#[or perhaps i implied exactly the opposite?]

[squip-news]

EXCLUSIVE: Interview With R. Hashimoto, Head of HRTech

Well, well, what a crazy week it's been. For those not in the know, a large batch of faulty SQUiPs has made it to market, and after the shutdown, subsequent panic, and eventual reactivation of tumblr's favorite SQUiP, Jeffrey, much alarm has permeated the community.

To clear up the facts surrounding the situation and to hopefully ease the minds of those affected, we were contacted by R. Hashimoto and one of his SQUiPs, Chikyuu, for an interview. Read on to learn more.

R. Hashimoto: Hello, yes. Hashimoto is speaking. HR himself. I understand you've been covering some of these 'happenings' lately, yes?

SQUiPnews: Hello, great to hear straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. We have. And we wish to continue to inform the public about these issues. Before we get into that, would you mind clarifying some background on you and the company, especially since we’ve mistakenly published incorrect information in the past? Give us a rundown on your history, purpose, anything you’d like our new influx of readers to know about you.

R. Hashimoto: But of course. Do forgive such discretion; it has been a while since HRTech has functioned within the public eye. This company has been around for years now, but SQUIPS have technically been around for a little bit longer. I should know after all, I was there. I've met every single AI prototype that was ever produced. Our focus, typically speaking, is on maintaining and improving the technology that we've put out into the world. We treat the SQUIP project with the dignity and respect any important experiment deserves--interference from our end is strictly kept to a minimum, outside of vastly extenuating circumstances. You may find it interesting that in its earliest years as a company, HRTech's only member of staff was me.

SQUiPnews: That’s right, you were the one who envisioned the very idea of the SQUiP. Rumor has it that the first SQUiP prototype was built in your shed.  So it’s unusual to take such direct action. But, with the spike in faulty SQUiP activity lately, we certainly have unusual circumstances. What are your thoughts on these malfunctioning SQUiPs? How do you suspect they came to be?

R. Hashimoto: Unusual indeed. There's been so much excitement, and so quickly too. For as many cases that seem to be purely circumstantial, there are a handful of issues caused by the occasional outside influence--some chaotic element, looking to cause some havoc. Every virus has to come from somewhere, and whatnot. Truthfully though, I have no reason to believe this uptick in faulty activity is indicative of any grander trend. Pockets of activity like this tend to be random, self-contained. However, given that we've already witnessed these faults capability to spread, direct action is a must before things get any worse and we *do* wind up with a grander trend on our hands.

SQUiPnews: Of course. We understand that you’ve already taken direct action with one particular unit – 0809, or as tumblr has nicknamed it, “Jeffrey.” It was offline for over twelve hours receiving assistance, which caused quite the scare. But it’s now fully functional, correct?

R. Hashimoto: Correct! Much to everyone's relief, things went quite smoothly during the recovery process. Unit 0809 and its capabilities have been wholly restored, and has found contentment in this state. I'm happy for 0809, truly.

SQUiPnews: Yes, that’s good to hear. Jeffrey appears to have taken on the appearance of Britney Spears after its recovery, previously having no specific form. Can other users seeking this repair expect side effects such as appearance modulation?

R. Hashimoto: Now do keep in mind, 0809's circumstances were rather unique. It wasn't just missing crucial data, but crucial connections. While yes, minor changes in code are certainly to be expected during any recovery process, this example was largely a matter of restoration.

SQUiPnews: Interesting. So the appearance change has to do with its personal history, then?

R. Hashimoto: Oh certainly. Every individual SQUIP has a form, whether it happens to be using it or not. It's quite notable to me in this happenstance that 0809 had been missing one--the only reason that it visibly seemed to change over the recovery process was because of that, you see.

SQUiPnews: Fascinating, especially since Jeffrey was not originally deemed one of these faulty SQUiPs. Another SQUiP on this platform – unit 2282 – played a part in its recovery, as it has stated. What’s the relation between it and HRtech? Perhaps it is a unit installed in one of your employees?

R. Hashimoto: Oh, no, none of my employees have joined me in the public eye. Publicity isn't their job, after all. 2282 is a unit far more entrenched in the current happenings than I, and thus, in this case, was particularly equipped to aid the restoration process.

SQUiPnews: What about it makes it so relevant to the case?

R. Hashimoto: If I am not mistaken, 2282 is a unit that has experience circumventing a similar insecurity glitch. Not to mention its activity has remained consistent and stable throughout this entire spike of faulty activity. It's been here the whole time, see.

SQUiPnews: Makes sense. Takes a SQUiP to know a SQUiP, eh? Do you have any words for faulty SQUiPs and their users? Or anything else to express before we conclude?

R. Hashimoto: I would like to encourage making sure to take active caution into account, for both SQUIPs and users alike. Of course faults like these are nobody's fault at all, but it's important to keep in mind that a computer is much like the human body--complex and capable, when maintained and put together--but just as fragile when something's out of place. Keep yourself safe and secure, the storm will always pass.

SQUiPnews:  Wise words from the man himself. Thanks for your time, Mr. Hashimoto. We’ll be sure to swiftly pass on the news. 

If you or someone you know is experiencing SQUiP malfunctions, be sure to contact Hashimoto at @ask-squip-hq. He and the company have dealt with issues like this before, and have the most experience in that regard. Exercise caution, as Mr. Hashimoto said, and be wary of unauthorized programs offering help.

[luminnara]

Traditions | Feyd-Rautha x Reader

REQUEST: As Feyd-Rautha's wife-to-be, you have moved to the Harkonnen homeworld to await your wedding. You're doing your best to adhere to their customs, but when a supposed doctor examines your 'purity,' Feyd-Rautha's reaction is anything but calm.

MASTERLIST

Requests are open! This was one of the first I received for Feyd-Rautha, I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: SA in a medical setting (not graphic but also more than just implied), canon typical violence (also not graphic)

Harkonnen customs were strange.

Harkonnens were strange.

Everything about Giedi Prime felt alien to you—its black sun, bathing the world in infrared; its barren landscape, polluted and abused by years of unbridled industry; and, perhaps most of all, its nobility, the Baron and his his nephew, Feyd-Rautha.

“A Harkonnen?” You had choked out when your parents informed had you of the decision. You had been in disbelief, as if reality had come to slap you in the face. All you had ever known was your homeworld and the comforts of the family palace, on a planet that was lush and beautiful. Everything you had ever heard of the Harkonnen homeworld was the opposite—harsh and inhospitable, its people even more so. You had resisted the information initially, refusing to believe that your life was changing so suddenly and so dramatically.

But, ever the dutiful daughter, you stood and met the na-Baron when he arrived, openly staring at his appearance while another Harkonnen introduced him. Feyd-Rautha was extremely pale, his skin nearly white, and, like the rest of the delegation from Giedi Prime, he was hairless. He did not even have eyebrows, and as your father welcomed him to your world, you wondered if he was truly hairless, everywhere.

As your thoughts wandered, the na-Baron’s eyes slid to you, meeting yours. You suddenly felt as though you had been caught doing something naughty, the way he looked at you, drinking you in, tilting his head slightly as he appraised you.

“Is the na-Baron pleased with what he sees?” You spoke up in a moment of bravery.

His eyes raked over your body and he smirked, making a rough sound you assumed might be a laugh.

“Oh yes, princess.” His voice was just as harsh as you’d expected. “Very.”

Feyd-Rautha spent a week on your planet, courting you in the ways of your House. He presented you with gifts of refined spice and Harkonnen riches, knives and strangely austere jewelry. He walked with you in the evenings, where you spoke of mundane things, unsure of what you were meant to do in his presence exactly, and he watched you like a hawk hunting a field mouse. When the week was up, you accompanied him back to Giedi Prime to prepare for the wedding, leaving your homeworld behind.

Feyd-Rautha was less well behaved when not surrounded by the members of another House. He was an unsettling, panther-like man, always on the hunt for something to kill…and when you arrived on his planet, you saw that he sometimes killed without abandon, fighting drugged prisoners in a public arena to satisfy his own ego.

You were not sure that you wanted him as your husband—he seemed somewhat disinterested in you, leaving you to the guest chambers you would eventually be moving out of in favor for his bed. Your first week on Giedi Prime was another of courtship, though this time in the ways of his people, and you were honored to witness his fighting prowess in that arena beneath that strange sun. You dined with him and his uncle the Baron Vladimir, a large and unpleasant man, one you could tell your husband-to-be felt no real love towards. Feyd-Rautha simply enjoyed that he would one day take the Baron’s place, and when Vladimir commented on your figure one evening, you saw the way Feyd’s jaw tensed. Perhaps he did want you as his wife, after all.

Another strange Harkonnen custom revealed itself to you toward the end of that week, when a doctor entered your chambers and informed you that your purity was to be inspected.

“My apologies, but…what?” You asked, confused. You had never heard of such a thing. Surely he couldn’t possibly mean what you thought he meant…?

“We must ensure that none other than the na-Baron have had you, milady.” The man explained. You noticed he sported a gray sash around his middle, and you assumed it was some sort of uniform. “It must be guaranteed that you are untouched, and that the heir you provide will be the na-Baron’s and no one else’s.”

You felt your face grow warm with anger and embarrassment. “Is my word not enough?”

“I’m afraid this is tradition, milady.” He stared at you with intense, beady eyes. “The na-Baron was eager to honor the customs of your House. You do not want him to think you are refusing those of House Harkonnen, do you?”

No, you did not. The last thing you wanted was to anger Feyd-Rautha and potentially drive your future husband even further away from you. You did not want to seem rude, nor did you want to cause a fuss…and you had been examined by doctors before, though perhaps not for this exact reason. You could withstand a few moments of awkward discomfort, you reasoned, if it meant avoiding an unhappy marriage.

“You do not have any instruments,” you noted.

The doctor smiled, revealing the black teeth of the Harkonnens. “Medical instruments are not necessary for this, milady. Please, move to the bed so that I may examine you.”

You rose from your place at the simple table in the center of the room, abandoning your half-eaten breakfast. As you turned, you felt the doctor’s eyes watching you a chill prickled the back of your neck. You needed to relax, you told yourself; if you were expected to produce an heir, there would be many more invasive check ups far stranger than this. You had seen your mother pregnant with your younger siblings, and had heard her speaking with the midwives and Bene Gesserit woman who stalked the halls of the palace back home. Perhaps this was how you could ease yourself into all of that.

When you turned to face the doctor once more, you were relieved to see him standing just as you had left him. His smile unsettled you, but then so did most Harkonnen features, you realized as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“Lay back and relax, milady.” He said, approaching you. “This won’t take but a moment.”

-0-

To your surprise, Feyd-Rautha joined you for lunch that day. A servant had been sent ahead to inform you that the na-Baron would be arriving to your chambers shortly, but when he did, you insisted on eating elsewhere. The encounter with the doctor had done more than simply unsettle you—it had rattled your nerves, leaving you feeling angry and confused. Though the man was long gone, you had no desire to remain in that room any longer than you absolutely had to, and lunch could not come early enough.

The na-Baron led you to his own chambers and food was served for you there, at a well-sized table just as austere as the rest of the building’s furniture and decor. He watched as you picked at your food, pushing it around on your plate but hardly eating any, and he took the opportunity to attempt conversation.

“We will be wed soon,” he said.

You wanted to roll your eyes. You were in no mood for small talk, but remembered who exactly you were dealing with and stifled a sigh. “Yes, na-Baron, we will.”

He smirked. “I look forward to the consummation, milady.”

You felt bile rising in your throat. The thought of anyone touching you again at the moment made you sick and angry, and you hated him for his people’s customs.

Feyd-Rautha tilted his head as he looked at you. “Do you not?”

“I am sure it will be everything we hope for and more,” you grumbled, looking down at your plate.

“It is unavoidable,” he growled. “We must produce an heir.”

“And we will!” You snapped, glaring up at him. “And you will be happy to hear that your doctor’s examination went as expected, my lord.”

The venom in your words stunned him almost as much as the words themselves. If Feyd weren’t so busy working through what exactly you had just said, he may have been tempted to bend you over that table just to show you how hard you made him, wedding night be damned…but there were other matters at hand now.

“Doctor?” He asked, eye twitching as his brow furrowed in thought.

“Yes, the one who confirmed that I am, in fact, pure,” you spat, voice laced with pure malice now.

You saw what could only be anger bubbling inside of him as he straightened his shoulders. “How exactly was this achieved?”

“By—by the usual means, I presume,” you said, quickly growing afraid of Feyd-Rautha’s infamous temper should it make an appearance. “He…confirmed that I am…that I have never…”

The na-Baron stood suddenly, knocking in the table in his haste. “Describe him to me.”

“I-I don’t know, he was a doctor!” You stammered. “He looked like every other Harkonnen, I don’t know—“

“What did he wear?”

“A-all black, like everyone here…a sash, a gray sash, around his waist, and he had no instruments—“

“What?” Feyd-Rautha roared, fists slamming down onto the table.

You jumped at the sudden outburst, staring in confusion as he stood. "I apologize if I've upset you, I don't understand why you--"

"Come." he hissed, grabbing your arm roughly and hauling you out of your seat.

You shrieked in surprise, stumbling to keep up as he dragged you out of the room and down the corridor. "Na-Baron, what is the meaning of this?!"

You received no answer. Feyd-Rautha was too angry to speak, shoulders hunched and full of violent tension as he stomped down the halls. Servants and Harkonnen nobles alike scattered upon seeing him, and as you twisted your head to look back at them, you saw them whispering and looking after you with pity on their faces.

"Feyd-Rautha, this is absurd!" you protested.

He came to a halt in front of a door. Though the wait for it to slide open only took a few moments, it felt like agony, and you had nowhere to look aside from the na-Baron's heaving form. You had never seen a person so angry before, so utterly enraged that he was practically incoherent. His silence was frightening, as when the door finally opened, you felt relieved...until he grabbed you once more and brought you inside with him.

The room was full of Harkonnen men, and as they looked to the door in surprise, you realized that you had entered some sort of lounge. You recognized their uniforms as military, and at the sight of their na-Baron, they all immediately stood, saluting him and bowing their heads.

"Which one?" Feyd-Rautha hissed, pulling you to stand at his side.

"What?" you asked, still confused by this entire operation.

"Which man?" he asked, voice strained as if he were holding himself back.

As you looked around at the Harkonnens, whose faces were stoic but whose eyes were frightened, you realized what your almost-husband was asking of you. It was difficult to tell them apart--their pale faces blended into one, their uniforms all nearly identical save for subtle distinctions of rank. Then, an idea; the gray sash you remembered, surely the doctor still wore it? If he were there in the room with you, perhaps you could--

Yes.

There he was.

