#and be like oh fuck! we're getting you out now! calls the rest of the department and puts the system into safe mode

[cosmicporos]

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

Vi

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Dustin moved to the window by Steve’s front door and pressed his face to it.

"Robin. . .why is Steve talking to Santa?" Dustin asked and turned to look at her.

"Oh, he knows him very personally. He called him over for you guys," Robin said.

"Steve knows Santa?!" Dustin shrieked. "He never said!"

"Okay, do you still bel - ," Robin started to say.

"WHY IS STEVE KISSING SANTA?!" Dustin yelled, his face pressed to the glass.

"Oh, well, Steve’s been a very bad boy this year, and he's trying to work his way back onto the nice list," she replied.

"BY SEDUCING SANTA?!" Dustin yelled. "That's not how you do it!"

Mike, Lucas, Max, Will, and El entered the hallway.

"What's going on?" Max asked.

"Steve knows Santa! He called him over, and now he's cheating on Steve with him!" Dustin yelled.

"What? Is he trying to get on the nice list or naughty list?" Mike asked.

"Fuck this," Max swore.

They all spilled out onto the front lawn with Robin following after them.

"You guys do know that Santa isn't - "

"STEVE!" Dustin yelled.

"Oh, goddamn it," Steve cursed as he pulled away from Santa. "I've ruined - "

"Are you cheating on Eddie?!" Dustin yelled, his hands on his hips. "You're my brother, and I love you, but if you ruin this relationship with Eddie, I'll never forgive you!"

"That's sweet, Henderson, but completely unnecessary," Santa said and pulled his beard down to reveal Eddie. "Surprise!"

"Oh my god!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Don't beat yourself up, Dustin, it's an easy mistake to make!" Eddie said cheerfully.

"Why didn't you tell us?!" He asked.

"Uh, well, Steve wanted to keep it a surprise, and I thought you were old enough to know," Eddie said.

"It makes sense now, Eddie wasn't here last Christmas!" Mike exclaimed.

"And it makes sense why his wounds healed so quickly," Lucas said.

"And why he can drive so fast," El said.

"And why he is so good with animals," Max said.

"And kids," Dustin said.

"He's great with kids and storytelling!" Will exclaimed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know," Steve frowned.

"He loves elves and Lord of the Rings!" Lucas exclaimed.

"Oh my god! Eddie's Santa Claus!" Dustin yelled.

"I have to call Nancy!" Mike yelled.

"We have to call the rest of the party!" Dustin yelled.

Robin, Steve, and Eddie watched dumbfounded as the kids ran back inside.

"Do they still believe in Santa?" Eddie asked.

"This is the first time I'm fucking hearing about it and we've known them longer than you," Steve said.

"Maybe since they know that the Upside Down exists, they think other things like the North Pole exists," Robin said.

"Makes sense," Steve frowned.

"I am NOT telling them that I'm not Santa," Eddie said, crossing his arms. "You do it, Steve!"

"I'm not doing it!" Steve yelled.

"I'll do it!" Robin yelled and then paused. "After everything they've been through. . .don't they deserve to believe in a little bit of magic?"

"I don't know. . .we would be lying to them, Robin," Eddie said.

Meanwhile, the kids were watching them argue from the window.

"So, how long do you think it'll take them to realize that we don't actually believe in Santa Claus?" Max asked.

"A while," Mike snickered.

"Eddie should have done a better job at hiding the Santa costume," Max said.

As Robin, Steve, and Eddie fought on the front lawn, the kids watched with freshly made hot chocolate and Christmas music playing in the background. Snowflakes began to fall from the sky, dancing around to land on the ground.

"The mood is right. The spirit's up. We're here tonight, and that's enough. Simply having a wonderful Christmastime. . ."

[watarfallar]

Merry Christmas eve! I bring presents

Grian: Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project? Scar: Do it or you're straight. Grian: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!

Grian: Damn, the power went out. Scar: Don’t worry, I got this. Scar: shakes rapidly and starts to light up Grian: What-? Scar: I swallowed a glow stick! Grian, on the verge of tears: WHY WOULD YOU-

Scar: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Grian: How can you still say that? Scar: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Grian: When was the last time you cried? Scar: Uh 15 minutes ago, why?? Grian: really? That recent? Scar: Yeah voice crack is that a issue? starts crying again

Grian: I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness— Scar: Hi. Grian: melts down in a flustered heap of softness

Grian: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Scar! Scar: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

Scar: I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Grian: Damn, that sounds like a marriage proposal. Scar, getting down on one knee: That's 'cause it is.

Grian: Is five a lot of followers? Scar: Depends on the context. Scar: On Instagram? No, not a lot of followers. Scar: In a dark alley? Yes, a lot of followers.

Scar, confused and exasperated: Grian, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan? Grian: Politely.

Scar: That's it, I'm cutting off the internet! Grian: No, please don't! I have a family to feed! Scar: Scar: What? Grian: I need to feed my Neopets!

Scar: Do you want to know your gay name? Grian: My… my gay name? Scar: Yeah, it's your first name- Grian: Haha. Very funny Scar- Scar: gets down on one knee And my last name. Grian: Oh- oh my god.

Grian: Hey guys, I’m making french toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap, so wake me up in 5 minutes to flip them over. 5 minutes later Scar: Grian it’s been 5 minutes, time to flip your sticks. Grian: snnnzzzz… Scar: GRIAN YOUR STICKS!

Grian: Look, Scar, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

Scar, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Grian, standing in front of Scar: bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen Scar, crying: Please…stop…

Grian, at Scar: Of course you have blood all over you, and pronouns.

Scar: A banker? Me? Grian: Yes, Scar. Scar: But I don’t know anything about running a bank! Grian: Good. No preconceived ideas. Scar: I’ve robbed banks! Grian: Capital! Just reverse your thinking. The money should be on the inside.

Grian: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know! Scar: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus. Grian: Stop.

Cop: What are your names? Grian: Don't tell them, Scar. Cop, writing: Scar… Grian: Crap. Scar: Nice going, Grian. Cop: Scar: Uh oh.

Grian: Give me everything you’ve got! Scar: All your friends secretly hate you. Grian: Wait, what? Scar: I’ve got anxiety.

Scar: The saying “it is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” no longer applies to Grian.

Scar: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Scar: GRIAN IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Scar: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

Scar is cleaning the house and they find an empty bottle of orange juice Scar: Clear orange juice? Scar: Oh, it's empty. Grian, who has been watching the entire time: I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot.

Grian: So we're gathered here today for a very special reason and I think you'll all agree with me here. Grian: And if you don't well then fuck you. Grian: I'm looking at you, Scar, you jealous mop.

Scar: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Grian: I only like dark humor. Scar, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Grian: Scar: An IMPASTA!

Scar: Do you know the best way to respond to disagreement? Grian: With tears? Scar: No. Grian: tears up

[whatwooshkai]

Heatwave, H E A T W A V E

Eight letters

Number 8, please :D

Heatwave is not small.

Sure, he might be a little out of the average size class for fire trucks, but that’s negligible! He wasn’t even the shortest of his friend group back in Kaon!

