#HE HAS A PERMIT ITS OK!!!

[citroncynique]

dottore's credentials are....... well. they sure are!!

[googoothegodofblood]

Its like. SO surreal when you grow up "alongside" an artist- youre the same age, but they had a following bigger and better before you ever had social media to begin with, you two grow up, you follow their progress and they enjoy your support..

the clock strikes 19, and suddenly its like a ticking time bomb to see if they realized the responsability on their shoulders and that they need to grow up-their sudden power imbalance with younger friends, mutuals and fans. Do they know the damage they can cause? most of them dont.

Through a mix of self unawareness and selfishness, they hurt someone. they hurt a minor and now this person you watched develop before your very own eyes is the religated piece of shit of the week and shunned from the community.

Its even worse when thats your friend..

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[cover-your-ears]

fighting god (Genshin Impact)

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[troublesomesnitch]

The Devil You Know

Aemond x Septa!Reader - Pt. 2

Little follow-up to this, but hopefully works OK on its own! There might be a third and final part also.

Contents: Book!Aemond, filth and depravity. Coercion, manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, medieval fuckboy Aemond. Just the tip...

Words: 3200

Full disclosure - possibly a bit unpolished because I wanted to get it done before S2.

-

You left the grand sept just days after your investiture. 

At noon on the first day of the new month, a royal courier came to fetch you, loading your meagre belongings onto a cart to bring both that and yourself to the castle. To your new home and abode: a chamber with one bed, one table and one little chair, one sconce and one seven-pointed star on the wall. Naturally in the servant’s quarters, but on the highest floor, along with the ladies’ maids, far away from the damp cellars and busy kitchens.

The queen’s household is large, and you are somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy; expected to follow orders, but able to give them, too. You are a septa now, a woman grown, and for the first time in all of your life you have no Mother Superior to answer to, no Septon Alester, and no other girls sharing your bedchamber - which is both a blessing and a curse. It is nice and quiet to be by yourself, free of prying eyes and Sister Sybella’s snoring. But no one pays notice when you slip out at night, and if you run into a maid or steward, they naturally assume that you are headed towards Her Grace or Princess Helaena’s chambers. 

Luckily, Prince Aemond’s rooms are in roughly the same direction. 

When others are near, he is perfectly honourable. Really, his performance is quite impressive. Not too eager, not too distant, perfectly measured when he greets you in the halls, or sits with his mother in her solar. But at night, at night he is different. When the hour grows late and the royal family say their goodnights, he will find a chance to strike, to brush past you and squeeze your wrist, or run his fingers over the small of your back to let you know that he wishes to see you. That he wants you to come to him tonight. 

To his chamber, to his bed, to his arms. 

It is a humiliating plight, and you climb the steps of Maegor’s Holdfast with all the enthusiasm of a convict walking to the scaffold. Weighed down by the guilt of your actions, terrified that someone should know. And resentful, of the prince for making you dishonour your vows, and of the gods for cursing you with beauty - had they made you ugly, Prince Aemond would never have spared you a glance, and you would not be in this predicament. You would not be forced to indulge his lusts and endure the liberties he takes with your body. 

But most of all, worst of all, you feel ashamed. Of all the things you do together, and of the fact that you cannot deny it does sometimes bring you pleasure, too. 

You have permitted him to kiss your mouth, your throat, your chest. Wrapped your hands  around his member and stroked it while he fondled your breasts. Let him lie on top of you and rut against you, still fully clothed, pressing hard between your legs until both of you were sweaty and panting. And once, only once, you let him slip his hand up under your skirts and touch you there, and it felt more wonderful than anything else you have ever experienced. So wonderful that you have not allowed him to do it again, for fear that it should corrupt your soul and spirit. That you will always crave it, the warm press of his fingers, and the way your body suddenly shook and tightened with a pleasure so exquisite you could not help but cry out in ecstasy. 

But he has never had you. Never put any part of himself inside you, never even seen your naked body. It is the strangest thing - there are surely many ladies who would give themselves to him, wholly and fully, yet for some reason, he wants only you.

And he does not waste time with any sort of pleasantries. The joys of night are short, and he can only keep you for so long - you must be back in time to rest, and at the very least before the scullions and kitchen maids rise. You have hardly latched the door before he wraps you in his longing arms, laying you on his bed and parting your legs. The sheets are soft against your back, and his leathers are smooth and cool, and you do not protest when he lays on top of you. You have grown used to the feel of his chest against yours, the heaviness of him, and the hard and lean lines of his body, so different from your own. You have grown used to his kisses too. You like it when he pecks gently at your lips, and when he slides his tongue into your mouth and curls it around your own. When he strokes your body in all sorts of ways, to see what darling little noises he can coax from you this time. 

“Have you ever been touched like this before?” he breathes - a silly question, since he knows the answer well enough already. 

“No,” you whisper. “Never.”

“Say it again,” he commands, closing his eye and breathing in deeply, pressing his nose to your sweet-smelling hair. 

“No other man has ever touched me - only you.” 

It arouses him very much, hearing those words, and he groans softly when he takes your hand and guides it down between your bodies. Knowing what he wants you to do, you hike your skirts up, just enough to run your own fingers along the folds of your womanhood and hold them up for him to taste. Which he does with the most fervent passion, sighing as he licks them clean of any trace of you. He has asked many times to be allowed to taste your sweetness from its source, but you have staunchly refused, appalled at the mere suggestion. He should not press his mouth to such a dirty place. He should not lick something that serves only the body’s most revolting and shameful functions. 

Usually, once he has kissed you like this for a while, and pressed and rubbed against you, he will either reach his end from that alone, or he will make you pleasure him with your hands. But not tonight. 

“Let me feel you,” he pants. “Just this once let me put it inside - ”

“It is a sin,” you gasp, mortified, but nonetheless shivering when he pulls at your sleeve, exposing your shoulder to cover it with kisses. 

“As is this,” he whispers. “And this, and this - ”

His mouth is lovely and warm on your skin, and his teeth are gentle when they scrape along your throat, nibbling softly above your neckline, and biting down hard below it. Making your breathing uneven as you struggle to string your words together. 

“But it is different - you know that it is, please don’t make me do it…”

The prince lifts his head to look at you, propped up on his elbow. 

“It is the movements that are the most sinful part of the act - is it not?” he says, cupping your face and stroking your cheek in the tenderest of ways. When you nod, he adds, “and if I were to not perform them, would that not be a lesser sin?”

His tone is innocent enough, but you know that wicked look in his eyes, the self-assured draw of his mouth. He knows that he is right - it is the movements, not the insertion itself that makes the act of coupling so sinful. And if he showed restraint and did not move in any such manner, then you suppose it would be a lesser sin. Although they did not mention such possible circumventions in your training, naturally. And there are other issues, still. 

“But my maidenhead…” you mutter, looking bashfully to the side when the prince touches his nose to yours. 

“I will be gentle,” he breathes. “I will be so very gentle - my angel, my love - let me at least have you this way… ”

It never really is your choice to make. To be alone with the prince is to balance on a precarious ledge - you can deny him some things, but only so long as you can offer something else that might appease him. And though he never makes overt threats, you are painfully aware that displeasing him could have dire consequences. That he could hurt you in a multitude of ways if he so wished. 

You squirm under his gaze, riddled with so many conflicting emotions; fearful of his intentions, yet blushing at the terms of endearment. Who would not want to hear such lovely words from a prince?

“Just this once,” he whispers, his voice soft and amorous. Just this once…

All you give him is the faintest nod, a slight incline of your head, and his hands are already pushing at your skirts, bunching them up over your parted knees. His breath hitches at the sight of your womanhood, your most intimate parts that you have never bared to him before; wet and inviting, framed by soft curls. Lovelier than he had ever even imagined, that rosy colour of your innermost lips, that little pearl you will not let him touch. And most of all your maidenhead, the delicate tissue that partially covers your entrance, and that he will earnestly try not to damage beyond what is necessary. 

For reasons he could not say, you have quite enchanted him. So much so that he has lavished more patience and tenderness on you than ever before on a woman, and that despite seeing so little return on the investment. For weeks he has contented himself with just your hand and your reluctant kisses, the mere feel of your body beneath him. Many times, he could have taken you by force, and many times he wanted to, yet somehow he could not bring himself to do it, could not bear the thought that you should hate him for it. That your delicate limbs should be hurt in trying to fight him off. 

He has waited long for this, and he does not want to give you time to change your mind, so he only quickly shrugs off his doublet and unbuttons his breeches to free his manhood. Which is painfully hard and in dire need of relief.

It still looks so strange to you, that unholy appendage, with its swollen shaft and its fat, fleshy head. Like the poisonous mushrooms that grow in the Kingswood, though you always keep that thought to yourself - you doubt the prince would appreciate such a childish comparison. He strokes it slowly while his other hand disappears between your legs, brushing over your womanhood and spreading your folds to reveal your little opening. Untried, uncharted by anything or anyone. 

You grit your teeth when the tips of his fingers are replaced by - something else. 

Slowly, steadily, he begins to ease himself inside of you, and you feel your muscles instantly and unwittingly tensing up, startled at the sensation. At the pressure, and at the sound the prince makes when the tip of his member is enveloped by your body, the tight rim of your entrance squeezing its sensitive head. The rest of him will not fit, but he spits into his palm and strokes it along his shaft, and that makes things glide a little better, as do your slow, deliberate breaths. 

It hurts, it really does, only not in the way you expected. You do not so much feel like anything is being torn or ripped - rather, you feel stretched, forcibly split apart and opened far beyond what should be possible. Your insides burn from it, and you wince with pain when he adjusts his position, spreading your thighs wider and driving his hips forward. Pressing in until he is fully seated. 

And he moans from how perfect you feel around him. So soft, so tight. His seeing eye closes and his breathing is hoarse, strained from how badly he needs to move, needs to thrust; his arms trembling by the sides of your head as he struggles to hold himself still. It is a bizarre thing to do, you think, just laying together like this, one on top of the other, completely motionless. Your legs raised over his hips, his chin resting against your forehead. His manhood swelling within you, throbbing with need. You can only hope it means that he will finish quickly and release you from this chore, from the searing pain that scorches your core, and the feeling of being so trapped, so tethered. Much like one of the many-legged creatures on Princess Helaena’s wall; splayed out and nailed down, held in place by a foreign object piercing your body. 

But the prince likes it. You have never heard such heavy sighs from him as just now, never seen such utter bliss on his face. His forehead is damp with sweat, his brows drawn together, his upper lip subtly twitching. One of his hands trails up the back of your naked thigh, lifting your leg to curl it around his back, and he moans from that too, as the slight shift gives him a brief feeling of movement. It is not at all comfortable for you, but you are distracted when he seeks your lips, claiming your mouth with slow, deep kisses. His tongue rolls over yours, pulling back to lick along your lip before plunging into your mouth again, over and over, in a strangely repetitive way. A rhythmic way. As if he is making love to your mouth, since he cannot make love to your body. 