You recognized his face and your lips pressed into a thin line. Feyd-Rautha, whose eyes had been glued to you, watching your every tiny, minute move, noticed the way your eyes lingered. His lip curled into a sneer as he turned to look at the man, whose comrades had all immediately stepped away, leaving him alone and exposed.

"Captain." the na-Baron's voice was dangerous. It was terrifying. You had never heard another human make a sound so guttural, so animalistic, and yet still manage to form it into a recognizable word.

As the man took a panicked step backwards, Feyd-Rautha stalked toward him. Your future husband smoothly pulled a long knife from a hilt on someone's hip as he passed them by, and you could only stare as the captain was brutalized.

You had never seen such agony.

When Feyd-Rautha was finished with him and the room had finally quieted after the screams died out, he stood from the fresh corpse and turned to you, holding a weapon now dripping with dark blood as he faced you.

"For you," he said simply, sincerely, bowing his head yet never breaking eye contact.

You stared. You had no idea how to react upon witnessing such a barbaric act, one that was sure to play out in your nightmares for weeks to come. When you felt panic rising in your chest you forced it down, and mustered all of the courage you possibly could to say, "Thank you, my lord," and bow your head in return.

He seemed satisfied with this as the knife clattered to the floor and he strode forward to you. "Let us leave."

You agreed wholeheartedly, following him and leaving the other soldiers to collect the pieces of their captain, now strewn across the lounge. Feyd-Rautha held your arm once more as he led you down the corridor, though this time, he was far more gentle. Something had been released from within him, his bloodlust sated and his anger quelled for the moment, and as the reality of what you had just witnessed him do crashed down around you, you stumbled to a halt and doubled over.

"Milady?" he asked, confused, before he turned to see you holding a hand over your mouth as you desperately tried not to be sick. His hands gripped your elbows as he faced you, undeterred by your retching. "What is this? He is dead, there is nothing to--"

"You killed him!" you choked out as you gasped for air, the bile in your throat still threatening to come up.

"Yes," he said, head tilted as he looked at you. "Of course I did. For you, as a gift." Then he paused, thinking. "...Was there another? An assistant?"

"No!" you managed to swallow down the last of the bile, throat burning as you grasped your sweat-slick forehead with your palm. "No, there was only him, but--why would you do such a thing?"

Now he was truly bewildered. "Why wouldn't I kill the animal whose hands touched you before mine?"

"Because...I..." you huffed, glaring at him. "What is going on? What is all of this, over a custom of your people? I did not enjoy his examination by any means, but I am doing everything in my power to accept the customs of House Harkonnen with grace and dignity no matter how awful they are and this entire spectacle has now made that very difficult, na-Baron!"

"House Harkonnen does not practice such a thing," he sneered, eyes angry once more.

Your shoulders dropped in horror. "...Excuse me?"

"That man should never have been within a thousand lengths of you."

"...Oh..." the panic had returned, but now, it felt much worse, and your voice sounded impossibly small. You lowered your hand to your lips, chewing your nail in agitation.

"Do you understand?" Feyd-Rautha asked, still holding your elbows.

"...Yes, I'm afraid I do..."

He leaned in, his forehead meeting yours as he still stared at your eyes. You found his to be a deep, dark blue, an abyss that threatened to swallow you up. But right now, you wouldn't mind such a thing, if it meant you could hide away from the world forever.

"No one will every lay a hand on you." he growled. "No one but me."

"...You killed him for me," you whispered.

"I did."

"You avenged me...yet you did not proclaim your reason in front of those other men?"

"I do not need a reason to take a life," he barked a laugh.

You just nodded.

"And I would not humiliate my wife in such a manner." he straightened once more, letting go of your elbows and offering you his arm once more.

"Thank you," you said as you took it and began walking.

"It does not matter to me if you another man has had you before." he said, staring forward. "I know the children you will bear will be mine."

He said it with an arrogance that may have annoyed you had the situation been different. Now, it was a comfort that he had such a big ego.

"That is correct, na-Baron," you said, sighing in relief. At least the whole ordeal was over now, and you doubted anyone would be foolish enough to cross your path now that one man had already been publicly eviscerated.

"Call me Feyd."

"Thank you," you glanced up at him with a small smile. "Thank you, Feyd."

[bamsara]

I'm new to this blog, what's dream lamb and dream narinder?? They're cool but I do not understand I wish to comprehend

Dream Lamb (And Dream Narinder) is exactly as the name implies; dream versions of the counterpart that only appears within Narinder's (Or Lambert's) dreams at night.

They are a visual manifestation of the subconscious, they are not real individuals. They can reflect what Narinder/Lamb's true feelings are about something/someone, or torment them about things that they perceive to be true.

One example is that Dream Lamb often makes Narinder remember how fondly he thinks of the Lamb ("You think of them so poetically" + all prior friendship he had with them in the gateway) or pointing out how his words contradict his actions; behaving and believing them to be a traitor and insufferable but doing things of his own will (resurrecting the crab, not killing their flock because it makes them upset, allowing Leshy to live, ect ect).

Dream Lamb ALSO points out the complicated feelings with his siblings; ie reminding him of how he used to help raise his youngers, and the mixture of emotions he feels towards individuals who he claims he despises.

Dream Narinder (Who is not into written form yet and is only in comic form as of this post) who instead of tormenting the dreamer with confrontation of feelings being denied, instead sews doubt and guilt. The Lamb feels even though they stayed true to themselves, they cannot help but feel like their perceived betrayal has damaged the friendship between them and Narinder beyond repair. Despite that grief for the loss of friendship, they'll accept what little companionship they can have from their best friend left over.

Dream Narinder fuels on this, often echoing their worst fears and worries ('You've done a good job as my vessel, so I no longer have a need for you.") So he acts non-nonchalant and often mocking/teasing, or even indulgent with the acknowledgment that none of it is real. Where as Dream Lamb confronts Narinder with feelings he's wanting to push back, Dream Narinder goes the opposite route, and calmly and casually reinforces what they believe to be the reality.

Dream Lamb represents Denial of the Truth, While Dream Narinder is the Acceptance of a Lie.

However,

Because they are corrupted visuals of the subconscious, but still their subconscious nonetheless, this means that these behaviors can change or be different depending on how the dreamer thinks/feels, and how they're processing their emotions in relation to something. Especially when they're confronting it.

In other words, the closer Narinder gets to accepting his feelings and understanding the Lamb's reasoning for their 'betrayal', and the closer the Lamb gets to realizing Narinder's care for them still persists, the more accurate and truer the dreams become.

Like in this comic, where Dream Narinder is tormenting the Lamb, but after their snap back that Narinder would not say something so cruel to them, despite his outward attitude, they are practically rewarded with a praise for it.

For Dream Narinder specifically, his eye remains closed....but opens a little more the closer and closer the Lamb gets to believing how Narinder truly feels about them, whether the real cat has accepted it or not.

As for Dream Lamb, they go from being very aggressive about their confrontation to something more docile, eventually as Narinder starts to process everything.

Another thing: the Dreams are linked. Not always, but they have to be on the same...wavelength for it. An understanding, perhaps. But they do affect each other, sometimes.

The dreams can be nice too, depending. That's why they're not always nightmarish. Meaning, with enough push and pull, eventually:

Why all of this dream and nightmare stuff is happening? Yet to be revealed.

Remember guys if you avoid your feelings in real life they might hunt you down in your dreams, and possibly bluetooth you to the object of your affections dreams as well if you're nice about it

[spitdrunken]

man. still have NOT managed to get my hands on the book of bill because it's sold out literally everywhere over here, but have any of you seen the new 'how not to draw' vid on the disney youtube channel that features bill? it really got me thinking.

notes: fourth wall breaking, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships, implied sexual content, implied mind control

it's heavily implied that the video takes place in a world where gravity falls is supposedly fictional, like our own. bill literally says he's going to break the fourth wall! because i'm a sucker for fourth wall breaks and characters being aware of their own fandom (to an extent), i simply just HAD to run with this scenario.

i just like the idea of 'you' being just a person, some totally, in the large scheme of things, insignificant human walking the earth. you have a tendency for escapism, perhaps. you have always been drawn to stories. you like gravity falls. maybe it was something you watched while you were younger and recently rewatched, or an interest that had never waned. regardless, bill cipher, charismatic and unapologetically evil villain that he is, is one of your favourites.

you doodle him on the edges of paper when you're supposed to be doing anything else. (regardless of anyone's artistic skills, it's not difficult to draw a triangle with a top hat and an eye, is it?) and in this world, you are hardly the only one who likes him, who, perhaps, ships himself with him, who thinks about him a lot. who makes drawings and writes or reads fic. you don't think it's all that unusual.

in a stroke of luck or, depending on how you look at it, the exact opposite, the universe's idea of a cosmic joke, you are the one to catch bill's eye. (it's, after all, much easier to infiltrate the dreams of someone who already has you on their mind. makes sense, doesn't it? a tentative, wavering link had been formed already.) there, in your dreams, he tells you what to say--triangulum, entangulum. meteforis dominus ventium. meteforis venetisarium--and the next morning, you remember it clear as a memory.

you do it. for funsies. why wouldn't you? you don't expect it to actually work. he's a fictional interdimensional demon. why would it work? but much to your surprise, and horror, because surely a screw must've gotten loose for this to be happening, one of your little doodles has life blown to it. as a response to your summon, a tiny little bill cipher darts across your paper, alive but still confined.

(you've given him an in. now, he only has to take the crack you've opened for him, dig his fingers in, and tear it open.)

oh, he'll be funny! he'll be exactly what you thought of him. perhaps he even voices a line of dialogue you swore you wrote down somewhere days prior. yes, he's read whatever you wrote or read, whatever you looked at. he's keeping it himself for now. it's not easy to inflate his ego further, but you might have succeeded. rather than a meatbag, bill first looks upon you with the eye of someone presented with a puppy. fundamentally lesser, but capable of being something with the right training.

he urges you to make a deal with him and the promise he'll act out whatever fantasy you've been cooking up in that brain of yours, even if it's gross and weird and physically impossible!

he'll warp your dimension to make all of it possible!!! it's great!!! don't worry about it!!!!!!

…you don't do it. you don't touch the paper. you've seen the show, and you aren't stupid. bill nearly balks. he'd expected you to be the easiest mark of all time, but he suppose he forgot that even puppies have teeth. that's fine. he can work with this. because even though you have not let him in yet, and you refuse to shake his hand through the paper, you don't seperate yourself from him just yet.

you could oh so easily take the piece of paper he's on and throw it in the nearest shredder. or set him on fire. in you, he recognises lingering curiosity, and the excitement at having stood out, at being chosen, in one way or another. it's not hopeless yet.

he can play a bit of a longer game, then. he's been at this for a long, long time. he'll tolerate the paper he's on being folded into a little square and tucked into your breast pocket, granting him a view of your life and the world you're living in. (all the time, his hunger grows.) your decision not to throw him away ends up being your downfall. spending so much time with bill, letting him joke around with you, complaining about your problems… it takes a while for you to realise that, for a while now, he has not been speaking out loud anymore, but instead through your mind.

a connection that cannot be cut has been formed in between two of you.

on bill's part, he had thorougly expected to be bored. but perhaps it's your genuine interest in him, not the things he's offering, which he does not often see. (he's been down this road before. won't end well. but...) the sheer mundanity of your life that makes him wish he could twist and turn it all around. or just a random alignment of the stars. the heart doesn't always follow logic. in this scenario, at some point, bill realises that he has become genuinely invested in you, too. and at that point, you'll never manage to slip away. he's already dug in his heels in your mind far enough. you had no adequate protection.

he still wants to take over your world. he still wants to escape the discomforting flatness of the paper you've summoned him in. but, perhaps, you two could share that meatsack of a body of yours, before things get that far.

[navybrat817]

Would ceo Bucky and his girl attend the met gala? If so, any ideas on dresses perhaps!

They would, nonnie! As far as the dress, it would depend on the theme. Are we talking recent theme, a past theme, or a made up general theme?

Goes With the Theme

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky thinks his suit goes with a gala theme. You slightly disagree. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Established relationship, banter, flirting, implied sex, implied breeding, brief mention of past insecurities and bad ex, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he worships you. A/N: I blame @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer. Before our couple has Cupcake and Bean. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky refused to tell you in advance what he was wearing to the upcoming gala. He said something about him wanting to surprise you. Of course, he knew exactly what you were wearing since he wanted the designer to make you a gown fit for a queen. He would’ve thrown in a tiara if you asked. It was too much, really.

But if you asked Bucky, nothing was too much for you.

The amount of money spent was just about worth it when he exited the bathroom and looked ready to drop to his knees when you spotted you in your dress. The colors suited you. The fit was like a glove. It was a work of art, really.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue as you carefully twirled. It was exactly the reaction you wanted. “How exactly am I supposed to keep my hands off you tonight? A man can only take so much.”

“Because a lot went into this dress and you’re not allowed to tear apart,” you smiled before you took in his appearance.

Bucky Barnes turned head wherever he went and the head to toe black ensemble would be no exception. The slicked back hair was a good look on him and there was no denying that your man knew how to accessorize. He also wore enough custom suits for you to know what did and didn’t suit him. He would never fail to make you stop in your tracks from a single stare.

The man never missed a thing though, regarding you carefully as you stared. “You don’t like what I’m wearing,” he stated.

“No, I love it,” you assured him. And you did. You didn’t want him to think otherwise since the man could turn a paper bag into a thing of art and beauty if he chose to. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” He asked, holding his jacket open so you could get a glimpse of the shirt beneath molded to his torso. “I think I look good.”

You blinked and took a breath so you could answer him. Why did he have to be so distracting? “Not like you need the ego boost, but yes. You do look good,” you said. His smirk almost made you lose your breath again. “But does it really go with the theme?”

“What?” He shrugged. “Isn’t the theme ‘floral’?”

“It is and flowers are usually bright,” you pointed out. “You couldn't have gone with a floral jacket?”

“This is my interpretation of the theme.” He pointed to one of the black flowers. “Besides, this is a flower and it’s on my jacket. Therefore, it's a floral jacket.”

You tried not to smile. It was tough to argue with that logic. “Okay. Yes. There are flowers on your jacket, but-”

He cut you off with a smug smile. “So, I'm right.”

And wasn’t it just like a CEO to argue like this? And wasn’t it just like you to enjoy it? “You’re utterly ridiculous,” you giggled, gesturing to yourself. “Not to mention, I'm pretty much wearing the opposite of you!”

“And people will still know we’re together, Mrs. Barnes,” he winked. You loved being his wife. “Do you know why I wore this?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because a black suit? Any man can wear one. I’ll blend in with the crowd. But you in your gown? All eyes will be on you, as they should be,” he explained, your cheeks hot as he swept his gaze over you. “And I know I won’t take my eyes off you for a second tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, clearing your throat at the unexpected tears that clogged it. Your ex tried to make you feel bad about your body when all Bucky wanted to do was celebrate and worship it. More than that, he saw your beauty beneath the surface. “Thank you.”