But apparently his size is an anomaly in Iacon, because it’s all anyone can seem to focus on.

He's never been insecure about his size before, he's never had a reason to- but the nicknames are getting to him.

Heatwave is at most maybe half a foot shorter than the second shortest mech in their class, but it's all "Hey, Half-Pint!" "What's up, Runt?" "Shortstack" "Little Guy"-

He is this close to killing someone.

“I have an assistant today who’s joining me from the Autobot Fire Force today,” their usual instructor, Rex, announces. He’s a grizzled old mech who has been nothing but the bane of Heatwave’s existence this entire class.

It’s just Firefighter One, and the damn mech runs it like a fucking boot camp.

The other mechs in the class elbow each other and start whispering. He gets some looks from some of the mechs he's friendly with, the kind you exchange when you know the instructor is going to partner you up.

“Now, I expect all of you to treat Quint with the same respect you treat me,” Rex is saying when Heatwaves tunes back in. "He has graciously offered to spend his day off with you worms, so I will not tolerate any disrespect." He glares pointedly at a pair of giggling mechs, who quickly shut up.

"Alright, at attention!" Everyone's spinal strut snaps straight, and Rex looks over the line of mechs. "Alright, everyone's par, okay." He taps away at his comm a little bit, and a silhouette appears in the doorway.

The first thing Heatwave notices is that the mech has to duck through the doorway. Then he stands to his full height, and holy shit.

He's definitely a size class or two above the average for firetrucks, standing maybe five or six feet taller than the tallest mech in the class. His shoulders alone must be twice the width of Heatwave's!

And then he notices the second pair of arms, tucked neatly against the mech's chassis. Four arms!

The mech appraises them with yellow optics narrowed, mouth set in a small frown. Finials flick from where they're pressed against his helm, and when his shoulders shift, the ladder on his back squeaks slightly.

There’s an odd, dark weld over his upper lip and little spots all over his face- and somehow he simultaneously looks like the oldest and youngest mech Heatwave’s ever seen.

“You got anything to say before we start, Quint?” Rex talks like they’re familiar, like they’re friends, but Quint gives him a detached look.

“It ain’t your Primus-given right to be a firefighter,” Quint starts, and damn, that’s a Kaonite accent if Heatwave’s ever heard one. His accent is unusually thick, like he learned Common the old fashioned way instead of just getting a universal translator installed. “You might all be firetrucks, but you ain’t all cut out for this. So don’t expect me to coddle you.”

“Well said,” Rex says with a solemn nod, and Quint side eyes him. After a suffocatingly awkward moment, Rex claps his hands. "Alright. Truck ops with me, engine ops with Quint. My guys, we're running search evolutions until you can do them blindfolded without killing each other. Engine ops, you're stretching until you drop. Alright, break!"

Quint's gaze immediately lands on Heatwave as he shuffles to join the rest of the engines. Heatwave glares right back, shoulders hiking up to his audials.

"Hey, Runt." Heatwave bristles, whirling on Quint with fangs bared.

"Don't call me that," he snaps, but Quint looks unfazed. The rest of the engines are almost at the training tower, but Quint has hung back specifically to talk to Heatwave. Probably about how it's not my Primus-given right to be a firefighter, he thinks bitterly. Fuck off with all that.

"Do you speak Kaonite?" Quint asks, in Kaonite.

Oh, uh. Not what I was expecting.

Heatwave optics go wide, then narrow. "...Yeah," he says slowly in his native tongue, quashing the thrill of hearing it from his own voice again after so long.

Quint brightens significantly, his finials flicking up happily. He gestures for them to walk. "Your accent ain't strong, but it's there. Universal translator?"

"Yeah. I assume you aren't using one?" This feels weird. He's not quite sure why. Quint's lower two arms have uncrossed and are now swinging at his sides, while the top to gesture as he speaks. Heatwave sidesteps to avoid the swinging ones hitting him.

"Nah, learned the old fashioned way," Quint hums. "But that ain't what I'm here to ask you. Why're you so small?"

Heatwave bristles defensively. "I can't control how small I am, okay? It doesn't matter at all, I'm good at what I do-"

"I ain't sayin' you're bad at this, Runt," Quint interrupts, ignoring Heatwave's angry growl at the nickname. "I'm sayin' you should be bigger."

"What?" Heatwave's tanks suddenly cramp, sending a sharp pain through his tcog. He rapidly tamps down his panic. No, not here, fuck, shit-

"You're like, squashed," Quint continues, making gestures with all four of his hands now. "Like you got more mass than your frame knows what to do with."

Heatwave's tanks cramp again. "Are you calling me fat?" he accuses.

Quint rolls his optics. "No. Forget I said anythin'." He points to the training tower. "Now get over there. You're goin' in first."

Fair enough. Heatwave transforms his smoke mask over his face and gets into position next to his fellow firefighters as Quint begins to shout directions in heavily accented Common again.

His size doesn't matter.

Heatwave tries to forget the interaction.

[teiasviago]

colin 🤝 anthony: making an heir in s3

[antimnemonic]

when i first watched tron as a wee sprog i didn't really understand it lol and somehow i came away thinking for years that kevin was rendered partially amnesiac when he got sucked into computer world and steadily regained his memories over the course of his adventure. obviously that's not what happened lol. i think it would be an interesting story tho if a user was digitized and Something Went Wrong and they ended up w a chunk of their memories knocked off. and while they're on the grid, they keep losing more. so they have to race to get back out, because as they're losing their memories they're losing their sense of self, and past a certain point of deterioration they can't be reconstituted again

edit; if anyone wants to use this as inspiration that's fine. unless you are disney in which case I expect to be compensated 300 morbillion dollars

[rivilu]

Haven't had the chance to play actual dnd in real life, but In this run I get the sense that bg3 perfectly captures the "party progresses in a weird sideways way that bypasses tons of the dm's prepared lore, so the dm takes revenge by dropping a near impossible encounter on them" vibe I hear so much about

[fleshengine]

k I've seen a couple posts about it today but it is so funny to me how the "break up with a trans woman and unperson her" and "unperson any trans woman who's minorly annoying" so perfectly map onto my own recent experiences. My friend (transfem enby) broke up with their boyfriend (transmasc) and he immediately turned our entire friendgroup against them. The three other people immediately, and I mean immediately, like within a day, put them on their shitlist. He convinced them to hate them so fucking easily. He said he feared for his safety and that they'd almost hit him, and that they were a sociopath and all this shit. I learned about this late (because no one talks to me) and my first thought was "has anyone talked to them about this?" Because it didn't seem like them, the friend I knew was extraordinarily kind and understanding and loving and quiet. They'd never do that shit. Guess what?!?! None of my friends had talked to them and it had been two days of icing them out and telling them to leave. So I talked to them, got their side of the story, and spent days convincing the rest of my friendgroup to talk to them. Well, after talking to them literally everyone came around and now we're back to normal, minus the asshole who tried to get us to hate them. During all this, while he was going around spreading rumors about my friend, I texted him and asked him to stop. I tried to be understanding and meet him where he was at while holding fast to the "please stop telling random people my friend is a sociopath." I knew he was doing it too, because he apparently randomly started talking to MY ROOMMATES about my friend. Well lo and behold literally the next day my roommates were chilling in my living room and told me "Oh yeah ____ is going around calling you a gaslighter btw." Which was hilarious to me?!?! I guess he thought they wouldn't tell me? Like he was unironically trying to turn the people I live with against me. If I hadn't done anything, my friend would have been completely ditched by my friendgroup. They would have no one at their back going into their senior year.

