#I’ve seen four takes and they’re still top

[stuckasmain]

Anyways if anyone has a boot with John and Courtney I’d probably cry. I saw the tour weeks ago but they live so rent free.

[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 1 ~ Wardrobe Malfunction

Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your bikini top suddenly falls off at the beach and Logan sees you. Minors DNI!

A/N: Happy first day of Kinktober! I'm very excited, I hope you all enjoy!

*✧･ﾟ: Next

Kinktober '24 Masterlist

You never thought something like this would happen to you.

Your bikini top, the one whose string you triple-knotted to make sure it stayed on, came off.

The horror on your face was apparent when a breeze connected to your chest and the fabric attached to your skin disappeared. What’s even worse was that your top fell off right in front of Logan, a man you were crushing on so hard it was ridiculous.

You two were in the water, basking in the sun. It turned to a playful fight, droplets clinging to you as Logan kept attacking you with water. The fight led to him grabbing you and tossing you over his shoulder. When you came up for air, that’s when it happened.

You know he saw you. Your breasts in his line of sight, soaked in that seawater. His eyes were almost out of their sockets with how long he stared at you. You quickly covered yourself up with your arms, seeing your top floating in the water before grabbing it, rushing to get out.

“Where are ya going?” Logan shouted from behind you.

You didn’t answer but heard his rushing footsteps. The rest of the team gawked at the two of you when you ran across the beach—feet dusted with sand, going to the nearest cabana. You felt flustered, face burning up. Now, you’ve made everything awkward. Your relationship with Logan, built on respect and genuine care, was gone. All because your top decided to be complicated.

Logan called your name outside and your muscles tensed.

“You okay?”

No, he just saw your breasts on full display. You were far from okay.

“I’m fine. Go back to the others.”

So you can forget that it ever happened.

“Well, don’t ya need help putting that back on?”

You froze, remembering that your top had four strings. Ororo helped you tie the one across your back the first time.

“Okay, just be quick.”

Your back was still towards him, not wanting to look him in the eye. You tried not to focus on his large, slightly wrinkled hands when he helped you with your top—carefully tying the string against your back. As you handed him the strings to go around your neck, your fingertips brushed along his.

“I’m sorry.” You started apologizing: “I thought the top was tied on tight.”

“It’s alright. Not the first pair I’ve seen before.” You roll your eyes, embarrassment quickly fading away as you remember his conquests. “But they’re the best ones I’ve seen so far.”

You forced out a laugh, “Don’t make me kick you out.”

“I’m serious.” When you turn around, his lowered eyes search your face for any hint to show you were uncomfortable. You weren’t. “I wish I could’ve seen them under different circumstances but fuck, I’m glad I did.”

“What’s the different circumstances?”

Logan glances towards the entrance before going back to you. “In my bed. After I take you out on a few dates.”

“Oh.” You blink at the subtle confession. “Didn’t think you’d last after one date.”

His mouth twitches in amusement, “With someone like you, I can.”

Maybe you were glad that your top did what it did, otherwise you would’ve spent another day pining for Logan. Now, it was clear he also had the hots for you, an idea appeared in your head.

“Wanna see them again?”

Logan let out a low breath and a curt nod. You reach behind you, untying the knot he made. Logan grabbed your top, stuffing it in his pockets, eyes never leaving your exposed chest.

“Fuck me. Look at you…”

His eyes search your breasts. How they sat so prettily, almost shining due to minuscule drops of water on your skin. The way Logan stared at you made your stomach twist. He stepped closer, raising his hand with an urge to touch, not before asking for permission.

You barely got the ‘yes’ out when he’s on you. Logan cupped your breast, groaning at how perfectly you fit in his palm. You grip his shoulder when he leans down and capture your lips in a kiss.

It’s hot and heavy as your tongues slide amongst each other. Logan’s still playing with your breast, flicking the nipple with his thumb. He swallows whatever noises come out of you, not wanting to alert the rest of the team. Your hand digs into his messy hair when he parts to kiss your neck. You warn him not to mark you because you don’t want to be bombarded with questions when you two return home.

Logan listens, only placing kisses on you, trailing down to your chest. The source that started everything. You tug on his hair when he captures a breast in his mouth. While doing so, his arm goes under your bottom to pick you up. The action makes you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist.

You hold Logan’s face close to you as he’s sucking on your nipple, determined to replace the seawater with his saliva. He lets out another groan when switching to your other breast, wanting to do this to you all day. Your moans let him know you didn’t want him to stop.

“Hey? You two okay in there?”

Scott called, and you tugged on Logan’s hair to get him to stop. “Yeah! We’re fine. We’re about to come out!”

“Okay...”

After hearing Scott walk away from the cabana, Logan growls against your breasts.

“Fucking boy scout.”

You snort, kissing the top of his head, “We can continue when we get back.”

Logan grunts, licking at the valley of your breasts before helping you get down. He ties up your top again and walks you out.

If anyone wants to be tagged for the other days, let me know! Please make sure you have your age in your bio, intro post, any place that I can see.

[salethe2]

I’ve seen a lot of takes on this scene, and honestly they’re all so interesting, so I decided to give my perspective.

Okay, starting with Armand’s costume, which Carol Cutshall absolutely nailed. Here’s what she said about Armand’s costume design:

—“One of the things about Armand is he is so ancient and so powerful that he always presents himself as very open. Whereas some of the other characters are very covered up, he’s always very open because he really doesn’t see anyone as a threat to himself. He didn’t have any predators or any reason to be on guard, or be armoured.”

Personally, I find this design choice fascinating because, despite being a predator at the top of the food chain, vampires like Armand, especially as a coven leader, would normally need to remain vigilant. Yet, he’s completely at ease, even surrounded by other vampires.

I mean, look at him here. Sure, it’s not the deep, open V-neck shirts he wears in the interview scenes, but his outfit is still loose and open. And he’s literally surrounded by a group of vampires he knows are plotting against him. He even has his back to said vampires and yet, he’s not the least bit nervous in either situation!

Even with Daniel, he’s not nervous or afraid because he doesn’t initially see him as a threat.

So, if Armand isn’t scared of his own coven—a bunch of vampires ready to kill him at the first opportunity—or Daniel, who could potentially expose all his manipulations, then why on earth does he go into full armor mode to meet a seemingly inconsequential human he’s never encountered before? He’s literally in a turtleneck, shielding his most vulnerable area for crying at loud!

A for body language—honestly, Assad Zaman deserved an Emmy for this scene. We see Armand being aloof, a little suave and condescending, employing the whole, “I’m a four-century-old vampire; you’re just a lowly human” tactic. It’s like he’s sizing her up, wanting to understand who she is while simultaneously aiming to provoke her, curious to see how she will react.

As for his questions, he frames them in the way you might expect a coven leader to interrogate a human he’s about to turn. Questions like, “How will you survive? Are you okay with killing people and being a monster?” It almost seems like he’s trying to make her reconsider her decision to turn, but it’s all a facade.

Because the question he really wants to ask is the last one, and when he finally approaches it, his entire demeanor shifts.

He sheds the suave demeanor and shifts to a more serious tone, embodying what Louis describes as his "post-apocalyptic look." He towers over Madeleine, gazing down at her in an attempt to intimidate. At this point, Madeleine's expression turns genuinely nervous, perhaps even frightened—and understandably so. Yet, she holds her ground. It's then that Armand poses the crucial question he had come specifically to ask.

“And what will you do in a few decades when she throws herself into the fire? Because she will.”

Now, why does this question seem familiar? It’s because Armand has previously made a similar statement to Louis. He had forewarned Louis that Claudia’s mind was bound to deteriorate over time. Now, Louis tearfully countered that Armand couldn’t be sure of this, yet part of him probably recognized the truth in Armand’s words, which likely contributed to his emotional plea for Armand to look after her.

Armand realized then that Louis, despite his deep love for Claudia, lacked the resolve to keep her grounded, effectively sealing her fate, which seemed all but inevitable by that point. He even assigns Claudia the role of Lulu as a way to infantilize her and further break her spirit—almost as a test to gauge Louis’ reaction. Unfortunately, Louis does nothing about it, while Madeleine clearly recognizes it for the manipulation it is.

And what does she do next? Madeleine quickly gets Claudia out of that outfit and into one more fitting for her. By doing this, she threatens Armand’s plans without even realizing it.

It’s also interesting to note that the only time Armand is ever truly angry with Claudia is when he sees her with Madeleine. This reaction underscores the threat he perceives in their bond, disrupting his control of the situation, and here is why.

When Armand posed the question to Madeleine about what she would do when Claudia throws herself into the fire, her response was:

“Or maybe she won’t. You don’t know. Maybe I’m what she needs to survive.”

And the way she meets his gaze as she says this marks a shift in their conversation. Throughout their entire conversation, Madeleine often looks away and breaks eye contact, but not in this moment. Here, she meets his gaze head-on. Even though she is clearly nervous, and likely a bit scared, she holds his gaze because she is sure of her words. This is a powerful moment where Madeleine not only asserts her belief but also turns the tables—now, it’s Armand’s turn to feel uneasy.

Of course, you don’t see it in his face, but it’s evident in his body language. The way he becomes closed off, his hand fidgeting, and his gaze fixed ahead as if deep in thought. He doesn’t even refute her.

Even with Lestat, when he warns him about Nicky, Armand doesn’t stay silent; he confidently affirms his insights, and Lestat—of all people—clearly believes him. But with Madeleine, it’s a different story. He goes silent, not uttering a word in response. He doesn’t attempt to persuade her because he recognizes that her mind is made up, her resolve unshakable. But perhaps the words that really hit home for him were “You don’t know.” This was probably the words that sealed Madeleine’s fate because the last thing you want to say to a master manipulator and control freak like Armand is that they don’t know something. Because now, all of a sudden Claudia’s death isn’t a certainty anymore and he can’t just sit back and wait for her to lose her sanity. He must take matters into his own hands now.

Anyway, one might think that Madeleine and Claudia leaving, thereby leaving Louis all to Armand, would satisfy him. After all, one of the first things he asks Claudia and Madeleine is if they’re considering returning to Paris, and you might assume Madeleine’s answer pleased him. However, her answer doesn’t satisfy him, not after what Madeleine says soon after.

Madeleine’s words confirm that Claudia indeed loves Louis, and because Madeleine loves Claudia, she persuades her to return to Paris despite her obvious and valid disdain for the city. This revelation proves to Armand, even if they leave Louis, Madeleine and Claudia will always remain a significant part of Louis’s life. For Armand, this is intolerable. To him, Claudia is a dangerous manipulator and a competitor of Louis’s attention.

So even if they all lived happy, separate lives, Armand’s nature is such that he cannot live with the doubt and fear that Claudia might draw Louis away from him. Having been abandoned too many times in his life, deeply wounded by those closest to him, and left behind for others, he cannot risk experiencing that pain again.

Thus, in that moment when he speaks to Madeleine in the apartment, he decides that both she and Claudia need to be eliminated. I believe this was the real reason Armand was there under the pretense of turning her. He needed to evaluate how much of a threat Madeleine posed to his plans, and upon realizing she was basically a live grenade, he knew he needed to act swiftly to get rid of her. Because as long as Madeleine is present, so will Claudia, and as long as Claudia exists, Louis will never truly belong to Armand.

[makethemhoesmad]

baby mama-a.f.

not proofread

if you dumbasses had looked at the poll you would have seen that part 2 has to wajt

shoutout to @cjrights for bullying you guys with me

you’re fucking welcome for this i had to go to ao3 for inspo

—

“azzi, look at this one,” i say to my girlfriend, moving my phone in front of her face. it’s playing what’s probably the seventh baby video i’ve shown her tonight, but i actually cannot get over how cute they are. 

“yes baby, they’re all very cute. is there a purpose to all of these, or do you just want me to see them?”

i blush, embarrassed. i shake my head at her, tucking myself between her and the back of the couch instead.

“aw, cmon darling, look at me. do you want one? is that what this is about? want me to put a baby in your belly?” i breathe in deeply against her neck, reminding her that im still not looking at her. she grabs my chin and forces me face to face with her, brown eyes glowing, pupils blown wide. “well? is that want you want mama?” i blush harder.

“ye-yeah az. want you to give me a baby, want you to- i just want you” azzi grins at me and pulls us both off the couch and into the bedroom.

“okay mama, i want you to strip for me, right here. i’ll be back in a second. make sure to be all ready for me, gonna put a baby in you”

i take off my pajama pants, panties, and bra, then settle against the pillows. azzi comes back, also wearing nothing, slipping into her strap.

“m’gonna make you feel so good, your gonna look so pretty with your belly all swollen up with my baby.” 

with that, she flips us and pulls me onto her lap, right onto her strap. i whimper as it pushes into me. we don’t use it very often, but its moments like these when i wonder why not.

“ah-azzi, yes, please, so, don’t stop keep going” i groan, feeling azzis hands move to my waist to keep me moving up and down on her. my head lolls back as i feel the knot in my stomach growing.

“you’re such a good girl, taking me so well mama. you look so beautiful, so amazing, so perfect”

i nearly scream out at her words, leaning forward and biting at her shoulder to muffle my voice.

“come on mama, let it all out. you’re gonna look so pretty, i’ll spoil you so good, won’t even let you walk around after four months, have to carry you”

i scream out her name as i climax, her words pushing me to the edge. she keeps moving me up and down, even after i’ve come down from my high. “azzi, please, too much, it’s too good, too good, please let me taste you”

she relents immediately, pulling me off of her and unbuckling her strap. 

“okay pretty, get on your knees and show me you deserve a baby” i listen, pushing her thighs apart and burying my face in her soaked pussy. i feel her hand on top of my head, holding me to her like i would ever leave. i flick my tongue against her clit, causing her hips to jolt. i hear her start to whine, meaning she’s about to come. i eat her through her climax, like i haven’t eaten in years.

“cmere pretty baby, let me hold my sexy baby mama.”

i crawl up onto the bed and under the blankets, slithering into her arms. 

“i love your arms, did i ever tell you that? i think they’d look real good with a baby in them” i tell her, running my fingers over her biceps.

