#THINGS IM NOT SORRY ABOUT

[sky-kiss]

Eyo how come you write Tav/Joi doing so many things including monster fucking with Raphael... And yet you've not written them giving him a good old fashioned bj? WE MUST ACCOUNT FOR THIS.

A/N: THANK YOU FOR THIS ENTIRELY UNPROMPTED PROMPT. GUESS WHO MADE THE MISTAKE OF LISTENING TO MR. WINCOTT READ AUDIOBOOKS AT THE GYM AND IS GONNA MAKE IT YOUR PROBLEM? I’ll save Joi for filthier blowjobs. Tav shouldn’t have to do that.

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Raphael x Tav (GN), 18+

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His skin tastes like cherries. 

It shouldn't surprise them, not with how the scent lingers, sweet and heady when he enters the room. But it does: it’s cherries and something spicier, a note of otherness his human glamor wouldn’t suggest. Tav sits back on their heels, admiring their handiwork. 

How odd, how strange, to find a man like him beautiful. He’s too old for it, cheekbones too sharp, nose too pronounced, mouth bordering on too wide, but he is beautiful. Tav licks their lips. Sometimes, they look at him and ache with the force of it. It’s a weight in their belly, sharp and shocking; it’s heat licking down their spine. It’s that sensation of emptiness, never sated until he’s buried deep inside.

Raphael’s chest is a patchwork of kiss-sucked bruises. He wears these with no small amount of pride; the fact is, the devil enjoys being marked as much as he enjoys marking others. He touches one over his heart (there are teeth marks there, a little violent, but Tav hadn’t been able to help themselves), brow arched in amusement. Tav swallows. His hair is wild, teased into all manner of angles by their hands, and he is…

“You look lost, little mouse,” In the afterglow, his voice is lower. There’s a more pronounced undercurrent, self-satisfied, rasping from his moans. “Let this devil be your guide: unburden yourself.” And the word chases across their skin like a touch. 

Tav’s voice is ruined. “Want you.” 

“Mmm, want me how? You’ll have to be more specific. The devil is, after all, in the details.” He smirks, and he must know the joke is bad. It doesn’t keep him from chuckling, and Tav shivers at the sound. “Though… perhaps you’re of a mind to be used?” 

Tav chokes. 

Raphael’s eyes are almost golden in the firelight, lit from within and without; triumph flares in them alongside hunger. “We might find other uses for that lovely mouth should words continue to fail you.” 

It’s all the prompting they need. Tav scoots back on his thighs. Even human, he’s far warmer than any mortal. The latent heat licks upwards, warming them, teasing, and the urge to grind against his skin is…they push it down, chewing the inside of their cheek. Tav strokes him to readiness, committing his little hiss to memory. The devil’s right-hand fists in the sheets. The left strokes Tav’s cheek before sliding back into their hair. He yanks.

Raphael shifts beneath them, making himself comfortable. A king on his throne (and gods, they want to fuck him on his seat in Avernus, want to hear him come apart in that ridiculous Bronze Citadel), smug. He always watches, holding Tav’s gaze as they lower their head. Tav laps up the bead of precum (not tasting of cherries this time, small wonders), and he chuckles. “How lovely you look. How well sin suits you.”

Tav shivers, dipping their head to nose at his hip, dragging their teeth across the skin. There’s a patch right near the divot between the bone and his abdomen that always makes him gasp, rocking up. Tav knows him too.  

Tav knows that if they take him to the back of their throat, he will groan long and loud. The fingers will clench in their hair to the point of pain, and he will hiss. They know his voice will be sin, almost as good as the feeling of his cock pressing inside. 

“Yes, good, you serve me so well, pet,” and he barely has the air for it. Tav’s head swims; Raphael fucks into their mouth, selfish and needy. And Tav knows if they tease a hand between his legs, he will part them all too readily. 