It feels lovely, so lovely that it makes your insides twitch. Which in turn makes the prince curse, and a violent shudder run through his body. 

“Do it again,” he moans, and like always you do your best to please him. Clenching your muscles, squeezing tight around him, then releasing again. Very slowly, and each time feeling his breathy gasp against your face, and the thrum of a heartbeat inside of you - whether his or yours, you cannot say. It is painful with your already sore muscles, and it must be a poor excuse for what it is supposed to mimic, but it is still better than nothing, judging by how the prince moans. How he bites his lip and furrows his brow as your insides twitch and contract, so tight and slick and warm. 

How strange to think that now you have become one. Now you are as close as two people can ever be. Closer still when the prince slithers his arm underneath your body, pressing you hard against him and cradling your head. Your fingers are clenched in the damp material of his shirt, and he unfurls them gently to wrap your arms around his neck, around his shoulders; wanting you to hold him, to embrace him as a woman should her lover. 

It makes your discomfort somewhat more bearable, having something to cling and anchor yourself to. The closeness, and the intimacy of it, how his face is right above yours, your noses touching and breaths mingling. He drags his mouth against your own, from side to side, his lips brushing over yours, then over the rest of your face; your chin, your cheekbones, your temples. So, so gently, and like often before, you are stunned that he can be both so cruel and so tender with you. So selfish, and so soft. 

He has had countless chances to force himself on you, yet he never did. Even now he is keeping his promise, holding back, fighting hard to not succumb to that most powerful and natural instinct of a man, this urge to thrust, to copulate. You can feel that he is shivering with the force of his need, gritting his teeth, unable to keep completely still - there is a gentle, almost imperceptible swaying of his body that he cannot help, an impossibly slow rocking with each of his ragged breaths. 

He really is beautiful, you think, with his striking eyes and thick, silvery hair; pink lips parted in a breathy sigh. You could not say what possessed you to be so bold, but you find yourself reaching up to place a wet, lingering kiss underneath his jaw, right on top of the constellation of freckles that adorns his neck, swiping your tongue across it and tasting the sweat of his skin. To an almost immediate effect - at the feeling of your timid caresses, the prince curses loudly, clenching his fingers in the sheets, arching his back - 

“No!” you exclaim, “not inside me, not inside - ”

But it is too late; he has already shuddered once, and his manhood is already pulsing and spurting when he manages to withdraw from you. So stiff that it flops up against his stomach, a grotesque thing to look upon, the way it just hangs there, squirting out semen as he groans and gasps. At the very end of his rapture he grasps it with one hand, stroking it hard all the way from the base to the tip, as though wanting to squeeze out every last bit of fluid. And once he is spent, he rolls off of you and onto his back, completely unceremoniously. Leaving you raw and hurting inside, and with the sticky feeling of his semen trickling out between your thighs. 

“If it catches,” you whisper, afraid to even speak the words. “If I should be with child…”

The prince runs a hand over his face, panting and still too lightheaded to be thinking clearly, because he stupidly tells you that needn’t worry, he will have a tea brought to you -

“No! please no,” you shriek, panicked. “They would know I broke my vows - ”

“Then I will bring it myself,” he snaps, but rather than reassure you, his harsh tone only makes you tear up.

At the sigh of your quivering mouth, his face softens, and he reaches out to pull you into his arms, hold you against his chest, stroke your hair and rock you gently. Say forgive me, forgive me, I quite forgot myself, you mustn’t cry, my love -

“Why must you torment me,” you sob. “Sooner or later someone will know, they will shame me and ruin me - “

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says. “I would not let them - I will cut off any hand that hurts you - “

You press your ear to his chest to drown out the sound of his voice, for he has said these same words many times before, and with the same fervour and poignancy. He adores you, he reveres you, he will cut off any hand that hurts you, any eye that ogles you, any tongue that slanders your name. 

You haven’t the courage to tell him - the only hand that hurts you is his own. 

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @ladythornofrivia, @blackswxnn, @hightpwer, @toodlesxcuddles, @arcielee

@targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost

And thank you @aemondsbabygirl for being a great one-woman focus group!

[sandsorghum]

Clouds & Curtains

husband!Nanami x wife!reader

wc. 1.3k

summary. Perhaps Nanami's approach to...rousing you in the mornings has changed over the years.

tags. Established relationship, Domestic bliss | Romance | Smut | Body (& Soul)Worship | Mentions of Nanami wanting to be a father

a/n: Super soft, super indulgent piece. Have your cake and eat it nanami girlies. Sometimes i just need to write him a love letter ok

Prologue

Back when you'd just begun to be intimate with each other, Nanami tended to be a little embarrassed about his subconscious (but hardly subtle) desires for you. He would rather suffer his internal, infernal dilemma than disrupt your rest. But he couldn't quite control his urges, squirming between decency and depravity, not when you'd rub up against him, so innocuous and merciless.

It was a hard habit to shake; how Nanami felt he ought to earn your every quiver against him, every whimper, however much he yearned to feel you tremble at his moans at any given moment. It was codified in him, there was a time and a place and patterns to follow, before he could permit himself the pursuit of your shared pleasures.

Of course, you'd unveil him in the evenings, the privilege of your touch stripping bare the prerogatives of his flesh. You unraveled him, his reticence, his reasoning, his very capacity for speech, by braiding your breath and fingers with his, in the friction-begetting-friction tangle of your lips and limbs together.

Yet he still thinks of these mornings, that find the two of you entwined, as an undeserved luxury. So Nanami would do his best instead to focus on your face, how sweet your peaceful expression was. It would be wicked of him not to cherish this, he'd chastise himself for wanting more, for wanting to drown in your adoring gaze, for wanting to return it with his own hungry one, body and spirit beggared by the night, by the hours not spent beheld by you.

Nanami assumed the beauty and tenderness of your countenance would quell, or could sate his appetites, would tame the primal stirrings in his belly. But nothing could be further from the truth, in fact they had the opposite, compounding effect; a lump in his throat would rise, and his desperation would thicken till he could only helplessly rut his hips against you.

And then your eyelids would flutter open, and in the crease of your knowing smile, all his definitions, his distinctions, all that distance between need and greed would collapse with a single kiss.

Years later, and your husband is so absolutely shameless about his...early head starts to the day. He pulls you into him, snug against the cleft of your ass cheeks, content to let your scent and radiance seep through the thin fabric and warm him in a way the sun, in its reluctance behind the clouds and curtains, can never hope to.

He stares at the petulance drooping off the petals of your lips, rose bud coiled tight before daybreak can coax it to unfurl for strobes of gold. Nanami is a patient man, too patient you've often thought, yet you feel his phantom touch, a tender sweep of your mouth, a zephyr whispering in the wings, billowing brocade and swelling muslin, ghost pulling you through the gauze of sleep.

You shift against Nanami to hear him sigh your name, soft and distant, thick with slumber and affection and it's this which rouses you more, not merely his growing rigidity pressed to the curves of you. Although, it helps, feeling every inch of his hunger like this, in a slow swirl and pinch at your waist, the gentlest rocking as your breasts are cradled in his palms, familiar persuasion pebbling your areola. You know he dreams of them swollen with milk, that all your memories of his teeth are girded by the desire for them to be suckled by the most innocent of mouths, baring only gums and tiny wails. Your nubs stiffen and a small smile stretches across your face at the thought that with his wish to grow a family fulfilled, he might find also a small regret, of his monopoly of your mounds contested by another, to whom he owes the genesis of your body's generosity, that sweet fullness dribbling, stolen, into your husband's mouth, enticing in its envy.

This prospect of hypocrisy is to be savoured for another day, far down the road. This morning brings neither hesitation nor urgency, all syrupy light and his maple gaze, the languor of his limbs splayed around you to be treasured just as much as the gradual grind of his cock. There's a certain smugness in its slowness, as with the self-assuredness of his thumb circling a bare sliver of your skin.

A familiar motion that stirs a memory, fuchsia-tinted for the both of you. You remember your then boyfriend stammering and scarlet-tipped, matched to the rosy tips of his ears, excuses lost in the shuffle of sheets and stutter of hips.

"I-it's just-just the t-temp-ah-temperatuur," he'd slurred, the excuse as thin and transparent as the sticky film he laved across your throat, dangerously growing gossamer and feebler with every twitch and each strong buck against your body.

"Mmhmm," you'd hum, carnal ache turning you conciliatory. Such complacency. You had been the one to smirk back then, canines gleaming coy, as you offered ruin in the guise of reprieve.

"Want me to warm you up, darling?" Hands already reaching for him, mind already marveling before your fingers could be reacquainted with their hubris, his girth.

"P-please, anythin-nghing" he'd panted, all wide-eyed desperation to be devoured, sweet thing.

You'd been such a fool.

To not know not greed was a two-way street, this ravenous osmosis, this vicious ouroborous.

You think perhaps, in fact, you got the worse end of the deal, trembling against your spouse now, thighs clamped together.

"My dear," Nanami hums, a teasing timbre dripping honey as he sinks his fingers in, "always so ready for me."

You squirm, eyes screwed shut and fisting the sheets, trying to grasp the pale image of the boy who'd once writhed and blushed beneath you, a spectre all but vanquished. You miss him, sometimes.

You arch your back into Nanami, the way you know he's addicted to, just to hear him groan your name, ragged with the dregs of self-restraint or slumber, you're not sure which, but it's a close enough echo to send pleasure juddering through you, the recollection churning hot in your gut, of when he was wrapped around your finger, instead of your cunt around his.

"Sweetheart."

The tenderness of his tone pries your lids open. He doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to say anything but he does, because he knows you are too stubborn to ask for what you need to hear.

"My love."

He claims your gasp, in the crush and curl of his mouth, in the crook of his fingers.

"My girl."

Another smattering of kisses, chasing the flutters of your belly down, down, down to your creases weeping nectar. He licks a whine from you, pitching high into the air, his husky moan vibrating within you.

"My wife."

You feel the hot gust of Nanami's breath over your clit, as he pauses.

"My wife."

There's a reverence as he repeats himself, pathetic attempts to vanquish his disbelief, wonder glistening in his gold-flecked irises, staring at you in awe, searching for proof this isn't some frenzied fever dream of his.Of course, he finds it in your own unwavering eyes.

You've been such a fool.

There, in the locked gaze your shared history glimmers, that shy boy paralyzed by his worship of you, prostrate as the man before your parted legs now, offering his soul, his past, his future.

You reach for him, and he surges upwards. The collision is wave returning and rising from oceans, over and over, is starburst, is incandescence, is the fission of atoms never, ever meant to be split.

It burns away all notions of him as your acolyte or priest, any concept of deity and devotee.