“and i think you’d look really good as a mom pretty. i love you baby mama”

[atinylittlepain]

Marcus Pike x f!reader

(there is no masterlist for this man, good luck to this man)

He's looking for something other than vanilla, and she is more than happy to provide such a service to him.

warnings | 18+ this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

a/n | this was written LAST MAY woof - i think originally it was supposed to be for the first round of the PMAMC (also woof) but she's here now :') special thanks to @wannab-urs for resurrecting this fucker. there is a part two... just sayin

..............................

The first thing she notices about him is that he’s nervous. He keeps loosening and tightening his tie, eyes glancing around in quick, anxious sweeps. He’s definitely never been here before, she would’ve remembered a face that handsome, strong jaw under a little scruff and big brown eyes that set a smile tugging at her lips when he finally meets her gaze. 

“Hey there, handsome, welcome in. First time?” His eyes drop down to the floor, a clipped laugh coming out as she steps closer to him.

“Am I that obvious?” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes crinkled in a shy smile that sets warmth spreading in her chest, bringing a delicate palm to his shoulder.

“Just never seen you around before, that’s all. What brings you to Pandora’s tonight?”

“Well, I, uh– I wanted to– um–” He cuts his own rambling off, jaw slack as he watches a man in head to toe latex walk by, being led on a leash by one of her coworkers. 

“Hey, don’t worry about them. I wanna know what you want. Would you feel more comfortable talking some more in one of our private rooms?” Eyelashes fluttering, spine arched, she knows exactly how to reel them in, noting the dip and bob of his throat as he nods.

“I– yeah, um, yes please.” Manners, she likes that. She slips her hand down his arm, taking his hand before turning heel and tugging him down the dark hallway, taking them into one of the vacant playrooms. It’s one of the tamer rooms, a four poster bed in the middle, red silk sheets, and a dark chest of drawers off to the side full of all sorts of fun. She guides him to sit down on the end of the bed beside her, his hands immediately going to his thighs in a nervous squeeze. His eyes are still darting everywhere, but mostly to the tops of her breasts, pressed up in the strappy leather corset she has on, though he doesn’t let his gaze linger there long before jerking his eyes back up to her face. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby. I just want to hear a little about why you came in, and how you’d like to be taken care of tonight, alright?” He nods, clearing his throat a few times before replying.

“I just– you gotta know that I’ve never done anything like this before, really. But, I don’t know, I guess I wanted to try something different? My, well my ex-wife, I think she thought I was too, um, vanilla. So I guess I want to– not be– um, vanilla anymore. And, Jesus Christ, you probably think I’m crazy, huh?” Somehow, he manages to still be handsome and look like a kicked puppy at the same time, and she has to resist the urge to push his flop of hair back and press a kiss to the crease between his brows.

“Not crazy at all. So when you say not vanilla, what does that mean to you?” When he gives her no answer, eyes only widening as he seems to wrack his brain for what to say, she laughs lightly, bringing a palm to his thigh and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Why don’t we start with the basics? Do you see yourself being more of a dom or a sub?” 

“I– what does that mean, dom and sub?” Oh boy, more basic than the basics then.

“Dom is shorthand for dominant, that’s the person in control in the relationship, and they’re usually the one inflicting any pain, if you’re into that. And sub means submissive, that’s the person who follows the dom’s commands, who gets taken care of.” 

“Oh, right, that makes sense. I mean, I don’t think I’d be very good at being in control like that, so I guess, more submissive?” I’ll say. She offers him a nod and smile, still trying to coax some of his anxiety out of him.

“Sounds good, handsome. If it’s alright with you, I can be your partner for the night. Let’s get some paperwork for you and then we can get started, ok?” He only nods, something she’s going to have to work on with him.

“For this to work, I’m gonna need you to always use your words with me, alright? That way I know exactly what you do and don’t like.” She says it to him over her shoulder as she rifles through the chest of drawers, getting out a waiver and a pen for him. 

“Uh, yes, ok, I can– I can do that.” She sits back down beside him with a hum, passing him the paperwork, watching his brow furrow as he reads over it.

“That’s a list of kinks we do and don’t participate in. Are there any that you’re particularly interested in exploring tonight?” Another clear of his throat, keeping his eyes glued to the paper when he responds.

“Do men– do men really like that? I mean, I’ve heard of it, but, does it feel good?” She looks over his shoulder to where his finger is pointing, her lips crooking into a smile when she sees what’s caught his attention.

“Mmhmm, it can be very pleasurable, with an experienced partner, of course.”

“And you– are you, um, experienced?” Her smile broadens into a grin at his question, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh baby, I’m very experienced. Is that something you’d like to try out tonight?” He seems to consider it, his eyes darting from her lips back up to her gaze a few times before he finally nods.

“Fuck it, yeah, I wanna do that. But is it ok if that’s the only thing we do on this list? I don’t think I’m really into the whole– chains and whips thing.” She laughs at that, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she nods.

“Whatever you want. Just need you to sign that waiver which basically affirms that we’re all clean here at Pandora’s, and you are too. You’re familiar with our pricing, right? It’s three hundred for an hour, and five for two.” 

“Is it ok if I do two?”

“You’re the customer, honey. What you say goes.” With a decisive nod, he ticks the box next to two hours on the form, signing his name on the dotted line before handing her back the pen and paper.

“Nice to officially meet you, Marcus. You can call me Daisy, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” As she sets the paperwork down on the chest of drawers, he lets out a light laugh, drawing her attention over her shoulder.

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Stepping out of her heels, she pads back over to him, standing right between his legs, setting down the items she grabbed before guiding his hands onto her hips.

“It’s not, is there something else you’d like to call me for the night?” He takes a sharp inhale as she drags his hands from her hips, up and up until his palms are cupping her breasts through her corset.

“I, um– Daisy’s good, yeah.” Letting her hands fall away from his, his eyes search hers, obvious in looking for permission that she’s happy to give.

“You can touch me, Marcus, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.” 

“Can I take this off of you?” His fingers are toying with the laced-up front of her corset, which she lightly bats away.

“It’s a little tricky, let me.” She makes deft work of unlacing the garment, a known path for her fingers that usually bores her, though there’s a little kick of something else, him watching her and the fine flicker of her hands. Marcus lets out a laugh at the grin she offers him, fizzling in his throat when she lets the corset fall away to reveal herself to him, standing before him in only her barely-there shorts. The heat of his hands just hovers over the swell of her breasts, and she can’t help the sigh that thrums in her throat when he finally lets his palms press against her skin. It’s not often that a client affects her like this, and she has to clear her throat to refocus on the real task at hand.

“Why don’t we get you out of your clothes? Sit back for me.” She’s undone dozens of ties, worked her fingers through miles of shirt buttons, and doesn’t even have to look to get trousers unfastened now, but she can’t shake the prickle running up her spine at the way his eyes follow every movement, and she can’t hide the shudder that runs through her when he tentatively tucks her hair behind her ear as she works his pants down his hips. 

“Have you been doing this for long?” She shoots him a look from her spot between his legs, his pants discarded to leave him in just his briefs.

“Are you really trying to make small talk?” Oh, he’s blushing now. She likes that, crawling closer and dipping her head down to press a kiss to the center of his chest before dragging her lips up and up, catching at the bob in his throat before letting her mouth just hover over his, feeling the shaky pants of his breath.

“There’s no need for that, Marcus. I’m gonna take care of you now, and I need you to tell me what you like, and what you don’t, do you understand?” His voice comes out a little hoarse, and she can feel the thrum of it where her chest is brushing against his.

“Yes, I understand.” A grin is all she gives him, ducking down before his lips can meet hers as she lets her mouth drag a trail down his torso until she’s nipping at the waistband of his briefs. 

“Can I take these off?” When all he does is nod, she gives his hip a light pinch, something between a laugh and a grunt jumping from his chest at the sensation.

“Yeah, you can take them off, I– sorry.” She smoothes her palm over the spot she pinched, smiling up at him.

“That’s ok, baby. Just remember your words for me.” He can’t be real, that’s all she can figure when she gets him totally bare before her, his cock a perfect pink that matches the flush on his chest, thick enough to set her jaw aching in anticipation, and long, pre-come smearing in the tuft of hair over his pelvis. She can’t help but wonder why the fuck anyone would ever want to leave him when he’s this pretty to look at. 

“Can I touch you? Get you warmed up for me?” He’s propped up on his elbows to watch her kneeling between his legs, lips swollen from how much he’s been biting them, slightly parted in something like wonder.

“Yeah, yes, please.” 

“Hmm, I like a boy with some manners. Just relax, Marcus, and remember, I’m here to take care of you.” With that, she presses a kiss just below his belly button, smiling against the twitch of his muscles before dipping down and letting her lips ghost over the underside of his cock. It’s involuntary, the hum she lets out when she takes him fully into the heat of her mouth, relaxing her throat like she’s learned to do, a necessary move in order to take all of him. And he’s perfect beneath her, thighs flexing under her splayed palms, low moans rumbling in his chest as she alternates between swallowing him down and lapping at his leaking tip. She knows she’s done her job, that she’s loosened him up, when those moans start to get a little louder, a little more drawn out, and he slumps down off his elbows to run a hand through his hair, eyes scrunched shut. A kiss over one hip, then the other, keeping her palm steady on his heaving belly while she reaches for the lube, his eyes squinting open to see why she stopped. 

“You ever used lube before?” 

“No, never needed to, I guess.” 

“Well it’s gonna be your best friend tonight. I’m gonna warm a little up in my palms and then I’ll let you get used to the feel of it, ok?” He hums out an mmhmm, watching her hands rub in quick circles, his eyes following the subtle shake of her breasts with the movement. And when she gets her hands on him again, slicking her palm up his cock, a hiss slips through his lips.

“Sorry, is it still cold?” 

“No, fuck– just feels really good.” She grins at that, letting her wrist flick, hand in an easy glide as she slips her palm down to cup the weight of his balls, his groan cracking and shooting up an octave, hips jolting at the sensation. 

“Has no one touched you like this before, baby?” 

“I– Jesus, no– no one’s done that before.” 

“Well that’s just not right. Feels good, huh?” A little squeeze to punctuate her question sets another moan loose in his chest as he presses his head back into the sheets.

“Y-yes, feels really good.” She nudges his thighs open a bit more, letting her hand slip down lower, not pressing, but circling, gauging how he reacts as she keeps her other hand easily stroking his cock. 

“Remember, need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. We can stop at any time. Do you like what I’m doing right now?” His eyes are still shut tight, one hand fisted in his hair, the other tangled in the sheets, pleasure pulling his whole body taut.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s, hah– it’s different, good, different good.” His words go a bit slurred when she presses her finger forward, opening him up as he lets out another breathy moan. 

He takes it well, whimpers and moans crackling in his throat as she starts a steady thrust, only pausing to work a little more lube over her hand. 

“Doing so good for me, Marcus. You wanna try taking a little more?” He sits up on his elbows, surprising her a bit with his firm reply.

“I want more, want you to use that on me, please.” He tilts his head over to the strap laying on the end of the bed, once again catching her off guard.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” He tilts his head at her, a crooked smile on his face.

“Didn’t you say something about the customer always being right?” She lets out a real laugh at that, shaking her head at him as he just grins, clearly pleased with himself. 

“I guess so. Alright, handsome, why don’t you get on your hands and knees for me? We’ll take it nice and slow.” He seems a bit taken aback by that request, his smile going a little slack as she gets off the bed to step into her harness, though he catches himself, clearing his throat and shifting around on the bed into the position she asked for.

She can’t help herself, getting back on the bed and kneeling behind him, laying a quick pat to his very cute ass that has him craning his neck over his shoulder to look at her.

“Sorry, just looks so good I had to give it a little tap. You ready for me?” He hums his assent as she slicks her fake cock in lube, bringing one palm over his low back in a reassuring circle as she scoots in closer. 

“Just relax, Marcus, this is about you feeling good. That’s it, open up for me.” She works her strap in slow, curling over him to press her lips in a murmuring of praise into his shoulder blades as he whimpers beneath her, his hands fisted tight in the sheets. 

“How’re you feeling, baby? Is it too much? We can go back to what we–”

“No, no. I just– just need a minute, fuck– didn’t think it’d feel this good.” She’s not being professional about this, she knows it too, but she doesn’t care. A professional would be checking the clock, making sure that he gets his before his time is up. A professional wouldn’t be laying kisses over his shoulders, whispering to him that he’s doing so good, that he can take it, that he’s so pretty like this. But nothing about the way she wants him right now feels professional, the way she wants to take care of him, to make him feel good, to keep him feeling good for as long as she can.

“Just say the word. I move when you want me to.” 

Slow and smooth, nothing but patience and permission in how she fucks him, her hips slotting with his again and again and again, simmering down into a close press, her chest draped over his back and her hand working his cock in time with her thrusts when he finally unravels beneath her. He slumps down onto his forearms, a slur of curses punching out of his lungs as she runs her palms up and down his shuddering back. But what he does next is so unexpected she finds herself at the mercy of his movements. The moment she pulls her hips away from his, he turns over underneath her, still catching his breath as his hands find her hips, insistent and harsh in the way he pulls her down onto the bed. He’s certainly a sight, cheeks flushed and hair perfectly mussed up in every direction, his eyes blown dark and wide as he hovers over her.

“Can I take care of you now? Is that allowed?” A professional would say no, that his time is up, get him a towel and a glass of water and process his credit card.

She doesn’t say no.

He fumbles a bit with the straps of the harness, letting out an impatient groan that makes her giggle, quick to bat his hands away and make easy work of shimmying the whole thing down her legs. And the smile he gives her as she does is downright sheepish.

“That’s, uh, a bit tricky.” She brushes his hair back out of his face, thumb settling against the dimple in his cheek, a move that’s entirely too sweet and she knows it.

“Just a little. I’m all yours now though.” He doesn’t waste any time, ducking his head down to press a sweet kiss over the top of her breast that turns salacious when he slides his tongue down over the tight peak of her nipple, her back arching up into the heat of his mouth as he lets his teeth graze over the sensitive skin. His hands are splayed around her hips, greedy and insistent in the way his fingers curl and press into her ass, lifting her hips up to slide her tiny shorts off her legs before he settles back between her thighs, his nose brushing against her twitching stomach, dark eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“Is this ok? Can I taste you? Make you feel good like that?” He steals a move from her book when all she does is nod, his hand that’s still curled around her hip laying a gentle pinch to the swell, his grin going boyish as she huffs out a laugh.

