#I fear that these will look terrible on mobile

[canisalbus]

Stress management Machete doodles.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Your car spies on you and rats you out to insurance companies

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (Mar 13) in SAN FRANCISCO with ROBIN SLOAN, then Toronto, NYC, Anaheim, and more!

Another characteristically brilliant Kashmir Hill story for The New York Times reveals another characteristically terrible fact about modern life: your car secretly records fine-grained telemetry about your driving and sells it to data-brokers, who sell it to insurers, who use it as a pretext to gouge you on premiums:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/11/technology/carmakers-driver-tracking-insurance.html

Almost every car manufacturer does this: Hyundai, Nissan, Ford, Chrysler, etc etc:

https://www.repairerdrivennews.com/2020/09/09/ford-state-farm-ford-metromile-honda-verisk-among-insurer-oem-telematics-connections/

This is true whether you own or lease the car, and it's separate from the "black box" your insurer might have offered to you in exchange for a discount on your premiums. In other words, even if you say no to the insurer's carrot – a surveillance-based discount – they've got a stick in reserve: buying your nonconsensually harvested data on the open market.

I've always hated that saying, "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," the reason being that it posits decent treatment as a customer reward program, like the little ramekin warm nuts first class passengers get before takeoff. Companies don't treat you well when you pay them. Companies treat you well when they fear the consequences of treating you badly.

Take Apple. The company offers Ios users a one-tap opt-out from commercial surveillance, and more than 96% of users opted out. Presumably, the other 4% were either confused or on Facebook's payroll. Apple – and its army of cultists – insist that this proves that our world's woes can be traced to cheapskate "consumers" who expected to get something for nothing by using advertising-supported products.

But here's the kicker: right after Apple blocked all its rivals from spying on its customers, it began secretly spying on those customers! Apple has a rival surveillance ad network, and even if you opt out of commercial surveillance on your Iphone, Apple still secretly spies on you and uses the data to target you for ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product – provided the company can get away with treating you as the product. Apple can absolutely get away with treating you as the product, because it lacks the historical constraints that prevented Apple – and other companies – from treating you as the product.

As I described in my McLuhan lecture on enshittification, tech firms can be constrained by four forces:

I. Competition

II. Regulation

III. Self-help

IV. Labor

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

When companies have real competitors – when a sector is composed of dozens or hundreds of roughly evenly matched firms – they have to worry that a maltreated customer might move to a rival. 40 years of antitrust neglect means that corporations were able to buy their way to dominance with predatory mergers and pricing, producing today's inbred, Habsburg capitalism. Apple and Google are a mobile duopoly, Google is a search monopoly, etc. It's not just tech! Every sector looks like this:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Eliminating competition doesn't just deprive customers of alternatives, it also empowers corporations. Liberated from "wasteful competition," companies in concentrated industries can extract massive profits. Think of how both Apple and Google have "competitively" arrived at the same 30% app tax on app sales and transactions, a rate that's more than 1,000% higher than the transaction fees extracted by the (bloated, price-gouging) credit-card sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/07/curatorial-vig/#app-tax

But cartels' power goes beyond the size of their warchest. The real source of a cartel's power is the ease with which a small number of companies can arrive at – and stick to – a common lobbying position. That's where "regulatory capture" comes in: the mobile duopoly has an easier time of capturing its regulators because two companies have an easy time agreeing on how to spend their app-tax billions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Apple – and Google, and Facebook, and your car company – can violate your privacy because they aren't constrained regulation, just as Uber can violate its drivers' labor rights and Amazon can violate your consumer rights. The tech cartels have captured their regulators and convinced them that the law doesn't apply if it's being broken via an app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

In other words, Apple can spy on you because it's allowed to spy on you. America's last consumer privacy law was passed in 1988, and it bans video-store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history. Congress has taken no action on consumer privacy since the Reagan years:

https://www.eff.org/tags/video-privacy-protection-act

But tech has some special enshittification-resistant characteristics. The most important of these is interoperability: the fact that computers are universal digital machines that can run any program. HP can design a printer that rejects third-party ink and charge $10,000/gallon for its own colored water, but someone else can write a program that lets you jailbreak your printer so that it accepts any ink cartridge:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Tech companies that contemplated enshittifying their products always had to watch over their shoulders for a rival that might offer a disenshittification tool and use that as a wedge between the company and its customers. If you make your website's ads 20% more obnoxious in anticipation of a 2% increase in gross margins, you have to consider the possibility that 40% of your users will google "how do I block ads?" Because the revenue from a user who blocks ads doesn't stay at 100% of the current levels – it drops to zero, forever (no user ever googles "how do I stop blocking ads?").

The majority of web users are running an ad-blocker:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Web operators made them an offer ("free website in exchange for unlimited surveillance and unfettered intrusions") and they made a counteroffer ("how about 'nah'?"):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

Here's the thing: reverse-engineering an app – or any other IP-encumbered technology – is a legal minefield. Just decompiling an app exposes you to felony prosecution: a five year sentence and a $500k fine for violating Section 1201 of the DMCA. But it's not just the DMCA – modern products are surrounded with high-tech tripwires that allow companies to invoke IP law to prevent competitors from augmenting, recongifuring or adapting their products. When a business says it has "IP," it means that it has arranged its legal affairs to allow it to invoke the power of the state to control its customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

An "app" is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to add an ad-blocker to it. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model" and it's everywhere. When companies don't have to worry about users deploying self-help measures to disenshittify their products, they are freed from the constraint that prevents them indulging the impulse to shift value from their customers to themselves.

Apple owes its existence to interoperability – its ability to clone Microsoft Office's file formats for Pages, Numbers and Keynote, which saved the company in the early 2000s – and ever since, it has devoted its existence to making sure no one ever does to Apple what Apple did to Microsoft:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Regulatory capture cuts both ways: it's not just about powerful corporations being free to flout the law, it's also about their ability to enlist the law to punish competitors that might constrain their plans for exploiting their workers, customers, suppliers or other stakeholders.

The final historical constraint on tech companies was their own workers. Tech has very low union-density, but that's in part because individual tech workers enjoyed so much bargaining power due to their scarcity. This is why their bosses pampered them with whimsical campuses filled with gourmet cafeterias, fancy gyms and free massages: it allowed tech companies to convince tech workers to work like government mules by flattering them that they were partners on a mission to bring the world to its digital future:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

For tech bosses, this gambit worked well, but failed badly. On the one hand, they were able to get otherwise powerful workers to consent to being "extremely hardcore" by invoking Fobazi Ettarh's spirit of "vocational awe":

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

On the other hand, when you motivate your workers by appealing to their sense of mission, the downside is that they feel a sense of mission. That means that when you demand that a tech worker enshittifies something they missed their mother's funeral to deliver, they will experience a profound sense of moral injury and refuse, and that worker's bargaining power means that they can make it stick.

Or at least, it did. In this era of mass tech layoffs, when Google can fire 12,000 workers after a $80b stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years, tech workers are learning that the answer to "I won't do this and you can't make me" is "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out" (AKA "sharpen your blades boys"):

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

With competition, regulation, self-help and labor cleared away, tech firms – and firms that have wrapped their products around the pluripotently malleable core of digital tech, including automotive makers – are no longer constrained from enshittifying their products.

And that's why your car manufacturer has chosen to spy on you and sell your private information to data-brokers and anyone else who wants it. Not because you didn't pay for the product, so you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

Cars are enshittified. The dozens of chips that auto makers have shoveled into their car design are only incidentally related to delivering a better product. The primary use for those chips is autoenshittification – access to legal strictures ("IP") that allows them to block modifications and repairs that would interfere with the unfettered abuse of their own customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

The fact that it's a felony to reverse-engineer and modify a car's software opens the floodgates to all kinds of shitty scams. Remember when Bay Staters were voting on a ballot measure to impose right-to-repair obligations on automakers in Massachusetts? The only reason they needed to have the law intervene to make right-to-repair viable is that Big Car has figured out that if it encrypts its diagnostic messages, it can felonize third-party diagnosis of a car, because decrypting the messages violates the DMCA:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/11/drm-cars-will-drive-consumers-crazy

Big Car figured out that VIN locking – DRM for engine components and subassemblies – can felonize the production and the installation of third-party spare parts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

The fact that you can't legally modify your car means that automakers can go back to their pre-2008 ways, when they transformed themselves into unregulated banks that incidentally manufactured the cars they sold subprime loans for. Subprime auto loans – over $1t worth! – absolutely relies on the fact that borrowers' cars can be remotely controlled by lenders. Miss a payment and your car's stereo turns itself on and blares threatening messages at top volume, which you can't turn off. Break the lease agreement that says you won't drive your car over the county line and it will immobilize itself. Try to change any of this software and you'll commit a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Tesla, naturally, has the most advanced anti-features. Long before BMW tried to rent you your seat-heater and Mercedes tried to sell you a monthly subscription to your accelerator pedal, Teslas were demon-haunted nightmare cars. Miss a Tesla payment and the car will immobilize itself and lock you out until the repo man arrives, then it will blare its horn and back itself out of its parking spot. If you "buy" the right to fully charge your car's battery or use the features it came with, you don't own them – they're repossessed when your car changes hands, meaning you get less money on the used market because your car's next owner has to buy these features all over again:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

And all this DRM allows your car maker to install spyware that you're not allowed to remove. They really tipped their hand on this when the R2R ballot measure was steaming towards an 80% victory, with wall-to-wall scare ads that revealed that your car collects so much information about you that allowing third parties to access it could lead to your murder (no, really!):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

That's why your car spies on you. Because it can. Because the company that made it lacks constraint, be it market-based, legal, technological or its own workforce's ethics.

One common critique of my enshittification hypothesis is that this is "kind of sensible and normal" because "there��s something off in the consumer mindset that we’ve come to believe that the internet should provide us with amazing products, which bring us joy and happiness and we spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return":

https://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-have-great-conversations/

What this criticism misses is that this isn't the companies bargaining to shift some value from us to them. Enshittification happens when a company can seize all that value, without having to bargain, exploiting law and technology and market power over buyers and sellers to unilaterally alter the way the products and services we rely on work.

A company that doesn't have to fear competitors, regulators, jailbreaking or workers' refusal to enshittify its products doesn't have to bargain, it can take. It's the first lesson they teach you in the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Your car spying on you isn't down to your belief that your carmaker "should provide you with amazing products, which brings your joy and happiness you spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return." It's not because you didn't pay for the product, so now you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

The consequences of this spying go much further than mere insurance premium hikes, too. Car telemetry sits at the top of the funnel that the unbelievably sleazy data broker industry uses to collect and sell our data. These are the same companies that sell the fact that you visited an abortion clinic to marketers, bounty hunters, advertisers, or vengeful family members pretending to be one of those:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus

Decades of pro-monopoly policy led to widespread regulatory capture. Corporate cartels use the monopoly profits they extract from us to pay for regulatory inaction, allowing them to extract more profits.