"My life," he breathes into you, and you feel the throb in your ribs, the furnace of his lungs.

"My life," you repeat to your husband.

Adam. Prometheus. Kento.

This morning and many after, he lavishes you with irreverence, a ravishing of irrelevance; his goddess, his woman, his joy -all that matters is that you are his and he is yours; Together, you forge a paradise that exists for as long as the melding of your souls persist, boundless as horizons and sure as sunrises.

@houseofsolisoccasum

[jkgnggj]

WOW I GOT A LOT OF TORI SHIPS LEMME TRY LISTING THEM RQ okok so this is just a list of the individual pairings but I also ship a lot of these in polycules and a few of these I'm not a huge fan of or haven't thought enough hcs for but I can see the potential in any one of these pairings bc Tori is a versatile guy (desperate, just like his partner must be in order for them to somehow tolerate him)

Tori x saiki

Tori x akechi

Tori x aiura

Tori x yumehara

Tori x suzumiya

Tori x satou

Tori x hairo

Tori x saiko

Tori x kaidou

Tori x kuboyasu

Tori x nendou

Tori x mera

Tori x imu

Tori x arisu

Tori x teruhashi

Tori x kusuke

Tori x takeru (aka Chiyo's ex)

Tori x takayuki (cute band member that reminds me of Akechi)

Tori x shinya (the other band member)

id like a bit of your attention again

im making a list of saiki k ships. show me everything. anything. what do you like. @jkgnggj im calling you here specifically you know the tori ships

[keoriette]

🌹Hungry Eyes - Luffy x Reader

[NSFW + NO MINORS]

🌹Charater featured: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Nami, Chopper (for now) 🌹Summary: Its crazy that's your sick buts its ok ur with luffy

The door creaks open and you whip your head to face it, eyes wide and alert.

Luffy’s head pokes around the door, his big brown eyes meeting yours. “Are you hungry?” he hisses through the darkness.

You blink at him. “It’s past midnight,” you whisper.

Luffy blinks back. “Sanji said you didn’t eat dinner.”

“Didn't want any.” Truth be told, even the thought of eating made you sick. Chopper said it might be an offshoot of the concussion you had when they brought you aboard the ship, but for the few weeks you’ve been on board you haven’t been able to keep much more than a single sandwich down.

“Chopper says you have to eat. Sanji too.”

“You’re not my captain, you know,” you say bitterly.

Luffy just looks at you. “You’re on my ship. And you’re my friend.”

You frown. You were starting to understand Luffy’s nature, the delicate balance between his selfishness and loyalty to the people he cares about.

As soon as you were taken aboard, barely conscious and only half alive, Luffy had taken a liking to you. He had a knack for that, you’d heard, for picking up people based on very limited interactions and whisking them away to be part of his crew.

You weren’t interested in the crew part, and Luffy understood that. But because he had decided to become your friend he couldn’t just drop you off at any island: he needed to take you someplace you’d be safe.

Chopper has barely let you out of the medical room, only allowing a short daily walk if the weather permits. Otherwise, you’re stuck in the small cabin, the other crew members too busy to bother with your company. You aren't a mean person by any means, but your silence around others was usually seen as arrogance. The lonely nights you’ve spent in the room have only been broken up by thoughts of this pirate captain; and his strong, thick, slender fingers in places you wouldn’t mention aloud.

“I was having a snack,” he continues, creeping into the room. The only light filters through the small window, lighting his body with cool moonshine. “I thought you might want some. Only a little, though, because I ate the rest.” He offers you a few cubes of meat on a plate. You sit up and accept it wordlessly, placing it at the end of the bed.

Something in the moonlight catches your eye, and you turn to face him before your lips part slightly in surprise. Oh my god, you think, cheeks starting to burn. He’s shirtless.

The glow of the light catches on his burn scar, crossing across his muscular chest. He folds his thick arms over it, and your gaze drops to his shorts, hanging low on his hips. You shut your eyes.

Luffy squats down in front of you. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I just need some sleep,” you say through gritted teeth, “but I’m fine.”

“Not until you eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat. That’s an order.”

“You’re not my captain.”

“So? I’m still your friend, and friends feed each other.”

Your mouth twists. It was hard to argue with him because of his natural bluntness. “Don’t you have something else to worry about?”

Luffy shakes his head.

“Like marines? Or Kaido?”

“Not right now.”

He sits down next to you and his forearm brushes against yours. You peek at his fingers, calloused and thick, in his lap.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he mutters.

You blink at him. He's moving a little fast, and you're straining to keep up. But you suppose that's just how he is.

“When you’re hurt. I really…” He takes a deep breath. “I really don’t like it. It makes me feel bad.” He turns to face you, his eyes big and brown and full of something that borders on desperate. “Will you please eat?” He says softly, taking one of your hands in his.

You go rigid, eyes widening. The feel of his skin on yours makes your entire body tingle. His hands grip yours tightly, and you find it hard to meet his eyes.

“I…” you start. You try to unravel your hands from his, but he doesn’t let go, searching for your eyes. You finally let them meet, and it’s then when you realize that he doesn’t see you as a regular crewmate, or even a friend: Luffy wears his heart on his sleeve, and his eyes speak volumes about how he feels about you.

Little things start to click into place. He’s here, late at night, when he loves to sleep. He brought you meat even though he wouldn’t let most of his crew touch it. He peeks his head in when he thinks you’re sleeping. Chopper had mentioned, once, completely offhand, that Luffy asks about you almost daily.

What you don’t know, however, is that the entire crew has picked up on his crush on you and that you weren’t being avoided because you come across as arrogant: you were being avoided so that Luffy could have some space with you. It’s necessary, actually, because although the crew is oftentimes more than willing to get to know a new person on board, Luffy is anything but subtle: the most obvious example being when Zoro found him with his ear pressed against the crack of the door, fisting his cock in his hand, hanging onto every tinny mewl and moan of yours as you whispered his name, your fingers breaching your entrance and rapidly circling your engorged clit.

Zoro knows better than to interrupt Luffy, even when it’s this desperate of a case. He just let the rest of the crew know, in hushed whispers, that you were kind of off-limits, and that the next island would be approaching soon. Nami had sighed because she thought you were cute. Robin had sighed because she thought you seemed smart. Sanji had sighed because you’re a girl, but they all swallowed their annoyances because it’s their captain: and how can they trust him to lead them when you’re the only thing on his mind?

They noticed that this was a real crush and that he was thinking with his heart and not just with his cock. It was usually the latter, and he’d come back to the Sunny only a little before sunrise, after a full night of partying on an unknown island, exhausted. It was clear he always made the most of his time anywhere.

You try again. “I…”

Luffy takes this moment to get a little closer and your breath catches in your throat. His lips are so close to yours you can feel him breathe, and he gets closer and closer and to your horror, you realize that you’re not pulling away. That you don’t want to pull away.

The kiss isn’t what you expect—it’s not clumsy or sloppy. It’s gentle but firm and surprisingly practiced. His lips are so warm against yours, slightly chapped and a little salty. When he parts your lips with his, you let him, and his tongue isn’t hungry or invasive. It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had, and when he cups the back of your neck you gingerly touch his bicep. The muscle moves when he does, and you feel a rush of wetness down below.

It actually doesn’t really surprise you, the more you think about it. Luffy is always stopping at different islands, some more exciting than others, and people naturally flock to him. You assume that this also means women, and his high bounty and cheerful demeanor as well as his broad shoulders and muscular frame were enough to light a fire in some of the young women they came across. Besides, you thought absentmindedly, he has to get his energy from somewhere.

The kiss gets a little hungrier before it stops, and you realize that he’s left you breathless. Your hand fists the sheets involuntarily, already thinking about what you’re going to do the moment you’re alone.

“I like you,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against yours.

Your mouth snaps shut. “Why?”

Luffy shrugs. “I don’t really know. I’m just kind of…” he laces his fingers with yours, and you drop your eyes down to look. “Drawn to you, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head with his free hand, pulling away slightly. “I like girls. I know people sometimes think I don’t, but I do.”

You chuckle a little.

“Maybe it’s because I’m short,” he muses.

“You’re not that short,” you tease. “You’re at least two inches taller than me.”

A glint appears in his eyes as he peers at you. “How do you know?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve never been this close. How do you know I’m taller?”

You fidget uncomfortably, caught between a rock and a hard place. On your brief walks around the ship, you often glance over in Luffy’s direction; and a few times you even got close enough to see the many repairs that had been made to his treasured straw hat.

“I just…you’re a guy, right?” you say, at a complete loss for words. You can’t believe that’s the best you can come up with.

Luffy laughs then, leaning forward for another kiss. It’s more gentle this time, but his hands start to roam over your body. Nothing too explicit, just your lower back as he fingers the hem of your thin t-shirt, but even that has your cunt clenching around nothing.

Wordlessly, you break the kiss to grip the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and off of your frame in one sure movement.

You hunch over a little, your blushed face slightly embarrassed that even you were taking things quickly in such a direction, but these weeks on the ship have left you needy for any sort of contact. Plus, he had just admitted that he likes you, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't have his wanted poster in your room back home. The thrill of finding out that he had rescued you was tempered by Chopper's strict instructions and the crew's indifference. But every time you saw him on the ship, whether it was fishing or bringing you a cup of soup, made you grip into the pillow and cry out his name as softly as you could.

He leans in to kiss you again, this time gently running his knuckles over the side of your breast. You let out a soft whine, your hand falling from his hair into his lap, directly on top of his hard length that is throbbing painfully in his shorts.

He hisses at the contact, catching your lip in his teeth and biting lightly. His hands leave your body to remove his shorts, his cock hot in your hand as you give it a few tentative strokes.

He dips his fingers into the side of your panties, and you do your best to shimmy out of them.

“You’re wet,” he whispers, his fingers softly rubbing your soaked folds. Luffy presses against you until you’re laying down on the mattress with his body keeping you there. “I like it when you’re really wet,” he mumbles.

He pulls back, sucking on his fingers with eye contact so heavy you feel pinned to the bed. Slowly, he makes his way towards you again, nipping at your jaw.

He presses his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” he breathes into your ear, and you nod. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing his cock into his contracting abdomen as he places one hand under your bottom and the other around your waist. He stands, and you lift off the bed, his strength making you drip with arousal. Luffy’s steps stammer as he tries to keep kissing you while walking towards the wall, the cold surface making your nipples perk up as he presses you against it.

His lips leave yours and you chase his mouth with a whine, but gasp when you feel his leaking tip prod against your wet entrance.

“I really, really want to,” he gasps against your neck, pressing his face into your warm skin. “I-I’ll try to be gentle, I just really want you…”

Your hands grip his back, trying to pull his body closer to yours. A soft moan escapes your lips when he hits your clit. “I really want you, too,” you murmur.

His cock is long and stiff, and your eyes roll back just from thinking about it inside you.