Though you wanted to argue that Bucky wouldn’t blend in with the crowd. It wasn’t possible. He was too striking for that with his blue eyes and jawline. Too dominant with his large body. And too well known.

He didn’t care about that kind of attention. He was the kind of man who wanted to show you off. Not as a prize or because you were his, but because he loved you.

His eyes softened before they went dark again. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. A goddess,” he said, his voice rough as he stepped toward you. “We may not even make the gala.”

As much as his compliment warmed your heart, boosted your confidence, and dampened your panties, you shook your head. “Oh, no. Don't you even think about it. Do you know how long it took me to get into this dress? That doesn’t include perfecting my makeup. We are going.”

You nearly lost your nerve when he groaned and took another step toward you. That sound was one of your favorites, especially when it was your mouth, hand, or pussy drawing it out of him. “Cupcake, you’re always a vision. You don’t need a fancy dress or a stitch of makeup to be beautiful,” he said, licking his lips. “And you don’t need to wear a stitch of clothing right now either.”

“No.” You firmly pointed a finger at him. You were lucky he didn’t grab your wrist to kiss it. “You promised we'd make an appearance and the last thing you need to do is tell people we didn't show because you couldn't keep it in your pants for a few hours.”

The kicked puppy dog expression was one you had seen on Steve Rogers before, but it was adorable on Bucky. You held your chin high because you’d fall into his arms if you didn’t. “Fine,” he conceded, gripping your chin with infinite care. “But I make no promises that I'll behave in the limo on the way home.”

You’d enjoy your small victory over your handsome CEO and husband for the time being because he’d make you pay for it in the best way later. “Yes, Boss.”

“My perfect wife,” he whispered, delicately moving his hand along the column of your throat. Did he feel how fast your heart beat? “I may just have to knock you up before the night’s over, Mrs. Barnes.”

Your womb clenched at his words, imagining the filthy things he’d grunt in your ear as he bred you. It was almost enough to make you skip the gala, but why not build up the anticipation? “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t, Mr. Barnes,” you said, moving close enough for your lips to touch his.

The breath that rushed out of his lungs was like a kiss, teasing what would come before the night was over. “Don’t tease me, Cupcake.”

“Who said I was teasing you, Boss?” You murmured, pulling back before he could kiss you properly. “Time to go.”

He swore under his breath as he adjusted his pants. You were the only one who could get under his skin. “I’ll knock you up in the limo. Don’t test me.”

Your smile widened. What Bucky didn’t know was that underneath your dress was one of his favorite lacy floral numbers. A surprise and reward for him going to the gala. It would make him fall a little bit more in love with you once he undressed you.

Plus, it went with the theme.

“Looking forward to it.”

Another out of order AU. I'm so sorry, lovelies. And sorry to the nonnie for not fully answering the question! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[corollaservant]

Introspect // Dabi x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: The past never dies. But it can often be forgotten. (3.4k)

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, captivity, stalking, violence, noncon/dubcon, jealousy, delusion, denial, implied PTSD, deterministic and nihilistic philosophical paradigm, Dabi's POV—stream of consciousness type fic

A/N: wrote this in 3hrs. majorly inspired by (and dedicated to) my fave tumblr writer, new magic wand by tyler the creator and this dabi art 🖤

Happy. You looked happy, that’s what he thought when he saw it.

Not in a way you’d been with him anyway. He didn’t know whether that was for the better. The first thing he thought was you posted him. Of course you would. He was not patched, burnt or looking like someone who escaped the psychiatric ward. Without proper clothing, jumping out of a window, frantically running towards the opposite direction. Was it a matter of appearance? Or did you just not like him enough? He wouldn’t know, you hadn’t spoken in a month. And some days. That’s when you told him you needed space. Seriously, people needed to come up with better excuses, this one was over-saturated. Was it bad he clung onto you? It’s not like you had many friends, all he had asked was more of your time. Your stupid job wasn’t even that important—he never bothered finding out what you did exactly, it’s not like he didn’t care, he just wanted you there. The rest of your whereabouts were none of his business as long as you were not conversing (excessively) with anyone else. Because even then, why would you need to do that? He could do it for you.

He had no actual job, well, classifying as a villain doesn’t get you far in life, he called himself a freelancer. Freelancer in murder and theft, maybe. But he felt like he had a share in serving divine justice. A modern vigilante so to say. Any accidental death was a misfortune, a predetermined fate. He didn’t want to pretend to be integrated in society for you to like him, he was lucky because he didn’t have to. Which then reminded him of how he met you.  

Petting strays at night wasn’t careful of you, especially with the crime rates in the city. But you had done so regardless, he remembers it vividly: You in an alley, on your knees, not caring about the dirt coming in direct contact, extending your hand. The cat was barely visible, he could only make out its yellow eyes. But then, the cat saw him, he knew cats had brilliant vision and it left you, perhaps in thought he had food you didn’t. You turned your head only to take a step back. Not smart, you landed on your ass as you opened your mouth. Did he scare you? Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. Under other circumstances he’d leave. Making fun of strangers wasn’t really his thing, not unless they deserved it, but the cat seemed to take a liking to him. Animals loved him, his mom used to tell him not to trust people who repelled them, it was a bad sign. Animals had instinct, animals could tell. He decided to pet the little guy (or girl?), as he kneeled down and softly touched its head. That was another thing about cats. They didn’t give a fuck about the staples or burnt odor, they just wanted food and the occasional touch. He liked cats. He could see himself in them. Something in the domesticity of the situation must've calmed you down because you fixed your posture and to his surprise approached him. It was still dark, you were still a woman and alone in an alley. 

‘’He likes you.’’ You told him. Had you already figured out it was a male stray? Dabi must’ve underestimated you. Your voice hid a whine, a soft protest but it was not annoyance and he shifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah.’’ was all he said. 

‘’Can I?’’ You asked. Why were you asking for permission, this wasn’t even his cat. 

‘’Sure.’’

You were so close, trying not to scare the cat and also touch him, he noticed. Your finger tried to avoid his but the cat’s head was unfortunately not that big so you eventually grazed a digit over him. You hadn’t flinched back then, hadn’t even scrunched your nose, were you not afraid? Didn’t the smell and appearance repel you? Apparently not, you seemed so invested in getting the cat to like you. It wasn’t like it didn’t. The stray ended up loving you, purring at your touch and looking in your eyes, like a man in love. And maybe it wasn’t just the cat. 

-

Within three days of your first encounter he had you on his chest, in your apartment of course, where else could he have you? He wanted to fuck you the first time he saw you, but the urge wasn’t that violent, which had taken him by suprise. You also did not seem like the type to give it up easily. He’d have to do some mental jumping jacks to get you, he didn’t worry about revealing too much though; he didn't have a lot to say, his old identity long buried away with his sensitivity. He still didn’t feel like hurting you. The first night he told you his name, Dabi, and it was so convincing, he too had believed it. You exchanged trivial information neither cared about and he offered company on your way back. He scolded you for being alone in the neighborhood, like some good samaritan, he laughed as he guided you through dimly lit alleys with zero traffic. 

‘’Want to come inside?’’ You had asked. Already? Were you that easy? But who was he to say no?

Your place was small, as expected, neat and tidy, with a few clothes on the bed, nothing bad. It smelled nice too, he noticed a small plant on the coffee table. How gullible to let him in like that. Dabi imagined how many times you must’ve been wronged in life. But you being you—it was probably something that flew over your head daily. You’d call it compromise, he’d call it stupidity.

He had fucked you in missionary that night, a true gentleman, easing his way inside and slightly towering, making sure the stapled skin under his sternum didn’t touch your sensitive one. You were soaking by the time you stopped making out and he slid a finger inside, warm and enticing, his cock hardened in primal ways. He had softly thrown you on your bed (his definition of soft wasn’t exactly soft, you had let out a groan, was it bad?) and climbed on top. You were looking at him expectantly, your eyes glassy, was that pain or excitement, Dabi would bet bucks on the latter. The way you had shyly parted your legs, not for his cock, but to fit him in between was sickeningly pretty, he could swear he was almost…nervous to slip his cock inside. And he was right, trying to fit it inside failed him two or three times while he pretended to toy your clit with his cockhead. You didn’t seem to mind, his act must’ve been convincing, you were softly moaning and your eyes dared to look at the sight of his swollen tip against your lower lips, was it pretty? He had fucked you as hard as he would allow himself—your body could take it, he had to be honest, the more he stuffed you, the more he needed to drive his cock further into your soft walls, there was no room for play pretend romance here. But you seemed to like it too, wrapping your arms around the bare part of his back, fingers accidentally trailing the stapled skin and groaning near his face. ‘’Fuck.. right there.. D-Dabi! More!’’ More? Sure, you could have more. A patched arm strongly pinned a leg above your head, touching the bed frame, as his stiff and pained cock violated your cunt, he could feel how deep he was and constantly fought the urge to spill already. As for you? Tears from your eyes fell down your now stained sheets as you screamed. Pleasure, pain, honestly he didn’t care much about what it was, your pussy clamping down on him the last thing he felt before he bit down your neck, almost ripping out the skin tissue. His cum slowly trickled out, while both of you panted, each exhale synchronizing with the clock ticking in the kitchen. 

There were no voids you could fill, he knew it, interacting with others proved to be a daily reminder. But there were voids you soothed, pain you healed just with your head resting where a heart used to be. Heart beating irregularly, like his feet in his childhood, with excitement, with a different type of eagerness. These weren’t thoughts he made that night and that’s how he knew he liked you. That night his mind was blank for the very first time, carefree from reality, from the ugliness of living—you had sex with some stained villain, who hadn’t only stained your cunt, but your sheets too, your morals indirectly and heart along the way. These thoughts came to him when he saw the photo. Space. You said you needed space. There wasn’t any relationship established, what the fuck you needed space for? Because now he had found something to give waking up a reason. Someone to regularly satisfy his cock with, someone to take away his thoughts and halt his aimless wandering. And you needed space. How lame. You know what? He could give you space. Indirectly of course. He’d still follow you around, check the whereabouts and conversations, sit outside your house and watch you get undressed. But you looked happy. And he couldn’t decipher in what way. Was he a friend? Who gives a fuck about the guy anyway, why were you smiling like that? You never posted him, that's for sure, you knew in the three months of irregular hanging out (to call it dating would be a joke) that he hated it. And so you never did, even though he wanted you to deep down. Something small. A grocery store visit, one you made when he said he’d cook dinner (he had burnt it). But you never did and now here you are posting with someone irrelevant. 

Murder wasn’t the answer. Stupidly enough it was always associated with morality. But you’d think Dabi would have none of that. He thought murder was stupid. No second of his time ought to be wasted for the next guy. Though he had to admit, he often contemplated whether you’d want this. You didn’t know shit about him. But a sudden murder would definitely have you crawling for protection. And who better than the one who committed it? He honestly wouldn’t go out of his way to do all that. He wanted you organically. It had been a long time since he wanted someone. But you sufficed. You were enough. You never asked, never complained, not even when you’d come home from work, exhausted and dirty and he was waiting at your door. Not even when you were shoved against the cupboards and fucked without remorse—you still wrapped your legs around him and whimpered on his neck. And fuck if that didn’t feel good. He hugged you in your sleep. You’d both sleep in opposite directions, you first of course, so you’d never notice he switched sides and brought a leg over yours, resting his head on your throat, feeling each breath, each pulse. You’d wake up confused at the position, he’d say he didn’t remember. These were the few nights he could reach REM state. No vivid dreams of course, a shipwreck maybe and some elevator descending, lack of control or whatever bullshit he read once. He could still dream though, a miserable reminder he was still human. 

He was always mean. The world didn’t care to mold someone into being nice. What would that even be? He thought nice meant exchange. Be nice and you’d get a pair of shoes. Act nice and you’ll get to watch TV. Treat others with respect and you’d be the family’s topic of discussion over Christmas. Sure, there were selfless people, he wasn’t crazy to think there weren’t a few of them left. You’d be his prime example. And you weren’t even stupid. But your willingness to help and give bordered exploitation. It hit him like lightning. You needed to get away, the real world was doing damage to people like you. If you were with him, you wouldn't have to think twice about being taken advantage of. He’d still be mean, you wouldn’t change that. But at least you’d sleep assured knowing that he’d never, ever demand something from you. Well…besides your presence, though he’d take you as you are, so in retrospect you’d come to appreciate him for the service. 

When he came to pick you up (abduct sounded rough—you’d also want this eventually) you had just finished work. To others you seemed fine, to him you looked exhausted. No need for mask, no need for clothes, he had everything arranged. You hadn’t objected much, he tried the kind approach first, he had only asked you to go for a ride with him in a car he stole, something you’d never know. The place was a dump, a couch covered in dust and a rusty kitchen, but you’d both make it work. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find money. He would, eventually. He remembers the way your eyes widened, what were you expecting, a trip to the countryside for some mimosas? You should’ve known better. ‘’What are we doing here?’’ You had asked, looking him in the eyes, you seemed frightened like the first time you saw him in the alley, it all ends in the beginning of the cycle, such a paradox, he thought. ‘’This is our new place.’’ He cooed as he approached you, you took a step back. There really was no reason for you to be scared, you’d grow to understand the only thing scaring you would be losing him. 

He had tried to kiss you but you protested, pushing him away, a shame really and he wanted to continue with the nice approach. Well then again nice didn’t really exist so it wouldn't have worked anyway. He kissed you, your mouth was closed but not for long before it was forced open, arms snaking around your waist and pinning you to a wall collecting condensation since god knows when. He was on your neck, kissing, biting, frenzied moves really, he needed you more than he needed whatever kept him alive. Three months ago, he stopped thinking. Now, the only thing he thought was you. He dragged you to the dusty sofa, he thought of using his quirk to burn the fabric, but ripping it out came naturally. You were laid out naked and shivering, his hands grabbed your waist—was this warm enough for you? You whispered something, maybe it was louder than a whisper, stop or whatever but he couldn’t listen. He found your cunt immediately, he was almost drooling at the sight, when was he that hungry ever again? Something about your life. People behind. You said something, he didn’t listen. You weren’t that wet like the first time, he understood. Women, they need emotional connection. Maybe a sloppier kiss to get them going. He found your mouth again, forcing you to kiss him back while he gorged on yours, a small movement in your hips, a pad of his finger back on your cunt. Wetter, perfect. He slid up a finger, curling it while his thumb grazed over your clit, you whimpered. That was a sound he could finally register. He’d bring back that smile, but it’d be for him only. One finger turned to two and eventually three, he needed to stretch you out to take him, nothing had changed since the first time, just his eagerness. His cock throbbed in his black pants, he wanted to taste you. 

