#and i can devote more time to my honors shit

[potatopersonal]

i'm about 90% done with piece one of eight for my senior portfolio 💪💪💪

[kneelingshadowsalome]

🤠🫶:

I am CACKLING like a cartoon villain oh my GOD you are a genius!!! Of course the toxic king breaks his back of COURSE he does the fucking idiot (affectionate), so there's fuck-all he can do with reader's big announcement that this was all worth it and he can totally get some...yknow, in a couple months. AHHHHH. And she just wanted to give him something to look forward to, motivation for the physical therapy <33 (she boops his nose while he lays there wishing for death and cowering from her, of course she does, omg. i love them your honor!!)

and maybe she gets more confident now that he can't fucking move 💀💀 (lmao, oh god. König if you weren't such a menace this would have been easier for her a lot earlier and nobody would be in this situation) and maybe this leads to way more sensual  touching from her on her own initiative; she's curious, after all, and she does like him a lot and she's just trying to help him get better, you know? and König eats that shit up, starts telling her all about these itches and sore muscles he can't reach, could she be a dear (trying to act like he's not literally begging for her touch) and then he basically blacks out the first time her hands linger and drift, but probably better that than the things he was going to say to her. So König wants to die, this is too much, he's done, he's a goner each time she visits him. and damn her, she's a devoted little thing, never misses visiting hours. Always so sweet and caring towards him and it's the perfect image of a faithful, doting housewife without the wife or the house or the sex part of it lmao. And of course he can’t move when all this is happening!!! so basically just more torture and his mind just kind of breaks into little tiny pieces held together by demented lovesick lust-filled fantasies. he says some absolutely filthy things (makes the cunt licking look family friendly in comparison), he can't control it really anymore, and poor reader is shocked/horrified and blushing furiously, but thinks it's the medications and the pain and whatnot, tries to be understanding, only chides him once she gets her shock under control (and he's actually stone cold sober the entire fucking time lmao, but he ain't telling her that, she'd run if she knew). 

AND THEN MAYBE~~ (dun dun dun) one day reader is FINALLY reaching under the stupid hospital bed blanket - he can feel her soft little fingertips and carefully manicured nails travel down his abs, trace the V of his hips (my man is going to black out again, good lord) and she's looking at him with big round eyes and she's nervous she's going to do it wrong and he won't like it (as if), and it's taking FOREVER for her to get her hand between his legs bc sweet little thing just wants to do it right, and he's out of his mind, half-crying, whisper-begging at this point (it's probably not even English, not German either, just mindless pleas). Her hand FINALLY wraps around his length and he's lucky he doesn't cum right then and there; she's blushing so violently at taking a man in her hands for the first time and she's seeking HIS approval with those pretty doe eyes as she bites her lip. So of course that's when there's a knock at the door (the universe hates him, he's going to scream, whoever this is is lucky he can't move and they might die anyway from the blast radius of sheer rage) and a doctor comes in for daily rounds. Reader barely has time to yank her hand back before doc sticks his head through the privacy curtains and yep our man's heart might actually just stop, he is just going to keel over right then and there. 

so not even a handjob for our poor king <3 if he doesn’t die (lol) he transfers to in-home care IMMEDIATELY and finally gets reader to himself in a more private setting where he can lock the fucking door. this is the part where I look away lmao, I'd leave him blue-balled & suffering forever ...am i a mean person?? also RIP to that doctor. this verse is so hilarious & wonderful and i love it, feels like a tug of war between tropes and genres if that makes sense which results in your delightful genius works, thank you thank you <333

This is so beautiful. I am puddle & I can't thank you enough for collaborating & I LOVE YOU Howdy anon 💋 and um, I think I got a little too excited about their first time lol oops (I can't leave him blue-balled forever! Poor man would die of heart failure 🥺)

(Tamara and Demon (1864), Mihály von Zichy)

Word count: 3.7 k

CW: 18+ NSFW. Corruption kink goes brrrr. Masturbating, dirty talking, obsessive/yandere König. Awkward handjob. First time/virgin!reader. Kinda sweet and fluffy 🩷 Also coersion/mildly dubious consent, tread carefully!

A/N: You can find the story of König x virgin!reader and their relationship so far by following the tag (könig x virgin reader)

Oh she visits him alright!

She’s much braver now that König is bedridden and can’t move. They actually spend more time together after the weightlifting accident. The intense stares haven’t gone anywhere, he's actually gotten worse in that department, but otherwise, König is behaving quite nicely.

He seems to like it when she reads to him next to his bed, which is immensely cute in her opinion. Armed with a new book in the crook of her arm, she’s on her way to visit him again for another session.

She's already accustomed to simply floating in after giving his door a light rap. She's also gotten used to the sight of guns and knives and the smell of army storage, even the manly, pungent stench of sweat that lingers on top of it. 

But it’s not the potpourri of masculine military scents that stop her at the door and nearly make her drop her book.

The King himself is lying naked on the bed – well, naked except for the bag of a mask he seems to hold on to like it’s his soul. This time, she doesn’t even see it: her eyes fly straight to the towering erection he’s stroking, urgently with one hand while the other cups a pair of shaved, pale balls.

"König…?" 

The man who calls himself King curses – in German or in English, she can’t tell. The sight of him there, caught red-handed on touching himself, only makes her feel sorry for him. König has nowhere to run and hide, nothing to cover himself with, he's not supposed to even move yet. And he is not the one who should be embarrassed, after all, she's the one who barged in on his privacy. 

Although… König doesn't look embarrassed. 

He only looks drunk and sweaty and in need.

She thinks about turning back and leaving him with hurried excuses because what the hell is she supposed to do…? Read him a book? He is still gripping his cock like it’s a sword or something, breathing like he just ran a marathon. 

And speaking of swords, that weapon is far too big for her... Hell, she doesn’t know much about swords but she would deem that sword far too big for any woman.

If she were clever, she would run away from that stare and that huge, monstrous cock. But she’s not that clever, that much is clear because everyone she’s told she’s dating König have warned her about him. Every cell in her body is warning her of danger, but she keeps running back to him, over and over again…

Well, at least he can’t move, she thinks, takes a hesitant step, and places the book down on a table. Just when she’s about to whisper some calming, soothing words to this beast, the beast speaks.

"Take your clothes off," comes a husky command from the bed, and she freezes with her fingertips still on the cover of her cute little book about German fairytales (she knows König likes his fairytales bloody). 

Normally, she would make a scene out of such audacity. She might even storm out of the room and vow to never speak to him again for daring to talk to her like that.

But… 

He looks so desperate. König looks like a giant bound for torture on that bed. And he's not the only one who has been tormented these past few weeks… The incident at the hospital has plagued her dreams every night as she has tucked herself in with the memories of König's… sword.

Perhaps it would help with his pain if she offers him relief in his time of need. No harm can come from that, surely. She doesn't know how exactly taking her clothes off will help, but if that is his wish, then it’s the least she can do. 

To her and his surprise, her hands drift to the hem of the top she’s wearing. She’s feeling rather wild – something about seeing König completely naked yet unable to move is making her act like this. Like she's the brave one. Like she’s in control now.

Dedicated to her task, she pulls the shirt over her head.

Nothing moves on that bed for a good long while. As far as she can tell, König might've stopped breathing. But by the time she takes her bra off, there’s a swallow under that hood. Then the hand slowly starts to stroke again, the moist, slick sounds continue as her breasts fall free from their confinement. 

She’s breathing heavily too, and the man on the bed is stiff as a stone: every single muscle in his body is pulled taut as he stares at her breasts like they’re the Revelation of John. Then those blue eyes lift to her face just before another command is issued.

"Take off the rest."

"The–the rest…?"

"I just want to watch you." 

His voice is hoarse and croaky, and she feels even more sorry for him – König must be in so much pain and she just keeps on teasing him. She started this, so perhaps it’s better just to see it through. 