But when it comes to privacy, that period of unchecked corporate power might be coming to an end. The lack of privacy regulation is at the root of so many problems that a pro-privacy movement has an unstoppable constituency working in its favor.

At EFF, we call this "privacy first." Whether you're worried about grifters targeting vulnerable people with conspiracy theories, or teens being targeted with media that harms their mental health, or Americans being spied on by foreign governments, or cops using commercial surveillance data to round up protesters, or your car selling your data to insurance companies, passing that long-overdue privacy legislation would turn off the taps for the data powering all these harms:

https://www.eff.org/wp/privacy-first-better-way-address-online-harms

Traditional economics fails because it thinks about markets without thinking about power. Monopolies lead to more than market power: they produce regulatory capture, power over workers, and state capture, which felonizes competition through IP law. The story that our problems stem from the fact that we just don't spend enough money, or buy the wrong products, only makes sense if you willfully ignore the power that corporations exert over our lives. It's nice to think that you can shop your way out of a monopoly, because that's a lot easier than voting your way out of a monopoly, but no matter how many times you vote with your wallet, the cartels that control the market will always win:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[goingmerryfics]

HELLO, I was seeing that you were open to requests and I've had this in my head for a long time and I would really like to see something about this, a reader who has a huge scar on his face that is literally ugly, they got it as a child, apart from the fact that it shows part of the teeth of how serious it was and for this reason the reader wears a mask for fear of being told things about them face, I'm sorry if it's something explicit just that sometimes I feel like I don't explain myself

Reader with a scar - Luffy & Penguin

Content: reader is referred to as a ‘guy’ and a ‘dude’, reader wears a face mask, can be read as platonic, face scarring due to a past accident not specified, fluff and reassurance, a few mentions of Shachi in Penguin's part.

Notes* Hey there! There wasn't a character specified for this ask, so I chose two that I'm less experienced with to write out this prompt with :) male reader because of the pronouns used in the ask! I got really interested in this prompt right away and wrote it immediately upon receiving the ask and absolutely had to post it now so I apologize if the formatting is wonky! I'm on mobile haha

Luffy

When you first met Strawhat Luffy, it was while he was stopped at your home island along his grand adventure

You'd never really paid much attention to pirates and their lives- you had your own to live and figure out anyway

But as you and Luffy became closer- first as acquaintances, then as temporary allies, and then as friends as he boldly declared it in a short amount of time, you started to really like the guy

He'd only asked you about the mask you wore once. But the second you tried to answer him, he was distracted by dinner. After that, it was if he'd forgotten all about his question

It was kind of nice that way, not needing to worry about constant pestering or comments about it

Luffy truly didn't give a shit what you wore on your face at all. He cared about you (and your food, of course)

Luffy had a way of making you feel as if you could trust him to see your face. What you've kept hidden for most of your life, after a terrible accident had, in your opinion, ruined your life

But Luffy's care for you was unlike anything you've ever felt before. Luffy made you feel safe, protected, and just a little anxious at how willing he was to throw himself in harm's way to help you, the appointed new friend

One evening, you decide that you do in fact want to talk to him about your past. It's a decision you've been thinking over for a while, but actually getting up and moving to Luffy's room is such a sudden action, and then you're suddenly seeking him out in the dead of night on his ship to tell him about your scar.

The Thousand Sunny was still docked peacefully at the edge of the south side of your island, where you had originally met them what felt like so long ago. In reality, it had only been about a week since the Strawhats arrived, and yet it felt like so much longer in the chaos.

Their gangplank was pulled up, but before you could start trying to climb the ship's side, you spot Luffy out on the deck- evident by the straw hat on his head.

You call out his name, and he turns right away. With a grin quickly spreading on his face, he hops off the sunny and onto the grassy island floor. He calls your name happily.

“What are you doing over here? Is something wrong?” He asks.

You tell him it's not that, and he picks up on your unease.

“Well, what is it? It's hard to tell but you look like something's bothering you. Are you hungry?”

You shake your head, and you begin to explain. You tell him about your accident, about how your face was scarred and disfigured. You tell him about your upbringing, how hard it was to fit in with the other kids while you looked like that.

You can feel yourself getting emotional. Luffy can hear it in your voice, too. He calls your name in a stern tone- one he only seems to use when he gets serious.

“Listen, I don't care about all that crap.” He speaks. And though his words are blunt, you know he means them in the best way.

“I like you. You're a really nice guy, and you fight really well. So what else matters? You think I care if you've got a scar on your face?”

He stares at you, and you feel it in the center of your chest.

“You should feel free to do whatever you want! If you want to wear your mask then that's fine. But if you don't, then take it off! And if people don't like it, that's their problem! If they don't want to get to know you because of what your face looks like, then they're the ones that are missing out!”

You can feel tears in your eyes. There's something about the way Luffy says- no, declares it so passionately that leaves no doubt in your mind of his pure fondness for you.

Through your tears, you can see Luffy's smile, and your heart soars.

Penguin

You'd been a Heart Pirate for a short amount of time, but somehow you had made quick friends with many people on the Polar Tang- one of them being the man who called himself, ‘Penguin’ with the hat to prove it

There was something about him that was so easy to click with. Maybe it was your shared sense of humor, or the fact that you found it hilarious watching him and his partner in crime Shachi get into trouble for pulling pranks around your Captain (for the millionth time)

You weren't the only person on the crew who wore a full face mask, either. So while he was curious and questioned it in the beginning, one word from you to leave it alone and he backed off. Surprisingly.

Still, you definitely caught him eyeing you at times. The urge to pull the mask off your face to see what you were hiding was strong in him, but you two were friends and he wouldn't do that to you

One evening, Shachi had been pressing you just a little too much about the matter and he'd said, “What, are you ugly or something under there?”

Which earned a swift smack to the back of his head from Penguin, chastising him for saying something that insensitive

He'd noticed the way your teeth clenched, how tense you got. It had obviously hit home, and he made Shachi apologize for his rude joke right then and there

After that though, he found himself wondering why. Why did you think you were ugly? What were you hiding? Did you actually have a reason to be insecure, or was it something more?

He cared about you. He didn't want you to feel like you couldn't be yourself around them- the Heart Pirates were your family now, and a proper family didn't hurt each other for something so miniscule.

You had gotten over the comment, but Penguin had already begun his mission.

It was late into the evening. The chores were done for the day, and Penguin wanted to catch you before you went to bed. He wasn't really sure what he was gonna do or say, but he knew he wanted to address it before the worry drove him to insomnia.

He searches the halls for you and eventually finds you in the common room. He calls your name cheerfully, thankful that you're alone here- at least for the time being.

You greet Penguin, looking up from what you'd been doing. He takes a seat nearby and starts to make idle chatter, asking you about your day, telling you a bit of gossip, smiling when he gets you to laugh.

Then he clears his throat and switches gears, moving on to the conversation he really came here for.

“So, uh… There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You watch him fidget for a minute. He's not good with feelings at all, and he's trying to figure out how to bring this up without accidentally offending you. Eventually, he finds the words.

“So… About what Shachi said a while back. I was kinda worried about it.”

You quickly assure him that it was fine, that Shachi apologized and he only meant it as an, albeit bad, joke.

“Yeah, but… I don't know. It looked like it really bothered you. I hope you don't think that, like, we would think you're ugly or something! Whatever you look like under there, you're still the same cool dude we know. Nothing would change that. I guess I just wanted to say that.” Penguin shrugs.

You're not sure what to say to that. Your initial reaction is bitter- to insist that actually they would think you're ugly if they could see your face. But something stops you, and you get stuck just choking on your words.

“Look, I'm just saying, it bothers me to think that you don't like the way you look. I'm not saying you have to show me your face or anything, but just… If you choose to take your mask off one day, I hope you know that we'd love you all the same. You'll always be our family, no matter what you look like.”

You nod, because it's all you can bring yourself to do in the moment. It's nice, hearing that reassurance.

Penguin quickly changes the subject to try and dissipate the tension in the room made by the serious conversation, going on about something stupid Shachi had done that got him into some shit with the Captain earlier, which makes you laugh.

His words stick to your heart -You'll always be our family, no matter what you look like- and you know that when you do decide to show yourself to them, that you'll be alright.

[cookie-crumblr]

can you write a Dezrend x fem shapeshifter unicorn! Reader where reader is in their unicorn form and is frolicking around a field then Dezrend finds reader, noncons, then over stims reader until reader is dumbed out and enjoys it?

Oh fuck YESS OMFG

MINORS DNI!

F!Unicorm Reader x M!Dragon OC!

CW: F!reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, reader and oc are shaeshifters basically furry?(they’re like legit animals i never know how to tag this XD), ML has 3 peens, inhuman anatomy, NON-CON, dumbification, monster fucking but they’re in humanoid form eventually, massive size difference and kink, stomach bulge, p in v, p in b, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, furry?(we are a unicorn fucking a dragon LOL), also idk if horses have clits i don’t really wanna know tbh so please don’t correct me if not XD we are a unicorn so just pretend, reader has long hair, cumflation, creampie,

Your beautiful mane flows around you as you canter through a field of little round white flowers, in a deep green forest clearing. You felt safe concealed by a deep fog. The flowers stalks tickle your strong legs as you hop over them. You giggle and prance, stopping only to roll onto your back in them for a minute. When you look up and see a dark and terribly massive dragon’s shadow flying overhead.

You flip back onto your powerful hooves as fast as you can, but when you look back, you watch as the dragons slit pupils meet yours through a break in the ground clouds in a snap. It’s too late, it’s already aware of you.

You’re frozen, staring into those black slits as they get closer swiftly crashing onto land before you. The dragon’s wind blows all of the flowers over, clears the fog, and its gargantuan body crushes a portion of the field beneath it. It’s hands and feet crush more as it approaches you.

Frighteningly, the ground shakes with each step, and so do your legs.

A scaley, taloned finger as big as your body meets your chin and tilts your face up, you’re snorting in fear and you finally regain some mobility shifting weight from hoofed leg to hoofed leg. Wind kicks up around you and the field as the mighty creature shrinks itself to only just bigger than you.

You don’t mean to but you look in between it’s legs (which to your credit, is just slightly below your eye level), there are three very gigantic, weeping cocks hanging down.

Your eyes widen in even more horror and you fall onto your equine ass trying to back up to get away. You roll over and try to run, but your hooves slip against the morningdew-damp foliage and pull at the roots, tripping you more and not letting you stand. You thought you would get eaten! Not that!!

youre prone and exposed for him, and he takes advantage, pouncing on you in an instant. Your panic swells, the blood pounding in your ears, you buck wildly.

You feel the things slither between your legs. They’re wet and they rub you down your slit as he mounts you. Two tips pierce your entrances, and it is already the worst pain you���ve ever experienced, you winnie, air puffing out of your nostrils in little clouds, and your front hooves are desperately try to pull yourself up, trying to get you away.

“Little Unicorn, legendary, but so weak.” He pushes all the way in, you feel your vagina stretch to accommodate his size, and your stomach bulges onto the ground beneath your laying form. You can’t breath! You’re so absolutely stuffed you can’t get air, and your head spins. You see the blue sky blackening.