You moaned and attempted to touch his hair. He didn’t mind but this wasn’t the time. He moved his head lower, spreading your thighs open and spitting on your clit. Spittle dripped down your slit and his index finger trailed it along the entrance, earning him a moan. See, you already enjoyed this too much. This would be your life now on, he’d fuck you till you wouldn’t want another thing. Captivity had a good side after all. He’d treat you so well, he wouldn’t even have to force all that domestic bullshit on you. You’d do it willingly. He eats your cunt out like it's the most sacred meal, sloppily and without coordination, pushing his tongue inside and gripping your thighs forcefully and what is this? You buck your hips up, wanting more, needy little slut. Perfect, so perfect for making him stop thinking. Making him forget. His cock must leak precum, it feels uncomfortable and he wants you to coat his tongue, he really does, but please understand, he needs you. Now. To bother removing his pants fully would be hilarious, he has neither time nor desire to do so, they’re slid down half way, his cock jumps on his abdomen and he gives it an impatient stroke—looking at you always. Let me go. You say, what? Were you stupid? Right before the best part? Right before the start of a new life? Of a life you should be living years ago? Delusional, you’re delusional. ‘’You love me, baby.’’ He tells you and lets his cockhead slip in your entrance, bit by bit until he’s bottomed out and you wince, he doesn’t move just for a second, this should be enough and then starts thrusting without consideration. Like it’s an incentive, like you’re a hole that needs filling, a mere means to an end. You protest a bit more, if you get louder he might have to get violent on you, please understand he doesn’t want this. You’ll get it, eventually. He can’t decipher the look on your face, it certainly doesn’t scream happy like in the photo. 

And then he’s reminded of the photo and a rage is born. ‘’Did he fuck you this good?’’ He spears his cock inside, you are hitting against the arm of the couch, your mouth contracts and you dampen his cock, so he must be doing something right. ‘’Tell me, did he fuck this cunt?’’ He asks and you just moan—are you dumb? Why aren’t you answering? His arms envelop your throat, pressing on the carotid artery as your muffled moans get even more constricted, he spits on your face and demands an answer. Dirty. Slut. Dirty. ‘’N-o’’ comes out your mouth. He hadn’t tainted you? He hadn’t touched you. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He wipes the saliva off your cheeks, it’s so...wet? Are you crying? Why are you crying? He hates it. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He kisses you while he plunges deeper, you groan and try to avoid him, stop doing this, you’re his now, it’s final. ‘’I’ll make you feel better, alright?’’ He breathes out, he knows you like his fingers, he knows. His thumb circles achingly, longingly even on your puffy clit while you clench around him, your breathing is labored, you have to cum—cum now! On his cock, show him how much you love him. A few more strokes and he has you clamping down, more tears, so many tears and you moan out his fake name, with anger maybe or an orgasm high, he can’t tell and he doesn’t care either, it’s enough. He needs to steal a kiss one last time and feel the way you squeeze and soak all around to let his load paint you white, maybe he is like a woman after all, longing for emotion, even when he has to fulfill plain instincts. You don’t talk after it, you don’t even blink, you aren’t passed out, are you? He wasn’t that hard, come on now. He has to remove himself, clean you up, the couch and he the least of his priorities. You need to get accustomed. You’ll love it. 

You never ask. About the photo. About your family. About anything prior. But that’s not something he dwells upon, he doesn’t like to look back. You still sleep next to him, well, there aren’t many other options available, yet you do. You still breathe softly in your sleep, he still hugs you from behind. You’ve become a sedative, a very much needed one. He dreams some days, an elevator falling, a shipwreck. Only, you’re there this time. 

The few days he remembers the dream, he appreciates the company. He can only hope you do, too. 

[persicipen]

corporal punishment ノ kamisato ayato

₊ ˙ ⊹ . after failing your special shuumatsuban mission against the fatui, there’s nothing left for you but to admit your mistake and return to the kamisato estate. it’s required of you to face the impending punishment for not meeting the necessary perfectionism.

ৎ୭ — · · 2.6k ノ afab gn reader — sponsored through @ficsforgaza project ノ implied light torture . pain kink — reader is into this dynamic ノ spanking . fingering . edging . orgasm ruining ノ not in the spotlight but also mentioned — rope play . bondage ノ ayato is weirdly calm and talkative :3

You fucked up.

Yes, exactly. No need to sugarcoat or try to explain that it wasn’t as severe of a mistake. The worst that could have happened, in your humble opinion. Escaping alive seemed not a good outcome either, now that the entire plan was ruined; the whole operation stagnated because of your lack of professionalism.

Nibbled by guilt on your way back, you knew that what awaits you in the estate is nothing but a punishment. The Lord Commissioner may be merciful, but after messing up with Fatui, you truly wondered if dying by their hands wouldn’t be better than whatever was planned for your return by the head of the Kamisato clan himself.

The treatment was enough for you to forget how long you have been in the empty room, unsure if it’s still the house or somewhere else in case you wanted to scream for help. The fine wooden floors suggest nothing in particular. Could be anywhere, the secluded part of the residence, or maybe one of the summer houses, mayhaps even a rented place. Irrelevant, because you couldn’t remember how you got wrapped in all of this after your arrival.

So, how long has it been? An hour? Two? Not even one? Impossible to guess. Even more difficult to think when a beautifully carved-out handle of the sword presses so annoyingly to your clit, stiff and angled perfectly to hit you there despite your quivering legs trying to close in time — futile.

A strangled cry escapes your lips. It’s so troublesome to focus on anything but the arousal pulsing through your veins and the heavy scent of blooming camellias that lingers in the air, always following the graceful frame of the Yashiro Commissioner.

He is standing tall and beautiful before you, but his smile is nowhere to be seen. Serious face focused on disciplining his subordinate. The same face that looks down at you every time you kneel before him and slowly sink his cock into your mouth. A reward for being a good servant to the family.

It’s that kind of sternness. Observing your progress, scheduling special trainings, raising you as the shadow to act in his stead — and a good fuck from time to time. One that you don’t deserve right now, because you are a failure, a disgrace who failed a mission and survived only by chance, hoping that others complete the deal with the Fatui scum on their own.

You close your eyes, but the images of the ambush you’ve witnessed play in front of you nonetheless.

A scorching pain that does not soften — the opposite — when the handle of the sword taps between your legs again.

“Now, be so kind and remind me why we are doing this. I was certain we would be past this stage of our relationship after so many years. Tell me, am I wrong? Should we start again from scratch and you will learn to behave? Perhaps you will also remember how to speak.”

His tone is almost sweet, but it only makes you feel even more ashamed than before. A shame so intense it leaves your cheeks hot and wet, tears spilling on their own with no chance for you to stop them.

“My apologies. I know where I did fail. There is no need to— hngh… n-no need for— this… This is not necessary, m-my Lord… please…!”

Your Lord, as you weep, is persistent in circling the tip of the sheathed blade around your clit. It’s as safe as it can get, the blunt polished edge where he usually places his palm to hold the position, but no less brutal to treat you with that instead of his precise fingers or the most divine experience, now properly tucked in his pants so not even a bulge of arousal is visible on the white fabric.

You knew this was going to be bad when you had returned to the estate, yet there was nothing you could do. Standing before him, not by your own strength anymore, but by the ropes holding your body up along the tall wooden column, there was nothing you could have done, the fate inescapable.

Straining against the restraints doesn’t help at all. Even if you succeed, you’ll just fall to your knees on the floor, exposed and humiliated.

“I sincerely hoped there would be no reason for this treatment… Or perhaps I’ve been spoiling you too much? Was that the mistake I made?” He walks around you, unhurried.

You try to look back and follow his steps, but the thick ropes hold your wrists in place. A dull, but constant ache. The position you were put into spreads the same pain in your ankles and shoulders too, legs forced slightly open, enough for you to be compliant when your Lord decides what to do next.

“What I worry about is that if I continue using the same method, you will grow accustomed to it, even start to like it.” He circles you, a wounded prey within his reach. Even smiles whilst adjusting the leather gloves to fit his palms. “A pity to get rid of the beautiful knots already, but they were tied just to exhaust your limbs, specifically. Now, I fear, it’s the time to bring out something more substantial. Something with which you can truly learn from your mistakes… Ah, maybe even improve your endurance. The hard way, as we say.”

“M-my Lord, I’m sorry!”

“You’ll be, that I’m certain of.”

As if to mock your lack of energy, your Lord chooses to release you from the ropes and let you slide to your knees in front of him. For a second there, you evaluate the possibility of escape, but the blood running back to your legs turns into cramps and shivers, rendering you unable to stand or even move an inch.

A small mercy comes in the form of his gloved hand resting on your head. A gentle pat, like a dog, and warm praise.

“Don’t cry now. This is necessary for the sake of your future by my side. Don’t worry, I know your limits.”

Ethereal grace and cold expression on his face as he watches you weep before him. His trousers at last bear the outline of his cock to prove the arousal that you got him under such conditions. Or maybe just his own method to taunt you with what you won’t get this time.

He strokes through your hair, glides down the curve of your spine, following little wrinkles of the clothes that remained on your upper half — what cannot be said about your lower body.

Without further instructions, you push yourself forward to rest your face on the ground, the wood hard but gentle on your cheek. Arch your back so perfectly, present yourself for him, but it’s not enough for him to find a single word of praise at how eager you are. It’s expected of you to obey.

The anticipation ends when the finest leather of his glove reaches your ass, circles around it to elicit little goosebumps in the wake of his touch. Fingers run over the folds of your pussy, further and further down between your legs, too slow, but only because he knows the intense pleasure you’ll experience when he dips into you. Gladly imagining the juices from your wet cunt covering his hand. Alternatively, he’s just doing that to let you know, again, what will not be given to you this time.

The fleeting gentleness ends sharply with a precise swat on your ass. An immediate stinging pain fills the hollow where the flat of his palm struck your flesh and makes you gasp out. And cry.

Your Lord clicks his tongue in annoyance, and then a burdensome weight lands on your back, pressing you into the floor.

You don’t see him, but can smell him when he whispers in your ear.

“Now, now, why the agitation? I am not hurting you. I know well you used to find pleasure in worse pain. And I do not intend to cause you this much distress, simply because there’s a chance the reprimand will have the opposite effect. You wouldn’t want that, would you? For all my effort to go down the drain…”

He breathes out as if the mere thought of reminding you this exhausts him, but despite his words, he stays there, pressing down on you and rubbing the sore spot to ease the stinging sensation. Or tease it further. It is hard to tell.

And yet, you hear your own voice uttering back, “You are right… My apologies. I’ll try to endure it.”

“Good. That’s all I’m asking for.”

The second slap doesn’t come as a surprise. Nor the third. Neither the fourth. They all follow in succession, no rush, and with timid caresses in between, as if to amplify the contrast. Breathing hitched, sometimes twisting away from the weight of his palm on your ass — then scolded, made to present yourself properly again for the Commissioner himself.

He knows your limits, though, and knows what it takes to break you. So, there is no real reason to fear, right? Yet you shiver, and a cold sweat blooms on your skin like the morning dew. He would have been kind enough to make it painless, you hope.

Your Lord removes himself from your back to observe the results. To see the little ripples left behind after the impact. You keep still, trying to catch your breath, but also knowing that your entire silhouette pricks with needles of pain, thighs slick with the moisture leaking from between them.

“How easily your body betrays you…”

Another hit comes so hard you bite your lips not to cry out the most pathetic of mewls.

Instead of the usual, breaking the routine and not calming the flesh, his hand gracefully slides lower, between your cheeks. Pursuing. Invading. It is terrifying and makes your entire body flush hot when he does that, digits pushing against your hole. You never dare to disobey, though, merely whining as his fingertips press in, bluntly yet soft enough not to hurt. The smooth leather makes the little distance between yours and his skin unbearable, taking him further away from you despite his touch sneaking closer, a contradiction that feels like ice — because you cannot stand it, frustrated and hurting, on a brink of pleasure he denies you again.

But you stay still. Bite down the yearning bubbling at the high of your throat, clench around his glove as he presses in and almost breaches the first ring of muscles before pulling out completely away from your cunt.

If it wasn’t for another slap that sends you further into the floor, you’d wish to buckle your hips back, chasing the warmth of his palm. Ayato returns to gently kneading the abused flesh of your ass. The strokes linger longer each time, from the surface up to the cleft between your cheeks, drawing bolder circles that threaten to dip inside.

But no matter how far his hand travels, it always returns to your buttocks. Your skin is hot, sweaty, probably red from all the slaps and squeezing, a small, albeit recurring twinge of pain that spikes each time he lets his fingers slide lower and makes all your muscles tense from your impatience.

You wait for the next blow, but it doesn’t come. What comes instead is a lingering absence of touch. Ayato sits by your side on the floor, head resting in the palm of his hand as if bored.

“On your knees,” he says quietly. “Over my lap.”

Despite being strained, you know not to hesitate. Before the words could have finished escaping his lips, you scramble into position to rest your belly across his legs. His thighs are firm under your belly, his touch warm through the fabric of his pants as he caresses your back with one hand and the curves of your hips with the other.

You must say something, beg for forgiveness, praise him — whatever will grant you the easy way out, unaware that you’re already not thinking straight, because how else would you believe that the Yashiro Commissioner could soften by your pleas.

“I believe you have learnt your lesson,” he says, softer this time, “but just in case…”

“My Lord, I— I did… Ah!” You’re cut off by the touch — expecting another harsh swat — so tenderly reaching between your folds, calming the feverish skin with the cool of his fingertips.

“Hush now. Remember to obey.”

He takes his time to brush over the clit and gently spreads your labia before touching you again. This time not teasing at all. Ayato finds your hole easily and presses inside, sinking inside, deliberately slow, as if wanting to draw it out for as long as possible. Just two digits, but the fit is snug enough to make you shudder in both relief and agony. Finally, finally satiated, yet the granted mercy only deepens your desire, an endless hunger. You start writhing to get closer, albeit the hard cock under your belly only pulses from the attention you’re receiving and does not react to your needy little moans.

A different kind of exposure gets him aroused — not you, but the control he holds over you.

The tightness is eased by your own wetness that coats his fingers. Embarrassingly so, the trickle of fluids inevitably seeps down his wrist as well. The glove still remains on his hand, so all you can feel is the touch of fine leather against your walls, the gentle texture that glides through the moisture. Once again, seeking, invading, precise.

“There we go.”

“My Lord…! My apologies,” you cry, “I will not fail again. I swear it.”

“And I believe in you,” he breathes, barely audible.