What’s crazy though is that he actually moans when she gets out of her pants, socks, and finally, her underwear. The slick sounds of fapping increase, and he’s moaning.

She hasn’t even touched him yet… She’s just standing there before him completely naked, heat pooling low in her belly as König continues to work himself with what looks like both pleasure and pain.

"Komm… Come here," he orders next, out of breath but surprisingly politely, and she has no other option than to approach his bed. She sits down as chastely as possible, then almost jumps back up when a steel-hard thigh brushes against hers.

"Touch it. Ja?" 

Her eyes grow as wide as they can go as she takes in the cock she has touched once before, briefly and under a hospital sheet. Now it’s right there, foreign and demanding. 

Better just to see it through, her mind tweets as her hand reaches out through what feels like water. Like before, there's a sharp intake of air under the hood as she takes him in her hand. It’s even hotter than she remembered, and gives a tight pull the instant her fingers wrap around it. 

"Like this…?" 

"Just like that…"

Her meek little mouse peeps and multiple bats of eyelashes are like drug to him, it seems. The man is as tight as a bowstring when she starts to move her hand up and down, mimicking the motions she just saw him do. They're not as fast as his, and her grip must be way gentler, but she seems to do surprisingly well for an inexperienced virgin. The poor man looks like he’s about to faint on that bed. 

What she doesn’t expect, however, is König to touch her.

A large, warm palm sweeps across her ribs and lands on her breast, softly, as if he's concerned that he might scare her off. She's the one who's stopped breathing now… And then he rubs her, squeezes her. Gently… Reverently.

"You're soft," comes a strained sigh from the bed as she tries to keep her own grip both tight and gentle. She’s starting to get so wet she fears she will stain his sheets. Bewildered, she tries to change her position, but the palm cupping her breast seems to have bound her to the bed too. Nothing moves, except her hand and his as they explore each other. A giant and an angel...

Something hot and wet meets her hand as she strokes him – is he cumming already…? But it can't be, she has heard there’s supposed to be quite a bit of it when a man cums, and there’s only a few ample drops of clear liquid oozing out of the slit on his tip.

"Can't wait for the day I get to make you scream," he rasps, and her heart is hammering in her chest as more cum-like liquid streams from the slit of his cock, adding to the lewd, moist sounds of the handjob she’s giving him.

König doesn’t know she has never even kissed a guy… 

"We'll… we'll get there," she tries to soothe him, thanking her lucky stars this man can't move.

"I want to fuck you," he continues, sounding more and more desperate. "Good and hard… until you cry under me. Want to see if you can take it all in."

"König…"

"It’s a long cock, ja? I can make you squirt."

"König, I'm still a virgin… You can't–"

"Nh–Sorry… sorry."

His head falls back on the pillow, his muscles relax just for the tiniest moment. But if she thought he would finally leave her to it, she was wrong. The hand of a giant killer drops between her legs next. 

She’s sitting on the bed like she would sit on a side saddle, with one leg slightly bent, giving the horniest man on earth good enough access to the heat between her legs. She doesn’t stop him – she doesn’t even want to – as broad fingertips meet her pubic hair and slip between her already slick folds. 

"...Was? Pretty angel is all wet," he comments on her state of mess. Approvingly: like all his fears have suddenly disappeared. 

She has to fight the urge to roll her head back and moan as those agile fingers start to give her full, generous strokes. She almost messes up her rhythm while stroking his cock, which seems to have gotten even harder.

His fingers delve into her with more courage, they tease her tight, tender nub with excited circles. She tries not to jolt and shiver as he makes her even more slick, tries to ignore how her nipples grow hard from that burning stare alone. 

"Such a pretty girl… and so wet. You sure you don't want it?"

She thinks about it – how it would feel if he somehow was able to take her on that bed. If he pushed that cock inside her and if it would hurt or make her moan even more. Even the thought of trying to fit that inside her makes her thighs feel like pudding.

"I don’t know… You're still recovering."

"Heh… That's not a problem. You can be on top. I'll help," he offers as if it’s a gentlemanly thing to do, to help her bounce on that huge cock. 

"I–I'd rather do it the classic way."

"I'll show you classic when I get better," he promises with unconcealed greed. "I'll show you all the other ways too. We’ll do it any way you like."

She tries hard not to whimper when hearing his promise. She tries her best to pleasure the biggest cock she’s ever seen. It’s ridiculous that it’s the only cock she’s ever seen... What sort of a cruel joke was it from the universe to choose this king-sized Austrian to be her first man? 

She wonders how König would react if she told him he’s too big for her.

Would he try to change her mind? Would he have a meltdown? 

Would he cry…? 

She doubts if this man ever cries. The last time a brutal soldier like him shed tears was probably when he was a kid. But he did look like he was about to cry that one time when she booped his nose... 

And despite being a cold-blooded soldier and somewhat awkward at times, König has always been so, so delicate with her. He's tender even now, touching her with the gentlest avarice there is. But that searing stare wants to possess her, devour her, and it makes her bite her lip nearly to the point of drawing blood.

"Sit on my face?" he offers next, this time sounding so desperate it's almost pathetic. 

Sit on his face… 

What would he even do? Lick her? Try to push his tongue inside her while finishing himself?

The thought alone makes her mess up her rhythm again and causes her pussy to pulse more wetness on his fingers. She secretly hopes he would slip at least one of those fingers inside.

"Let me see your cunt," he begs. God – this giant mercenary is begging to see her poor, aching pussy. "Just… let me at least taste you–"

She can’t even reply before the hand between her legs gives a sudden twitch and stops those delicious rubs. Actually, his whole body is going rigid. 

"König…? Am I hurting you?"

"I'm–gonna cum…" 

Oh god.

Oh god ohgod-

She's not sure what gives her more of a fright: the sound that leaves her soldier boyfriend as he cums, or the bright, hot flash of liquid that shoots from the cock in her hand.

He groans like it’s torture. Long and hard, so loud that she’s sure other people can hear it in the neighboring rooms, perhaps even further than that. There’s one, two, three spurts of thick, hot liquid, after that, she loses count because it spills to coat his stomach, it runs down her hand, and she’s pumping him in a frenzy while he just keeps on moaning.

"Slow, slow down–" he tries to groan in the middle of his climax and she obeys immediately, reveling in how his cock still throbs in her hand when she finally stops moving altogether. More cum gushes out with every strong pulse, even if the eruptions are less violent. Ropes of it already cover his abs, it coats her hand with thick film – it's far more than she would ever have expected, and a shiver goes through her as she imagines what it must feel like to take all of that semen inside her… 

"Ah… Das war wirklich…" König sighs dreamily while she must be looking like a startled deer.

Yes, that was really something… She doesn’t know what to do with his cock, or her hand, or the mess that coats half his body.

Luckily, he instructs her to take his old shirt from the floor and clean herself with it. She cleans him with it too, dabs the black t-shirt over his muscled stomach, even tries to swipe his crotch with it as gently as she can. 

König looks happier by the minute, looks at her like she’s an angel or something, and when she fully commits herself to getting him cleaned up, he gets another erection. She’s quite horrified – how is this even possible…? She thought men would need at least hours to get it back up again.

"Come on top," he offers, sounding all but seductive with that commanding tone. 

She swallows, thinking if König wants to be a "gentleman" and finish her too. With his tongue... or something else.

"Just for a hug? We don't have to put it in."

She seems to be under some spell tonight, because she simply drops the poor, cum-stained shirt back on the floor and crawls to the bed and on top of him.

König is hot and lean as she presses herself against him, her thighs now straddling the intimidating thing between his legs. Her head falls right beside his mask-covered face, and the smell of guns and fuel and sweat is prominent there, as is his natural odor, the woodland musk she has grown so fond of.

"There we go," his arms go around her waist, pressing her tighter against him. There’s no escape now, she thinks, but like always with König, she eventually softens and relaxes, molds against him… Accepts her fate.

"You did well, Meine Liebe," he even caresses her head as she slowly melts into his hold. "I’m sorry if I frightened you. Will you forgive me?"