“Can I have your words, Daisy, please?” She tilts her head at his shy question, enjoying the flushed flare creeping up his cheeks.

“Hmm, you’re a fast learner, huh? Yeah, baby, I want your mouth, Want you to make me feel good.” 

It’s not that she had been expecting him to be bad at it. But she also hadn’t been expecting him to be so fucking good either. Head thrown back, thighs trembling around his scruff, moaning his name good. He’s not precious about it, licking a flat stripe through her cunt before letting his tongue catch on her clit in a harsh press, dipping back down to lap up the slick pooling at her entrance, a continuous circuit of pleasure that has every muscle in her body tensing up. He groans low in his chest when she rakes her fingers through his hair, tugging just a bit unkindly when his teeth graze her clit. One large palm snakes up to grasp at the swell of one of her breasts, his other hand pressed across her pelvis to keep her spasming hips still as he fucks her with his tongue, the strong hook of his nose dragging across her clit with each pass. And it hits her all at once, that snare of pleasure snapping hot and hard as she comes with a stilted moan of his name, her heel pressing between his shoulder blades, keeping him exactly where he is, and he continues to work her over as she comes undone on his mouth. 

She tugs at his hair again when it becomes too much, her hips jolting at the thrumming chuckle he lets out when he finally pulls away, resting his cheek against her hip while she tries to catch her breath. They lay like that for a hiccup of time, just staring at each other, a dazed smile on his glistening lips that she knows is mirrored in her own hazy grin. Eventually she lets out a long sigh, reaching out for him and thumbing away some of her arousal that’s smeared across his jaw. 

“Do you wanna, like, get a burger or something?”

“Is that– is that a part of my two hours?” “Oh baby, your two hours were up a while ago.”

…

He’s waiting for her right outside the club, and she mentally kicks herself for having worn sweats and a hoodie in for her shift earlier, though he doesn’t seem to mind, smiling big and broad when she steps outside to join him. 

“I know you said burgers, but there’s a diner around the corner that does the best pancakes in DC. Sound good to you?” She likes this version of him too, confident, certain, a bit old-fashioned with the way he holds his arm out for her to take like they didn’t just wreck each other a few moments ago, letting her hold onto him the whole walk over to the diner, opening the door for her, the whole chivalric production.

It’s so late at night, they’re virtually the only people in the place, tucking into a cracked vinyl booth and putting in their order, pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon, the works. And they share every last bite, having both clearly worked up an appetite after their evening together.

Though he’s vague about it, she can suss out for herself that he’s some sort of higher-up government type, she knows them well, and in turn, she answers his questions about her, that her work at Pandora’s is good enough to be supporting her through college, Marcus seeming to perk up when she tells him she’d like to be an art teacher one day. He’s older than her, at least enough to have already been married and divorced, but she can’t find it in herself to care about that, too busy enjoying their easy conversation, the subtle game of footsie they have going on under the table, and the way he smiles at her, all of his attention on her. It’s so strange, so different, so starkly contrasted to the way her nights usually go, not that she minds the simple rotation of disinterested clients, but she hasn’t had someone look at her, really look at her the way Marcus is, in quite a while. 

“I have to admit, I wasn’t really expecting my night to end like this.” Plates long cleared, each of them nursing a mug of coffee as the first sweeps of dawn start to light up the streets outside, she smiles at his admission.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” He grins at her question, leaning in on his elbows like he has the wildest secret to tell her.

“Really good surprise. I mean, I just think you’re– amazing. Fuck, is that weird of me to say?” She mirrors him, leaning in on her elbows, a smile threatening to quirk her lips.

“Hmm, no, it’s cute. For the record, I think you’re kinda amazing too.” Their faces are so close, and she realizes all at once that she hasn’t even kissed him yet.

“Only kinda, huh? Guess I didn’t do my job then.” She can almost feel the curve of his smile as she laughs at his simpering response, the sound getting swallowed when he closes the space between them, pressing his lips to hers. And he’s good at this too, his palm coming to cup her jaw, thumb stroking along her cheek as he deepens the kiss, licking into her mouth and nearly melting her on the spot. Though it’s over too soon for her liking when they get interrupted by someone clearing their throat in front of their table, pulling away to see the rather annoyed looking waitress setting their check down and shuffling away with a sour side-eye. She opens her mouth to protest when Marcus reaches for his wallet, but he waves his hand, black American Express glinting in the diner’s fluorescent lights.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do after going over my two hours.” She can tell he means it as a joke, a flippant remark, but her stomach still sinks at even the suggestion of this still being a business transaction. It’s a sore spot for her, and though she’s more than comfortable with the work she does, her exes hadn’t been, nor had they been kind about it for that matter.

Busy signing the check, Marcus doesn’t notice the way her face falls, and she’s already out of the booth and halfway out the door of the diner when he finally calls out for her, further rubbing salt in the wound when the name he uses is Daisy. 

“Woah, woah, hey, what happened in there?” The hand he hooks around her bicep is gentle but insistent, and she can’t help the tears threatening to spill over when he turns her around to look at him in the faint morning light.

“Look, if that’s all this is to you, just business, that’s fine, but I have enough respect for myself to not–” He cuts her off, bringing his broad palm to cup her cheek again, his eyes wide and unwavering.

“Hey, that’s not what this is– I mean, at least not anymore. We did meet under some, ah, particular circumstances. But this isn’t business to me now, if that’s ok with you?” He thumbs away her stray tears, and she nearly goes dizzy with the relief she feels hearing those words from him. 

“I’m sorry, baby, it was a stupid thing to say, wasn’t even thinking.” Baby, it’s the second time he’s called her that. She’s never anyone’s baby, they’re always hers, but she likes it now, coming from him, finding herself smiling into his touch.

“I don’t want you to call me Daisy.” His eyes soften, smile tempering as he nods.

“Ok, what should I call you?” She tells him her real name, and with it, the last shred of her professionalism dissolves, and she doesn’t care one bit. He says her name like he’s rolling a hard candy around in his mouth, slow sugar in each syllable before he presses a kiss between her brows, lips trailing down to catch hers in a sweet smack. 

“Can I see you again? And, definitively not as, um, as business?” It makes her laugh, how quickly he shifts between confidence and constraint. She likes both. 

“I would really really like that, Marcus. Am I giving you my number or are you giving me yours?” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, like he’s surprised she actually wants that, though he’s quick to catch himself, clearing his throat and smiling.

“Uh, both? Both is good, right?” They swap phones, and she can’t help thinking to herself that of course this man has a Blackberry, stifling a giggle as she types in her number. 

“Can I walk you to your car? It’s back at the club, right?” 

“Oh, I don’t have a car, actually. Just take the bus to get around.” He doesn’t seem to like that, lips pressing into a thin line as he looks at her.

“How about I get you home this morning? Would that be ok?” Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of getting into the car of a man she just met, but seeing as she’s already broken a dozen of her cardinal rules with him, she doesn’t think twice about getting into his sleek BMW that’s still parked outside the club. He keeps a palm splayed just above her knee, thumb idly swiping back and forth, a soothing lull as she gives him directions toward her apartment complex. She hates to admit it to herself, but she’s a bit reluctant to get out when he does pull up to her building, leaning over the console for a kiss that he willingly gives her. 

“So I’ll call you?” She lays a kiss to the small patch in his scruff, smiling against his skin when he lets out a huff.

“I’ll answer. Thank you, Marcus, for a really nice night, and morning.”

When she gets inside her apartment, she slumps back against the door, blowing out a long exhale and shaking her head.

“Fuck.” Her boss is going to kill her, but she doesn’t really care. 

[capnsupernova]

The Death of Batman

Four years. Four years since the streets of Gotham have seen Batman. Four years since the Justice League has seen Batman. Four years since the Robins have seen Batman.

And now he stands, in full gear, mask and cape and all, in front of a podium in broad daylight with a microphone in his face, surrounded by cameras. The audience is still. No one dares make a sound. No one dares ask why, after all this time, he is here now. No one dares to say it, but he’s different than they imagined he’d be. He is tall, yes, and his shoulders broad and sturdy enough to carry the whole weight of the world, but they see his weariness etched in the lines of his mouth, the only part of his face they have ever been able to see. For the first time, they see, not some cryptid of the night meting out justice, but a man. Just a man in a suit. No one dares say it, but he looks tired.

For a long time, he is silent.

When he does speak, his voice is softer than they expect—tinged with the first hints of age.

“I have watched this city for so long.”

The people of Gotham hold their breath.

“For so long, I have been your knight, your judge, your hero…. No, not your hero. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anyone’s hero.” He sighs and all the burdens of darkness and justice escape with his breath. “I am so tired.”

His enemies wait in the shadows. Everyone knows they’re there, waiting for an opportunity. Never has Batman announced his presence so publicly. Never has he handed himself so neatly to them, and with so many potential hostages and casualties around his stage. But they find themselves frozen. This is not the voice they know, not the gruff growl that haunts their nightmares. He is tired. They hear that, and this is familiar in a different way. They have all, villain and civilian alike, felt this exhaustion themselves. And so, they wait to see what he will say next.

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if I’ve ever done the right thing. My children are hurting. I have hurt my children.” His voice catches. He takes a moment, looks up at the sky, blue and cloudless and bright. “I just want them to come home.”

He pauses, head tilted upwards before looking back at the people of Gotham, people he saved, people he fought and locked away—all of them, in one way or another, people that he has tried to help. People he has tried to protect.

“The Batman,” he says, “is retiring.”

Somewhere, a pin drops, and the echoes reverberate around the world. No one notices, but in the crowd, among reporters, a tall, barrel-chested man with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses smiles. It’s a small smile, a twitch of the lips. He meets Batman’s eyes over the tops of the heads of Gotham’s citizens. He nods, barely perceptible, and the man behind the black mask stands just a little taller.

“That is all. Thank you.”

And just like that, Batman is gone. No one stops him as he walks off the stage. No one stops him as their Dark Knight, their strange and mysterious vigilante, disappears into the shadows and out of their lives forever.

--

The first to return is Jason. He knocks on the door with all the casual confidence of Gotham’s premier crime boss, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, eyes so green they may as well be glowing.

When Bruce opens the door, he looks the old man up and down. “I’m assuming my old room is still available?” His smile is half-cocked and arrogant as ever, but there’s uncertainty furrowed in the space between his brows. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t see it at all.

Bruce sees it. And of all the things Jason excepts—the door slammed in his face, all the security systems of Wayne manor targeting his chest and head, a lecture at the very least—what he doesn’t expect are the tears that well up in Bruce’s eyes. He doesn’t expect to be wrapped tightly in his strong arms, arms that feel so much smaller than he remembers.

“Oh my boy,” Bruce whispers into his chest. “Oh my sweet, strong boy. I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re home.”

And it’s too much. The man behind the red hood, the man who beat Tim within an inch of his life, the man who shot Damien in the back in an effort to kill his own pain, crumples. In his father’s arms he is reduced to that 15-year-old boy who died and came back to life. The 15-year-old boy who, after all this time, only ever wanted to come home.

--

The rest showed up one by one that very same day. Dick showed up first with Tim and Damien in tow, surprised—not that Jason was there—but that he had beat him home. Then Barbara, Duke, Stephanie. It wasn’t long before the house was full of every single Robin and Batgirl who ever passed through these halls. Draped over chairs and couches (or, in Dicks case, swinging from the chandelier in the foyer while Tim and Damien did their best to use him—unsuccessfully—as target practice).

Not much changed in Gotham, after that. The villains didn’t retire with Batman, just as they didn’t disappear with Batman four years ago. But neither were they given free reign of the city, for Batman had ensured so, so long ago that there would always be someone to protect his home and his people. Gotham would always have their symbols of hope, their bats of blue and red and green and purple and yellow. New symbols that filled the night with a rainbow of colors.

And when their work was done, they returned to the manor, where their father would dress their wounds, mend their capes, and make them heaping piles of pancakes and eggs (“Yes, Dami, you have to finish the eggs. I won’t have some villain getting the better of you because you don’t have enough protein in your system”) with bowls of fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice. Bruce was, at the very least, a better cook than Alfred had been.

Things weren’t perfect. There were wounds that couldn’t be healed with a simple hug and a few tears. Wounds that would take years of therapy and hard talks and patience to fully close over. Bruce never told them where he’d been for those four years, and they never asked. This was the beginning of something entirely new for all of them.

But for the first time since anyone could remember, the sun shined bright and warm over the city of Gotham.

--

Writer’s Note:

This is an idea I have debated with close friends—the retirement of Batman. The main issue boils down to this: what becomes of Gotham without their symbol of hope? And to me, the answer is simple. Nothing. Because Batman is no longer their only symbol of hope. He hasn’t been for a long time, since he first took in Dick Grayson, that colorful bird of a boy. I think, in all honesty, that this is the true purpose of the Robins. Maybe Bruce himself didn’t realize it at the time, but he always hoped for something brighter for Gotham than Batman. Bruce has always been a reflection of Gotham. “The hero they deserve.” In a way, by taking in each sidekick, he adds another possibility, not just for the people of Gotham, but for himself too. A brighter future. Isn’t this what we all hope for our children?

[sirowsky-stories]

Forward Luxation

Summary: You're recovering from a dislocated shoulder and have to go to a physical therapist. But getting there, you find nothing at all is what you'd expected, least of all the man in charge of your training.

Requested by @bilibiche

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x female reader, reader is not described at all, and yes, we're taking liberties with the fact that any visit to an expert in human functionality requires one to take their clothes off. Lots of sexual tension here. Word Count: 2750

   The waiting room is surprisingly cozy for a physical therapist’s office. Although you’ve never been to one before, so you don’t really have anything to compare it to. You’d just sort of imagined it being a bit like a dentist’s office, with the cheap magazines, plastic plants, beige curtains which haven’t been changed in five years, uncomfortable chairs and squeaky linoleum floors.    But this is nothing like that.

