#and by 'big fan' i mean 'where the fuck are they

[sematarygirls]

Okay but he’d fuck you so hard when they lose the Super Bowl after you spends an hour gloating about the eagles handing their asses to them!

i saw this request and started giggling and kicking my feet omg. anon, i owe you my first born child. you are a GENIUS! (although, fair warning, i'm not great at writing smut. i hope this is okay <3) not proofread

cw: unprotected p in v, rough sex, mean rafe, slapping, degradation

Football tended to be a touchy subject between you and Rafe. Where you were a diehard Eagles fan, he wouldn't be caught dead rooting for them. After the Chiefs narrowly beat out the Eagles in the 2023 Super Bowl, Rafe wouldn't shut up for weeks about how "trash" the Eagles were. It drove you absolutely insane.

That's why, when the Eagles absolutely kicked ass this Super Bowl in a rematch against the Chiefs, beating them out at a whopping 40-22, you thought it was your well-deserved right to rub it in Rafe's face, much to his dismay.

One thing about Rafe is that gloating is only okay when he does it—much like a lot of other things (he's a very hypocritical guy), hence his growing anger when you wouldn't stop talking about how the Chiefs absolutely threw the game with all their fumbles, making jokes the whole time about how it seemed like they weren't even playing.

Another thing about Rafe? He tended to get violent when he was angry. With other people, this meant he'd kick their asses, but with you, it meant you were in for a long night of rough fucking to make him feel better and put you in your place for your "bratty attitude."

Though, if you tried to point out the hypocrisy with him finding your actions annoying when he had done the exact same two years prior, he would only get more annoyed and very, very defensive.

You'd learned at a very early stage in your relationship that some battles were not worth fighting with Rafe, and besides, you kind of liked it when he was all rough with you, manhandling and degrading you deliciously.

"Not so mouthy now, huh?" He taunted, pounding into you from behind. Each thrust pushed you forward a little bit, your face burying further into the pillows as you moaned. A sharp slap to your ass had you gasping, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure to your core that had you practically gushing around Rafe's thick length. You didn't know how long you'd been going at this with him, but he hadn't let you cum, nor had he let up the brutal pace.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Can't even think of anything to say back to me, huh? Thought you were gonna gloat all night about how the Eagles won." His words were cruel and biting, revealing the depth of his anger, which wasn't about the football game. It was more so about being challenged, his ego hurt after talking such a big game about how the Chiefs were going to dominate.

You couldn't form a coherent sentence. Your brain turned to mush as the only thing you could focus on were his rough hands on you and his length stretching your velvety walls. You could practically feel each ridge and vein of his cock as it slid back and forth, his tip nudging your cervix roughly with each pass.

"What happened to that smart mouth, huh?" He mocked. "Your dumb little brain's too desperate for cock, huh, bunny," he cooed, his tone patronizing as he continued to pound into you with rough strokes, making your back arch and eyes roll back.

He was so mean, but you loved it.

He was right. You couldn't respond to him anymore. You had lost your ability to form a single word, dumbed down to a mess of please sounds as he hit that sweet spot inside of you so perfectly. He took that as a victory, seeing it as proof that you knew your place. He loved it when you whimpered underneath him, completely at his mercy. "Look who's behaving now. You're lucky you're so pretty, honey," he continued, enjoying this little game of his. "Otherwise, I wouldn't put up with such a bratty mouth."

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, giving your ass another sharp smack before his hands found your hips again, his grip bordering on painful. "And this fuckin' love this pussy. Fuckin' perfect, baby."

He was getting close. You could tell by the way his pace started to falter, and his words switched from degrading to praising. One hand slipped down to your clit, rubbing firm circles. Even when he was pissed, he still tried to make you cum first.

It didn't take much more effort on his part. Your thighs were already trembling, desperate for release from the moment he'd thrown you onto the bed and ripped your clothes off.

"You're gonna be a good girl now, huh? You're gonna stop being such a pain in the ass, aren't you?" He questioned, punctuating each question with a thrust. "No more running your mouth and riling me up, right?"

"Uh huh," you whined pathetically, needy and desperate to cum.

He knew he had you right where he wanted you, all pliant and begging. "Yeah, you gonna stop talking back, huh? You can be a good little bunny for me, can't you?" He cooed, his words sounding a little bit less harsh. He was enjoying having you like this, completely at his mercy.

All you could muster was a weak nod, your fingers gripping the sheets and mouth parted in ecstacy as you reached your peak, blinding pleasure overtaking your body as your walls clamped down around his cock.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he groaned, pumping a few more times before pushing deep inside you and releasing spurts of hot, sticky cum into your eager cunt.

[kashverse]

hihi another request, can you do one where babykuna is spending a day with her uncle choso? it could be anything really, go to a park or play salon or baking or painting or even play dress-up! i could see choso making a custom matching outfits and kunapapa is just jealous he doesn't have a matching outfit with his baby girl.

thank youuu <3

if there is one thing choso understands in his line of work as uncle "chocho" to babykuna, it’s that every single day is a grind. not just in the business sense—no, no, no. this is the real world, where survival depends on working hard and playing harder.

and by "playing harder," he means getting absolutely swindled at the mall by a six-year-old and her unhinged ideas.

in the span of 24 hours, babykuna and choso now have:

matching deftones t-shirts—except the album cover of ‘around the fur’ has been horrifically swapped out with a 0.5x picture of babykuna's face, making her look like a cryptid mid-screech.

matching temporary tattoos—$20 per spray-on tattoo, an absolute scam, but babykuna had sparkly eyes when she picked out the designs, so what was he supposed to do? say no? ridiculous.

freshly painted nails—babykuna’s nails were pink with tiny skull stickers; choso’s were black with glitter. because, in her words, “you need to be sparkly and scary, uncle chocho.”

choso had just accepted his fate, proudly wearing his t-shirt and admiring his nails, when they walked through the front door.

enter sukuna.

sukuna, who had one expectation when his brother babysat his kid: to not be personally attacked by what he sees when he gets home. instead, he’s greeted by his daughter parading her new drip and his brother-in-law looking like a deftones fan who got lost in the hello kitty section of a hot topic.

“what. the. fuck.”

babykuna threw her arms up. "PAPA! LOOK!" she twirled around, showing off her custom t-shirt with her own terrifyingly distorted face. “we MATCH!” sukuna’s eye twitched. "oh, do you? huh. isn't that nice. isn't that—ABSOLUTELY UNFAIR."

choso blinked. "uh."

sukuna gestured wildly at babykuna, then back at choso, then back at babykuna. "why do you match with ‘chocho’ but not me?!"

babykuna gasped. “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE RIGHT!” choso, sensing danger, took a defensive step back. “listen, man, she—”

"shut up, choso. shut the fuck up, choso." sukuna rubbed his temples, betrayed. "first, my own daughter—MY OWN DAUGHTER—matches with my dumbass brother before me, and now you’re telling me that i’m the only one without a stupid ass t-shirt?!"

babykuna, to her credit, looked genuinely apologetic. “papa… i can make you one too?” sukuna sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. "oh, now i get a t-shirt. now."

babykuna nodded earnestly. "yes! with an ugly picture of you, just like me!"

choso let out a quiet snort. big mistake.

sukuna turned to him immediately. “what the hell are you laughing at, you glittery dumbass?” choso, who now regretted his entire day at the mall, cleared his throat. “...nothing.”

sukuna exhaled through his nose, like an aggressive bull preparing to charge. "where’s baby? at least he wouldn’t betray me like this."

that was when baby the orange tabby casually walked by, decked out in a tiny version of babykuna and choso’s t-shirts, tail flicking behind him like a king among peasants. sukuna's soul left his body.

"YOU DRAGGED THE CAT INTO THIS?!"

[gojougf]

missing husband! satoru ♡

summary: you miss your husband, who's away on missions all the time.

warnings: smut, mentions of food, unprotected sex.

wc: 1.3k

i'm ovulating and the thought of being his little housewife is just rly appealing rn... ദ്ദി •⩊• )

being the wife of the strongest sorcerer to ever exist means that the chances of having your beloved home to yourself, is considered a privilege. being his wife is anything but easy—especially when your love language just happens to be physical touch. but how can you express it when the one you long for is barely ever home?

but on the rare occasions when you do have the special privilege of lounging around the tokyo penthouse you and satoru call home, you make sure to savour every moment—taking full advantage of the time you have together.

“toru, let me feed you!”

you don’t even give him a chance to respond before you’re clambering between his long legs, sprawled out on the fancy chair in the large dining room. still clad in the frilly pink apron you’d tied on earlier, you snatch the fork from his fingers, slicing into the stack of dorayaki you’d happily made for him. with a sweet smile, you lift a piece to his lips, coaxing him to take a bite.

" 'f course, sweets. anythin' you make tastes better when you're the one feeding it to me"

now, your husband is no stranger to your antics—he knows his prolonged absence has only made you clingier than usual. but he doesn’t mind. in fact, he grins happily, cerulean eyes crinkling with amusement as he leans back, letting you dote on him. his large hands find their place on your thighs, resting there comfortably as he soaks in your touch, completely at your mercy.

once breakfast is over, you unconsciously insist on being by his side for everything.

you settle into his lap as he vents animatedly about his disinterest in the higher-ups while sifting through paperwork, his free hand absentmindedly tracing circles on your back. later, you curl up next to him on the couch as a B-rated horror movie plays, fingers intertwined with his while your head rests against his broad chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing far more comforting than the plot unfolding on screen. and even when he retreats to the bathroom, you follow, perching yourself on the counter, chatting away as he listens with a small smile—occasionally glancing at you through the mirror while carefully shaving the barely-there stubble that’s surfaced from his endless workload.

but such affections aren’t enough for you.

you need more.

the longing that’s been simmering inside you for weeks—fuelled by nights spent alone in an empty bed and days aching for his touch—demands to be satisfied. it’s not just his presence you crave; you need his attention, undivided and wholly focused on you.

which is why you're mewling out his name like a mantra, your hands raking through his ivory locks and feeling his undercut, legs folded to your chest by satoru's big, manly hands as he desperately fucks you like his life depends on it. his eyes are transfixed to where you two connect, watching as you take all of him in, eyes glued to the lewd action of your pussy enveloping his shaft like it was made to do just that.

"haah-- ngh, yeah you missed me, baby? missed the way i make you feel, the way i make this pussy feel?" he gasps out, his warm breath fanning onto your face as he brings his face closer to yours, spreading your knees to slot his large torso above your own. he doesn't stop with his relentless pace, a loving twinge making it's way through his chest as he watches how utterly blissed out you are underneath him. hence why he always prefers missionary over any other position. 

'y--yeah! fuck-- i missed you so much toru!" you manage to slur out, his cock sheathed deep inside your pussy making it hard for you to form coherent words. he grins at that, the pointed tips of his canines peeking through with how close his face is to yours. his white lashes flutter, and for a moment, he simply watches you—taking in the sight of your flushed, panting face with an expression that is equal parts amused and adoring.

 "aw, can't even form coherent words anymore, hmm? has my cock made you go dumb, baby?" he taunts, snickering as his hands make their way under your knees to push your hips up up up, him on his knees to expertly thrust his hips down into your raised pussy, his length rapidly melding it's way even deeper into your soft, wet heat. the new angle makes the white hairs on the base of his dick brush against your sensitive clit every time he fucks himself into you, your eyes rolling back in your head. the feeling of him so deep inside-- after going so long without it is so pleasurable that tears spill freely down your cheeks as you gasp and whine, your fingers clutching desperately at the sheets beneath you, knuckles white from the intensity of your grip. as satoru continues to pound into your cute pussy, his head moves down to suckle at your tits bouncing from the intensity of his thrusts, tongue swirling around the nipples simultaneously, warm hands still under your knees to push your legs back, 'n opened nice and wide for him, until you’re almost trying to stop yourself from orgasming on the spot, the sensations overwhelming you.

"s'toru! i'm gonna cum!" you shriek as his cock begins to hit that spongy spot within you repeatedly, your body taut. your hazy vision barely catches his thumb coming down to rub circles against your clit, making you squirm and causing you to clench hard around his length as you cum harder than you have for weeks, a white ring forming at the base of his dick. chasing the high, you lock your legs behind the small of his back, tugging him close to you as you ride out your orgasm. the action of you tightening around him, and hooking your legs around him so that he really can't escape, makes him lose control, pushing him over the edge as he gives a final, strong thrust, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your walls.

gently, he braces his forearms beside your head, his towering frame hovering over you with ease. his plump lips press soft, featherlight kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks—each one filled with quiet devotion—before capturing your lips in a slow, languid kiss, overflowing with adoration.

“my lovely girl, wasn’ too hard on ya, was i? missed you so much..” he asks, worried that he might’ve gotten a little carried away, too caught up in the moment since he hasn’t had sex with you for a while. he nuzzles his cheek against yours, his warmth soothing and grounding. his big hands envelop yours, fingers intertwining as if to remind you he’s right here—right with you. his hair tickles your skin, and despite your exhaustion, a soft, breathy giggle escapes your lips, making his own curve into a fond smile.