"Um, of course."

"A gentleman should always apologize if he has upset his lady. Do you agree?"

"Uh… Yes."

"I promise to be a good man. The best man you could ever hope for."

She bites her lip as König continues to caress her. She’s far from upset, but she doesn’t want to tell him that and excite him too much. Otherwise he might end up hurting himself. He hugs her tight, and seems to have calmed down more than ever.

Is this what an orgasm does to a man...? The change is drastic, and her lover feels warm, and tender, and inviting. He even whispers more promises on her skin. They're nonsensical but gentle, König is probably trying to be romantic, but she can feel how his breaths grow heavier as time goes on. After all, they're both naked, pressed tightly together, closer than ever before, and he's having an erection again...

She tries not to shiver at the things he tells her. The husky promises of love and protection: "You are mine now, ja? Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you. I will always keep you safe." And then, "You’re still wet, mein Mädchen… How about we practice just a little bit? We'll do it slow. Ja? I will make you moan…"

He coos those things in her ear while holding her in place for his cock. She starts to move on her own accord; it’s like her hips have their own will. Soon, her entrance meets the tip of him, still hot and bulged, and she starts to grind against it with barely restrained greed. She is wet – wetter than ever. 

König curses multiple times under his breath, and she feels so, so filthy for loving how unhinged he is, how unhinged she is – spread wide on top of him like that, trying to get off of the faintest touch of his cock. She’s so soaked that the hot tip of him glides across her folds with no effort at all. 

She feels like she’s doing something forbidden, taking her pleasure from him like that, but König doesn’t seem to know what the word filthy even means. He keeps praising her, guiding her, helping her, telling her how good she feels, that she’s doing so, so well.

Soon, he’s asking to put it in – just the tip. 

She tries her best not to sound too needy as she breathes a soft, mousy "Yes."

"How does that feel?"

He’s panting, few inches of thick cock inside her, and she thinks, did she just lose her virginity? Is this it? Why isn’t it hurting?

“You like that, hmm?”

He feels so, so good, pressing her against him, spreading her legs with his own, trying to feed more of that marvelous thickness inside. It doesn’t hurt, at least not yet. It makes her dizzy to even think what she must be looking like, with her legs spread and a huge cock partly inside her.

She should say something… What was it that he asked? Oh yes, if she likes it. She more than just likes it, and tries to push herself down to get more of him in. König reacts immediately with a ton of praise leveled at her in the softest possible way.

“That's it, that's it, pretty girl, take it in…”

Him cheering her on like that only makes her decide that it’s time to let go and let go for good. But she can’t get him in by herself, not while he’s holding her a prisoner like this.

"More… König, please," she hears herself whimper. 

God, is this all it took...? Him holding her close and letting her find the joys of sex herself? Apparently so, because he sounds goddamn smug when he turns his head to rasp more needy, throaty things in her ear.

"Ah… Knew you'd beg for it… "

His voice makes her inner walls clamp down on him, and that’s when it hurts, but only slightly. She wants him so much that it’s painful. And König… God, he keeps on showering her with praises and promises.

"I'll show you how good it can be… That's it, let me hear you. It's a good cock, ja? Good cock for a pretty girl…"

It’s not even fully in before he starts the thrusts. That’s when she knows she has lost her virginity. She’s being plunged. Not taken… Just… loved, thoroughly and deeply. 

When she moans, finally sounds as filthy as can be, he tells her how tight she is. How good she feels. He says he’s going to cum again soon. But not before her…

He doesn’t need to instruct her to rub her clit on his pelvis in rhythm with the thrusts. She is smart enough to do that by herself. And the thoughts of This is it, I’m not a virgin anymore have turned into Is it possible to cum on your first time…?

Everything’s perfect, all things considered. But there’s something missing.

"König," she swallows arduously. "I’ve never been kissed... Would you– Could you…?"

He stops moving, releases his hold a little. A strong heart is hammering inside his chest, she can feel it against her own fluttering heartbeat. 

Is it stupid of her to ask…? Will he only laugh at her for being so sentimental?

Apparently no, because it’s the warmest possible command that surrounds her this time.

"Lift the mask, angel."

By the time their lips meet, both hesitant and needy, he's fully inside her and holding her like a mountain. She feels like she's in a fairytale now: the only thing that moves is his mouth, and hers. Theirs is a slow, hungry rhythm. 

Her first kiss is not only awkwardly romantic and sweet, it’s sinfully good. 

The kiss also does things she did not expect. Her pussy goes tight around him, so tight that a whimper or two escape her nose, and König only purrs – she feels like the softest little creature in the embrace of a lean jaguar.

And she thinks… 

Why on earth didn't they do this months ago?

[hoeforalbedo]

ᗪEᗩᒪ ᗯITᕼ TᕼE ᗪEᐯIᒪ ✟

Prologue

———————— ♱ ————————

WARNING: PLEASE READ.

Sensitive topics including vague details of SA. Reader will display many mental health such as depression, PTSD, and anxiety. I will also discuss after effects of said trauma such as hyper sexuality, over-sexualizing oneself, over trusting, and many more. (Many cope in different ways however I am more familiar with this side of the spectrum as I have taken this information from my experience.) Suicidal topics. Horror. Manipulation. Blasphemy. Religious horror and possibly hints of religious trauma. Demons. Paganism. Witchcraft (I try to depict witchcraft as accurate as I can however if I make it too accurate, it will seem boring so I did add magical abilities. I write it based off of how I practice it). Possession. Death. Murder. Exorcism. Sex. Ritualistic sex. Female reader. A bit of crack (reader doesn’t take things seriously. Humor is the way of coping 😭)

If any of these themes trigger you, please do not read. You have already been warned.

Writing criticism is appreciated since I want to get better in writing.

SUMMARY: Depression is shit. This town is shit. Everything is shit. But that priest is sexy and trauma dumping is hot.

———————— ♱ ————————

Kim Hongjoong was never the same after working for the Vatican. He had performed an unsuccessful exorcism that took the life of the child. Trauma could do a lot to someone and so he never went back, instead residing in a small town In Massachusetts.

The town has everything it needs, shopping centers, supermarkets, entertainment, and of course, the church. The church is the center of everything, well geographically it isn’t, but everyone’s lives revolve around it.

There was never a need to leave. Those born in the town tend to be stuck in the town.

Fortunately, you were accepted into a prestigious college and had a scholarship to cover you. You were never an academic overachiever as everyone turned out the same. Working in the small town or becoming a nun to contribute to the church.

Everyone has always been devoted to the church. The town is small enough that everyone knows each other to the point you could get a knock on your door if you don’t attend Sunday mass. If you are sick, be prepared to have your parents invite the priest for a private mass.

As a child, you would pray before every meal, abide by the commandments, go to monthly confessions, and of course Bible is above everything. You weren’t allowed to question.

At 13, you asked why God placed the garden in the first place if he knew, since he is the all knowing God after all, that Eve would eat the fruit. Your parents slapped you and had you pray the rosary three times. Another time, you were at school. It was a catholic school where nuns were teachers. You had asked, “If God said that all life is valuable and killing is a sin, why would he order Abraham to sacrifice his son.” You just felt everything to be hypocritical and at the end, you were ordered to kneel on salt as you were slapped and forced to pray.

You were told that everything is all predetermined. That everything is God’s plan. When you looked around, everybody lived the same way everyday. Women were stuck in the house while men worked. “A woman's purpose is to cook and clean. You must always keep your husband happy.” When your room was messy, your mother would always berate you, saying, “If you can’t keep your room clean, how can you expect to marry a man?��� Is that really the only purpose you have? If everything is predetermined, is that all there is?

Is that all there is? That question haunted you.In high school you worked extra hard, becoming honors and getting all A’s in all subjects. You even applied to NYU without your parents knowing, and only then when you received the acceptance letter did you tell them. You didn’t give them any choice. You wanted to leave, to study and become successful. They had thought you were possessed by the devil.