Anyway moral of the story is love every transfem before it's too late and maybe check with people who are having rumors spread about them? Maybe that "violent sociopath" is stressed out from classes and made some bad decisions. Maybe that "manipulative gaslighter" is genuinely just trying to look out for her friend.

[suiana]

imagine yandere! drider who makes himself at home in the corner of your room one day.

you come home from work, absolutely tired and just wanting to have a break... only to hear a weird scratching sound coming from your room. what the hell could it be? surely it's just your imagination? so you make your way towards your room nonchalantly, pushing the door open and...

"wha-?!"

"oh, darling."

you freeze, staring at this... absolutely gorgeous drider who had made himself at home in the corner of your room... you were originally going to let things be until you saw the many tiny babies on the back of his spider lower body. screaming and throwing your bag at him, you slam your door shut and run away from your room as fast as you could. shit, shit, shit! a spider dilf?!

...you were going to escape until you hit your toe and started crying on the ground. the drider came out of the room (with babies and all) and nursed you back to health.

and that was your first meeting with the hot asf spider dilf in your room.

you later learned that he was surprisingly gentle and didn't mean for you to be scared by his appearance. you wanted to tell him the truth. that well, you weren't scared by his appearance, sure, you were stunned when you saw this whole ass grown dude in your room but he was hot so it doesn't really matter. but rather, his kids scared the hell out of you with their tiny beady eyes. however... you're sure that if you said that, he'd try and kill you. you've seen how caring and loving he is with his tiny spider babies after all.

you've also come to learn that he really loves making intricate web designs. designs that absolutely sparkle when the light hits them in a certain way... they're all so beautiful and mesmerizing that you can't help but compliment him whenever you can.

"hey, your patterns are beautiful as usual dude."

"ah... thank you love."

he blushes, avoiding eye contact as he shakily pulls out a flower from behind his back. right, he's been giving you these gifts at random too. it's cute. well, not when he just started out though. he used to gift you dead rats.

you were horrified when you woke up one day and saw a dead rat on your desk. what the fuck?! your drider roomie didn't seem all too phased, even looking at you expectantly as he waits for a compliment. you had to explain to him that humans don't accept gifts like that. he looked rather deflated the rest of the day after that. talking about how his spouse must hate him and stuff. you didn't know he had a spouse.

you've also realized that he's weirdly overprotective of you.

you can't even go out on dates anymore. or... talk to anyone for that matter. he once threw your phone at a wall when he saw you texting this guy you were planning on meeting up. he also gets all pissy and starts making weird spider sounds while his children crawl around your feet. you were super grossed out by that at first but you've grown used to it by now.

"dude stop, i just want to go on a date!"

"no."

"why?!"

"you already have me! that's why!"

he gets all pouty, arms crossed over his huge tits as he nags you about trying to cheat on him. you never really said anything about that before. surely he's just roleplaying because you sometimes act like his lover by giving him food and asking how he is. but this has gone too far! you have to say something!

"we aren't dating, what are you on about?"

"yeah, because we're married."

what.

you stare at him, jaw dropping as his kids tug on your pants and chat noisily. did he just... say you guys were married? you try searching his face for any lies, only to be hit by the fact that he was serious.

that's when everything starts to suddenly fit together in your mind. the gifts, the name-calling, the fact that his kids love you... damn, maybe it was also because you complimented his webs that solidified his belief that you two were together. you read somewhere that male spiders make patterns to impress potential mates.

"um..."

"hmph! don't go on any dates anymore. i can't believe you keep trying to be unfaithful. our kids will be sad you know!"

damn it, looks like you got yourself a drider husband now.

[petriwriting]

That's my girl - JJ Maybank X Reader

Basically Reader beating the shit out of Ruthie. (Request!)

The sunset had everything illuminated in a peachy glow, You were situated on the beach with the Pogues, your head rested on JJ's shoulder as he sipped on a beer. Sarah and John B were laying on each other on the blanket, enjoying the warmth of the bonfire tha Pope was tending to while Cleo roasted marshmallows. The conversation had come to a quiet end, everyone enjoying the company. You had just finished passing around a blunt. Kie was practicing her Ukulele, which created a melody with the lapping waves and crackling fire. It was the perfect evening, Until it wasn't.

The Kook group, consisting of Topper, some of his buddies and Ruthie were all packed into Topper's jeep, with surfboards strapped to the top of it. The headlights were blinding, and their trashy rap music was blasted. "dude," kie said with an eye roll. "All this beach and they could have gone anywhere." John B mumbles. JJ stiffens, he's very protective over you and you all know he won't hesitate to fight for any of you. 

Topped hops out of the driver seat and wanders over, his crew is about 20 feet away setting up chairs and grabbing their boards. "hey!" he calls, you have to give him credit for at least trying. Ruthie is not far behind him. "Just trying to keep the peace here. No hard feelings alright? We're just here to night surf." he says, standing there awkwardly. Everyone stands up, defensively. JJ steps in front of you, you see Ruthie and her tacky expensive branded Bikini. "I don't believe that at all." Sarah rolls her eyes and mutters folding her arms. "There's miles of beach. Why here?" Kie snaps at him. "It's just where we ended up." Topper says. He shrugs. Ruthie folds her arms. "This is our beach anyway." Ruthie chimes in with a smug look. "You don't own the island." You snap back."

This is typical banter, The kooks are bullies, and this childish rivalry doesn't end just because  Topper doesn't enjoy the conflict. "We do now." Ruthie steps up to your face, but before she could get more than a few inches closer, JJ is in front of you. "Hey, just back off." He says through gritted teeth, it's a warning and it is fair. Ruthie just laughs. "Stray dogs don't belong on the beach." Ruthie snarls, glancing between JJ and John B. "Careful Top," she says, grabbing his arm. "This one looks like it has rabies." She said right to JJ's face. 

"I'd watch your back if i was you," you snapped at her. "Knock it off. We can play nice. it's not hard." Topper says, to both of you. Ruthie folds her arms and kicks the sand. The group is now irritated, and ready to leave. "How about you back the fuck off? Yeah?" JJ threatened, getting up in Toppers' face. You grabbed his arm and nudged for him to back off, to avoid the conflict. Even though you were pissed off at the rude comment, You didn't want physical violence to be the first reaction everytime you crossed paths with the Kooks. Topper stared intensely for a moment, he was trying to be intimidating, although it wasn't really working. As He and Ruthie started to walk off you heard Ruthie mutter something under her breath and scoffed. "How about you learn to control your bitch..." she muttered.