”no baby, i needed this. haven’t seen you in ages. wish you were home more often” you say woefully. wincing a little as he pulls out, the loss of him making you whine a little, even more so as he gets up to haphazardly step into his sweats to fetch a damp washcloth from your shared bathroom to clean you up. 

he begins lovingly cleaning you up, pressing an absentminded kiss to your knee as you flinch a little from the overstimulation. once he’s done, he slips beneath the covers with you, his body seeking yours instinctively. his head comes to rest against your chest, his muscled arms wrapping securely around your waist, holding you close as exhaustion seeps into his bones.

at your earlier words, he tilts his head slightly, looking up at you with a slow, lazy smile curling at his lips.

“oh, didn’t i tell you, baby? i’m home for the next two weeks.”

a/n: sobs and cries i need gojo satoru NOW!!!!!!!! ٩(๑`ȏ´๑)۶

also why have i mentioned his big hands like 3 times hshfghgsf oh my god i need his fingers in my mouth

[ovaryacted]

Maybe I’m hormonal cause of my cycle but I just want to cry thinking about Kendrick’s halftime performance. Like besides the fact that I’ve always been such a huge fan of him since I was a teen and he dissed Drake on the biggest stage, seeing him be so political at the Super Bowl in New Orleans, Louisiana in front of the most racist mother fucker and other racist fans of the Chiefs when the NFL stopped putting “End Racism” on the field goals all while the Eagles got their lick back from losing to the Chiefs two years ago…is so satisfying. It’s just so many messages put into that performance in less than 20 mins that would go over people’s heads.

It’s more than just rap music. It’s more than just a performance. What Kendrick did was send a literal message to Americans, Black Americans in particular, who already know and live to experience the racism in this country that will only grow because of this administration, that there will always be a way to preserve the history and the culture of this nation’s people who fought hard for their acknowledgment as human beings.

Like, having Samuel L. Jackson playing Uncle Sam critiquing Black American culture and behavior, the dancers forming a divided American flag in the background, the colors being used, the stage structured to look like a game board of sorts, the dancers “marching” down the street, Kendrick saying “the revolution will be televised”, emphasizing “turn his TV off” with all of the strange propaganda ads we’ve seen throughout the Super Bowl being streamed.

Kendrick has always been political in his music and unapologetic of the black experience as an American. But the fact that he performed the way he did on this big stage knowing how racist the NFL is with so many people across the country watching including our excuse of a president that’s threatening the lives of millions of people…it was just so good and powerful to see on live TV. This performance is so important, especially coming after the Grammy’s where people have been having a weeklong debate of why Beyonce’s COWBOY CARTER album deserved to win AOTY and the impact it had on validating the experiences of southern Black Americans and winning in a genre that blacklisted her…this shit is so fucking powerful man. It means so much to me truly. Kendrick you will always be famous.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Expect me to creep into your inbox whenever you ask for requests 👀 I am always going to annoy you because you are so talented

Eddie smut with a plus size reader? Maybe she’s there at one of Corroded Coffin’s gigs at The Hideout and Eddie is just like

girl you keep giving me a big head (don't stop) and I love writing about plus sized!reader so your wish is my command!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex

You enter the smoky bar, looking around the place to take everything in. It's exactly what you thought it'd be but that doesn't mean you don't like it. It's exactly your scene and you love live music so when you heard that a local band preforms there every week, you just knew that you had to check it out.

You make a beeline for the bar to get a drink as the band is setting up. Your eyes immediately catch the guy at the front of the stage fixing up his microphone. He's got long curly hair and the tight t-shirt he's got on is so distracting. You swore to yourself that you weren't going to do this again.

You're trying to not get involved with anyone but that doesn't mean that you can't have a little fun, right? He's exactly your type with the way he's dressed and those large rings he's got on his fingers are making your head spin with the dirtiest thoughts.

Eddie's eyes lock on yours and he's immediately in love. He's always loved curvy girls but there's something about you specifically that is making hearts appear in his eyes. It's the way you carry yourself like you're hot shit and fuck are you.

The tight pants you're wearing are making him dizzy. He wants to have you in the back of his van and love on every inch of you, telling you how beautiful you are. You've got such a hold on him and he doesn't even know your name.

His eyes follow you as you head over the bar and he’s so close to following you just so he can know what name he’s supposed to moan. He just has to have you and straight after the gig, he’s going to ask for your number. 

You give him a little wave and he winks at you before you turn and head to the bar where you take a seat before ordering a drink. Eddie’s watching you the whole time, wondering what you’re drinking, wanting to sit next to you and let you talk his ear off the whole night. You’ve completely captivated him and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s seen you.

The set starts and you get closer to the stage, fully intending on being in the action. You just want to be near him. You want to see how pretty he is up close with the sweat dripping off him in the heat of the bar. You want to feel the scruff of his beard against your skin as he kisses his way down your body. 

You’re nodding along to the music, really hoping that they have a tape or something so you can listen to it on repeat. The lead singer’s voice is nothing like you’ve heard before. It’s deep and raspy and you just know that you’d run the tape out because of how much you’d listen to it. 

His eyes are shut tight and it makes you wonder if that’s what he’d look like as you topped him, pretty hair fanned out on your pillow, his eyes shut tight as his hips buck against yours, trying his best to keep up with your pace. 

You clearly haven’t been out in a while because why are you thirsting over the first man you’ve seen? But considering the other women around you seem to be thinking the same, you feel a lot better, more sane for thinking about this stranger in such dirty ways. 

His eyes open and he’s staring straight at you, a smirk playing on his pretty lips as he strums on his guitar, pulling away from the mic as he goes into a guitar solo, his fingers moving down the neck in a rapid motion. You’re not even sure how that’s possible, but at least you know he’s good with his fingers. 

Eddie’s trying his hardest to focus on what he’s doing, trying not to turn his head and look at you because if he does, he’s going to fuck up the set then take you by the hand to go somewhere private where he can kiss you absolutely stupid. 

But he can’t help it. You keep catching his eye and he’ll just stare before he’s pulled out of his trance and thrown back into the song. He can tell you want him too because of the way you’re staring back with that flirty look and he’s counting down the seconds until he’s finished. 

So as soon as the set is done and the crowd begins to disperse, Eddie jumps down from the stage and takes you by the hand, pulling you to his chest, your body flush to his as his hand rests on your back. 

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hi,” you smile and watch his gaze drop to your lips. 

“I’m Eddie.” You’re not sure how, but the name suits him, almost as if it was made specifically for him.

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n, I hope you don’t have any plans tonight.” You don’t and for the first time, you’re glad for it. You have a feeling you know exactly what you’re going to get up to.

“Just whatever you’re doing,” You reply, twirling a strand of his hair. Oh yeah, he’s definitely wrapped around your finger now. 

“I need to pack up my equipment but as soon as I’m done, it’s you and me.” His lips press to your cheek and then he hurries back to the stage while you stand there, waiting for him to be done. You watch him bend over to put his guitar into the case and can’t help but stare at his ass as he does so. You want to just give it a squeeze and hope you get a chance once you’re alone.

He finishes up pretty and quickly hands his guitar off to one of his bandmates before heading over to you, sticking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes are raking over your body, his tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he does so. 

They get to your thighs and he so desperately wants to give them a squeeze, to bury his head between them and eat your pussy like a man starved. Fuck, he’s never been so attracted to anyone like this in his life and he needs you so bad. 

As his band mates flee, he takes you by the hand and lead you out to his van. He pins you to  the side of it and his lips find yours in a hot kiss, not afraid to slide his tongue into your mouth as his hands grab a firm hold of your waist. 

You push his jacket from his shoulders and he lets it fall to the ground behind him before pulling to the back. He opens the doors and helps you inside before climbing inside himself and closing the door behind you.

Once you’re safely inside, you’re quick to undress each other between heated kisses. His lips are hot in your skin as he presses them to every new inch of skin that’s revealed as another piece of clothing is removed. He’s mumbling compliments into your skin and you’re so glad that you’re sitting because you feel like you’re melting under his touch.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what to say and what to do and if just making out with him is making you melt, you’re not so sure how you’re going to handle the sex. Once your bra is off, he lays you down onto the floor of the van, his lips kissing down your chest before wrapping around your hard nipple.

His tongue swipes across it gently and you let out a whine as if asking for more. Eddie pulls away to give you a shit-eating grin before going back in, giving your nipple a suck as his tongue flicks back and forth across it, his other hand reaching up and massaging your other one. You’re whining at the feeling and he takes that as an invitation to continue, going in with his teeth to bite down on it which causes a loud moan to fall from your lips. 

So Eddie does it again, harder this time, causing you to grab fistfulls of his hair, yanking on it to show just how much you’re enjoying yourself. He lets out a little yelp in response, but that doesn’t stop him from biting you again. In fact, it only makes him do it again and again until you’re close to an orgasm.

And when he moves onto your other nipple, you swear that you’re seeing stars as he does the exact same thing, your back arching in pleasure as you keep tugging on his hair, feeling yourself getting progressively more wet as he does so. It’s soaking wet between your legs and you need him between them so bad. You need him to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk for days. 

“Need you,” you whine and spread your legs so he knows exactly what you mean. So his lips travel down your torso and you gasp as his teeth grab onto the waistband of your panities, pulling them down so slowly because he’s such a goddamn tease. He’s looking up at you as his eyes darken, almost looking black. 

He then removes his own before taking out a condom from his jeans pocket and rolls the thing on. He spreads your legs as wide as possible so that they’re touching the floor then positions himself so that he’s lined up with you before going in, pumping as hard as he possibly can, watching you respond to every touch as you lie beneath him. 

You’re watching him in awe, getting even more wet as you take in his tattoos and the way his hair falls, the chain around his neck hitting against his collarbone in a rapid pace because of how hard he’s fucking you. 

“Look so pretty on my cock, sweetheart. And you’re taking me so well already.” His cock is not even halfway inside and you need to feel all of him. You’re desperate for the whole thing, to see just how much you can take so you grab hold of his ass and push him farther inside you until his bush is pressed up against you. 

You gasp at the feeling and tears well up in your eyes because of how big he is, but it just feels so good. Your nails dig into his cheeks and he takes the hint, fucking you with his whole cock as he picks up the pace, moving in and out so quickly you can hardly keep up as you buck your hips against his. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says as his lips press to your neck in a soft kiss. “Like fuck, this is just unfair sweetheart.” He reaches up and swipes some sweaty hair from your forehead. He then picks up the pace even more as he sees that you’re close, making sure to insert all of himself as he does so. 

And when you finally do come, he continues thrusting into you until you’re crying his name. Once you’re coming down, he pulls out and disposes of the condom before helping you get dressed, being nothing but kind to you as he does so. 

And once you’re both dressed, you drive around the city talking about everything and nothing until it’s early in the morning. He then reluctantly drops you off at your car and is quick to make plans to do this all over again because there’s no way he’s only going to do this once. He’s got to see you again because he’s pretty sure that he’s already falling in love with you.

[sophies-junkyard]

While he’s still trending, this is your sign to explore Kendrick’s discography. He’s so much bigger than this beef with Drake (and the “beef” is so much bigger than “he hates Drake!” but I’m hoping we all know that by now). Here’s some ideas on where to start:

The GNX album has incredible range . From hype tracks like “Tv off” to the introspection of “reincarnated”. It’s a 10/10 (literally). If you only have the energy for one album, this is a solid pick. It’s a good way to sample what he’s about and see where he’s heading.

After that… I mean for me it’s gotta be Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers. How do I even explain this? People who were surprised by “Meet The Grahams” had CLEARLY never heard “Mother I Sober”. This album will leave you staring at the void in stunned silence. It’ll make you feel empty inside but like… in an addicting way. It’s a masterpiece. If you’re intimidated by the number of songs, I would AT LEAST hear “United in Grief” and “mother I sober”. (Drake directly referenced “mother I sober” in his track “family matters”. He aimed low while ALSO misinterpreting the story like a fucking clown. Embarrassing af lol.)

2015-To Pimp a Butterfly. Depending on who you ask, this is Kendrick’s best work, and uh… yeah it’s hard to disagree. This is Kendrick in his element. A brutally honest examination of racism and violence wrapped in some of his most aggressive vocals to date (and I mean he LITERALLY uses so much growl on these tracks). But the MUSIC is…. chill? It’s also varied as hell. It’s an evening of slam poetry backed by smooth jazz. Then he’ll hit you with a slick guitar riff and some panicked breathing into the mic. The album is crucial to understanding Kendrick as an artist. Picking standouts on this one feels stupid (and everybody has a different opinion) but “Alright” and “King Kunta” are classics. “I”, “How much a dollar cost”, “you ain’t gotta lie”, “the blacker the berry”…. I’m just gonna end up listing every song. I’m also a fan of the“for free-interlude” lol. Oh and “Mortal Man”. I honestly don’t think there are any skippable tracks on this one. Just let it flow.