So why did you come back to this awful town? Maybe God is against you. Is there even a God? Some being may have decided to punish you. You were walking to the train after your shift at the hospital. You are a neurosurgeon. You know New York can be dangerous at night. Maybe you were asking for it. Ironically, the man was Christian. That cross was all you could look at. At the end, you became depressed. You could afford a psychiatrist but that never really crossed your mind.

The irony of it all was that instead of shying away from sex, it’s like all your body wants is sex. It doesn’t make sense. You would go to clubs and bars to get laid for the night but it never really got anywhere, and the more it never progressed, the more frustrated you got. You spiraled into this sex addict maniac who would oversexualize yourself only to back away when you’re finally feeling good.

In the end, an attempted suicide sent you to the ER and your parents were called. They had decided that taking you back into town would drive the devil out of you.

———————————————————————

"Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand," A young man preaches for the hundreds of people in the church. He has black hair and he’s dressed in the green robe priests wear for ordinary times. He is clearly crafted personally by God. God must have taken his time carefully molding this masterpiece. You really shouldn’t be drooling over a priest. The poor lighting of the church doesn’t do his face justice, however he still looks angelic regardless.

“Depression is a sign of weakness, but that does not mean we are alone,” Pastor Hongjoong preaches and it’s clear that he’s talking about you. “God is always there for you and if you reach out to him, he will be there to light the darkness in our hearts. Depression, hopelessness, it is what the devil does to try and claw into us, to tempt us to sin. So brothers and sisters, let us pray for our sister Y/N, to help bring her into the light,” Hongjoong smiles. He watches how you uncomfortably shift in your spot, and it gives him a sense of satisfaction.

Suddenly, it feels like everyone is judging. The church looks darker than before and all eyes look at you, and only you. Even the huge statue of Jesus, a recreation of his crucifixion, stares at you as it hangs above the altar. He’s judging you and it’s clear by the look of Jesus that you aren’t crossing those pearly gates.

Hongjoong doesn’t understand why, but the way you shrink back makes him feel hot, as if his skin is burning. He shouldn’t feel that way and it causes him to feel sick to the stomach. He rushes the mass, and once he’s walked down the aisle where people sang the psalms around him like some sort of ritual, he goes to his office and downs two bottles of water. He mutters prayers under his breath until he can calm himself. Hongjoong was never the same since after the exorcism. The night haunts him and there are days when he questions his own faith. He must be a weak priest for questioning God but there are far too many questions than answers.

Once he had collected himself, he made his way back out where many people outside were waiting to say hi to him.

“Can we go home?” You whine. You already experienced unbearable humiliation earlier. It’s much worse when the town pretty much knows your business.

“No. Father! Father Hongjoong, our daughter, Y/N. We were hoping you were open for confession after the many sins she had committed. It’s also worse that she hasn’t saved herself for marriage-“ Your dad began, each word filling you with rage.

“You know I didn’t have a choice!” You yell loud enough for people to look at you weirdly. “How could you just tell people my business like that?”

“I do hope you can take her into the convent,” Your dad continues.

“I will not be a nun!” You snap.

“As you can see, Father, we fear the devil may have gotten to her,” Your mother nearly cried, dabbing her face with a handkerchief when there were no tears.

“It is unfortunate what you had to go through. It seems that the devil truly has power in this world and you just had to experience it first hand,” Hongjoong gives a comforting smile. He understands where you’re coming from.

“Well what can we say? It is all God’s plan, am I right Father?” Your dad laughs and looks for the priest’s approval of his words.

Hongjoong forces a laugh. How could God plan something so cruel? You didn’t ask for it. He didn’t ask for it and yet everyone else is justifying everything, making it seem that the pain is pointless.

“I always tell her, God gives us free will but some things happen for a reason! It was what God wanted!” Your dad continues when he believes Hongjoong agrees with him. You wanted to hurt your dad. Is that bad?

Hongjoong wanted this man to shut up. It is people like him who use religion to justify their wrong doings. “I’ll take her to the back for confession,” He interrupts. “Please follow me, Ms. Y/N.”

“Y/N is just fine,” You mumble as you follow him. You’d rather follow through with that stupid confession than hear your father’s words. There’s a reason you left.

You found yourself in a stereotypical confessional booth where there’s a screen in between you and the handsome priest.

“This is stupid. I did nothing wrong,” You mutter.

“In the eyes of God it may,” Hongjoong says thickly.

“That’s stupid,” You scoff.

“That, I can understand.”

A moment of silence comes between you both.

“I’ll just play into this stupid thing,” You sigh defeatedly. You didn’t want to go back to your parents so soon.

“Go ahead. I’m all ears,” He chuckles amusedly. “Oh Father forgive me for I have sin,” You say sarcastically, scrunching your face up in disgust. “I tried to kill my self because I couldn’t handle being a slut and having sex before marriage. If only I said no then maybe this wouldn’t have happened,” You mock the people who went up to you and called you names.

“Is that how you really feel?” Honjoong ask.

“Sure,” You shrug nonchalantly. If that’s what everyone is saying, it must be true, right?

“Let’s take out the religion aspect. Is that how you really feel?” He asks genuinely.

You scoff bitterly, “No. I find all of this stupid. These people are hypocrites! These people are calling me names, calling me whore and slut as if they know me! And- And-“ It suddenly becomes so hard to breathe and there’s a stinging feeling in your eyes. “Fuck!” You wipe the tears that had begun to fall. You never knew how badly you needed to let everything out. “I really didn’t ask for it,” You whimper, allowing yourself to be vulnerable with a stranger.

“I know you didn’t. Some people are just cruel,” He answers as he gnaws on the bottom of his lip until it bled. The booth feels as if it’s closing in on him. Why does he feel this way? Your words make him sad, angry, murderous even. A part of him wants to save you. Protect you. It’s overstepping his job as a priest. He shouldn’t get so caught up when he just met you.

“He was wearing a cross,” You mutter. “That was all I could think about. I didn’t care if he had me pinned down, he was wearing a cross and all I could think was, maybe this is what God wanted. Maybe he’s punishing me. Maybe I wanted it after all. I didn’t even say stop. Maybe they are right,” You croak, thoughts spiraling from one bad idea to the next.

Hongjoong had enough of gripping his seat from anger. Ironically enough, he would have just made the same excuse back then, tell her the same thing everyone is saying. ‘Everything happens for a reason. It is God’s will!’ He doesn’t feel that way anymore. This is one of the times he wanted to curse God. You seem so sweet and genuinely a good person. He heard you were a surgeon and he’s impressed that a person from this town made it to be so successful, especially when everyone is so closed minded.

Hongjoong stood up, no longer wanting to feel suffocated by the booth. He left his side to go into yours, to see you face to face without some barrier between you. “Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t want it. Did you tell him yes? Did you tell him it was okay to touch you?” He asks.

“No,” You shake your head.

“May I?” He asks to touch your hand.

You hesitate.

“It’s okay to say no,” He assures you and you’ve never felt more comfortable with a man till now.

You nod.

“No no, I want to hear you use your words. Let me hear you.”

“You can touch me,” You whisper and you fight back a smirk when you realize the sexual innuendo. You wouldn’t mind fucking him. God it’s so frustrating. You’re supposed to feel depressed and yet you tend to go between depressed and horny.

Warmth erupts within Hongjoong although he tries to push it down within him, his skin feeling as if it’s burning again. His spine tingles and he subtly shudders. He holds your hand, giving it a warm squeeze.

“Lust is never a bad thing. It goes way more beyond sex. We, as humans, lust for money, success, power, and so much more,” Hongjoong says. He tells you things that a devout child of God would never say. “But, there’s a reason why lust is a sin. When people crave too much of it, when they become greedy, they start doing things that could hurt others. You’re not a slut. You’re not a whore. You are the victim of a sinner.”