Before anyone could really say or do anything, you've already lashed out. Topper and his buddies have caused endless problems all summer, and you reached a boiling point. Everyone was surprised JJ hadn't snapped first, and he really wanted to.

Sarah covered her mouth in shock. "Oh my god," Pope says. "Shit," JJ says, now smiling. "That's my girl!" he cheers.

upon insulting your boyfriend, You slapped Ruthie across the face, hard enough for her lip to start bleeding. You had then grabbed her by her ponytail and dragged her across the sand. She's now sprawled across the sand frantically, and Topper rushes to her side. You kick her in her side and she groans.

"Say it to my face next time cunt." You quip at her. As a final blow you kick sand into their faces. "You fucking psycho!" she spat, you rolled your eyes, sincerely hoping her bloody nose is broken.

The rest of your group take this as a cue to dip, grabbing everything and rushing towards the Twinkie that was parked not too far from where you all had been hanging out. You ran off with JJ's hand in yours as John B drove you all to safety. Away from the scene.

"That was kinda awesome," Cleo encourages with a nod. JJ slings an arm around you proud to be able to call you his. "That was well deserved though, she was being a bitch." Kie chimes in. "I think you ripped her extensions out." Sarah giggled. This is exactly why you loved these people, instead of a lecture you were encouraged, and supported endlessly. JJ thought that it was HOT. and couldn't wait to show you later in private how attractive it was when you were protective over your friends, or him.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara. 

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things. 

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax. 

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration. 

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers. 

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler. 

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words. 

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers!  How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?" 

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!" 

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling. 

"I could do this all day, princesa. " 

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure. 

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit. 

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive. 

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time. 

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far. 

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him. 

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar. 

"You okay?" 

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you.  "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all." 

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two. 

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand. 

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over. 

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you. 

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass. 

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder. 

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?" 

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink. 

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar. 

He stretches out his hand, and you take it. 

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words. 

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck. 

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do. 

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him. 

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you. 

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer. 

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in. 

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness. 

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him. 

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension. 

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip. 

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck. 

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders. 

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out. 

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper. 

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile. 

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face. 

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more. 

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words. 

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is. 

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate  all your needs. 

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order. 

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk. 

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach. 

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -" 

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains. 

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary. 

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?" 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-" 

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious . 

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body. 

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something. 

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up. 

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?" 

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression  is steady, just as unreadable. 

"Do you want to?" 

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over. 

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me." 

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust. 

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod. 

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man. 

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper. 

"Fuck, Miguel." 

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot. 

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares. 

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans. 

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters. 

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm. 

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?" 

You nod frantically with a stifled sob. 

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please." 

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?" 

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks. 

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers. 

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath. 

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought. 

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy. 

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum. 

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago. 

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process. 

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?" 

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles. 

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa." 

_

_

_

[greaseonmymouth]

I saw this shared around on Threads (why do I go there, I hate it) and commented on as 'this article is so good' and 'must read' including by a few people whose opinion I normally respect, and seeing as monsterfucking and monster everything is like a special little interest for me, I of course instantly clicked through to read it

and I have to say

what the everloving heterosexual fuck is this

two fat paragraphs about omegaverse that don't even mention its origins - I mean - I just - gaze upon this phrase, and despair:

During estrous, Omegas’ vaginas ooze with “slick,” responding to the Alpha’s intoxicating pheromonal perfume.

IT'S CALLED "SLICK" BECAUSE IT'S FROM SELF-LUBRICATING ANUSES. THE REASON THE OMEGAS NEED SELF-LUBRICATING ANUSES TO BEGIN WITH IS BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE VAGINAS.

I. have been rendered figuratively speechless. the straights don't know what slick is. the. i. how. how did we end up like this

their dicks swell at the base, creating a “knot,” which lodges them inextricably in the Omega’s slick-soaked (I am so sorry) vagina.

"(I am so sorry)" girl you're writing an article about monster smut and then you have the gall to be embarrassed by the this tame ass (or should i say vagina?) heterosexual omegaverse?

okay, okay. deep breaths. we've only just got started. we started by covering Morning Glory Milking Farm, a minotaur/human erotic romance novel, which well - I've read it, and it's not a bad book by any means, it was actually very very good, a solid story with a great cast and perfectly paced and satisfying romance and loads of sex - is very straight. it's just a minotaur. it's a big guy with a big dick. it's your standard gentle giant/normal sized girl romance. it's not very freaky, but you know, I don't blame the average reader for coming into this thinking this is some out there stuff. gotta start somewhere, right? we didn't all come up through draco/the giant squid crackfic in 2005, you know? and now we've covered Sarah J Maas and we're entering omegaverse territory, this is getting knottier now, right, freakier? this article is going somewhere, right?

you can imagine the intrigue, enemies-to-lovers, and other story lines involved as each captured female eventually finds the member of the barbarian tribe who is destined to worship and fuck the living daylights out of her for the rest of their lives. Oh, and their dicks have a sensitive spur on top designed for clitoral stimulation. It’s just as blue and velvety as the rest of their big alien bodies.

okay so the minotaurs aliens are blue now, i guess.

It seems, also, like the romance genre as a whole is being pushed by monster romance to make things in human-human books as freaky as possible.

ohh?? are we finally getting a proper freak on now??

This genre, “why choose?” or “MMF” (or sometimes even MMMF or MMFM), and also known as “reverse harem,” always features a heroine who is showered with sexual attention by men who are also sexually involved with each other.

having a thousand yard stare moment over here

this author seriously thinks that all these heterofied monster romance tropes are paving the way for the real freaky stuff that is, checks notes, "two hockey players fucking each other while the heroine calls the shots"

this author is positing that human queer erotica/romance are freakier than monster erotica/romance. like. she said that. with her whole chest. black on white.

on one hand a monster, an inhuman being, and on the other, a queer person, a human being. and apparently the real freak is not the minotaur or the blue alien. it is the queer human.

is this satire? it has to be, right?

because if it's not satire, this article is an entire case study in itself on the monstering* of queer people. stunning.

*academic term

[tthoroughfare]

still thinking about ellie's hair but this time about helping her cut it. canon!ellie cuts her own hair. modern!ellie cuts her own hair. every iteration of ellie butchers her own hair this could truly take place in any universe

heading over to her place because you're collecting her to head out, finding her in front of the bathroom mirror in a sports bra, kitchen scissors in hand and shirt thrown somewhere on the floor

just, like, unmethodically chopping bits off

she calls out a 'hey' when she hears you come in, not taking her eyes off what she's doing, pulling one of the foremost strands outstretched then snipping the end off.

"oh, fuck," she says when the piece of hair falls back in place, realizing she's cut way too much off. plus, it's completely uneven.

you scoff at her, coming up behind her and making a show of checking your watch. "is there a reason you've decided to do this now?"

"it was too long. it was pissing me off."

taking her arm, you pivot her around to face you, laughing lightly when you take a proper look. "dude, you've fucked the front up."