His 2017 album DAMN was a major success, and was how I got into Kendrick. If high school parking lots came with an OST, “HUMBLE” would’ve been our Green Hill Zone. Idk if that made any sense. Point is, it was popular as fuck. “DNA” was another huge hit. The album sounds edgy and hyped, but the lyrics are an invitation for the audience to like… choose his fate. It’s all about judgement day. Growth, reconciliation, criticism of fame. It’s a shame that it got reduced to “omg humble is a banger!!”. The fact that Uncle Sam shouted at Kendrick to “TIGHTEN UP!” And he performed HUMBLE in response... Damn.

2011- good kid, m.A.A.d city. “Money trees” is a classic with a super chill beat. And the metaphor of “planting money trees” has become a huge part of his identity. Representing his literal desire to share the wealth with his community, and his desire to stay true to his roots. It was ALSO something Drake dissed him for “failing” to do (though his record of philanthropy says otherwise). The titular songs “good kid” and “m.A.A.d city” are iconic. “Swimming Pools” is often cited as his first big hit. Side note: The album cover featured a van (I think it was a Chrysler?) that became a symbol of Kendrick’s career. and Drake fucking destroyed it in one of his music videos. Bitch.

There’s so much. He also has a series of 6 songs called “the heart” that usually drop before a new album. He has a ton of other albums that I didn’t even mention because this post is way too long. I know I skipped a lot of bangers so please let me know about them. Also this post 100% assumes everyone has heard “6:16 in LA”, “Euphoria”, “meet the grahams” and “not like us” because… I mean come on. Ok that’s all. happy listening!

[scary-grace]

sips drink. I am going to need. [ ring ] for shigraki

Thank you for the prompt! As usual, I went a little berserk with it, and there is. so much smut in this. If you're not a fan/this is not the vibe, let me know and I'll write you a different one, or do a better job with your other prompts! 9k, AU with demons, succubus!reader, tons of smut. If you're a big fan of super dominant Tomura, this is not the fic for that. MDNI + thanks to @dogblessyoutascha for beta-reading on short notice and putting up with tons of yapping and fic about this guy.

wanted (if you want me)

a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (cross-posted to Ao3)

“Sorry,” the guy who just summoned you says, sitting back from the pentagram he’s drawn on the floor with a frown. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m – what?” You feel stupid, which isn’t how you’re supposed to feel. You’re a demon, and a mortal’s just summoned you. You should feel powerful and lawless, not embarrassed. Not rejected. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not my type,” the guy says again. He gestures awkwardly at you. “I was hoping for somebody – more.”

“Did you want a guy or something?” you ask. You cross your arms over your chest. Your clothes are barely worthy of the title, and you don’t want this guy seeing your nipples if he’s not even into them. “If you wanted a guy, you should have summoned an incubus. It’s not my fault you can’t read.”

“I like girls,” the guy snaps at you, rather than addressing the fact that you just called him a moron. “You were supposed to look like this.”

He picks up the grimoire he was reading the incantation out of and holds it up to you. It must be a new edition of the same old grimoire, because the last version of it you saw didn’t include illustrations. The illustration in question is a demon, identifiable as such by her horns and tail, but she looks about as much like you as you do like an angel straight from Heaven’s hideous art-deco gates. She’s got the kind of proportions that don’t work on Earth or in Hell – tiny waist, enormous breasts, ass that needs its own zip code, and her outfit is so tiny that you can see her nipples and her clit through it. And then there’s the face she’s making, straight out of some seedy erotic magazine, with blown-out pupils and open mouth and a delicate flush across her cheeks, all ready to be ruined.

Your outfit is skimpy, sure, but not that skimpy. You have the parts you need, but they aren’t that exaggerated, and if you tried that stupid expression, you’re pretty sure your face would melt off. If this is what this mortal expected, of course he’s disappointed to have gotten you.

His disappointment isn’t your problem, and now you’re in a mood. “Let me get this straight. You summoned a succubus – a sex demon from the depths of Hell – to fulfill your fantasies, and you’ve decided that now’s the time to get picky.”

“I’m not being picky,” he says. “Girls like you don’t do it for me. Can’t you send somebody else?”

“Sorry. All my sisters are seducing hotter mortals than you.” You feel a surge of pleasure at the way the man flinches. Guys like these – when they summon a succubus, they’re always thinking about the sex part, not the part where you’re a demon. “They took one look at you and decided I was all you deserved, and you know what? I don’t think you deserve me, either.”

“Well, I don’t want you, so –”

“In fact,” you continue, rising to your feet and internally cursing the fact that you decided to materialize in fuck-me heels, “I don’t think you deserve to get laid ever again.”

The mortal blanches. “What?” he demands, taking a step back as you step forward out of the pentagram. “You can’t leave the circle unless I say.”

“You really should look into those reading lessons. You’ll have a lot of time on your hands.” You were just going to lay the curse, but you decide that’s not enough. You nail him in the balls with a sharp kick, and as he doubles over, you speak, your voice crackling with the fires of Hell. “May your erections always wither, no matter how much porn you watch or how many drugs you take. May you disappoint every lover you take to your bed, and may that bed lie as cold and empty as the grave where they’ll bury your impotent corpse.”

It's a pretty good curse, if you say so yourself. “You bitch,” the mortal spits, but you snap your fingers and seal his fate. You know the moment the curse settles over him. You see the despair in his eyes. “Take it back!”

“No,” you say. You grasp his chin in one hand and lean in close, so close that your breath huffs out against his lips. You scraped your tongue for this guy. He deserves all this and more. “I’ll see you in Hell.”

His eyes roll up in his head and he collapses to the floor. You step over his unconscious form and survey the apartment you’ve found yourself in, dingy and filthy and smelling unpleasantly of human body odor. This is the kind of mortal who thought it was wise to reject you, just because you didn’t exactly resemble the absurd sketch in his grimoire. This is the kind of mortal who thought you weren’t good enough for him. Your lower lip begins to tremble, no matter how hard you sink your sharp teeth into it, and sulfuric tears begin to leak from your eyes. You were so excited to be summoned, so hopeful that you could do a good job for once. Now you just want to go home.

But you can’t. When you try to dematerialize and let Hell call you back, you can’t, and you realize why not in the same second as you realize that you didn’t curse that human nearly hard enough. You were summoned to this world to serve a purpose – to fuck some mortal so hard that they’ll sell you their soul – and until you serve that purpose, you’re trapped here. You need to find a mortal to sleep with, immediately. And you can’t go out looking like this.

You ransack the mortal’s apartment. None of his street clothes are anything you’d be caught exorcised wearing, but he has a long coat that he probably thinks makes him look mysterious and cool. You shrug it on, noting that it covers your skimpy outfit while still providing easy access to your body when it’s time to take it off, and keep searching, in case there’s anything else you can use. Money, as it happens – this human has a bank account and credit cards, and even unconscious, it’s all too easy to read his mind for the PIN. You pocket all of it, hide your demon form with a glamour, then leave the apartment door wide open on your way out.

As soon as you hit the street, though, you realize that you have an even bigger problem than you thought. You assumed it was some featureless winter evening, the kind where a bored, lonely mortal has nothing better to do than flip through a grimoire and get himself into trouble, but every storefront you look at is decorated with hearts. Every mortal you pass on the street is on someone else’s arm, or carrying flowers, or making out in the glow of a streetlight. It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re fucked.

Contrary to what humans like the idiot who summoned you think, Valentine’s Day isn’t actually about sex. Sex is a side effect of what Valentine’s Day is really about, which is romance. It’s about love and soulmates and tenderness and affection and forever, which is exactly nothing you know anything about. Succubi and incubi exist on the dark side of all of that, in its nasty, sleazy, prurient shadow. You don’t court, you seduce. You don’t make love, you fuck. You don’t show people the face of God, or whatever that dumb-ass musical says; you show them the gates of Hell and walk them through. Seducing a random mortal is a tall order for you on a given day. Seducing one on Valentine’s Day is going to be damn near impossible.

You feel tears welling up again and blink them back. Crying over rejection from a filthy, useless mortal was bad enough. Demons shouldn’t feel that kind of pain, and if they do, they shouldn’t wallow in it. Demons get the job done. And it’s not totally hopeless, when you force yourself to be honest about it. For all the mortals who are happily coupled, there are plenty who aren’t, and if the mortal who summoned you is anything to judge by, some of them aren’t averse to a little salacious, damnation-worthy fun.

As far as places to find single humans go, you’re spoiled for choice; while all the restaurants have Valentine’s Day specials for mortals out on a date with their special someone, it seems as though every club or bar is advertising an event for singles. You peer into a few bars, but none of them strike you as having the right mood. Most of them carry a pathetic air of hopefulness, as if the humans within believe they really might find someone to love tonight of all nights. You don’t need hopefulness. You need desperation. You need a human so lonely and desperate that they won’t question why a stranger wants to fuck them. If you were attractive in your human guise, you’d have a better shot, but apparently you aren’t. Only a human who’s truly desperate would go for you.

Finally you come across a bar where the mood seems a little more appropriate. Some sort of singles event is winding down as you come in, and you sense the despair beginning to set in. Most of the humans here could easily pair up with one of the others if they were willing to alter their standards, but humans have gotten entitled these days, and they all think they deserve a partner who matches their ideals. They cling to that fiction even as the mood in the bar worsens. They don’t need to settle. They’re holding out for true love.

Pathetic. You square your shoulders and wade into the mix.

The gender of your target doesn’t matter to you. It doesn’t even matter if they’re willing to sell their soul tonight – once you’ve fucked them, you can come back as many times as it takes for them to give it over. But even with your criteria broadened, you’re having trouble. As you search through the humans, tasting the flavor of their emotions every time you brush against one, you don’t find a single one who feels the way you need them to.

You taste sadness. Loneliness. Despair. Resignation or acceptance – sometimes they’re hard to tell apart. A few strange humans have even found refuge in faith, some idiosyncratic hope that they’ll find what they’re meant to find when the time is right, as if God has time to ordain such stupid things. On another night, you’d take pleasure in crushing their hopes, but your own hopes of getting out of here are sinking by the second. You need a human. Any human will do.

But just as you’re resigning yourself to seduce a woman, one whose loneliness carries just the faintest tinge of despair, you’re hit with a wave of exactly what you’ve been looking for. Not just despair, but disappointment. Not just loneliness, but hurt. Not just resignation, but frustration and embarrassment, at feeling hurt and disappointed and finding themselves here at all. You turn away from the woman without ever drawing her attention to you and follow the thread of rejection through the bar to a booth in the corner, where a mortal sits alone.

Along with the relief of finding a target at last, the first feeling that crosses your mind is surprise.  This isn’t the sort of mortal you’d expect to find alone on Valentine’s Day, just based on his looks alone – almost-delicate facial features, long white hair, a frame that’s broad-shouldered yet lithe, observable even when he’s seated. As you get closer, you see a birthmark below the corner of his mouth, scars over his mouth and eye, and long lashes framing his crimson eyes. This mortal is pretty. Some of your sisters don’t care what their targets look like, but you like your mortal men pretty.

The mortal looks up as you come to the edge of his table. He seems as surprised to see you as you are to see him. “You’re late to the party.”

“Apparently not, since you’re here. Do you mind if I sit down? My feet are hurting in these shoes.”

He looks down at your shoes, and just like you were hoping, his eyes trace upwards, over your bare ankle to your calf to your knee before it disappears beneath your stolen coat. “Go ahead,” he says. “There’s room.”

There’s plenty of room, but you sit down next to him anyway, your leg pressed against his. You feel him startle, feel him go tense, and decide it’s worth drawing attention to. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” he says, but you can hear his heart beginning to race. “Just wondering if this is a setup or something. People like you don’t usually want anything to do with people like me.”

“People like me?” you say. You turn towards him, elbow propped on the table, chin propped in your hand. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” your mortal says. “Looks like yours, there’s no way you’re single.”

You can’t imagine this mortal’s self-deprecating angle working on anyone, but the compliment makes you glow ever so slightly. “Strange. I was thinking the same about you.”

Your mortal doesn’t glow. He blushes. “Don’t lie.”

“Would I lie?” Yes, frequently and gleefully – but not right now. “You’re gorgeous.”

He scoffs, averts his eyes, but his heart’s beating faster. It’s cute, and since he’s opened this door, you might as well walk through. Time for a little touching. You start with the scar above his eye. “I like this, and this –” you trace the scar, then tuck a few strands of white hair behind his ear, letting your fingers graze across his cheek and down to his jaw before reaching the scar over his mouth. “And this –”

He speaks while your fingers are still against his lips. “Careful.”

“I’m being really careful,” you promise. You run your fingers over his mouth again, slow and teasing, then turn your attention to the birthmark. “And I like this. It really completes the picture. Whoever rejected you tonight, they were out of their mind.”

“I could say the same about whoever rejected you.” Your mortal’s hand brushes against your knee, then drifts away, and you shiver ever so slightly. You like this mortal. It’s always easier when you like them. “I saw you watching the rest of them. Why did you pick me?”

“Like I said, you’re gorgeous,” you say, and shrug. The shrug presses you a little closer against him, and you don’t pull back. “And you looked like you were having the same kind of night as I am. I thought we could make each other feel better.”

He gives you a skeptical look, but the flush in his cheeks gives him away. Oh, you like this one. Even if he gives you his soul tonight, you’ll come back to visit him at least a few more times. “How do you think we can do that?”