Slowly, he starts to breach your entrance, hissing as the fat head is swallowed by your desperate cunt. You gasp at the pressure, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Jeez,” he mutters through grit teeth, sweat starting to glisten on his face. “You’re tight.”

You clench around his length as he continues to push inside, his hands gripping your body with bruising force. The concentration on his face is endearing, and your heart melts a little. He wants you to feel good, too, and he’s trying his hardest to keep from fucking you as hard as he can.

His cock bumps something inside you and you let out a lustful moan.

Luffy twitches inside you. “Th-that noise, make that noise again,” he groans, starting to move. He starts out gently, but it isn’t long before he’s bottoming out with each thrust. You moan louder, tears pricking at your eyes as his cock hits deeper. His thrusts become harder and rougher and more impulsive and you can tell he’s getting close. You moan again, the noise escaping from your lips involuntary despite his begging.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says through gritted teeth. “Is-is it okay if I…?”

You grip his shoulders tightly. “Please cum inside me,” you whimper.

It’s music to Luffy’s ears, and he wastes no time in pushing his cock up to the hilt inside you. You tighten around him as his orgasm starts, his hips stuttering and eyes fluttering closed.

The shots of his hot cum painting your tight pussy walls make you groan aloud, your head falling back to rest on the wall. Your thighs are burning from being held up, but nothing could distract you from his labored moans and stuttering breaths.

He rests his head next to yours as he comes down from his high, his heart rate slowing to normal. He places his hands under your thighs, still holding you up, his strength obvious and unwavering.

“Sorry…” he mumbles, still breathing hard.

You shake your head. “It’s okay,” you whisper. You have to admit you’re a little surprised, you had assumed his stamina matched the rest of him.

His cock twitches inside you, and you realize with a start that he didn’t get soft. “Let me try again,” he murmurs against your neck, walking back to the bed.

He drops you down and you giggle for the first time in weeks, earning a warm smile from him. It feels like the sun, even though it’s the middle of the night. He climbs on top of you, slotting his body between your legs, pressing a hot kiss to your lips. One of your hands pulls his head down closer, the other grips the defined muscle on his arms. He hums, then pulls away, looking down at you with hungry eyes. His gaze flits from your eyes to your lips, shifting his weight so he can run his big hand over your breast. You whine, and he gets bolder, pinching your nipple almost to the point of pain.

“Ah-“ you grunt out, body jerking. With you caged in under him he decides to chart your body with his hands, finding the spots you like to be touched the most. He's already used you for his pleasure, embarrassing as it may sound, and now it’s your turn.

He places a wet kiss under your jaw, taking note of the noises you make. He remembers listening to you from behind the door, the squelch of your wet cunt being rubbed by your own fingers, his name falling from your lips in soft pants. He continues to pepper you with kisses, running his hand down your stomach to settle in between your lips. He spreads them gently, earning a small moan from you, and seeks out your sweet little bud of pleasure. He figures that you like how strong he is, judging from how much you dripped when he picked you up. He flexes his chest and abdomen a little bit, and you hungrily run your hands over him. He smirks at you, and you know you’ve been caught. You smile sheepishly.

He presses his hand against yours, stopping you right over his heart. It thumps under your hand, and the gesture is so intimate, so mature, that you fight to urge to burst into tears.

The aching in your core is unbearable now, and Luffy’s inexperience becomes known as he clumsily rubs your clit. You assume that most women are content to be used as his own little cocksleeve, bouncing away to orgasm on his lap as he settles his face between their breasts. Or, more likely, he pins them against a bed and ruts endlessly until he spills.

You’re different, he can tell, and you’re not blinded by his notoriety.

Luffy bites his lip. He knows this isn’t his strong suit, but he’s determined nonetheless. You replace his hands with yours, rubbing practiced circles on your clit as he explores your folds. He dips a finger inside, sighing at your wetness. His fingers feel nice, but nothing compared to his fat cock, and you use your eyes to beg for it.

Your fingers stay at your clit while he presses his cock into your tight heat.

You whimper as he continues to push, stretching you open at an angle that has tears in your eyes. It's so much deeper than when he was fucking you against the wall, and when he finally bottoms out, you let out a delicious moan.

Luffy grits his teeth, his hips repeatedly pressing against yours, forcing the metal headboard to smack against the wall. "Th-that sound..."

He reaches down to feel your hand, and the closeness of it as well as Luffy's eagerness squeezes another hot moan from your mouth.

"I want to feel what you're doing," he pants into your open mouth before sealing it with a kiss. You continue to rub faster, his hand on yours adding a luscious pressure.

Your voice starts to come through in more than moans and whines, little squeaks of praise about how good his cock feels inside you. He desperately wants you to reach that high you're chasing, but your pussy is starting to clench around him and the thought of you cumming around his cock has him holding in his orgasm like his life depends on it.

"I'm close again," he gasps. "Can you cum for me? Please?"

That does it. The tight coil in your belly snaps, and you toss your head from side to side, crying out as you shake under him. "Luffy--" you shout, your voice strangled.

He continues to thrust into you, babbling praise. "I've never done it like this," he gasps, tripping over his words. "I really liked seeing you cum, and I like how wet you are. I like that you're so tight and I like the noises you make and I--" He whines your name as he cums again; his cum dripping out from between your red, swollen lips.

He looks down at you, panting, the lids of his eyes heavy.

"That was..." you start, "unexpected."

Luffy chuckles. "But good?" he asks hopefully.

You look away. "It was perfect," you whisper. "I...kinda want to tell you something."

He rolls off of you and you scoot over, barely making any room on the tiny medical bed. He opens his arms and you climb in between them, grateful for the time to rest. You lay your head on his chest as he strokes your hair tenderly. "What is it?"

You take a deep breath. "I have your wanted poster up in my room at home."

Luffy pauses, the gears turning in his head, then laughs.

You giggle. "I know, I know..."

He rests his arm on your shoulder, the other stroking your forearm. "It's cute," he says finally, "I like that."

You smile against his chest. Maybe joining a pirate crew isn't such a bad idea.

[loveandlegacy]

the mutation must survive

singed, viktor, power, and progress

ok i said!! some while ago that i think the line 'the mutation must survive' is deeper and/or more sinister than it seems at first and talking with a few friends finally motivated me to articulate the whole. red-string board thing in my head about the themes of progress and power in arcane and specifically what singed and his estranged mentee, viktor, represent at the intersection of both.

ime most off the cuff responses take ‘the mutation must survive’ to mean something like ‘one must survive at all costs’, or that singed, the line’s speaker, believes that nature is brutal, and survival by any means necessary is always justified. i’ve always been kind of dissatisfied with that reading because there’s already a character who expresses this belief in so many words (silco), and it seems unnecessary and redundant for singed to have a world philosophy that's basically a duplicate of one of the major characters.

so what is he doing? what does ‘the mutation must survive’ mean and why is singed the one who says it? despite having quite a lot of influence on the story, singed is far from a major character, why have him say anything that feels Thematic at all?

there’s a lot going on in arcane, and conversations about power and progress recur frequently. characters approach the question of both from different positions, but the story makes the point that each begets the other. they're inextricably intertwined.

jayce, enchanted by magic, consistently reiterates that piltover should step into its destiny as the city of progress and embrace the arcane. he gets his way eventually and inadvertently creates tools of power - the atlas gauntlets and the mercury hammer - and uses them violently against the already downtrodden zaunite workers in a shimmer factory. heimerdinger opines about piltover’s legacy of progress, oblivious to the literal human cost of his idealism, and fearful of “a world that cannibalized itself over power and pride.” silco proclaims power as the avenue to revolutionary and liberatory progress.

on the fringes of these interwoven ideologies, we have singed. the story never presents him as an agent who cares about power in the same way that any other character does. granted we like have to pause here to define what 'power' is in the world of arcane, and that has a multifaceted answer. for the individuals seeking some kind of social control or liberation or domination, arcane outlines systemic power as some combination of wealth access, the ability to enact wide-scale violence without fear of retribution, and a willingness to use the first two to further one's own interest.

i imagine most people in piltover would follow heimerdinger’s example and say they don't care about having this kind of power, or that they think pursuing it is dangerous or kind of gauche, but implicitly piltover's whole existence is all about systemic control - and how power permits dominion over zaun in particular. this implicit disposition all comes out very explicitly in like. marcus. and the other enforcers and their brutality.

and then in the undercity there are varying attitudes about what to do with systemic power. vander gives up on the pursuit of power and liberation after the day of ash in the hopes that the enforcers will meet him halfway for a peace he’s never really granted. caitlyn’s statement that the people of zaun live in fear of “violent crimelords” implies that the chem barons deal in very direct acts of violence-as-power for the sake of amassing greater wealth. silco is obsessed with "real power" belonging to people who will fight for it (ie ruthlessness, the willingness to use violence and/or wealth to further his ends).

in a standout contrast to this, singed doesn't really express any interest in this type of systemic power. even in cases of violence, his behavior is framed as an almost personal interest compared to other characters. marcus, the chem barons, silco, vi, sevika, and even ekko and jinx all have intimate relationships to violence, but their intimacies are somewhat utilitarian. brutality is one act among many that a person might undertake in the interest of self defense, intimidation, protection of a loved one, or political domination. in other words, violence is a social tool and not a curiosity in and of itself.

by contrast, the story rarely confronts singed with circumstances that would require violence. he never needs to defend himself except in the one instance where silco threatens him after jinx’s shimmer infusion. and singed doesn’t physically fight with silco, he only states the obvious: that he saved jinx’s life.

he also never uses brute force to intimidate anyone. he has no loved ones to speak of, much less protect, and he never demonstrates any interest in organized violence for the sake of politics on the scale of silco’s vision or vander’s naive idealism. if anything, the story presents him as a man who was doing what he wanted to do long before he met silco and as a man who might continue to do what he wants to do with or without someone in political need of his skills. and what he wants to do could loosely be defined as scientific research but veers pretty wildly into the realm of malpractice and torture.

maybe the easiest thing to scan about singed is that he’s a solitary man with a sadistic interest in interpersonal power, primarily held over his patients and test subjects. he demonstrates some glee in condemning a cat to die by way of a shimmer-sickened mouse and he cheerfully informs jinx that the agony of her shimmer infusion will “only get worse.” so we could maybe say that violence comes easily to him, but an interest in political, social, financial, or military control is absent.

instead, he chases after progress.

out of the show's ~6.5ish hr runtime, singed has less than 10 total minutes on screen, and he spends most of that time talking about life, death, or survival ("will he live?" / "long enough"; "she's dying….the mutation must survive"; "rio will live"; "i thought you understood. the mutation must survive"; ”[shimmer] should provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition"; "i know the look of a doomed man"; "are you prepared to lose her?"; "sometimes death is a mercy"; "i saved her life").