   You’re sitting in one of the four available really nice armchairs, each with a little coffee-table to the side, on top of which are no magazines but instead a selection of pamphlets with useful information about the most common muscle injuries and treatments, and phone numbers and websites to other reputable establishments where people can find help for all manner of problems, from yoga studios to psychologists.

   The wallpaper is cream white with a discreet floral pattern in the same color, but glossy against the matte base, and the curtains are a deep green which together with the wallpaper somehow gives the impression that you’re sitting in a park. Especially since the chairs have exposed wood along with the soft cushions, which are the same color green, with embroidered flowers in pale yellow. And you’re pretty sure they’re made entirely of silk.

   Even the coffee is fucking excellent.

   If not for the fact that you had to sign in at the front desk, confirming your appointment and even having to show your ID, before being shown in here, you would’ve thought for sure you were in the wrong place.    This all seems so much more expensive than what you could ever afford. You’re here courtesy of your insurance, so you don’t need to worry about the cost, but it still feels way too fancy for you.

   “Good morning,” a soft and pleasant voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your head to find a tall, fit, brown-eyed, ridiculously gorgeous man smiling at you.

   “Uh… g-good morning,” is all you manage in response, because he’s literally taken your breath away by just standing there.

   “My name’s Marcus, welcome to my rehabilitation center. If you’ll please follow me, we’ll get started with a quick exam,” he continues, giving no indication he’s noticed your flustered reaction as he politely steps to the side to indicate which direction you’ll be heading.

   Air floods back into your lungs when you start to move, getting up from the chair and falling in behind him, at which point, your brain starts working again.

   “You own this place?” you ask, jumping at the first topic to come to mind.

   “I do. I started this business eight years ago,” he replies, before reaching a room with a door already standing open, where he stops just outside and beckons for you to enter. “Does that surprise you?”

   “Well, no. I’m just a bit confused overall,” you admit.

   “Oh? How come?”

   “It’s just… My insurance company made it seem like it was a big deal to even get a spot here. That this is like, the best physical rehab center in the country. And then I get here and the only person I’ve seen is the receptionist.”

   “I see. You thought that such a prestigious establishment would have thirty employees and patients constantly coming and going?” he guesses, and you nod, feeling slightly embarrassed.

   But he’s smiling when he gestures for you to take a seat on the large examination table in the middle of the room, while he closes the door and then takes a seat on a mobile stool in front of you.    You note that the temperature in here is higher, and a moment later you realize that it’s probably because people need to undress for him to examine them properly, and suddenly you’re flustered again.

   “The reason why we’re considered one of the best, is precisely because we don’t take on more patients than what we can effectively handle, both from a managerial standpoint, and from a practical one.    Since it’s just me and David here, that means our slots are usually limited to five people per day. Obviously, I’m in charge of the actual therapy, while David handles the charts, bookings, contact with hospitals, insurance and so on.    These limitations enable us to work entirely stress-free with our patients, allowing each session to take almost however much time it requires, whether due to physical restrictions, or mental ones.”

   “Mental ones?” you repeat, getting slightly caught on the notion, since it seems misplaced to you.

   This is physical therapy, not psychological, right?

   “Bodily injuries often result in emotional distress, most of which only comes out when people are confronted with the consequences, which is essentially the heart of what we do here.”

   “So, you’re like a jack-of-all-trades kind of therapist, then?”

   “I suppose I am,” he agrees with a small chuckle. “Now, if you’re satisfied with our business model, we should get started.”

   “Sure,” you say entirely without confidence, feeling the hairs on your arms prickle with nervousness at the mere thought of potentially having to undress in front of this man.

   “Dislocated right shoulder. Forward luxation, if I remember correctly,” he recalls without looking at any charts or notes. “May I ask how it happened?”

   “Oh, I have horses,” you sigh, knowing he’s probably not gonna need much more explanation than that.

   And sure enough, he mirrors your sigh.

   “Ah, yes. That’ll do it. So, how long did you wait before calling for help?” he asks, crossing his arms over his waist with a knowing, although friendly, glare in his eyes.

   “About an hour.”

   His eyebrows shoot up at that, but he can’t seem to find the words at first. And as always, the moment you feel the slightest bit judged for your passion for horses, you get defensive.

   “I couldn’t just drop everything, I had two horses who were panicking because of a fucking snake, I had to get them into the stables.”

   “Yeah, okay, fair enough. How long did that take?” he prods, and you hesitate.

   Because you’ve had both of your horses since they were foals and you’ve trained them well enough that they always trust you, even when they’re scared, which is why it had only taken you a couple of minutes to get them into the stables that day.

   “I don’t have anyone who can help me,” you quietly explain. “I had to make sure they’d be okay if I had to be in hospital for a few days.”

   His expression softens then, but he’s not done investigating.

   “So, you went around hauling hay, probably some buckets of water, checking fences and gates… I assume you also made sure to get rid of the snake, only calling for help once you’d double-checked that you hadn’t missed anything.”

   “I didn’t call. I drove myself to the hospital,” you conclude, at which point Marcus seems to give up any notion that you’re a reasonable human being.

   “As impressive as it is that you were able to endure that kind of pain for so long, you do realize by delaying getting this injury corrected, you probably added another month to the rehab you’re gonna need? Which is only gonna keep you from working with your horses that much longer,” he admonishes, but he sounds concerned more than anything, which tugs at your heart because no one ever concerns themselves about you.

   “I know, but I was… scared,” you admit, surprising yourself, since you haven’t even admitted this to yourself yet. “I’ve never been seriously injured before, and I hate hospitals. I knew I had to go, I just… had to convince myself of it.”

   Unexpectedly, he smiles at you then.

   “Thank you. For being honest with me. That’s always a good start.” He looks so grateful and earnest as he meets your gaze, you struggle not to look away.

   “I know it might not seem like it, but I do want help. I’m just really crappy at asking for it or accepting it.”

   “Well then, you’ll be happy to know I’m stubborn as hell, and I don’t take no for an answer when I know I’m right.    Chances are, you’re gonna get amazingly irritated and sick of me before we’re done, but if you can trust me despite all that, I’ll get you well again,” he offers, and you struggle to believe you could ever get sick of such a wonderful person.

   “I’m not great with trusting people. But I’ll try.”

   “That’s all I can ask for.    Now, I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off so I can assess the mobility of your shoulder.”

   Well, that went from sweet to nerve-wracking in one fucking sentence…    Suddenly your pulse is pounding in your ears, but it’s not like you can refuse. At least, not if you want to regain full mobility.    Internally cursing yourself for wearing a t-shirt and not a top with thin straps of some sort, you start fumbling with the fabric, trying to get it off without causing yourself too much pain.

   He notices that you’re having a bit of trouble and steps around behind you to lift the shirt at the back, which is nice of him. Except that when his warm fingers brush against the bare skin of your neck, you involuntarily shiver, which he of course also notices.

   “Is it too cold in here?” he wonders. “I try to keep it warmer than the rest of the building, but if you need me to turn it up further-…”

   “No, no, I’m fine,” you interrupt him, feeling absolutely ridiculous at how strongly his mere presence affects you.

   “Alright, but just so you know, it’s no trouble. If there’s anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you, don’t hesitate to tell me,” he says, as he carefully starts to prod and examine your shoulder now that the shirt is off, and you’re abruptly having trouble breathing again with the sensation of his skin exploring yours.

   “Oh, you don’t want me to do that…” you think to yourself, while doing your best not to be self-conscious about your choice of bra for the day.

   “Why is that?”

   His mildly bemused and curious question makes you freeze, and as the realization hits you that you’d actually spoken out loud just now, panic floods your every cell in no time flat.    Wishing the ground would open and swallow you, or that lightning would hit you right now, you let your torso fall forwards and then brace your good elbow against your knee so that your hand can catch your head as it drops so heavily into your open palm that it feels like you’ve just slapped yourself.

   “I am so sorry,” you mumble, seriously wondering what the fuck is wrong with you, you don’t even know if the man’s single. “Please ignore me, I don’t get out much.”

   He’s quiet for a moment then, and in that short space of time, you manage to imagine several scenarios for how he’s probably about to scold you for behaving inappropriately.

   “Ah… You didn’t mean to say that out loud, did you?” he finally replies, and he still sounds only bemused, but it does nothing to rid you of your shame.

   “I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say, because that’s how you feel.

   “Hey, don’t feel bad, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re allowed to think whatever you want.”

   “Even if it’s totally objectifying and unethical?” you counter, and there’s another pause before you hear a low chuckle behind you.

   “Okay, now I’m really curious. What were you thinking?”

   “Never mind, just… continue your exam,” you hurriedly try to deflect, even more mortified by the prospect of having to own up to your completely premature infatuation with him.

   But instead of leaving it alone, he rounds the table until he’s in front of you again, taking a seat on his stool so he’s at your eye-level.

   “As previously discussed, I’ve got time. So, please, do tell me what you think would make you feel the most comfortable with me,” he grins, clearly fully aware that it’s gonna be something juicy, and almost childishly excited to know what it is.

   For the most part, humiliation runs off you relatively easily. But that’s also because you rarely stray out of your comfort zone, which revolves around horses, dogs, driving tractors and using power tools.    Still, on the rare occasions when you do manage to get yourself cornered, you generally suffer for a minute and then you find a way to shake it off.

   And on the super-rare occasions, such as this one, when you’re so far beyond mortified that you don’t even know how to get out of it, something else happens.    You become kinda angry and a bit feral.    The last time it had happened you’d ended up spending a night in jail, and you hadn’t even been drunk.

   You can feel that anger take control of your brain and you know you’re about to say something ill-advised, but there’s no stopping it.    Raising your head, you lock gazes with him and see him flinch at the abrupt shift in your expression.

   “Basically any scenario in which you’re butt naked and in my bed,” you hear yourself almost snarl, and somehow, there’s no shame accompanying the words.

   As crude and inappropriate as they are, it’s the truth, and it wipes the sweetly crooked little smile off his face in a hurry. Although his eyes remain alight and curious.

   “Somehow that’s not what I was expecting you to say,” he slowly observes, and you can’t help how your face falls, hearing that.

   “You and me both, darlin’,” you exhale, feeling the anger fade as the air leaves your lungs, and in its wake, only regret remains. “Maybe I should just go.”

   Standing, you reach for your shirt at the top of the table, but he stops you with a hand on yours, and when you turn to see what he’s doing, he’s suddenly very close.

   “I told you that if you can trust me, I’ll help you.    It might’ve been unintentional, but you were honest with me just now, even though you didn’t want to be, which is a good sign.”

   “Not really,” you protest, starting to feel smaller against his large frame, “I get like that sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed. I blurt things out with no filter, it’s not a choice.”

   “It was still the truth, wasn’t it?” he persists, and you can’t deny it, so you nod. “Okay then, we have a baseline, so let’s build on it rather than abandon it.    I suggest we start with today’s session, and when we’re done, we make dinner reservations for this weekend.”

   You’re so unprepared for that last part, your mouth falls open and your mind goes completely blank for way too long. Like a damned fish, you just stand there, staring at him while his hand still holds yours, gently prying your shirt from it before he motions for you to take your seat again.    Grateful to be guided, since you still can’t think for yourself, you follow his directions and before long, the exam is done and he’s helping you get dressed.

   From there, he shows you out into the gym where he meticulously instructs you on which exercises to do and how often, making you swear not to overdo them.    And you might be imagining it, but you feel like he jumps on any excuse to touch you, holding your waist to make sure your core musculature doesn’t move when it’s not supposed to, or physically redirecting your hips when you’ve unknowingly turned them, even though he could’ve just told you to correct it yourself.

   When you’re done for the day, he takes you back to the exam room where he makes a few notes about how the session went and what you’ve agreed on.

   “Again, no lifting hay, grain, or heavy buckets,” he reiterates for what has to be the tenth time, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

   “I heard you the first nine times.”

   “And you’re still not gonna listen to me, are you?”

   “I live alone with two horses and two dogs, I make no promises, one way or the other.”

   “I’m just gonna have to tie you to the bed then,” he says without a hint of a joke in his voice, before he reaches for a calendar on his desk. “But, dinner first.    How does six o’clock on Friday sound?”

THE END

[eggedbellies]

This is an idea I’ve RPd with people (and would love to again if anyone wanted to…) and i just cannot stop thinking about.

The idea of men, instead of carrying seminal fluid and sperm in their testicles, carried eggs. They’re small and unfertilized, but must be spent every month or they’ll grow larger and potentially cause complications. Public sex and public laying of these eggs has become acceptable.

You meet a guy on a dating website, purely for sex. He comes over, and soon thereafter you’re making out on the couch and he comes clean. He reveals a massive set of testicles, full of eggs, likely from 3 or 4 months of build up. He came over with the intention of filling you up with them. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and before you know it you’re being bent over your kitchen counter with his cock in your pussy.

It’s not long before he pauses, a groan on his lips as eggs start pouring out of him. You can feel them, one by one, as they stretch you passing through him. Your hand cradles your belly as it slowly grows with the eggs being placed inside. By the time he’s done (and you’ve cum a time or two) you have the belly of a 4 month pregnancy. You exchange numbers and he walks away.

About a week or two later, the eggs have grown and grown. You’re waddling around with the belly of a 10 month pregnancy with triplets. You feel the sexiest you have ever felt. But, the time has come to lay your eggs.

You go to a public park, set up underneath a tree in the back, and strip. You’re completely naked, legs spread open, and start to push. The eggs come one after one, much larger than when they went into you. By the time you’re done, you’ve laid 30 unfertilized eggs. A small crowd has gathered to watch you, some men slowly rubbing their cocks. And among the crowd is the man who put the eggs inside of you in the first place, ready to put another clutch in you right then and there.

(I held onto this one a while just to keep reading it ngl. god.)

I'd heard of men who did this. It had never held much interest to me, before; sure, I'd been tempted, now and again, in a few relationships, to take their eggs - but I was always a little shy. And I always had work, or maybe personal hangups... maybe that was why I'd never held a relationship for long. And those strange guys, the ones who liked their balls being packed and tender, who wanted to stretch people out... I'd never really understood until I met him.