"i know, shut up," she whines sheepishly, attempting to turn back towards the mirror, but you stop her.

you examine the pieces, gently swiping them out of her face and trying to get them to sit in a better way. "it's not that bad, it just needs, like... blending?"

"yeah, what do you think i was trying to do?" she replies, words reducing to a short, breathy laugh. a small smile stays on her face as she watches you, eyes flickering over your face while you look at her hair, thinking how to mend it.

"sit down, let me try."

she pulls a little bit of an unsure face, but relents anyway, slowly taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub and handing you the scissors. "i swear to god, if i have to shave my fuckin' head because of you..."

you tut. "can't really make it any worse."

"rude."

"you're rude," you murmur, leaning down and beginning to make some attempt at feathering the choppy strands.

"i'm sweet."

"when you wanna be."

ellie blows air out of her nose and smiles gently in response. your left knee comes up to rest on the edge of the tub, thigh slotting next to her. she automatically shifts her hand onto it, thumb swiping over absent-mindedly as she looks up at you.

it's quiet as you concentrate, brow furrowing subconsciously whilst you try and fix ellie's mess. you didn't really have a clue what you were doing, just trying to make it appear more even without taking too much more off.

anyway, she's content to sit there gazing at you with a tiny, lopsided smile, eyes dripping with adoration as she smooths her fingertips over your thigh.

she breaks the silence halfway through, thinking out loud. "you look good."

you chuckle. when you first met ellie, she was shy around you; but since being together you swiftly figured out once she's out of her shell, she's a shameless flirt. "thank you. so do you."

"want me to eat you out before we go?"

you blow air out of your nose, leaning back to tousle her hair into place. "we're already late."

"i can be quick."

ignoring the way that makes your lower stomach flutter, you move to stand up straight. "did you do the back?"

"yeah, i think it's fine, though," she replies, feeling at the back of her hair.

"c'mere, let me check." you offer a hand to pull her up, and she turns away from you, allowing you to inspect her job. she's right, it looks fine; which makes you wonder how the hell she'd managed to mess up the part she could see, and not the part she was doing blindly.

you prod her in the back, feeling the way she jolts slightly. "you're good to go. that'll be a million dollars."

"ha-ha," she replies, pivoting around to look at herself in the mirror. she leans in, running a hand through the strands. "oh, yeah, it looks way better. thanks, babe."

"welcome." you lean past her to set the scissors down on the sink, pressing a small kiss to her shoulder as you do so. she turns around, taking you by the waist and pulling you into her, pressing languid, deliberate kisses over your neck.

"y'know, that kinda did it for me."

hand moving to thread through her hair, you chuckle at her statement. "why?"

she hums into your skin as she alters her path, mouth moving upwards and over your jaw, lips slotting against your own. "i don't know, 'cause you're hot. and you were, like, basically on top of me, looking all serious and concentrated and shit."

you laugh, taking her by both sides of her jaw, unable to help yourself from kissing her wantingly when you pull her back in.

of course you end up letting her eat you out before you go; ellie on her knees by the bed, your legs slung over her shoulders as she laps at your clit, fingertips pressing into your hips, roaming over your stomach.

you're already late, anyway.

[hugsandharrystyles]

SUMMARY: One phone call was all it took to change the course of your sex life.

Word Count: 5k+

"You're not understanding me right. I never said the sex wasn't good."

"You essentially did," Your friend counters. "He doesn't make you cum," Her voice a little too loud to be on speaker but fortunately you were in the comfort of your own home by yourself. Harry was supposed to be at the gym.

Harry was not at the gym.

Harry was at your bedroom door listening to your conversation. He had just made it back when a very interesting conversation involving his name made his ears perk up.

"Harry is the best sexual partner I've ever had. He's so good- it's a me thing. I've never been able to... finish with someone before," You explain because you don't want anyone to think Harry was bad in bed. He's far from that. He just doesn't make you cum.

"Isn't that the whole idea of sex though? To fucking finish?" Your friend tells you.

"I've just come to terms with the fact that some of the things I like in the bedroom... are not going to be explored."

"What do you mean?" Your friend asks.

"You know, just like... rougher things- kinkier things," you say bashfully.

"Like what?!" Your friend pushes.

"I don't know. Some choking, manhandling, assertiveness- that type of thing. I would really enjoy some casual dominance anytime really."

"Oh, wow," Your friend says.

"I know. I'm a fucking freak," You sigh and drop your head to rest on your bed in agony.

"No! I didn't say that! Hey, I like that type of stuff too. Why don't you just talk to Harry-"

Harry was livid. His heart was beating faster now than any time during his workout. He was so angry with himself that he hasn't made you trust him enough to tell him how you feel. How he hasn't been able to satisfy you. He'd made you think you were a freak.

"No- look. I don't fucking care if I finish or not. The sex is so good, and I just like having him that close to me. He's not very big on... being touchy any time else, which is totally okay, but I don't want to take the time I do have him so close to me for granted."

There was a sudden dip in the bed and a body weight being pressed against you as you laid flat on your stomach. You almost screamed until you felt a hand reach around and wrap around your throat and turn your head.

Harry was behind you, on the back of your thighs, looking down at you with a look you've never seen from him- from anyone.

Your friend droned on, never noticing your silence. Harry grabbed your phone with his other hand still wrapped around your neck and took the phone off speaker, putting it up to his ear.

"Hey, this is Harry. We're a bit busy at the moment- actually we're going to be busy for quite a long moment, so don't call anytime soon." With that he hung up and threw your phone on the bedside table. "So," Harry begins after a quiet minute. "Anything you want to tell me?" He asks. He flips you around so you're lying on your back with him straddling your front, completely at his mercy. You don't know whether to cry or squeeze your thighs together.

"Harry, I am so sorry that you had to hear that. I don't want you to think that-" You're momentarily stopped when both of his hands cup your throat, thumbs under your jaw so he can control your face. He angles your head up, so you finally look into his eyes.

"Look at me when you're speaking to me," He commands. You swear your pussy purrs. You can't help but squeeze your thighs together. You have never seen Harry like this.

"S-Sorry- I'm sorry. I don't- I don't know what to say," You finally get out.

"Tell me what I did to make you be afraid to trust me."

"No! Harry, that is not true at all!" You say angrily. He grips your throat a little tighter, and his eyes become a little sterner.

"Don't raise your voice at me." You audibly swallow. "Were you afraid I would be mad- hurt you?" He asks. One hand leaves your jaw to comb through your hair.

"No, Harry- I know you would never. I just- You're not really into... touching me all that much when we're not having sex, so I didn't want the only time when you want to touch me to be gone." You realized you had misworded your sentence as soon as you finished.

"You think I don't want to touch you?" He asks, and you can't tell if the anger in his voice is pointed at you or himself.

"No- I just-" You're abruptly paused when you feel the hand that was in your hair venture down between your thighs. You were only wearing panties and a big t-shirt, so Harry finds your clit very easily. You moan in surprise in grind against his hand.