“By giving each other what we want,” you say. “Don’t you get tired of having to play a part, to be what someone else expects you to be, and never have your desires fulfilled? I could give you that.”

He scoffs. “You think you know what my desires are?”

“You’d tell me,” you murmur. “That’s the point.”

Your mortal’s skepticism doesn’t fade, but neither does his blush. “What about what you want? I don’t buy for a second that it’s just to sleep with me.”

The question gives you pause. It’s not one you’ve thought of before. Succubi don’t have sexual desires, really – your goal is always to seduce your target, which means it’s all about what your target wants. You aren’t very good at your job, but you’ve put up with all sorts of things, doing them or having them done to you, if it means the mortal you’re fucking will hand over their soul. What you want, personally, doesn’t factor in even slightly. What do you want from this mortal? You don’t know.

“You don’t know,” your mortal says, as though you’ve spoken aloud. His hand brushes against your leg again, settles there. “I’ll help you find out.”

“Only if you tell me what you want,” you insist, as he brushes your coat aside and finds your leg bare. His fingertips are dry and rough as they trail over your skin, brushing the inside of your thigh. “Oh –”

“Too much?” he asks. There’s an almost wicked glint in his eye.

You feel your own heart pick up the pace. This will be a challenge. You like a challenge. “Answer my question first. Every time you answer, you can move your hand.”

“I want you.”

“Wrong answer.” You close your legs, not that they were that far apart in the first place. You’re not easy. “I asked about your unfulfilled desires, and you just met me today. I can’t be the only thing you want.”

“Mm.” Your mortal makes a dissatisfied noise. Even as he leaves his hand in place, you see an awkwardness settle over him – nerves, or something like it. For such a gorgeous mortal, he’s an interesting contradiction. “I want – to be out of control.”

“Out of control?” You won’t open your legs just yet. “Tell me more.”

“You were right about me. I’m always doing what others want. I always have to be in control. I want to be outside my own control,” your mortal says. He can’t meet your eyes, and the flush in his cheeks looks almost uncomfortable. When you lean in to kiss it, his skin is hot beneath your lips. “I want someone else to –”

“Praise you? Worship you? Pleasure you until you can barely think?” You know you’ve got him by the sharp intake of breath, by the way he startles. “That would be my pleasure, too.”

You part your legs enough to free his hand, and his fingers, shaking slightly, work their way up the inside of your thigh. “What else?” you ask. “Be specific.”

“I want whatever you can give me.” He turns his head, looking away, which is an error on his part; it leaves his neck exposed, and you lean in to kiss it, feeling his pulse jump and race. “If I tell you it’s too much, I want you to give me more.”

“That was a good answer.” You part your legs a little further, and he takes it as the invitation it is. “Anything else?”

“I want to do the same to you,” your mortal says, and your face flushes. “It’s only fair. If you get to ruin me, I get to ruin you.”

Ruining him calls to mind all sorts of things, acts you’ve performed for other mortals by rote, acts you want nothing more than to perform for him, and the thought overwhelms you enough that you miss what he’s doing with his hand between your legs until he’s touching you, tracing your clit through the thin fabric. You realize with some degree of horror that you’re wet, and worse, that even his delicate touch has you spreading your legs wider. While you weren’t paying attention, your mortal made a bid for the upper hand, and he almost got it.

Not quite, though. You renew your efforts on his neck, feeling him shudder. You’ll do as he asks, as he desires – but not until he begs you, out loud, to give him what he needs. He shifts, squirms, in response to your attentions to his neck, much as you’re doing with his hand between your legs. “Mutual ruination,” you muse. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Your hand’s been trapped at your side. You work it free and slip it behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair. Then you turn him back to face you, drinking in the sight of him for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. The only way your mortal’s never had his desires fulfilled is if he’s never voiced them. You can’t imagine anyone looking at him, seeing him like this, and denying him what he wants.

Most mortals you’ve seduced lose patience with kissing quickly. The kind of mortals who summon a succubus only have one thing on their mind, but your mortal doesn’t know what you are. He kisses you eagerly, if inexpertly, and it’s only right for you to reward his enthusiasm. Besides, there’s something about kissing him that feels right, too right for the unholiness of what you are. If being with a mortal feels this good, you’re probably doing it wrong.

What does it matter? As long as you sleep with him, you’ll be free to return home. You’re a demon. Wrongness and rightness don’t factor in. You kiss your mortal carefully, paying some mind to the sharpness of your teeth and the delicateness of his skin. He’s less careful with his teeth. They nick your lip and blood wells out, and he licks it away without a moment’s hesitation. That flick of his tongue makes you consider other places it might belong, and you catch your breath. Or maybe it’s because he’s tugged your underwear aside to touch you directly, and you can no longer ignore the way he makes you feel.

You lean back, struggling to clear your head. A thought crosses your mind. “What’s your name?”

“Tomura.” Your mortal’s crimson eyes are dilated with want, the desperation you were so drawn to evident across his face. “Please –”

You kiss him again, and as he begins to finger you in earnest, stroking your clit and dipping his fingers shallowly inside you, you untangle your fingers from his hair and trace the inside of his thigh. Tomura startles at your touch, but spreads his legs at once, and your head spins with want. “How long have you wanted this?” you murmur against his lips. “Tell me.”

“Eternity.” Tomura twitches as you brush your hand over his groin before returning to toy with his thigh again. “But it’s not what they want me for. Nobody asked what I wanted until you.”

“Then they were missing out.” You bite back a gasp as Tomura sinks two fingers inside you, curling them just so, but his touch is only half the reason – the other half is the thought that you’re the first to see him this way, the only one to see him this way. “If they could see how pretty you are like this –”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” you decide at once. You brush your hand over his groin again, noting how tightly his pants are stretched over his hardening cock. “I want you all to myself.”

His body jerks, craning upwards into your touch. “Now,” he says, almost demands. “I need it now.”

“People could see,” you warn. “If they walk by, they’ll know we’re up to something. Do you care about that?”

“Yes,” Tomura says, and you run your thumb over the tip of his cock through his pants. His body jerks, and you do it again. Again. “Fuck –”

“We can leave whenever you want,” you say, even as your body tenses around his fingers. You feel wound tight, your legs shaking from the strain, your lungs feeling as though they can’t hold on to even a single whisper of air. Mortals have choked you before while you’re seducing them and it’s never been like this. “Tell me to stop and we’ll go.”

Tomura doesn’t tell you to stop. You undo his belt, unzip his pants, and the instant your hand closes around his cock, he moans, loud enough to attract attention if anyone from the failed singles event is still around. He’s embarrassed by it – you can tell – but he doesn’t tell you to stop, and you keep stroking his cock. “So pretty,” you say, your voice catching as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. “Does that feel good? Let me make you feel even better.”

You grasp his wrist and pull his hand from between your legs, thankful for the reprieve. Tomura tastes his fingers, savoring them in a way that makes you feel almost awkward. “I wasn’t done.”

“No, but you’re about to make a mess.” You give a pointed glance down at his cock, which is oozing enough precum to stain his underwear. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s plenty of space for you under the table, and better yet, you’re out of sight, which means Tomura can’t see your reaction to the way he spreads his legs for you. And you haven’t vanished a moment too soon. You can hear footsteps approaching, and you sit forward and take his cock in your mouth just as the newcomers arrive.

“You sure you need this whole booth when you’re by yourself?” whoever it is asks. You hear Tomura start to answer, but you suck lightly on the tip of his cock, forcing him to bite back a curse. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” Tomura grunts. You put your tongue to use, tracing it over his tip as you wrap your hand around the rest of his length. “Fuck – fuck off. There are other places to sit.”

The newcomer might say something else, but you can’t hear it around your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. Tomura wants you. He wants you so badly that he’s letting you blow him in public, that he won’t tell you to stop even when the two of you might be caught. The instant the other mortal leaves, you’re cradling his balls in your free hand, then sliding your hand a little further to press against his taint. Tomura’s entire body jerks and trembles. “Careful,” he forces out between gasps of air. “I’m going to – come –”

You wish you weren’t under the table, even if being under the table is necessary to contain the mess. You wish you could see Tomura’s face as his composure shatters, as he tries and fails to thrust upwards into your mouth and spills a ridiculous amount of cum down your throat. But he’s not quite out of control, not yet, and if you’re going to steal his soul, you really should give him what he wants first. You keep stroking his cock even as the shaking subsides, your tongue still dragging over his tip. He hasn’t gone soft just yet. You’re kind of impressed.

You’re impressed, too, with how he holds out. You know you’re overstimulating him, but he hasn’t told you to stop yet. And he asked you to keep going even if he told you it was too much. Still, you don’t like the idea of hurting your mortal. You renew your efforts, employing all the tricks you’ve learned to keep mortal men hanging on your every move, and to your shock, Tomura comes again. This time he’s almost sobbing, and you draw back at once, climbing out from under the table to check on your handiwork.

There are scratches in the couch cushions and on the tabletop, and both the napkins that were on the table have been crumpled out of existence. Tomura looks wrecked. He’s been yanking at the collar of his shirt, running his hands through his hair, and his face is flushed and sweaty. His eyes are blurred, and he’s still breathing hard, but when you lean in to kiss him, he obliges instantly. He’s unsteady, and yet there’s a strange hunger in the way he kisses you, a hunger that takes yours and amplifies it in a way you can’t quantify, let alone guard against. You find yourself melting into his touch, needing closeness, needing contact. And he gives it to you.

You’ve only just settled into a languid pace, your hands in his hair and his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, when someone smacks a server’s tray down on the table and startles you out of it. It’s the bartender. “Do you mind?” she demands, her face red. “This isn’t that kind of place! Take it outside.”

That’s fine with you. A little PDA is one thing, but whatever happens next between you and Tomura, you want privacy for it. You start to slide out of the booth, but Tomura won’t let you. He kisses you again, and you realize he’s giving himself cover to button his pants. But as long as you’re here – “What did I just say?” the bartender explodes. “Get out!”

You and Tomura stumble out onto the street, and the instant the door shuts behind you, Tomura pins you against it to kiss you again. “Does that feel good?” he asks, the same question you asked him earlier. You didn’t give him a chance to answer, and he doesn’t give you one, either. “Let’s go somewhere. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to share.”

“Where should we go?” you ask. “I’d rather not go to a love hotel. Your place?”

He hesitates for a moment. “My place. Come on.”

You kiss on the train platform, mostly to keep out the cold, but on the train, you find yourself simply looking at Tomura, talking to him. You find out that he got rejected tonight, too, and came to the bar to mope about it. “They’re nothing. Their opinions don’t matter,” he says. Even his disdain sounds like yours. “That doesn’t change how it feels.”

“I know,” you say. You lean against him, your head on his shoulder, your left hand intertwined with his right. “My – date – said I wasn’t his type, then showed me this ridiculous drawing –”

“May his dick shrivel up and fall off,” Tomura says matter-of-factly, and you find yourself giggling. “If you aren’t enough for him, he doesn’t deserve to have any at all. Still –”

He trails off. “His loss, my gain.”

“You’re just saying that because I blew you.”

Tomura snorts. “Don’t be stupid. You asked what I wanted. Nobody’s ever asked me that. That’s not what I’m for.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He doesn’t strike you as a sex worker – he’s too earnest, too vulnerable, in how he responds to you for it to be his day job. He shrugs, shakes his head. “I think you’re for whatever you want to be for. That’s how you are to me.”

His grip on your hand tightens for a moment, then loosens again, fingers tangling with yours. A strange spark, like an electric shock, ripples across your hand, and you look down to see an odd shadow around your ring finger. That wasn’t there before, but then again, you’ve never spent this long in the mortal world without fulfilling your purpose. “What about you?” Tomura asks. “Why don’t you know what you want?”

“I never thought about it before.” Some of your sisters enjoy their jobs, but it’s always felt like a job to you. Something to get through, so you can go home. “It hasn’t really mattered.”

“It matters now,” Tomura says. “When we get back to my place, I’ll show you.”

Tomura’s place is in a downtown high-rise, the third floor from the top of the building, and he gives you long enough to finally step out of your awful shoes before he peels you out of your jacket. For a single moment you’re convinced you’re about to see the same reaction as the mortal who summoned you, but instead Tomura’s eyes travel slowly over your form, lingering in every place you’d expect and a few places you didn’t. “This picture he showed you,” he says. “The one he thought was better than you. What did it look like?”

“Uh –” Where do you start, really? “The proportions were totally off. Its waist was tiny, and its breasts were huge –”

“Huh.” Tomura’s hands are at your waist, running over the curve from torso to hip and back with a firm, steady touch. One stays there, but the other migrates upwards, cupping your breast through your scant clothing. “What else?”

“It had this stupid outfit on. Like, way smaller than mine. You could see everything,” you say. Tomura’s thumb brushes over your nipple, then comes back to circle it, and heat begins to pool in your lower abdomen. “It barely covered her nipples – or her clit. It just looked kind of – I mean, I can hang in there with the best of them, but –”

Your voice catches. Tomura’s hand slides from your waist down between your legs, stroking your clit with his middle finger. His touch is featherlight, compared to the way he’s playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging it, making you squirm. “What else?” he prompts.