And they'd looked so good on him, so heavy and full. Slapping against my clit with each thrust. The stretch, god, I'd never felt anything like it, and with the noises he and I were making, it felt like animal breeding. He must have loved it as much as me. How my shirts didn't fit quite right, forced to wear loose jumpers until I could get some maternity wear, the fascinated stares of people clearly wondering how I could possibly be so late term and yet not have them already...

I'm glad it's summer, because even my normal tops are rapidly becoming crop tops. It's hard work to heft my body about. Everything has widened to help with the weight. People come over and ask how far in I am and I try to be vague but not moan whenever they ask to rub and feel the clutch (and I can't help but say yes.)

As the last egg is popping out, and bystanders come to help scoop up the clutch, offer to call my partner, take me to the hospital, whatever I need, I shake my head. I know what I need. Call him from the crowd. There are murmurs, of course, but my body is still shaking with pleasure. We drop the clutch off. Waddle home. Pin him to the wall, all mouth and tongue, biting at skin and clutching at each other, drag him upstairs... and grasp his cock firmly.

Before clipping the cage around it.

Because these last few weeks, I realised just how good that felt. And I grin, even as his eyes widen in alarm. "How long did you wait last time?" I whisper against his neck. "Four months." he murmurs back. "I think we can wait for six." I grin, stroking his balls, before stepping back and admiring how good the cage looks on his thick cock. "Then we can see how big I can really get, hm?"

[twistedtummies2]

Top 6 Epic Mickey Characters

Today is the release of the new “Rebrushed” Edition of a game I loved a ton growing up: “Epic Mickey.” I was OBSESSED with this game when it came out way back in 2010, and at the time it came out, it was treated as a big deal! There was a ton of merchandising and advertisement for this title, more so than you would get for most Disney games, and it’s not hard to see why: the game promised to provide a different kind of adventure for Mickey Mouse, with a darker tone and a focus on more obscure Disney characters and old cartoons. Nowadays, in hindsight, I feel the game could have gone even further than it did (and, apparently, the creators WANTED it to go further than it did, but either due to budget constraints, corporate meddling, or a bit of both, they couldn’t), but I still have a huge soft spot for it. It’s probably my favorite thing to feature Mickey Mouse as a heroic character, and it still has a notable cult following. Ironically for a game that focused on the obscure and the forgotten, the game itself sort of faded into obscurity for a while; despite the release of two sequels (namely a console follow-up called “Power of Two,” and a portable spin-off called “Power of Illusion”), the franchise sort of fizzled out pretty quickly, and for a long time it was seen as naught but an unusual footnote in the history of Disney and its presence in gaming. To celebrate the return of this game to store shelves (and, I believe, online distribution), I decided to do a quick rundown of my Top 6 characters from the games. Why Top 6, you may ask? Simple: because after six, it all gets kerbobbled. It’s harder for me to choose and rank characters beyond that point, simply because who I favor among them changes depending on my mood and how recently I’ve revisited portions of the game. My Top 6, however, have consistently been my Top 6 - both in terms of choices and ranking - pretty much from day one, and I don’t think will ever change, so they’re the ones I feel most comfortable discussing. Also, I’m going to attempt to avoid spoilers with this list, so I’m going to keep focused as much as possible on the first game, with less emphasis on the sequels. (Fortunately, all six characters appear in the first game, though some of the Honorable Mentions are from later titles.) I'll also try to avoid giving away too many of the twists in the plot, for those who will be playing Epic Mickey for the first time via this Rebrushed Edition. With that said, let’s dive into the Wasteland! These are My Top 6 Favorite Characters from Epic Mickey!

6. Pete.

What many people may not realize about Mickey’s famed arch-enemy is that Pete is actually the single longest-lasting recurring Disney character in history. Pete doesn’t just predate Mickey himself, he even predates Oswald the Lucky Rabbit: the character first showed up as a recurring villain in the silent animation/live-action hybrid “Alice Comedies,” with his first appearance dating back to 1925. That’s a whole three years before Mickey, and two years before Oswald! It’s therefore not entirely surprising to see Pete in the Wasteland, especially since the character has had so many different guises and roles throughout his long history…a fact that Epic Mickey takes humorous advantage of. You see, there isn’t just ONE Pete in the Epic Mickey universe. Oh, no. There are no less than FOUR. “Pete Prime” (the one picture here) is Big Bad Pete, who appears to be the town sheriff of Mean Street. Next there’s Small Pete, who lives in the Gremlin Village and is comically dressed up like a little Dutch girl doll. Then there’s Petetronic, who is basically what you’d get if Pete cosplayed as Commander Sark and is the head of Tomorrow City. Finally, there’s Pete Pan: a parody of Peter Pan who flies around Ventureland, mostly spending his time annoying the Wasteland’s version of Captain Hook. Interestingly, most of these Petes seem to be relatively nice characters, rather than real menaces to toon society…but be careful: a character with such a long and checkered past may not always be trustworthy.

5. Gremlin Gus.

Of all the characters left stranded and forgotten in the Wasteland, the Gremlins are easily the most obscure of the bunch. The characters were conceived in the mind of Roald Dahl - the author best known for his works of children’s literature, such as “The BFG” and “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Dahl wrote a story simply called “The Gremlins” that was going to be transformed into a Disney movie…but for various reasons, the film never came to pass. The book itself has fallen into utter obscurity, and the scrapped project is largely unknown by even the most ardent Disney fans: I, myself, only knew of the Gremlins prior to Epic Mickey because of a paper ad for a re-release of the book in the early 2000s. In “Epic Mickey,” however, the Gremlins are a major part of the universe: since the movie was never really a thing, and the book is so little-known nowadays, the creators of the game were able to create their own twist on the Gremlins unique to this world. They are essentially the custodians of the Wasteland, performing a variety of jobs and services to keep the place ship-shape. The most prominent of them all is their leader, Gus. Gremlin Gus is a sort of “Papa Smurf” figure for the Gremlins, and acts as Mickey’s guide through the games, providing bits of advice and various hints along the rodent’s journey. Think of him along the lines of the Cheshire Cat from the American McGee’s Alice games, or one of Link’s many companions (such as Navi, Midna, or Fi) from The Legend of Zelda. In the first game, the vocal effects for Gremlin Gus were provided by veteran voice actor Bob Joles. In “Power of Two,” Gus was given a proper speaking voice, provided by none other than the Dread Pirate Roberts himself, Cary Elwes…and I can’t help but think such casting is why they perhaps gave Gus a few TOO MANY lines in the sequel, buuut that’s another story for another time.

4. Mickey Mouse.

I debated whether or not to give Mickey a place in the ranks of his own, for various reasons, but after some deliberation…yeah. I think he’s earned it in this case. As I said in the preamble, this is probably my favorite thing made to feature Mickey himself, and Mickey is part of that. This is one of those rare occasions where the premise of the story largely results from Mickey’s own actions and inactions, rather than the machinations of some other scoundrel: it is due to Mickey’s own foolery that the Phantom Blot and the Thinner Disaster are created. It is due to Mickey’s popularity that Oswald and several other characters in the Wasteland are forgotten to begin with. Now, Mickey has to essentially remember and salvage the very things that are in ruin because of him. The game plays around with this idea of saving and destroying through its chief mechanic: the magic paintbrush Mickey uses can destroy things by shooting streams of hyper-acidic thinner, or create through use of an enchanted paint. Different obstacles can be overcome by different uses of the two tools, and some can be dealt with in multiple ways: choice is a key factor of Mickey’s story, as well as the player. Originally, the game makers wanted to go even further with this idea, with the player’s decisions making Mickey more good or more evil throughout the story, but while the final result may be toned down from their initial schemes, I think it still works brilliantly. Mickey is still the fun-loving hero we all recognize, but there’s that little bit of mischief and extra depth to the character present because of this idea of choice and the way he’s depicted. The sequels continued these ideas, with choice remaining a major part of the story in “Power of Two” once more, and paint and thinner still being equally useful in “Power of Illusion.” Bottom line: move over, Kingdom Hearts. THIS is how you make Disney’s most recognizable rodent into an action-ready gaming star.

3. The Phantom Blot.

This character is the main antagonist of the original Epic Mickey, and has been referred to by multiple names: Shadow Blot, Storm Blot, King Blot, or simply “The Blot.” Whatever you call this character, I’ll always refer to him as “The Phantom Blot,” since that is who the character basically is meant to be. In Disney comics and cartoons, the Blot has been an enemy of Mickey Mouse for many years - dating back to the 1940s, in fact. Typically, he’s depicted as a campy supervillain; a costumed criminal mastermind garbed in an inky cloak and cowl. However, in “Epic Mickey,” the Blot is reimagined as something far more monstrous: a creature made of ink, accidentally formed by Mickey when he meddled with some magic in Yen Sid’s workshop, the Blot is the cause of all the misery going on in the Wasteland. This Blot eventually turns out to be bigger than a castle, and able to send out swarms of “bloticles” to literally drain the life from the Wasteland. The Blot is intelligent, but not complex: he has no purpose other than to destroy, and longs to take Mickey’s heart, since only toons with hearts can leave the Wasteland. With that power, he can venture forth and continue to devour other worlds of their energy and life. I had heard of the Phantom Blot before Epic Mickey, but I really didn’t know much about the character: this radical reinvention, for a kid, was quite the introduction. And while I’ve since looked into the ACTUAL Phantom Blot and found great joy in his exploits, I still enjoy this reimagining. In my opinion, the Blot is one of the best video game villains of all time; more a force of cruel nature than anything else, he is a terrifying beast few players will ever forget.

2. The Mad Doctor.

So, here’s something interesting to note: out of all the “forgotten” characters featured in Epic Mickey, I actually knew almost all of them when the game came out. Some of them I knew pretty well, others I didn’t but I had at least heard of before the game’s release. The one exception to this rule was this guy: the Mad Doctor. The Doc was the titular antagonist of the Mickey Mouse cartoon “The Mad Doctor” from 1933 - one of the few Disney cartoons that’s actually managed to fall into the public domain. Many consider it to be one of the darkest Mickey cartoons ever made, and in “Epic Mickey,” the infamous mad scientist has not mellowed much with age. It’s explained that the Mad Doctor, when he first came to the Wasteland, was seemingly a friendly figure, and became an ally to Oswald. He was considered one of Oswald’s best friends, in fact. However, it’s ultimately revealed that the Mad Doctor was always just as wicked as he was in the cartoon; biding his time till he could make a grab for power. When the Blot came to the Wasteland, in the wake of the Thinner Disaster, the Mad Doctor turned on the good people of the kingdom, creating an army of cartoon cyborgs called “Beetleworx” (part toon, part machine) to help conquer everything. There’s a lot more I could say about the Mad Doctor that makes him interesting - especially in regards to the sequel games and a few twists in the launch title - but since I’m trying to avoid spoilers, I think it’s best I save a lot of that for another time. Suffice it to say, this was a great introduction to a great villain and a great cartoon, and I’m glad that Epic Mickey was able to give a little bit more attention to the Mad Doctor for modern audiences.

1. Oswald the Lucky Rabbit.

Oswald was the main reason I got so interested in Epic Mickey so long ago, and was, in fact, more or less the reason the game happened to begin with. One of Walt Disney’s earliest creations, Oswald - who was the inspiration for not only Mickey himself, but also Bugs Bunny of WB fame in real-life - was the world’s first major cartoon star. After copyright issues led to Walt Disney breaking away from Universal Studios, and forming his own company, Oswald rapidly declined in popularity, and eventually pretty much vanished off the face of the Earth. In the real world, when Disney bought the rights to Oswald back from Universal many years later, this immediately transitioned into using him in a big (marketable) way, which led to the idea of Epic Mickey. Warren Spector (head of the team behind the game) became interested the instant Oswald was mentioned, being a huge animation buff, and as production went on, Oswald became a richer and richer character. In early concepts of the game’s story, he was actually going to be one of the main villains of the story, but by the time the game came out, he had transformed into the secondary protagonist. In the fictional story of the games, Oswald is the ruler of the Wasteland…but unlike others who are more or less happy with their existence, Oswald’s feelings of dejection have steadily consumed him. He is portrayed as Mickey Mouse’s long-lost brother; he resents the fame and fortune Mickey got, while he was basically left to rot. He is so obsessed that he creates a place called Mickeyjunk Mountain, where he spends countless hours brooding over his failures and his lost family, surrounded by remnants of Mickey’s fame that span decades; everything from bubble gum machines to NES game cartridges. The adventure in the Wasteland gives Mickey a chance to not only connect with his past and save the world, but to reconnect with and save Oswald, too. It’s the relationship between Oswald and Mickey, beyond all else, that makes the games so powerful, and Frank Welker - who provided Oswald’s vocal effects/voice in all the games - gives probably one of my favorite performances in his entire career. And keep in mind, this is the guy who played characters like Megatron, Garfield, Mr. Mxyzptlk, Fred AND Scooby from various takes on Scooby-Doo, and more “creature voices” than you can shake a stick at. To call this among his best is saying a LOT. For both his fictional prominence and historical significance, it’s no surprise that I name Oswald the Lucky Rabbit as My Favorite Epic Mickey Character. Case closed.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

The Three Little Pigs.

Horace Horsecollar.

Gremlin Prescott.

Clarabelle Cow.

Captain Hook.

[cocogum]

My honest reactions of episodes 5 and 6 (part 2)

PART 1 : HERE

(‼️ SEASON 4 SPOILERS ‼️)

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Okay I just HAD to devote the full Alibert inn scene from episode 5 here CUZ WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT YUGO GOING BACK TO EMELKA!! I know I already mentioned Chibi and Grougal (as well as the tree Tofu tower) in part 1 but part 2 will basically be about all the rest of the inn scene cuz tumblr couldn’t let me have more than ten images per post (I know the site apparently lets u have more but I always use the phone for it so shush.)

But first, we finally get to see Alibert again after all those years 💕

Alibert. Sweetie. Baby. You can take care of two (technically four) kids with the addition of a freaking INN, you COOK for the customers, AND, ON TOP OF ALL THAT, you’re the MAYOR of EMELKA, that same place where you run the inn and take care of your adopted sons.

You do much more than just “taking care of an inn”, you got three jobs AND you’re still sane. You’re three in one, a whole package, props to you king. He’s such a boss ass man I love him 💕💕

NAH MAN

Not these ppl trying to avoid the inflation 😭😭 I don’t blame them tho. I would’ve said the same thing lol.