"Trust me, I want to fucking touch you," he says. "I thought you were the one who didn't like all the touching," he explains.

"What- why?" You ask breathlessly, your body keening at his touch and the bit of weight he was resting on you.

"Every time I would, you would almost jump or just kind of tense up, so I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he says and lets a finger tease at your entrance.

"N-no, you just- you make me so nervous," you gasp when he slides a finger into you.

"Why?" he demands.

"It's embarrassing," you whine and turn away from him, but he grips your jaw and makes you look at him.

"Why?" he demands again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you need to answer.

"You're so- I just find you really attractive. Anything you do turns me on, and I just get really nervous," you say bashfully. He adds another finger and curls them to find your spot. Your mouth drops in pleasure.

"You are aware that we are dating, correct?" he asks.

"Shut the fuck up," you whine and try to grind down on his hand. He gives you a pointed look.

"Be sweet to me. Don't talk to me like that," he says and very lightly slaps your face. It causes your jaw to drop and a moan to spill from your mouth. "You like that?" He asks and bends his face down to bite and kiss at your neck while continuing his movements on your cunt.

"Harry," you moan and scratch at his back. He groans into your neck and pulls his fingers from your underwear. He waits for you to stick your tongue out and take his fingers inside your mouth.

"Good," he praises and pulls his fingers from your mouth. He cups your throat with both of his hands and brushes his lips against yours. You tilt your head up and try to catch his mouth. "I want to give you everything you want," he tells you and gives you a passionate kiss.

"You do, baby," you assure him and kiss him again while wrapping your arms around his neck and run your fingers through his hair. He grabs your wrists, resting most of his body weight on you, and brings them to his lips.

"Tell me what you want from me," he demands while kissing your fingers.

"Harry," you sigh.

"No, tell me what you need from me. Don't think I don't want to do this. I am more than willing," he says with a sly smirk. You roll your eyes, and you both laugh. He becomes serious again. "Tell me what will make you cum."

"H, I don't know," you say honestly. "I've just never been able to with anyone."

"Okay," he says. "What do you do when you're by yourself?"

"What do you mean?" You question.

"How do you get yourself off," he expands.

"Oh! Um..." you blush.

"Listen," he begins and shifts positions so that he is sitting up on the bed with you in front of him. He holds your hands in his and plays with your fingers. "You have to trust me if you want this. I'm never going to push you, but I just want you to be comfortable with me," he explains. Your heart twists.

"I am comfortable with you, Harry!" you correct him. "It's just- everything is so intense with you in the best way possible." His eyebrow quirks.

"Explain."

"Like- I just feel everything so intensely with you. I don't mean to boost your ego any higher than it already is-"

"Hey!" He complains, and you both laugh.

"But you're just really fucking hot, and it's hard to be normal around you when you do your sexy stuff," you explain.

"My sexy stuff?" He laughs.

"Yeah, like your deep voice and- and your hands," his hands reach out to cusp the back of your neck.

"Yeah? What else, mama?" He asks and places a feather-light kiss to your cheek.

"Um- well, like this. I- I feel like any time you touch me, I go braindead," you explain. He works his lips up to yours and slips his tongue into your mouth, craning your head back, so he can kiss you deeply. He groans into your mouth when you suck on his tongue out of animalistic need. "I need you," you whine.

"Tell me what you want. Do you want to just keep kissing for a bit? I can eat your sweet cunt or just finger you," he suggests and paws at your breasts.

"Can we- uh-"

"What, sweetheart? Tell me."

"Can we just... dry-hump and make out some?" You ask, your face turning a dark red out of embarrassment of the vulgar language.

"Of course, honey. Come here," he says and scoots to the end of the bed so that he's leaned against the headboard. He grabs your waist and pulls you on top of him, straddling his lap. "Can I take your shirt off?" He asks.

"Of course, Harry. You don't have to be so gentle with me." He gives your face a light smack again.

"Lose the attitude," he commands, and you try to squeeze your thighs together, but you end up just grinding against his bulge making both of you moan. He kisses up your throat while his hands toy with the bottom of your shirt. "You're turned on, yeah?" He asks.

"I'm so horny, H," you whine and grasp onto his shoulders to grind against him better.

"Good," he sighs and tugs your shirt off, eyes widening at your bare tits that he's seen many times. "Fuck," he whispers. He spends a bit of time sucking and kissing at your breasts while you cradle his head to your chest.

"H, I wanna kiss you," you whine, and he finally lets up on your tits. His hand cradles your throat in a firm but comfortable grip, allowing him to move your head in any way he wants to. The tension is high when his lips finally meet yours. His free hand slides down to your ass while yours are roaming underneath his shirt.

"You can take it off," he says against your lips, and you both only pull back from each other to get his shirt off. His lips are back on yours, and his hands slide to your hips, helping you grind against him.

"Can you take your pants off too?" You ask timidly.

"'Course, baby," he says and taps your hips so you will move off him while he takes off his sweatpants. He places you back on his lap once he's just in his briefs. He's hard as a rock, and you can tell he's trying his best not to lose control. You kiss his lips softly, and he moans in surprise.

"I love you," you tell him. "And I trust you."

He smiles. "Thank you, sweet girl. I love you more." His hands move back to your hips and grinds your crotch against his while he slips his tongue into your mouth. Your tongues clash, and you both moan as his bulge presses perfectly against your core. You both breathe heavily against each other's mouths as you grind against him. "Do you feel good?" He asks, and you moan against his lips while nodding.

"So good," you tell him and claw at his chest. "Can we take off our underwear?"

"Don't have to ask, baby. Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it," he assures you. You smile and crawl off his lap to slide your underwear off, and he follows quickly. As soon as he gets back on the bed, you sit back down on his lap and place him perfectly against your pussy. "Ah, fuck," he moans, and his hips flex up. A bead of precum falls from his tip, and you smile.

"I want your cock in me," you whine and grab his fat dick, trying to line him up with your entrance. Before you could slip the tip in, you're suddenly being thrown onto the bed, Harry hovering over you. "What the fuck, Harry?"

"Not yet," he says and begins to kiss down your body.

"But- you said I could have what I wanted," you protest.

"I need you to cum first."

"Harry, that's not important to me," you say with annoyance in your voice. You really did just want his dick inside you.

"It's important to me. Now, I need you to be comfortable with me. Trust me, baby. If I do something you don't like, tell me. If you want something, tell me. Got it?"

"Okay," you sigh. He slaps your thigh, and you yelp.

"You've got some serious fucking attitude tonight," he says.

"I just want you to fuck me- Oh!" You're cut off by Harry planting a kiss directly onto your clit. He spreads your legs and presses your knees to your chest to have full access. He presses his tongue as deep as it can go into your whole and curls it upwards. Your eyes cross as he tongue-fucks you. His eyes are closed in pleasure, and he's moaning like you're the one giving him head. He swirls his tongue inside you before moving to flicking at your clit. "Oh, fuck that's good, Harry," you moan and tangle your fingers into his hair.

"Give yourself to me," he moans against you.