For all his lofty claims of control, the sound he makes when they press a finger to his hole, massaging the tight ring of muscle, suggests otherwise. It’s always the same growl, his back bowing, trying to get more. Tav chokes, jaw aching, and forces themselves to relax. It’s worth it. It’s worth it to see him undone, worn raw, and wanting.

He’s always so vocal. Babbling some mix of Common and infernal. Tav groans around his cock, screws their eyes shut, and loses themselves in it. Raphael comes with a whimpering little cry, so much less than what preceded it, and that’s somehow better. Tav nearly breaks, shivering with the force of their want. 

Raphael strokes their hair, purring such pretty things to them. Most are lies. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter; let him lie. 

Tav’s finding they prefer it to reality. 

[daftmooncretin]

spock’s room decor is actually fucking bonkers. The weapons??? the big red velvet curtain??? like ok phantom of the opera go crazy.

for reference jim’s room has some photos and a plant so we can surmise this is uniquely a spock being a dramatic weirdo thing

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push the heel of my palm into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[hawberries]

it's almost time for a new adventure!

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

the problem with having a book out the same day as the US elections is that it's like..... hey, so, i see you're struggling through the unending horrors. can i offer you some nice sword lesbians in these trying times? 😬

[limonjarritos]

SHE HAS A PLACE AT THE TABLE, SHE IS THE VOICE OF ZAUN BUT AT WHAT COST

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Being someone who read Under The Red Hood and came out with the firm belief that, for Jason, it's not about killing Joker, it's about Jason wanting proof Batman would choose him over the Joker (bc shelia chose the joker). Makes seeing any other media where it's all about just wanting the Joker dead is a teeny bit frustrating. to be honest

Jason could've killed the Joker himself, really, really easily. Jason kidnaps the Joker before the confrontation. I can't open my comic for a reference right now, but it felt like he had the Joker for quite a bit before the confrontation. He had him. He beat him up with a crowbar. He had every single opportunity to kill the Joker himself, but he didn't because that wasn't his goal. Make no mistake, he did plan for the Joker to be dead by the end of it, but do you see what im trying to say here

Edit: If I knew this post was gonna get 1000+ notes I would've tried to word it better or something, this was a rant I made on the way to the grocery store 😭

It's not about making Batman kill either. When Batman says he won't kill, Jason adjusts and goes, 'Let ME kill the Joker or kill me to stop me' instead. The test is all about Batman choosing him. The whole final confrontation is Jason's first death again. The parent, The Joker, and the explosives. It even ends with Jason unable to move as a bomb goes off right next to him again because the parent didn't choose Jason. And instead tried finding an option that'd benefit them and (consequencely) letting the Joker walk, again, lol, lmao <-in agony

[gunstellations]

encounter (1/?)

next page

cont. of unfamiliar side

[astronnova]

danny phantom cast explorations and thoughts :v

[lilislegacy]

percy, holding out his fist in his palm: ok wise girl. rock paper scissors time. if i win, i get to pick the movie for date night

annabeth, doing the same: fine, but if i win, we move back across the country to that house in westchester that i love

grover, looking over in alarm: what?! how is that even—

percy, nodding firmly: deal. rock pap—

[mokeonn]

"But if college was free, then people would abuse that and get useless degrees" hell yeah I would! If I could go to college without debt I would make it my job to get a degree in every little thing that interested me. I'd get a doctorate in film studies. I'd have a bachelor's degree for every science I like. I'd try to learn at least 5 languages with varying results. I would learn something "useful" like coding and then follow it up with a ""useless"" degree like art history. I'd be the world record speed run holder for getting every degree possible.

But I can't afford college without going into massive debt, so instead I spent the last 5 years trying to figure out what I am passionate enough about to consider going into debt over, because unfortunately being passionate about everything is extremely expensive to pursue.

[hinamie]

been in a yuuji mood

[roseworth]

ok now im kinda curious

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[ruushes]

a friendly little murder 😊🐦‍⬛🖤🗡️ the crows really said you're going to wear purple leather and you're going to like it

[xxplastic-cubexx]

alternate apocalypse ending or something who the hcrist knows anymore