't bother playing nice whatsoever. If he sees you and he likes you, he'll just claim you without a care in the world.

Just really kinky in my opinion!!

prolly into gun play, knife play - anything incredibly violent sorry not sorry. I mean.. we all know the typa guy he is so..

i'd argue he views you ENTIRELY as a doll for his pleasure. Not anything more honestly.

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CONCLUSION: First time ranking and I may have made it a little fancy set up bc i got excited at this concept..

But, yes - Niragi is No.1 on this list. I feel like he's just a real kinky and rough asshole. Although, I do totally see Gwinam being similar to Niragi in the future when he reaches PEAK dickhead-ness.

My king Thanos is only No.3 bc he's not totally mean at heart i feel.. he's just really rough when he's high but I don't think he'd be the same level of rough as Gwinam and Niragi.

anyway, hope my ranking was good !!

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(thank you sm for this idea i need more holy moly..)