"I feel so good, Har," you tell him, and feel a tightening in your gut that you've only ever felt when pleasuring yourself. "Harry, I feel it."

"Good fucking girl, let me make you cum," he says and doubles down his efforts on your pussy. His hands grip your thighs harshly and spreads you even further. You can't even think about where his tongue is working because of how fast he's going. His head shakes, and he moans so his mouth vibrates against you.

"I- I think I'm going to cum- don't stop," you cry and grasp his hair, holding his face hard against your pussy and grinding however you want.

"Use me," he muffles against you and just sticks his tongue out, letting you use him in any way you need. His hands reach up to tweak your nipples, and that's what throws you over the edge. You swear you black out. It's the most intense orgasm you've ever had, and you feel tears leaking from your eyes from the relief of having an orgasm from someone else. Your hands unleash Harry's hair, and your body twitches as he continues to lick at you. You close your thighs and push at his head.

"Oh my gosh," you sob and gasp for air. You cover your face with your hands as you catch your breath. You hear Harry giggle and feel him kiss his way up your body.

"Why are you covering your face?" He asks and removes your hands, resting his body weight on top of you. "Thank you, baby- for trusting me."

"Thank you for being patient with me. That was the best orgasm I've ever had," you laugh and kiss him. You both kiss for a minute before you reach down and stroke his cock, tapping it against your sensitive clit. His mouth falls agape, and his hips jut forward.

"Do you still want to have sex, or do you just want to cuddle?" He asks to be sweet, but you can see the desperation on his face.

"H, I want you to fuck me, and I want you to cum inside me," you tell him honestly, and he moans as you make his tip catch your hole. He pulls his hips back.

"I- I'm going to be honest. I'm not going to last long because I've been so fucking turned on for so long, so I'm sorry-" You cut off his rambling with a kiss.

"Harry, you are the most wonderful person and boyfriend in the world, so I don't care if you finish quick," you assure him and cup his jaw. "C'mon, Har. Put your fat cock in me. I wanna feel the stretch."

"You're so fucking hot," He moans and slips the tip in. His jaw stays dropped as he slides in further, his eyebrows furrowing together, and you can tell he's trying so hard not to cum. "Ah, fuck. Best pussy I've ever had- it's so- so fucking good," he groans and drops his head to your shoulder. His grip on your waist is bruising as he just moves your body however he wants onto his dick.

"That dick is so fucking good, H," you whine and press your heels against his ass, so he falls farther into you and rests himself against you. Your pussy is sopping wet and tight, and Harry fears he's going to cum when he hasn't even been inside of you for four minutes. He suddenly pulls out quickly when he feels his orgasm approaching. "Harry- what the hell?" You whine.

"It was too much. I'm really trying to last here, you brat," he argues and takes a moment to try and calm himself down.

"I don't care if you cum early, Harry, c'mon. Just want your dick inside me," you groan and grip his waist, trying to shove him back in you. "You told me that if I told you what you want, and you would give it to me. You're breaking your promise."

"Brat," he mutters through gritted teeth and begins to push into you again. As soon as he begins to enter you again, his hand starts to rub at your clit.

"Oh!" You moan, and your thighs tighten around him. Your hands claw at his sides as you try to kiss him through both of your moans. "I think- I think I'm going to cum again," you tell as your tummy begins to tighten again- stronger this time.

"Oh, baby, please. Please cum for me," he begs. You can feel his cock twitching in you, him on the verge of his own release. "Y/N- fuck, sweetheart. You have to cum- Baby, you gotta- I'm sorry," He babbles like crazy, and you don't understand his apology until you feel his cum start to spurt into you, and that's what tips you over the edge. You're a mess of shaking bodies, moans, and whines. "Oh, thank God- good fucking girl," he moans.

As you both begin to calm down, he relaxes himself on top of you and wraps his arms around your body.

"That was a real one, right?" He asks.

"Yes, Harry," you laugh and stroke his hair.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

read on ao3 HERE

.

He didn't mean to do it. He meant it, with every fucked-up fibre of his being he meant it, but he didn't mean to actually do it. 

Stiles had just—been so very fucking Stiles, in that stupid, irresponsible jump-head-first-into-the fray-on-everybody-else's-behalf kind of way that he has about him, and after the pack had neutralised the danger but everybody's veins still had more adrenaline than blood coursing though them, Derek felt—feels—so fucking livid, and so damn grateful, and so utterly, utterly muddled that he's grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and is pulling the kid's body into his own, hard, crashing their torsos together like a devastating highway collision, arms enveloping Stiles's shoulders as a crushed car bonnet wraps itself around a tree. 

Now—here, at a clearing in the trees on what has been Hale land for generations going back centuries, with Stiles in his space, and his nostrils, and in his fucking head—Derek is terrified. 

There's a fairly stilted, “Whoa, okay, alright, we're doing this, huh, big guy?” but then Stiles is relaxing into the hug. He sort of melts, actually, snaking long and wiry yet surprisingly strong arms around Derek's waist; so very warm, and alive, alive, alive.

“Stiles, you shouldn't have—why do you always have to—you could've fucking died!” he admonishes, although it doesn't come out half as harshly as he means and wants it to. 

Lost, Derek shoves his nose into Stiles's neck, and breathes.

Stiles lets him, because of course he does, cocking his head to the side to accommodate Derek's needs.

“Must be a day that ends in Y, huh, Der?” he answers, ever the class clown.

Derek quietly growls his annoyance and relief in equal measure, and even though he senses the rest of the pack has now gathered around them, and hating that he has an audience for this, he squeezes Stiles into him impossibly more.

Stiles wheezes comically, then jokes more, because humour is his default in any situation. “Why don't you ease up a bit there, buddy? Kinda need this work of art that I call a body in one piece if I'm ever gonna save your wolfy-ass again, oh alpha, my alpha.”

Derek shuts him up with a slick lick to the jugular. The kid shivers beautifully, but even Derek's tongue doesn't keep him quiet for long. Only Stiles Stilinski could ramble incessantly with a werewolf at his throat. 

“Okay, shit, that—ahhhhhhh, that tickles, Fido! Do I need to get the collar and chain on y—oh my fucking god!”

Derek clamps his jaws around the most exquisite throat he's ever seen, smelled, dreamed about, and growls out a warning sound that causes the betas to back off and Stiles to go weak at the knees.

Mine, he thinks loudly.

After a few moments of Derek gnawing on Stiles's throat, once they're alone in the preserve, other than the nocturnal animals and eery sound of the wind picking up from the west, Derek releases his jaws' hold on the sheriff's boy—the boy who runs with wolves; little red riding hoodie; the best human Derek's ever known—and soothes the purpling mark with a lingering press of his lips.

“Oh!” is amazingly all Stiles has got—although Derek can satisfyingly smell Stiles's arousal, his wolf now howling inside of him at the delicious scent.

“Yeah, oh,” he answers, after trying his level best to calm the feral instinct he has to pull them both down into the undergrowth and mate the boy.

He finally pulls away from Stiles, but doesn't release him from his grip entirely. Fire-red irises find big, brown doe eyes, and a smirk that Derek wants to lick right off Stiles's face and replace with a look of pure ecstasy.