His third hefty and hot cock slithers over your stuffed cunt, rubbing you deliciously with a mind of its own. It thickly heats up your entire being with every minuscule movement of the dragon adjusting.

You feel like you might pass out, breathing in and in and in but getting no air, until you feel a sudden tearing on your left flank and winnie louder, now able to breathe once more.

The pain is sharp, searing even. You turn your head enough to see that his talons have raked into your previously unmarred flesh. Fat tears fall down your gorgeous snout. You’ll have those scars for the rest of your life, however short that may be now.

“Hah! Cry, little legend!” His hips thrust, forcing his dicks deeper inside you, they stretch your gummy walls and feel as though they’re tearing you apart. His heavy dragon balls slap underneath you and amplify these stirring hot feelings in your core. A wailing moan leaves you as your body starts to accept him.

Two front hooves dig into the dirt, the flowers around you bend this way and that peacefully in the breezes as they ignore your peril. Your back hooves are practically crushed beneath the weight of this creature. He starts to slide in and out of you, picking up more speed as he does.

His hips buck into your rear, and his dicks feel as tho they’re tearing you apart inside, while his third pleasures you beyond imagine. your tongue lolls to one side as the surmounting pleasure builds. it slides putting more pressure onto the outside it feels like it’s specifically searching for your clit.

His sharp talons wrap around your neck and squeeze without puncturing your skin there, he pulls your neck and makes your back arch, his dicks plunge even deeper as your body takes him easier and easier. Soon The pleasure is all you feel, the pain not even a memory any longer in your now dumbing head.

He turns you and him at the same time into humans, he seems to have kept his three separate dicks, as your holes remained stuffed.

Your hair in human form is long and unkempt, you’ve never chosen to be in this body. Being a unicorn is just so much better.

A voice falls from your now plush little lips, and your practically hairless skin glistens and sparkles in the sun. Nails and knees dig into the soil beneath you, as your ass is up as high as it will go for the dragon in man form behind you, connected to you by the thick slithering members still penetrating you.

“Ah!!~” Crying out, you can’t help but want more at this point! Your coil is twisting and burning and building and making you beyond dizzy, you need it to snap! “Please! M-more!”

“Hah! Good little unicorn, taking me so well, you even like it now, huh?”

“Mhm!” You practically slur, you feel light headed and stupid you’re getting so fucked out, your body having been taken well beyond its limits, but you’re in bliss. If he kills you, it might be just the perfect end… But you’re only concerned with the right here and now. And right here and now, you’ve got one dick in your intestines and one curled up inside your cervix, and the last cupping your burning sex.

You push your body back into him, trying to take more and more! Your ass fits into his hips like a heavenly puzzle piece, you chase your own high. he squeezes your throat harder, definitely leaving a bruise, you choke out drunken moans, enjoying the stars in your vision as they blip in and out of your fading vision. He lets up enough for you to remain conscious, but keeps you in that sweet spot between dimensions.

The cocks inside of you pulse and grow, and your walls contract at just the right time, he bloats your stomach full of his dragon seed. You’ve finished in a blinding flash, and clarity hits you. His cocks are still inside you.

[live-laugh-neteyam]

97 & 98 w/ whoever from the 101 prompt thing.

maybe reader got shot in the spine and is recovering, but is stubborn and doesn't ask for help. they catch reader breaking down bc she can't stand long enough to wash herself.

maybe Jake bc he can relate w/ him being in a wheelchair previously or one of the boys (Ao'nung, Roxto, Lo'ak, Neteyam) bc they feel somewhat responsible.

can b platonic or romantic, idc.

Thanks!

Take Care Of You ||| sully family x omatikaya!reader

masterlist

pairings: sully family x omatikaya!fem!reader

summary: sully’s stick together

words: 1k

warnings/notes: injury, gunshot wounds, recovery, angst with sweet moments, use of y/n

It was never supposed to happen. The bullet wasn’t meant for you. But how could you just stand there and watch when your brother was in danger? Taking fate into your own hands you pushed Neteyam out of the line of fire.

You don’t remember much after that.

In and out of consciousness you remember Neteyam pleading with you to stay awake, your father looking over your wound, and your mother’s screams. The blood curdling screams of your mother was something that you could never forget.

A miracle.

That’s what Ronal said after examining you. The bullet lodged into your spine should’ve killed you, but Eywa had shown you mercy.

Lucky.

That’s what Norm said after extracting the bullet. Jake insisted on calling Norm and Max out to look at you. Not that he didn’t trust Na’vi medicine, but he was once human. Old habits die hard.

The first few months were hell. You weren’t dead but you felt like you were. You wished you were. It would be a long road to recovery and you weren’t sure you had the patience for it.

Especially when everyone looked at you the way they did. Eyes full of guilt and regret. The pity that flood their eyes. It made you feel sick to your stomach.

Your brothers weren’t very good at hiding their guilt. There was a part of you that felt bad for them. You knew they felt at fault and they were letting it eat at them.

“I thought you were a goner.” Lo’ak joked around. His laugh never reach his eyes though. You could see the fear they still held.

Neteyam was with you on the day you finally could sit up by yourself. He was proud of you, he truly felt happiness for your accomplishment. But the guilt was crawling it’s way back up.

You were no longer the mighty warrior he grew up with. You’d never be her again. That split second decision changed the course of your life for forever. Relearning even basic things, everything would now be a challenge for you.

Neteyam hated himself for it. It wasn’t supposed to be you.

Jake was able to keep his feelings to himself. Only letting it effect him in private. He was forced to watch you struggle every single day with nothing he could do to fix it.

He related all too well with what you were going through. Jake didn’t think he’d ever have to deal with something like this again after his consciousness transfer.

But there you were, his babygirl stubbornly trying to recover on her own. He cursed your hardheadedness but a part of him understood. Jake was the exact same way when he was a human. He couldn’t stand the looks of pity he’d received; it made him work harder to prove himself.

Jake blamed himself for what happened. A father protects and he couldn’t even do that. The whole point of uprooting his family was to protect them. Every time he looked at you he was reminded of his failure.

For the past few weeks you had been working on your mobility. Everyone told you to take it slow, not to overdo it. You couldn't help but rush into things, itching for the taste of freedom you missed terribly.

Reaching out for the walking stick your father had brought you, you attempted to stand up. Wincing you leaned onto the cane even more. With one hand you dipped a rag into the bowl of water by your bedside.

You felt gross. It had been months since you had a proper bath. This wasn't what you wanted but it would have to do. Trying to run the cloth over your arm was proving harder than you originally anticipated.

Your body was starting to ache. Your legs felt like they were set on fire. Panting like you had just run a marathon you were exhausted. Not being able to stand any longer you collapsed back onto your bed.

Tears stung your eyes. You were frustrated with yourself. You weren't even able to do simple things for yourself. Grieving the life you lived before you let your sadness overtake you. Hiccuping as sobs escaped you.

Neteyam's ears twitched as he heard crying coming from your room. Protective instincts kicking in he rushed towards your room.

"Y/N?" He tentatively asked before bolting in.

The sound of your brothers voice made you prickle up. Quickly wiping off your face in hopes he wouldn't notice your tears.

His heart sank at the sight of you. Putting up a strong façade throughout your healing process, you never acted like anything bothered you. The broken girl he saw before him was new.

“You were crying, weren't you?" He asked.

“What does it matter?” You huffed.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed taking a seat next to you.

“What isn’t wrong?” You mumbled as more tears fell. “I can’t do anything anymore. I’m useless.”

“You are a lot of things sister. Stubborn and hardheaded? Yes. Useless? You could never be useless.” Neteyam gently wrapped his arm around you for a hug.

“You saved my life Y/N. How could you think so little of yourself?” He frowned.

“You would’ve done the same for me Neteyam.”

“That’s not the point. You didn’t have to. I owe you my life.” He stressed. “Now what can I do to help you?”

“It’s fine Neteyam, I don’t need anything.” You tried you best to brush him off.

“You’re hurt. Let me take care of you.” He pleaded.

“Fine.” You nodded. “Could you help me freshen up?” You asked sheepishly.

“Of course.” He jumped into action taking the discarded bowl and cloth.

“You know we’re all here for you right?” Neteyam asked after a few moments. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

All you could do was nod. You felt stupid. Knowing you needed help and that your family was more than happy to provide it; you pushed them out trying to do everything on your own.

“What’s dad always say?” His tone teasing.

“Sully’s stick together.” You muttered rolling your eyes.

“That’s right.” Neteyam nodded as he dabbed your skin with the cloth. “You’re gonna get through this Y/N. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “I’ll try to be better at asking.”

Your brother nodded seemingly satisfied with your answer. You were the strongest person he knew, he had no doubt that’d you be able to pull through.

After all Sully’s stick together

Taglist:

@ilovejakesullysdick @fanboyluvr @athenalikethegoddess @loverofallthingsfandom @forasgaard @plzfeedmebread @instabull @avatarappreciationblog @romimiux @ferrtan @tammitammytime @eternallyvenus @dreamyescapesfromreality @dvxsja @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @mightyneteyam @doggyteam2028 @bananafruityawne @mooniequeen @shayligames-blog

[whinlatter]

The broken family bond between Harry and Petunia!

wow while usher was dancing his socks off at half-time you were thinking about petunia dursley née evans' malicious treatment of everyone's favourite grouchy knobbly-kneed jock... what does this say about you anon? look inwards

i feel terrible that i do not have too many thoughts about the broken family bond between harry and petunia but i DO have thoughts about what harry represents as a challenge to the nuclear family unit and its associated class connotations that petunia cares so much about. one thing i have been thinking A Lot about recently is petunia's description of snape as 'that awful boy' in ootp (which ofc, at the time, harry thinks is a reference to james), and how petunia's ideas about class and social mobility colour her view of wizards and, by extension, her resentment and contempt for harry. sooo i have talked about that instead......... ctrl + f neoliberal renders 2 results below i'm so sorry

when we meet petunia in the canon timeline, she's a parody of a tory home counties suburban housewife, striving middle class in the very thatcherite neoliberal sense, all about the house prices and the pension pot, with her perfectly maintained peach home decor and pristine garden, with a husband who has made his money through a managerial position in industrial manufacturing, who sends her son to private school and monitors the material wealth of her neighbours and associates very acutely. we know that young petunia wanted to join wizarding society and was rejected by it, and we know that adult petunia now holds wizarding world and its culture in open contempt. we particularly know that petunia hated snape, and that, other than lily, snape was the first wizard she ever really met. to young petunia's eyes, snape had all the visible markers of poverty and of being working class ("They live down Spinner’s End by the river," she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation.') nevertheless, by virtue of being a wizard, this shabby poor-looking boy was elevated above petunia as something particularly special, and sneered at petunia as lesser than him as a result. i think this is interesting, because i think young petunia processes her rejection from magic by starting to think of magic and wizarding culture as a perverse subversion of the class system she knows and believes in, where a visibly working class person can somehow be special and worthy. (we can speculate what she would make of james potter as her son-in-law - james, while obviously wealthy, is old money posh coded - he doesn't work for a living! - aka not at all invested in the hard-work discourse, keeping-up-with-appearances that the new money suburban types that petunia strives for).