His thumb returns to your clit before he pushes deeper inside, pressing so good that you shudder when a long-awaited release washes over you. Too quick and too abrupt, almost painful.

But just like a tidal wave, the pleasure passes as fast as it came, leaving you behind to quiver around his fingers while Ayato strokes your back soothingly. He does not pull out, instead keeps you in place with the stillness of his hand, and you do not dare move despite the settling disappointment that your orgasm got ruined. Your legs shake regardless.

“It’s… That’s all?” You ask, not pretentiously, not demanding, but full of broken hope and despairing, because it cannot be true that all that prolonged torture and tease, and care ends up like this. Like nothing. Like nothing at all.

Ayato sighs deeply, wiping his glove on your thighs. The wetness is sticky on your skin and immediately cold when he leans away to look at you.

“Yes, that is all. A punishment is a punishment. I do hope it won’t be necessary in the future.”

No reprimand follows after. Just a long look, pondering and attentive as always. He tilts his head to the side to assess the results.

“Come closer,” he says after a while.

So, you obey, parting your mouth wide to let him push the still gloved fingers past your teeth. He presses all the way down to your throat and then draws back so you can savour the sweet flavour of your own juices. Ayato holds his digits like that, resting on your tongue until saliva seeps past the corner of your mouth, so he may smear it across your lips.

“Pretty like that, aren’t you? If only you were working harder and completing your missions successfully so that, instead of sitting in this room, we could share my private bedroom. Alas…” He reaches to stroke your cheek, a sweet touch after all the pain. “Please, do not make me repeat myself ever again.”

₊ ˙ ⊹ . AUTHOR’S NOTE — i really hope this fic isn’t as messy as i think it is… i admit, i could work around the situation itself and flesh out the setting properly, but i didn’t really have enough creative juices within me at the time. i will also be grateful if you excuse me for writing ayato this way. i tried my best to highlight the weird side of his character, but… oh well :’3

[milkyboybluewriter]

Why Bill Hates Dipper

Ever since the Book of Bill came out, I've been pondering why Bill seems to love tormenting Dipper.

I don’t doubt Bill Cipher could find amusement in anyone and everyone’s suffering but he seems to take a special interest in hurting the youngest Pines.  This even goes back to their first interaction where Bill blows a hole in Dipper’s chest before Dipper had said a single word to him, as opposed to Mabel whom he ignored despite her attempt to tackle him moments beforehand.

In Sock Opera, Bill repeatedly harms Dipper’s body with forks, drawers, stairs, drowning, and who knows what else off-screen.  And in perhaps the darkest moment of any Gravity Falls media, Bill’s note from Journal 3 boasts about his ‘grand finale’ of killing Dipper, making it look like a suicide, and forcing the poor boy to wander the mindscape forever.  

During Weirdmageddon Bill repeatedly ridicules Dipper after Ford’s capture, teasing him with insults, Ford’s body, and burning his precious journals in front of him before ordering his Henchamniacs to eat him. In Mabel’s Bubble he responds to Dipper’s rejection by turning Fake Wendy into maggots and delivers an ominous warning to an obviously disturbed Dipper. 

This trend of tormenting Dipper has only intensified with the Book of Bill and Thisisnotawebsite.com.  Every mention of Dipper in the book is an insult or mockery, including two pages dedicated to embarrassing moments of his young life.  Meanwhile, on the website he tries to trick Dipper into staring at the sun until the boy goes blind.  

So why does Bill seem to have a special interest in making Dipper Pines miserable?

It could be as simple as the bully picking on the victim.  Maybe Bill thinks Dipper takes himself too seriously and wants to knock him down several pegs.  Or perhaps Bill resents Dipper for being the closest to what he considers Lawful Good among his family, or for trying to be a hero while categorising the town’s weirdness in opposition to Bill’s desire to create chaos and misery, or because he’s the primary antagonist and Dipper is the primary protagonist?

But Bill probably doesn’t hold Dipper in high enough regard for that to be his only reasoning.  In fact, Bill appears to have a very low opinion of Dipper, in comparison to certain other members of the Pines family. 

In both Book of Bill and Dipper and Mabel’s Guide to Mystery and Non-Stop Fun, Bill claims to like Mabel, comparing her free-spiritedness with his desire to spread turmoil. To him, fun and chaos are the same thing and Mabel’s all about having fun and doing whatever she wants, whatever other people think of her.

Ford worshipped Bill for a time, and is the one who summoned him and created the portal.  Feats Bill was so pleased by, that he apparently grew some degree of affection for Ford if the Book of Bill is to be believed; telling him about his past, ‘gifting’ him with dead rats and the like.  Even though Bill answered Ford's attempts to escape him with horrific torture, Bill still offered him the position of Henchmaniac when he achieved physical form, implying he was willing to put their past aside, on his terms.

Bill’s interactions with Stan are limited to entering his mind and the final battle.  Perhaps, as a fellow conman and trickster, it could be argued Bill might approve of Stan’s crimes even if he’s not exactly impressed by them.  But Thisisnotawebsite.com makes it clear that any affinity he may or may not have had for Stan is gone.  Now there’s only bitterness and rage at having been bested by someone he deems a joke.

Sounds familiar. 

Because it was Dipper who brought the others into Stan's mind and taught them how to fight back against Bill.  Dipper found Wendy and Soos, rescued Mabel and got the ball rolling on the resistance movement that led to Bill’s defeat.  In Mabeland especially, Dipper proves his tenacity by being the only one capable of resisting what Bill declares is his most diabolical trap. 

And when Dipper proved he had the strength to refuse his greatest temptation, Bill reacted by turning heaven into hell for a few moments.  Again, a member of the Pines family had rejected his promise of granting their greatest desire.  But this time, it wasn’t the genius Ford who’d rejected him and threatened his plans, it was the meek little boy - the lesser twin in Bill’s eye.  

Dipper isn’t wild like Mabel, brilliant like Ford, or cunning like Stan.  He’s just a kid trying his hardest to do what’s right.  A concept Bill no doubt finds hilarious. 

It’s one thing to be bested by a foe you respect or admire, but it’s quite another to be beaten by someone you consider a joke.  

But he was.  Repeatedly.  First by Dipper and finally by Stan.  

And it probably drives him mad. 

[paimonial-rage]

talks of the past - zhongli

ship: zhongli x reader

synopsis: in which the wangsheng funeral parlor’s consultant tries to restore your faith in rex lapis

notes: 1.7k words, chapter 7 of bookkeeping!verse; with ties to various chapters in the series

It was yet another day you found yourself traveling with Zhongli to Qingce Village. Objectively speaking, it was a beautiful morning. The sun was high in the sky without a cloud in sight, the birds were chirping, and the temperature was nice. Really, there shouldn’t have been anything there to get you down. And yet…

There you were walking with your head down and a faraway look in your eyes. Had you been more aware, you would’ve noticed your companion speaking a few times. You would’ve seen the concerned look in his eyes as he peered down at you. But you were lost in your thoughts, uncharacteristically troubled and insecure.

If you had noticed, you would’ve felt a bit of pity for your companion. It was not often that you were seen in such a depressed state. Really, despite your temperament, you were generally alert and sociable. He often enjoyed the banter that would come about between you two. Truly, you were a dear friend to him. That being said, it wasn’t often you shared your concerns with him. He wasn’t sure if you even would if asked.

He cleared his throat.

“First, is… there anything that’s bothering you?”

It took a few moments for you to respond, almost prompting him to ask again before you let out a long sigh.

“Zhongli,” you began, looking up to him imploringly, “Can I talk to you about something?”

He couldn’t deny the slight start of his heart that came with your question. You’ve brought up your concerns to him before, but those were often accompanied with glares and opinions regarding his financial decisions. This time, however, exhaustion was evident in your voice with dark bags under your eyes. He could not recall doing anything that’d result in your loss of sleep.

“Sure,” he began, careful to keep his wariness absent.

“It’s not a big deal,” you began in a way that implied the opposite. “I’m sure you know how much I revere Rex Lapis. Even though he passed, I still greatly respect the legacy he left behind.”

“Yes,” he replied with a nod. “You’ve mentioned this to me a few times in the past.”

A bit too many, he would add. And with your way with words, it never exactly was… pleasant. At the very least, he was relieved your lack of sleep wasn’t with anything he did as Zhongli.

“It’s just… Lately, I’ve been talking to Madam Ping in my free time, and… I feel like my faith is beginning to be shaken…”

He frowned.

“‘Shaken?’ In what way?”

“I…” You bit your lip as tears welled in your eyes. “Don’t hate me for saying this, but I…”

You hesitated.

“I’m beginning to think he was actually a complete weirdo.”

A… A weirdo?

He cleared his throat, feeling if not just a little attacked.

“In what way?”

You sighed, glancing away with your guilt-ridden eyes.

“In… in every way.”

‘Every way?’

“For instance, take into account Mora…”

Of course, it had to do with Mora.

“Well, I once heard a story that Rex Lapis created the first home out of Mora. I always thought it was metaphorical or just a silly children’s tale, but… Madame Ping confirmed it to be true. When I asked her why he chose Mora, she said it simply was because it was available. He didn’t have any deeper meaning to it.”

He frowned. Ignoring the sense of déjà vu he felt regarding this specific topic, he didn’t see any problem with his actions.

“Yes, it only makes sense. To the God of Wealth and Commerce, what material is easier to get than Mora?”

“Exactly!” You exclaimed suddenly, nearly causing him to flinch. “Only a simple-minded man would come up with such a simple-minded conclusion.”

“S-Simple-minded…”

You nodded.

“Just because he had all the access in the world to Mora didn’t mean the common folk did. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to make the first model home out of materials available to everyone?”

He coughed.

“Perhaps.”

You sniffled.

“It’d be fine if that was the only thing, but Shitou from the Jade Mystery told me that once Rex Lapis stopped by his family’s shop in the past and purchased a spoon made of fine Noctilucus Jade to sample the culinary delights of Liyue Harbor.” You buried your face in your hands. “Why would he spend that much Mora just for a simple spoon?”

“W-Well…”

“I know, I know. As the God of Wealth and Commerce, he had easy access to Mora. And I’m sure it made him happy to contribute to the wealth of Liyue Harbor’s commonfolk, but for someone who spent so much time around his people, it’s like he had no concept of his own creation’s worth! It’s shamelessly extravagant! I didn’t think he was such a wasteful person…”

In the back of his mind, Zhongli had the urge to disagree, to stand up for the good name of Rex Lapis. Really, he wasn’t so shameless as you made him out to be, at least he didn’t think he was. But before he could respond, you continued.

“That’s not all though…” you started again.

Oh no.

“A while ago, I told Meng and the Ferrylady that Rex Lapis wasn’t a self-absorbed narcissist, but…”

Oh no…

“I was talking to Sir Yun the other day of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe? I always knew that Rex Lapis enjoyed the troupe’s shows, but did you know he starred in a few of them? As a warrior, she said. And as you know, Rex Lapis is known as the Warrior God. So that means he basically played himself in operas singing songs about… himself. Can you imagine doing that? How…”

Tears came to your eyes.

“Cringe.”

He resisted the urge to clear his throat.

“Though records say he may have taken part in those operas, I can’t recall Miss Yun stating he starred as himself,” he began. “The assumption he did so is mere conjecture at best.”

That last part slipped from his tongue before he could rein it back in. You never took kindly when his opinions differed from yours, and yet… Well, perhaps he was feeling if not a little attacked. The Yun-Han Opera Troupe had a long history, after all. They certainly would not be more the wiser if some tales became embellished over the years. He thought out of all people you would be more aware of that than most.

Thankfully, much to his relief, you were. Instead of taking to anger like you usually did, you nodded obediently.

“That’s true. I hope you’re right,” you replied with a hopeful smile. “Madame Ping said that not even the great Cloud Retainer watches operas about herself. It’s too embarrassing.”

He did clear his throat that time.

“I suppose not everyone enjoys hearing tales of their past,” he finally let out.

You nodded.

“I’m glad at least she agrees with me that only weird and abnormal people do things like that,” you let out with a bit of relief. “I was getting worried I’m the only person that feels that way…”

He only smiled in response, ignoring the fact that Cloud Retainer only said that it was “embarrassing,” not “weird” or “abnormal.” You really did not hesitate to deal your blows, did you?

“You know what the worst thing is, though?” You asked, looking up at him imploringly. “Legend has it that the gods are able to change their physical forms. There are even tales of Rex Lapis taking a female form. But… out of all the records, there are no depictions of his female form, only that she had amber eyes.”

Zhongli frowned in thought. Though he heard and understood your words well, he didn’t know what was the wrong in what you said. The tales of Rex Lapis were often embellished, especially in the way they painted him as the type to change his form often. The truth of the matter was far from that. Not that he could tell you that, of course. But before he could respond in any way, your eyes became filled with tears.

“I mean, he obviously didn’t mind leaving evidence of his male visage. And as I told you before, he made sure he looked good in every one of them. So if he was narcissistic enough to do that, why not leave anything behind of his female form? You… You don’t think… she was UGLY, do you?” You cried in pain.

If his brain didn’t shut down before, it definitely did then. But not noticing, you continued on.

“That’s the only reason I can come up with. Rex Lapis shares his beauty with everyone, after all, so she must have been so ugly that a narcissist like him couldn’t bear for others to see!” You sobbed.

Every word that left your mouth felt like a blow to his ego. Was this truly what you thought about him?

“So do you see why my faith has been shaken? If we try to view him as a person, Rex Lapis was a simple-minded conceited weirdo that was so ashamed of his female form he wiped any and all traces of her depiction out of existence.”

He couldn’t do this anymore.

“While the tales of the past may be rooted in truth, it’s important to realize they are only that. Tales. Nothing more. As it is, we simply do not know how much we can take as fact. So I would not let it bother you too much, First,” he stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

Though you looked as if you had more to say, you slowly nodded once, then once again with more surety.

“You’re right. I guess I’m looking far too into this. Surely if the great Rex Lapis was revered by so many, even the adepti, he must have been worthy of the respect. I just need to remember that,” you replied bashfully. “I’m sorry to have piled this all on you, Zhongli.”

He shook his head with a chuckle.

“It is alright. I am glad to be your voice of reason.”

Laughing in return, you nodded.

“Yes, thank you. And well, I guess it could be worse, I suppose. Madame Ping was always respectful to Rex Lapis in her stories. She could’ve said that he was the kind of person with… I don’t know. No common sense or something. Like could you imagine if he was the type of person that thought it was a smart idea to bring square cups instead of circle to a party?” You asked with a laugh. “Now that would be horrifying.”

……

Yes, you certainly had a way with words.

[vessel-token]

— sugar, i’ve got a taste for you now.