“The stupid face she was making. It was straight out of a porno – like, one of the really cheap ones. What some guy who’s never seen a woman come before would –” You startle as Tomura’s fingers slip further between your legs, then sink easily into you. “Tomura –”

“This drawing sounds like a fucking mess,” Tomura says. He reaches down and grasps your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist and leaving you even more exposed for him. “I want to see the real thing.”

He wants you to come for him. You know how to fake a convincing orgasm – or an unconvincing one, depending on the target – but you don’t want to fake for Tomura. You promised him he can have what he wants, and he wants this, you. Your chest goes tight. “I don’t know if I can, like this.”

“I’ve got lots of ideas.” Tomura kisses you, and that need to melt into him resurfaces, even as your body responds to his onslaught. “Show me.”

You try to keep kissing him, but you can’t. Your legs are shaking again, and it’s hard to breathe, and you have to draw back to gasp for air. Somewhere in the back of your mind is the thought that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen, that something went wrong in your seduction of this mortal if he’s the one trying to please you, but it’s stifled by other, more pressing matters. The heat flooding through you, the awful and yet indescribable exposure of your legs spread this way, Tomura’s hand anchoring you so you can’t pull back off his fingers until he’s done with you.

Or until you’re done with him. You come hard enough to blur your vision, hard enough that your legs almost give out, and Tomura keeps his fingers inside you until your twitching and squirming subsides. When he draws them back, you can see that his hand is soaked. He brings them to his mouth to taste them again, and you spot a shadow around his fourth finger. It can’t hold your attention for long. “That was good,” he decides. “But I want to see more.”

“More?” Your voice is shaky, and you’re hanging onto Tomura for dear life. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could have what I wanted,” Tomura reminds you. “This way.”

You follow him down the hall on shaky legs, into a bedroom with an enormous bed. Finally. You’re not getting into bed with Tomura still wearing your horrible outfit, so you peel it off, then turn to help him with his clothes. You undress him slowly, kissing every inch of skin you uncover, trying to regain some of your lost composure. But it’s hard to compose yourself when there’s so much of him to explore, to praise. So pretty, so noisy, so needy even when there’s no need for it – because you want him to have what he wants, and you want to be the one who gives it to him. The only one who gives it to him.

And that’s what you find yourself murmuring, as you guide him down to the bed to lie on his stomach, as you brush his long hair aside to kiss his back and his shoulders. I have what you need. Everything you need. You’re mine.

Tomura’s breathing turned quick and shallow a while ago, worse as you kiss the small of his back, the arch of his hip. He stirs beneath you. “I want to see more,” he says. “On your back.”

He’ll fuck you now, and he’ll come, and then you can finally go home. You spread your legs, leaving room for him to settle between them, and he does – much further down than you expected. He anchors your hips to the bed before you can stop him, holding you down with strong hands as he lowers his head between your thighs. The way his hair brushes against them tickles. The marks he leaves on them are oversensitive, making your legs twinge long before his tongue drags over your clit, and you wonder how you’ll explain the marks when you get back to Hell. How you’ll explain the fact that this mortal seduced you almost as skillfully as you seduced him.

Tomura eats you out messily, enthusiastically, until you’re arching your back and thrashing in his grip. The heat of his mouth against you, the pressure of his tongue against your clit or the way it feels when he licks inside of you – it all feels almost sinful. Too good for you to have, too good to want more of, too good not to beg him to keep going. You can barely manage to praise him for it, but when you do, his grip on your hips tightens and he grinds against the mattress. It’s wrong. There’s something wrong, and you want it so badly, and for the first time, you understand a little bit of why humans are so quick to sell their souls.

Tomura makes you come once, then a second time while you’re still trying to recover, and you barely manage to scramble away before he can slide his fingers inside you and try for a third. “What happened to not being in control?” you ask, and he shrugs, half a smirk on his face. “Lie down. It’s my turn.”

You crawl over him as he lies back, tasting yourself on his lips when you lean down for a kiss. Tomura relaxes so easily for you now, so much that he lets you grasp his hands one by one, raising them above his head. For the first time since you cloaked your true form, you engage in a little bit of demon magic. Enough to conjure restraints, and tie Tomura’s hands to the headboard before he can so much as open his eyes.

You’ve shocked him. You can see it, and better yet, you can feel it, in the way his skin heats up and his heart races. “You said you didn’t want control,” you remind him. “And I said I’d pleasure you until you couldn’t think.”

“Are you?” Tomura’s voice goes raspy. He watches you with wide eyes as you shift further down on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

“Everything.”

You learned all sorts of magic in the course of stepping into your role as a succubus, but this is the first time in a while that you’ve used any of it. And it’s for small things – the restraints on Tomura’s hands, the feather you conjure to trace all over his body until he squirms, the lube you coat your fingers with before you start working them inside him. Tomura doesn’t stop you, but he has a request. “Don’t fuck me like that. Not tonight.”

“Just my fingers,” you promise, and he nods, his eyes dark with need. “Whatever you want.”

You haven’t had the chance to watch Tomura come yet, and you get a chance as you finger him to an orgasm. He takes your breath away, your mortal – so pretty, so vulnerable, so loud and expressive and lost in it that you can’t help but stroke his cock with your free hand while you work him up a second time. In an ordinary seduction, with an ordinary target, now is when you’d stop. Now, when all he can do is beg for you, now when he’d give you anything to keep going; right now is when you’d ask for his soul in exchange. You know how to phrase it so that the mortals never guess what they’re truly giving up. It would be easy.

And it’s not what you want. There aren’t words for how much you don’t want that. Not when you’ve earned your mortal’s trust, not when he’s certain enough that you’ll give him what he wants that he doesn’t feel shame in begging for it. You know Tomura’s close when he starts squirming away from your fingers rather than clenching down on them. “Ride me,” he pants. “Ride my cock.”

Demon magic cleans your hands, and you slip down onto his cock with only a little strain. “You’re perfect,” you tell him as he stares helplessly up at you. “We fit so well –”

Tomura’s hips jerk upwards beneath you, making you gasp. “If we fit so well, come on my cock,” he pants. He’s been yanking at the restraints. You made them soft, but his wrists are chafed. “I need you to. I can’t – fuck, I need you –”

You’ve never needed a mortal before. You’ve never needed anyone before, but you need him, enough that doing what he asks doesn’t feel far-fetched at all. You ride him slowly, finding an angle that suits you, realizing how sore you are in the same moment. It’s been a hard night’s work. Usually mortals can’t keep up with you, and usually it feels like work. Tomura’s fingers curl and uncurl uselessly as he fights the restraints, and you reach up to grasp them, to hold them steady. And that’s when you notice it – the same shadow marking around his fourth finger as around yours.

Where did that come from? What is that? The restraints you conjured vanish in the space of a single heartbeat, and Tomura’s hands clamp down on your hips, guiding you as he thrusts upwards. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, to his chest and his shoulders and the sides of his neck, and the same heat writhes beneath your own skin as Tomura takes control over your pace. His thrusts are unsteady, but every time, he finds the angle you need him to.

You can’t breathe. You can barely think. Everything narrows down to heat and pressure and friction and pleasure and agony, because your body’s wrung out and still needs more, because Tomura’s falling apart beneath you and pressing his thumb over your clit to take you down with him. Pleasure explodes through you, collapsing you on top of Tomura. His grip on you barely loosens, even as your efforts to hold onto anything fall away. Anything includes your human guise.

Damn it. You untangle yourself from Tomura as quickly as possible, only to tuck yourself in against his side, uncomfortably relieved when he holds you tight. If you keep your tail under control and he doesn’t get a good look at you, he’ll never know what you really were. He’ll know something’s up, though. When he wakes up and finds that you’ve vanished out of this world, leaving evidence only in the chafe-marks around his wrists and the taste of you still on his tongue, he’ll know there was something strange about you. And he’ll have a lot of questions when you come back.

And you will come back. That’s the only thing that makes the knowledge that you’re mere moments from being drawn back to Hell bearable. Most of the time you can’t wait to leave your targets, whether you’ve collected their souls or not. This time, though – “I don’t want to leave yet.”

But you weren’t the only one speaking. Tomura said the same thing, on the off-beats as you spoke. “You’re leaving?” you ask. “This is your house. Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” Tomura retorts. His grip on you tightens further – tight enough to bruise, if you were human or mortal. “What –”

He sits up suddenly, pulling you with him. Hell is pulling you back, but not quickly enough. Tomura looks at you, sees you – sees your horns, sees your tail, which is lashing anxiously in spite of your efforts to calm yourself. But you see him, too. You see the ram’s horns curling from beneath his white hair, the sharpness of his teeth. He’s not trying to control his tail at all. It wraps around your leg tightly. “You’re a demon.”

“So are you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you know?” You try to separate yourself from him. Tomura should be letting go of you, should be shoving you away, but he’s still holding on, tighter every time you try to pull away. “Let go. If they find out –”

The world tears open around the two of you, well before you can pull away, and Hell pulls you back in at warp speed.

You don’t end up back in the spot you dematerialized from, and you doubt Tomura does, either. The two of you crash down on a rocky plateau, just on the outskirts of one of the cities, a desolate place no one comes to unless they’ve been cast out to wander amongst the souls of the dead. Why are you here? Is it because you came back together? Maybe that’s why – it couldn’t return you to your separate summoning locations when you’re so close together, so it split the difference and dropped you off here. Maybe there’s still time for you to hide this.

“Wow,” a familiar voice announces from somewhere behind you, and your heart sinks, “have the two of you fucked up.”

Tomura swears under his breath. “Is that your boss?”

Your boss, or your mother – nobody’s clear on which. Nemuri is picking her way through the jagged stones towards you, a vicious smirk on her face. “I can explain,” you start. “It’s not –”

“I tricked her,” Tomura interrupts. You stare at him in horror. “It was me. Not her.”

“No,” you snap. “I seduced him. I’m the one who –”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Nemuri’s smirk broadens, showing her fangs. “You’re so pathetically incompetent that –”

“Now, now, Nem. Let’s not let my guy off the hook here.” The new voice, loud and rich and full of almost-insane laughter, can only belong to another elder demon. Like Nemuri, he’s wearing a vicious smirk. “Remember, my guy’s the one who got rejected by his summoner and packed it in for the evening. At least yours gave it a second shot.”

“That’s my boss,” Tomura mumbles. “Fuck.”

“In fact,” Tomura’s boss continues, “one could argue that your girl’s off the hook. She did her job. It’s not her fault that my guy’s aura of misery was so strong that it made him actually look human. Or that he was so desperate to be wanted by somebody that he forgot to check whether she was actually a demon trying to steal his soul.”

Tomura’s shoulders hunch, and a surge of anger runs through you. “When you put it that way, Hizashi, it does sound like my nymphet is off the hook,” Nemuri says. “But when your pathetic little imp tried to take the fall for her, she wouldn’t let him. It seems they’re terrible at everything demonic, lying included. They’re telling the truth.”

“They really did seduce each other,” Hizashi muses. “That’s cringe.”

“More importantly, it’s against the rules.” Nemuri’s standing over you. Hizashi joins her, and the two of them leer down at you and Tomura, practically licking their lips. “Whatever shall we do with them?”

There aren’t many punishments that can affect demons – you’re basically gluttons for it. Then again, there aren’t many rules for demons to break. “I’m not sure,” Hizashi says. “Offer them up to Heaven for punishment? Banish them to the mortal world until the trumpets sound? Throw them out to wander with the restless dead forevermore?”

You might not love your job, but you have your sisters. If you’re cast out, you’ll never see them again. The only thing worse would be getting thrown to Heaven as an offering, one of Hell’s not-infrequent tithes to keep the peace. Tomura’s tail wraps around your waist, and you cover his left hand with your right as you wait for your fates to be decided. The thought crosses your mind, pointlessly, that you won’t spend an eternity of exile entirely alone. You’ve dragged someone else down with you, which might be the most demonic thing you’ve ever done in your life.

“Now that I think about it,” Nemuri says, her smirk broadening still further, “I don’t think we need to punish them – not when they’ve punished themselves so effectively.”

“What does that mean?” Tomura snaps. Hizashi is guffawing, his voice echoing off the jagged rocks. “Don’t laugh. What does that mean?”

“What does it mean, you gloomy brat?” Hizashi wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Take a look at your hands, both of you.”

You let go of Tomura’s and lift your own. Your right hand is clear, but your left – you remember noticing the shadow around your fourth finger, feeling the faint spark as it darkened a little further. It’s not a shadow anymore. Instead it’s a thin golden shackle, encircling your finger below your knuckle. No, not a shackle. A ring.

It won’t come off. You yank on it, try to dig your nails beneath it, but it won’t come off. Next to you, Tomura’s doing the same, cursing fluently, and Hizashi and Nemuri are laughing at you both, leaning on each other to stay upright. “It’s the first rule we teach you all when you’re spawned. No fucking your own kind, and this is why!” Hizashi is laughing almost too hard to speak, while you try to chew your ring off and Tomura breaks his own finger trying to remove his. “Thanks to your little tryst, the two of you are bound forever in unholy matrimony!”