[scoops-aboy86]

See You Everywhere (Secret Admirer pt 3)

Steddie Week 2024, July 3: Long / mutual pining / Holding Me by Warlock

It's still July 3 in my time zone, haha I made it! *lame fist pump*

wc: 3293 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

Darling Steve,

You amaze me on so many counts, not least by thinking I would stop writing to you after that, holy shit, not stupid at all. I see the vision, baby, and I think it’s precious that you’d rather picture me in disguise than imagine me wrong. But, sweetheart, you have to know that there are no wrong answers in these letters. This is much more firmly within my comfort zone than yours, I know, so I will never judge you for anything you write to me. 

(Although I am honor-bound to gently, lovingly point out that it’s Bilbo, not Bibo. And I hope your band of gremlins does not end up guiding you to lead a life of crime. Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it might seem without the swords and the magic and the fantastic creatures.)

But I digress. I would happily slink into your bedroom at night, dressed all in black. (I wear a lot of dark colors anyway, so it’s not that much of a stretch.) I’d scale the outside wall up to your bedroom window and silently slip inside. Step softly so as not to disturb you as I approach the bed, where you slumber peacefully in… I want to say, with hope in my heart, nothing but those Hawkins High gym shorts? Nights have been hot lately, that and leaving the window open should help you keep cool. My own costume would be a little warm in this weather but it is, if I am to preserve my secret identity, a necessary sacrifice; one I would willingly make for the privilege of touching you. 

Do me a favor, sweetheart, and touch yourself while you read this. Through fabric, if you want to make it authentic, if you imagine me wearing gloves. (So smart for that, baby, because honestly you’d figure out a lot about me just from seeing my hands.) Lay back like a good boy, Steve, and let me make you feel good and pull those shorts down. It’s dark, I could pull up my mask a little bit to use my mouth. Suck you until you’re hard, use my hand for whatever I can’t fit in my mouth because I can tell you’re very gifted in that area. It’s a shame I’d have my hair covered because I like having it pulled, but I could still moan around you while thinking about it.

And baby? I’d swallow.

I’ll leave it there because… to be perfectly honest, I got a little distracted and made a mess of myself. You have no idea what you do to me, Steve, I feel like I’m on top of the world and all I’ve done is take the fantasy you provided and run with it. 

Which is embarrassing, because I started writing these letters because I wanted to give you something. You’ve seemed so melancholy ever since last fall and I wanted to let you know that someone sees you and cares. And here I am, selfishly imagining you when I can’t let you do the same, because if you knew who I am I don’t think you’d want me. I’m pretty far outside of your type, judging by anyone I’ve ever seen you with or noticed you show interest in. I listen to music you would probably hate. I don’t like sports, be it playing or spectating. Our high school experiences are on such opposite ends of the spectrum that we practically went to different schools. Your house is a castle and mine a hovel. We have nothing in common but I am filled to bursting with devotion to you that I can’t even. 

Do you really want me to continue writing, Steve? I know you’ve asked me to be before, but we’re in new territory here. I know I started it, but I really do feel like it was maybe uncool of me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

I’ll follow your example and end on a different note. How is it going with your coworker? I don’t have a steady nine to five myself—or the part time version, I guess—but I imagine working with someone who likes to butt heads with you is pretty grating. If it’s an issue, I hope it resolves soon. Wishing you as little stress in your life as possible, I remain, as always—

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Before you ask, I do recall saying in my last letter that I don’t mind weird. To clarify: I will accept just about any weirdness from you, sweetheart, but it’s different when I do it. Forgive me my dramatics, but at the end of the day, everyone is their own harshest critic. 

~

Eddie is suffering. He’s haunted, too distracted to plan his next campaign or practice guitar—which, incidentally, are the things that usually distract him too much from things like school work or finding a respectable job. All he can think about is Steve, and by inevitable extension Steve’s ninja scenario.  

He’d laughed at first, okay? (Before, you know. Getting really, really into it.) Not in a derogatory way, but because it was actually a creative solution to something that a lot of dudes might not even consider a problem. 

Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are?

Because, just, Jesus H. Christ. Eddie has fooled around with guys in places out in Indy, and being liked for who he is doesn’t really factor in. So this is… new. He feels almost seen, something that should be impossible while he’s still shrouded in anonymity, and yet Steve seems to be holding space for that veil to be lifted someday.

‘Someday’ suggests a mutual future of some sort, which is sparking a dangerous ember of hope in Eddie’s foolish heart. And in the meantime there’s always the mental image of getting to secretly blow the prettiest boy in Hawkins—

Fuck, he needs to get out of this tin oven of a trailer. He’d put his latest letter in the mail two days ago, then come straight home to jerk off some more and smoke his way into absolute paranoia that this time he’d really blown it. Gone full throttle on that fantasy, then told Steve not to want him, then said something dumb about that girl he works with, and then still mailed it?! 

He needs fresh air. 

(He goes and checks his PO box.)

Any air. 

(No reply yet, but the Hawkins Post Office isn’t known for its speed or efficiency.)

Air conditioning. 

It doesn’t surprise him, really, when he ends up pulling his van into the parking lot surrounding Starcourt Mall. Because Steve Harrington is haunting him and will keep doing so matter where he goes, so why not here? Eddie doesn’t even bother to fight the way his feet carry him towards Scoops. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all—Steve’s ass looks great in both green and blue—but he tries not to do it too often. 

All he wants is a crumb, a tiny direct interaction with the guy, even if Steve continues to remain none the wiser. 

~

Steve is suffering. Which really grates, because he woke up in a great mood! He’s already working on a reply to the latest letter—once again all stocked up on paper, so he can rewrite it nicer if he makes a mess of it this time. Every time he thinks about it his chest (and, okay, sometimes his dick too, he’s still a teenaged boy) fills up with giddy warmth knowing that his Secret Admirer liked his dumb ninja idea. Specifically said it wasn’t stupid and that they had to stop writing to masturbate about it. 

(Girls do that, right? Maybe not as often as dudes, but he really has had phone sex with enough of them to know they’re not necessarily opposed. That wasn’t a clue, Secret Admirer still could be either.)

So today should be going great, but instead he’s felt a headache coming ever since he hopped in his car to drive to work. Too late to take anything for it, though Advil or Tylenol sometimes barely dent in these things. He puts his sunglasses on for the drive and into the mall in the hope that will buy him some time before the worst of it hits. 

If only he could stay home, laying in his room as dark as he can make it with a cold washcloth over his eyes and a can of Coke with a crazy straw at the ready. Even better if he could somehow just call and get Secret Admirer to come over to keep him silent company, refreshing the washcloth for him when it gets warm…

“Shades aren’t part of the uniform, cool guy,” Robin says flatly when he walks into Scoops through the back. “I don’t care how hungover you are, company rules.”

“I’m not hungover on a damn Tuesday,” he grumbles back. But maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe the headache will hold off at least until his break, then if he clocks out early at least he still got half a shift’s pay. Maybe if it holds off a little longer after that he’ll be able to get all the way home without being a danger behind the wheel. 

He leaves the sunglasses folded on the break room table and starts helping her haul fresh tubs of ice cream from the walk-in to the display case out front. 

It’s going to be a long shift. 

~

By the time Eddie gets to Scoops, there’s a line so long it’s practically out the door. Frowning, he checks his watch for the time, something he hadn’t bothered to do in the van, and realizes it’s probably the tail end of the lunch rush. Super. 

Steve and the girl he works with are both behind the counter, taking turns scooping and ringing up each individual customer or group and then cycling back around to help the next in line. As he waits, Eddie watches from behind the cover of his long hair and realizes that Steve seems off today. He keeps squinting under the fluorescent lights, distracted, sometimes asking people to repeat themselves to both their and his coworker’s obvious annoyance. But it’s not until some kid shrieks that she asked for double fudge chunk and he’s scooping regular chocolate that Steve winces and brings his shoulders up like he’s trying to cover his ears, and oh. Oh, Eddie thinks he knows what this is. 

Sometimes I get these headaches that really mess me up. It doesn’t just hurt, it’s like all the lights get way too bright and sometimes my eyes go blurry for a while. Great parting gift from the concussion. Ice cream helps sometimes though, which is convenient if I’m at work. 

The tiniest amount of research at the library (or, in fact, two afternoons in a row) had told Eddie that this could be anything from migraines to a brain tumor, but given the concussion the former is more likely. If Steve is having one of those, this is probably the worst place for him to be: loud, bright, and enough people crowded into the ice cream parlor that even with mall air conditioning it feels lukewarm in here, when what he needs is quiet, dark, and a cold compress. And this is not the kind of place where he can just throw up and take a nap—not without the risk of getting in trouble, maybe fired.

Eddie knows that Steve is going to keep trying to power through it, because he knows all about how the guy is saving up to move out of his parents’ house. (Castle… Oh god, he’d called it a castle in his last letter, why had he done that? He knows that Steve wants out of there, wants somewhere cozy and lived-in as opposed to his mother’s taste in cool and impersonal decor.)

There’s nothing he can do but wait as the line inches forward. As a slight tremor starts to show in Steve’s hands, which Eddie is watching like a hawk. By the time Eddie, still last in line, is within touching distance of the display case it’s a full on shake, and Steve fumbles his ice cream scoop trying to spin it into the side loop on his apron. 

The clatter is loud against the background elevator music version of a The Beach Boys song. Steve’s coworker—Robin, according to her name tag—looks up sharply at the sound, but an uncertain kind of concern seeps into her frown when she gets a good look at him. “Steve? You alive over there?”

Steve, who has gone very pale, gives a slight shake of his head that seems to make his whole body sway. “Need a clean scoop. I’ll just… run to the back,” he manages, then stumbles towards the swinging doors marked Employees Only. There’s a choked noise as soon as he’s out of sight, and Robin seems to come to the same conclusion as Eddie: he won’t be back for a while. 

To her credit, she puts on a passably bright fake smile at the lady Steve had been helping, taking her mostly finished cup from the counter where Steve had left it and adding the requested chocolate syrup on top. 

Finally, it’s Eddie’s turn. But now he’s the one who’s distracted, trying to squint through the frosted glass of the window to the back room for any sign of Steve moving around. 

“What can I get you, Munson?” Robin asks loudly, a little annoyed as though it’s not the first time she’s asked. Oops. 

He also feels a little bad that he didn’t recognize her when she obviously knows him, likely from his lunchtime cafeteria soapbox spectacles, but ever since the first time he’d failed senior year he’d tuned out on all the rising underclassmen besides Steve pretty hard.

Eddie orders while glancing towards the window again and fiddling with the chain attached to his belt loop. “Actually, make that two cones. One for me and one to cheer up your fellow at sea.”

Robin wrinkles her nose. “You, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, want to buy Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington an ice cream cone?”

He shrugs, something inside him shriveling because, yeah, that would seem weird from an outsider’s perspective, the way he usually rails against the jocks. Maybe he’s a little bit of a hypocrite in his affections, but whatever Steve was in high school he’s actually a massive sweetheart now. “Yeah, well. You know Hargrove gave him a concussion last year? King Steve may have been a douchebag to us commoners, but at least he’s not as bad as that piece of shit.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, but finishes scooping into the first cone and reaches for a second. “Are you sure there wasn’t some house party he was at last night? Everyone knows he got that title from being Keg King.”

It feels stupid to go to high school parties when I’m not in high school anymore. They’re too loud and just a couple of beers hit me like a brick because of my stupid messed up head. Partying used to be a good outlet but I can’t do it anymore. 

“Nah,” Eddie dismisses immediately, mind scrambling for a reason he can give for being so certain. “Nothing last night, or I would’ve been there. You know, for business purposes.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “By the way, if you ever need a little relief from the grind of dealing with shitty customers…”

It feels sleezy, and isn’t something he usually does, but it helps sell it. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Robin says quickly, and moves to the register. “That’s three dollars and fifty cents.”

“Don’t forget the sprinkles,” he reminds her while digging the money out of his pocket. With that handed over and sprinkles dumped on, he takes his one cone and gestures grandly to the other. “And maybe don’t mention to his Highness that that was from me. It’d be a shame if he had the same reaction as you and simply tossed away good ice cream.”

That would crush him, actually. So even though he wants so, so badly to stay, he forces himself to leave before he tries to eavesdrop, just to be safe. 

~

“Steve?”

Startled, Steve jolts upright from where he’d been slumped in one of the break room chairs, wet paper towel sliding off his face and landing in his lap. The motion makes his head throb harder, and it’s all he can do to swallow down a groan. “Huh?” he grunts, eyes only open enough to make out Robin’s general shape. 

“Why’d you turn the lights off back here?” she asks, quieter this time. He can’t make out her tone at all through the sharp pain threatening to burst out of his skull, but he’s grateful for the lower volume. And that she doesn’t turn the lights back on. 

“‘S not a hangover,” he mumbles. Which, maybe he missed a step in that explanation. It was there in his head somewhere, surely she’ll make the connection? Or maybe just think he’s got some sort of stomach flu, since he totally threw up in the break room trash can. Hopefully in it. He’s… pretty sure he didn’t miss. 

“I’m getting that.” Very gently, Robin takes his hand and wraps it around an ice cream cone. “Here. Generous donation from a concerned citizen who shall remain nameless.”

Steve blinks down at the strawberry ice cream in a cone with rainbow sprinkles. 

Either this is the biggest coincidence in the world, or Secret Admirer was here. 

Suddenly his eyes are silently streaming, because he could use that comforting presence right about now. It shines through on every page—this overwhelming care that he’s never felt from anyone else, not even Nancy. Whoever it is must have remembered the one time he’d mentioned in one of his reply letters that ice cream helps his headaches sometimes. 

Steve cries because he wishes they would’ve just brought it themselves and done away with the mystery because he so, so longs to feel like someone’s in his corner now. Someone to give him a hug and rub just above his temples, which sometimes helps too. He takes a lick of the ice cream and chews on sprinkles and the tears come a little faster because he wants. 

“Oh shit,” Robin whispers, dropping into the seat across from him. “Are you crying? Steve—Steve, it’s okay, if you’re not feeling up to it I’m not gonna make you go back out there again. Especially not if you’re likely to ralph on the customers but, like, mostly because I’d feel like an asshole. I mean, I heard the rumors about you getting a concussion and that’s why you quit the basketball team and swim teams, but…” She hesitates, holding her hands up like he’s a bomb that she’s worried might explode in her face. “Just, it’s okay. You stay back here and I’ll finish the rest of the shift, you don’t even have to clock out. I’ll handle it.” 

For a moment, with hurt in his head and an ache in his heart and strawberry flavor on his tongue, Steve thinks it could be her. Maybe Robin is his Secret Admirer and it was her own idea to scoop this cone for him. But then she leaves, and that doesn’t feel right either. 

Steve is haunted by a faceless, nameless person that he’s probably crossed paths with without knowing god knows how many times. Or rather, by their absence.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever

[charles-leclerc-official]

Would you say Schumacher bled Ferrari? (This is a genuine question I'm not trying to get you into messy shit) This was simply inspired by that one tumblr text post: (https://www.tumblr.com/mugellocircuit/713170981288607744/i-hate-ferrari-and-i-love-ferrari-i-love-ferrari?source=share)

And how they say "Michael loved Ferrari and Ferrari loved him back". I hope Ferrari loves Charles the way it loved Michael, I hope they help him bring that same glory back to the team and back to Maranello.

Follow up question is, do you think there's ever been a driver who lives, breathes and bleeds Ferrari like Charles does? Because I genuinely don't think I've ever seen any other driver with quite that amount of devotion to a team (a cult)

I think there have been many drivers who feel this way. They are usually the ones who had the commitment to stay with the team even through the hard times because in their mind it was worth it. Ferrari can be a demanding mistress but she gives glory to those who are truly devoted to her.