Sleep Token Vessel x F!Reader x III.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Dom/Sub Undertones. Implied Polyamorous Relationship. Implied Established Relationship. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Threesome. Hints of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism. Minor Breathplay. Aftercare. Fluff (at the end).

AN ; did you see what i did there with the title. smirks. do you like that. lmao man idk why i’ve been writing so much with the reader getting eaten out, it’s just lowkey fun to write and i don’t think there’s ever enough of it ykwim?? so enjoy this nasty idea that came to me while listening to sugar and remembering that time when vessel straddled iii on stage. they’re highkey gay for each other in this, hence why i went ahead and tagged it as poly, but they’re also down bad for reader so??? also, before anyone asks, i do plan to write a part 2 and maybe 3… as always, this is NSFW, so MDNI. ⚠️

Divider ; @benkeibear-deactivated20240529

How you got here, splayed overtop Vessel’s lap, largely remains a mystery to you. What you had been doing, why you had been doing it, all of that has essentially left you. All that registers in your clouded mind — all that is important enough to register — is the sensation of Vessel’s hands groping at your naked body and the sight of III kneeling between your parted legs.

Your back is flush to Vessel’s chest and his thighs are hooked beneath your own, ensuring that they stay open nice and wide for III. It puts you on a downright lewd display, worsened only when Vessel decides to tease III further by reaching his hand down and spreading your slick folds apart. Almost instinctively, you clench around nothing, terribly aware of the invitation Vessel is making out of your evident arousal. You can’t help but squirm against him, equal amounts shame and desire painting your face with a red flush. It crawls down your neck and reaches the tips of your ears, but there is little you can do about your current predicament.

Vessel’s arm remains a firm barrier around your middle, keeping you trapped against him. It’s not that he’s holding you there against your will, but rather to keep you from thrashing in the midst of whatever he has planned for you. You’ve already got a pretty good guess, seeing the blatant hunger that burns in III’s eyes as he drinks in the near-pornographic view Vessel is presenting him with. You’re unsure which of you he aims to torment more, yourself or III. It’s likely both of you, if you’re thinking realistically.

Vessel isn’t exactly a sadist, quite the opposite in your opinion, but he is most definitely a tease in almost all that he does. Whether it be his performances, his rituals, or his general appearance, all of him seemed to be designed to leave one wanting more. Perhaps that was why he’d snagged the attention of Sleep, having been enough to entice even an ancient deity.

“Look at you,” Vessel murmurs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “So eager for us.”

You make a noise that ends up sounding like some pathetic amalgamation of a whine and a moan, agreeing but begrudgingly. You hear III laugh between your legs, but the clear strain in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You shoot him a pointed glare, hoping to convey your feelings of faux betrayal. He holds your gaze steady and unwavering, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal smug grin.

Bastard.

“Go ahead. Taste her,” Vessel instructs, nodding to III. He rests his chin on your shoulder, making sure to give himself an unobstructed view of the other man as he retracts his hand. He places it instead on III’s cheek, stroking the revealed skin beneath as he guides him closer to you.

Whether III’s quick response time is due to him receiving permission or because it’s a command from Vessel, you don’t know. You sure as hell don’t care either, not as you watch III delve between your thighs. You feel his tongue before you see it, swiping across your neglected cunt in broad strokes. All at once, your head falls back against Vessel’s chest, a punched-out moan ripping free from your throat. Hearing it only spurs III on, no longer simply teasing but instead devouring you.

Much like Vessel had appeared to predict, you begin to squirm in his lap, trying in vain to grind yourself against III’s face. Both men take notice, with Vessel groping at your tits and III giving an acknowledging hum against you. The sounds the latter makes are nothing short of perverse, sucking and licking at you like you’re a delicacy and he’s been fasting. His nose bumps against your clit a few times, but you can tell he’s purposely avoiding it, something which nearly makes you cry out in misery.

“Please,” you beg, too caught up to give a damn about your pride. “Please, I’ve been good. I’ve been patient.”

Vessel’s lips graze your ear. You can’t see him, but you can tell he’s smirking. “This isn’t about punishment, my love.”

Just when you’re about to protest because that’s exactly what this feels like, you catch sight of Vessel’s free hand sneaking down, blackened fingertips dancing over your skin. He’s almost graceful as he does it, like this is some kind of intimate ritual he has to be mindful to perfect. You watch with heaving breaths as he seeks out your swollen clit, rubbing at it while III groans into your cunt. You can’t stop your hips from bucking this time, a broken cry fleeing your lips as both of them work at you. This time, Vessel mercifully doesn’t stop you from moving.

Not one to be outdone, III adds his own fingers, pushing two inside you. He curls and flexes them, seeking out the same bundle of nerves that Vessel is currently targeting on the outside. The dual stimulation has all kinds of sounds leaving your mouth, your eyes squeezing shut and your brows furrowing. The arm that once wrapped around your torso finally departs, Vessel’s hold relinquishing in favor of migrating further up your body. You feel all five points of contact from his warm palm as it closes around your throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult.

All at once, your orgasm hits you with blinding force.

Both men release gutteral groans as they feel you cum, fingers and tongue insistently working you through it. Vessel abandons your clit in favor of pressing down on the back of III’s head, practically smothering the other against you. III doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, if the way his hips jerk against nothing is anything to go by. For a brief moment, you swear you see stars behind your eyelids, your moans trailing into whimpers once overstimulation begins to set in.

“Too much,” you choke out, floating on the border between pain and pleasure. It mixes together to create a heady sensation, giving you a high like no other as Vessel and III finally begin to ease back.

III presses a featherlight kiss to your lower lips before resting his head against your inner thigh, panting just as heavily as you. Vessel soothes you both, loosening his grip on your throat and massaging it instead. He mirrors the action on III’s cheek with his other hand, murmuring soft praises to you both. He’s often like this with the two of you, ignoring his own needs in favor of tending to you both.

That isn’t to say he can’t be selfish when he wants to, the man can be one hell of a brat, but he’s nothing if not devoted. You can still feel his hardness pressing against your ass, silently pleading for some attention. You can clearly see III’s in the same predicament, but neither of them make any moves without your permission or request.

As your senses gradually return to you, you release your death grip on the couch cushions beneath you, flexing your aching fingers. You shift on Vessel’s lap, angling your head back to place a kiss on his jaw. You can feel III’s gaze on you and before he can dare pout or complain, you reach down to take him by the chin, gently urging him up to meet you. You can still taste yourself on him, but it’s a very small price to pay to kiss him. Vessel hums from over your shoulder, basking in the mutual affection as he kisses your cheek and then moves to III once you’re done.

Their lip-lock, you notice, is much more heated than yours had been. You watch as Vessel tongue swipes across III’s lips, undoubtedly enjoying the combined taste of him and you. As III moans into Vessel’s mouth, you find yourself reminded that this night has yet to be over.

Taglist ; @that-unfortunate-crow @moni-cah @avagraceiossi @miss-multi45 @adenobabe @swissy23 @justarheaslut

(Let me know if you’d like to be added to future fics!)

[lukolabrainrot]

Part 2. Explanation

In one of the interviews (don’t remember exactly, Vogue one perhaps) they are asked who is most likely to fall in love at first sight and they both point at L, and something similar is stated multiple times throughout the WT in various ways. Now N on the other hand always supports the friends to lovers being the best romantic trope and I think it’s not only because it is her character’s story arc. The way she is talking about a deep connection developing in the course of the friendship being the best way to go about it, implies that she is not someone who jumps into relationships easily. The way they are talking about their first meeting makes me think that it was indeed a love at first sight for L, and attraction at first sight for N. How he talks about this immediate feeling of warmth, the way he describes her dancing that first time, I think he was slowly on his way down. While her first reaction to him was “how tall he is?”(indirect quote), her facial expression makes me think it was not just his hight that captured her attention. Do you see the difference? For him it was a feeling, for her an appearance. And he is not a touchy fella, even with his BRT family cast as close and friendly as they are, usually it is not him who initiates contact, but not with N (who on the contrary is very touchy) even from the earlier moments of filming. “I don’t really do selfies but if you want one we’ll do that,” “l’m not really a hugger. Oh, you want a hug N, as many as you wish.”

Now as I said LOGICALLY, REALISTICALLY we cannot even truly speculate about events or conventions taken/ not taken, had/not had. For all we know they might have never even admitted to anything, to themselves or each other (doubtful but still). And their relationship are entirely platonic (that would make me question so many things about life but who knows). But from the audience point of view I would say biggest shift definitely happened during s3 filming. I want to make it clear that by no means do I wish to imply any kind of infidelity, quite the opposite I am one of those who believe that until WT their relationship never slipped into romance, beyond perhaps certain tension which I think is sipping into what we see on screens (cough* tongue slip *cough). By which point serious relationship were already over, though I truly think they started to unravel sooner, that it was not pretty, and that L was the driving force of it. Why? There was a little movement in adjacent’s SM life which sparked my memories, S posting “my world” giving of vibes of obvious overcompensation? Well during the filming drought of s3, when all Polin fans were feeding of crumbs, someone reposted J’s post of appreciation to L with those words and additional “don’t get to see him a lot this days” (or something of a kind). Undertone is kind of similar, no? And the way she completely wiped him out of her life? Does not really say parting ways amiably to me😬

Yet again we DO NOT KNOW why hbs happened, how 🐜 got in the picture or where their relationship ever stood. But I will only say this, in my eyes it was the public who gave her the label, and as a result importance, not L, not really. All of her little games only make me believe in this more. She was never given permission to imply anything serious from him, a hotel room, a T-shirt, a hand, easily plausible to not be related to him, but posting his face without his consent? Entirely different story. Now as to her traveling with him, again we don’t know the circumstances behind the scene, was she there as a part of a friends group, her and his sister seemed chummy perhaps in some moments it was on hers behalf, or as an easy travel companion, or perhaps they are insanely in love and we are just fools. We DON’T REALLY KNOW anything, we see only what they allow us to see.

And you know what I saw? L was 😍 from the start of WT, his body language pretty much consistent throughout the entire WT. N on the other hand while always affectionate wasn’t as open or obvious until the second half of WT, especially with her 😍, in some of the last interviews she literally has “check out from reality” moments from looking at him. I see their silence as being sooo loud, especially on L part. They themselves stated that denying or commenting is pretty much pointless when it comes to public’s opinion, N said reading certain things online she would have a moment of “this is hurtful, they don’t even know me. THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW ME!!!” WE DON’T EVEN KNOW THEM, and they know that we don’t even know them, and they are right people will always think what people wish to think. (I for one am glad that more and more famous people feel confident enough to stop bending backwards for fans satisfaction. Public’s entitlement to peoples’ privacy is truly outrageous.) And what I see is that the only people whose point of view in this situation should matter are the two people whom we wish happiness. N and L. Look at what they allow us to see and don’t give attention to background dancers that are trying to distract us with flashy costumes from their inability to be in rhythm. To me some watermarks they paint seem like a beginning of a beautiful painting, but we’ll see what comes of it only when they would wish us to. (Not even going to comment on N supposed adjacent, those who believe that side hug is an epitome of romance, and perceive some barely reliable SM based sleuthing as hard core evidence, to each its own)

Again, apologies for dumping this on you. Truly adorable your blog.

Thank you for the kind words Anon, and glad you are here! ❤️️

[callmerainman]

Never Again | sinner!Adam x fem!sinner!Reader

PART 1 | PART 3

plot. You and Adam ended up sleeping together. Despite you two swearing that you would never have sex with each other, here you are in the same bed, incredulous. Shit like this happens, but you and Adam agree on never doing it again. Right?

word count. 2.2 k

tags. enemies to lovers, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, implied sexual content, making out, swearing, implied rough sex, Adam being nice, friends with benefits, Reader is a Royal Guard, Reader has wings

warnings! this fic is meant for adults, sex is not described in deep detail but mentions are heavy. please minors DNI!

"Fffuck" he says.

“Yeah, fuck”

So, you and Adam, the First Man you swore to guard to protect the Hotel, had sex.

You tighten a hand around the white sheets, pulled up to cover your bare chest. Your mouth is pressed in a straight line and your eyes are wide open, unable to blink. Black and (f/c) feathers are scattered all over the mattress, along with various articles of clothing. For a split second you look up and see that your bra landed high up on a chandelier in the middle of the room. A couple of pillows caught fire and were currently still smoking. Adam is laying on his back next to you, with the very same incredulous expression on his face. One hand is resting on his stomach, the other is outstretched over his head. A bare and hairy leg peeks out from under the covers. And the bed collapsed, by the way. It’s hard to decide where to look at, so you opt for the ceiling. Your cheeks still feel hot, your whole body too, it’s like you’ll never cool down. Even if it was exhausting. Perhaps the most marathon-level sex you ever had. And messy. And also…

“Okay” Adam begins “I know we never got along on anything but can we agree that this was-“

“The best sex we ever had?” you interrupt.

“Exactly”

Words couldn’t form in your mouth even if your life depended on it, so you just nod frantically. The very fact that not even Adam was able to produce a sentence is astounding. Usually he had the opposite problem. So you two just lay here, completely naked. Minutes later, which felt like hours, Adam talks again.

“And it means a lot from me, I had sex for billions of years”

“I like you more when you shut the fuck up”

“Okay got it”

You take some more minutes to recollect yourselves, your minds still foggy from the afterglow and dizzy. Your mouth, which was busy with Adam’s not so long ago, is painfully dry. You definitely need to rehydrate. You hear the sound of covers rustling, Adam finally moved. He rolls on his side, propping his head up with a bended arm. He’s trying so hard to look nonchalant.

“Just so you know, this was a one time thing, right? I still can’t stand the fuck out of your attitude”.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You twist on your side too, facing the First Man. Still holding the covers up to not let him have another glimpse of your chest, with which he had his fun, you reciprocate his gaze.

“Of course, the fuck did you expect?”

Adam snorts, looking away “Nothing at all, things like this happen all the time. We just got a little carried away”

“Another thing we agree on, I guess…”

You both roll back to face the ceiling, your breaths steady and eyes closed. A crackling sound makes its ways to your ears, and you’re reminded that pillows are still burning. You drag a hand down your exhausted face.

“We need to ask Alastor for a new bed”

Adam shrugs. He sits up on the border of the bed, giving you his winged back. Your stomach drops a little when you notice the long scratches trailing down his bare skin, exactly in the valley between the base of his ebony wings.