he never abjures death and he doesn't glorify life. death is a mercy. a person can live ‘long enough’, which isn’t the same thing as living especially well. all these lines of dialogue frame him as the man who stands at the boundary between life and death and who views both things as obvious consequences of nature, equilibrium-like in their relationship if left undisturbed.

progress, though, requires one to contravene nature’s apparent life-death equilibrium, as he tells viktor repeatedly.

in his first meeting with viktor, singed describes rio as a "rare mutation that [he] cultivated" - presumably from some other genetic lineage that occurred by way of stochastic process. this selective breeding is his first intervention on life and death, on what genes are expressed and passed down through generations. he then goes on to say that rio is dying. i'm attempting to prevent that - another intervention.

everything dies, and there's no reason to believe singed takes issue with that fact in a general sense. a later scene even reveals that he isn’t trying to save rio’s life out of sentimental attachment to her, and in one of his culminating interactions, he tells silco sometimes death is a mercy, all of which suggests that even if “the mutation must survive”, survival isn’t always the better outcome for the subject in question.

looking at these two statements - ‘the mutation must survive’ and ‘sometimes death is a mercy’ - side by side, singed’s attitude highlights that there’s value in diverting what might have been the most obvious or best outcome for an organism if there's a chance the consequences will prove interesting by his metric. all well and good, if not for one problem:

nature has made us intolerant to change.

on the global level of arcane as a text, this statement seems to be true, particularly of people with access to systemic power. the piltovan council is incredibly inflexible and suspicious of change regardless of whether that change is likely to benefit them (hextech) or endanger their interests (zaun's liberation). zaun's most powerful figures, the chem barons, are similarly resistant to change. they would prefer to dispense with silco's vision for liberation because it destabilizes their present-moment interests. the underground's former leader, vander, had completely given up on the possibility of change before he died. silco even accuses him of this directly, in an observation that draws a circle around singed's point that real change is quite hard for most individual people to embrace: you'll die for the cause…but you won't fight for one.

despite his revolutionary ideology, even silco has a brittle attitude towards change. his liberatory strategy involves reproducing a violent, class-stratified regime within zaun where the chem barons comprise the ruling class in question, presumably doing as little for zaunites as the council of piltover. his aspirations are noble! but even for him, change involves retracing the boundaries of a known quantity.

whether or not change is necessarily always a good thing in arcane is a conversation of its own, but it's clearly a desirable thing to singed. after stating that an intolerance to change is common among [us], he adds: but fortunately, we have the capacity to change our nature (emphasis mine).

given this context, i think it’s worth returning to the note that power and progress are deeply intertwined in arcane, with different characters pursuing both in different ways. singed seems like an oddity at first in that he’s disinterested in systemic power but interested in progress, as outlined above. but his disinterest makes sense. his vision of progress requires a power mechanism that seems almost orthogonal to intercultural struggle. given everything described up to this point, singed’s ethics (or his cosmology, or whatever you want to call it) can be summed up as:

living things are resistant to change

change is desirable because it produces interesting, unexpected outcomes

being able to influence or alter the expected outcome of biological events is therefore also desirable, given the first two points

in this way, power and progress are not separate for singed any more than they are for any other character. but for most of the figures in arcane, power and progress have some attachment to society. through singed, certain forms of power take shape in the slippery alchemy of biology and chemistry.

shimmer is power because it drives living things off whatever course their natal biology set for them (it should provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition). genetic engineering is power because creates novelty (the mutation itself). manipulating the circumstances such that the mutation can survive (lol) is power too. arguably, creating those circumstances is the most influential force pervading all life, and the one that is most emblematic of progress: evolutionary power.

it’s easy to confound this. ‘evolution’ is pretty frequently conceptually misapplied irl in kind of shitty popsci and pseudoscientific texts. so i want to pause here and say: don’t take ‘evolutionary power’ to mean ‘the pursuit of optimization’ or ‘in search of an apotheosis’ in this case. singed doesn’t articulate an interest in specific end states for a mutation’s survival. even for rio, his interest is dispassionate. she must survive for the circular reason that he wants to know if she can survive by infusing her with the precursor to shimmer. he never opines about a subject’s teleology - that’s silco’s deal.

in other words, on the occasions where singed discusses survival, survival alone is the only qualifying criteria of interest - ‌[he’ll live] long enough; the mutation must survive; i saved her life. the quality of life for the subject or the general function of the mutation in a state of survival never comes up. when he tells viktor that shimmer should provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition, he also cautions him about the cost of said survival, implying that the other side of this rapidly-approaching event horizon might actually be the opposite of optimal.

if you take this path, they will despise you…

all this paints singed not as a man invested in the eugenic concept of survival of the fittest, but as the eerie steward of change itself. evolution drags all things along in its inexorable tide, mutations are the delimited space between what was and what will be, violent transitions are the catalysts for change, and whatever survives the fallout is the interesting data from which new truths about that change can be divined.

if you want to know what a mutation looks like on the other side of the catastrophic break between ‘before’ and ‘after’ - well. you’ll have to manipulate the circumstances such that the mutation survives. and if you succeed, and if you gather new, glittering fragments of truth out of the wreckage - if you’ve learned something novel - that’s progress.

but what does all this have to do with viktor?

taking everything together, singed’s presence in season 1 foreshadows quite a bit about viktor’s arc in season 2. i’m going to turn away from what i guess is pure analysis at this point and into the realm of theory-crafting from here on out, so…enjoy.

if viktor goes the way of league lore (and i assume he mostly will), his fate quite literally includes the word ‘evolution’. but in contrast to singed, viktor’s glorious evolution is all about a certain apotheosis. he is likely to become his former mentor’s obverse, leveraging an engineered evolution towards a specific telos, rather than dwelling at the threshold of change itself.

as an audience member, i hope the story doesn’t set viktor on a redemption arc. even if the narrative continues to build out his choices as understandable reactions to his circumstances, it's better to sit in the mire of people digging their own graves. and i do think viktor’s history with singed might make redemption impossible.

at the end of season 1, viktor tries to steer himself off the path he’s chosen, realizing too late that it involves the literal blood sacrifice of the woman who loved him. but we all know he won’t stay the course. he’s touched the void, the hexcore is hungry, and even if he escapes the hexcore’s direct influence, he’s about to witness the crumbling of what little good will exists between piltover and his home.

depending on which version of the lore you prefer, viktor’s eventual rise to accidental cult leader happens for one of two reasons. he either takes up his quasi-transhumanism because he comes to view his faith in human goodness as a product of emotional naivety (the new lore) or because he specifically wanted to carve out the jealous parts of himself that left him feeling broken after stanwick’s repeat betrayals (the old lore). in arcane, i think the story will change again.

in a last-ditch effort to cure his own terminal illness, viktor returns to his creepy former mentor for help. he claims to ‘understand, now’ what singed told him all those years ago about mutations and survival. knowing what comes next (sky’s death), one has to wonder if he really does. after all, before giving viktor the shimmer variant that might save his life, singed pauses to warn him that love and legacy are the sacrifices we make for progress.

it’s a leading line that invites a lot of questions. what love, whose love? sky’s maybe. or jayce’s. or heimerdinger’s, whose love is very flawed, but is arguably still love that viktor could lose. those are all compelling particulars or parts of the puzzle of viktor’s life, but i think singed is pointing viktor towards something more totalizing.

throughout season 1, viktor’s story has deviated from his league lore somewhat. he hasn't really been preoccupied with human error; instead, he has both desired and rejected different kinds of affection. rather than grappling with jealousy or heartbreak over stolen work, he wants to help the undercity - but ultimately mourns the fact that his illness will steal his opportunity to build a legacy, not his chance to make the world a better place.

summoned back into the role of necromantic mentor, singed seems to intuit this new emotional framework when he reminds viktor that progress has no room for love or legacy. those are the two sacrificial lambs required for progress to take place.

but if viktor truly believes what singed says (and it seems like he does at least a little bit), i don't think he’ll be able to abandon the want for either on his own. even in the wake of killing sky or in the wake of what we assume will be a very painful falling out with jayce, the story still frames him as a person with the basic human desire for closeness. he's afraid to tell jayce what he's done to sky, after all. if progress, otherwise known as the glorious evolution, is to proceed, he'll have to cut out his own heart not for the failings of jealousy or illogical inefficiency, but because the need for love and recognition has made him selfish.

he won't succeed, obviously. not the least in part because no need or feeling is entirely black or white. love brought him to his friendship with jayce. legacy made him brave enough to defy heimerdinger and chase magic. but pain, loss, and self-loathing distort all things, and i think that, in viktor's view of himself, the fragile yearnings of the human heart will become grotesque, the source of all his own wrongdoing.

in this way, singed’s unifying thesis has loaded the spring-trigger guiding viktor’s trajectory. if viktor hopes to forge a better way for the people of zaun, if he hopes to build something new in the world, he'll have to eviscerate himself first. such is the bloody price of progress, and so goes his evolution's apotheosis. it's not the man who matters. the mutation must survive.

[morganbritton132]

ahhhh i just spent the last three days reading every post on the emtts tag and im in love with your whole little universe. i kept meaning to make a list of all of the little things but i kept getting distracted and forgetting so i only started at april 18th bc i NEED (subject to your willingness to expand/care act this particular part of your universe) to hear more about all of the little stories of steve getting arrested (particularly hopper arresting steve?? and them breaking into steves parents house?)

thanks for this amazing space!! you’ve made a universe that ive been thinking about constantly and that expands on the characters in such a beautiful mundane way, its very cool!!

ps i just read one of the follow ups in the death threat part where steve admits he doesn’t want to stop teaching bc dustin asks eddie about it and i think im about to cry holy shit

pps on the death threat part with diane oh god. like just steve having to figure it out in front of her and her explaining to him and him admitting to just not being ok i just

First, thank you so much! This is all so very nice of you to say and props for getting through everything in three days. It is quite a bit! It’s honestly amazing how much has been written in such a short amount of time. I’m only going to cover Steve getting ‘arrested’ and I’ll touch on Steve and Eddie’s breaking and entering at a later date.

Steve started having seizures a little after they closed the gate on the Upside Down for good or, well. They started noticing that he was having seizures after they closed the gate. It was heavily implied in the undertone of his doctor’s voice that these seizures were likely going on for a while and that they likely not going to stop anytime soon.

Steve took this news as well as anybody could.

Everybody was kinda waiting for him to have a breakdown over it, but it never happened because Steve was – well, he wasn’t fine. Obviously. But it is what it is, right? If the worst thing to come out of all this Upside Down stuff is that he’s a little dumber than he was before than how could he complain?

Max was learning how to walk again.

What Steve didn’t take well was his doctor telling him that he wasn’t allowed to drive anymore. In fact, he did not take that news at all. He completely ignored it, and he ignored the looks that Robin when give him when he drove himself to work, and he would say, “It’s not like I’m driving the kids around or anything. It’s just me.”

“And that’s supposed to make me worry less?”

“I pull over if I feel weird.”

He wasn’t actually driving all that much anyways. Robin got her permit and Eddie got the all-clear to drive again, so no one needed to rope Nancy into lecturing him about ‘the dangers.’ He didn’t need Dustin’s complaining or Eddie’s ‘hey, maybe you should listen to them’ or Joyce stopping him on his way out the door. And he didn’t need Hopper.

Steve was learning to accept that sometimes he needed help. He was doing better, but Steve practically lived alone despite the jokes people were making about him being at Eddie’s all the time, and he wasn’t going to bother someone just because he needed toilet paper.

Steve was sitting in his car outside of the Fair Mart, trying to remember why he needed to go there in the first place, when there was a knock on his window. He startled and blinked hard twice before looking over at the drivers’ side window. He frowned.

Hopper was standing there and he looked annoyed. He gestured for him to get out of the car and Steve frowned more, fumbling with his seatbelt before pushing the door open. For lack of anything else to do once he was out of the car, Steve said, “Hey, what’s up?”

Hopper frowned more like he was annoyed with Steve which was, in itself, was really annoying because Steve didn’t do anything. He was just here to buy… He was here to get… Wait. “Huh?”

Hopper sighed loudly and repeated himself. Slowly. “Give me. Your keys.”

Maybe it was Hopper’s tone or maybe there was some stock in what his doctor said mood swings, or maybe Steve was just tired of everybody treating him like a baby that needed taken care of and watched. Just when Hopper reached to take the keys out of his hand, Steve shoved him away.

Everything kinda blurred at the edges and the headache that’s been wedged in the corner of Steve’s jaw pulsed. He didn’t really take a breath until Hopper shoved him against the hood of his car.

Hopper cuffed metal around his wrists and said, “Good going, Harrington.”

Steve yanked on his arm and snapped back, “You’re not even a cop anymore. You can’t arrest me.”

“Call it a citizen’s arrest.”

Eddie laughed for four minutes of Steve’s five minute phone call at the police station. He laughed so hard that Steve knew that he was holding his side where the bites were the deepest because they were still tender, and Steve just rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up. Are you gonna get me?”

“Hm, yeah,” Eddie grinned through the phone. “Yeah. It’s a little ironic that the Prom K-“

Steve hung up the phone.

The ‘charges’ that Hopper (not a cop) threatened to ‘throw the book at him’ for were driving without a valid driver’s license. There was a part of Steve that knew that this was all just for show to teach him a lesson, but still argued that he had a valid license because no one took it away from him, and actually, “This is false imprisonment, right? Maybe I should call my family lawyer.”

It was even more annoying that Eddie – rolling into the building smelling like weed an hour later – agreed with Hopper. 

[flnpushy]

Helios: Angels Last Birth

13 months ago…. Helios Birthing Center

“Angel do you choose to accept this experiment for your last required mission on Helios?” Kara said.

“What are the details.” Angel responded. 

“The details are as follows.” Kara said beginning the list…… “You will be impregnated… 

12 Months Later 

“We are 1 month away from the birth.” Kara said to Angel. “How do you feel?”

“This is the biggest belly I’ve ever had and will ever have again, But I Am excited to be a part of this experiment.” Angel replied.

The Final Birth for Angel 

Kara had meet angel years prior when she was giving birth for the first time. Kara and Angel had also been part of a prior experiment together. Now it was time for Angels 3rd and final baby required to complete her service to the Mission. Angel agreed to do an experiment as it granted her access to a full-time position at the Facility. If she did not she would have been retired out of the Helios Mission and would have to find a new career option. Angel knew however she wanted to stay with helios and stay with her friend Kara. Kara now a scientist was in the lead of Angels experiment. Angel would be granted a position with the Helios Facility upon completion of this birth experiment. The guidelines of the experiment were as follows: 

The Class 152 Impregnation experiment…..

This experiment is to be conducted under close supervision by scientific staff. The Woman to be impregnated must be small framed, have a strong will power, and must be patient. She is to birth A large baby under close supervision of Scientific staff. This experiment has been conducted on Alpha Centauri, and Martian soil. The gravity of Helios is significantly less, causing less help for the birthing mother. The plot is as follows:

Outcomes for this experiment and the breakdown are as follows. The mother is to birth a large baby 25-30 pounds in womb. The baby under the Class 152 type will gain 1-1.5 pounds per day during the birthing process. The baby will be born head first. No mechanical assistance is permitted, the mother must deliver the baby under her own will power. All data must be collected and stored for future reference. The babies head will have a large circumference, making crowning and leading up to crowning very difficult. Anticipated birthing time: 1-2 weeks 

The day had arrived. Angel was in her room and getting ready to report to Kara’s Garden 150. This birth garden was designed for experimental births and was equipped only for this matter. Angel looked forward to this birth. It was her final birth, and she was excited to find a position within the Helios facility. Her goal was to work with Kara directly. Angel Arose from bed and began walking toward the door to report to the garden. In her large belly she could feel the baby squirming and kicking. 

“Little man wants out.” She whispered. 

She went out the door and made her way by scooter toward the experimental wing of the facility. Angel was ready. 

Angel arrived at Kara’s office. 

“Good morning beautiful, are we ready for this?” Kara asked. 

“Yes, I am ready for this baby to be out of my belly, he’s active in there today!” Angel said. 

“Ok lets go through the basics on your health and wellness and lets get this show in the road. We are going to have a long week!” Kara said.

“Do you think it will take longer?” Angel asked.

“Personally I bet we are looking at 1 and a half to two weeks to get this baby out of you.” Kara said. 

“Whew!” Angel said. “Lots of pushing in my future.” 

“Oh its going to be!” Kara said. ‘Lets get you in and ready.”

Kara led Angel into the entry way of Garden 150. She scanned in and the airlock doors opened. Upon opening a beautiful garden environment was revealed. This truly was the ultimate in birthing facilities. Angel was excited to birth her last baby here in absolute luxury. The facility was lavish. A jungle scene with a small stream, koi pond, and flowing trees and foliage. The smell was fresh and natural. The facility had all birthing facilities like any normal garden, accept this one had state of the art tech for measuring data, metrics, and recording data. 

Kara had angel sit upon a birthing bed. 

“Ok hun, open up.” Kara said. 

Angel laid back and spread her legs. Kara took a small device, and with a gloved hand inserted it up inside of Angels vagina. This probe had a camera and was set to record the baby during birth. The next item of business was the babies position and the injection that would skip labor and dilate Angel. Kara did the injection. 5 minutes passed. 

“Ok lets take a look.” Kara said. She grabbed a long tube and attached a suction cup looking device to the end of it. Kara inserted the tube into Angels vagina and continued to insert until it stopped. Kara tapped a button that turned on a camera at the end of the tube. 

“Ok you are dilated and I see the top of the babies head.” Kara said. 

Kara pressed the tube farther in. She placed the suction cup upon the unborn babies head, and then withdrew the tube.

“Ok that will be it for instrumentation for now. This will measure the weight if baby, the vitals, and your pushing efforts.” Kara said. 

Angel smiled and made eye contact with her good friend.

“Ok hun, your ready to push momma!” Kara said. 

Angel smiled and laid back on the bed. 

“Ok first contraction is coming, and I’m getting data.” Kara said. 

Readout: Baby healthy, head first, weight 27 pounds, gaining 1 pounds per day. 

“Were on our way.” Kara said 

“My last baby.” Angel said. 

“Yes, your last one hun.” Kara replied. “Its not going to be the easiest one, I can assure that.” 

“It’s ok, it’s my last one.” Angel said.

It was time for Angel to begin her pushing. A contraction came and Angel gave the first push. Kara begin receiving data, and the birth had begun. Angel started out on her back with the first few contractions, but quickly switched to a birth stool. Kara noticed that the baby was active at first, but then seemed to relax and let things happen. For such a large baby, Angel need all the help from within that she could in order to get it out of her belly.

12 hours passed. Angel actively pushed while Kara tended to her and the data. 12 hours of pushing had moved the babies head through the cervix, but that was all. It was time to inspect. Angel moved to a birth bed and Kara began a visual check. Kara opened Angels opening, It was still tight yet and the head wasn’t in view. She put her finger in about 2 inches and still felt nothing. After 12 hours, not much had happened. Angel kept on. 

Another 6 hours passed. Not much. 6 more hours advanced. Nothing much. 1 day into pushing and nothing to show for it. 

Kara made a check, at 30 hours in. Finally about 2 inches inside her opening, she could feel the top of babies head. 

“Ok we have progress, the head is about 2 inches inside of you.” Kara said. 

“Ohhhh it feels big…..” Angel said. “I can feel him squirming in there.” 

“Its good that he’s active.” Kara replied.

“Yeah he can help mamma get him out.” Angel said. 

Angel continued her pushing efforts for another 5 hours. She began noticing that the baby was squirming and helping less and less as she moved it towards her opening. The vital signs were ok, but the baby stopped its helping efforts. Without them it would be an all out struggle for Angel to birth the baby. Still she continued.

It was now coming into the second day of pushing. The head was still one full inch inside Angels opening. It had taken 12 hours to advance the baby one inch closer. Still not crowning. Now with the baby not helping at all, Angel was pushing a 28 pound baby through her. No easy task. 12 more hours passed. Angel was now side laying. Finally after almost 3 days of pushing. A sign of progress was about to happen. 

Angel made a huge push, Kara watched her opening in anticipation. As Angel bore down, Kara could see a tiny bulge starting to happen, the labia opened ever so slightly. The push ended and the bulge disappeared. This continued to happen with every push, until 3 hours later, a tiny tuft of hair could be seen for a brief moment. 

“Good girl, I see a head!” Kara said. 

“Thank goodness he’s starting to come out!” Angel said as she exhaled. 

“Yes Angel you are doing it.” Kara said. 

Angel continued to push, making headway little by little. Each push now made Angels opening bulge. The head was just inside. Each contraction was lasting several minutes and Angel was working hard to push with them. The baby wasn’t progressing much though. The babies lack of movement, the large head, and chunky 28 pound body was making progress very slow. 

The next contraction and pushes Brought the head more into the opening, Kara could clearly see a tiny sliver of the head sitting in the opening. When the push stopped the sliver retracted back into the opening. The baby was now entering the yo-yo phase. And It was going to take some serious pushing and stretching to get it out. 

Meanwhile Kara was working with the data. Measuring the pushing force and reading the vitals of the baby within. It was all up to Angel and the baby to complete this birth. With the baby barely moving, Angel was doing a bulk of the work. Still each push went on. Another 6 hours passed. Another day had progressed. Kara now noted that the baby had gained weight once more. The baby was now 29 pounds and still well inside Angels belly. It was only getting harder to push out. Another few hours passed. There was a slight breakthrough. The head was now getting bigger in the opening as Angel was slowly beginning the stretching process. Each push brought the head into view. At the end of the push however, the head continued to slip back in. 