“My congratulations to the happy couple,” Nemuri says. “The two of you are never going to live this down. You’ll be the laughingstocks of Hell. You’re going to beg us to banish you!”

“And we won’t,” Hizashi says. “I can’t think of a better object lesson than the two of you. We send you to the mortal realm to collect souls, and not only did you end up fucking each other, you didn’t commit a single demonic act!”

“I cursed somebody,” you protest.

“Me too,” Tomura says. “The mortal who –”

You remember what Tomura said about the mortal who rejected you: May his dick shrivel up and fall off. “You cursed the same mortal,” Nemuri says. She pauses a moment. “I will admit, it’s a fairly creative curse. The imp’s little add-on will make a nice insult to the injury.”

You’re better at cursing mortals than you are at seducing them, but you can’t imagine Tomura’s bad at it. Not with the way he worked you over. You duck your head to hide the heat coming up in your face. “Well, we’ll leave the two of you to enjoy your honeymoon,” Hizashi says. He shrugs off the ornate robe he’s wearing and drops it on the ground in front of you, revealing body chains, nipple piercings, and nothing else. “Wear this on your way back into the city. Maintain a little dignity.”

“Here, imp. Just for you.” Nemuri drops her robe over Tomura’s head, and he shoves it off into the dust. “Everyone’s going to know about your little bout of lovemaking, but I imagine you’d prefer if they didn’t know exactly how you’ve been chewing on each other.”

The two of them stroll back towards the city, arm in arm, still laughing. It’s a long time before their laughter fades, and then you and Tomura are alone on the outskirts. The wind, blowing hot a moment before, changes direction, growing cold and carrying sharp shards of ice. You put on Hizashi’s robe, then turn towards Tomura. He’s already shivering, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, Nemuri’s robe discarded in front of him. You pick it up and settle it back around his shoulders, shifting his hair aside so it won’t get caught beneath the collar – and then you realize what you’re doing. You freeze. “Sorry.”

Tomura shrugs, but the robe stays on. “You’re better at this than your boss says you are,” he says without looking at you. “I believed you.”

“I’m worse than she says I am,” you say. “I wasn’t lying.”

Tomura looks up at that, and you look away, your eyes stinging in the freezing wind. You never lied to Tomura, not from the moment you approached him. This would be so much less embarrassing if you had. If you’d listened to any of the moments where you sensed that it was going a little too well, that it felt a little too good. If you’d kept your distance instead of falling under his spell as quickly and easily as he fell under yours. “Your boss was talking out of his ass. Your whole thing worked really well on me.”

“Yeah. Except it wasn’t a thing.” Tomura’s tail wraps loosely around your wrist. “Mutual ruination. You were right.”

He’s got your right wrist. You study your left hand with its ring, and Tomura lifts his alongside yours. His ring looks the same as yours, although he’s dislocated his fourth finger in addition to having broken it. “Want me to fix that?”

“Demon magic doesn’t fix things.”

“It’s not supposed to marry people, either.” You’re not expecting that argument to work, but Tomura lets you capture his hand anyway. You relocate it manually, then try to work some magic over it. All your magic serves to make a seduction easier, so it shouldn’t be hard to twist it into something you can use for the sake of your – “I think it worked. How do you feel?”

“Like I fucked up,” Tomura says. Fair enough. “And I’m not sorry.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Tomura’s hands slip inside your stolen robe, settling into the same place he was holding on as you rode him. “This isn’t that weird. Mortals do it all the time.”

“Except mortals who get married in Vegas can get divorced,” you point out. Somebody has to play angel’s advocate here, even if you’re already unfolding yourself from seated so you can get into his lap. “We didn’t even make any vows.”

“You did,” Tomura says. “I heard you say it.”

You’re mine. Is that really all it took? It makes a certain kind of sense, when you force yourself to look at it honestly. Mortals almost never doom themselves consciously. It’s always a moment of weakness, a split-second lapse, an instant where desire rules over reason. “Then you can break us up. Since I’m the only one who vowed anything.”

“No way.” Tomura’s lips brush the side of your neck, making your nerves twinge. “I agreed.”

You set your hands on his shoulders and push him backwards, and he goes willingly. The way he’s looking up at you counts as a sin all on its own – crimson eyes half-lidded, pupils already dilating, his cheekbones already dusted with pink. “Did you figure out what you want yet?”

“I have some ideas,” you say. You collect his hands from your waist and pin them on either side of his head, leaning down for a long, slow kiss. “But I’ll start with you.”

[ieetbeez]

Small Rant About RE

Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.

tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion

Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).

I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!

Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.

BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??

There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…

And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.

These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3

Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...

Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.

Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…

That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3

[worstqueerbaittournament]

Submission message for Klance: howdy, would like to submit keith and lance from voltron (lmao)

Submission message for Bechloe: Beca and Chloe from Pitch Perfect (mainly Beca but Bechloe was the ship they baited the most)

Additional propaganda Klance: Now Keith and Lance on the other hand was a whole fucking mess that they then shoehorned in an hetero romance to try and "fix it" but by lord it was bad, everything about voltron is so fucking bad

Anyway this is my Klance propaganda : They were actually bait

Klance's queer baiting by the team was the worst!! We had to deal with NETFLIX ALSO GETTING IN ON THE QUEER BAITING!! If you searched up Kkance during the times for season 6-8, the SHOW WOULD POP UP. The directors would make jokes about it being canon, even Lance's VA got in the joke!

Their queer baiting was the worst for anyone who was even looking for an ounce of queer rep in that show. The only queer rep we got was a man who died after not even 5 minutes on screen, and shoehorned in the credit scene of a gay wedding of a character that was neither Keith nor Lance.

I do not know Agatha and Sophie, so I can't argue that klance was bigger bait or not, I just know voltron was mean lmao. the creators said stuff like "lance will be someone's first choice!" (meaning NOT ending up in a relationship with allura bc she very much chose another guy over him) and heavily implying he would be Keith's 1st choice (or a guy in general bc of point number 2). point number 2: they also released official art showing how super cool and diverse the main cast was! race! gender! LGBT - they had shiro (who was......canon gay but that's a whole other can of worms) and lance hold the sign with LGBT on it and then did absolutely nothing with that w lance at all (he hit on allura, so obvi he's not gay, but at least bi or smt) (UNLESS you count the scenes where he's flirty with keith). I just remember going into the last few seasons being like "klance probably won't be happen be honest with yourself there's like no queer kids shows!! but damn like it so could tho!!! because of how much it's been teased both in the show and by showrunners like I can't have no hope with the way the producers talk about it!" lmao I should have had no hope, but i genuinkey believed there was a possibility it could happen. and actually I discovered after the fact that i think one of the writers for the show who was the main advocate for klance (they had a lot of diff writers for eps, which led to lots of character butchering but ANYWAY) left not terribly long into the show I believe bc he didn't like the direction it was moving in and didn't want to be tied to the show anymore. so it's not like fans just made klance up either - it was written into earlier episodes with the hope and plan to continue developing later, and then just nothing ever happened with it besides INTENSE teasing it to keep queer fans around. esp after shiro's relationship was literally only a flashback and then his fiance thing or whatever got blown up before we even got to watch him interact w shiro as we knew him in present time in s7, so I think they kept being like hmmm klance and the stuff about lance being a first choice before s8 to keep ppl around. also esp bc klancers made up such a big portion of the fan base. then they made a horrible szn and ended it w a flashforward to shiro marrying some random background character who maybe had 1 line? I just remember hitting the flashforward and being like uhhhh who is this dude??? but they did that to hit those diversity points wow first gay marriage in a cartoon or smt idk it doesn't count to me really. so anyway voltron in general is queerbait lol but klance is because it started out as a legit possibility and then they said sike! but only maybe sike bc u guys are mad at us burying our guys in s7 so maybe klance could still happen haha okay now we're serious no it's not happening. anyway I think klance is p bad queerbait and a vote for them is a valid vote, not just u liking the ship.

Here is my really boring and incredibly dry argument for #KLANCESWEEP:

There are countless examples of the Voltron showrunners queerbaiting when it comes to Klance. I will leave that argument and discussion to others. Instead, I would like to focus on why/how I believe Klance is the more significant instance of queerbaiting, despite Johnlock's queerbaiting being markedly more famous.

Queerbaiting is when a shows teases/hints at a character(s) being queer, but then never actually follows through on making the character LGBTQ+. Queerbaiting is, above all, a marketing technique; the show dangles the possibility of a queer romance in order to "bait"  a queer/ally audience into watching, and then continues to dangle or drag out the possibility of a same-sex romance in order to keep their audience hooked and continuously profited off. Queerbaiting takes advantage of peoples' hope and optimism, and that's why the betrayal stings so deeply once the queerbaiting is realized.

I argue that one of the major components of queerbaiting is that the show/writers must never explicitly confirm that there will NOT be queer romance. Queerbaiting is only sustained so long as the illusion of possibility persists.

Now, there are plenty of nuances to this.

If a showrunner comes out and explicitly states that there will be no queer representation in the show, this statement alone does not absolve the show of any queerbaiting it previously did. But, it DOES blur the lines for what can reasonably be defined as "actual" versus "willful" queerbaiting and subtext in the show going forward.

okay let me drop the pseudo-academic tone and just put it bluntly. what i'm trying to say is that, if a showrunner explicitly says "NO GAY ROMANCE," but the show's audience continues to insist and read for gay subtext anyway, and then the audience feels betrayed when the show ends with no queer romance --- at a certain point, wouldn't you argue that it's the fans that are actually baiting themselves, and not the show itself? this is what i mean by "willful" subtext.

As early as 2010 (this article/interview was posted the day of the first episode), the Sherlock showrunners explicitly stated that there would be no romantic relationship between Sherlock and Watson. Between 2010 and 2016, the showrunners repeatedly stated in multiple interviews that Johnlock would never happen.

I am 100% aware that I was drinking nothing but Kool-Aid while Voltron aired. I absolutely baited myself with desperate hope each season. But, in my weak defense, the flames of my Klance delusions were very much flamed by the promises made by the Voltron showrunners, who repeatedly floated the promise of queer representation in the show and spoke about Klance in the same breath. Klancers didn't bait themselves out of thin air; they desperately clung to the rope the Voltron writers threw us, and we were pulled in: hook, line, and sinker.

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TLDR:

Queerbaiting involves willful deception and deliberate misinformation on the part of a showrunner/show.

If a showrunner encourages a queer ship, or makes vague promises of queer representation, then it reasonable for the show's audience to assume that a queer romance will happen. When a queer romance does not happen, this is clear-cut queerbaiting.

But if a showrunner explicitly states that a show will not have a major queer romance, then the show's audience should reasonably assume that the show will not have the queer ship they favor. If shippers continue to insist that their ship will come to fruition, and continue to pin their hopes on their ship, then the lines between who is actually baiting whom become very blurred.

Johnlock fans knew going into the show that John and Sherlock would never have an explicitly queer relationship. Fans continued to read for subtext, and maintained hope. The lines of queerbaiting become blurred, as it was not entirely clear if the show was actually baiting its shippers, or if fans were the ones baiting themselves.

In contrast, Klance fans were repeatedly encouraged by the showrunners, Netflix's marketing, and to some extent the VAs that Klance was possible (and that queer representation would firmly happen), and so Klance shippers were repeatedly strung along each season, up until the final season when Lance and Allura started dating and the Klance ship was torpedoed once and for all. (Do not talk to me about post-canon Klance, I am willfully defiant.) This is a firmly clear-cut case of queerbaiting.

In summary, Klance is the more textbook case of queerbaiting. It matches all the elements of queerbaiting: there was the willful deception by the showrunners, which encouraged Klance shippers specifically to hang onto the show, allowing Voltron to profit off its Klance audience. It's true that Klance shippers also continuously baited and deluded ourselves; but in our defense, we were following the example and promises set by the show itself.

Additional propaganda Bechloe: Ok for a little propaganda, since you may have forgotten pitch perfect, I want you all to know I first saw it as a 16-17 year old at gay youth group and can you imagine my fucking surprise and bafflement when they werent lesbians. Like basically thru the whole movie I was like “fun lesbian film nothing out of place just waiting for them to actually be gay” I know this was mostly the youth group organizers fault but I still think pitch perfect should have to answer for their crimes

I could talk so much about this but I want to point specifically to this promo for pitch perfect 3:

Bechloe - Pitch Perfect 3 Promo

Bechloe is REAL!

YouTube

and they then proceeded to give chloe an absolutely godawful love interest and like really overdid it (they also tried to give beca one too but anna kendrick was having NONE of that)

IIRC, Beca and Chloe were supposed to be lesbians but Universal vetoed it and made them give Beca a male love interest. Whether that changes things is up to you.

Even more Klance propaganda under the cut:

@klanced pretty well summarizes why Voltron was *more* queerbaity, but I think we should also consider what it means to be *worse.*

Make no mistake, the Sherlock team was.... for lack of a better term.... almost gaslight-y in their press, by disregarding the subtext that they themselves had written. But they were consistent. And their messages as showrunners did bear through, even as they were being cruel. Most importantly, Sherlock never needed the people they were baiting, so they could act aloof. That distance was horrible, but nothing like Voltron.