why does this matter? i just think it's very striking that petunia's complaints about harry are so often expressed less in terms of the danger of his magic, than his threat to external perceptions of her and her family, and, especially, as a challenge to their class position

petunia makes critiques of harry's messy appearance, his misbehaviour at primary school (caused by his magic), his association with the criminal (sirius black) and the shabby (the weasleys), and his refusal to respect or show any deference to vernon and the family despite their great attempts to maintain the trappings of respectability. the particular horror of harry's presence in the dursleys' life, in petunia's mind, is that his existence makes her family an alternative blended family, which compromises all that petunia holds dear in terms of the trappings of middle class respectability that puts a great deal of social capital on the nuclear family unit and no deviation from it. i don't mean to suggest petunia only perceives magic as a class threat, or that she doesn't fear harry's magic as something dangerous. her response to dudley's dementor run-in proves how much she fears what magic can do (and, ofc, she knows what happened to lily). but what's striking in DH is that petunia is still umming and ahhing, as vernon is, about whether to go into hiding. unlike movie!petunia in that deleted scene, book!petunia still isn't convinced about 'what these people are capable of'. for this reason, i think petunia has come to think of wizarding culture in terms of a fundamental challenge to the class system she understands and upholds, and to the primacy of middle class new money neoliberal suburban identity that is petunia's entire worldview. and that's really the source of her beef with harry: not his threat to her safety, but to her class identity, which is adult petunia's whole world.

[nothingunrealistic]

1, kleinsen

1. “I love you, please don’t go.”

“And as soon as the new car gets delivered, the minivan is mine for good.” Jared flops onto his back so that he’s lying across the entire foot of Evan’s bed, legs dangling over the side. “The Jaredmobile is gonna hit these streets harder than —”

“Are you really calling it that?” Evan has ridden in Jared’s mom’s minivan, soon to be Jared’s minivan, and it is mobile, but that’s kind of a low bar. It probably shouldn’t be hitting anything hard.

“Haven’t decided. But I know what bumper sticker is going on there first.” Jared sticks his phone in Evan’s face. “Check it.”

“‘Caution: This vehicle makes frequent stops at your mom’s house.’”

“It’s gonna be true. Especially at your mom’s house.”

“You mean my house?”

“Is your name on the property deed? I don’t think so.” Jared grimaces, wriggles around, and nearly whacks Evan in the face with his phone as he pulls out a mechanical pencil he was lying on. “And when, after I’ve spent another week chauffeuring your sorry ass around, she invites me to stay the night —”

“Mom works nights.”

“— is it gonna be you saying ‘please, I love you, please don’t go’ in the morning?” He rhythmically raps Evan’s knee with the pencil. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

“You’re gross. And that’s my pencil.”

“Finders keepers, bro.”

“Boys?” Mom knocks on the door and opens it half a second later; in that half second, Jared shoves himself upright and slaps the pencil into Evan’s hand, and something that sounds a lot like Jared’s phone hits the floor. “Everything okay? Is that project coming along?”

“Going great, Mrs. H.,” Jared says, over top of Evan’s “Fine, Mom.”

“Good. That’s good. Well, I’m heading out to work.” She already looks as frazzled as if she just came back from a shift. “There’s money on the table so you two can order dinner. I think Domino’s is doing their half off deal again, but make sure you check. Jared, will your mom be able to pick you up? I’ll be back too late to give you a ride home.” And suddenly Evan is terrified that Jared will say some stupid thing about Mom giving him a ride, and she’ll get mad and tell him to go home now, and Evan will have to finish this English project on his own, and he’ll probably get a terrible grade, and Jared will be mad at him even though it’ll be Jared’s fault in the first place, and —

“Won’t be a problem,” Jared says, perfectly polite.

“Great. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan, I love you.”

Mom walks back out, but she doesn’t shut the door, so Evan counts to five before he says, “Thank you for not saying anything weird.”

“To your mom? What, do you think I’m some kind of male chauvinist pig? Thanks for nothing, Billie Jean.”

“Is that what that song’s about?”

“What — no. Never mind.” Jared bends over and retrieves his phone from the floor. “I’m hungry. Let’s get some shitty half-price pizza. Which is a ridiculous deal, by the way.”

“I think it’s a March Madness thing.”

“In April?”

“Maybe it’s an extra-long deal.”

“Madness is right. How much money are we working with here?”

“Probably twenty dollars.” An engine starts outside; Evan shifts over on the bed to look out the window, watching to confirm that it’s Mom’s car, until it turns left and vanishes from sight. “But, uh, when the pizza gets here —”

“Yes, I’ll get the door so you don’t have to have a breakdown about it. Never fear.”

(angst/fluff prompt list)

[forpiratereasons]

meeting stede bonnet

a slow meandering through June. third prompt: discover!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | day 10

-

Obviously, Stede found men attractive.

This was the gay part of the thought, I’m gay. Perhaps even the defining feature of it. Despite having only allowed himself that thought several days prior, Stede was not exactly surprised to discover that attraction to men was part and parcel.

Hugh Grant was attractive, for example. Richard Armitage was attractive. That bloke on the telly at six on Sundays doing the weather was attractive.

Not a problem, Stede had thought. Men! Hands and shoulders, body hair and the napes of necks. Fantastic.

The thing was, though: Stede was not in any danger of meeting Hugh Grant.

Stede was very much in danger, at this moment, of meeting the man in leather trousers and a cropped shirt queuing in front of him at the hot dog stand.

His heart hammered in his chest. His palms were sweaty. Was there some—some protocol he didn’t know? To finding men attractive in real life?

Not that he intended to act on it, not here and now in the hot dog line, but just  looking, at the hands and the long beautiful neck and skin full of tattoos and not instantly turning away—it was breath-taking, it was chest-crushing, it was—it was—

“Next!”

It was Stede’s turn.  

“Er,” he said intelligently, trying not to watch Leather Trousers saunter down to the end of the stand for condiments. “Two, please.”

The kid behind the stand took his card. Stede didn’t watch as Trousers struggled to balance two hot dogs, a mobile phone, and a bottle of mustard. Definitely not. Nope.

“Let me hold that for you,” someone said.

Trousers looked up. Right at Stede. Because Stede said it. Did he? Must have done, because Trousers was looking at him.

Trousers had warm, dark eyes that crinkled at the edges. Stede’s heart, for its part, had an arrhythmia.

“Cheers, mate,” Trousers said, handing Stede his mobile. “Pockets in the leather are a nightmare.”

“I imagine so,” Stede managed. Was he blushing? He felt like he might be blushing. The kid behind the stand also looked like Stede was blushing: incredibly smug in the way only teenagers can be. “Must be terribly hard to get out of them.”

The mustard blurted inelegantly onto one end of Trouser’s hot dog, like it had been squeezed too hard. He looked at Stede, sharp-ish grin forming along the corners of his mouth, and dragged his gaze all the way down to Stede’s shoes and back up again, focusing briefly on the progress pride flag pinned to his chest.

“Why? You offering to help with those too?”

Stede blinked, realised what he’d said. Blushed further, yes, he was definitely an unhealthy red now, wasn’t he?

“Oh, shit,” he said, flustered. “I’m so—that wasn’t what I meant, I wasn’t—”

“Think you were, a little bit,” Trousers said, still grinning. “You could tell me your name first, probably. Only polite.”

Absolutely positively humiliating, and yet. And yet.

Stede was smiling. Couldn’t stop smiling, actually, good lord, he was almost giggling.

So this was it, then. This is what it was like.

Seeing someone, liking the look of someone—what people meant when they said, our eyes just met, and I knew. Flirting. Being flirted with.

Stede hadn’t—he couldn’t have done, before. Trousers was the sort of man he might have caught sight of, but he’d have looked away. Turned aside. Shoved down the inclination.

To catch sight of this man now, to let himself linger on the carved angles of his wrists, the brown skin and black ink, the silvered hair, the dark eyes—to look, and find those eyes looking back—to breathe through the jolt in his stomach until it spread wings from fear and into possibility—

It felt like discovery. Like finding something he’d been looking for.

Like finding something he thought he’d lost.

“Stede,” he managed. “Stede Bonnet.”

Trousers smiled. Took Stede’s hand in his, when Stede reached to give him back his mobile, and held him a moment; his skin was sun-warm, rough. “I’m Ed.”

I’m going to remember you, Ed, Stede thought. I’m going to remember this.

Ed’s smile turned soft, like he heard. Like he agreed. “Do you want to grab a bench? Eat some lunch?” He gestured toward the waterline.

“You know,” Stede said, smiling back, “I think I do.”

[horsemeatluvr23]

Hi I have returned from having a very terrible migraine and a flare up, so have some more projection headcanons - Weighted blanket anon

- Etho has chronic migraines, he usually ignores them until he’s literally falling over from pain, nausea and fatigue though.

- Cleo experiences chronic pain, she’ll also randomly lose feeling in certain limbs, while this happens her limbs will still be functional though. So for example, Cleo may not be able to completely feel her legs, but she can still walk around (it’s just REALLY hard and she looks silly doing it)

- I think I’ve already sent in a headcanon about Cub making Scar custom mobility aids? But ! Scar is not the only hermit to use aids, Cleo and Etho will both use them occasionally, even Ren does ! Grian actually needs special braces for his wings so he can fly for longer (I headcanon him as an avian so yeah!)

- A more non-human based headcanon (I can do a whole ask on non-human hermit headcanons if you want :D), Grian likes to perch on other hermits and many hermits have custom shoulder pads so he can safely do so without hurting them.

- The hermits have bake offs, but the only people who can actually bake are judges. Yeah, there ends up being a lot of food poisoning. Beef turned salmon into a baked good.

- Ren is an author ! He has so many stories written, but he only shares them with friends. He’ll write custom novels for people then gift it to them as a way of showing he loves/cares about them !

- False is building rivers this season as exposure therapy to get over her fear of water

HELLO OMG I MISSED YOU I HOPE YOU'RE DOING BETTER NOW !!!! these r so perfect as always

[merakiui]

i need to hear your thoughts on anything about yan! alhaitham i don’t know why he has me in such a chokehold on me but he does 😭🙏

It’s the same for me as well. T-T the chokehold is extreme. I’ve heard his rerun may be coming soon and I fear for my restraint. Is one Alhaitham worth more than Scara constellations???? ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

I may not have many coherent yan!Alhaitham thoughts to share, but there is one that’s been taking up residence in my head a lot recently. It’s a concept in which Alhaitham confines you to his house, but he can’t always stay at home to watch you and he isn’t so cruel that he’d lock you up and prevent you from getting proper exercise. He allows you the mobility, so long as you won’t leave the house. To ensure your obedience, he’s put a tracking cuff on your ankle. It’s essentially the Teyvat-equivalent of modern day house arrest. T-T he’ll know the minute you take one step out of the house or if you try to remove the cuff, and though you’ve never known Alhaitham to be violent you’re still unsure of the lengths he’d go to to keep you hidden like a secret.