Kara continued to take notes, as the action was now happening faster. Kara’s notes are as follows:

10:50:30 Push, can see head in opening 

10:51:10 push ends and head slips back in

10:55:12 Pushing, head appears

10:55:30 tiny slip-in but pushing 

10:56:01 head slips back in 

Kara watched as Angel kept pushing. The head made more and more appearances with each push. However it continued to slip back in. This continued for 4 hours, until finally Angel was able to hold the baby up against her opening with each push. More stretching needed to happen, but it was progress seeing more of the head with each push. 

Angel pushed, this time the head stretched into the opening nicely. However as Angel bore down the baby suddenly wiggled its head, this caused the head to recess back in. The baby was now active, but it wasn’t helping Angel progress. Rather it was working to get back in her belly. Angel pushed again. The head pressed tightly against her un-stretched opening. She held it there as best she could, the baby once again wiggled, the sudden wiggle had the baby recessing back inside once more. 

“Looks like the baby is refusing to fit through.” Kara said. “Your not stretched enough yet.” 

“What do I do?” Angel asked.

“Not much you can do, just keep pushing the head against the opening, it will slowly stretch open.” Kara said. 

“Was there a clause in this experimental contract for mechanical assistance?” Angel asked.

“No, there wasn’t, Its all up to you to get the baby out.” Kara said. 

“Ok.” Angel said 

“Its going to be ok.” Kara said. “You’ll get it out.”

“This is the biggest baby I’ve ever had in me since I arrived at Helios.” Angel said concerned.

“Yes it is, but birthing this baby will grant you retirement from birthing or scientific status.” Kara said. “You could join me doing experiments.” 

“Yes that would be ahhhhh!” Angel said as a contraction began.

Angel pulled back her legs and began to push her big belly began to contract. Below she began to bulge. The babies head was coming closer as she continued to push. Angel held the push as long as she could but the baby did not show. She tried again. This time she bulged more and the babies head came into view. The push ended. However this time something changed. Instead of the babies head retracting back inside. The head remained in view in the opening. Angel was beginning to stretch. Kara could see the head wiggling from side to side inside on angels opening. It was the baby attempting to wiggle free of Angels vagina. 

“It looks like the little man is helping.” Kara said

“Yes, I can feel him wiggling against my opening.” Angel replied. “Its nice he’s helping in there.” 

Angel pushed again with a new contraction. This time the babies head remained in the same spot and didn’t budge forward at all. The little head wiggled once more as angel pushed to attempt to free it. The push ended, but this time the baby slid back in and the vagina closed. Angel waited till the next opportunity and pushed hard. The head came right back up to the opening and began wiggling again trying its hardest to free itself from the clenches of angels womb. However the baby was simply too big, and not strong enough to free itself. It would have to wait till angel stretched and pushed to get free. 

The head remained visible but refused to budge for the next 5 contractions. Angel was trying to stretch open, but the progress was very slow. Angel was trying hard but the head wasn’t budging. Another 30 minutes passed with no forward progress. Angels opening was no farther stretched than before. The head was visible in the opening. Kara could see the dark hair on the babies head just stuck there in angels vagina. She could see the head wiggling back and forth inside trying to get free. Angel was pushing, but not movement was happening. The 29 pound baby was clearly stuck. 

After another hour of trying to move the baby. It was clear that changes needed to be made. Kara suggested that Angel get active and walk around to try and help move the baby inside to free it. Angel stood up and let her huge belly hang down. She had been laying down now for many hours attempting to free the baby. Upon standing up her vagina closed, sealing the baby back inside. Angel was discouraged, but kept at it. Angel paced around the area, taking in the surroundings while working with contractions to attempt to get the baby to move. Each time she pushed Kara could see the babies head appear in the opening, before being sealed back in at the end of the push. Angel continued activity for another 4 hours without much progress. The babies head seemed to be simply too large to progress any farther. 

Now approaching 4 days into the pushing. The 29 pound baby still remained stuck in Angel. It was time to get more aggressive with the pushing as the baby was still gaining weight inside of her. The baby needed to make progress. Angel laid back on the birthing stations bed and pulled her legs back. Kara attached stirrups to hold here legs in a better position. The table was then inverted so that Angel didn’t have to fight uphill to push the baby. Pushing was now getting serious. Kara got another data update. The baby was now 29.5 pounds inside angel. It was time to get this baby out before birthing became nearly impossible. 

Angel began pushing in rhythm. Pushing even without the assistance of a helping contraction. Angel was forcing her body to the maximum to attempt to free the baby from her belly. Kara began coaching and taking data at the same time. The baby continued to slide back in after each push with little forward progress. Finally after an hour of this, angel started to stretch a bit more allowing more of the head to seen. The tear drop opening shape was now forming, meaning that the head was making some progress. Kara decided to switch angel back to a birth stool for added comfort. The head was now much larger in the opening. Another 3 hours of pushing passed until the head moved farther. The progress was painfully slow, but was happening. The head now bulged out a bit, but angels skin was still tightly clenched around the huge head. 2 more hours passed of constant pushing. Finally with one big push the skin slipped around the rest of the head. After almost 5 days of pushing the head was free. The babies head as massive and dangling from angel. Angel needed to stand as her legs could take no more of the birth stool. As she stood the head made it so she couldn’t close her legs at all. Angel waddled around a bit. The babies head turtled back a bit sucking itself back. The baby wanted back inside, but the head was much too large to do so. Still the baby tried, but wasn’t successful. The rotation began. It was now time to birth the shoulders. Luckily with the genetic make up of the experiment this wasn’t going to be as hard as the head. Sitting back on the birth stool angel began pushing hard once more. The rotation of the baby continued. The baby was active. Constantly wiggling trying to escape. After about 4 more hours the baby finally slipped out. 

“Good job angel.” Kara said. “You did it friend.” 

Two weeks later: 

Angels last birth was now over. Now she could choose to retire, or potentially take a job at the facility. What happens is to be continued…… 

[littlest-w01f]

Taverns

For @polyacotarweek

Poly Acotar Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Adventure

Summary: Eris and Rhysand find out that Rosalie hasn't had quite the sex life. They plan to change that.

Cw: Blindfolds, MxFxM, Oral M receiving, Fingering, Spanking, Smut 18+ MDNI

The music was loud as the three lovers were in a private room of their own in a traven they frequented. Rosalie was on her knees, a pillow between her knees and the hardwood floor for comfort. Her breathing was shallow as she felt two pairs of hands on her, her mates. She nuzzled in the hand at her cheek, knowing from the softness it was Eris.

Eris had done the courtesy of telling Rhysand that she had quite a reserved life while growing up, not permitted most things, and Rhysand, ever the kind mate had the idea of showing Rosalie some wild sides of their worlds.

Hence here she was, blindfolded with a black cloth, hands obediently on her lap, the music from outside, soft teasing touches from her mates all over her body causing goosebumps all over her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck rise up.

"Are you sure about this, little fox?" Rhysand asked, undoing her updo to make her hair fall over her shoulders.

Rosalie nodded wordlessly when Eris stroked her chin with his hand, "Words, my fox."

"Yes," Rosalie breathed and Eris took the chance to place his thumb on her tongue, smiling and watching her instantly wrap her lips around him to suck.

As the music played, it seemed to envelop Rosalie in its sensual embrace, causing her heart to race and her breath to hitch as they continued their exploration of her body. The sound of their voices whispering sweet nothings against her ear, combined with the soft caress of hands, only served to heighten her arousal further. Her body quivered between them, every nerve ending alive and aware of the pleasure being bestowed upon her.

She was drenched in the wetness of desire, her red lace soaked through, the fabric sticking to her skin like a second layer of skin. The scent of her arousal filled the air around them, an aroma that was both intoxicating and enticing.

"My my, aren't you excited." Eris taunted, watching her squirm for friction while on her knees.

"Do you rember the safe word we decided?" Rhysand's hands were on her corset, unlacing and clipping it off, throwing it somewhere uncaring.

"'Red'" Rosalie responded, something easy enough for her to remember for her first, as she did, Rhysand cupped her breasts in his hands, gently kneading and rolling her nipples between his fingers while also giving them a playful pinch.

"Good girl," The Night male simply responded, biting down on her shoulder.

With the blindfold taking away her ability to see, everything felt electric, making her gasp and moan softly, Rhysand was behind her, chest to back as he played with her body, Eris stood tall in front of her, using his shoe to nudge at her closed knees, "Spread."

She spread her legs as Eris removed the pillow from under her, "Think you can keep up or does one of us has to chain you?"

Rosalie shuddered as Rhysand bit at her sensitive ears, whispering, "I'd be glad too,"

"I think I'll be ok," Rosalie confirmed, burning in anticipation.

"Good," Eris smirked, watching her balance on her toes with her legs spread wide for him, his eyes on the damp patch of lace that covered her.

Rhysand, noting his stare was quick to rip the fabric of their mate, making her gasp at the air softly, leaving her exposed and vulnerable between the two males. With a soft chuckle, Rhysand pulled away from her ear, moving down her body to her thighs. He took one leg in each hand and spread her legs further apart, revealing her wet slit to Eris. He couldn't help but give it a gentle smack, the impact sending shivers of pleasure throughout her body.

"Did you like that?" Rhysand gave her another gentle spank to her wet folds, making her quiver lightly, Eris watched her with a grin, the way Rosalie twitched in efforts to not move as Rhysand wrapped an arm around her waist, caging her arms in.

"Yes, yes..." Rosalie gasped out as Rhysand groaned in satisfaction as he slipped two fingers inside her tight, wet cunt. He used his thumb to rub against her clit, causing her to writhe against him. The sensations were intense and added to the overall pleasure she felt. Her mate continued to fuck her with his fingers, his movements becoming faster and more frantic as he worked her up into a fever pitch of need and desire.

Both their pants grew tighter with hearing her moans as Eris burned away their clothes, amber eyes black with lust, a matching look in Rhysand's eyes.

Eris approached her, fully hard cock in hand as he stroked it, his hard cock throbbing in his hand as he guided it towards her lips, "Open up for me, my little slut." He gave her a small push, encouraging her to open her mouth wide enough to take his entire length. As she did so, he thrust his cock into her mouth, burying it deep within her throat.

Rosalie gagged lightly at the sudden full thrust of his cock in her mouth as Rhysand held her still, hand still buried in her cunt, playing with her and stretching her.

Rhysand groaned in approval, Eris' cock slapping against her tongue as he continued to work her cunt with his fingers. Eris continued to fuck her face, his cock filling her mouth and throat as he pumped in and out of her. He could feel the resistance of her throat, the tightness of her grip around his cock, and he loved every moment of it.