The relationship between Voltron and its fans was toxic, parasitic. Voltron couldn't have stayed around for that long without dragging its queer-baited audience behind it. It was a Netflix show, and those are always so close to the hangman's axe. It was the online fervor that sustained it.

And so, they had to appease the fans, pay the piper. But they had their own ideas for how the story would bear out, and each creator wanted something differently. In the end, they consistently used marketing tactics to imply something that could have been possible, if not for distinct creative voices that instead weakened the queer stories until they were watery piss.

Anyway, this was rambling. Vote Voltron for dangling queer alignment and ambiguity. Vote Voltron for pretending to be an ally. Vote Voltron for the stupid fucking LGBTQ banner that has Lance on it. Johnlock hurt, in a distant way, but Klance was worse.

I actually said this earlier on a different post, but I'll say it here too:

Its completely reasonable to think Klance was originally planned. Their interactions in the early seasons seemed a little too romantically coded to be something completely made up by fans. Thats why Klance was so popular, because it seemed all too possible.

However, when Dreamworks forced the creative team to change the story in order to keep Shiro alive instead of permanently killing him off like they originally planned, their entire story got fucked over. Seasons 3 and 4 were too far into production to stop and completely redo them, it would have been too expensive, even though it was the logical course of action. Instead, the producers had to make serious last minute changes to the story in order to keep Shiro in the picture. As a result, Shiro and Keith's switched places in the show, and Keith was almost completely written out of seasons 4-6 because Shiro was never supposed to be there. Any and all possible plans for any sort of development between Keith and Lance were thrown out the window because Keith wasn't there.

But as previously said, Voltron wouldn't have survived until the end without the rabid and feral online Klance fandom. The writing was very rapidly going to shit because there wasn't enough time to properly rewrite seasons 3 and 4 in order to meet Dreamworks' demands, and every season that followed suffered because of the decisions made for seasons 3 and 4. Everything was being improvised, and the storyboards for season 8 weren't finished until MARCH 2018 because of how behind schedule they were.

(I feel like the creative team don't get enough credit. Sure the show was a MASSIVE flop but their working conditions were less then ideal. Its impressive they got anything done on time due to the constantly changing ideas.)

The VLD producers knew that the Klance fandom was the only thing keeping the show alive, and continued to use Klance as bait until the very end. The VLD producers willingly enabled the notoriously toxic and violent Klance fandom with thumbnails and HotTopic merch, and allowed it to reach a point that the lives of their cast and crew were being threatenedby the rabid Klance fandom, just to get the ratings they needed to stay afloat.

THATS the disgusting part of all this. Whether Klance was originally planned as endgame or not, the producers used its popularity to keeping their already declining show running at the expense of the safety of their cast and crew.

I know next to nothing about BBC's Sherlock and Johnlock and whatever, but what the VLD producers did was sinister. Putting their creative team through both production and online HELL for some ratings, and it blew up in the most humiliating way possible. They did alllllll that, just to get one of the worst endings to an animated series of all time. Literally everyone hates them for what Voltron became, putting the lives of their creative team in danger was for nothing.

And obviously the producers can't completely blamed for the show's outcome, Dreamworks ruined their original plans. But continuing to use Klance as a marketing tactic while your fans are getting out of control and your creative team is being put in danger is just appalling. It was in their power to tell the Klance fandom Klance wasn't endgame, and that probably would have quelled the fire, but instead, with every season, they threw more and more gasoline into the dumpster fire.

So if you haven't already, vote Klance in this poll.

(I'm linking my source for all this info here. Its a video essay that I totally recommend watching. Super duper interesting.)

[xreaderdumpster]

Some playlist head canons for the X-Men

Not sure why but lately I’ve had ideas involving songs for the X-Men characters! So below I’ve given each character 7 songs I think would be in a playlist for the characters! Feel free to disagree, this is all my personal opinion ;w; Also this isn’t music accurate for the 90’s so suspend your disbelief!!

Scott- Cosmic Dancer by T. Rex, Talking in your sleep by The Romantics, Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons, Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter (defo a guilty pleasure artist introduced to by Jubilee), Where is my Mind by the Pixies, Heroes by David Bowie and I believe in a thing called love by The Darkness (see “I’ve got you”, he’d defo do this song at drunk karaoke).

Gambit- The Pretender by Foo Fighters, Fuck me like you mean it by Steve Rodriguez, Chk Chk Boom by Stray Kids (gives me very Gambit does tricks to this song vibes), Ma Belle Evangeline from Princess and the Frog (obviously), Powerless by Waterparks (kind of a good song he’d sing to Rogue), Good Old-Fashioned Lover boy by Queen and Iris by Goo Goo Dolls.

Logan- Paint it black by Rolling Stones, Walk this way by Aerosmith, Southern Nights by Glen Campbell, Midnight Ride by Orville Peck (introduced to him by Rogue, would defo do a drunk duet to this song), Hurt by Johnny Cash, Barn Raising from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (I head-canon that he secretly loves classic MGM musicals like Seven Brides and Calamity Jane) and Automobile by KALEO.

Rogue- Timber by Kesha, Can’t Remember to forget you by Shakira and Rihanna (sexy dancing in the club to this song with Morph and Jubilee), All the things she said by t.A.T.u., The Reason cover by Lady Parts (just gives me Rogue vibes!), Maneater by Nelly Furtado, Die with a smile by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars and When you’re gone by Avril Lavigne (still got a lil emo/goth phase in her and this song is just sad enough to fit the vibes of both goth and the rest of her music with Avril).

Jean- Me and my husband by Mitski (gives her and Scott vibes), Chain by Fleetwood Mac, Young Volcanoes by Fall Out Boy (didn’t want to go with the obvious “The Phoenix choice from this album), Like real people do by Hozier, SOS by Abba (again, about her and Scott), Light my Love by Greta Van Fleet and Defying Gravity from Wicked.

Storm- Woman by Doja Cat, Cobra by Megan Thee Stallion, Thunderstruck by AC/DC (I’m sorry this is an obvious choice!!!), Confident by Demi Lovato, Little wolf from Epic: The Musical, My love mine all mine by Mitski and Good Riddance (Time of your life) by Green Day (feels like she’d connect with this song somehow, introduced to Green Day either by Morph or Gambit).

Hank- It’s All Right by Jon Batiste, Just a man from Epic:The Musical (I feel like he’d quite like the concept of this musical), Minecraft by C418, Concerning Hobbits from Lord of the Rings, La Vie en Rose cover by Louis Armstrong (gives me big jazz fan vibes), My baby just cares for me by Nina Simone and Sonata No. 14 “Moonlight” by Beethovan.

Jubilee- Crazy by LE SSERAFIM (was hard to narrow down a couple of K-Pop songs but this gave me the most Jubilee vibes), Girls just wanna have fun by Cyndi Lauper, You belong with me by Taylor Swift (she’d 100% be a Swiftie!), Bed chem by Sabrina Carpenter, Guess by Charli XCX, Just Dance by Lady Gaga and She’s homeless by CreepP (a good dance song when she’s out with Morph and Rogue).

Morph- Queer as in fuck you by Dog park dissidents, Tragedy cover by Brian David Gilbert, Abracadabra by Lady Gaga (Jubilee and Morph are both big fans of Gaga!), Dancing by myself by Billy Idol, I’m still standing by Elton John (headcanon that they love dancing), Let’s dance by David Bowie and Joyride (circus night) by Freshman Biology (original works too but this one’s funnier and they give the vibe they’d like parody music).

[maitimosrighthand]

141 x Succubus male reader( oc )

(please note that this is a series and will continue)

Author note:

Most of the characters in this story will be their usual hybrid type. Ghost( Demon ), Soap( Wolf ), Gaz( Eagle ) and Price( Dragon ).

Please note that this series will eventually contain +18 contents. Minors do not interact.

Yes this will contain heats and ruts. You horny bastards 🫵

( The reader or oc (idk) is described as rather feminine. Not like that but well they are a succubus so they a that way. Gooner bait. It’s genetics.

Just like Ghost‘s massive dic-

For more information to how I will deal with the Succubus thing please scroll down to the bottom of the page

Chapter 1: Meeting the pack

It’s been ages since animal genes had mixed with human ones. While the question of who has fucked an animal was ignored ever since, another case has been opened as of late.

Demons.

While they are rare there have been a few cases within the last years. Demons, Vampires and then you, a succubus. While that does say a lot about your parents, it doesn’t mean too much to you. While yes, people assume you are nothing but a jerk and want to constantly have sex, it’s not that easy.

It had been raining for three days straight now. No sun to be seen and the roads look accordingly. „Seems like we‘ll be stuck here for a while longer.“ Hoffmann said. He is the reason of why you are here right now. Despite ages of experience most old white man still thought that people like you had to be in a group with responsible people, such as their military. Not that you were against the idea. You had been once to the army before in your early 20 but left right after. You had become a mercenary and taken countless jobs already, so you could say you were experienced in such matters.

After a couple of failed operations within the military of late, people like you were hired to come there and give them a hand. It wasn’t voluntary at all, either you help or they put you in prison for illegal activities. You however were not about to help them after this one. Right.

You came here duo to one of their high ranked soldiers missing. You where sure you had heard his name once beforehand but you who knows. Maybe he had been a trainee just like you back in the days. That made you sound really old.

„I‘ll get out here then.“ you said not waiting for an answer. The place you where supposed to find him at was barely five minutes away from here. You could walk that. Better than to spend one more minute with Hoffmann in the same car. He stank you had noted over the 2h ride here. Something with wolf and a bit of bird in it. Perhaps he was a brothel enthusiast, especially the one with hybrids in it. But that was not your business.

While walking from the street your phone rang. „What is it Asher?“ you answered immediately. She was more or less your boss? No you didn’t have that. She would give you notes on who needs your services at the moment and you‘d watch her eating your pasta while she does so. For some reason she would always sneak into your apartment.

„Where are you?“ came through the speakers. „On a little trip. Willingly.“ you huffed a bit. „The government?“ „yeah…“ Neither you nor her were big fans. She had constant legal problems with them and now they even got to you. „I didn’t know you were such a good man.“ She mocked you. She knew you were a good person. You set yourself a couple of rules a long time ago. „Are you going to come out alive?“ she shuffled with something on the other end of the line. „Why? Do you have a job for me?“ you heard her laugh behind the phone. That meant yes. „I‘ll call you later for the details, bye.“ Oh wow. This place is wrecked.

You stood on a platform near a river. That solider has been seen here last. But it looked completely empty. There were a couple of small ruins of old houses that have succumb to the weather conditions in the area. Another thing that bothered you was that it is so close to the street. If you do something illegal most of the time you‘d wanna be away from prying eyes. So him being here made no sense. Non the less you had a job to finish.

Sliding down the muddy trail, without falling mind you, you began searching around the area. Some wet puddles, some broken trees confinently fallen onto the house roof. Wait that was suspicious. Normally the trees would have broken down something of the house but these look hardly damaged and there was little to no things under them. Lucky you, you didn’t skip your sport days during your free time.

Slowly but surely your pushed the trees away from their previous spot. You wiped away some of the dust and broken tiles and slowly open the hidden luke door. The iron seems very scratchy and for a moment you think about just not opening it. But well you wanted to go back home and the faster you found him the better.

After opening the door you look down. There was water, probably not too high but still high enough to reach until your knees. You were ready to take that risk through. Jumping down you landed in the water. It was not very nice when the water splatters on your jacket. That one was new you noted in your mind. You observed the room a bit. A few broken tables, a couple of prison cells and who would have thought…water. And a man.

You make your way through the water slowly. You didn’t know who you were looking for but it was probably him. You were unsure if he was awake so you put on a mouth mask and put on the hood from your jacket. It’s just to be safe. There may be many misinformations about succubus on the internet but you had to make sure. Occasionally you would get away with saying you were a goat but some where not convinced.

You checked on the man who was laying down in the water. He had been lucky that his head was above the water. However the water was freezing and he might have been here for days. „Oh god.“ his lips were blue. You pulled him up and onto a table. He was one bulk of a man. And an eagle nonetheless. His wings were too huge to fit through the entrance you came through. First things first: let’s call Hofmann.

„Are you sure that’s him?“ he asked. „Yes it’s him. The eagle! Now I need a truck near here!“ „Fine fine. I‘ll also send you the location of where to bring him.“ he hung up. You slowly but surely dragged the soldier through a back door you found. He was heavy and you felt sry for scratching his wings a couple of times. But you did not really have much of a choice. When you finally got him outside and forced him into the truck‘s backseat you sat down in the drivers seat.

Weird.

Why was no one here. If he had really been kidnapped and was a high ranking solider then wouldn’t someone look or watch over him? It’s was questionable you thought. You took down your mask after half of the ride to the location that was send to you, since the eagle did not stink. Their base was in the range of that but they didn’t tell you where exactly.