Only you’re not a secret, at least not one that only Alhaitham keeps.

Kaveh never says much regarding your predicament when Alhaitham’s around (you think he’s given up trying to debate the oh-so-rational Alhaitham on why keeping you here is necessary), so instead he keeps quiet. It’s obvious he disagrees; you can tell when he looks at you with so much pity softening his eyes. When Alhaitham isn’t home, you try to convince Kaveh to help. You pull all the tricks you know: sad eyes, weeping, complaining, bemoaning your stifled future, pleading for freedom, persuading him to help you now otherwise he continues to keep this terrible, horrible, criminal secret regarding your whereabouts. Kaveh breaks by the second week, but truthfully he’s been on your side the minute you became an addition to the house.

He sits you down at the table and, very seriously, asks if you have a plan. You tell him you can’t leave or else the tracker will notify Alhaitham and it’ll just leave you under more surveillance—or worse: permanently shackled. You’re trying to avoid a punishment and Kaveh understands. You also don’t want Alhaitham to know you’ve found an ally in Kaveh, though both of you know it won’t take much for him to predict and suspect. You and Kaveh plan over tea every day Alhaitham’s busy, swapping ideas like one might trade cards. And when Kaveh can’t be home, you’re mulling over the situation, hoping to find some loophole Alhaitham has yet to close. You’re always second-guessing yourself. If you do find a loophole, what if he’s intentionally left it open? But then how far ahead could he possibly think? And does he really know how to predict your every move? Surely not, right?

Eventually you realize something. The tracker may have technology you’re not very well-versed in, but surely Kaveh knows something. And something is better than nothing. You sit down with him one day and blurt the question: “Is it possible to re-wire the device so it’ll stop sending regular location updates to Alhaitham?”

“So, in other words, you mean you want to break the signal?”

“More or less.”

Kaveh drums his fingers on the table, considering it. “It’s possible,” he says after a silent minute. “But he’ll notice.”

“I’ll be gone by then.”

“You really think you can outrun him?”

“I’d rather test what little odds I have than let this chance slip away.” You take Kaveh’s hands in yours and squeeze reassuringly. “I’ll pay you. I’ll find a way to give you enough so you can get your own place. Or we could leave together. We could be roommates instead!”

Kaveh’s chuckle comes out strained, more wheeze than actual laughter. “It sounds great in theory. In practice, it’s more complicated than simple wishful thinking.”

“Then help me with the device first.”

Kaveh slips a hand out from your hold, and at first he intends to run it through his hair. But instead he places it over yours. “We’ll need a plan…and a back-up plan. This isn’t something we can do overnight. One misstep and you’ll fail, (Name). You have to take every little detail into account. Alhaitham is meticulous. You need to be even more meticulous.”

“I know. I…” You exhale an exhausted breath. This situation is far from ideal. “I know. I can wait. I’ve been obedient and cooperative. He won’t suspect a thing.”

Kaveh’s smile is thin. Somehow he doesn’t believe that, and neither do you when, hours later at dinner, Alhaitham asks if you’ve busied yourself with a new puzzle lately. You think it’s a trick question, but then you’ve been pondering for too long because he adds, “You’ve filled the workbook, haven’t you?”

Right. The workbooks he brings you. They’re simple puzzles: crosswords and whatnot. It’s meant to keep your brain sharp, to give you something to do so you can’t complain that Alhaitham treats you like a prisoner because, in his words, “Are prisoners awarded the right to entertain themselves with brain games?” Right. Just the workbook puzzles. He wasn’t referring to anything else.

You think you’re in the clear when you give your response and dinner carries on as it usually does. But you still can’t shake the feeling that he’s seen through you…

As you’re clearing your place at the table, Alhaitham, who is never one for pointless conversations, says, “You spend a while in the kitchen during the day. Is there something particularly riveting in there?”

You look at him. The kitchen is where you meet with Kaveh to discuss strategies. Of course he’d recognize an unusual pattern. He’s always so observant. But then he wouldn’t know Kaveh keeps you company. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

“Nothing special,” you say, shrugging, feigning nonchalance.

Alhaitham is quiet. The gears in his brain are turning, no doubt. Before he can come to a conclusion—the correct conclusion, you keep thinking—Kaveh comes to your rescue. He makes a show of tripping on his way to the sink, his plate crashing to the floor with a noisy clatter. It shatters and he curses, chiding himself for his clumsiness.

“That was my favorite plate, too!” he mourns with a groan, gathering the shards, exchanging a sharp glance with you from his place on the floor.

Alhaitham’s expression doesn’t change, but he says, “The plates look the same, Kaveh.”

“No, they don’t. Their differences are subtle, but I wouldn’t expect someone like you, who lacks an eye for aesthetics, to recognize it.”

And so their debate begins, and for the moment you’re spared. Thankfully. But Alhaitham never takes his eyes off of you, even when you’re in his peripheral, as if he intends to dissect you with a calculating stare. You have to be sneakier next time. No more kitchen discussions.

You’ll move rooms often. He can’t catch another pattern if you aren’t settling into one, right?

[karolamurdock]

SpiderWoman 2099 Pt.4

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!Reader

Sinopsis: The year is 2106. By day, you work as the head of the Genetic Engineering and Biotechnology division at Alchemax. By night, you are the one and only Spider-Woman, fighting tirelessly to protect New York from the tyrannical clutches of crime and delinquency. Your days are spent in an ordinary, organized routine: it's just you, the only barrier between your city and oblivion, dealing with the violence and pain that comes with being a superhero.

Everything is just normal. Then your dead husband appears in front of you, talking about alternate universes, spider societies and canonical disasters, and you discover that all your sorrows, losses and failures were possibly always meant to happen.

What the fuck.

Notes: No excuses. Let this chapter, full of Miguel, make up for the long time I was gone. I will keep the reader's background rather ambiguous, but it is implied that they also speaks Spanish.

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know.

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, mild violence, subtle references to depression. As always, english is not my first lenguague.

Word count: 2.6K

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4

Impassive white eyes stared back at you with disdain. You looked with abject curiosity at the spidery pattern on his red suit, the white glasses and the sharp claws, and you couldn't help but wonder...

Who makes a spider suit for a cat? 

Undaunted, the animal yawned loudly and stretched lazily over the railing before leaping onto the pristine marble floor, completely silent and oblivious to your anomalous presence. He waved his orange tail and stretched the red patterns that hugged his hind legs.

You did not have the opportunity to entertain yourself with her pretty pink pads. A gloved hand brushed your shoulder, and you turned your masked face to observe your guide's own grim expression.    

"Come with me." Miguel said. "I'll show you around before introducing you to the rest of Society."

Silently, you nodded. The man walked two steps ahead of you. His broad, imposing figure was like a bronze spur, parting the sea of arachnid entities that watched you with open curiosity. 

As he made his way through the crowd, you quietly followed in his footsteps. Grateful for the foresight to keep your mask in place, you analyzed the discordant structure of the building that surrounded you. You noticed the long corridors and open configuration: designed to facilitate mobility for your kind. 

Miguel moved forward, and you watched his impassive figure with stern eyes. You wondered if he too had become Orpheus in his willingness to claim you back, and now feared to look back and lose his Eurydice. Perhaps the anguish in his gaze would be enough to draw you into the shadows and lose you forever. Would he then be blessed to work and move the gods with craftsmanship born of his terrible grief?

Was it so for you? You could not claim that your deeds after his death were unselfish and sincere: you did not seek to soften the wind with your tender weeping, nor to drown the rushing waters with the song of your heroic prowess. The resolution of your vengeance was your reward: an analgesic balm to numb the turmoil of your burning soul. 

Together, you entered the lift... You watched the changing landscape. On the glass, you saw Miguel's ponderous silhouette, stern and rigid. The pattern of his suit resembled your own. But your own profile was outlined with sharper lines, and your web shooters were not exposed, but hidden in the webbing patterns on your wrists.

The door opened, and you followed him through large, well-lit rooms, through huge recreation rooms, and through small, immaculate, familiar laboratories. You carefully analyzed the information he gave you along the way: where to find the scientists in charge of certain labs, the optimum hours for accessing the training rooms, the menu in the main cafeteria (a burger with Miguel's mask on it? Santo Dios...). Finally, he took you to his own office. On one of the top floors, of course. Just like your universe. 

When the lift stopped in his office, your mask retracted. Miguel did a quick double take, pursed his lips and looked up; you followed his gaze to see a red light flashing rapidly on one of the screens above the platform. 

You heard Miguel's grunt as Lyla appeared over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before turning to face the man:

"An anomaly is causing trouble on Earth-1048. Homeworld Spider-Man is already on the scene, but he's limited to minimizing the destruction around him."

"Copy that." Miguel said. He ran a hand over his face, holding the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut, and the gesture seemed so familiar that you almost let out the breath you were holding between your lips. "I have to deal with this. I'll talk to Jessica, she can show you the room you can use as your own."

"I can go with you." You finally spoke.

Miguel looked at you in surprise. But he quickly frowned and replied:

"No, it's too soon. I'll be able to show you how we deal with the anomalies once you're settled in and we know more about your universe."

Your universe. Like a wave crashing against rock, you felt heat coursing through your veins and burning in the pit of your stomach. You felt that in your rage, the marks on your suit might be burned into your skin forever. 

You blinked. Ignoring the fire in your chest, you responded:

"I could settle in better if I knew what I was dealing with." 

Miguel studied you. His red eyes scanned your face: your steel eyes, your unbending brows, your closed lips, and he said no more. Sharing a last look with Lyla, he nodded with finality, and she took it upon herself to open the portal for the two of you. 

"Let 's go, then."

🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷

It was a cold morning in Harlem. The white sky barely hinted at the day's pale rays, and the streets were shrouded in a thick, damp gray haze. As you and Miguel landed on a lamppost overlooking the East River and the small buildings lining the street, an ominous silence settled over the scene at your feet. 

You sat back on your heels, scanning the nondescript landscape, and Miguel followed, his back stiff and his hands clenched into fists as he exhaled:

"The signal seems to be coming from this warehouse." He gestured with his chin, and you peered intently at the gray silhouette of a building surrounded by tall grills and long containers. A cloud of gray smoke rose through the haze, and with a mighty leap you launched yourself in its direction, hearing Miguel's nets snap past you.

Soon you were perched on the railing of a neighboring building, with a clear view of the ruined courtyard. Sparks rained down from the ruined batteries; small fires burned and cracks in the concrete marred the once peaceful scene.

Rubble crunched beneath your feet as you landed in the courtyard. In the distance, you heard a muffled, heavy thud. You glanced cautiously at a large metal curtain to your right as a deafening screech pierced the jealous silence. Beside you, Miguel brought his knees to his chest and the two of you jumped away just as the door shot in your direction. 