"Fuck, Rosa, you look so hot." Eris panted, finding his rhythm with his thrusts as Rosalie licked and sucked his cock while he moved.

Rhysand kissed her neck and shoulders, marking her skin as she did, watching Eris' cock go in and out of her mouth, "Such a good girl you are, Ro, so good." He kissed over her cheek where the imprint of Eris' cock formed when he pushed in.

"I love how you suck my cock like this." Eris' pace quickened as he grew increasingly harder and more desperate. He could barely stand the feeling of her hot, wet mouth around his cock, and he needed release badly.

Rhysand's hand worked to stimulate her as she tried her best to rut against his hand, he smirked feeling her tense up on him, "Are you close?" When she sends down a wave of affirmation down their bond Rhysand pulls his hand away, chuckling to himself. Moved his now-drenched hand to his lips while making eye contact with Eris and took his fingers in his mouth, sucking her arousal clean.

Rosalie whines in disappointment and that causes Eris's hips to stutter more while watching Rhysand, his final string breaking and he let out a loud groan as he came, spurting his seed into her mouth. His cum shot out in a torrent, splattering against her tongue and the insides of her mouth. The taste was salty and bitter, as she drank him whole, sucking for more, scenting him on herself, he just wanted to feel her warmth and wetness around his cock. He kept fucking her face until he was spent, emptying his balls into her mouth before finally pulling out, his cock covered in spit and cum.

Rhysand let go of Rosalie and she wobbled lightly on her toes, caught on nothing and all she could hear were the sounds of sucking. Rhysand had taken Eris's cock in hand, licking and sucking over his lover's length to clean him on his cum and her saliva, with a small kiss to his head he pulled away.

Eris was breathing heavily as he knelt in front of Rosalie, "Oh you poor thing," He tutted, "Did Rhys really not let you cum?"

Rosalie nodded, earning a pull on her hair from Rhysand, "Come now, I was just playing," He smirked, landing another spank on her sensitive cunt.

Rosalie twitched at the impact, gasping softly when she felt fingers on her cunt again, warmer, Eris', push in, "Oh, Er..." She sighed in slight relief.

Rhysand pinched and rolled her clit between his fingers as Eris had his buried deep in her warmth, rubbing against her inner walls, she moaned and whimpered between them as they picked up the pace with their hands, the sounds of kissing right by her ear making her tremble.

Eris' tongue thrust into Rhysand's mouth, tasting the remnants of himself as they both brought their mate over the edge. Eventually, after several minutes of stimulation, Rosalie cried out in bliss, her body trembling with pleasure as she came. Her face contorted in ecstasy, and her mouth opened wide in a silent scream of pleasure as she climaxed, pressed between her two males.

With a final peck, Rhysand pulled away from the kiss, turning his attention to the female who had fallen limp on Eris, her breathing rough, "Fuck, so pretty," He groaned, stroking her clit through her orgasm, having her trembling as Eris held his fingers still in her, kiss the crown of her head, using his teeth to pull away the blindfold on her eye.

Rosalie blinked a few times to adjust to the light in the room, smiling when her eyes met Eris', "Hi..." She offered softly and Eris smiled, pecking her lips, greeting her back.

"Yeah, yeah, very sweet." Rhysand spoke from behind her, putting pressure on her lower back to make her arch and present her quivering cunt to him, "I'm going to take you now." He kissed over her shoulder, leaning over her completely, landing a hand fast on her ass.

With her slight nod of approval from being buried in Eris' neck, Rhysand plunged into her wet cunt fully, he couldn't help but feel the warmth of her body enveloping his cock, the sensation driving him wild with desire. He started to fuck her with fervour, his cock slamming against her walls with each powerful stroke.

Rosalie squirmed in Eris' arms, holding her for Rhysand to take mercilessly. He simply chased his own high, using her like a cock sleeve.

"Oh god, your cunt feels amazing," He groaned, his voice full of lust and need. He continued to pound into her, his cock seemingly never tiring or slowing down. Each time he hit her sweet spot, he felt a sharp, electric shock course through his body, through her pleasure that he felt down the bond, making him all the more determined to keep going. "Does my cock feel good, little Fox?"

"Yes... Yes... YES." Rosalie cried, trying to push back on him, Eris groaned softly watching them, biting on her neck to mark his spots too, Rhysand laughed, his cock still buried deep in her cunt as he too began to pound into her. He was eager to claim her as his own, and his cock slapped against her inner walls with each brutal thrust. The sound of skin colliding with skin filled the air, punctuating the rhythm of his fucking as he continued to drive into her.

Eris reached his hand between them to stroke her clit, murmuring praises on how well she took Rhysand, wanting to bring her over another high.

After what seemed like an eternity of fucking, Rhysand finally reached his climax with a growl, his cock pulsing with the force of his release as he came inside her. Empting into her cunt, his cum mixing with her juices as he pounded into her. Rosaile's body shook with the intensity of his orgasm, her own following his, her cunt contracting around his cock, holding him in.

Rhysand fell on her, taking both Rosalie and Eris with him, the two males gave gentle kisses to soothe her, Rhysand pulling out gently, watching his cum leak from her ruined cunt.

"That's a good girl." Eris cooed softly, stroking her hair, "You took us so well."

Rhysand pulled them both up, laughing as Rosalie wobbled on her knees, grabbing her instantly, "I've got you love," He smiled, holding her close, "I've got you."

Rosalie smiled sleepily, "Can we go home and cuddle?"

"After we clean you, yes." Eris pushed her hair out of her face, followed by a gentle kiss to her forehead.

{General taglist- @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist- @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[scarianheadcanons]

Ok, here me out what if - Scar jokingly suggests he finished a marriage form at the permit office. He presents the form to Grian, pretending it's official.

Scar asks Grian to sign it playfully.

Grian realizes Scar's humorous proposal and happily signs the "form."

Scar thinks they are now romantically involved 

Grian now has to explain that their not married because there was no official involved.

scar is DISAPPOINTED to say the least.. but it doesn't stop him from making up a form for them to start dating (because its probably abit too early for marriage..) and grian realises that oh, he is being serious

lets say he had was put on hold while grian freaks out (in a good way)

[personwithatophat]

Correction Theory

i have met my quota of at least ~ 1 ~ interested party

so lets talk about the hair thing.

Correction Theory is the idea that showfall controls their cast not just in showy ways with flashing lights and wires but also in subtle ways that the actors (mostly ranboo) try to tell us about. when studying this theory and incorporating the hundreds of tiny potential cues I implore you to read this and then rewatch even the first 20 minutes of genloss TSE with this new perspective. Even if you don't believe me, its very interesting to notice. anyway I noticed this a bit ago but nearly every time that ranboo goes to do something that progresses the plot, it is followed or proceeded by him wiping his hair out of his eyes. ok? so what? its a tick it was a live show he was nervous? just stick wth me Showfall media's main goal is to have this show go smoothly, to keep the script breaks scripted and to keep the actors where they're supposed to be. due to the promotional material we know that the initial TSE live stream wasn't the first replay of the show so they've already gone through the process of things to adjust by the time were seeing it for the first time. Notably, headaches. the control items that showfall uses on the cast gives them headaches. ranboo shows us this a few times when he comments on his head hurting in TSE, as well as any time he wakes up in the show he tries to clutch his forehead. but he doesnt. its stopped halfway like he forgets that he has a headache and he instead runs his hand through his hair in replacement. now we have a base to work off. that when he touches his head its a potential headache indicator. a headache indicator that flares up specifically when showfall gives a command or correction to their protagonist. so

with this base in mind, as a sane and logical conclusion, i noted every time this happens to try and line it up with whats happening on screen. and 8/10 times it works. Corrections. small insignificant things that showfall wants to control so that the show goes smoothly but isn't worth drawing attention to it with blinking lights or plot. normally proceeded or followed by a headache indicator. - when chat chooses where ranboo should go - when ranboo looks into the camera and instantly looks away - if showfall feeds ranboo lines "I guess I better find these keys" - before or after every action during evil snag fight - when directed to/not to touch something (ep 2 detonator, ep 1 bolt cutters) these are only a few examples of when the action can align to certain commands and corrections relating to the show each correction is small enough that attention isn't drawn to it, but its also giving him a headache and its why we see him brush his hair out of his face instead of clutch his forehead. if ranboo were to act in distress or pain during the show when its uncalled for it takes away from the immersion or the script. pain isnt permitted. instead its redirected.

the theory sounds insane in shorthand but I do genuinely believe it, and you can immagine the written commands or corrections if you watch close enough. please ask me if you need clarification or more proof, I will happily provide. :) -Tophat

[joydoesathing]

Here is my pre prepared writing list for my next fanfic!! :)

(It’s ok to answer this rlly late bc I’m still working on Mike and Wil’s fanfic. i’m just getting this list ready for when I start the next Fanfic.)

1. How did Frances’ parents find out she was pregnant?

2. How old was Nacho when he got his first job?

3. How was Anatolii as a baby? (Did he like cry a lot or was he just chill lol)

4. Did Frances enjoy being institutionalised?

5. Does Anatolii like going to school?

6. How did Nacho run away?

7. How did Frances track him down?

8. You said their parents weren’t aware of their ‘relationship,’ but did any of their friends know?

9. How long did it take for Nacho and Frances to recognise each other when Frances moved into the apartment?

10. Does Anatolii get bullied/teased by others because of him not having a mother? (I mean, its the 50s. It wasn’t considered normal to not have both parents unless one of em was like, dead.)

🎀

1.) Well, naturally she still lived with them at the time so they'd find out eventually.

2.) Around his mid-twenties

3.) In first few years he was with Nacho, Tolya cried quite a lot , mainly because Nacho knew jackshit about taking care of babies and he was quite busy and didn't see Tolya much (college then finding a stable job)

4.) Not really but not enough for her to hate it there

5.) Yeah, pretty much

6.) He moved states. When he first met Frances, I imagine he was living independently away from him parents and home state for college, much to his parents' dismay. Then when he heard about the pregnancy, he got help from his "buddies" to move to a state nearer to his home state and transfer to a different college there. Of course, the sudden transfer did shock his parents but they were able pull off the excuse that Nacho's grades in that college were tanking because he didn't really like his previous college, so his parents permitted it (plus they also thought it was a good thing since he'll be closer to home now). In case you haven't noticed here already, Nacho has very loving parents that would excuse him of most of his antics.

7.) Scurried through a bunch of phone books for months on end until a previous neighbor of Nacho's took notice of her situation and provided her a few details they heard of him and his whereabouts

8.) Nacho's buddies knew and Frances kept it between her and just one close friend.

9.) It took probably almost a year and a few months.

10.) Well, when he was smaller, no, because he never disclosed that fact, but later on his classmates did notice was a bit odd that they have never seen Anatolii with his mom, so some people just jumped to their own theories and a good few of these guys would use it to get under Tolya's skin out of boredom or spite.