(Also is the wine a call back to Gustavio? Plz it would be so funny if the reason why Alibert is angry is cuz these ppl are saying how “bad” it is just so the prices can stay the same but also because he’s mad that they’re calling Gustavio’s wine “disgusting” even if they were all just trying to make him not raise the prices!)

Love how Yugo doesn’t say that same shit to Ruel after all those years of cooking for his ass and never getting anything from him.

Like even the whole Brotherhood calls Ruel a “cheapskate” but the only time where we see Yugo say that same shit is when he says that to his own CUSTOMERS?!?

Gurl bye Yugo’s such a silly little hypocrite!! 😭😭

OMG THE WHOLE FAMILY’S BACK TOGETHER!!

Adamaï get your stupid lizard ass over here.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen these two just laughing and hugging like this 💕💕💕

Also, Ankama tried being very slick with Az and his wife.

Nah cuz how can you not see these two and not think about Yugo and Amalia?? Does the thought never come to mind or what??

They literally give off the same energy, how did no one say anything before???!!?

THESE LITTLE TOFUS ARE OBVIOUSLY A SILLY PARALLEL TO THESE TWO AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.

Okay now the next part of the Alibert inn scene is very important to me so listen.

Recently, I came scrolling on @moths-are-better’s recent posts about Yugo and I came up on the one where he drinks the “milk” that was in the cup in the scene below.

But like-

@moths-are-better STOP LYING TO YOURSELF THIS IS CLEARLY WINE!!!

Look at all the other people drinking in the inn before they left: they all had that same kind of cup, insinuating that they were drinking wine (and also cuz they confirmed it was wine while trying to avoid any possible future inflations with Alibert).

I just love how Ankama deliberately shows us small scenes like this to remind us that Yugo can do adult things even though he looks like a kid. Because THIS is one of those scenes! Just look at how Alibert quietly pulls the cup of wine away from Yugo as soon as the guy starts ranting about his problems.

That’s clearly not milk lol I just love your delusions @moths-are-better 💕💕

But not only did this scene made me realize that nothing can stop Yugo from doing adult things despite how he looks, it also helped me realize that Yugo is the type to only drink when he’s having problems. We clearly see him about to drink more while ranting to Alibert before he carefully pulls the wine away from Yugo cuz he KNOWS Yugo would drink more just for that.

That level of attention to detail is amazing and I’m so glad I managed to catch up to the hints early on.

Alibert be looking like Yugo’s bartender AND therapist in just that moment alone lol

Ngl I would’ve loved to see a drunk Yugo if he had been able to drink more before Alibert intervened.

‼️ EVERYONE ‼️

👏 BE👏 LIKE 👏 ALIBERT 👏 ❤️❤️

This is making me wanna have kids too man….

His caring and calming attitude towards Yugo and the way he just treats him, cares for him, and acts like a responsible parent during all these years really makes me wanna do the same thing someday. Alibert is so good at his job(s) that he’s even beating a freaking goddess. Let that sink in. (actually any good parent like Alibert would beat the Eliatrope goddess’ parenting easily lol)

Alibert is genuinely so sweet, patient, thoughtful, and understanding of Yugo. Like even though he just heard Yugo say he finally found his true family, Alibert doesn’t take his words as insults and would rather just let him spill out all of his words to him.

When I said I missed these two like this, I really meant it. This inn is not only where Yugo was raised in but it’s also Yugo’s comfort place.

My ass knows this is foreshadowing.

It just knows.

Older Yugo where u at? We need to talk.

Ankama’s gonna ruin this family and laugh about it while eating some croissants.

[janeiteoftheslums]

At The Gold Saucer, Aerith Is Still Pining For Zack

SE baited us so hard with that last trailer, I can’t stop giggling.

At first, I didn’t know what to think. Romantically coded clips of Aerith clinging to Cloud—a very stoic and grumpy-looking Cloud, I might add—interspersed with him gawping at her on stage as she “sings” a love ballad about fate and destiny? Isn’t that a bit… tacky? One wonders if SE is trying to make two of their most popular characters look like total scumbags. Why is Aerith, fully aware that her new friends Cloud and Tifa have feelings for each other, getting waaaaay too cozy with Cloud? And is Cloud somehow complicit in what seems to be a flagrant betrayal of both Tifa and Zack?

Of course, we know exactly who’s been gobbling it up. Convinced that Hollow is about Cloud longing to be with Aerith, they’ve wasted no time in appropriating “No Promises To Keep” as Aerith’s answer to Cloud.

The trailer does give the impression there’s something going on between those two; and, obviously, that was deliberate.

But when you take a closer look at the lyrics that are sung after the trailer, an entirely different picture emerges.

Till the day when we meet again

In our place

Just let me believe

In the church

Know that you’ll take my hand

And never let me go

Take my hand

And believe we can be

Together evermore

Did you catch that?

In OUR PLACE.

In the CHURCH.

I know that in general, theme songs aren’t meant to be interpreted line by line, but this is VERY specific.

Now unless you’ve bought into the rampant lies and delusions about Hollow, you should immediately know who Aerith is singing about. Who spent “a lot of time” with her in that church, according to the devs? Who, when he first saw her face, thought he was in heaven and called her an angel? Whom did she embrace to comfort him? To whom did she first speak the words, “I’d like to spend more time with you”, in that very same church?

(Hint: not the other guy who crashed through the roof 7 years later wearing the same sword and spent more time with Reno than with Aerith during the brief time they were there together.)

It’s not all that hard to figure out.

The ones who still refuse to see what SE has been beating us over the heads with since Chapter 8 of Remake—they’ve got it coming. They’ve already set themselves up for this. I’ve seen them comparing Cloud’s expression in Remake’s red dress reveal to this one below, where he’s supposedly lovestruck as he watches her sing.

And since now we know there will be four different Gold Saucer dates, just like OG, these are both from OPTIONAL scenes. What else is new?

The devs were obviously trolling big time with that over-the-top scene, with the red carpet and the crowd and the fireworks, and now they’re doing it again, this time on an even grander scale. Aerith is the star of the show, singing on stage, garbed in a pure white princess dress, standing amid showers of yellow flowers.

Follow the yellow flowers.

Reunion.

Till the day when we meet again…

And if Aerith is singing about how she wants to be with Zack at the Gold Saucer, moments before the infamous gondola ride that’s been trumpeted for decades as proof she fell for Cloud—or the Zack-colored version of Cloud, as most of us understand he wasn’t truly himself—then that tacky montage we saw in the trailer can’t possibly be what it appears to be.

This is new. Aerith is now not only explicitly but extravagantly shown to be still pining for her first love at this point in the story. She’s NOT moving on, even if she’s convinced herself she’s trying to. Or perhaps she’s “giving up” again, as she lamented to Cloud in the Language of Flowers scene.

So what’s really going through Aerith’s head as she’s reaching for Cloud? What are we supposed to think of her? What other developments have happened in Rebirth to lead up this point—say, for example, in Gongaga? We’ll have to wait for rest of the game to get the full context of these clips—which, again, are most likely from optional scenes—but I’m convinced they’ll be overlaid so heavily with the specter of Zack that no one with a shred of honesty could possibly conclude Cloud is being portrayed as Aerith’s true love.

What all this amounts to, basically, is more of the same fake, superficially romantic scenes we got in Remake. The bridal catch. Them being on a “date”. Wall Market sleaze calling them a couple. I absolutely hate it, but the way this is looking, Cait Sith might still have something to say this time around.

And what about Cloud? Again, the same as Remake. She pushes herself into his space, and he’s kind (or bewildered) enough to tolerate her closeness, but his face is an open book. He’s not having a good time.

Don’t forget: Crisis Core Reunion was stated to be part of the FF7 Remake project. The devs wanted everyone to play that game in order to fully appreciate what’s coming in Rebirth. And a central feature of that game was Zack and Aerith’s blossoming relationship and the tragic way it was cut short. Not only that, but Zack’s character profile for Rebirth states he’s trying to return to his “love”, Aerith. They didn’t do all this for no reason.

Remember the last scene of Remake? The first notes of Hollow play as rain falls on the cracked earth at Cloud’s feet, exactly the way Nobuo Uematsu describes his inspiration for the song. Then Zack appears, with the visual of his face interposed directly between Cloud and Aerith.

Just as in the first game, that image is going to hover over every scene with the two of them in Rebirth. Just as their “date” in Remake wasn’t about Aerith falling for Cloud but missing Zack, Aerith’s Gold Saucer date is going to have similar overtones. Their brief time together is not the love story some are bent on interpreting it as. And we shouldn’t fall for it, either.

In spite of the way they shaded her in Remake, of which booby-trapping Cloud in her house was just one instance, I’m not willing to believe SE is out to utterly destroy Aerith’s character. I don’t think most of her fans deserve that. But they do seem to be going out of their way to make a certain ship look really, really bad.

And for those who still insist on pretending, against all odds, that ship is actually going to sail? They’re in for a massive shock.

Take a moment to let this sink in. The THEME SONG for Final Fantasy Rebirth is a love song from Aerith to Zack, yearning to be reunited with him, promising him he’ll find her. And it’s performed by the amazing Loren Allred, who first dazzled us with her stunning vocals in The Greatest Showman (let’s try to forget for the moment that, most frustratingly, she sounds nothing like Aerith’s English VA and it’s futile to hope the in-game performance, if she does in fact supply Aerith’s actual singing voice, will be the least bit believable). This is more than any Zerith fan ever dreamed we’d be given. It’s positively glorious.

More than once in the past few months, it’s been confirmed that the end of the FF7R trilogy will fall in line canonically with the events of Advent Children, with Zack and Aerith in the Lifestream, “together evermore”. We have to get there somehow, to that point where they joke about “adopting” Cloud and walk off, side by side, to say their final goodbye. I can’t wait to see their reunion!

[magicfootballstuff]

Price Tag (alessia russo x reader)

Summary: When Manchester United sign you for big money, it takes you a while to settle in. Luckily you have Alessia by your side to help you overcome your worries that you’re not worth the price they paid for you. 

———

You were one of the signings of the summer. 

You weren’t specifically looking for a move to the WSL - there was still a year left on your contract at PSV and you’re young enough that you figured there was no harm in waiting out that year before considering a move abroad. 

But then Manchester United came in with a big offer that neither you nor your old club could turn down and suddenly you were making all the headlines.

You’re mostly used to the pressure. You’re only twenty-one but you’ve been hailed as a star since you broke into the youth sides of the Dutch national team at the age of fourteen and already have nearly thirty senior caps to your name. An article that was published when you were sixteen called you ‘the next Vivianne Miedema’ and you’ve had a spotlight on you ever since. Until now, you’ve found it pretty easy to ignore the outside eyes and just focus on being the best footballer you can possibly be. 

But having your worth printed in black and white in every major sports column around Europe is a different kind of pressure.

You’re eased into the team gradually but your first few appearances are shaky. For the first time in your career you feel the need to prove yourself and it shows in the way you play. Gradually you get used to the style of play and what Marc wants from you, your nerves settle and you start more games. When you go through your stats with the trainers, it’s all good - you’ve got high rates for dribbles and tackles, you’ve created lots of chances and even got a couple of assists.

The one statistic you’re not happy with and the one that matters most is that your goal tally still stands at zero. Four months and still nothing. It’s not helped by the fact that everyone keeps saying that Manchester United have goal scorers all over the pitch, and they’re right. Maya bags two on her debut, the other new signings have all got at least a couple to their name, even defenders like Ona and Millie have scored. But you, the player with the biggest price tag, haven’t got a single one.

You try to put that right in the only way you know how - by practising long after everybody else has gone inside to get changed.

And that’s where Alessia finds you today, kicking ball after ball into the net on one of the training pitches.

“Hey,” Alessia greets you. She’s freshly showered and changed back into her normal clothes, and she continues, “I was wondering where you’d got to. A few of us are going out for lunch if you’re interested?”

You appreciate the invitation, but you can eat later. This is more important.

“Thanks, but I need to keep practising,” you reply.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody work as hard as you,” Alessia comments.

“Doesn’t matter how hard I work in training if there’s no end result in the game,” you respond, sending another football flying into the top corner of the net with a thwack of your boot against the leather.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Forget I said anything.”

Alessia hesitates as if she wants to probe further, but instead says, “Okay, well we’re leaving for lunch in about ten minutes. If you change your mind, just let me know and I’ll wait for you.

“Thanks,” you reply, keeping your gaze straight ahead as you fire the final ball into the net, before walking towards the goal to collect the balls for another round of shots. You can feel Alessia’s eyes burning into the back of your  head as you kick the balls back out to the edge of the eighteen yard box, but by the time you’ve collected them all, she’s already on her way back towards the main building.

———

The game against Everton ends goalless. You’re fuming, mostly with yourself. You played the first eighty minutes until you were subbed off and you had at least four or five chances to put the ball in the back of the net. Sure, the opposition goalkeeper pretty much had the game of her life, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to do better in front of goal.

You barely listen to Marc in the huddle after the game, and once he’s finished talking and dismisses you all, you can’t get off the pitch quick enough.

As you head inside, you lash out with your feet at an empty water bottle, sending the plastic clattering across the floor of the dressing room and startling a couple of your teammates in the process.

“Hey,” Alessia says, snaking a protective arm around your waist as she enters the changing room behind you, though it feels like her touch is to protect your surroundings from your temper more than anything else. “You’re not to blame for today’s result.”

“I could’ve scored,” you growl, as you sit down and start removing your boots and socks. “I had the chances. I should’ve fucking scored.”

“There were eleven of us on that pitch and none of the rest of us scored either,” Alessia points out with a shrug, sitting down beside you. “We’re all responsible for this, not just you.”

You don’t understand why she’s so nonchalant about the result. You were top of the league going into today’s match, now you’ve dropped vital points in a game that you should have won. It feels like the kind of game you’re going to look back on in a couple of months and think what if?

“Shooting practice tomorrow girls,” Mary jokes loudly, as she enters the dressing room and drops her gloves onto the bench.

You want to retaliate, maybe to throw your balled up socks at Mary or at the very least tell her to piss off, but something about Alessia’s presence at your side, her hand reaching out to touch your leg, stops you from lashing out.

———

Social media is a terrible place. You’re normally pretty good at blocking out the outside noise but when you’re already feeling shit and looking for any excuse to wallow deeper in self-pity, you go searching for the negative comments that just reinforce the idea that you’re not good enough.

It starts when the Manchester United social media pages post a clip of you from the Everton game. With no goals to shout about, they post a video of you twisting your way through two defenders and nutmegging a third as you pass the ball to Alessia on the edge of the box.

The comments are mostly positive - a few hearts and flame emojis and one person comparing you to a hurricane with the way you tore apart almost the entire Everton defence in the space of a few seconds, but then one comment in particular catches your eye.

Shame she can’t score. 

After that you get sucked into a downward spiral, actively seeking out the negative opinions of fans who reaffirm how you’ve been feeling recently.

Not worth the hype or the price we paid for her

Imagine spending that much on a striker who can’t score goals!

She needs benching. Not good enough to start for United!

We spent all that money and still drew against Everton 

And so it continues. 

Alessia finds you half an hour later, still dressed in your training top and shorts, sitting on the floor of the shower room as the water cascades over you.

You’d already been feeling very low, but now you can add embarrassment at being caught like this on top of your misery.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Alessia asks, rushing over to turn the shower off, before crouching down beside you. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I think I need to leave United,” you announce dramatically. 

“What? Why? What’s brought this on?”

“I’m not good enough. They spent a lot of money to bring me in and I bottle it every time I’m in front of goal. I’m not bringing anything to the team, the fans don’t like me…”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you there,” interjects Alessia. “You’re an amazing footballer. You’re fast, you don’t stop running until the whistle blows, some of the passes you see are just ridiculous. Do you remember my goal in the last cup game? Your assist for that was one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen. Don’t forget that you’re still young and this is your first season in a new league. For someone still adapting, I think you’re doing an amazing job.”

“It’s been five months and I still haven’t scored a goal.”

“Your goals will come, I promise. Something tells me that when you start scoring, you’re not going to be able to stop. Until then, just keep doing what you’re doing, working hard in training and showing the world how amazing you are.”

“The fans don’t think that,” you mumble.

“Is that what this is about?” Alessia asks, raising her eyebrows. “When I scored in the Euro semi final last summer, the first thing that went through my mind was ‘Thank god I scored that because otherwise people would crucify me for missing the first shot’. And do you know what? There were still people who ignored the goal and criticised me for missing a sitter. There’ll always be people who think you’re not good enough but are you really going to listen to anonymous people on the internet? There’s a reason why United wanted to sign you, a reason why Marc keeps playing you. You bring so much to this team. Plus, I think you’re pretty great. Does that count for anything?”

You shrug, Alessia’s words doing a little to lift you out of your total despair.

The wet clothes clinging to your body are cold, and you can’t help shivering. 

“Shit, you’re freezing,” Alessia says, when she notices you shudder. “Let’s get you dry, then I’m taking you out for food. My treat. Then tomorrow, if you really want, I’ll stay late with you after practice and we’ll do some shooting together. Okay?”

You let Alessia help you to your feet and she drapes a towel around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Less,” you say, through chattering teeth.

———

The international break comes at a good time. You’ve been playing alongside some of these girls for over seven years, you know your role and the style of play as well as you know your own name. You don’t have to worry about proving yourself and it helps - you get three goals and an assist across two games.

Alessia texts you after both games, despite being busy with her own training and matches for the Lionesses. She forwards you a clip of one of your goals - one where you receive the ball with your back to the goal, spin past a defender and then chip the keeper - and asks you to teach her how to do that.

The clip ends up on the Manchester United pages the next day and remembering the last time, as well as Alessia’s reminder that there will always be people who want to put you down, you stay well clear of the comment section.

The only comment that matters is Alessia’s, who shares it to her Instagram story with the caption ‘OUTRAGEOUS 😮‍💨😮‍💨’.

———

You’d been hoping to ride the wave of your international form as you return to Manchester United but you barely get the chance. Marc benches you for the next couple of games, only bringing you on late in the game when you have very limited opportunity to make a difference. United win both games comfortably and the doubtful part of your mind wonders if they won because you were dropped. Maybe Marc has finally realised that the fans on social media aren’t trolls after all, but people with the correct opinion that you’re not good enough for this team.

With the next game against title rivals Chelsea, you don’t have much optimism that you’ll be trusted to play this game, which is why nobody is more surprised than you to see your name listed on the team sheet as a starter. At the end of the meeting where Marc shares the team news, he dismisses everyone but asks you to stay behind for a minute.

“I know you were disappointed not to get many minutes in the last couple of games but you’re exactly the kind of player we need for this match,” he says, maybe sensing that you’re in the middle of a crisis of self-confidence. “Chelsea will be organised especially at the back and I want you to show me what you can do. Press everything, chase every ball. If I have to take you off after an hour because you physically can’t run any more, that’s fine. Just frustrate their defence like I know you can. That’s all I ask.”

———

The game plan works well in the first half, the only thing missing is the goal. You focus less on trying to get the goal yourself and instead concentrate on what Marc has asked of you. You can tell that the Chelsea defenders are still trying to figure out how to contain the way you link up with Alessia - each time they think they’ve got it, you switch things up and find another way to get the ball through to Alessia.

Against a lesser team, you’d definitely have scored by now. But Chelsea are reigning champions for a reason and have just about managed to keep you at bay, limiting Alessia to a couple of chances, plus one long range shot from a free kick. At the other end, the United defence has allowed Chelsea’s star-studded front line to have even less, and you go in at half time definitely feeling like this game is yours to win.

You’re not sure what was said in the Chelsea dressing room at half time, but three minutes into the second half they score. It’s the first mistake the Manchester defence have made all game but of course Kerr pounces on it and puts Chelsea ahead. 

You’re furious - not specifically at anybody on your team for conceding, but furious that you can fall behind so easily after looking the more likely team to go ahead.

“Fuck that,” you growl, as you walk with Alessia towards the halfway line for the restart. “I’m not letting Chelsea win after we dominated that first half.”

Alessia nods in agreement. 

“Keep doing what we did in the first half,” she says. “We’ll get back into this.”

Less than two minutes later you get the ball and drive it forwards to the edge of the box. There’s a defender right on you and the positioning is all wrong - you’re never going to find the goal yourself and you have just a split second to get the ball away before the defender tackles you, so you tap it through to Alessia, who outruns her own marker. The goalkeeper rushes at her and thinking about what you’d do in her situation, you expect her to take a risk and try to lift the ball over the keeper, but Alessia sees that you’ve continued your run into the box and you’ve now got an open goal in front of you so she passes sideways. The goalkeeper just misses the ball and you stretch out studs first, sliding across the grass as your toe makes contact with the ball and knocks it past the line.

You’ve scored some brilliant goals in your career so far but this isn’t one of them, a messy tap in made possible entirely by Alessia’s unselfishness when most probably would have gone for it themselves. But it’s your first United goal, finally off the mark after months of nothing, and all you can do is lie there on the grass and exhale in relief, closing your eyes and blocking out the roar of the crowd as you let the moment sink in.

A hand finds yours and you open your eyes to Alessia crouching over you, and you let her help you to your feet, then pull her into a celebratory hug.

“You did it,” Alessia says, beaming at you in delight, possibly the only person in the world who knows exactly how much this goal means to you. 

You think back to that moment in the shower room at the training ground, where you let your mind get to such a dark place that you’d half-convinced yourself that you needed to give up playing football entirely, and know that even if Alessia hadn’t been the one to assist your goal, it wouldn’t have been possible without her by your side.

“We did it,” you correct her. “Now let’s go do it again.”

You’re reinvigorated as the game restarts. Before, in the few minutes between the two goals, it was rage that drove you. Now you feel invincible. What a statement to level the game so quickly. You can tell the whole team feels it, and Chelsea are understandably rattled at how little time they held onto their lead.

The Manchester United team from the first half is back. The defence behind you stays solid which gives you the freedom to take a few risks yourself. You feel like the lead is just within your grasp when one glance at the bench, where a couple of substitutes are taking off their bright bibs tells you that you’re probably about to be taken off. Understandably so, you’ve pushed yourself so hard that you’re beyond the pain barrier now, but you feel like you have one last push in you.

With the ball at your feet, you drive forwards. The Chelsea defender takes her eye off you for half a second, checking where Alessia is as if she expects you to slot the ball through to her in the box like you’ve been doing all game. But you take advantage of that momentary lapse and switch the ball onto your stronger foot, then curl it round the defender, past the goalkeeper’s outstretched fingers, and into the top corner.

Your emotions after the first goal had been a combination of relief and disbelief and time passed too quickly for you to fully appreciate the moment, but you’re not going to make that mistake twice. Even after the ball has hit the back of the net, you continue your run, looping around to the section of Manchester United fans in the corner of the stadium with your arms held out wide in celebration, only turning around when you feel your teammates bundle into you from behind. 

Alessia finds you in the middle of it all, one hand coming up to either side of your head and her forehead resting against yours as she says, “That was unbelievable.”

As your teammates disperse, you turn back to the fans once more, gesturing with both hands for them to make more noise. They drink it right up and as you turn to jog back towards your starting position near the halfway line, you hear them starting to sing your name.

As expected, it’s only another couple of minutes before the board goes up to signal that you’re being substituted.

You walk the long way around to get back to the bench, behind the goal you’ve scored in twice, and cup your hand behind your ear as you pass the United fans, knowing they could be the difference between clinging onto the win or conceding a late equaliser. They love it and make plenty of noise, and you’re just enough of an asshole that you give the same gesture to the Chelsea fans too, earning you a nice loud boo.

When the final whistle blows without any more goals, you’re out of your seat and sprinting onto the pitch with the speed of somebody with fresh legs. You forget the agony you’ve put your body through and race straight over to Alessia, jumping on her as she lets out an unintelligible cry of victory.

You can’t remember ever feeling this much joy before. It seems ridiculous that just a few weeks ago you were feeling so low that you contemplated quitting football, leaving United, returning to the comfort of your native Netherlands. Moments like this are why you could never actually quit football, and there’s no team you’d rather do it with than Manchester United, no person you’d rather celebrate with at full time than Alessia.

After the huddle, you want to continue celebrating with your teammates and the fans, but you’re ushered away and presented with a player of the match trophy. In all honesty you don’t care about it, the three points and the miserable looks on the faces of the defeated Chelsea players are a much more rewarding prize than an individual award, but the television cameras are on you so you accept it gracefully and give a couple of lines about how proud you are of the team before they finally let you go.

You seek out Alessia again, who spots the trophy in your hands and grins at you, before you’re accosted for yet another interview, this time with the Manchester United media manager who wants to talk to you and Alessia together about the game.

You repeat what you told the Sky pundits about your love for this team and your teammates but let Alessia do most of the talking, barely able to keep your eyes off her. She’s glowing in the aftermath of the victory and completely professional in her answers. In comparison, you’re just distracted enough by Alessia’s radiance that you miss the start of another question directed at you and hope you can play it off as a language issue.

“Sorry, could you repeat?” you ask, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

“How much does it mean to score your first United goals in such an important match?”

“It means so much,” you answer. “I always want to play my best against every team but it definitely means a lot to help the team get the win against Chelsea and hopefully give the fans a performance they can be proud of.”

The interviewer turns back to Alessia and asks, “Alessia, how happy are you to see your teammate get her first two goals for the club?”

“I’m buzzing for her,” Alessia gushes. “What the fans don’t see is how much work goes in behind the scenes and nobody works as hard as this girl. Big games need big players and that’s exactly what she is.”

“Thank you and congratulations once again.”

With the interview over, you and Alessia return to the rest of your teammates. Kingsmeadow is rapidly emptying except for the section of away fans and while you’re still getting used to the passion of the Manchester United fans - your little shower meltdown after going too deep on social media is proof of that - they cheer as you approach and you lean into it, lifting your Player of the Match trophy aloft as you dedicate it to them and their support.

Alessia peels off to greet some of the fans closest to the billboards and you follow suit, signing a few shirts and posing for photographs until your cheeks ache from smiling.

Alessia finds you again as the stewards wrap things up and you walk back across the pitch towards the changing rooms. She’s just the right height to drape an arm around your shoulders and you melt into her embrace.

“Proud of you,” Alessia reminds you, as you enter the tunnel.

Your heart swells with affection for her, and perhaps still dizzy and delirious from the match, you stop in your tracks and turn to look at her.

“Less?”

“Yeah?” she asks, frowning at you curiously.

You fist a hand into the red material of her jersey and pull her in for the kiss you’ve been wanting to give her since she saved you from you own misery in the shower a few weeks ago. She lets out a little grunt of surprise, then relaxes into the kiss, her hands seeking out your waist as you slowly move your lips against hers.

After a few seconds, aware that while the tunnel conceals you from any lingering fans you’re hardly somewhere private, you pull back to catch your breath.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” Alessia asks, sweeping a wild strand of hair out of your face.

“Believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself,” you shrug. “Also I’m definitely still high on adrenaline. That might have something to do with it.”

Alessia laughs.

“Better get you scoring more often then, if this is the result.”

“Yeah?” you grin at her.

Alessia’s arm winds around your shoulders again and she presses a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Is that incentive enough for you?”

You squeeze her waist, glancing down at the trophy still held in your other hand.

“Way better than winning one of these.”

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Sam Quotes

i love me some cowboy ♡ yeehaw and all that

“You’re a werewolf, not a damn tank, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I want you comfortable. What that looks like, you tell me.”

“Oh god, don’t call the 90’s vintage, you’re gonna give me a complex.”

“Don’t you whistle like that at me you smartmouth, this ain’t anything you haven’t seen. I am not blushing. I don’t blush.”

“Mr. Shaw.”

“You’re a big softie under it all too. Boop.”

“You don’t have to keep the armor up tonight. The fighting’s done. You can just rest. I got you, Darlin.”

“You’re my heart, Darlin’.”

“Oh you hush, of course that got my heart speeding up again. Wiseass.”

“Have some popcorn, it’ll soothe you.”