A red figure flew through the air. With a start, you threw your nets around the man's torso, jumping just in time to catch him before his body slammed into a large metal container. 

"Nice catch." Gasped the Spider-Man in your arms. "Rhino's got an arm."

"Does he throw you often?" 

"Well, yeah." The young man cleared his throat, pulling himself to his feet with a little help. "But I don't usually get caught by..." He tilted his head to the side, curious.

"Spider-Woman." You conceded. 

Her white glasses widened comically as he whistled under his breath: 

"Awesome!"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Miguel's orange nets wrapped around Rhino's massive arm, and you spun on your heels as the beast slammed into the tower Miguel was standing on.

"He's really mad!" Spider-Man exhaled as he rushed to your side. "I don't understand, according to my intel, Aleksei's transfer still hasn't been coordinated. He is still in the custody of the police."

"He's not Aleksei Sytsevich!" Miguel shouted. He had dodged a large stone and landed next to you. "His name is Alexander O'Hirn. He is the Rhino of dimension 26496." 

"Oh!" Spider-Man exclaimed. "I knew you weren't my Rhino! We've always had this connection, you know?" 

The man lunged at you, furious. You caught a glimpse of a crane with a container suspended in the air, and you pulled the arm of the crane just as the man was passing underneath the box. The container landed on top of his armour with a clatter that made your ears ring. 

"Watch out!" 

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you out of the way of a huge chunk of concrete.

"Not one, but three Spider-Creeps!" he growled.

"Hey, that's not very nice of you." Spider-Man landed a kick to the chest, but Rhino didn't move. He grabbed the hero's legs and slammed him into the wreckage of the crane. Taking advantage of the distraction, Miguel jumped up and punched him in the face, the only exposed part of his body.

Rhino let go of Spider-Man and took a step back. With a leap, you stood on a low beam and surveyed your surroundings. As the man jerked and rammed into Miguel, you activated your drones; small winged spiders that flew over the villain's head, firing electric shocks that immobilised him with a scream.

"His face!" you exclaimed, and Miguel leapt to your side to dodge the rocks Rhino dropped as he stomped on the concrete. 

Spider-Man, snapping out of his daze, noticed the same thing you did: the small visible part of his face was hyperemic and sweaty. "His suit must be restricting his ventilation!"

So this would be a battle of endurance. Good, you thought to yourself. You've been doing this for years. 

With a nod, Miguel and Spider-Man squared up firmly and jumped into the fray.

🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷 🕷

As the portal to your dimension closed behind you, silence fell. Michael's gaze was on the horizon, and yours was on him. It was not his red eyes that you caressed with your thoughts, but you could taste the sweetness of his cheek beneath your lips. His hair was shorter, but his curly eyelashes were thicker than yours: a feature that made you playfully envious in the past.

In the warm, brief light of the streetlamps, his face was just as beautiful. His bronze skin was a ghostly contrast to the impassivity of the bustling nightlife, a backdrop to his stern profile. 

He looked at you too. And his pupils wandered over the arch of your lips, your eyebrows and cheekbones, the slope of your neck and your bare ears. And you thought he was reflecting the same doubt that plagued you: because he is Miguel, but not your Miguel. And you were never his wife, but your smile is the same, and he only replaced your name with silence, and the space he occupied with you was filled with melancholy.

"You did a good job." Miguel said after a prolonged silence. 

"Thank you." You replied with a small smile. "You weren't so bad yourself."

"Hm." He snorted. With a hand on his hip, he arched an eyebrow and looked you up and down, half mocking, half stern. "Now you know what we're up against. You can run away now. We won't blame you. I certainly wouldn't."

You moistened your lips and took a slow breath. So close, your arm inches from his shoulder, you felt his warmth, the energy of his holographic suit, his solid build and musky scent. 

"You wouldn't reach me." You finally replied, and your heart skipped a beat as a grin revealed his sharp fangs. 

"I already did."

"I was distracted."

"Sure." 

He straightened up, and you took advantage of the brief appraisal that he was giving to the red horizon to revel in his presence... just one more time. 

In your solitude, his face is your guest. With his presence, an outdated image shatters beneath your feet. This new precision is yours. And even if he were to leave you that night, his voice muffled by the wind, Miguel would not leave you. His eyes would remain in the burning sunset and his posture in the steadiness of the stars. 

When he looked back at you, your expression was already composed. Silently, you tilted your chin in the direction of the busy streets, and when he raised a questioning eyebrow, you spread your arms wide and threw yourself into the void. 

Your mask returned to your face and your wings spread from your arms. Behind you you heard a faint scream and a short curse in Spanish. You felt, before you saw, his broad, imposing figure leaping from the edge of the building, and you used the air currents to move across the city with ease.

The buildings blurred at the edge of your vision. Though your mask filtered out the piercing whistle of the air, you still felt the pressure in your ears; and you didn't look at him, but felt his presence, imagining him dodging antennas, aerial surveillance and flocks of birds skimming skilfully across the crowded sky. 

You locked arms and landed in a somersault, legs cramped and right hand braced against one of the buildings, halfway across a complex of tall glass towers.

"Look." 

Below you, the city lit up like fireflies in the night. Thirteen hundred feet away, the cars and streetlights looked like tiny fiery wisps traversing the busy, colorful streets. And in the distance, the black silhouette of Alchemax stood out against the red horizon.

"I recognise this place." Miguel said, leaning over to stare in awe at a small purple-roofed shop on the side of the road. "It used to be a very popular artisan bakery in my universe." 

"It's quite popular here too."

"I still have fond memories of their vanilla cake. I would get it for all... my events." He finished lowly.

"I used to buy the orange bread," you hummed understandingly, shaking your head disappointedly. "And now I can't eat citrus."

He looked at you in silence... and then laughed, shaking his head in astonishment, "Neither can I."

In the privacy of your mask, you smiled back. And with the first dark brushstroke on the horizon came your resolution. 

"I can help you." You began, looking away from the night to stare at his cloaked profile. "But I will not be part of the Society."

He bowed his head, listening.

"I have work to do here." Your work at Alchemax; the company you were leading was just beginning to take a course that you could be proud of. Being Spider-Woman; a full-time job you couldn't give up: you were already the symbol of your city. An embodiment of hope, perseverance and goodness. "But... I understand that your work with the multiverse is an even more arduous and complex task, and I offer you my services as an advisor. If you ever need help... you know where to find me."

A hero must be impartial. And to you... his mere presence would be a constant challenge, an exercise in moral skill tested in the crucible of your everyday life. How could you not choose him? The strange man with your husband's voice. The friend whom you love the most, the one who lives in the moments of your delirium. 

Because, after him, living seems distant. You have no anger left... only pain. And although your better judgment led you not to get involved with the Society, you could not find the strength within yourself to ignore him. Even though this Miguel is not yours, letting him go is almost like losing him again.

His mask pulled back and you watched him run a hand through his hair, tousling his auburn locks as he nodded slowly. 

"I understand." 

He stood to his feet. He held out a hand to you, and you followed as he took one last, searching look over your city.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. He gave you a long look, and in the end he just said:

"Then I'm counting on you." 

You remained standing, staring at his silhouette, even as the portal swallowed his dark figure.

"What have I just gotten myself into?" you whispered into the empty air.

@alicefallsintotherabbithole @digipaw2-0 @sunshowernaps @qiaipia @luciiferian @saltyllamakidwombat @amnmich @autismsupermusicalassassin @miggyyyyohara @oscarissac2099 @songbirdlully

[theewokingdead]

Hard Day

gif: conveniently-available

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x wife!Reader

Summary: Frankie has a bad day at work and reaches out to you.

Word Count: 1.8k+

Rating: Mature

Content: Frankie as a dad. Whump. Angst. Family fluff.

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

A/N: I was at the hospital yesterday for an appointment and parked near the helipad. As I was leaving, a helicopter was waiting to airlift a patient, and I caught myself thinking of Frankie as an EMS helicopter pilot. My brain decided to create whatever this is. Parenting is hard as fuck and, at times, heartbreaking. But, wow, can it be wonderful.

Masterlist

It’s only two in the afternoon, but you’re already one hundred percent done with today. Today has been hard…and that’s putting it nicely.

Everyone warned you about the sleepless nights of a newborn, the whiny stage of a baby that’s teething and wants to be mobile, the defiance and growing independence of a one-year-old, the big emotions and stubbornness of an eighteen-month-old, and the unpredictable force of fucking nature that is a toddler during the terrible twos. But no one – no one – ever warned you about whatever the fuck three is. Three has been making two seem like a walk in the park. It’s like raising a teenager – a “threenager,” as you’ve so kindly dubbed your daughter.

How can something so small be packed with so much attitude? And what made that attitude rear its ugly head today?

After a tough battle of wills, you finally manage to get little Luna to nap. The moment her bedroom door quietly seals shut behind you, a sigh escapes from somewhere deep inside you, your shoulders falling in defeat despite the momentary victory. Will it ever get easier?

Slowly, you trudge off toward the main bedroom. The toys on the floor and unfolded laundry sitting in baskets seem to leer at you as you walk along the hallway. There’s so much you need to do, but all you want to do is lay down and binge Netflix.

Before you fall into bed, you throw your phone onto your nightstand, grab the remote, and turn on the TV. Your body instantly becomes one with the mattress. The iconic “ta-dum” sound of Netflix gives you enough serotonin to not want to throw yourself off the roof. The show you selected loads, but suddenly your phone rings. Tossing your head back and closing your eyes, a groan of frustration escapes your lips. Somebody always needs something from you.

Inhaling deeply, mentally preparing yourself for the call, you grab the phone from your nightstand, briefly seeing a picture of your husband before you swipe to answer. Usually, you’re excited to receive a call from him while he’s at work, but right now, you just want a single minute alone.

“Hello?” you speak, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

The quiet at the other end of the line stretches on so long, you begin to wonder if you’ve been disconnected. You pull the phone away from your ear long enough to see the seconds of the call tick by, indicating the call is still connected.

Confusion mixes with your annoyance. Had he accidentally butt-dialed you?

“Frankie? You there?”

Another several seconds of silence follows before it’s broken by a breathy, “Yeah. I’m here.”

Immediately, you sense that something is off. Your frustration fades away, immediately replaced by fear. Your heart pounds as you push yourself up in bed with your free arm and swing your legs over the side.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” A stifled sob follows.

“What is it, baby?”

“Nothing.” His tone alone makes it clear that it’s not nothing. “Look, where, uh… Where’s Luna?”

“She’s sleeping,” you respond. “She’s been refusing a nap all afternoon, but I finally just got her down. She wanted you.”

You’re met with a silence so thick over the phone line that you swear you can hear its density. Finally, you hear a sharp intake of breath followed by a sob.

You listen helplessly, tears pooling in your own eyes as his anguish becomes yours, despite not knowing the cause.