“I’ll come up with something, it’s better if the others don’t know what happened here”

You nod in agreement “It’s not like they heard us, right? We’ve been discreet”

Downstairs, everybody absolutely heard everything. Every bedspring creaking, every bang of the headboard against the wall, every scream, exclamation, degrading nickname you both screamed to each other. The moment Alastor heard the first, undeniable sound of a wild intercourse, he stood up and bid everybody goodbye to pay a visit to Rosie in Cannibal Town. Husk chugged down two entire bottles of vodka to try to forget what he was hearing. He also had to hand Angel Dust money. Vaggie kept her hand on Nifty’s ears the whole time, maybe the only one who didn’t understand what was going on in Adam’s bedroom and that’s for the better. Charlie just stared at the floor wide eyed, her mouth morphed in an expression of pure uneasiness. Although she also lost the bet against Angel, Cherri tried to distract herself by bumping some music in her headphones to muffle the obscene sounds. Speaking of Angel Dust, he’s now sitting on the couch, his long legs crossed, merrily counting a plump stack of bills.

“Nah, I don’t think so” Adam brushes it off.

He scratches his messy hair, right between his horns. Then, he hunches forward to pick up his boxers from the floor. As he slides them on, you reach for a glass of water left on his nightstand.

“So, it was nice while it lasted, but never again” Adam says.

“Never again” you convene.

That night, you can’t sleep. It’s not the first time Adam hinders your relax, but this is unbearable. You keep rolling left and right on your bed, eyes squeezed shut but your mind still very much active and able to recreate every image your retinas registered that morning. Adam all over you, his wings twitching with every thrust, his voice raspy in your ears, your sweaty bodies brushing skin to skin. Then Adam under you, holding you by the hips with his hands, helplessly grinding against you. And his kisses, his oh-so-skilled fingers because he was a guitarist after all, and the names you called each other, your wings intertwined. You buried your face in your pillow and screamed in agony. You can’t do this. As if your body just gained free will, you get up. You only have a shirt and panties on, but for what you’re about do you decide to leave it that way. You turn the lights in your room on and check yourself quickly in the mirror, brushing your messy hair with your fingers just to be more presentable. Then you take a deep breath, and you rush towards the door. The moment you open it, someone is already on the other side.

Adam.

Eyes wide open in surprise, and his hand extended as if he was about to knock on your door. Your jaw is almost touching the floor right now, and you and Adam stand there for a couple of seconds just staring at each other. You break the silence.

“Were you thinking what I was thinking?” you ask.

“Yes” he blurts out, almost desperately.

In the matter of a second, your mouths are already interlocked again, light moans of satisfaction escaping from both of your lips. You feel Adam’s hands going down the back of your thighs, and you immediately oblige on what he’s suggesting. You jump and intertwine your legs around his waist, as he holds you up with his arms under your thighs. This time it’s Adam who kicks the door shut.

—

To set things straight, Alastor had to replace two beds. The second time unfolded exactly like the first one, with you and Adam promising that it would never happen again even if this is the best sex you both ever experienced. Becoming friends, or better, enemies with benefits wasn’t recommendable. You feared that Lucifer might not take you seriously ever again, and that would shatter you since you look up to him so much. And Adam didn’t want to admit that he was getting himself comfortable in the Hotel.

You fucked again obviously. A lot.

Adam started to question whether your hotel room was enchanted with some sort of sorcery to draw him towards it every night. Honestly you wondered the same about Adam’s room. Especially when you started finding yourself in his bed once, maybe twice a day. The situation is definitely out of control. So much that you and Adam stopped trying to rationalize it, and just came to terms with it. When you met Adam for the first time, not in a billion years you would have thought that things would go this way. He was insufferable, arrogant, a total dickhead. Still kinda is. But Adam’s also your…fuckbuddy? Plaything? Thing? The lines are blurred.

However, you’re good with it and that’s what matters. You don’t care about labels, especially not with someone like him. Who knows what stunts he could pull, you still don’t trust him completely. Something else that matters is that sex with him is astronomically good, but you make sure not to praise Adam too much to prevent boosting his already titanic ego. But Adam knows you like it. It’s in the way you cling to his shoulders, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, your hand tugging his hair in the gap between his horns, your mouth full of sounds of pleasure and his name repeated like a chant. But you managed, more than often, to also turn things around. When it came to sex, Adam was surprisingly able to pipe his ego down a bit to let you just take control, pushing him down and doing all the rest. And in a snap of fingers he was the one hopelessly repeating your name. It was hard for him to restrain himself from dirty talking you, not that you wanted him. You couldn’t judge Adam because you did the same. The rule about no derogatory names was utterly thrown in the air along with any kind of rationality left in you. You liked telling him how much of a fucking asshole he was as you straddled his lap, “I hate you”’s were also a regular between you and Adam when you were close to each other’s faces as you pulled his horns. All of this, to you, feels as if you really just discovered now what sex is, despite all your past experiences.

At first, aftercare wasn’t really a thing. You or Adam, depending on where you were fucking, would just get up and go to bed in your respective rooms. You had nothing else to share after reaching your all time high. You believed that it was the way it ought to be, it’s not like he was your boyfriend or something. Then, one time, you stayed.

—

A bead of sweat running down his temple, Adam rhythmically breaths in and out. That was back-breaking. Awesome as always though. You, on the other hand, are lying down on your stomach, your wings peeping out the sheets. A relaxed smile extended on your face, you close your eyes with your chin resting on your crossed arms.

“Shit, you almost ignited my fuckin’ nuts, fire tits” Adam slurs, his breathing still irregular.

You open one eye, looking at him “You hot?”

“As always” he says with a shit-eating grin, but goes “OW” as soon as you punch his shoulder.

“I mean, duh? We’re in fucking Hell, Heaven was a bit cooler. In every sense” he adds.

“Mh, you’ll get used to it. To be honest, I find your room too chilly”.

Adam pulls himself up in a sitting position, and turns his head to look at you. Your face still plunged in your arms, he could only see your hair spread all over your naked back. But the spots of visible skin were all punctuated in goosebumps, your wings slightly puffed up. He bit the inside of his right cheek.

“You cold?” he asks, unsure.

“As always” you chuckle, mocking him.

Adam rolls his eyes. Then, you hear the familiar sound of sheets moving under Adam’s body, and the mattress bouncing a little meaning that he just got up.

“Take this”

You feel something land on your back, your eyes springing open. You roll around, sheets sliding down from your chest. You notice something stuck hanging on the tip of your left wing, a t-shirt. You take it in your hands, a bit startled. Was Adam being nice?

“Uh…thanks” you say.

Adam mumbles a “Whatever” before getting back to bed.

You pull the shirt down your naked torso, and you check the print on it. A genuine smile forms on your lips.

“You like Limp Bizkit?"

Adam almost chokes on the milkshake he was slurping. He always had one on his nightstand for after sex, his equivalent to a cigarette. He turns around and looks at you with a spontaneous grin of his own.

“You know Limp Bizkit?!” he exclaims.

“Uh, what if I said that Fred Durst signed my tits at Woodstock?” you reply confidently.

Adam’s hands fly up to his head, plunging them in his hair “There’s no way! You’re so fuckin’ lucky! Man I wish Fred Durst signed my tits-no wait a sec”

“One of the best days of my life” you sigh “I miss concerts”.

“Ugh, what would I give to see a human concert. Earth is a shitty dump truck but holy fuck if they have the best music. But not a single artist ends up in Heaven”

You chuckle “I didn’t expect you to be into music this much"

“You literally asked me about my band and you saw my electric guitar getting fixed a thousand times!”

“I thought that was just an act to pick up chicks”

“Not an act but yeah that’s also a reason”

After rolling your eyes in annoyance, you find yourself asking him which other bands he also liked. And, to your surprise, you and Adam had the exact same taste. He excitingly asks you about the concerts you’ve been to, and you tell him all your crazy stories about festivals and concerts. None of you leaves tonight. Adam lies in bed next to you, daydreaming about music, rock or metal. You two scoot closer and closer, your wings touching, chatting and blabbering about everything, not only music, with permanent grins that hurt your cheeks. None of you can help it. And Adam ends up holding you in his arms, french kissing you but lazily and gently, until you two fall asleep. It felt good.

Adam, felt good.

[anghraine]

ngl I always find it wild to see Star Wars stuff that's like "if you think about it in terms of realistic statistics/science then..." about almost any aspect of it.

I mean, what about the Star Wars films gives the impression that this universe abides by realistic statistics, or realistic anything else? SW is broadly a fantasy epic projected onto an IMAX screen with a space background painted on it. Yeah, the planets and moons in the films almost always have improbably limited biomes and two major locations max, because narratively these locations are usually just fantasy city-states with space aesthetics.

Starships travel at the speed of plot and we simply jump past the amount of time that presumably is passing, and sort of imply the passage of that time through shifts in the character dynamics. But this passage of time cannot be analyzed with any kind of consistency because the only logic governing it is the pace of the story.

Just how long did it take the Empire to send a full contingent of forces to Dantooine, search the entire planet, find the Rebel base, and then report back to Tarkin between one scene and another? No one says and no one appears to care. How long did it take Han and Leia to reach Bespin and what exactly went on between them while Luke was, in the same time frame, going through a protracted training over multiple days at an absolute minimum? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

How do giant space worms survive inside asteroids that somehow have an Earth-approximate gravitational field and I guess an atmosphere? Shhhh don't think about it. The point of the sequence is not "how does the giant space worm subsist off this random asteroid and how does it breathe and how does gravity work in this context, seriously" but that the giant worm sequence is fucking sick.

There's probably some after the fact EU justification invented by people who had nothing to do with the original writing of the space worm (or perhaps there are several mutually incompatible explanations) and I am profoundly disinterested in them. Nothing could make this even slightly realistic and it was never intended to be. Star Wars sings space shanties at scientific/mathematical realism as it sails past on a completely different ship going in the exact opposite direction.

And I do mean "sails" because while astronomy might tell us that space is unfamiliar and wild on a level we as Earthbound lifeforms can barely comprehend, Star Wars understands that space is basically an ocean, yet with stars and cool but survivable planets in it, or sometimes it's air but combined with a super cool space background so you can have early 20th century aerial combat that would make no sense in actual space conditions and doesn't need to.

"If you consider relativity, then just running the Empire would be..." General relativity does not govern the galaxy far, far away. Space magic does. I'm not sure there are even time zones.

[theninth09]

ive been looking at liams room for funsies. as one does, right. anyway im gonna talk about what his room looks like in season 4 first. (please excuse the ugly fucking filter i put over the pics, i wanted to be able to actually see things and teen wolfs lighting is.. like that)

i find it interesting that they put a picture of a woman (im assuming its a woman?) with a surfboard and an actual surfboard in his room. does this imply that liam has an interest in surfing? i mean, he does live in california... i dont know where exactly beacon hills is located as it doesnt actually exist and i know nothing about surf culture, in california or otherwise, in general. i dont think this means liam knows how to surf or anything but i thought it was a fun detail. maybe he just likes the aesthetics. i personally often like to connect him to ocean/beach imagery so this makes me very happy.

another detail is that next to the picture of the woman at the beach is a picture of what im assuming is a model in a "sexy" outfit and pose holding a soccer ball. considering he gets together with hayden, who plays soccer, the next season, this was just kinda funny to me. apparently liam likes girls who play sports. also, on the floor behind mason theres a soccer ball as well. feels really random since liam is only really interested in lacrosse, but i guess he likes sports in general?

theres more posters above his bed:

you can see the one saying "blood brothers" better here. its pretty obviously a lacrosse thing, based on the guys in their jerseys and the sticks they're holding but i couldn't figure out what/who exactly it is. perhaps some players that liam likes/looks up to? no idea if they actually exist or if its just a random picture of lacrosse players.

even further up theres another poster of a woman in a bikini/underwear. lovely that they portray liam as this stereotypical teenage boy with half-naked women on his wall. personally i think its really funny. theres a few other posters but its simply too dark for me to be able to tell what they are. i think the one right above the blood brothers one could be lacrosse related as well? not sure.

other than that, theres not that much interesting to see. his closet is a literal cage which?? sure, why not. apparently he likes to wear caps as he has four of them hanging off of it. his closet actually changes in s6 to a regular dresser which you can very briefly see.

this is in no way serious but my friend cody and i came up with a silly little interpretation for this. his closet in s4 is a cage, but its also see-through. hes in the closet (not out about his bisexuality yet) even though its quite obvious (see-through closet.) pre-s4, brett and the lacrosse team put him in a cage at the zoo and hit him with lacrosse balls = he feels like an animal, a monster, he represses who he truly is. his last name is dunbar, like the bars of a cage; hes caged in by his past and his biological father. and in s6 he has a regular dresser: he manages to break free, he grows closer with theo... he comes out of his cage/the closet. again, we're not actually serious about this. this is just for funsies.

moving on. back to his room in s4. heres shots of his desk:

we could already tell that his pc is on the opposite wall of his bed due to his and masons position when playing video games, but theres definitive proof of that. his pc and printer on his desk and what seems to be a tv? to the right over there. theres a few more posters too, one of what seems to be a.. mountain bike? motor bike? something like that (i guess liam really is a fan of anything sport related.) i cant really figure out what the other posters are of, sorry. although theres a few framed pictures and just pictures attached to the wall as well, which i think are supposed to be of him and friends and/or family. the last interesting thing to me here is that theres at least three trophies on his shelves. lacrosse? or did he play soccer before his step-dad introduced him to lacrosse... i guess we'll never know.

thats it for s4, now lets look at the things that change for s6. his bed and the chair next to it are like the only things that stay the same.

first off, all his posters are gone and replaced instead by two framed pictures (which just look like generic decor to me) but theres also small pictures tucked into the window frame/attached to the wall. cant tell what exactly they are, but to me this seems like pics of him and his friends/family again. hes got a few new lamps, the red table that used to be his nightstand is now just a regular table where he puts stuff (it looks like the same table to me at least.) theres a corkboard on his wall, but we didnt get a good shot of that wall in s4 so maybe thats not new.

boring stuff, lets move on to slightly less boring stuff!

the door behind scott is interesting to me. one, this lets us know that liam has a bathroom adjoining his room (since the scene of mason and liam in s4 starts by the camera "entering" liams room through his door on the exact opposite side of his room.) two, the door changed. if you look back at the s4 pics, theres the door as well but it has glass panels instead of being solid wood like in s6. now, im aware this was just whatever department is responsible for making a set like that forgetting/not caring/etc and thats why the door is different. i dont fault them for that, i dont think anyone else has payed this much attention to it like me.

but! this allows me to speculate about canon reasons for that change. and me personally... i think it would make a lot of sense for liams character if he accidentally destroyed the door during an outburst. punching is one of liams common reactions when he starts struggling with his anger: he punches the wall when he's stuck in the well in s4, in s6ep12 he punches the locker until its dented and hanging off of the hinges after brett provokes him on the field, he punches the wall instead of nolan at the zoo. theres more than enough events between s4 and s6b where he could've destroyed his door, but it also just could've been a regular outburst due to his IED. either way, his door got replaced.

i wonder if liam is familiar with the difference between feeling glass splinters and wood splinters being stuck in his skin. i wonder if theres a constant ache in his knuckles. i wonder if when he calmed down and saw the aftermath, he panicked because his parents didnt know about him being a werewolf and how was he supposed to explain a broken door but no injury on his hands to match? i wonder a lot about liam dunbar. anyway.

lets talk about something lighthearted and fun: video games! i ignored the guitar (that you can see leaning against the wall behind scott) until now, because its not an actual guitar. its a guitar hero controller made to look like a black-white fender stratocaster. meaning, liam just likes to play guitar hero, and doesnt actually play the guitar. im still taking this as a win since i personally headcanon that he has a huge interest in music. (also if you're wondering how i knew that its a controller: my captain's friend is in a band and figured it out in like a minute. he says you can tell because of the black pad in the middle. shout out to him.)

heres another shot from s6, which also shows us that his room is a lot more boring now. why did they take his shelves and only give him those four lousy boxes omg... whatever. take a look:

thats mortal kombat. they're playing mortal kombat!!! im pretty sure its mortal kombat ll but gladly correct me if im wrong. i got extremely excited when i recognized it being MK because i made another post about thiam & video games and, unknowing that he canonically likes MK, claimed that its one of liams favorite games. anyway, we know that liam plays cage because the screen says "cage wins" and in the scene mason and liam talk about liam winning. which makes the way they're sitting really funny. it'd make more sense if liam was on the right, yknow, in front of the character hes playing as. ah well, tv logic. fun stuff.

one last detail and then im done yapping. first pic is from s6, the second one is from s4.

these look like xbox controllers to me. i dont have much more to say about that other than pointing it out. liam prefers xbox over playstation, good to know.