“Matter of fact, yes, I do know how to get food delivered nowadays. Do you know what the inside of a grocery store looks like?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m a mother-hen, what else is new?”

“Don’t worry, if the shock takes you out, I’ll be sure to catch you.”

“You feel like home, Darlin’.”

“It’s a Vamp’s favorite season. Well, my actual favorite season’s Fall, but you get me.”

“That’s for strangers. We can be as mean to family as we damn-well please.”

“How do you wanna do this? You wanna ride your cowb- you little-“

“You feel like sunlight on an easy day. That warmth and that comfort. Gentle and all around.”

“You like that? You gonna be good for me?”

“Hey. Look at me. Please.”

“Yeah, you’re awful put-upon. Your mate’s a heartless old curmudgeon who wants his arm rest.”

“No. No, I’m not falling asleep. Couldn’t be me. I’d never do such a thing.”

“Your vampiric pillow awaits.”

“Hey. Jokes aside. You do make sense, Darlin. Just cause some people don’t wanna put in the work to understand why doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“What the hell do you have against flannel? It’s efficient.”

“Oh I’m sure. My big bad wolf certainly would never get tired after a completely understandably draining day,”

“Tell me how you look so damn good right after waking up. Bullshit. You look heavenly.”

“You know better than me that if you don’t answer that goofball he’s just gonna keep calling.”

“Man’s gotta point. [smack] Ow.”

“Make it two.”

“I’m an equal opportunist shit-stirrer once you make the mistake of getting close to me.”

“You keep that up and I'll buy a walker just so I can beat your ass with it.”

“I didn’t realize those were our names, I thought he was drawing pictures…”

“Who you calling an underdog, pup?”

“Oh, so I’m a flop now?”

“Want some chocolate? It might soothe you.”

“Darlin’ what the hell is an Igglybump?”

“Play nice. I know you can even if you don’t like to.”

“Being so good for me. Wait until I tell ya.”

“So what if I am soft for you? You deserve soft.”

“I am not charming. I’m a moody curmudgeon, and I like it that way, thank you very much.”

“When I’m with you, my brain takes up shop in the wrong head.”

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth.”

“I’ve got you. Tears aren’t ‘stupid’, Darlin’. They’re human. You don’t have to hold back any part of yourself with me.“

“[punch] That’s for Frederick. [punch] That’s for his Progeny. [punch] And that’s for me.”

“The only thing that makes the two of you worse hellions than you already are is when you put your scheming heads together on something.”

“I’m practically a glorified backpack”

“I want you moving like this in a different position. Mmhmm. How did you put it back in the day? ‘Riding your cowboy’?”

“You’re so damn beautiful. You are.”

“My big bad wolf. I get to say that without getting hit nowadays? My, the times are a-changing.”

“Look. You can call me every version of ‘cowboy’ you want, but you keep ‘duke’ just locked up in that pretty head of yours, you got it?”

“It’s a fancy dick-swinging contest with a side of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Vincent. You’re my family, and I love you, so please don’t take this the wrong way, but four years ago when he was still around, you were just as much of a pain in the ass to be around most of the time.”

“What you and me got is stronger than any of this bullshit the world throws at us. Even if the world’s got a hell of an arm, lately.”

“Brown. My eyes were brown.”

“Where do you want these fangs, baby?”

[chapel-of-rizztual]

99, 115, & 136 w/ Raindrop? I think those would go together good🫠

Dew’s transition from water to fire had been traumatic. Everyone knew that. Everyone could see the fear that still burnt on his eyes, even months later, the scars on his body were still visibly raised and angry.

Dew was just starting to get back to his normal self when his heat hit, setting him back several steps. He locked himself in his room, not letting anyone in no matter how hard they tried to help him. It had been four days since anyone had actually seen him, the only sign he was still alive was the occasional whine and whimper that could be heard coming from his room and the smell of burnt marshmallows that floated through the filings den.

Which is why Rain was so surprised to find Dew at his bedroom door late in the evening. He was flustered, a sheen of sweat covering his entire body and he was flushed red from head to toe. The clothes he was wearing were soaked in sweat, his hair plasters to his forehead.

“Dew? What are doing here? Are you okay?”

Dew whimpers, falling in Rain.“H-hot. So hot.”

Rain hisses feeling the heat coming off Dew’s body. He was almost too hot to touch. “Is this normal for fire heats?”

Dew whines, clinging to Rain even more. “I don’t know, first one as fire.” He looks at up at Rain with panic in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.” Rain pulls him into his room. “Then let me teach you.”

“But-but you’re not fire. How will- how can you help.” Dew looks up at him with confusion written all over his face.

“Maybe not. But I’ve helped Iffy through his heat before, I know a little how to help.” Dew groans, his hips rolling onto Rain’s thigh.“Please, please help.”

Rain presses a kiss to the top of his head, right between his horns. “I’ve got you, my love, I’ll help. Take the rest of your clothes off and get on the bed.”

Dew shifts, suddenly looking nervous. He tugged on the neckline of his T-shirt, not meeting Rain’s eyes. Rain runs his fingers through Dew’s damp hair, untangling some of the knots.

“Why so shy?”

“I just-I’ve change a lot since you last saw me.” Dew looks around nervously again. “I don’t- my gills…they’re gone? They’re just scars now.” He looks up at him with watery eyes. “I just- I don’t want you to think I’m ugly now.” 

Rain feels his heart shattering at the fear in Dews’s face.  “Oh, Honeydew. They could change you a thousand times and cover you in scars and you’ll still be the most beautiful ghoul to me.” 

“You mean it?” 

Rain leans down to capture Dew’s lips in his.  “Of course I mean it, I love you.”  

Dew whine again, leaving upwards to capture Rain in a messy kiss. 

Rain kisses him back for a beat before pulling back and leaning his forehead against Dew’s.

“Go get on the bed. You can keep your clothes on if it makes you feel more comfortable. I can work around them.” 

Dew looks shy again.  “You promise you won’t judge?” 

Rain makes a cross motion over his heart.  “Cross my heart.” 

Dew nods, looking a little more sure of himself as he heads towards the bed, stripping his T-shirt and boxers as he goes. Rain tries not to stare, he really does, but Dew was right. He had changed a lot. Where his gills once were ran four deep long scars on each side of his rip cage. They were dark and raised from his skin in jagged lines. There was more along his neck and Rain would guess on his fingers and toes where his is webbing once was. He turned his hand over looking at the webbing on his own fingers, something he’d taken for granted many times. 

“Rain?” Dew calls for him from where he’s sat naked on his bed. 

“Sorry.” Rain smiles at him. “Just admiring how pretty you are.” 

Dew blushes deep red and picks at a lose thread on the bed sheet.  “Shut up.” 

Rain pounces on him, pushing him back and pinning him the bed below him.  “Are you sure you want this?” 

Dew whines, pushing his bet hard cock onto Rain’s stomach.  “Please, please help. Need it so bad.” 

Rain kisses him again, once on his lips them moves down to his neck, placing kiss to each scar there. 

“So beautiful.” 

He kisses down his body, to his collarbones, his chest, his nipples, which he gives each a little lick making Dew moan and buck his hips. 

He gets to the scars on his ribs and thumbs over them, feeling the raised flesh under his skin for the first time. Dew shivers at the soft feeling, looking down at Rain with admiration in his eyes. 

“Do they hurt?” 

Dew shakes his head against the pillow.  “No, they don’t hurt. Just look ugly.” 

Rain makes a disapproving sound, pinching at Dew’s nipples in punishment making him hiss and roll his hips upwards. 

Rain kisses along one of the scars.  “Don’t say that. You’re perfect. You always will be.” Dew flushes even deeper red and hides his face behind his hands, shaking his head.  

“Dont cover you’re face, i want to see you” Rain gently pulls Dew’s hands away from his face taking them in his. 

“I want to see the look on your face when I tell you how beautiful you are over and over again, I want to see your face when I tell you how perfect you are and how amazing and wonderful you are.” He kisses the back of Dew’s hand. “I want to see your face when I fuck you, when I fuck that heat out of you, when I make you feel so good the only thing you’ll be capable of doing is screaming my name.” Rain licks at the bottom scar, letting it run between his forked tongue. 

Dew cries out, tears welling in his eyes already, his cock throbbing between them. “R-rain. Please.” 

Rain kisses him, right in the middle of his chest. “Don’t worry, once I’m done with you, you won’t even remember your own name.” 

[professionalranter31]

So I mentioned in a previous post how Overwatch has a lot of factions that aren’t expanded upon a lot, so I’ve got a list of my top five that are currently represented and my top five that I wish got representation

We’ll start with the ones that currently have representation

Number five is Oasis, represented by Moira who is their Minister of Genetics however we do know in lore that there are other ministers so they could be playable in the future or someone else who works within Oasis

In the same vein as Oasis at Number four we got the Atlantic Arcology which is represented by Lifeweaver. It’s a similar place to Oasis where many great minds live in order to try and further research in various fields and I just feel like both of them should have more representation given the significance they most likely have with advancements in the Overwatch Universe

Number Three is Blackwatch, we only know of four of them and one them also doubles as representation for Overwatch. I want to know more about the black ops of Overwatch, like, did they have a tank?

Number two is the MEKA Squad, with what we know of them in lore is surprisingly little and I’m gonna be honest the vibes I’ve gotten from the lore is that D.Va does most of the work and I want to be proven wrong about that. Plus, the Genshin are meant to be this big threat but it’s hard to take it as a threat when we are only able to see the capabilities of one of Korea’s defenders

And at Number One, the Inti Tribe because why the absolute FUCK is Illari labeled as its only defender!? No seriously, she is fucking 18 why is she treated in lore as her tribe’s only defender. If she was their tribe’s only sun warrior that’s a different thing but she’s working with others to defend their tribe but the Sun Warriors made up the bulk of the defenses so at least then it still gives to the tragedy of her explosion while not leaving the literal eighteen year old as the only defender of an entire giant tribe I want an explanation Blizzard!!! I will crawl into your office like a demon possessed and tear through whatever lore books you have in there to find my answers give them to me!!!

On to the factions that don’t have representation within Overwatch that I feel should have it

At Number five we got the Hashimoto. They’re meant to Kiriko’s main enemy and as of the recent Hanzo short story his as well but they just feel like a dime a dozen goons from what we have seen. Like how Null Sector began to feel like more of a threat after Ramattra was added I feel like the Hashimoto would be seen as more dangerous if we actually got a hero to represent them

At Number Four, the Gwishin. Sort of the same story like with the Hashimoto except we do have some idea of what they are capable of, no what I want a hero to represent them for is how they happened in the first place and how they are able to adapt like they do

At Number three the Wastelanders of Australia, they’re the outcasts of the junkers and what Junker Queen used to be when she was exiled. It shows a new perspective on the Australian Wasteland that’s different from the Junkers

At Number two we got the UN. Look, given how big of a deal the UN is in the larger story of Overwatch I just feel like having a hero to represent them would be pretty good in terms of lore and generally either a character who is morally grey or a villain

At Number one we have the God AI. We currently know the names of four God AI, Anubis, Chernobog, Xibalba, and Macaria. Given the massive importance the God AI have in the lore of Overwatch I’m genuinely surprised that not one of them has been made into a playable hero. I’m also kinda impressed that Blizzard hasn’t released a hero that is just them taking a god from mythology and translating that into an FPS. Anyway, given the various purposes the AI had there’s plenty of ways to design their kits around it and there have been hints that some of the God AI achieved some level of Sentience such as Chernobog’s lore. So yeah, I want them represented in game

[anderscim]

may or may not be slightly reaching with this theory

but i just wanted to talk about what i’ve noticed with david’s sprites and eye-color

(please take this with a grain of salt)

//drdt ch 2 spoilers

okay so let me just get straight to it

these are two of the sprites for david’s “public persona” that we get introduced to in the beginning:

here, david has lighter(?) grey eyes with yellow stars placed in the center.

as we probably all know david in this state usually tries to maintain a constantly optimistic and semi-professional demeanor, and as long as he keeps this up this is usually what his eye color pattern looks like.

however, he breaks character a couple of times and we can see his eye pattern change accordingly. there’s probably like four or five total sprites that show this, but i’m going to place two sprites that show the difference very clearly (which also happen to be some of my favorite pre-ch2 david sprites for some reason):

as you can see his eye color here is just solid grey. no other embellishments or anything minus a light gradient which makes it slightly darker at the top of the iris.

these sprites often appear when his “genuine” emotions surface and/or when he drops his facade, so we can kind of assume by extension that this eye pattern shows up only when he expresses his true personality.

but the thing is, his “post-reveal” look that is seen in ch2 ep 11 has different eye patterns.

it’s subtle, but for these sprites the gradient for his irises is significantly darker, going from nearly black at the top to a slightly darker grey than is seen in his “breaking character” sprites. additionally, we also see the little white circle as per traditional danganronpa style (which we see in the eye color patterns for david’s public persona as well, but not when he breaks character)

so in summary:

the eye color pattern for his public persona looks like this:

for his “real personality” it resembles something similar to this:

and then for his post-ch2 pessimistic asshole demeanor his irises look more like this:

(i eyeballed these without looking at a ref so these are kind of inaccurate, unfortunately)

what this could mean:

i assumed that david’s real eye color is shown when he’s breaking character from his public persona (aka the solid grey one), and i explained why i thought that earlier.

as is implied from the actual series, his “star-eyes” connected to his public persona show up when he’s putting on an act—or essentially, hiding behind a fake smile and pretending everything’s gonna be alright.

the thing is, david’s “post-reveal” eye color/pattern looks so different from that of when he’s expressing what’s implied to be his real personality. it almost seems to suggest that his current demeanor is yet another facade that he’s putting up in order to hide his true emotions—just rather than being more optimistic, he’s being more cynical.

in summary, the difference in the iris color/pattern could be another smaller detail indicating how he’s essentially making himself appear more manipulative and evil than he actually is

oh—sorry for not saying this earlier, but i don’t think he’s fully faking everything for either “facade.” i think david still expresses some of his more… genuine emotions and sentiments during his act, it’s just that he’s emphasizing or exaggerating some of them even if they’re not how he actually feels.

and as always, take this with a grain of salt as i may be terribly wrong