“Stop doing stupid things,” he demands.

Begs. 

“Yeah, no, probably never gonna—oomph!” 

Derek kisses Stiles, kisses him like it's the end of the fucking world because he's realised that every time Stiles puts his own life in danger, it feels like it might be.

Stiles doesn't hesitate this time, though. He kisses Derek right back like he gets it.

Now found, Derek takes, and he takes, and he takes.

Stiles kisses like nobody else in existence, Derek is sure of it; he is earth and wind, fire and water.

Fucking elemental. 

When he presumably needs to breathe, Stiles tears his lips away from Derek's—swollen and blood-red—and Derek can't help the whine that escapes his. Their foreheads bump as they both pant, attempting to settle as they shake with post-fight waning nerves and a feverish desire.

Stiles says, “How ‘bout if you keep doing that, I'll get myself a bigger bat?”

Derek both hates and loves the smile that spreads across his face like a rash, entirely of its own volition. 

“How about next time, you just wait for me?” 

“Deal,” Stiles grins and kisses Derek again, and Derek hopes it's the kind of deal that's forever.

.

for @greyhavenisback—love yew, love <3 (unedited, soz!)

.

now edited and on ao3 HERE

[ilions-end]

i finished statius' ACHILLEID. thoughts thoughts thoughts:

i knew going in it was a VERY short unfinished epic, but i didn't know it would be FUN?? if i ever get that time machine, FIRST THING i go back and find one publius papinius statius, i lock him in a room, and i'm NOT letting him out until he's finished the achilleid!

achilles is statius' BLORBO in a way neither homer, quintus nor virgil have blorbos. statius likes achilles to be strong and pretty and graceful, but most of all ENDEARING even when he fails. and he fails a lot, because this is him still figuring out how to be an adult, not to mention a prophesied legend literally everyone is waiting for to step up

the one thing that gets tiring is just how many prophecies permeate the achilleid. nothing's left to chance, there are so few unknowns. even ODYSSEUS was aware that from peleus' wedding there would come a child destined to be a central warrior in an upcoming gigantic war.

as it stands, the achilleid is more of a... thetisiad? she is very centered in the narrative (we spend more time looking at things from her point of view than achilles') and there is SO MUCH SYMPATHY for her, oh my gosh!! she loves ONE person, her son, the only worthwhile thing she got out of a traumatizing marriage, and she despairs that he's fated to die young in a silly human war.

also i'm a deidamia defender forever now. so three-dimensional, so clever!

aughhh i love how much characterization statius puts in, even in the small scenes! my favourite example is odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' place (literally just moving characters from A to B). diomedes teases odysseus, and odysseus is delighted to be teased. that night we're told odysseus CAN'T SLEEP because he's too excited about showing off his plan the next morning!

the unveiling of achilles is completely different from the chagrined defeat/"achilles is a fucking idiot" ways i've heard it retold! i love that it's collaborative, it's a mutual triumph. it's just as much achilles (who's been suffering in gender dysphoria hell for a year) longing to be exposed as it is odysseus LIVING for showing everyone (especially diomedes?) how clever he is. it's not just the shield and the spear and the bugle, it's odysseus playing the part of the siren, whispering in achilles' ear that he knows who he is and describing how glorious he will be on the trojan battlefield. it's achilles' grateful relief at being ALLOWED not to pretend anymore as he rips off his own dress even before the bugle calls

also it's very important to me that the moment he's no longer hunching over trying to make himself look small and inoffensive, we're told achilles is taller than both odysseus and diomedes

i KEEP IMAGINING how good statius would have made the rest!! especially because as book ii ends, achilles regards odysseus as a cool uncle; he's the guy who rescued him! i want to think statius would have put in the big mystery quarrel achilles and odysseus are said to have had early in the war, something to drastically change that affection. i want to know how statius would have handled troilus, and the gods. augh statius you roman BLUEBALLER

an assortment of story beats still revolving in my head:

chiron is such a sweetheart!! he's SO gallant with thetis, he's so affectionate with achilles. he HIDES HIS TEARS when achilles leaves, awww

statius writes out phoinix completely. as a phoinix stan i object. sure chiron can raise young achilles, but i NEED phoinix to tend to him as a baby

i enjoy how achilles EXPLODES into a mess of teenagerly hormones when he first sees deidaima. it's so funny that thetis is looking on (and we get my favourite simile of the achilleid, of a herdsman delighting in a young bull snorting and foaming at a beautiful heifer) like "aaaaand there's my son's sexual awakening. i see! well, we can use that" and THAT explains why achilles is so willing to commit to the female disguise

(listen. listen. few things mean more to me than the love between achilles and patroclus. but achilles is a teenage boy at the age when a fucking breeze will give him a boner, and deidamia is the most beautiful and the cleverest of her sisters. i really enjoy a story where achilles and deidamia are neither "fated eternal true love" or one's a sneaky opportunist. it's much more compelling that they're both knots of budding emotions and bodily feedback)

i notice that statius never uses the name pyrrha, he doesn't seem to have a fake name at all, just "achilles' sister"

lycomedes is SO honoured and proud that thetis is entrusting her daughter to him. i feel sorry for lycomedes, he seems so earnest and hasn't done anything to get tricked

the one thing i can't forgive statius for is that after spending SO much time establishing that achilles and deidamia (who knows he's a guy) are genuinely into each other, it feels like statius goes OUT OF HIS WAY assuring us that their first sexual encounter is rape. sure they talk right after, deidamia forgives him, AND i understand there are social rules that makes deidamia more "honourable" and "worthy" when she resists, but like. sigh.

aLONG with the previously mentioned interplay between odysseus and diomedes as they walk up to lycomedes' court, there's a simile where they're both starving wolves on the hunt. so sexy it's almost illegal

the feast scene is SO FUNNY omg. all of achilles' careful feminine training dissolving because odysseus and diomedes are there with their boundless masculinity for him to feed off of. deidamia practically WRESTLING achilles back down on the couch every time he forgets himself and behaves too much like a man. odysseus chatting with lycomedes SPECIFICALLY trying to rile up achilles, and then after the women have left (achilles dragging his feet and looking back, YEARNING for their male company) odysseus specifically praises the maiden's "almost masculine" beauty (because ohh he suspects. he just needs to prove it in the morning. he can't SLEEP for it)

when they depart, achilles earnestly swears to deidamia that no other women shall ever bear his children. i find it interesting as a reminder of the social rules of its era. neither of them expect achilles to be sexually exclusive, just not fathering potential heirs. which again makes me wonder about the contraceptives in ancient greece

on the ship towards aulis, diomedes begs achilles to tell them all about his feats and training with chiron, and achilles is so shy about it! who can blame him! diomedes has a WAY more impressive track record

odysseus is SO good at firing up achilles' outrage at paris even as he's just catching him up on what the war's about. and he's so pleased at how easily achilles' outrage can be directed! you KNOW that would have developed in such an interesting way AUGH THE REST WOULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD.