#Iron Square Rod

[shreejisteelprivatelimited]

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[stalkish-shellos]

Had another bizarre dream

I had a dream where me and my boss were running a restaurant and for some reason trying to have sex (ew)

But one day Queen Elizabeth comes in and eats there and she really likes the food there and gives us a comically large video cassette looking thing that’s just like a frame of rod iron which is apparently a ticket to some sports thing in London and it’s a VIP place that’s just one side of the road next to the palace which for some reason was a large tower in the middle of the city and not buckingham palace.

Then me and a woman that I don’t remember who she was were trying to sneak around the tower so we could kill Lizzy i think???

Problem was that the place was absolutely gigantic and we were so small like insect size in comparison to all the furniture in there. The tower also had these disgusting guards that looked a lot like the gate guards from oblivion

I remember specifically it was this one with the helmet design. But yeah I think they killed my friend or something, like they found her and I didn’t hear from her and they were actively looking for us like either we were found or we succeeded and were found out.

Anyway basically 2 of these are chasing me and one that’s bigger and even madder that’s special and can talk also chased me but eat managed to eat a paper cup and that poisoned him and after that I woke up

[noxturnalpascal]

Devotion 🖤 I. Stronger Together (Ch 2)

CultLeader!Joel x OFC!Reader

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

Visit the Series Masterlist for series warnings, cult info, timeline info, and HCs on ages. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions - is an OFC from Reader POV.

*This series is 18+ MDNI. I will not be listing individual chapter warnings as I don't want to spoil the plot of each chapter. Please see the series masterlist for entire series warnings to decide if this is for you.*

PREVIOUS

I. Stronger Together

CH 2 (5k) You follow Tess to a colonial style house one block away from the main town square. It’s not as tall as the church on the other side of the park, but its three stories still tower over the smaller structures around it. You realize it's close enough that you could see the house from the clinic, and think about all of the still-hot meals Joel has been bringing you three times a day.

The house has an open yard on one side and a porch wrapping around one half front to back. Tess leads you inside and gives you a brief tour. The first floor has a large dining room at the front and a kitchen in the back; a large sitting room located on the opposite side of the home with Joel’s office behind a closed door beyond. Tess shows you your small room upstairs, right next to the bathroom, crowded even with only two furnishings; a single bed and a nightstand. 

Three shirts hang from the single window’s curtain rod and she tells you that the room and the clothes are yours and to let her know if you need anything else. When you make your way back downstairs with her she begins to introduce you to the other women who live there. You’re not sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t to find Joel living in a house full of women. 

You hate the way it makes you feel. It’s a cold hand grasping at your insides, clutching them hot and tight yet freezing them solid at the same time. It makes you sick. You feel a stinging at your eyes and blink rapidly, fighting the urge you have to cry at every new introduction. There are two women in the kitchen preparing dinner, one in the living room mending a broken bowstring, and one working in the back garden. And Tess.

Tess is the only name you can remember. Your head is swirling, your heartbeat is in your ears, and you’re struggling against the sick feeling in your stomach. You’re not even sure you heard all of their names. As if you could even remember them, there were too many to even remember. Had he ever mentioned he lived with five fucking women before? You’re pretty sure you would have remembered that.

Tess had spent the morning moving her housemates around to clear the room at the top of the stairs that Joel said you could have. She knew Bianca wouldn’t be comfortable sharing a bed, so she moved her up to the attic, switching one of the occupants there to share a double bed in the room across from her own. They all moved around expeditiously and with no complaint. The women she shared her home with were easy going, but she still didn’t appreciate Joel dropping this work in her lap last minute.

Tess excuses herself and leaves you with the two women in the kitchen, the one from the garden – whose name, ironically, is Rosie – joining you later. You work beside them, eager to lose yourself in activity and stop your mind from racing. You’ve definitely lost your ability to small-talk, but the women are friendly and seem happy to meet you. The one Rosie calls Bianca is timid and silent, but the other two, Rosie and the other one doing most of the cooking, talk boisterously and animatedly to each other as you work.They excitedly tell you about the community. This is your first time hearing details about where you’ve been living for the past two weeks and you’re shocked to hear that the leader of the whole place is Joel. 

Joel – who has been walking over three hot meals a day. Joel – who has been reading stories to you morning, noon, and night. Joel – who has been following you around the park asking you inane questions. Joel – who asked you to move in with him. That Joel.

He definitely didn’t mention that he was the leader of the whole fuckin’ community. You would have remembered that too. They tell you that he brings people into the community if they need shelter and they can follow the rules. The rules seem simple; develop a strong and cohesive community, guard and keep your territory, and work collectively to gather and store resources.

You like the way the women talk about the community they call The Valley. They seem cared for and safe, and that’s also how you’ve felt since you’ve been here. Even though your plan has been to leave when you’ve fully healed, you’ve somehow allowed yourself to get pretty comfortable here. You’ve been distracted by Joel’s daily visits, you’ve been getting lost in the stories he reads to you, letting your mind wander from the harsh realities of this world.

The reality is that society collapsed and all people want to do now is survive, by any means necessary. People have only ever used other people, they take. They did that before the outbreak, but now it’s even worse. You’ve been used. You’ve been taken from. But even though it seems like Joel failed to tell you some things, he’s never taken anything from you. In fact, Joel has been very giving.

He and his patrol killed the clicker about to attack you, saving your life. He brought you into his town and had the doctor give you medical care, even after you threatened them with scissors. He’s been bringing you food, keeping you company, reading those books to you, and helping you gain some of your strength back. Apparently he even gave you his blood after you spilled most of yours down the mountain.

He told you that you were free to leave when you got better. And maybe you will. Maybe once you’re at full-strength you’ll feel like moving on. But maybe you should stay here a little longer. You have a room of your own, a warm place to lie your head, you’ve not been this well-fed in years. Maybe this could be a safe place for you, when no place has ever really felt safe before. Maybe Joel could give you that too.

– 

You’re still processing the revelations about Joel when he comes out of his office for dinner. You keep your head down, busy helping the women set the dinner table, carrying in the prepared food and drinks. Joel grabs your hand as you walk back into the kitchen, pulling you close to him. You don’t recoil from his touch anymore, as you’ve been making physical contact with him more often.

You’ve touched his arm or shoulder to point out an animal on your walk, he’s taken your hands to help you up and down steps. Unlike he usually does, this time he doesn’t drop your hand immediately, he continues holding it. He asks if you’ve ‘gotten comfortable’. You’re not sure how to tell him that you’re actually a little uncomfortable, given all the new information, without insulting his hospitality.

“Who are these people?” you ask him, looking down at your joined hands, unable to meet his eye.

“They didn’t introduce themselves to you?” he says gruffly, looking over your head. You look up to meet his eyes and he looks genuinely confused. 

“Of course they did…”, you let your unfinished sentence linger in the air, hoping he won’t make your pathetic mouth finish it. You feel absolutely ridiculous. You feel one foot tall again. Here you are, at the end of the world, jealous over a man you barely fucking know. Jealous. You. As if you have any right. He squeezes your hand, making your eyes crunch tight in defeat. You have to complete your thought. Out loud. How embarrassing. “Who are they to you? Are you… seeing any of them? Not that it’s my b– business or anything, I just didn’t–”

“Oh, PJ.” 

He cups your face in both his hands and the move has you flinching in surprise. He brings his mouth to yours slowly, so slowly that you’re sure you could have stopped it ten times if you wanted to. But you don’t want to. You don’t move a muscle, you’re pretty sure you don’t even breathe. And then his lips are on your lips. Time freezes. The whole world stops turning and it’s just him and you; his mouth on yours and his large warm hands surrounding your face and his nose pressing into your cheek. 

After a moment the world starts turning again. You hear the other women continue to move in and out of the kitchen behind you, paying no mind to Joel’s lips on yours, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. His hands slip to your shoulders and he places more gentle kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your nose. Joel takes your hand and leads you into the dining room, guiding you to sit in the seat next to his at the head of the table.

The meal is hot and delicious, cheerful conversations drift over the tabletop as everyone eats. Joel sees your wide eyes staring at him the entire time, picking at your food, unable to process the kisses he’d bombarded you with. He’s not sure why he did that, a voice inside him was screaming not to, worried he’d scare you off and you’d be out the door miles away by now.

He kept himself in his office all afternoon, trying unsuccessfully to distract his thoughts from you. When he finally came out and saw you in the kitchen, his kitchen, his home… he couldn’t help himself. You were in his home. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close but he sensed you were upset. Were you jealous?

Sure, he probably should have told you about the other women in his house, but you were just beginning to trust him. He didn’t think he could spin this in a way that you would be comfortable with. He didn’t think he would be able to get you here if he told you the truth. So he didn’t. And when given another opportunity to tell you the truth in the kitchen, he kissed you instead.

It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. Whatever relationship he had with these other women doesn’t matter as long as you’re here, and you’re here now. You’re in his home. You’re his. He’s going to make you his. It’s all he wants now. You’re all he wants now.

–

You sleep warm in your bed the first night in your new home, but stay up late listening to the gentle creaking of the house. The occupants prove to be sound sleepers, and you find out why when you’re woken up before the sun the next morning. The four women who aren’t Tess rouse you from your sleep and give you a choice of inside or outside chores. You choose outside, hoping the crisp dawn air will help wake you up. It doesn’t. 

You spend the day tired but busy doing chores with a woman named Sasha. She was only a teenager when the outbreak started but she has some really great survival skills. Before lunch she takes you to the basement where she teaches you how to assemble shotgun shells. After lunch she walks with you to the nearby creek to do some fishing. Well, she fishes, you keep thinking you have something ‘big on the line’ when actually your hook is just caught on rocks. Joel and Tess spend all day out of the house and when you finally see him again, sitting next to him at dinner, you can barely keep your eyes open.

The following day is easier for you, since you slept early and solid through the night like everyone else. On this day after lunch Joel has been in his office, meeting with a long line of people one or two at a time. Each one shakes his hand as they leave, thanking him for his time. You wonder how many meetings like this he missed while he sat in your room reading to you for the last two weeks. You’re sitting in the adjoining room, doing a terrible job of mending holes in socks - you think they might be Joel’s – when the last person leaves his office.

He looks around the otherwise empty room and then his eyes meet yours. He smiles at you and holds his hand out in an invitation. You can’t help but hesitate. You spent hours every day with him for two weeks and now it’s been days since you’ve been alone with him for even one minute. The nerves bubble up in your stomach and you’re not sure if you want to run towards him or run away from him. You opt for the former, grabbing his hand and letting him pull you into his office.

The door closes behind you and suddenly you’re very aware of how alone with him you are. You’ve been alone with him every day in the clinic, with the door wide open, voices drifting down the hall from the other rooms. This feels different. The air feels charged. You’re suddenly terrified, an ice cold fear washes over your entire body as he bears down on you. He comes toe-to-toe with you as you press your back against the door and look in his eyes.

You look like you’ve been dropped into the lion’s den. He notices your panting breaths. The last time you looked this scared you were pointing a pair of scissors at him. Hey, he coos, careful not to touch you. What’s wrong, he hums, fighting the urge to pull you tight to his chest. You shake your head and stammer, unable to form a sentence. He slowly reaches behind you and twists the doorknob.

Joel pushes the door back open a couple inches, whispering we can leave that open, as he walks to the other side of the small room. He sits down at one end of a large leather couch and points to a stack of books on the table, drawing your attention to it. The books. You’d forgotten about the books. You’d dropped them on a table when you arrived and so much was going on they’d slipped your mind. Your hammering pulse begins to calm as you join him on the couch and inspect the books he’s picked. 

You hand him White Fang. It’s shorter than some of the other books in the stack but it was one of your favorites as a child. Not your favorite – you still haven’t seen that one presented to you yet. He takes the small paperback and begins to read you the opening paragraph as you settle your mind and relax your body, curved into the opposite end of the big brown couch.

This is how the following weeks go. Your mornings and early afternoons are filled with chores, working side-by-side with the other women in the house. Your evenings are dominated by sleep, heavy and healing after days filled with hard work. Three times a week you take your turn in the town’s impromptu bath-house, bathing in one of their tubs – previously a horse trough – full of hot water. Twice a week you gather with the rest of the Valley in a communal meeting at the church followed by a large meal, and every Friday entertainment events go on around the town square ranging from sporting events to dances.

But every day, without fail, you get time alone with Joel. He pulls you into his office before, after, or between meetings and reads to you. Sometimes it goes on for hours and sometimes he can only give you twenty minutes. But he gives you that time every day. You don’t see him giving that time to anyone else in the house, not even Tess, and so your initial feelings of jealousy fade away.

The only thing you fight now is your own mind. You’ve been with men before, you’ve been in relationships before. You’re not a virgin and you’re not a prude. But you’ve also been hurt by men before. Too many men and more times than you care to recall. You don’t think Joel would hurt you like that. You don’t think Joel would hurt you at all. But then again, you don’t remember thinking most of the other men would hurt you either, until they did. You’ve learned not to trust.

–

The second time Joel kissed you was days after the first, when he finished White Fang. Just a gentle kiss on your lips as you left his office. The next day he repeated the motion and then it became an everyday occurrence. Shortly after, it became a habit to kiss him as you entered his office. You would casually peck his lips as you passed by him at the doorway. He would close the door, save for the last few inches, and join you on the couch.

What started as a sprinkle quickly turned into a storm. You’re still too scared to ask him to close the door all the way behind you but you can’t get enough of him when you’re alone in that room together. What began on opposite sides of the couch quickly changes to you practically sitting in his lap as he reads to you. His hands find yours, or rest on your knees, or wrap around you and pull you to his chest so you can listen to his heartbeat. You start to feel safe.

You don’t even pick the books anymore, he just grabs a paperback off the shelves behind him – the selection lately has been John Grisham. They’re taking a lot longer to get through too, since he’s constantly stopping to talk to you and flirt with you and ask you questions. He sneaks a lot of kisses in between chapters too, but he’s pretty sure you like it.

He thinks you also like the way he finds your hand underneath the dinner table each night, always meeting his eyes with a smile. In the mornings, he meets you in the hallway outside the bathroom and he kisses your cheek, smelling your sleep-mussed hair, but avoiding pressing his ever-present morning erection into you. He knows you’re still skittish and he doesn’t want to push you. He knows you just barely trust him and he won’t do anything to endanger that. He doesn’t want to give you a reason to pull away from him.

Joel’s reading A Time to Kill, trying to push through a particularly difficult description of the attack and assault on Carl Lee Hailey’s young daughter, when he sees you getting antsy beside him. He stops to look over at you and sees a familiar look in your eye.You look like you’re uncomfortable, your eyes glazing over and your body becoming twitchy and restless.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks quietly, his hand softly stroking the leg you have in his lap.

“When was your birthday?” you ask, in an attempt to change the subject.

“M– My birthday?” You’re not making eye contact, you look distracted, miles away.

“Yeah. When you told me how old you were, you said you just turned it. When was your birthday?” 

“Yeah I just had my birthday in September.” 

You finally look at him, your brows stitching together. “Isn’t it October now?”

“Yes,” he waits for this line of questioning to make sense. Then he realizes maybe it won’t make sense. Maybe you’re just craving a distraction.

“Did I know you when it was your birthday?”

“Yes,” he rubs your leg more, “You were at the clinic.”

“When?” 

“Do you remember a night when I brought you an apple dessert?”

“You–”, your eyes move around the room, “Yes, I remember. That was your birthday?” He nods. You’re not looking at him, but he knows you can see him nodding in your peripheral vision. “I wasn’t very nice to you that day,” you say, suddenly sounding sad. 

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“Why did you spend all that time with me when I wasn’t nice to you and it was your birthday?”

“I didn’t wanna be anywhere else, PJ.” You close your eyes tight, letting the silence hang between you.

“Do you think Jake gets Carl Lee off for the murders?” You change the subject again, asking him to spoil the ending of the book for you.

“Yeah, I think he does,” he answers, and you take a deep breath.

“That’s good,” you say, as you reach forward and slip the book gently out of his fingers, returning it to the shelf behind him. 

You lay your head in his lap and spend the rest of your time together that afternoon with his fingers carding through your short hair, comforting you. He hopes you know he meant what he said. He knew it then as he knows it now. There isn’t anywhere else he’d rather be than with you, birthday or not.

–

As the end of October arrives, it signals that you’ve been living in Joel’s house for a month. The past month, in addition to the two weeks previous to that at the clinic, have your side completely healed. All the physical work you do around the homestead has helped you gain your strength back and then some. You’re most definitely at ‘a hundred percent’. You would be physically okay to leave at any time, and yet, leaving is the furthest thing from your mind.

Joel is on your mind. All the time. The way he holds your hands, the way he pushes his nose to yours and makes you laugh, the way he kisses your lips, your hands,, your forehead, and your neck. The way he looks at you. The way he looks at you. It’s equal parts exciting and terrifying. And the way he makes you feel is the same. You want him so badly. You don’t know if you can trust him. You don’t even know if you can trust yourself. 

You long for that office door to click shut, to be completely alone with him. You want to feel his arms wrap around you, you want to feel his hands roam along your body, you want to feel his lips on your skin. You want to feel him everywhere. The thought of it sends jolts of electricity through you. The thought of him makes you wet. You’re sure that if that door latched you would be all over him like a rabid animal.

But the thought of that kind of intimacy is deliriously intimidating. You think of the first man who touched you like that. Too young, you were too young to be touched there. It frightened you. You lied still like a scared rabbit, hoping he would think you were asleep and stop. But he didn’t stop. You think about the last man who touched you like that. It wasn’t even that long ago, with dirty rough hands and a burning touch. He told you in your ear that you liked it, but all you remember is feeling pain.

That’s the fear that grips you out of nowhere, that keeps you frozen still and awkward when Joel’s hands roam too far over your body, that keeps you from fulfilling any one of your fantasies of having him naked on top of you. You still have trouble trusting him completely. What if he uses you and then discards you like the others did? What if he hurts you, causes you pain in your body and your heart and your soul? 

One night he pulls you out onto the front porch and kisses you against the house, the chill of night giving visible life to your hot breaths, nothing but the din of crickets in the background. You hear him say so beautiful as he drags his cheek against yours, lightly scratching you with his facial hair. Your body reacts before you can reason with yourself, you push him away from you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Don’t call you what?” His arms are still holding your hips, the crease between his eyes deep as he looks across your face.

“Beautiful,” you say quietly, the cover of darkness not giving you any courage. “D- Don’t call me that.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Yeah, cause I’m not.” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I might be a lot of things but I’m not beautiful, so when you say it to me, it feels like I’m hearing a lie. And I don’t want you to lie to me.”

He wraps his arms around you tight, pulling you back together, his chest warm against yours. He rests his head on your shoulder and his hot breath fans across your neck. He places gentle kisses there while he whispers I won’t lie to you into your skin repeatedly. He thinks of the half-truths he’s already told you and decides that they don’t count. The things he’s done in the past don’t count. All that counts is the man he is going forward, the man he is with you. 

–

The next night you’re on cleaning duty with Bianca and you’re both in the kitchen after dinner washing up from the meal. You think you like her the best out of everyone here. Not just because she’s sweet, which she is, but because she’s very quiet. She barely says five words all day and when you’re in her company you can just relax. You can let your mind wander. You can get lost in your thoughts of Joel.

Tonight she doesn’t feel good and you’re not sure how to help her. You tried saying something to Tess earlier but she told you that Bianca could come to her if she needed to talk. Well Bianca doesn’t really talk, so you’re not sure what to do. Joel walks in the kitchen and smiles at you, immediately noticing your look of concern. He takes a quick look at Bianca and sends her to bed, telling her that he’ll help you finish your chores.

You know he’s a kind person but you feel like part of the reason why he sent her upstairs was so he could put his hands on you and kiss you, which he does nearly every moment you’re alone. But not this time. This time he stands by your side as Bianca was, taking his task seriously, helping you to scrub and dry the day’s dishes. 

You break the silence and tell him that you always hated having to do the dishes as a kid, how it kept you from the other things you wanted to do after dinner. He asks if you still hate it and you tell him no. You tell him that since there’s no TV shows to watch, no mall to go to, and no friends to call, you’re pretty content with washing some dishes. He chuckles and says his daughter used to hate washing dishes too. 

Daughter?

“You had a daughter?” 

His hands still their movement. He didn’t mean to let that slip. Shit. Fuck. Sarah flashed into his mind and his guard is so low around you, it just came out. Yeah, he nods, resuming his scrubbing. He doesn’t want to say anything else. He doesn’t want these memories to come rushing in like a tsunami and drown him. 

“Her name was Sarah. She uh….” he begins, dreading this conversation.

He feels your soapy hand cover his under the water. You grab his fingers, causing him to let go of the dish he was clutching. You squeeze his hand and when he looks up and meets your eyes he’s hit like a fucking wrecking ball. Wetness rims your waterline. You’re staring straight through him, right into his soul. You see him. You see him. And he’s never going to be the same.

“I know,” you hum. The whole universe is in your eyes. “You don’t have to–”

“Died,” he finishes his sentence.

You nod. You know. Everyone lost everything when the world ended. You most likely lost loved ones too. You’re all just broken shells of people walking around now, although some are worse off than others. Your lip trembles and your eyes are wet like you’re going to cry tears for his lost Sarah too. You open your mouth and begin to speak with a shaky breath.

“One time when I was a pre-teen, I put off washing the dishes until it was very late, almost bedtime. When I was done my dad wouldn’t let me get ready for bed. He called me to come sit with him in the living room while he watched the ten o’clock news. A segment came on about teen pregnancy and the whole time I just sat there embarrassed, not understanding what we were watching, or why. When that story was over he clapped his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘okay then, goodnight,’ and sent me to bed. It wasn’t until years later I realized that was his version of the sex talk,” you finish with a chuckle.

Joel huffs out a laugh with you, finding your dad’s awkward solution somewhat relatable. 

“I just gave her a book,” he recalls, “Don’t even remember who I got it from, I think one of her friend’s mom’s? I don’t remember but… it didn’t go over well. There was a lot of eye rolling.”

Your eyes pinch together as you both laugh, causing the tears that had welled up to spill from the sides.  You finish drying the last dish and head upstairs to bed, but before you can turn towards your room he gently grabs your wrist and places your hand in one of his. His face is calm and peaceful. He looks content. He reaches his other hand up and cups your face. You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he just says thank you. He holds your face a moment longer before squeezing your hand and heading into his room. 

🖤

NEXT

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

Thank you endlessly to @papipascalispunk for helping me with this series and listening to me rant about Cult Leader Joel. 🫂 I appreciate you SO much.

TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added or removed) @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @covetyou @iamasaddie @sr-lrn @clawdee @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @merz-8 @speckledemerald @alltheseperfectimperfections @survivingandenduring @afraidtofear @millennial-teenybopper @missladym1981 @xdaddysprincessxx@lumoverheaven @ghoulettesinspace @brittmb115 @wintersquirrel @obscurexsorrows @littlevenicebitch69 @lulawantmula @pedroswife69 @joeldjarin

[meidui]

pre-serum steve fic recs

this rec list is a fill for the "pre-serum steve" square on my @steverogersbingo - it got long so the fics are below the cut ♡

the categories: *drumroll please...*

what steve's packing

modern non-powered AUs

historical AUs

steve isn't cap but tony is iron man

tony time-traveling to the forties and sexing up steve

medkink

omegaverse

❤️ what steve's packing:

Good Things, Small Packages by @ashes0909

Steve had a small cock and Tony was absolutely mad for it.

Packing Heat by @kandisheek

Tony always notices Steve Rogers, even when he's all but disappearing into the wallpaper at a party. It's time he does something about that.