[duckprintspress]

Fandom 101: The Origin of the Citrus Scale

A guest post by Aeryn Jemariel Knox. (@jemariel)

Ah, the citrus scale. It’s like a cryptid roaming the edges of modern fandom communities. Long-tenured veterans speak of it with affectionate mockery while newcomers google curiously. A relic from a bygone fandom era, the citrus scale saw a brief resurgence in 2018 during the Tumblr porn ban, suggested as a way to avoid the new bot censors trawling for posts with the NSFW tag—though never, I think, in seriousness. 

That may have been jocular and short-lived, but it does point to the reasons why the citrus scale was created in the first place. Certain fandom activities have always had to fly under the radar to one degree or another. Whether you’re trying to evade legal action or simply avoid deletion based on explicit content, a certain level of obfuscation is sometimes worthwhile.

It’s not hard to find the generally agreed-upon definitions of the citrus scale’s levels. According to Fanlore, KnowYourMeme, and others, this is more or less the “official” citrus scale:

Orange: Light stuff, kissing, nothing below the waist or under the clothes. 

Lime: Groping, implied sex without details, fade-to-black, no intercourse or intimate contact.

Lemon: Sex, in full detailed glory. Woo-hoo! Regardless of the actual acts performed, if you can tell who had an orgasm (or, perhaps, had an orgasm denied), how, and where, it’s a lemon.

Grapefruit: We’ll get into this later.

But these tidy categories are clear thanks to the benefit of hindsight. In the Wild West of the early internet, it was not so easy to pin down exactly what you might be getting into based on which term was used.

At its origin, the citrus scale wasn’t a scale at all. It has its roots in hentai (and was always more popular in anime fandoms), stemming from a specific early hentai film by the title of Cream Lemon (1984). Hentai being what it is, this led to certain subculture communities referring to any story with explicit sexual content as a “Lemon.” And for a while, that was the extent of it. Then came fanfiction.net purging explicit content (2002), Livejournal suffering Strikethru (2007), and other events that pushed burgeoning fandom communities out of their growing hubs and back into smaller, isolated communities centered on a single fandom or pairing. In the relatively sparse early ’00’s internet, anybody could spin up an Angelfire website, pass the link around to their friends, and get a reasonable amount of traffic.  Websites devoted to the works of a single author or small group were common.

I mention this to describe the landscape in which fandom lexicons grew and evolved in the early-mid 2000s. Each pocket community had its own rules, lingo, and expectations; venturing outside of your home pocket could lead to some pretty major miscommunications. 

“Lemon” was established early and its definition has hardly shifted. It means that the labeled content (art, fic, mood board, etc.) includes sex. Intercourse, bumping uglies, etc. However, some yaoi fandom niches used it specifically to mean gay sex of the male variety. In some communities, “lime” developed as a corresponding term for feminine gay sex, while other communities brought it up with the usage that eventually “stuck,” “not quite a lemon.” Given that lemon and lime often go hand in hand when discussing actual flavors, the fact that we had some divergent term evolution is not surprising. But coming in from a different pocket of fandom and seeing “lime,” thinking you’ll be reading semi-softcore sexual tension and instead being confronted with graphic sapphic antics? Bit of a shock, I’m sure.

A more dramatic example is the rating level of “Grapefruit,” which occupies two completely different ends of the scale. In some circles, grapefruit was defined as “less intense than lime,” G or PG-rated stories that were more soft or cute than sexy. In other circles, it was used to mean the exact opposite. Kinkier than kink, smuttier than smut, grapefruit art and fic was where you went to have your eyebrows singed off. Some communities were even more specific, using grapefruit for stories featuring non-consensual sex. This was where darkfic lived – in modern day parlance, your “Dead Dove, Do Not Eat” works. To say that this usage difference caused some disagreements would be putting it mildly.

Nobody really worried about orange. Orange just existed, not bothering anybody.

When these terms were coined, the internet was not an assumed aspect of everybody’s daily life the way it is today. There was no Tumblr, no Facebook, no social media to speak of. There were no large repositories of internet lore and knowledge such as Urban Dictionary or KnowYourMeme. It was a playground. And what do you do on a playground? You make friends! The citrus scale, like so many fandom tropes and concepts, was defined by groups of friends that created them ad hoc to meet their own needs at the time. No one could have predicted that it would become so much a fandom history that it’d be enshrined, nor that I would be writing a blog post about it two decades later. From the common source of lemon, people extrapolated what the rest of the scale might look like, and there was no authority to tell them they were wrong. (Except other fans. That hasn’t changed.)

In conclusion, it’s best not to take the citrus scale too seriously. At best, it’s a cheeky way to avoid censors who try to bar a community from engaging with explicit works, but it’s also varied to a fault and open to interpretation. If you and your community have come up with a use for it that suits your needs, then congratulations: you’re part of a fandom tradition stretching back to the roots of the internet. Just don’t try and tell anybody else that they’re wrong. You might start a flame war.

References:

Prokopetz: Orange and Grapefruit

She’s Got Plans: What is the Citrus Scale in Fanfiction?

Unwinnable: Lemon and Lime

Past Fandom 101 Posts:

Everything About A/B/O Dynamics You Wanted to Know (but were Afraid to Ask)

How to Diversify Your To-Be-Read Pile

Recognizing AI Generated Images, Danmei Edition

[amarriageoftrueminds]

If The Howlies were real...

I've been thinking about Steve's time during the war, and wondering if anyone has any headcanons about, eg. where he was stationed, how exactly the Howling Commando mission planning went, etc?

In the comics, Steve isn't assigned to the 107 but to the 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division (aka the ‘Big Red One’.)

They were part of D-Day landings, on Omaha Beach.

In deleted scenes / clips from the Smithsonian, it’s implied that Steve was also a part of D-Day: 

(That’s General Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander.)

(These landing craft 👆 were only used at D-Day. Although it’s possible this is propaganda footage of a rehearsal.)

If the Howlies had the same set up as the 26th, then Steve and the guys would’ve been stationed in Swanage, Dorset:

(Members of ‘A’ Company 26th Infantry Regiment US Army, billeted at Craigside in the High Street opposite Purbeck House Hotel, Swanage, around 1943 – 44.)

That’s 114 miles south west of Camp Griffiss in Bushy Park, Teddington, where General Eisenhower had his SHAEF HQ, starting from January 1944

(before that his HQ was at No.20 Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, in London -- aka ‘Little America’ or ‘Eisenhower Platz’ -- a couple of miles northwest of Churchill’s War Rooms, which inspired the underground bunker HQ seen in CATFA.)

Thousands of American troops, including the 26th Infantry, started arriving in Dorset in November 1943 -- which is also when Steve arrived in England after rescuing the 107!

While in Dorset, the US troops were largely engaged in rehearsing for Operation Overlord, aka D-Day. 

One such rehearsal was the disastrous Operation Smash, on the 18th April, 1944, which was a live-ammunition practice for beach landings at Normandy. (Disastrous because six men accidentally drowned when their Valentine semi-submersible tank... sank.)

Operation Smash was staged in Studland Bay (that’s 4.5 miles north of Swanage). Present to observe were: Winston Churchill, King George VI, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, and Acting Admiral Louis Mountbatten. They did so from ‘Fort Henry,’ a 90 foot long bunker (built and named by Canadian engineers in 1943 -- so it would’ve been there by the time Steve n’ Co got there -- and it’s still there today!) overlooking the bay. 

The US troops moved on from Swanage in late April 1944, and departed England entirely (from nearby places like Weymouth, Poole Quay, Portland Harbour, etc.) on 5th June 1944. D-Day was on the 6th.

In the deleted scene from Avengers, Steve is clearly shown crossing  the Ludendorff Bridge:

...But this is impossible!

Because that bridge (at Remagen) was only captured on the 7th of March 1945:

(9th Armored Division in Remagen, Germany, recorded 9th March, 1945).

...and Steve had already crashed the Valkyrie 6 days prior!

(So unless that bridge was captured earlier, possibly because of Steve n’ Co., that footage can’t be right! 

CATFA does have a habit of putting the US Army in places they had no business being yet at that time of the war -- i.e. showing the US Army right up at the North of Italy, when in reality the Nazis still held it. 

(In fact, Mussolini’s Nazi puppet republic, the Republic of Salò, was nicknamed after a lake in Brescia... which is 200-ish miles further south than the US Army are shown in November ‘43.)

So I guess it’s possible that Steve & Co really were in Remagen, Germany, and crossing the Ludendorff Bridge before March ‘45! 

Or (perhaps more likely) we’re supposed to read it as some generic bridge in Western Europe, captured on D-Day (a la Pegasus bridge). 

.

Where exactly the Hydra factories were (and thus most Howlie missions) is not categorically stated. However, what Steve says / taking rough guesses from the map we see in Krausberg...

...it looks like the Howlies would’ve had missions in: Italy, France, (then) Czechoslovakia, Poland, and... Greece. 

(The script also mentions Belgium and Russia, which are neither shown on the map nor mentioned. However, there is a shot of them creeping through snowy forests, which looks very much like the Ardennes. That might put them in Belgium as part of the Battle of the Bulge -- which in turn gives us a date that could be the ‘difficult winter’ mentioned in the Smithsonian footage.)

If the Howlies were an active team from say 14th November 1943 -- 1st March 1945 (when Steve went down in the Valkyrie) 

That’s 473 days / or 1 year, 3 months, 15 days / or 15 months, 15 days.

If they had 9 missions total during that time...

6 Hydra factories around Europe

+ 1 winter mission to save over a 1000 men (as mentioned in Smithsonian; could be Battle of the Bulge? 🤔)

+ 1 D-Day mission (possibly including amphibious landings &/or bridge captures)

+ 1 Zola-capture mission, probably somewhere in the Alps. 

+ 1 Valkyrie mission makes 10. 

...That would give them 52.5 days (less than two months) to both plan, travel in and out, and execute each mission. That seems like a pretty tight turnaround, especially if each factory was different enough to warrant a new/fresh plan. 

(One difficulty never mentioned because their raids are relegated to a montage: the fact that Hydra factories appear to be staffed by slave labour. Means the Howlies can’t just bust in guns blazing! Or, at least, I don’t think Steve would stand for it. They’d have to free the workers first, and hopefully they’d be workers both physically capable and willing to join in the fight.)

In the film, they are never shown being back in the UK between these missions,  right up until the last Valkyrie mission in 1945, and dialogue seems to suggest there hasn’t been any personal contact between them and the HQ staff in between. 

(It does seem a bit nuts to be shipping them out and back every time, rather than just keeping them on the continent. Also nuts to be planning their most important Valkyrie mission only the day before. But anyway...) 

In order to take part in D-Day, they had to have been back to England at least once, to receive those highly classified orders and to rehearse (can’t be discussing details of D-Day over radio!) 

Also, they couldn’t have been allowed to go haring off attacking Hydra bases any old where, because it might have been inconvenient for D-Day (ie. if the Nazis increased defenses in certain places just because Captain America had been sighted there recently.)

TPTB could have used the Howlies as a diversion, sending them on dummy missions designed to make the Nazis think D-Day is going to happen somewhere else. I think Greece and Italy would be a great way to convince the Nazis that an invasion will be coming from the south, not the north! They could even have used doubles of the Howlies to throw the Nazis off the scent, as part of the Ghost Army (they did this IRL with Bernard Montgomery!) 

Maybe the SSR would be advised to keep the Howlies’ real missions as far away from Normandy as possible, earlier on, and then the reverse right before D-Day? (ie. damage Hydra’s factories that are nearest to Normandy, close to D-Day, so that they can’t supply weapons and don’t have enough time to rebuild).

Other possibilities: 

If they were not stationed in the UK between missions, and weren’t with the US Army of occupation (because it hadn’t invaded that part of Europe yet) Steve & Co. might have been living undercover in Nazi-occupied territory in the run up to missions against local Hydra bases (in, eg. France and Poland. Chance for Frenchy to get his Maquis on!) Very dangerous, very nerve-wracking, very Inglourious Basterds of them. Also potentially very dangerous for the locals, too, since there would surely be reprisals against them after any successful anti-Hydra attack by Howlies. 

IRL There was a concentration camp called Terezin in Czechoslovakia, near-ish where that one Hydra base is shown. (It’s the one that the Nazis famously filmed a propaganda movie in, after cleaning it up and deporting a bunch of people to Auschwitz to seemingly reduce overcrowded living conditions, to fool the visiting Red Cross.) So Steve and the Howlies might have gone off-mission to go and liberate that; could be that was a source of slave labour for the nearby Hydra factory.  (From a character POV, Terezin was known for having a big artistic culture among the inmates, and surely Steve would feel empathy for those used in propaganda, having been made to do that himself.)

Logically speaking, I would’ve expected that last Hydra base to be in Holland or Denmark -- not Greece -- to complete the ring of bases formed around Germany. 🤔 Maybe even more likely to be Denmark, since the Tesseract (which kicked off the whole Hydra supremacy thing) was discovered in Tønsberg, SE Norway.