“Frankie, sweetheart,” you gently press. “What is it? Talk to me. Please.”

He sniffles, sounding as though he’s trying to collect himself. “A bad call. That’s all. I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.”

As a former Delta Force operator and current EMS helicopter pilot, Frankie has seen plenty of things. Very few things unnerve him. Though you feel he simply bottles up his feelings, he can effectively desensitize and compartmentalize them. He rarely goes into details about the difficult calls and patients he deals with, wanting to leave the stresses of his job at the door. But sometimes, it’s impossible to keep his work from bleeding into his personal life.

“No. No, you can always call me,” you assure him. “Please. Let me help you.”

“There was an accident,” Frankie responds after more silence, his voice small and shaky. “A little girl, no older than Luna…”

“Oh, Frankie…,” you coo, your heart breaking for him as you understand.

“I flew as fast as I could, but I don’t think they’ll be able to save her.”

More tears well up in your eyes, your heart swelling with grief. You wish you could hug him through the phone. “I’m sorry,” you say, knowing the words mean next to nothing, but you don’t know what else to say. “It isn’t your fault. You did what you could.”

“She’s just a kid.”

“I know,” you whisper, silent tears slipping down your cheek.

“I can’t stop seeing her face, her little body on that stretcher,” Frankie admits. “And I can’t stop thinking…what if it was Luna?”

“Frankie…” You pause, biting your lip to keep it from quivering, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. “It wasn’t her. It won’t be her. Luna’s okay. She’s safe. She’s sleeping soundly in her room dreaming of all the ways she can wreak havoc on our lives when she wakes up.”

A short, brittle laugh fills your ear.

“I can’t promise that bad things won’t happen,” you continue. “I wish we could wrap her up in a bubble and keep her safe from harm, but we can’t. We can’t control everything in life, even when we think we can. But the things we do control… Baby, you’re nailing it. Luna is happy and healthy and thriving.”

“I can’t take all the credit for that,” Frankie breaths, causing you to smile softly with pride.

Looking to your nightstand, you search for the right words to say. Your eyes fall on a framed picture of you and Frankie snuggling a newborn Luna.

“Do you remember what you told me when we first brought her home from the hospital?” you question. “When I kept hovering over her bassinet every five seconds, checking that she was still breathing?”

Frankie chuckles, seeming to remember the moment. “That you were going to smother her with love before she’d ever get the chance to try to smother herself with something else?”

You giggle softly. “No, not that part. What you said after that. You told me to take a deep breath and just trust that everything will be okay, that I had done what I could to make things safe for her, and that everything else was out of our hands. Then you said that if things are ever not okay, we’d have each other to get through it, that we would help each other make everything okay again.”

“Damn,” Frankie replies, sounding as though he’s feigning shock, a hint of a smile in his voice. “That sounds like some quality Morales morale boosting.”

His response brings another smile to your face.

“You should really try practicing what you preach, Francisco,” you jest.

His chuckle is followed by a deep breath and audible exhale. “I know, baby. Sometimes I need a little reminding.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’d be lost without you,” Frankie admits, as he has done so many times in the past. “Mi estrella de norte.”

You beam at the sound of your nickname, having been dubbed his “North Star” so long ago, early on in your relationship.

“I’ll wake Luna so you can say hi,” you say, breaking the silence that fell between the two of you.

“No,” Frankie says, stopping you before you can rise to your feet. “Let her sleep. I gotta go anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be home in a few hours. Give her a kiss from me though? Tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

“I love you too, baby. So damn much.”

“I love you.”

“See you when I get home.”

You force a small that Frankie can’t see, trying to keep yourself together more so than him. “See you.”

With that, you remove the phone from your ear and tap the red button, ending the call. You sit on the edge of your bed, clutching your phone. Alone, you let the tears fall from your eyes. You try to breath, but only jerky, quiet sobs come out.

Today was a hard day…but at least you still have tomorrow.

Hours later, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Luna, pretending to be a customer at a restaurant while she makes pretend food. There’s nothing more appetizing than smashed-up Play-Doh of various colors mixed with crumbs still on the table from lunch. And is that hair? Yum.

“Nom, nom, nom,” you exaggerate, turning your head and pretending to stuff the Play-Doh pizza she insisted you eat in your mouth, hiding it in your hand after it seems to disappear inside you. “Mmm.” You theatrically rub your belly. “That was the best pizza!”

“Mommy!” Luna squeals through giggles. “You don’t really eat it!”

Her laughter puts the brightest smile on your face.

You don’t hear the front door unlock and open. Luna is the first to catch sight of her father, leaping out of her chair screaming, “Daddy!” while running to meet him.

“Lunita!” Frankie exclaims, matching her enthusiasm. He drops down, arms wide open, allowing her to run into his arms.

The little girl flings her arms around her father’s neck. A large palm urges her cheek to rest against his shoulder, the other holding her tightly against him. He cradles her head, closing his eyes to savor the moment. Frankie holds on, seeming as though he’s never going to let go.

You watch from several feet away, standing with one arm hugging your body, a hand covering your mouth as you fight the urge to break out in sobs.

After what seems like a long time, Frankie opens his eyes and looks up at you, his eyes soft and shining with tears. You offer him a small smile, looking at him through blurred vision.

“Daddy!” Luna proclaims, letting go of his neck and pushing herself back to look at him, stealing his attention from you. “I made pizza. Wanna try?” 

“Pizza?!” Frankie questions.

“Yeah! Come try it.”

“Alright, bebita, I’ll try your pizza. But let me see your mama first.”

“Okay,” the little girl grumbles.

Frankie raises to his feet, looking from the little girl to you. Your eyes remain locked as he slowly strides across the room to you, where he pulls you into his arms. Slipping your arms around his torso, you lay a cheek onto his chest, clinging to him. You can’t help but feel safe.

“You okay?” you question.

Frankie breathes in deeply, his chest rising and falling as he exhales. “I am now.”

“Daddy!" Luna's voice rings, interrupting the moment. "I wanna hug Mama too!”

The two of you chuckle, knowing your daughter never likes being left out. After breaking apart, you scoop the little girl into your arms, allowing her to hug you as Frankie envelops you both.

Today was a hard day, but you wouldn’t change a thing.

[the-eeveekins]

The 16th Day of G-Witch: Father and Child

Alright, let's get this over with. Look, if you like this episode or Guel, you might want to skip this one because I'm about to be a hater here. Also as a heads up, I decided to avoid the shot of Seethia's body in my screencaps, because as much as I dislike this episode, that's still a tough moment and tough to look at.

This episode pisses me off, and it's IMO unarguably the worst episode in the entire series. It's all so incredible pointless and irrelevant to the main story, and ultimately a gigantic waste of time that should have been spent elsewhere. Olcott and the Dawn of Fold do not play any role in the rest of the series, and the short 5 second scene in the final episode felt more tacked on to try and even remotely justify why nearly an entire episode was spent on them. Guel is not that integral to the main story that he deserved a chunk of an entire episode dedicated to his development and essentially putting him in the main character seat for an episode. The only impact this episode had later on in the show was so Guel could recognize that one kid on Earth who let slip Shaddiq's secret. Which was already a ridiculous coincidence that it could have been replaced with nearly anything.

It's insulting and sexist that in the first Gundam series with a female main character, they completely sidelined her for an entire episode just to let the most popular male character play at being the MC for an episode that has almost nothing to do with the main story and was designed to be more like a traditional Gundam episode than what G-Witch was. It feels like something that staff were ultimately forced to keep in so the executives who feared the show failing could distract fans who hated it with the standard Gundam tropes and a male character in the lead role, like jingling shiny keys in front of someone's face. And the worst part is? It worked. A chunk of the fanbase LOVED this episode because it felt like a classic Gundam episode and made them want to throw away what made G-Witch special and unique for more of the same shit they've had for 40+ years.

And all of that cost the show time it desperately needed to spend on the main story and characters with way more importance than Guel or Olcott. The only good thing I have to say about this episode is that the Prodoros IS a cool mobile suit. I hope it gets a model kit someday.

I've got to agree with Norea here. Nika is incredibly naive about the situation Earthian's face. Wanting to solve problems without violence is certainly a worthwhile goal, but not one that is always practical. Sometimes violence and war is necessary to overthrow tyranny and oppression. It was made clear in S1 than when Earthians peacefully protest their terrible conditions, they're met with violence by the Benerit Group. And when peace is no longer an option, you have to use violence to fight back.

Likewise, I actually think Shaddiq gets a bad rap from a large part of the fanbase. Some of that is rightfully because of his actions towards Miorine, but a lot of it I think comes from the sort of people who just like to yell "WAR IS BAD" and do not comprehend that in some situations, war is necessary to overthrow oppressive groups like the Benerit Group and Spacian Governments.

Giving weapons to Earthain groups is a solid idea that will even the playing field and make it difficult if not impossible for space to opress Earth through force, forcing them to the negotiating table for equality, and if all else fails, kicking them off Earth and reclaiming their resources themselves. My only concern with Shaddiq's approach is that I'm not sure he wouldn't try to lead Earthians even further into oppressing Spacians as revenge.

This is actually the one time I don't fault Guel for trying to do something "heroic." Trying to save Seethia, while probably being ultimately pointless, was a good thing to do. It's just a shame that, despite literally having a child die in his arms due to an attack by the Benerit Group, he learns all the wrong lessons from it.

This conversation serves absolutely no purpose. It doesn't actually make any sense (he was a member of Dominicus, Earthains attacked him and killed his family and now he...works for an Earthian terrorist group?) and ultimately it's a completely meaningless detail that has absolutely no effect on anything.

And finally, the cherry on top, the downfall of Guel's character. I really tried to like him, but this was very much the beginning of the end. After going through a trauma conga line and learning NOT to play the hero, Guel finally sees what his father's company has been doing to Earthians his whole life, and even has an innocent child die in his arms because of the attack.

And the lesson Guel takes away from all of this is that he wants to save his father's company and keep the oppression machine going? I get that maybe Guel being the one to fail and not break free from the shadow of his abusive parents was the whole point of his character arc (Kashtanka), but it's still disappointing.

And after all that bullshit, we drop these incredibly important details in a post-credit scene at the end of the episode. All of this information, from what Notrette intended to do with Quiet Zero and what happened to her, was way more important to the story than everything that happened in the previous 20 minutes. But all it gets is a short scene at the end of the episode and is never further elaborated on.

This should have been the episode we learned more about Notrette and Quiet Zero, maybe even more about Prospera and Delling. Instead we got Guel and Olcott's pointless adventure.

[afterthegreatunknown]

Hi!! Do you have any hcs about the Quagmire triplets? :))

Hello anon! I have headcanons for the Quagmires triplets, book-verse and Netflix show, being different continuities.

As I am in a Netflix ASOUE mood today, the headcanons about the Quagmires triplets headcanons are for the Netflix show. It's rather long, so it's going to go underneath the cut after Duncan's headcanons.

I do hope you enjoy my Netflix-based headcanons!

Duncan Quagmire

Alongside wanting to be a journalist, Duncan has a habit of writing down interesting history facts in his commonplace notebook.

Has terrible handwriting. Worse, Duncan sometimes eats when writing, so there’s food stains on a few pages that smudges his already messy handwriting.

As there is evidence of a low-key romance between Violet and Duncan in the books (very low-key), Duncan has a crush on Violet, thinking he’s subtle with it (he’s not).

Gets close to Hector during post-TVV. Duncan isn’t sure why, but he thinks it may be due to both of them being close on the verge of crying when they feel like it.

Even though he’s the oldest, Duncan is the timidest of his siblings, and would prefer to avoid any means of confrontation. Duncan stopping Carmelita bullying the Baudelaires was him taking assertive action for the first time.

While not really a night owl, Duncan can survive the day with only five hours of sleep without getting (too) cranky and snapping at someone.

Always likes to keep his hair short as well as neat. Duncan doesn’t mind long hair (he even grew it out once to match Quigley for an April Fools prank), but he personally thinks the long hair image is not for him, for he is neat and organized.

Would never think about using physical force in any way or form, even if the person probably deserves it; Duncan is a true pacifist.

Is not a swearer, because he doesn’t know many swears words/too polite.

Duncan has perfect vision (or at least better than Isadora’s vison). As such, he’s the first to spot Quigley at the ruins of Anwhistle Aquatic.

Isadora Quagmire

Alongside her interest in poetry, she has a love of cursive. Isadora can also copy other people handwriting. She can’t copy Duncan’s handwriting though.

Due to having long hair, Isadora likes to experiment with different hairstyles, usually with her mother’s help. The main style she likes the most is her default down look.

Isadora doesn’t like to use physical force, so more often than not Isadora will try insulting a person to their face. That said, Isadora almost throws a punch at Carmelita when the girl tried to bully Duncan and got him close to crying, but stop due to Duncan’s insisting

Is bi, like her namesake (Isadora Duncan). Isadora has crush on Klaus. For a while, she had a crush on Carmelita until the ‘bullying Duncan’ incident made Isadora do a 180.

Isadora’s favorite meal of the day is breakfast. Her favorite type of breakfast food is pancakes (with fruit), so she’s always extra happy when it’s being served.

Definitely know some swear words. Isadora learns them all through tutors and visitors to the household who believed were swearing in private, when the reality is Isadora was eavesdropping on them.

While having a great relationship with her brothers, Isadora wishes that she has a sister she can talk to. There are things Duncan and Quigley will never understand completely.

Isadora likes to doodles random things in her commonplace notebook. As she is not the greatest artist, Isadora’s doodles sometimes look similar to cursive handwriting.

Isadora has a fear of heights, so her climbing up the Self-Sustaining Hot Air Mobile Home was super scary. Living in it is such, a challenge for her, but she managed.

Quigley Quagmire

Alongside his interest in cartography, Quigley has a minor interest in photography. He really likes to take photos of the night sky, especially if the moon is full.

Is a prankster, but only if he’s in the mood to cause trouble. He roped Duncan in the past for April Fools due to being identical to one another and has no regrets.

Despite being the youngest, Quigley is mistaken for the oldest because he’s much more assertive than Duncan, which creates the ‘oldest triplet’ impression.

Messy Eater™. At times, Quigley will eat with the wrong utensil or eat by hand if there are no utensil around for him to use.

Always has the wish to grow out his hair. It’s not like Quigley hates his short and neat hair, he just wants a look that reflects him being a messy and disorganized person. As such, Quigley post-Quagmire fire didn’t bother to cut his hair to live out his dream.

Is not only a light sleeper, but Quigley also has difficult falling to sleep. If he’s disturbed by any noise, it’s hard for him to go back to sleep with ease.

Quigley once tried taking accordion lessons, but dropped it because it was much more difficult than he imagined. Reading about Snicket made Quigley wish he continued it.

Honestly did not except himself to get a crush on Violet after knowing her for a few hours, but Quigley has no regrets with their implied first kiss.

Hates himself for looking inside the Sugar Bowl. He wished he never look inside it.

Quigley only knew Hector for a few minutes, but he 100% trusts the handyman.

[in-halingstardust]

Hsr male matchup plz

Mild-medium is good

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: heterosexual ally

Zodiac: Capricorn

Appearance: 5’2 African American hourglass body (although I’m more top heavy if you know what i mean) black curly wavy hair blackish brown eyes chubby cheeks wears glasses sometimes (im far sighted so it’s usually when driving in class or at the theater)

Mbti: infj

Enneagram: 2w1

Personality: kind smart funny motherly responsible empathetic anxious emotional moody perfectionist helpful people pleaser caring compassionate nerdy curious protective polite respectful indecisive fearful nervous introvert shy awkward clumsy low self esteem low confidence (more pertaining to my talents or personality then my looks) sassy sarcastic (I’m mainly these things with people i feel comfortable with like friends or family) soft spoken cute (my friends think im cute because i can be pretty innocent plus I’m small physically)

Likes: animals books reading writing fantasy magic sci fi anime music video games friends alone time learning personality quizzes sweets and bread helping being a part of something bigger than myself

Dislikes: spiders loud sounds people who harm others people who don’t take others into consideration (like make insensitive jokes or don’t consider the comfort of others or are mean just cause they can) people i care about not caring for themselves (im a hypocrite on this i take care of everyone else but not me) not being listened to weird holes and patterns math and tests (I’m being tested for a math disability and i have test anxiety)

Love language:

Giving: acts of service gift giving and physical affection (if they’re ok with it)

Receiving: words of affirmation and physical affection (although i can be shy about it)

Extra: i pace a lot i sing when im alone i talk to myself im a picky eater (mainly with textures) i have a cat i have minor ehlers danalos (a hyper mobility disorder) but it doesn’t hurt me like it does my sisters i get abdominal migraines which is basically like a migraine but instead of headaches it’s nausea

Thank you

I ALSO FORGOT TO QUE I am so sorry. I did not forget about you!

Also ehler danalos sucks, I'm so sorry that you sister gets migranes also, my family also has chronic issues that make it difficult to go through life normally!

Anyway! I'm going to paire you with Argenti!

You both are in pursuit of something greater than itself. A distraction from the world maybe, but a principle connects both in this relationship 

It’s not complicated. Really. The first thing that attracted Argenti to you was your voice, especially when you sing. He loves it when you sing. Though never ask him to duet, music is one subject he is quite terrible at. 

Your relationship with him is basically him courting you until you feel comfortable enough. He brings you different types of flowers, not only roses, and explains each individual meaning. Oh, this week's bouquet means longevity, happiness and heart. I thought it fit well with the theme of summer, he says snipping off the roots before placing them in a vase. 

Lots of long talks over the phone. Lots of enjoying each other's company. Nothing too hardcore, maybe a nice performance that Argenti would find and no one else. For real, I feel he find the most strangest, yet professionally good, orchestra concerts known to man.

Surprisingly, not that much PDA. Everything he has for you is shown within the privacy of your own enviroment. Soft, chaste kisses, the way he fiddles with the end of your hair and a comforting hand against your arm.

A little spicy -> He likes tugging on your lips in between kisses. Really enjoys how red they turn and the way you look flustered.

[kalixora]

3

I followed Bumblebee for quite a bit when he suddenly stopped, I stopped behind him watching as Sam and Mikaela got out and stood there while Bumblebee drove away.

He's always had a habit of doing this back home from what I remember, He'd leave and come back like nothing happened.

A few seconds went by and Bumblebee came back in a better looking vehicle, Sam and Mikaela stared at him in awe while getting in.

I followed him slowly and cautiously; he could be leading me into a trap, but it's reasonable to presume he's not…

We came to a halt near a spot where Sam and Mikaela were watching as other cybertronions began to rain down into the Earth's night sky.

After that, I followed Bumblebee around for a while, eventually finding myself following him to an alleyway. I waited around the corner; regardless of my plan, it's safer for me to stay out of sight.

I heard some of the others speaking and adjusting. a voice… that voice… it was Optimus Prime. The last Prime… A shiver went up my spine; he sounds nothing like Megatron. It's pleasant in certain ways-

The medical officer of the Autobots, Ratchet, spoke softly enough for me to miss what he was saying in our language.

Ironhide, who was the weapon specialist back home and probably still is, scoffed in a harsh and raspy voice that I immediately recognized.

“Come over here, femme, Restarlueus (arms) and servos (hands) up, now,” Ironhide's voice had a hint of intimidation. I changed into my robot mode and entered the alley as instructed. I looked down and saw Sam and Mikaela. Their expressions were a mix of relief and lingering fear.

Scrap, there are five Autobots… this may turn out bad. But, frag it, I’m already here. When I succeed, I can convince Megatron that I am honorable. Screamer will never have a chance against me again. Unless Shockwave arrives…

“What is your designation(name), solider?” Optimus inquiries.

I raised my helm(head) slightly to look up at him. “Y/N.”

Upon watching Ironhide aim his gun at me, Bumblebee hesitantly moved in front of me. Why?

“What is it that you seek Y/N?." Ironhide grunted, his ocular ridges tightening as he walked forward, "If your here for the boy, I'll destroy you before you get a chance."

I looked down at Mikaela, then back at Optimus. “I seek knowledge, Mikaela said words to me that moved my spark, I would like to learn more from the girl.”

Mikaela is peering up at me from the corner of my eyes, a faint smile on her fleshy face.

After a brief period of silence, Optimus turned his attention from me to the girl before nodding emphatically. Drawing back his canons, Ironhide muttered. “Trust is earned, Y/N I understand you are under Megatron’s command list, trust is earned, if what you say is true then I will hold you to it.”

I nodded and turned my helm towards Mikaela, returning a modest smile.

I'm not lying about what I told Optimus, but her remarks are making me question myself a little bit more. Not because I’m a femme, No, it’s deeper then that. I might benefit for the time being from taking a break from the others.

Bumblebee whistled at me to get my attention.

“Welcome to the team old friend,” He spoke on the radio through several broadcasting outlets. I won't get accustomed to this, I assure you. I can still clearly hear his voice in my head. It's a terrible what occurred happened, Blitzwing truly offers no mercy.

“Prime, are we really going to let a con follow us to Sam’s location?” Ironhide questioned.

“I agree with Ironhide, Optimus, this could be a trap.”

Bumblebee waved his servos shaking his helm. “She’d have my head by now…captain.”

I laughed as I turned my backplate towards them. "There's no need to cover my defense,  They're right, Bumblebee, you can't always trust a Decepticon." I switch to my alternate mode before driving a short distance out of the alley.

“Let’s move quickly, I fear the decepticons are getting ready to mobilize,” Ratchet said. “Bumblebee should remain with her until further notice.”

“No time,” Optimus says. “I trust that Y/N will know better then to make contact.”

“How do you know that boss man?” Jazz asked. “The evil ones always have the prettiest faces.”

“I do not know, just be alert in case Y/N does act against her words.” Optimus stated. “Let’s roll.”