Such a Softer Sin by @gotthesilver

Tony gets to his feet and steps between Steve’s legs. Running a hand up Steve’s neck, along his sharp jawline, Tony leans down and kisses him deeply, pouring all his feelings into the kiss until he can feel Steve relaxing. “I am so gone on you,” Tony says when he breaks away. “Whatever people have said to you before, whatever idiots made you feel this way, they’re not me. And I’m a goddamn genius, Steve, so trust me when I say, you’re gorgeous.”

❤️ modern non-powered AUs:

Your Reputation Precedes You by @vanilla-shoes

Tony agrees to watch the desk for the salon next door to his garage as a favor -- but when he meets the salon owner's fiery best friend Steve, maybe the favor is for Tony after all...

and you look so divine by @elcorhamletlive

Tony blinks a few times, seeming startled. “That’s – I mean, don’t me wrong, that’s great to hear. But, uh – Steve? That.... Kind of sounds like you think I’m dating you despite your looks.”

Steve just stares.

Tony’s eyes are wider than ever when he opens his mouth to talk: “Holy shit."

In Hindsight by @elcorhamletlive

Tony Stark knows very well how he screwed things up with Steve Rogers. He remembers it. Perfectly.

...Doesn't he?

sweet like honey by @elcorhamletlive

Steve wakes up in his boyfriend's Malibu mansion. However, Tony is nowhere to be found.

A fair match by @elcorhamletlive

Of course, Steve thinks. Of all the people in the world to get in trouble with, Steve had to do it with Tony Stark’s friend.

-

Steve gets himself in trouble - nothing new. He ends up arm wrestling with the most famous guy on campus, Tony Stark. That's definitely new, and it doesn't go exactly as he expects it.

i'll take care of you by @elcorhamletlive

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise. 

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

❤️ historical AUs:

A Pirate's Life For Me by @bladeofthenebula27

When Steve joined the Avenger as the Cabin Boy, he knew being a pirate would be tough. He just never expected his duties would include warming the Captain's bed.

might be something by @stardating

Mingling with the upper class was not something one just did. Good thing Steve had no intention of just ‘mingling’. Not if he had anything to say about it.

a smudge of charcoal by @stardating

It was alright. It wasn’t like he didn’t need the stability. It wasn’t like he didn’t pour his heart and soul and last pennies into those paintings. Then Steve ran into someone and it was like the day wanted to get worse.

❤️ steve isn't cap but tony is iron man (from the series Art is Long and Life is Short):

Throw a Little Hot Rod Red in There by @festiveferret @sirsapling

Tony Stark was pretty sure that the absolute worst time to get asked out by an incredibly talented, good-looking artist, who likes to paint - and defend - Iron Man, is when he's dying of palladium poisoning.

Patience by @festiveferret @sirsapling

Try as he might, Steve just couldn't seem to paint the arc reactor quite right. And it was driving him crazy.

Some Form of Electricity by @festiveferret @sirsapling

Steve doesn’t know what he’d do without Tony, and thank god he has him, because after getting the phone call that Bucky’s alive, everything is a blur. But Tony gets him there, all the way to Germany. It isn’t until he’s watching his friend lie motionless in a hospital bed that it really hits him.

Bucky is coming home, and he’s coming home broken.

❤️ tony time-traveling to the forties and sexing up steve:

some days, you're the only thing i know by starkaspbrak

“He was right.” Tony whispers as he stares at Steve with what he could describe as affectionate.

“Who was?”

“My fiancé.”

“About what?”

There's a sparkle in his eyes as he responds, a soft smile on his lips, “That you’d still love me no matter what.”

Transient by @royal-chandler

There’s a 1A classification sitting on Steve’s bureau in his bedroom and he’s been so sick in his life, sick of many things; he’d like to no longer be sick of not having sex.

Like Whiskey on Cold Mornings by greyduckgreygoose

Tony/skinny!Steve porn

❤️ medkink:

ART for - Fever, Breathe Your Love on Me commissioned by Right_in_the_feels

I commissioned the wonderful Buukkin to create art for blue_jack's wonderful medical kink story Fever, Breathe Your Love on Me

A Cure for Every Ailment by @kandisheek

Doctor Stark is testing his new experimental treatment for erectile dysfunction on a group of volunteers. It works very well on Steve Rogers. Just not for the reason Tony thinks.

Or: Tony doesn't realize that sounding is a kink, and Steve never knew he had it.

Throckmorton Sign by MusicalKestrel

Steve has been having some very worrisome symptoms, even for someone with as many medical problems as he has. When he visits the ED, he finally gets some answers and the help he didn't even know he was looking for.

Delusion by LenkaVittoriaElisse16

Steve is scheduled for his annual PE, and the physician in charge is his boyfriend: the handsome Dr. Anthony Stark.

❤️ omegaverse:

Once or Twice by @festiveferret

It'd been flattering, at first, when Tony Stark - Iron Man, of all people - had shown Steve some attention, but it had become obvious pretty quickly that Tony was teasing him like all the other alphas at SHIELD did. Tony always pestered him every time he came to the SHIELD offices, harassing him for not having work done for ops that hadn't even been fully debriefed yet. He hung around Steve's desk and wanted to go over every tiny detail on every report which just meant that Steve's next reports were even later.

It was hard enough working his way up to Senior Strategy Analysis as an omega, and it was hard enough being around the unbonded alphas in the office who liked towering over his tiny frame, sneaking sniffs and smacking his ass as he walked through the breakroom. But Tony's relentless campaign of driving him crazy had made things even harder. Steve had even considered being transferred off the Avengers Initiative team, but he'd worked so hard to get there and he wouldn't let some knot-head bug him into quitting. 

Two-Point Perspective by @festiveferret

Dear omega,

Congratulations! You've been selected. Alpha #95847872 has been assigned as your pre-bondee. A group bonding ceremony will take place on the 14th, unless other arrangements have been made by your alpha or their family. A valid bonding license must be submitted to Omega Services within 45 days of this letter or all services will be cancelled and any transferable benefits will not be applied to your alpha's package.

If there is some reason why you cannot be bonded on this date, please apply for an extension by calling 1-800-555-6827 within 7 days of receiving this letter.

Sincerely, National Omega Services

Stealing Your Heart by @bladeofthenebula27

Steve's had his eye on the Alpha he wants for a long time and tonight's the night he finally gets to go out and take him for his own.

Slut Era by @bladeofthenebula27

Tony never meant to become the campus bicycle but since that was apparently what was expected of him he figured it was easier just to lean into it.

He just never expected Steve Rogers would ever want to take a ride.

Peep Show by @bladeofthenebula27

“Alright there, Sugar?” A voice came from behind him and he whipped around to see an omega with a little box of tokens. “You know you got to put one in to start right?”

Steve felt his face heat. “Yes ma’am. I was just uhh—“

“First timer?” He nodded and she gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, don’t worry, there’s glass behind the curtain, so the omegas can’t bite.” Then she winked. “That costs extra.”

Steve’s face got even hotter. He certainly wasn’t doing that.

Steve knew he wasn't any omega's first choice, or hell, even third. But what starts as a visit to a seedy Peep Show in Manhattan ends up changing his life for good.

Marked You Mine by @avengersnewb

Omega!Steve and Alpha!Tony go undercover as a bonded couple for a mission. As it turns out faking a bond has some unexpected (mostly pleasant) side effects.

Clothes Make the Man by @fiftyshadesofstony

When Tony's status as the alpha in Steve's life is challenged, Steve sets out to show him how much he likes the idea of being Tony's omega. (PWP featuring Brock Rumlow being an asshole and some sexy shirts!)

In Tribute by @ms-meredith-milton

Tony Stark is an Alpha and Crown Prince of Manottan.

Steven--son of Roger, son of Grant--is a sickly omega and a nobody, even in his home of Brooklyne castle. He just wants to serve his country.

Things kind of go from there.

Small by My_Soul_and_Perfume

It had only taken him until the age of five to begin believing his father’s words, and he has repeated this mantra to himself for years in this very same spot. Yet, he had never grown desensitized to them. Words weren’t like the colors of sweaters. They wouldn’t fade away.

[randomtable]

1d6 Odd Foreign Coins

For when treasure in convenient mints is just too easy. 1. Iron rings - this smallest denomination coin belongs to a nation far across the sea. Even trading with them, though, these rings are small change. 2. Butterflies - this odd currency belongs not to a nation but to a thieves guild (or other underground faction). It is made by permanently attaching four coins of the realm together in a sort of square or clover shape. It is not legal currency, but has value in certain illegal transactions. Carrying it can also, of course, get you into trouble. 3. Bricks - so called because rather than being flat disks, these coins are rectangular and almost as thick as they are wide. Bricks come in different denominations, in varying sizes but all made of silver. The small alliance of nations who use Bricks are nearby, but not on the friendliest terms with your home region. However, the raw silver is of decent value. 4. Beads and Medallions - smaller and thicker than the average metal coins, these coins are made of dyed glass. They are the coin of a small, wealthy principality, where literally displaying one’s wealth has become quite fashionable. Merchants who accept these coins are most likely to trade in small, luxury items. 5. Golden Daggers - these slender gold coins are not uncommon to see in the northern part of your realm. They are the most used coin in the neighboring kingdom, whose odd manner of minting begins with slender metal rods. They aren’t commonly accepted  except near the northern border, but it isn’t too difficult to find someone who will exchange them at a fair rate. 6. Silver Gems - so called because of their geometric design that resembles a cut gemstone, these coins are highly valuable. The empire from which they come has dissolved. The upper class of your realm romanticize the fallen empire’s glory days, and prize anything from it, including its odd currency. They can’t be spent like regular money, but to a collector they can be sold like valuable art.

[weirdbeancurd]

In Sickness and Health- ULTRAKILL Fanfic

Can be seen as platonic or the start of something more :)

Summary: V1 and Gabriel have made a home for themselves on the Earth's surface, but are still wary of one another. Gabriel gets a cold, bringing up some not-so-fond memories of the council. V1 takes care of him, earning each other's trust in the process.

Being mortal brought on many new challenges. For one, Gabriel could no longer teleport, which sucked. He also had a newfound need for sleep and food, which took some getting used to. However, these inconveniences came with their own joys, many of which were brought on by the machine. V1 helped him realize the satisfaction of survival, to fight and claw your way out of death. And the struggle, oh the struggle. Before meeting the machine, he'd never once known hardship nor humility. Every battle was over before he had the chance to savor the fight. Each opponent was little more than a mere insect, quickly squashed beneath his heel. But the machine taught him failure: to give it your all and still not succeed. It was exhilarating, the drive, the need for overcoming an obstacle in one's path. And oh, he wanted more, but alas, his life would be cut short, severed by the council who granted him nothing but false hope. He mourned the life he would've held if he had more time. He would’ve lived for himself, white-knuckling survival and indulging in the simpler things. He could explore the surface, or admire the surviving greenery. Maybe he would've visited the machine. And so sat Gabriel, on his deathbed, grieving for a future that cannot be. But, like with so many other things, the council had lied.

He survived. It hurt like hell, don't get him wrong, but his heart stayed beating and his chest rose with every breath. After the last of the light left his body, Gabriel broke down laughing (which soon devolved into sobbing) at the sheer relief he had felt. Never had he been so grateful to be alive. And so, he did all the things he longed for. He gazed at the sunset, he counted the stars, he observed the morning dew. The surface was barren yet hauntingly beautiful, lingering memories of a society passed and the flora and fauna that arose from the ashes. Only one thing was missing: the machine.

Naturally, being the one to spark his epiphany, he sought them out. He expected the creature to be ripping apart mutant animals, not what he found instead. When Gabriel finally saw it, it was sitting peacefully on a pier, fishing rod in hand, no gore in sight. It took a certain amount of patience for a hobby like this, yet V1 seemed to like the monotony. It was a change of pace from the usual run and gun attitude it had. The way it kicked its legs while waiting was surprisingly endearing. Everything about it screamed human. And maybe he did as well. 

Ironically, their reunion started with a literal scream. V1 had suddenly whipped around, pulling the electric rail cannon from god knows where and shot him squarely in the chest. After the world stopped spinning, he managed to convince it not to slay him on the spot, and that they could have a symbiotic relationship of sorts. The machine was clearly running out of fuel (the fish it caught had too low of a blood content), and Gabriel needed to eat. Gabriel would provide the blood and V1 would fish for a meal. They started as enemies. They ended up as mutualists. Perhaps one day, they could be companions. Whatever that meant. 

It was surprisingly witty when it wanted to be, somehow conveying a variety of emotions through their body language and single optic alone. It also had a strong grasp of sarcasm, much to Gabriel's annoyance. Despite their positive qualities, Gabriel just could not get comfortable around it. If the council taught him anything, it was that vulnerability does no favors. Even before his "betrayal," they instilled in him the idea that the public cannot see him falter, lest they think of their savior as anything but perfect. He’d once worn an outfit that revealed a scar he’d gotten when he was young. The council chastised him, for the righteous hand of god should be seen as untouchable. Scars imply mistakes were made. The father does not make mistakes. Now that he had no audience (except the machine), his values held true, also for the sake of survival. Baring your neck to a predator would only encourage your demise.

And yet, here he is, in all his ill glory, far less than perfect. Currently, Gabriel feels like shit. A shiver ran through his body. Fatigue lapped at his eyes. A general feeling of unwell coursed through his veins. He must've gotten what humans called a "cold," his body was no longer immune to disease, so succumbing to illness was inevitable. He cursed his traitorous body.

Gabriel slowly got off of the couch, making his way through their base until it reached V1. A spar would do him good. It swiveled its head around to face him, seated at a desk they stole from the apartment next door, tinkering on the knuckleblaster arm.

"Machine. I was wondering if you'd like to spar."

They perked up, and he swore its eyes shone with mechanical glee. It nodded frantically. He smiled underneath his helm. That was something he admired about them: their fighting spirit. Never were they not in the mood for a friendly spar, which was great, because he needed something to do to distract him from the headache blooming within his skull. Gabriel winced when the machine’s optic shone directly in his eyes. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, he thought, but V1 had already gotten up to prepare for their fight. He watched them head out the door, guns in tow. His feet made steps to follow, but stopped at the doorway. The world spun sideways, vision tunneling for a second. It felt like his head was about to explode. Thankfully, after what felt like years of gripping the door frame for stability, it didn’t. He didn’t think it was this bad, nor did he expect his condition to decline so rapidly, but clearly this cold was fiercer than he thought. But Gabriel was better than this; he was above this. Nothing but combat was enough to make him falter. He was the righteous hand of- Gabriel cut himself off with a coughing fit. For a moment, the only thing that filled the silence was his labored breathing. The machine did not need to know about this. If it saw him weakened by something as miniscule as a cold, it may just put him out of his misery. Maybe it would be for the best, for what good was he if not for his fighting prowess? That’s what the council kept him for, anyways. The machine probably thought the same.

Gabriel dragged himself to their makeshift arena (more like a field), body aching as if he was already beaten ten times over. V1 came into view, enthusiastically waving to him on the other end. He was too tired to wave back. Its waving faltered, somehow radiating concern despite its lack of facial features.

“I’m fine. We can start now.” It shrugged, and paced left. He paced right, like how all their battles began, but was having trouble keeping up. Gabriel unsheathed Splendor. His practiced hands shook, tremors wracking his whole frame. With a pained grunt, he used what little strength he had to lunge at the machine. It immediately countered with the shotgun, bullets pelting him in the chest and propelling him backwards. Usually, he was able to catch himself by digging his heels into the ground, but his legs failed him. Gabriel landed on his back with a cry of pain. The corners of his vision were narrowing, tunneling once again. 

No. Nononono. He can’t show weakness, he still wants to fight, he still needs to prove himself. 

Gabriel sat up with difficulty. 

He can’t be useless.

He plants his sword in the ground, using it to wrench himself up. 

He can’t become obsolete. 

His hand slips. 

They’ll get rid of him.

He passes out. The last thing he sees before getting swallowed up by darkness is a blue figure rushing to his side.

Gabriel floats through a dreamless sleep until glimpses of the council pull in his attention. They tower over him while trembling with shame.

“This thing dares to squander the might of the father?” They say. “Heresy. Unspeakable. Heresy.” 

Their words are like stakes to the heart. His eyes anxiously flit around, peering at each of the council members. Their eyes betray nothing but disgust. He tries to defend himself, to assure them he means no disrespect to the father, but they shoot him down like the machine did moments before. Gabriel shuts his eyes just in time to feel the light being ripped from his body. His vessel is on fire, every nerve in agony. His voice is hoarse from screaming and his wings beat on the ground as if it’ll help soothe his screeching nerves. Before he can even catch his breath, everything goes white.

Gabriel wakes up in a cold sweat, matting his hair to his forehead. He jolts forward and nearly loses consciousness again.  A chilled hand presses to his chest, preventing him from getting up. After a few moments of shallow breathing, he takes in his surroundings. He’s laying on the couch in only his tunics, his armor presumably in another room. Luckily, his helmet is still on. V1 is kneeling at the base of the couch with concern in its “eye.” 

“What… What happened?”

V1 moves its hands to sign. You passed out. Took off your armor. More comfortable. He suddenly notices the warmth under his skin, burning from within. Gabriel sighs. He has a fever. The motion of the machine’s arms grabs his attention. Are you okay?

What? Of course he’s okay. He’s more than okay, he is- was the righteous hand of the father! Gabriel could feel the panic building up, anxieties pooling at his feet. 

“I’m fine. I just tripped, that’s all.” The top half of V1’s optic flickered off,  giving the impression it was skeptical. 

“Really! It’s-” He cut himself off with another coughing fit. V1 pats him on the shoulder. He’s not exactly doing the best imitation of a healthy person at the moment. Some miserable panting later, Gabriel tries again. This time, he’s cut off by the machine holding its hand out as a sign to stop.

You are not okay, it signs. He begins to argue, to defend himself from these allegations that mean so much to him: his pride, his prowess, his own safety. V1 doesn’t let him finish. -And that’s okay.

For a moment, he is truly speechless. What does it mean, that’s okay? It isn’t, if he’s weak, there would be no use of him to the machine. Why would it care? And so he asks.

“...Why?” It seems V1 is having trouble getting its words out, too. It keeps positioning its hands to start signing and then lowering them to think of how to phrase its thoughts. 

At the start of their… symbiosis, it felt like it was just a parasite, gorging itself on his blood when need be. But as their relationship grew, it began to enjoy his company. It fished for food, Gabriel thanked it. Gabriel allowed himself to be fed on, but it always asked. It felt content when it was around him. It couldn’t imagine life without him. No longer was it just a leech, but… a friend? If Gabriel would let it call him that. It basically ruined his life, after all.

You make me happy. I want you to be happy, too. And healthy. There. That would suffice. Gabriel, on the other hand, was having a crisis, and the pounding in his head definitely wasn’t helping. Near delirious, he just could not wrap his fever-ridden head around what it was saying. The concept of genuine care just fell through his grasp.

“I don’t understand. If it’s a spar you want, I’ll be in working shape soon enough. In fact, I’ll-” Not what I meant. You’re more than just a weapon, you know. We both are. 

Oh. Its words pierced his cold exterior, coating his insides in sun-warmed honey. It was reassurance long due; in all his millennias, he was nothing but a tool, a means to an end. But with the machine? Maybe he was more. They both are, it said. Gabriel could feel his eyes begin to burn with stubbornly unshed tears. He took a shaky breath before speaking.

“I believe I owe you an explanation.” V1 cocked its head. “You’ve probably known this already, but I’ll have you know the council wasn’t exactly kind to me.” He glanced at the floor, fidgeting with his hands. “They despised weakness, specifically mine. The righteous hand of the father should not falter, after all.” V1 looked on with sympathy. “Any sign of vulnerability was a punishable offense. And their punishments were not to be taken lightly.” He shuddered. V1 placed their hand atop Gabriel's. His skin burned where their hands made contact, despite V1’s being cool metal. The tears were becoming harder to hold back.

You are very strong, physically, emotionally and more. He sucked in a shuddering breath through his teeth. But you don’t always have to be. Not anymore. The dam broke. Gabriel let out a gut wrenching sob, then another. His shoulders shook with every hiccuping wail, pent up from eons of emotional suppression. The hand that rested atop his reached over him and encased him in a hug, causing him to gasp. With the little energy he had left, Gabriel hugs them back, pressing his face into the crook of their neck. He didn’t deserve this, why was it being so nice to him? There was nothing it could get out of it! As if reading his thoughts, V1 brought its hands up to sign once more.

I’m not going to use you. Not like they did. Friends look out for each other, especially when they aren’t feeling their best. Gabriel nuzzled his face further into V1’s shoulder. Hm, friends. He liked the sound of that.

Im not sure if I like the ending, so I might repost this with edits later.

[lemonadecandy]

Meeting Zhongli [Part 10]

Game: Genshin Impact

About: Zhongli x fem!reader

Note : The premise is that 'you' get transported into the game and journey through Teyvat along with the traveler. This is a reinterpretation of the Liyue Archon Quests. Hope you enjoy~

Warning: Mentions of violence, slight profanity.

The storm raging inside my head just won’t stop. Everything was a mess and the harder I tried to navigate through it, the more futile my attempts seemed. I was breathing heavy gasps for air, and everything I saw through my eyes was blurry. Everything except the figure that lay on the bed. My eyes were hyper-focused on his body. Lacerations and contusions had mauled the man’s abdomen, still bleeding despite all of the treatment.

I slowly stumbled towards him, agony and shock had taken over my body.  Why was this happening?  “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”, I mumbled in my daze. But before I could reach the man, I had been shoved back into one of the other beds in the infirmary. My head hit squarely against the metal rods of the frames. “Get back!”, the red-haired man hollered as he drew his mighty great sword against me. 

Looking up at him, I noticed the look of unadulterated spite in his expression. Tears slowly started welling up in my eyes, “D-Diluc! I am sorry! I didn’t think this would happen.”

“Didn’t  think  this would happen?”, provoked by my words, he raised his weapon to strike me, only to be stopped by the Acting Grandmaster. 

“Sir! You have to calm down!”, she pulled him back with her forearms. 

“Calm down?! It’s been three days! Kaeya hasn’t woken up for  three days  now!”, snatching away from the blonde’s arms Diluc dropped his claymore and walked back towards me. Bending down, he grabbed my face with his right hand and pulled me up. “It was a  trap , wasn’t it?”

His fingers that were digging into my lower jaw were searing like the coals of a glowing fire. My legs were helplessly dangling in the air as I raised my hands to claw at his forearm trying to speak through his iron grip. “N-No! Pl-eas-e t-ru-st me!”

“Diluc! You have to let her go! This is against the regulation of the knights!”, Jean tried to persuade the raging brother.

“I am NOT a knight!”, he shouted. “Tell me,  everything  foreigner .  Otherwise, I will not hesitate to end your life.”

══════════════════

How had it come to this? I only wanted to repay the favor. That’s all. I just wanted to help out. Was this happening because a small part of me was selfishly hoping that I could go home? Perhaps, I wasn’t as selfless as I thought. 

For the past countless hours I had been sinking in and out of consciousness, but I was neither fully awake nor completely knocked out. My body was tired from the beating but I couldn’t sleep.  I just want to die.  I no longer even wished to go home, I just wanted the pain to end. Diluc was going to be back soon, he and Jean had only left to deal with Stormterror’s attack.  I was right…  The abyss was actually the one behind the attack, after that hellish interrogation, my mind is crystal clear. The game had explicitly stated their involvement.  But then what happened with Kaeya?

I leaned further back onto the cold metal walls of the prison as the incidents from the past few hours kept replaying in my mind. I had unwittingly rambled on about the truth. But instead of faith, all I had received were faces of disgust and alarm. 

  A crazy woman…  I suppose they are right. At this point, I am starting to wonder if it is all truly a delusion. Maybe this ‘home’ is just something I dreamed up. But when I spoke of their pasts… it seemed like I was speaking the truth. Then where did I even obtain such information, was I truly some sort of spy? I don’t have a single memory of that sort…

I am sure Diluc is going to scorch me to death this time , the only reason he had been even mildly lenient is that Kaeya had finally gained consciousness. I looked out through the metal bars of the window, the sun had already set. After being saved from that cave, I thought everything was going to be fine, but it seems like I was too naive.  Why did I even try to meddle…?  Now that I think about it, the main character hasn’t even arrived yet. I wonder if it will be the brother…? He was always the poster boy. Perhaps I should have gone with the original plan to wait for them to complete the story and then ask for their help, but Dvalin’s attacks had seemed too terrifying… I couldn’t keep to myself.  Well, it’s not like I will even be getting the chance to see them anymore. 

I closed my eyes with an overwhelming sense of defeat hanging over my mind,  I guess it’s better to just die peacefully now.

As if to break me out of my daze of despondency I heard someone call out to me. A strange premonition hit me as I slowly came to consciousness,  the anemo archon!  I was convinced that I had recognized the person correctly as if I had already lived through these events.  I am going to be saved once more!  But I had been utterly incorrect. The one to walk through the iron bars of the jail was none other than the  geo  archon. He had his spear drawn, and his eyes and hair were glowing as well. 

When he spoke, it felt like the whole room resonated with his voice. But I couldn’t make his words out, they had been overlaid with everyone else’s. All of them threatened to kill me. It felt like molten lead was being poured into my head, trying to melt my mind. I raised my hands to my ears trying to make it all subside but the intensity only kept increasing. So I started screaming as well, trying to drown out their whispers of malice.

Unable to take any more of it, I pried my eyes open. But instead of the ceiling of the dark and dingy prison cell, I saw an ornate one, presumably made out of wood. I wasn’t sleeping on any cold metal either, it was a soft bed…  the hotel bed.  I raised my hands in front of my face as I tried to calm myself.  Another one of those dreams.  But it had been a while since I had revisited my memories from the city of wind. Shivering from even the thought of an incident that had long gone by I sat up and glanced at my companions who were sleeping soundly on the bed next to mine.  Thank god… it doesn’t seem like I woke them up.  Carefully getting up, I tiptoed out of the room and into the balcony to get some fresh air.

 Ever since  that  incident, I had been having these hellish nightmares even more frequently. So much so that I was hardly getting any sleep. Still, despite my apprehensions, the archon quests had proceeded to continue as they were supposed to. In fact, they had carried on even more smoothly than before. Perhaps it was because this time, I had truly dissolved into the background.  I hope everything continues this way, I can let what happen to Kaeya, happen again.  We had come back a bit late tonight since the geo archon had treated us to a meal at Third-round Knockout.

That’s right, ‘today’ was when Zhongli was supposed to ask us out to dinner.  I wonder if I had noticed that discrepancy earlier and managed to decline his invitation for drinks… would I not have ended up in that  situation ?   I sighed as I tried to dismiss that topic from my mind for the hundredth time today.  No, that exchange by the sea might just have been what saved me. There is no need to worry anymore, ‘he’ will not hurt me.  We hadn’t really interacted after that confrontation .  It was too awkward to even share greetings. But then again, how could I  not  feel awkward around a man who had tried to kill me? It wasn’t the first time someone had to tried to take my life, it wasn’t even the first time that it had been a prominent ‘character’. At one point, all of Mondstadt had tried to assassinate me. Perhaps this exactly was why I had freaked out when I first saw him, maybe I was actually right to be afraid. The geo archon’s merciless brutality was too unnerving for me to bear.

But that was not what had been causing my distress. No matter how you look at it,  Zhongli has gone easy on me.  While his attacks did truly wound me, none of them were fatal injuries. In fact, other than the lacerations on my hands, which were mostly self-inflicted, none of the hits were severe enough to even cause me to bleed. The pain from my body had subsided merely a day after the incident, all that was left was soreness, so I am sure there weren’t any internal injuries either. I am glad that was the case,  but why?!  Not only did he  not  kill me, but he also let me off the hook pretty easily. I did do my best, but was he truly so easily convinced by my excuses? I have been pretty vigilant and unless he’s using some sort of archon magic, I am not being investigated in the off time either. The final nail in the coffin for my suspicions is the fact that he tried to instantly eliminate me. Without even attempting to interrogate me, he had skipped to directly killing me. It was as if he were trying to spare me from the pain of torture.  ‘This is the most gracious I can be, Y/n.’,  that’s what he had said.

 But once again,  why?! Why was he being gracious?  No matter how hard I tried to rack my brain, there just came no plausible reason for his leniency. There had to be something I am missing. “What the hell are you scheming?”, I unwittingly mumbled under my breath.

“Who?”, the traveler asked from behind me, causing me to flinch in fear. 

“Lumine! I thought you were asleep…?”, I nervously chuckled.

“I heard you getting up.”, she moved beside me and leaned on the railing of the balcony as she spoke. “So, what’s the matter?”

“Huh?”, I asked in confusion.

She had a perturbed look on her face, “Don’t think that I haven’t noticed the changes in your behavior Y/n.”

Realizing the connotations of her words I looked away, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You keep waking up in the middle of the night in a frenzied mess for the past few days… like  right now.  Ever since we parted ways to make that potion you haven’t spoken to Mr. Zhongli even once, in fact, you flinch every time he even looks at you. The awkward tension between the two of you is  literally  palpable. You keep saying that nothing happened but I am having a hard time believing you Y/n.”, Lumine’s eyes were unwavering as she tried to confront me.

Jeez, she’s reminding me of Zhongli.  “You are being delusional. There is nothing going on… I was just reminded of Mondstadt with all of the archon talks these days.”, I sighed as I tried to make plausible excuses.

The traveler’s expressions immediately softened as she moved closer to me. She didn’t say anything for a while, but soon spoke up as the silence got increasingly uncomfortable, “I saw the two of you… outside Third-round knockout. Y/n, it didn’t seem like the conversation that you were having was very  pleasant.”

Shocked at her confession I turned to look at her, but by the look on her face, it didn’t seem like she had overheard us.  That forsaken man is going to be the death of me… even if he isn’t the one to do it.  Incomprehensible frustration rose within me as I remembered our exchange. “It’s not a big deal… we were at odds about a  historical fact . You know how stubborn I can be.”

Lumine narrowed her eyes in skepticism as she huffed. “Again.”

“Hmm?” I carefully observed her, trying to determine if she had bought my words.

“You are avoiding me again. I thought we had become much closer than last time. I know— I understand, that what happen in Mondstadt is very hard for you to talk about. You were lucky to have the anemo archon’s favor, but I wish you could depend on me a little more. Just like you said when you first met me, our journey is not going to be easy, that’s exactly why we should  trust  each other.” The distress on the girl’s face was intelligible. 

I felt guilt and sympathy well up inside of me…  Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything to her.  Despite all the perils I faced in the city of wind, things had somehow managed to work out. All of the knights even tried to appease me when the situation was resolved and my innocence was apparent, though it was clear they still held some reservations against me. At the time, I had wanted nothing more than to get out of that place. Barbatos had been kind to me and had promised me safety but I didn’t manage to let go of my agitation.  If things could go wrong in Mondstadt, then what about the rest of the story?  After defeating Dvalin, I could have cut off my ties to the traveler but instead, I played with her feelings.  She knows that I have a clue about her brother… that’s why she wants me to trust her.  Unfortunately, I never planned on telling Lumine more than what was necessary to let me accompany her. I took her hands into mine as I tried my best to apologize, “I am sorry Lumine, I can’t tell you what you want to hear from me.”

It’s not like I didn’t want to put the lonely traveler out of her misery, but I knew better than to interrupt fate.  I really do want to tell you, but how could I? If you ask me where your brother is, I am afraid I won’t be able to answer, forgive me.  Perhaps noticing the sincerity in my expression Lumine suddenly embraced me. “I will find him… right?”

The traveler’s voice was clearly faltering as if she was about to burst into tears. “Yes. No matter what… at the end of this journey, you  will be reunited. ”

“Then, stay alive… and when I find him, don’t forget to ask for  that  favor.” I raised my arms to pat her back in an attempt to calm her down. She didn’t show it very often, but the traveler truly only had one thing on her mind, and the more time that went by, the more strung up she got. 

I chuckled, “I wouldn’t dare to forget.”

“You know… whenever  you  say something  will  happen, it feels like the ultimate truth, as if it was written in stone.”, she sniffled as she pulled back. 

This was perhaps the first time the traveler had broken down before me, I can’t imagine how much harder it will get as she starts learning the truth. I ruffled her hair as melancholy for my strange friend took over me. Startled by my touch she pushed my hands away, “Hey! I am much older than you think.”

I giggled, “I know.”

Smiling at my response she stretched her hands wearily, “Come on let’s get some sleep. We won’t be seeing Mr. Zhongli tomorrow, so there’s no need to get more worked up.”

I huffed at Lumine’s words, “That’s right, we’ll be meeting someone far more important…”

“Paimon seems very excited about the visit.”

“Well, she  is  the Tianquin.”

“I must say that I too look forward to seeing the Jade chamber.”

“ Me as well.”, I affirmed. “Though I think I need a few more minutes out here, I‘ll come in soon.”

I took a deep breath of the cold midnight air. Even though we were considerably far away from the docks the salty fragrance of the sea was still lingering. Lumine’s words ran through my head as I closed my eyes to try and enjoy the calm. Soon the events from outside the restaurant took front place in my mind. I still hadn’t managed to come up with a reason for Zhongli’s action. His behavior  now  was far more puzzling than when he was trying to end my life.

“Y/n?”, I was enjoying the ‘otherworldly’ delicacies laid out in front of me as I flinched at the familiarly terrifying voice that questioned me. I turned to my side and just as I thought, it had been Zhongli.

He had a curious expression on his face as he took a seat next to me. Flinching at the proximity I moved to the furthest end of the bench. I truly had come back to square one. Noticing my uneasiness, the geo archon shifted away as well. “I am hoping that everything is going well…”, he whispered so as to not catch the attention of Lumine and Paimon who were busy listening to the storyteller give exposition about the Tianquin, Ningguang. 

Sighing at my seemingly never-ending misery I asked, “Do you know what my most powerful weapon is?”

“Your ability…?”, he inquired in confusion.

“That’s right. You see, my ability can only work once. And the outcome where your plans succeed is the best possible one I could hope for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If I mess with what is going perfectly well… I will lose my only advantage in this world.”, I looked towards the geo archon with conviction. Measly fear shall not become the cause of my downfall. “Rest assured that I will not ‘renege’ on my words.”

“I realize that…”, Zhongli started cautiously. “But I was merely curious about your recovery…”, he looked down at my hands with worry.

Sudden vexation welled inside of me. I was furious, but it was hard to comprehend its impetus. This! This is exactly what has been irritating me these past few days! Zhongli has been incredulously courteous towards me. As if we were friends! As if he hadn’t tried to kill me! In fact, the only one being awkward was me, this man had continued with his considerate facade. “You did this to me.”, my voice was raspy with resentment.

Getting frustrated by his callous nonchalance I got up from my seat and made my way out to get some air. Unfortunately, the geo archon had followed me. “I was of the understanding that our differences had been settled?”, he politely questioned.

“Settling our differences you say?”, I scoffed at his almost innocent ignorance. “You threatened my life and then spared me at your whim, and I only complied. All because I didn’t want to die, mind you.”

“Exactly—“, the naive confusion on Zhongli’s face only served to fuel the fire of my rage.

“We are not friends. I am not going to merrily greet you nor am I going to indulge you in your fancies of companionship. So stop behaving like we are!”, I sternly cut him off. “The only relation we have is the one enlisted in our contract.”

Taken aback by my outburst Zhongli stayed silent for a moment. “I seem to have deeply offended you with my show of courtesy. I hadn’t realized your great dissatisfaction with our situation.” He took a step back as he spoke, “I understand now, and will keep your words in my mind.”

Perplexed by his reaction I fell back, burying my face in my palms as I sighed. “Just like you don’t intend to apologize for your actions, I don’t intend to forgive you.”

The confusion on the geo archon's face had been replaced by a remote calm. “I… understand.”

“If you wanted to kill me, at least act as if you meant it out of malice. I am not a charity box for your pity.”, my voice was wavering. The way Zhongli behaved like a robot with the only 'setting' of being ‘polite’ made me realize how utterly meaningless I must seem to him. “There’s no need for you to heed your hostility.” 

But the geo archon only remained silent. 

Frowning at his austere response which still seemed to be filled with unwelcome consideration, I walked back into the restaurant since Ganyu would be arriving at any moment.

I didn’t have the will to spare even a single glance towards the archon for the rest of the night, and he hadn’t bothered me either.  I hope by the time we have to face him again, I will have figured him out a bit.  Cursing at my fucked up life for the millionth time I retired to the room as well.

Banner art by Maria Rose on Twitter.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Bentley Mark VI Majestic Major Hemi V8 Special (one-off). 

When you first see a Bentley Mark VI in all of its stately proportions, high-performance isn’t the first thing that comes to mind. The Mark VI is now often used as a wedding car along with its Rolls-Royce stablemate the Silver Wraith, and what they lack in outright speed they make up for with elegance, dignity, and opulence.

For the uninitiated, a Bentley Special is a car that started life as a Bentley, often a Mark VI, that then has its chassis shortened and lowered. A new more sporting body is usually fitted on top, possibly influenced by the Bentley Le Mans racers of the 1920s and 1930s, and new engines and transmissions are frequently fitted for a more sporting driving experience.

In essence, Bentley Specials are hot rods for the kind of people who fare on a first name basis with all the Ritz-Carlton concierges from London to Los Angeles.

When delivered to customers most of the Bentley Mark VIs that were made were fitted with steel coachwork with four doors, and they were powered by either the 4.3 or 4.6 liter straight-six sending power to the rear wheels via a 4-speed manual gearbox.

The Daimler Majestic Major 4.5 V8 engine is perhaps not as well known as it should be. It was designed by legendary British engineer Edward Turner in two forms that look remarkably similar from the outside – the 2.5 V8 and the 4.5 V8.

The 2.5 V8 was produced in far higher numbers as it was fitted to both the Daimler SP250 sports car and the Daimler V8 250 four-door sedan. Surprisingly given the difference in displacement the external dimensions of the two engines are fairly close, the 4.5 is slightly wider, longer, and deeper.

Turner had made a name for himself designing motorcycle engines for Ariel and then Triumph earlier in his career, including the famous Ariel Square Four, the Triumph Speed Twin, the Triumph Thunderbird, and the Triumph T120 Bonneville.

In 1959 he designed the two automotive V8 engines for Daimler, using a very similar design for both engines, which included hemispherical combustion chambers and an overhead valve cylinder head design influenced by his earlier work on high-performance Triumph motorcycle engines.

The V8 has a 90º vee angle, an iron block with sandcast aluminum-alloy heads which contain two valves per cylinder actuated with pushrods from the camshaft which is located high in the block. The design of the engine has been praised by many over the years, including Jay Leno, however the fact that it was most famously fitted to the Daimler SP250 sports car – a vehicle that was not at all well-received – did dampen its reception somewhat. The 4.5 liter version of the V8 was fitted to the Daimler Majestic Major, a large and luxurious four-door sedan with a curb weight north of 4,000 lbs. The engine was said to produce 220 bhp and 283 lb ft of torque however this has been challenged in intervening years as the Daimler dynamometer was somewhat antiquated and was unable to produce readings above 220 bhp.

Whatever the actual power of the engine was it was prodigious, it was capable of propelling the hefty Daimler Majestic Major to a top speed of 120 mph, almost unheard of in such a vehicle at the time, and it gave the car performance that could rival many sports cars of the era.

[itsvunker]

It's in the distant future... Society as morphed past the original ideal. Men are now the most treasured commodity in the world. Masculinity and manhood are defacto signs of leadership and virility, they are the very essence of sexuality. Men will give anything and everything in this world to maintain their status at the top as the alpha in their environment. However, when illicit activity is reported and the suspect is detained, their manliness is considered forfeit. If there is a victim in the crime, the forfeit masculinity is awarded to them. While under their sentence, these criminal "men" are ridiculed, humiliated, and dominated by the actual representations of manhood. In today's example, we find Troy, a platinum blonde man of respectable size and stature. Troy was the victim of a robbing at the hands of Rodney. Rodney, being the man of larger girth, muscle, and masculinity, thought he could take everything that Troy had. Unfortunately for him, there were constables on patrol near the incident, and Rodney was quickly apprehended.

"Hey man! Lay off! This is my wallet!" Troy exclaimed, as Rodney took his shirt off, exposing his intimidating hairy body. Muscles flexed, and his gut swayed, the very earth seemed to rumble beneath his step. Throwing his entire weight behind it, Rodney gut checked Troy to the ground, pinning him with his massive stomach. Easily having 150 lbs or more on Troy, the man couldn't free himself from his fatty prison as Rodney's calloused hands rummaged through Troy's back pocket, fishing for the wallet. As soon as his cash prize was extracted, Rodney leaned back on his heels, stood up briefly in order to flip Troy over. Troy looked upon the face of his assailant, as his hands were pinned above his head with one meaty paw, Rodney raised his shirt, exposing his bare, hairless midsection. This was Rodney's favorite part, as he grinned to himself, lowering his massive tank back into place, its girthy weight piling on top of Troy's stomach, its hairy mass arousing the bottom man.

"What's the matter, little man, getting all worked up by this massive man on top of you?" His own cock stirring in his jeans. He flexed a powerful bicep with his free hand before really grinding his heft into the lower man. Troy winced in pain as sharp stones on the sidewalk dug into his exposed skin, his cock harder than iron, he felt Rodney's rod stiffening on top of him, and just as Rodney thrust his massive gut into his body, Troy embarrassingly came, painting the insides of his jock strap white with his load, whole body spasming. Rodney unfastened the button on his waist and freed his own cock, jerking it hard before painting the lower man's stomach with his own copious load. Feeling superior in every way to the blonde man below him, Rodney collected himself and his shirt, turning to face two boys in blue. "Ah shit..." The two cops, who had seen the whole thing transpire, fired their non-lethal weapons square into the man's broad barrel chest. They both discharged their payload, rendering the man's muscles and body mass useless, as their strength and weight were sapped from him. If there was a scale below him, the numbers would rapidly fall from his 425lb frame, although his appearance would stay as massive as he was. It was a special technology made at the turn of the century which rendered any man's power worthless and made them as weak as a twink of the old days, no matter what they physically looked like.

We rejoin our two men in the prison, Troy clad in only his jock strap, and Rodney stark naked, save for a clear hose fixed firmly on his manhood. The presiding judge spoke up and broke the silence in the room. "Rodney McCurrington, you are sentenced to a period of time no shorter than 5 years, relieved of your masculinity. As the victim in the crime, Troy, you are awarded the manhood removed from the defendant. Bailiff?" The hefty bailiff in the room assisted Troy with the opposite end of the hose attached to Rodney, lubing up the end and gently inserting it inside Troy's puckered asshole. Once it was firmly attached, the judge pressed the button to begin the process. The LED monitor on the wall shone to life, displaying the status of the procedure. [Mass Drain Initiated] adorned the first line, followed by Subject A and Subject B with a percentage behind each. The bailiff administers a drug to Rodney, whose manhood immediately springs to full erectness before his nuts start to spill their load unprovoked. Another marvel of the century, this drug is able to induce orgasm without stimulation in men. Despite the immense pleasure coursing through his cock, Rodney gritted his teeth. In a gruff manly voice, he managed to grunt out "N…no... It's... nnngh... starting..." The numbers slowly began ticking up on the percentages. Before long, 5% of Rodney's masculinity had been siphoned from him. Troy, who had bulked up just a little bit from Rodney's gains, gleefully reported "Oooh~ It feels like a REAL MAN is filling me inside...~"

The machine pumped and slurped away at Rodney's body, hungrily devouring anything that entitled him to be called a man, his prodigious gut slowly deflating like a balloon, his muscles withering away under his skin, and his body hair receding into his body. The display on the wall flashed a new phrase in addition to the growing percentages. [Beginning de-alpha routine] From somewhere deep inside him, Rodney felt a change begin to take hold. He slowly began to lose interest in lording himself over other men... instead... a faint desire to service them instead began to take root. As more of his manhood was drained from his body, Rodney's submissiveness only grew. His protests and demands for this to be stopped faded into only low grunts and moans as his cock is pumped for all that it's worth. His testicles shrinking and emptying faster and faster, his sack climbed up his rapidly thinning thighs. He could practically feel himself growing impotent, knowing he could never get anyone pregnant with his faded swimmers declining in number fast. His cock shrinking in tandem with his balls, he blushed in humiliation. Troy on the other hand was grunting and feeling the opposite... he only wanted to dominate other men more and more as Rodney's testosterone found its new home in his body. "Feeling... manlier... already..." as the numbers on the screen read 27% for drained and gained.

53% of the process completed by this point, Rodney was a shadow of the man he was. His facial hair reduced to little more than 5 o'clock shadow, as well all the other hair on his body. His moans are now giving way to pleads, a far cry from his original demands. "Ha...aaahh... My... manhood... P...please....S...stop..." 60% of his alpha male testosterone had been drained from his body. His chest lost its barrel shape as his shoulders drew closer together, no longer spread wide by his massive muscles, his proud gut little more than a small paunch at this point. His balls ached as they reached the size of peas, his cock no larger than a button, he had little left to lose there. Troy however turned to face his assailant at this point, his gluttonous gut swelling rapidly as large gobs of Rodney's manhood invaded his ass, his muscles bloating with newfound size and power, he flexed his arm and watched in amazement as it grew before his eyes. His beard began to grow longer, draping over his ballooning pecs at this point. "Mmmph... Fuck yeah..." he moaned into Rodney's ear. "It feels so good to have all your power and manliness invading my body, making me into the superior man. I understand why you ground me into the dirt back there with your gut. This thing is getting enormous!" He glanced at the monitor to check the numbers. "And we're only about halfway done!! Hahaha!" his voice booming deeper and more gruff with every word.

With one final tiny spurt from his nub, Rodney relieved himself of the last of his testosterone, and renounced himself as a man to the world. The machine sensed this, and caused his half of the hose to fall limply off his shrunken hips. He took a moment to explore his "body", white-hot shame burning through his whole frame. He could see his "cock" for the first time in years. His spindly fingers reached out to touch it, his sexual stamina now reduced to zero, as soon as he grazed it with the tip of his finger, it sprang to full hardness, a whopping half an inch, and immediately caused him to double over in a mind wrenching orgasm that he felt through his entire emaciated body. His tiny balls, worked overtime to be able to produce anything, little more than a drop dripped out from his tip. He groaned as he came back from his orgasm, feeling the rest of his hairless body, the skin clinging tight to his ribs, he had to be no more than 110 lbs WITH clothes on. He glanced to the monitor, and more shame washed over him as the readout displayed "[Subject B, Not Detected, Manhood Fallout Observed" Subject B Alpha Male depleted.] Above this, the readout sang praises to Troy, [Mass Drain Final Pump Started. Subject A, 81% gained.] Rodney looked at Troy, who was absolutely reveling in his own sexual desires.

"HNNNGG.. NNNAAAHHHH... STRONGER!! FATTER!! MANLIER!!!" he roared, his voice so deep it vibrated through Rodney's bony body. Rodney could only watch as his weakened body was unable to stop the final, massive glob of his maleness traveling through the hose into Troy's expanding ass. The jock strap, which had struggled so valiantly to remain intact, finally cut ties with itself and exploded off his body to the nearby wall. As the remaining 20% of Rodney flowed inside him, his gut gurgled loudly and began to jiggle and sway, rapidly getting fatter and hairier. His muscles twitched and spasmed, the dense forest beneath his armpits and across his chest growing darker and thicker by the second. His body was drinking in the very last of Rodney and he was absolutely loving it! His beard grew longer yet, now adorning the top of his humongous tank. Troy threw his head back in pure pleasure before the hose popped out of his thick, hairy, muscled ass, assuming the final bit of mass on his frame, roaring to the crowd watching above as the new alpha male was born.

A hulking mass of hardened muscular steel, firm heavy fat, thick and virile cock and balls, absolutely dressed to the nines in body hair, Troy lorded himself over the emaciated Rodney. He flexed his gut, lifting it just high enough that he could position it over the tiny "man"s body, and then let all of his weight and mass drop on top of him. Rodney's flailing arms groped around the behemoth mass of hairy gut for a few seconds before the stimulation was too much for him. He gripped that fat mountain hard as his cocklet sprayed 10 consecutive "loads" on the underside of Troy's manly mountain. He couldn't help himself with such a low sexual stamina. Troy on the other hand took a newly calloused hand, a working man's hand, to his own throbbing hard cock, giving it a few ginger tugs before he too erupted in bliss. Rodney was coated within the first few ropes that shot from the massive cock, those giant balls in his sack supplying more cum than Rodney will ever produce in 5 years in the first rope. A solid minute of orgasmic bliss later, Troy removed himself from on top of Rodney. The manlet below, completely and totally ruined as a man, drowning in a pool of an actual man's cum whimpered softly. His submissive urges almost causing him to beg Troy to smother him again.

Troy left satisfied. Justice had been served. Rodney was a pitiful excuse for a boy, much less a man at this point, and he was a gargantuan behemoth. Funny. All this happened over the $10 that he happened to be carrying in his wallet at the time. Over his shoulder, Troy called out to the boy, "was it worth the $10, boy?". Rodney's face went deep red. Being called the future society's worst slur, boy, was something he'd have to work through with his therapist.

[trowelaway-blog]

Why Stone Ocean is cursed to be underappreciated

Posting this rant here because I think people might like to read it. Wall of text ahead.

In the manga industry, mainstream publications are usually split by target demographic: shonen for boys/young men, shojo for girls/young women (think Sailor Moon, Rose of Versailles, etc), seinen for young men, and josei for young women are the main four, with shonen being THE thing people think of when they hear the word "manga". Before SBR, Jojo was published in Shueisha's Weekly Shonen Jump, alongside such titans as One Piece, Dragon Ball, and Naruto. And until SO, Jojo pretty well fit in with the shonen demographic, bizarre though it is. Fundamentally, it comes down to cool guys punching each other in cool ways, which shonen readers are absolutely down with.

But then SO comes along. Imagine Araki going to his editors at WSJ and saying "yes, this next part will be centered around a nineteen-year-old American woman in prison". It's a stark contrast to the historically-focused Jonathan or Joseph, or the Japanese cool guys Jotaro and Josuke. The whole premise is absolutely orthogonal to WSJ's target demographic; looking at SO as a whole, it's clear that Araki was pushing boundaries - for example, making Anasui first appear as a woman (he "wanted to make a character that transcended gender", which ironically FF ended up doing in the anime).

All this is anathema to the famously formulaic shonen genre, where the friendly, big-eater protagonist with a good heart who never gives up defeats enemies with the power of friendship, even from his hot-headed, abusive rival/frenemy, and also there is a Designated Girl there for some reason. There were few other WSJ titles with female protagonists; the only contemporary that comes to mind is Claymore, which only got a few months in WSJ, starting and ending in Shueisha's adjacent, less-renowned monthly publications Monthly Shonen Jump and Jump Square. (These days, there are more titles with female leads in WSJ, like The Promised Neverland, and, uhh... hm. The Emperor and I, I guess? Maybe you could argue for Spy x Family and Chainsaw Man part 2?)

In other words, SO pushed the envelope in many big ways. Interestingly, we already saw Araki start to expand his creativity beyond the shonen genre a little in DiU, and definitely in VA, where he starts to delve deeper into his idea of "fate", and where there are rumors about how Giorno was originally supposed to be a girl. But it's not just feminism - the story itself is complicated, with postmodernist touches that bring the reader's own experience into the story (i.e. the ending) and all the classic Jojo bullshit cranked up to 11 (frogs, snails, rods, "assassination feng shui"...). So it didn't exactly resonate with, say, Dragon Ball's reader base.

The final thing to remember is that SO ran from 1999-2003. All these themes that we're much more accepting of now - I mostly mean messing with gender roles - were not so unremarkable 20 years ago (at least in America; I can't comment on the gender politics of millennial Japan). It's not ancient history, but times have certainly changed; look at Guilty Gear's Bridget controversy, and ask yourself how that would've gone down in 2000, when virtually no one was coming out in support of trans people. To put Jolyne and Hermes and FF, and their bizarre adventure, in that context - it just didn't resonate with the world at the time.

For SBR and Jojolion (and, now, Jojolands), Araki moved to seinen magazine Ultra Jump, where he could be more creative and more adult. Stone Ocean got screwed over in a lot of unfortunate ways, but in my opinion the main thing was the growing pains of Araki's maturing storytelling, which just didn't jive with the typical shonen reader. The fact that Stone Ocean got published and sold at all is a testament to his existing reputation.

So yes, SO is massively underrated, and seems to have a curse on it to that effect, given how the anime adaptation was screwed over by covid (and, according to some, Netflix’s distribution). It's subtle and daring and complicated, which people reading Jojo for the fights didn't really go for. But it was not only a foreshadowing of Araki's even more matured storytelling in SBR and Jojolion, it's a magnificent work in its own right, and deserves to be appreciated as such.

(More can be said by anyone who actually has experience in the pre-2012 Jojo fandom either in the West or in Japan, which I don’t.)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

There has been a controversy where I live in the Borough of Milford, Pennsylvania, over whether to pass a resolution in support of Pride Month.  This is conservative area, with groups like The Rod of Iron, a cult that worships the AR-15 led by a son of Rev. Moon, based nearby, and there is opposition in the area to endorsing Pride Month.  This column is from  remarks I made tonight to the borough commissioners in support of Pride Month.  The resolution passed in a unanimous vote.

It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that it was 55 years ago next month that I was on my way from my loft on Broome Street to the Lion’s Head bar on Christopher Street in Manhattan when I walked right into what would become known as the Stonewall Riot.  That night is what gay pride and Pride Month is about.  On June 27, 1969, police from the NYPD vice squad were busting the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar on Christopher Street.  A crowd gathered across the street from the bar as cops led gay customers from the bar in handcuffs and put them into the back of what they used to call a “paddy wagon” that had been parked in front of the bar.

When a trans woman protested the way cops were prodding her with their nightsticks, two cops grabbed her and forcibly threw her into the back of the paddy wagon.  The crowd began throwing coins at the cops, jeering and calling them “pigs.”  Then a paving stone flew through the air and broke the Stonewall’s front window.  Two cops slammed shut the back doors of the paddy wagon, and as it drove away, more paving stones were thrown.  The cops retreated inside the bar and the crowd surged across Christopher Street yelling, “Let them go!  Let them go!”

It was the gay community’s Rosa Parks moment, when a black woman in Montgomery, Alabama, refused to sit in the back of the bus and was arrested, setting off the Montgomery Bus Boycott, which began in December of 1955 and lasted until a Supreme Court decision a year later declared that segregating a mode of public transportation was unconstitutional.  It was the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement, which led eventually to the Civil Rights and Voting Rights laws of the mid 1960’s.

On the night of June 27, 1969, gay people in Greenwich Village rose up and said, we’re not going to take it anymore.  What was it?  It was everything – being forced by societal norms to live in the closet if you wanted a job, or to rent an apartment, or to get a loan at a bank, or any of the other ordinary things straight people took for granted.  It was illegal in June of 1969 to serve an openly gay person a drink in New York State, so all the gay bars in New York City, including the Stonewall, were run by the mob.  The police were paid off to keep them open.  Busts of gay bars like the bust at the Stonewall happened all the time.  It was part of the price you paid if you were gay, to get arrested for buying a drink in an establishment open to the public.  That night, gay people said, we won’t put up with it anymore. That weekend, as people walked home after squads of cops in riot gear had cleared the streets, was the first time I had ever seen gay people openly holding hands in the street.  The chains were off. 

I wrote a story on the front page of the Village Voice, “Gay Power Comes to Sheridan Square,” about the Stonewall riot.  If you had told me, or anyone for that matter, that a movement would be born that would lead to the decriminalization of gay sex, to same sex marriage, and to gay people, for the first time in the nation’s history, being allowed to serve openly in the military, you would have been asked what you were smoking. 

A year later on the anniversary of Stonewall, the first Gay Pride parade marched up Fifth Avenue from Washington Square Park.  There wasn’t yet a Pride Month – that would come later – but a movement was born that over a period of the next four decades brought about all those things.  Gay people had to fight for rights everyone else already enjoyed.

My part in the gay rights movement was to write about and champion the right of gay people to serve openly in the United States Military.  I come from a family with history of military service.  My grandfathers and my father and my uncle and my brother and I all served.  All we had to do was sign on the dotted line and take the oath and we were soldiers.  But during the time we were in the Army, gay Americans had to do something extra.  They had to hide who they were, because it was illegal to be gay and serve in the military. 

Think about that for a moment.  You are a young man or a young woman, and you are patriotic, and you want to serve your country, but if you are gay or lesbian or trans or anything in any way other than heterosexual, you must commit a crime to do your patriotic duty, as perhaps your father or mother or grandfather had done. 

Memorial Day will be here next week, when as a nation we mourn those who gave their lives in serving their country in the military.  Have you ever thought of how many veterans were gay, or lesbian or trans, whom we mourn and thank on Memorial Day?  Have you ever thought of the debt we owe them?  Have you ever thought of the patriotism they felt as they wore the uniform, the pride they took in their service to this country?

Let me share a story my father told me many years ago, before the law imposing “don’t ask, don’t tell” was repealed.  In the winter of 1950, my father was serving in the 2nd Infantry Division as a company commander.  His unit was part of an attack ordered by General Douglas MacArthur to drive the Chinese Army out of North Korea.  To put it bluntly, it didn’t work.  After a series of battles with the Chinese Army, the 2nd Infantry Division was in retreat through a valley that became known as “The Gauntlet.”  His company was bringing up the rear of the retreat under punishing fire from the Chinese Army.  In a last, desperate attempt to escape the valley, my father ordered his men over a hill.  Dad’s company was pursued closely by the Chinese army as they took multiple casualties and carried their wounded.  As they reached the top of the hill, a machine gunner set up his machine gun and began strafing the Chinese Army as they climbed the hill in pursuit of dad’s company.  He stayed there, firing his machine gun, until the last soldiers in dad’s company had carried their wounded to safety.  He killed dozens of Chinese soldiers and he was killed protecting the retreat of dad’s infantry company.

After that build up, it won’t surprise you to learn the machine gunner was gay.  Since before the 2nd Infantry Division had been sent to Korea to fight, he had been relentlessly harassed and teased and bullied by his platoon mates.  Everyone in the company knew this was happening and did nothing to defend him.  And yet he stayed on that hill and fired his machine gun defending his company until a Chinese bullet took his life.

Dad told me that the next day after his company had reached safety in the rear area, they held a service for their company mates who had lost their lives.  Dad said that when the name of the machine gunner was read out, people started to weep openly.  Dad said that despite the fact that others had died that day, and others would be killed as the war dragged on, it was the saddest moment in the war for him, because he had known about the abuse of the gay soldier in his company, and he had done nothing about it, and yet the man gave his life to save his fellow soldiers.

I tell you this story because I want you to think about where patriotism and pride come from, and what they really are.  Patriotism isn’t a right; it is a privilege that is born in the heart.  Pride isn’t just about a lifestyle or sexual identity.  Pride is about what we all gain when we are free and can celebrate that freedom together, as individuals and as citizens of our great country.  

Pride is a dish best served warm, and from the heart.  I hope you will join us as we celebrate Pride Month together.

[Lucian Truscott newsletter]

[cutecuttlefish]

The sword of the day is the sword breaker.

…wait, what? I could have sworn we just featured this one…?

This is a completely unrelated weapon that happened to wind up with the same name in English as yesterday’s featured knife. The actual Mandarin name of this weapon is the jian (锏), also not to be confused with the jian (劍), or Chinese straight sword. This weapon is not a sword, and in fact lacks any cutting edge. It is a bludgeoning weapon, made to actually break swords and other edged weaponry on the corners of its square or rectangular cross-section. Another variant of this weapon has a rod that is sectioned like bamboo, and is called a tiebian, or iron whip. Despite the name, the weapon is not flexible.

[navysealt4t]

HELLO BLUE!! ^_^ i am back in your inbox to peddle my wares (fic concepts that are plaguing me actively)

BASICALLY for further context: this fic is like. how i have it in my head is the first chapter is a wishful-thinking type of thing. where clown is intentionally out of character (and specifically more in-line with zam's perception of him, being strong willed and close with the thing plaguing him. accepting it and emerging unharmed from the process of becoming one with [in his case] the void.) and celebrated. it's a fantasy. which is part of why that's specifically referred to as abacināre; to be blinded (typically by a red-hot iron rod or basin). because it isn't the truth.

"wind up the music box, look at the book again. whose story is it really?" is a call to the correct story, the one that zam was hiding behind this dream of being someone else.

currently i haven't fully finished zam's part. but. i gave him moths as a manifestation of trauma & paranoia & fear ^_^ because i just. something in my brain makes that click. (i've used that in previous fics. i can't remember where it came from but i like it, i use it). zam's spend his life trying to kill his fear, or hide away from it, only for it to come fluttering in through the cracks. so harmless, yet absolutely soul-destroying for him. he's tearing himself apart by proxy, since he's killing a part of himself with those moths.

something something trauma acceptance... i dunno it's a flowery metaphor for admiring people who've learnt to cope with trauma (or at least, what you've perceived as such. this is untrue in the case of what zam's seeing. clown was never bothered or hurt by the void, it was just a part of life to him. making this goal completely unachievable and unreasonable on zam's part) and not knowing how to, since their example doesn't apply to what you experienced. so instead you try and follow the example and it just brings you back to square one time and time again.

also, hence, spērāre, which can mean any of the following: "to hope, expect", "to await, anticipate", "to fear, be apprehensive", "to assume, suppose".

ALSO LASTLY, the fic's title being Asomatous, meaning without a material body; incorporeal. is just the icing on the cake that is this horrible angst riddled fic. because like. zam's assumptions aren't based in anything real, they have no grounding to them. and honestly? in this... zam may as well be a ghost. and the moths as well. they aren't real, they're a manifestation ^_^ (i can't go ten minute without giving my blorbos issues. and i just like making them Like Me yk yk)

(if i give this fic a nice/happy ending then we'll get a little healing. otherwise uh. self destructive tendencies the curse yet also my beloved as a plot device.)

ogugffbhjnkfmk i have. so many thoughts...... this is supposed to just be a random fic concept that i write and never think about again. im thinking about this one a LOT. i hope you've enjoyed my nonsense ramblings because i didnt realize i could talk this much until i just. started. talking.

oh. also. song ^_^

ooiugh pitting all of this In my Mouth <3333 i LOVEEE this idea clown being intentionally out of character and idk why but i LOVEE ‘whose story is it really?’

AND MOTHS!!!! AS THE MANIFSTATION OF FEAR AND TRAUMA AIUHH <3333 i love bugs as like metaphors and in writing it’s sooo 💥💥

FUCKING . HOLD U IN MY HAND I LOVEEE HOW UR BRAIN WORKS <333333 oughh the title i love it i LOVE this 🫶🫶🫶🫶

i loveeee the nonsense rambling <3 just getting lil bits of ur brain i love words fuck yeah !!!!!

[lawschoolapplicant]

things I have to throw away

Iron Rod Square She Welded in Class

Rock Cube She Brought me from the Woods

Blue Pot She Made in Class

God Save the Animals Magnet She Got Me for Christmas

Sheet She Perioded on the Second Time She Slept Over (because there is no more visceral proof of her existence in that spot than this)

[whumpofdory]

The Spoiled Prince, Part 9

CW: graphic branding, begging, brainwashing, pet whump

Callum fell asleep shortly after Alvard left. He awoke to the sound of Evine’s voice. “Please, if you hurt him any more he could die! He isn’t used to this. Couldn’t he get shocked or something?”

“The phrase is “go into shock”, and I can handle it if he does. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened in these cells and I’m sure it won’t be the last either.” Callum felt a boot connect with his side and he grunted, turning onto the opposite side and curling in on himself.

“What do you want? Haven’t you done enough to me already?” Callum all but whispered. His collar was still on, but had been dirtied by the cell. Alvard didn’t mind; he was used to the layer of grime that covered things here. 

“I haven’t done nearly as much as I plan to, pet.” He walked around Callum and kicked his wounds on his back, making the boy cry out in pain and arch backwards, stretching the already shredded skin. 

“Please, your majesty, give him some time to heal. Then you can do whatever you want.” Evine tried to plead with the unfeeling golden eyes. 

“But I can do whatever I want now, why would I want to wait?” He ignored any further pleas from Evine and addressed the man on the floor beneath him. “Lie on your back.”

Callum tried to respond calmly. “Well you see, I can’t do that because some twat decided to whip me-” He let out another sharp shout as the boot behind him connected with his back again. With a great deal of muttering he slowly eased onto his back. 

“Now,” Alvard began, walking a few steps away, “you still haven’t obeyed both rules from yesterday. Do you remember what they were?”

“Always eat your veggies and-”

“Incorrect. They were ‘Do not remove your collar.’ And ‘Address me as Master.” You have only followed one of them. This is your chance to change your mistake.”

“I haven’t made any.”

“Fine.” An iron rod appeared in the king’s hand, around three feet long and half an inch thick. Callum could see it had some sort of shape on the end out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t care to be beaten again, but he supposed things could be worse. 

“I’ve been thinking,” said Alvard, waving the rod dramatically, “that you should have some sort of identifying mark in case you try to run away. On the off chance you would be stupid enough to try that.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t do that.” Callum was half sarcastic, but there was something dangerously close to begging in his voice. 

“Of course.” The king’s face drew into a mocking pout. “But better be safe than sorry.” He grinned and brought the shape at the end of the rod to his empty hand. His hand glowed with heat, and Callum realised what he was about to do. 

“No wait!” Without looking down, Alvard placed a boot squarely on his diaphragm, the toe of his boot just barely touching the top of his sternum. Callum wriggle under the force, trying to get away. “Just wait a minute, we can talk about this.” Panic was quickly seeping into his words. 

The shape now glowing red-hot, the king bent down and ripped Callum’s already ruined shirt down the front, and then around the arms so it came off in tatters. The prince tried to lift his arms to protect his chest, but the manacles were stuck behind Alvard’s calf. “Now try not to squirm. It’ll hurt more if you do.” The king said as he slowly brought the heated shape toward Callum’s left pectoral, trying to line it up straight between his shoulder and nipple. The prisoner watched it approach with increasing fear. He felt bile rise in his throat. “Master, please.” He said quietly. A little debasement now to avoid permanent scars. He told himself. 

“Sorry, what was that?” The brand moved farther away from his skin.

“Master, please don’t do this.” He said it clearly now, trying to ignore Evine’s stare from the other cell. “Please, Master, I’ll follow the rules.”

“Very good!” Alvard and Callum both smiled, one in triumph the other in relief. The brand plunged into the prince’s skin, making him scream. He could feel his skin bubbling and popping in the red-hot agony on his chest. “But too little too late. You had your chance earlier. Remember next time that my mercy will only extend to a certain point.” Callum felt the metal pull some of his skin with it as it left his chest. “But I am proud of our progress today. If you thank me now, we can be done for the day. What do you say?”

Callum gritted his teeth in pain and anger. “Thank you, Master.”

“Well done, pet. See you tomorrow.” The boot left his chest as Alvard disappeared. 

Evine could see the brand as Callum sat up. It was a basic diamond shape with a line connecting the two obtuse points. Alvard’s family’s royal symbol; he knew it from his studies. He stared at it before looking at Callum’s face. “Are you okay?” 

“Leave me alone. And when we get out of here, don’t tell anyone what happened. I just said that to get him to stop. You would do the same.” Callum huffed as much of a scoff as he could muster in his current condition. “In fact, I recall you would say anything to me a few times.”

His smile fell after he turned away. Does that mean I was as cruel as Mas- King Alvard? He thought to himself. How could I have treated someone that way and thought it was normal? He started to realise that he had worse in store for him than Evine had ever endured by his hand. Maybe it’s what I deserve.

Taglist:  @whumpy-butterflies , @pigeonwhumps , @wolves-and-winters @heyyitsworld @mothmxwhump

[wjbminecraft]

A complete, slightly-modified compilation of the arrow types I've mentioned in my reblogs of @mega-taiga's Spectral Arrow post, along with sprite mockups for all 24.

Wool Arrows that work kinda like the Moss Arrows from Thief, placing a single square of Carpet wherever they land.

Water Arrows that can put out fires and extinguish burning mobs.

Explosive Arrows that are weaker than TNT, only being able to break blocks less durable than stone (yes this is a thing that MC can do, I have managed to make similar things happen in my mods), but are more effective against mobs.

Redstone-powered Homing Arrows that require the player to keep their crosshair on a mob for a certain length of time.

Grappling Arrows that produce a Fishing Rod-like rope, which can then be used for scaling walls. Also Hooked Arrows for hookshot shenanigans, which send out a chain instead and have durability instead of being single-use.

Iron-Tipped Arrows that deal more damage but don’t fly as far.

Dye-filled Tracking Arrows that don’t do damage but make the impacted mob show up on maps with a coloured marker, until the arrow despawns.

Bone Meal arrows that fertilise in a 3x3 area around the target block, but harmlessly bounce off mobs.

Shulker Arrows that have an upwards arc; useful for trickshots.

Elytra Arrows that travel in a straight line.

Lure Arrows that attract aquatic mobs.

Noisemaker Arrows that distract Wardens.

Arc Arrows that have an AOE lightning effect when they hit a block or mob.

Illusiory Arrows that project a translucent recreation of the mob that fires them.

Message Arrows that can hold a single page’s worth of text.

Redstone Arrows that make remote block-activation easier.

Cluster Arrows that break apart into flechettes to cover a wider area, but with less accuracy and much lower damage.

Echo Shard Arrows that work like the Warden’s ranged attack (that is to say, the Quake III railgun).

Gold-Tipped Arrows that do a bit more damage and are more enchantable but have such an arc that they’re essentially just a fancier melee attack, but said arc can be reduced with a rare “True Shot” enchantment (each level of which decreases the angle by a different amount; cheating in a high-enough version would actually make the arrow’s trajectory invert).

Tripwire Arrows that set up a tripwire if fired into a 3-block gap.

Flash Arrows that explode harmlessly, but apply a new “Stunned” effect to any entities within a radius, which makes the screen blurry and desaturated, and muffles all audio.

Capsule Arrows that can have stuff stored in them, kinda like single-slot bundles.

Frost Arrows that apply the Powder Snow effect to enemies for about 30 seconds (600 ticks).