Nothing really bothered you with that. It seemed to be a rather secretive situation and you were not about to get into legal trouble by trying to find it. Occasionally you could hear the man behind you groan. Whenever you looked into the back mirror you could see his disheveled state. Some feathers unplugged and halfway ripped out, his hair probably a bit longer than it should be and various cuts on his arms and face. Poor guy.

About half an hour you arrived at the location you had been given. A remote area where a smaller town was not too far away. You heard there was a bar there. Maybe you‘ll go there later, it’s been a while since you ate anything beside those medications.(read info) But for now you kept waiting. Waiting. And…waiting? Why was no one here yet? Just when the sun was slowly going down you heard a car nearby. In case it may have been just some townsfolk you quickly tried to blend in. Pulling up the mask and acting like you tried to light cigarette. You did not smoke. It was too expensive and you didn’t get the appeal. To you it was like a cheap sex potion that lady’s were attracted to. The car however stopped and 3 large man came out of it. You were sure if you hadn’t already had your gay awakening this could have been it. But you couldn’t ask a military officer for a one night stand. Sadly

One had huge wings and the other a tail. The tallest one did not show any signs of abnormality. Maybe they had a human amongst them. You were about to say something when you felt a pressure on you.

Oh. That guy was some kind of demon too.

Demons could feel another. Some more than others. And some did not at all. But to you, demons stank like fish. You hated fish.

„Are you X?“ the dragon asked. „Depends on it. Who is asking?“ you just had to make sure it was them. And you tried to buy time. Just to see if that demon recognized you as one. Any reaction could reveal it. Demons were territorial after all. You were too but since nothing belonged to you and your noodles were always stolen by Asher there was nothing to protect.

„Captain Price.“ he answered. That’s him mind you. You open the car door and immediately a hawk claws at you. Lucky you, you had stepped to the side. „Rise and shine birdy. Your pack is here.“ He stood up a bit cranky from the ground he fell to. Not moments later the dog came and helped him to their car. Wait dog? No it’s probably a wolf. He was too quiet for a dog.

„I must thank you. Hope to work again with you in the future.“ the dragon said after some back and forth about your payment. „Lie.“ You knew from the way his eyes never left you that he was lying.

„I don’t trust you mercenaries. But your help is undeniable.“ With that he said goodbye to you.

That demon guy stared at you a bit longer. You could swear you saw him smell the air. You wondered what kind he was. Maybe a succubus like you!

He then followed Price to the car and you watched them drive away.

Urghh. You needed a drink. And a hookup

Notes about succubus:

They are rare very rare

They can smell sexual excitement even without wanting it and it somewhat feeds them but in the end they still need sex ( some more than others )

The need for physical contact ( sex ) can be lindert by a special kind of medicine

Succubus look like normal people but they can extend claws and tails if they want to

( and to go into actually mythology here) they cannot however hide their horns and when on the hunt for food ( sex ) they cannot hide their animal feet ( hooves )

They can like in real mythology appear to someone as another person after they know who they crave

They are not too fast

Their voice can cause sexual excitement and can be somewhat like a drug ( when they want to)

Succubus however have the problem that most of the time they do not wish to engage into such things and therefore the smell can make them feel ill and cause unwanted excitement on their part

Succubus can be bound by a spell that is specific to their own and they usually contain it in a toy or a thing they always carry around

If another person has this toy or object they can force the succubus to do anything they want

The succubus cannot disobey

[tyrantisterror]

Wife Goals: Harley Quinn

Welcome back, fuckers. It's February, I'm in a bad way, let's talk about the unstable fictional women that I pine for, because fuck you that's why. Last time on this prolonged emotional breakdown, I talked about Ryoko Hakubi, the ancient demon space pirate from the Tenchi Muyo franchise. Today, I'll talk about someone I think we all knew would come up sooner or later - I have a whole shrine to her for fuck's sake.

Funny story - I didn't actually watch Batman: The Animated Series as a kid, despite being a child of the 90's. It, Power Rangers, and Gargoyles were the big 90's shows I just sorta bailed on (and I guess TMNT? I think of that more as an 80's show, personally, but I've seen some people lump it into 90's nostalgia too, so...). I just wasn't much of a superhero fan when I was a kid - superheroes were buff athletic masculine guys, like the bullies that picked on me, and they beat up weird-looking dudes who were obsessed with, like, monsters and spiders and shit, which I related to a lot more, so it just wasn't my scene as a kid. I had Godzilla for my hero-worship anyway, and it's hard to compete with Godzilla for my heart.

I did watch Batman Beyond, though, because it came on after Digimon and what else would I do with my Saturday morning?

Anyway, I don't think I actually saw much if any at all of BTAS until my teens. Pop culture being what it was, I was still loosely aware of Batman and his gallery of rogues, so I knew of Harley Quinn by that point, but I didn't have any particular fondness for the character yet, and even after watching some episodes she wouldn't become important to me until, like, after college.

And to understand why you kind of have to understand what was going on with Harley Quinn at the time. So, ok, Harley debuted in Batman the Animated Series, an exceptionally well-done adaptation of Batman that is specifically noted for taking the superhero comic world's devotion to maintaining a status quo super seriously. And by that I mean that essays have been written on the sort of Calivinist nature of morality in Batman the Animated Series, where if a character is a supervillain, then nothing they do, no matter how well-intentioned, will EVER allow them to break free of being evil. Poison Ivy wants to leave villainy behind and be a mother? Well, because she is Inherently Villainous, she can't help doing it in a way that involves mind control and gene splicing and crimes against humanity. Mr. Freeze wants to save his wife? Well, there's no way he can ever progress that goal without harming people with a freeze ray, and also every evil scheme he concocts to reach that end - a noble goal, mind you - will be foiled, leaving his wife still frozen on the brink of death. If you are a villain in BTAS, you will always, always, ALWAYS be a villain, no matter how hard you try to redeem yourself. The status quo MUST be maintained, no matter how tragic your situation is.

Which adds a meta-textual layer of bleakness to the already incredibly bleak life of Harley Quinn. Harley is a psychologist who fell in love with her patient, and said patient happened to be the Joker, i.e. one of the most notorious supervillains of all time. She turns herself into a supervillain to impress him, throws her career in the toilet in the process, and ends up being used as a disposable tool and punching bag by said villain over and over again. Harley suffers horrendous abuse from the Joker, commits horrible crimes to gain his favor, suffers terribly when she's caught by Batman, and basically repeats this cycle over and over and over and over again.

Because the status quo must be maintained, no matter how bleak your situation is.

It should be noted that, in the (intentional or not) Calvinist nature of the show, Harley's misery is clearly intended to be a direct result of her flaws. In Batman the Animated Series, pre-villain Harley is explicitly stated not to be a good psychologist to begin with - she was not smart enough to earn her degree honestly and slept with her teachers to raise her grades. Never ethical or talented, it's kind of treated as though her situation is her own fault for not growing as a person like she should have in the first place, which, uh... I don't think that element aged well at all, honestly.

But, luckily, Harley proved popular enough that the Batman the Animated Series take on her didn't remain the ONLY take for very long.

In fact, Harley's popularity grew so big over time that by the 2000's she got her own solo series, which came with a big problem to solve: how does Harley Quinn, a character who revolves around the Joker, who in turn revolves around Batman, work as a character without the two characters she was designed to orbit around? She's a moon, not a star, how can that work?

Well, Harley had to change, and that meant the status quo had to change.

Harley breaks up with the Joker and tries to, well, not go legit necessarily, but be a more low-profile kind of supervillain so Batman stops punching her in the face so much. More mischief and misdemeanors and less murder and manslaughter, and when she does kill someone it's, like, a serial killer or assassin, so basically fine. Because her relationship with the Joker is, like, the PICTURE of an abusive relationship, Harley becomes this picaresque figure, escaping from her chains to run free and rampant, and inviting us along for the ride.

And with that independence as a guiding theme, Harley got retooled a bit. She's always been a cheerful goofball, so it's not really out of character for her to help people now and then, albeit in a chaotic, mayhem-filled way. And hey, she has a degree in psychology - what if we just ignored the original intent and presented her as legitimately good at it? That brings a new sort of pathos to Harley Quinn, if she was a genuinely talented and dedicated person who stumbled once and paid severely for it - and it makes us invested in her quest to find some way to pull herself together after falling so hard.

And... that's kind of sympathetic, isn't it? It's hard to screw up worse than Harley Quinn did, it's hard to ruin your life more than she did, and yet here she is, still trying to pull it together in spite of that. She lives in a town so dark and depressing it has "Goth" in its name. Her ex-boyfriend is a killer clown who is infamous in-universe and out as one of the most cruel and monstrous villains of all time. Her resume consists of "psychiatrist who slept with her patient" and "moll for the most notorious serial killer alive." In many continuities she has permanently dyed her skin chalk white. You simply cannot fuck up worse than Harley Quinn has.

And yet she keeps trying. There's something heroic about that.

Harley has been beaten and abused by the man she gave up everything to be with, and yet she keeps trying. She is hated by most of the world because of her villainous past, and yet she keeps trying. She can never, EVER go back to the life she had, to the career she went to college for, to the stable, normal life she at one point wanted, and yet she KEEPS TRYING. She lives in the world of superhero comic books, where any significant change to the status quo is (almost) ALWAYS undone, where character development is considered a mistake that has to be unwritten, where redemption is impossible because once the narrative decides you're a villain that's what you will (almost) ALWAYS be...

And yet. She keeps. TRYING.

In a world that is determined to treat her as a punching bag, Harley finds a reason to smile, to hope that life will get better, to laugh and try and find love and happiness and joy. And her hope was so strong and so infectious that it changed the status quo. Harley being the Joker's punching bag hench-girlfriend used to be all she could aspire to be, but now? That's just her origin story, and she's become so much more than that.

She's a mess of Red Flags, an absolute fuckup of a human being, a terrible person, but goddammit, she is TRYING to be better, she is trying to make herself a good person, she is trying to make the world smile, and through all the shit thrown her way, she still believes in love and happiness. I don't just like Harley Quinn or crush on her the way I do with other fictional characters - I'm inspired by her. I strive to have some fraction of her resolve, her determination, her steadfast will to survive and thrive. Because if she can make it, if she can laugh so loud that the immutable law that is Comic Book Status Quo will bend for her, then dammit, any of us can do it.

...

Plus she's a hot lady in clown makeup who wears leather jackets and skin-tight acrobatic tights, I mean c'mon now almost everyone's down for that on some level

[timetopanic34]

I think about this a lot.

I feel that the comparison can be a little unfair. The insinuation being that Steve should have jumped.

So I tried to think about it from Steve’s pov. They are in an extreme situation even for WWII. Steve is new in this body and what it is capable of. His fear would have crippled him.

So this body is new to Steve. You know how in CATWS Steve fights brilliantly and can throw his shield with insane precision? That's cause he is practised and knows the limits of his body.

Plus training in the future would mean he would learn how to stall certain responses. So most people run from danger - the ones that run towards it have to have trained themselves to go against what their brain is screaming at them to do.

So his fear response takes over and then as his brain comes back online (even if it is a split second) and he thinks Bucky has DIED and he knows Zola is on or near that fucking train - so revenge, grief, heartbreak all take over.

Later of course he hates himself and wonders why he didn't just jump too. But I truly believe Steve thinks he would have died too so jumping with Bucky would have been suicide but he firmly believes he should have done it.

On the Valkyrie Steve realises - ok I was supposed to live this long to stop the Red Skull then he can join Bucky.

Conversely, and I might be alone in this but I truly believe if Steve had thought for a second Bucky might survive he would have jumped once he realised what was happening.

But canon (and most fan fic) seems to imply nobody, not even Steve, thinks Bucky could survive that fall. Even if Steve works out that Bucky was given a version of the serum he doesn't know enough at that point in time, to know that he or Bucky would survive such a fall.

I do also wonder sometimes why Steve didn't go off and search for Bucky even if he thought he would be finding a dead body.

But I get that at the time Steve couldn't have known where to go back to and he knew Hydra were gonna strike big and soon. He wrestles with his thoughts. He doesn't care that going to find Bucky would get him a court martial, locked up, or killed. What he does care about is that Bucky would want him to save the people the Red Skull wanted to kill.

So that’s what I think. Poor Steve would have to wrestle with that forever, that Bucky survived and ended up back in hell with Zola, waiting for Steve to come and save him. It broke his heart over and over again and it takes a long time (and Bucky trying to drum into his head that it wasn’t Steve’s fault,) for Steve to forgive himself.

There is a lot to unpack with this and sometimes you catch yourself and think well the plot meant that Steve had to survive at that point and we have to accept that!

The parallel between Steve failing to grab Bucky’s hands and let him fall into 70 years of Hydra’s torture and brainwashing Vs. the winter soldier instinctively jumped after Steve to save him despite not remembering him…

[dreamsy990]

YAY I GOT THIS DONE ON HIS BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAJIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE YOU RUINED MY LIFE AND ALSO MAYBE SAVED MY LIFE. WHO THE FUCK KNOWS I DO LIKE YOU A LOT THOUGH

[sassypantsjaxon]

Big fan of how erasermic went from this

To this

[ravenrambles6229]

these shows are fucking identical, fight me