I think Charles is unique in the sense that he's for sure the first one in a long time to truly be the most openly insane about Ferrari. Like concerningly insane, and of course that resonates with us Tifosi, because we too are insane. Ferrari do love Charles as much as they love him and they are doing everything to give him a championship worthy car.

However I do not think he is alone, Ferrari has a way of just getting to drivers in a way no other team does. If there is one thing I can be certain of is that Ferrari will have another driver who is as devoted to the team as Charles. It's just what the red car does to people.

Some of my favorite quotes from Ferrari drivers(current and former)

"A part of my heart will always be red." - Michael Schumacher "Without my team I am nothing" - Michael at Imola 2000

Michael had his good times and his struggles at Ferrari but he is only ever saying one team has a place in his heart. That quote from Imola is especially emotional because 2000 was his first Ferrari championship(he didn't know it at the time) and to be there at Imola and just love the whole team and appreciate what that race means. I feel like that says a lot.

"People don't know exactly how much I love Ferrari. I won my only title with her." - Kimi Raikkonen.

Given the man he was and the many struggles he had with that team people didn't outwardly see the love he had for that team the same way they do with someone like Charles. But a man like Kimi stayed with that team as long as he did because he loved them. He doesn't say much, and complains a lot, but in the end he is still in love with Ferrari. (Also note his use of her yeah that man was so gone for the red car)

"For me Ferrari is my heart, Mercedes my wallet" - Niki Lauda

Niki telling it like it is. Most other teams are just that, other teams. A fast car and a paycheck. Ferrari is the team that you take with you as a driver forever, the only team, the only car that actually meant more than the surface level adrenaline of racing and winning.

"Once you have raced for Ferrari you will remain a Ferrari driver forever" - Stefan Johansson

"There are a lot of fairy tales about Ferrari and how it feels to drive a red car. In the end I can only confirm these fairy tales." - Sebastian Vettel

There is a mythical reverence drivers have for the team. At least the ones who truly feel a deep connection to Ferrari. Simply getting to drive that red car is a spiritual experience for many.

"The red car, even before I knew it was called Ferrari, was my obsession" - Charles Leclerc

"When I dream of being world champion one day, in my mind I wear a red racing suit and get out of a red car" - Charles Leclerc

"Ferrari is my life" - Charles Leclerc

"Ferrari means to me everything . . . it is an incredible honor to be a part of this team that now became a family . . . now my own dream remains, a dream that writes itself in red." - Charles Leclerc(2024 and beyond contract renewal announcement)

He composed music to Ferrari. He loves F1 but it doesn't make sense in his head unless he is in a red car and in a red suit.

I will end this section with the one and only quote:

"Everyone is a Ferrari fan. Even if they say they're not, they are Ferrari fans." - Sebastian Vettel

Forza Ferrari

[jams-sims]

With Philza stream being over that mean I got start on that fucking thesis paper about how Forever and Philza relationship. Makes me come un fucking glued. (I am also listening to Jaiden as she tries to reason with the white bear)

But right now I can only sit back and process it in small bits. Because it everytime they interact the Phissa in me is fighting for their fucking life. Like Philza has amazing chemistry with Missa. Missa is so wet cat-coded, he respects Philza, and he wants Philza to be happy. He is hopelessly in love with him but he fears rejection from Philza. That he feels the need to hide it in the way he speaks. Like that one of my fav old tropes when a multi language character says they love someone in a language they can't understand. Like that shit is so fucking fluff and insanely sweet.

Then on the other side we have Forever. Oh how this relationship is fucking complicated. What started off as a "oh you look like my ex" slowly became. "Oh no I think I'm actually in love". But the relationship is so tragic coded because it was too late. Phil's had already cemented that Forever did not care about him. Because he does not know him. Couple with the mistakes of not realizing philza is an anarachist, and from the uk. (lol)

During a wedding Forever again fails to capture Philza when he's trying to be genuine. An it breaks his hurt, while Philza desperately tries to tell him that just because he does not return his romantic feeling. Does not mean Philza does not like him. We see the contrast of that Philza trust Forever ALOT.

We enter the friendship arc (which we are still in) Forever says "Oh I'm over you" which Philza thinks he's lying and Philza is right. Because every time Forever sees Philza he gets heart eyes and he just pushes those feelings down. He kept pushing them down and went to find love elsewhere. An yet and yet! Somehow, Philza and Forever are closer than ever.

Not even touching on the lore from tonight!

When Forever and Missa talk, it another layer of how complex it gets. Because Missa is more than willing to bend and break to make sure Philza is happy no matter what. An that love is repaid in undying devotion. Forever had to learn from Missa how to love Philza. And that's why he's been honoring the "I no longer feel anything" lets just be friends. But it keeps creeping up, crawling up through forever fucking throat. An it drives me insane-

[fishyvamp]

Family dinners must be fun

Eldritch!Reader: FOR THE LAST TIME WE ARE NOT TOSSING HIM INTO THE VOID! NO!

The father: IT'S A HUMAN! USELESS IN EVERY OTHER WAY EXCEPT SUSTENANCE! I tolerate your sisters games, but this?! Unacceptable! I forbid it!

Reader: I knew it! You always liked her better than me!

The father: She's not staining our bloodline!

Reader: How would you know?? No one knows who she had the kid with! Maybe its-

The father: Don't you say it!

Reader: -one of the killers! Or a survivor!

The father: That's it! Go to your room!

Reader: Fuck you! I don't live here anymore, I don't have to do shit! Tarhos! We're leaving!

Tarhos: It was nice to meet you, sir

Reader: Stop being nice to him!

Tarhos: Yes dear 🫡. Go fuck yourself, sir

Reader: Better

I'm just picturing Eldritch!reader sitting on the table, The Entity and a few of the more powerful siblings there The Knight sitting at the table smallest in the room. Dad doing this more because he finds it amusing that "families" in the mortal realms do this. He wants to show some affection to his most favorite children and he definitely has favorite yes he could take the time to learn about all one thousand of you or so, the ones who've made it to maturity and now have realms of their own to feed themselves. No real food at the table just alcohol. Dredge in the corner stacking mortal skulls occasionally looking up to eye Tarhos who is just sitting there awkwardly. He is sitting with gods of chaos, death, and destruction.

He is in awe listening to you bicker with your father and sister. The other siblings seemingly amused or at least he thinks so not many of them are in a human form or even a form that has a face. He listens as you scream at your father, "I am ⬛⬛⬛⬛ years old, I am not a child! I can sustain and control my own realm! You have no say over me!"

"that is barely out of teething, you may as well be a child especially with the way you act! Entertaining mortals is beneath you! A child doing as such is acceptable as a child has yet to learn to completely detach from it's meals!"

"Even my own spawn has learned to detach only feeling joy as he drags them to his... Realm for consumption," the Entity sneers saying realm as if it barely counted, "Father dear You'd think they were tainted. They've always been this way father even before you took notice of us. Always showed a little too much kindness before their meal."

You slam your fist down on this table, "you sit there all high and mighty about my own failings, but who is the father of your child?!" You demand, "with all this emphasis on detachment why are you so ashamed to not tell us where it came from? And where are it's siblings, surely you are not so infertile that only one crawled from your nest?"

The Entity looked away as if trying to figure out how to respond to the accusation. Father took a harsh angry breath, "get out." His words laced with malice. Tarhos standing up bows his head and speaks loudly, "it is an honor to have graced your presence." Trying to be polite after all these are gods.

You look down at your precious mortal and chide, "Do not Tarhos, he does not desire your devotion, given him a fitting farewell." You hiss. "Of course my angel of death," he nods his head before turning to your father, "May your food be scarce, tainted, and never satisfying." He bowed once more following after you happily as you shrink your form into a more comfortable height to have him tuck you up under his arm. Being an Eldritch god is hard work. Why does it matter if you occasionally desire to surrender to a lesser being. Your father no doubt is frustrated with you. Maybe one day you could understand why he keeps you around as one of the "favorites" despite being so hard on you.

[yanteetle]

consider: yandere turtles with an s/o who's a famous singer/actress/youtuber/whatever

obsession would start before y/n even knows who the turtles are lol

OOoOKAYY SO. Basically the anonymous fan turned stalker and obsessive maniac. Personally one of my lesser favored tropes in yandere media, but lets see.

I see Mikey as someone who's more likely to fall into this trope, knowing how he idolizes Meatsweats despite being enemies. He'd drop at any opportunity to interact with his darling idol, and he'd fork out all his money in mrs porky coin for a chance to even LOOK at them in the flesh. Tropes like these make kidnapping much harder, but it also enhances their desperation for their darling. Mostly because the yandere themselves are forced to love them from afar. Remember those obsessive fans that harrass their favourite idols? Mikey takes this to a whole new level, especially because of his more anonymous prescence as a sewer-living turtle. His darling can never catch a break with him around.

Donnie, being the autistic mf he is, would probably accidentally get hyper-fixated on his darling's life, merch, relationships, and everything revolving them. He'd lay off trying to interact with them for some time, probably wanting to bide his time and ensure he makes every interaction he has with his idol go as well as humanly possible. Thus, he becomes a very devoted stalker towards them. And he gets so deep into his obsession, he starts to realize this isn't purely a hyperfixation; he's loving them from afar in the unhealthiest way possible. Once he's very sure he knows y/n inside out, he'll start interacting with his darling. He's basically 2012 Donnie (planning how to hang out with April) when it come to his darling.

Leo is more likely to obsess over a darling who's more obscure and less famous. Something he could consider 'his little secret', which will mostly soothe his possessive nature. He'd get irritated when he meets other fans, especially if they end up gushing about his darling in front of him. In his head, only he gets to gush about them like that. Not them! (may or may not end up trying to kill y/n's other fans if they seem to like you a little too much) He likes the idea of loving y/n being his 'little secret', and oftentimes lurks around them anonymously, only to 'accidentally' bump into them and slowly creep into their life and befriend his beloved little secret.

Raph? Oh man, have you seen how he's like with Ghostbear?? I don't even need to explain him too much, but let's say the way he idolizes y/n can get very.. out of hand. He believes that y/n could do no wrong, so even if they get cancelled for the worst of crimes/actions, he's out there defending their honor like it's what he was born to do. Even if y/n goes out of his way to treat him like shit, he'll still be there taking every insult and mean word. All while kicking his feet like a little schoolgirl and twirling his nonexistent hair. He's down bad, and it gets even worse than Ghostbear.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Eff Being Friends

Steve Rogers x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

? x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

Ex!Thor x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader "Ci”

Ex!Loki x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader "Ci”

Wordcount: 4191

Summary:

To say the relationship between Steve and I was complicated would be an understatement. But I’m not the one to blame. That honor goes to Captain Indecision, himself. So why would he ever think I would make things easy for him?

Warnings:

18+ Only MDNI, Angsty with some mild smut and surprise feels.

Notes:

Heavily inspired by “Fuck Being Friends” by Jessie Reyes. I have this need to fuck with Steve. Also there be a twist abound. Who could the mystery person be?

Banner by @cafekitsune Divider by @firefly-graphics

Your off and on relationship with one Steven Grant Rogers, is once again off. This hot and cold shit is for the birds. If it weren’t for his dick game being almost magical you would have written him off a long time ago. Well that and you might possibly be in love with the fucker too.

When he’s not self-conscious and feeding into his own paranoia, things are great. It’s when he lets his intrusive thoughts and the opinions of others guide him that things take a turn.

Like when he starts acting a fool now that Thor is on the compound for a visit with Loki. Both of whom are technically your exes but as you’re gods you don’t hold the same morality standards when it comes to multiple partners. You were actively hooking up with both of them at the same time, ages ago.

It may have even become a bit of a competition between the brothers at one point.

So why should you shy away from all the wonderful flirty banter and not so innocent exchanges being thrown your way. Steve needs a reminder that you’re not from this realm and he can’t toy with you as such. Just because you’ve put up with his bullshit thus far, does not mean you will continue too.

Being green with envy serves him right.

Tony has gotten into the habit of throwing a game night once a month for ‘morale’ or whatever. Honestly, you think it’s just an excuse to get everyone shit faced enough to reveal or do embarrassing things so that Jarvis can hoard it all to be used later. Whatever the reason, you are more than excited this months is happening while the Asgardians are here.

You’ve been having the best week with them. Reminiscing the good ol days and creating some hot and heavy new memories to add to the list.

“Watching you surrender to my magic. Wrapped tight in my shadows. Is a sight that will never cease to amaze me. Offering up your body, the perfect altar, for me to worship. To show my own devotion through your surrender. A gift I have never taken for granted my dear. Steven really is quite the fool.” Loki professed before rendering you brainless and cock drunk for hours.

Steve’s eyes have been attached to your frame all night. Begging for you to give him some attention. But you pay him no mind. You’re preoccupied being very flirty and touchy feely with everyone.

Tony has decided that tonight’s game is Truth or Dare. It seems the man of iron is also enjoying watching the gods get under Steve’s skin.

You take every dare, and they get raunchier by the ask. You give Nat, who is sat next to Captain Cranky, a sultry little lap dance that ends in a heated kiss. Only to be broken up by Steve’s quiet growl.

On your next turn your dared to make Thor get a boner without touching him. You saunter behind the loveseat he is perched on. Leaning in so that you can whisper in his ear. You regale him with all the dirty things you love that he does to you. The way his lightning makes you sing like no other. All stated low enough for only the gods and the super soldiers to hear. Your mission is a success of course. Thor’s unable to hide the ‘hammer’ tenting his slacks as he pulls you over the back of couch onto his lap and bites down on your throat making you giggle.  

The game continues with Clint having to admit that he most certainly has seen his teammates getting it on when he has been up in the vents. “Some things you can’t unsee unfortunately.” He shivers.

Sam, having confessed who he thinks has the best ass, turns to you. “Truth or Dare Ci?”

“Dare of course. Why change it up now.”

“I dare you to get Loki to genuinely smile.”

You look at him quizzically. “You think you’re so smart. Prepare to be knocked down a peg or three bird boy.”

Standing you walk over to Loki, who has been leaning against the wall, observing all night. With a cheeky smile you wave your fingers and cloak yourselves in darkness that's not only soundproof but is also time spelled as well.

You lower to your knees and snap Loki’s pants out of existence. The visual of you before him is enough to turn his cock hard as steel in front of your very eyes. You waste no time attaching your lips to the foreskin covered tip. Teasing the sensitive flesh with your tongue before sinking down to the hilt. You pull out all the stops. Sucking his cock until he comes down your throat with a roar. Savoring every drop as he fills your belly.

Removing the spell, it seems to the room as if only 1 minute has passed. It does not go unnoticed that Loki is relaxed while he continues to lean against the wall. Grinning like a loon.

This is when Steve notices your slightly swollen lips and quiet panting. Having been on the receiving end of that look many a time, he seethes. Cracking the glass of whiskey in his hand.

You give your turn to Loki so that you may catch your breath. It’s no surprise to anyone that he chooses Steve. “Truth or Dare Captain?”

“Truth. I have nothing to hide.” He challenges the God of Mischief.

“Alright.” He glances at you quickly. Catching you subtly lick your lips, most likely still tasting of him, grinning to yourself. “When was the last time you got your cock properly serviced and with who?”

Everyone assumes the answer will be you when you were still together a couple weeks ago.

With a cocky grin and sip of his drink he answers as he stares you down. “Yesterday after training with Sharon. She caught me on my way to change in my room and said I looked tense and needed a release. I took her up on her offer. Plus she gives decent head.”

He must have thought that you were going to be upset that he let poor lovesick Sharon suck his dick instead of getting the best head of his life from you. You couldn’t care less actually.

Not when you were getting dicked down in your own post training bath with Thor. It really is a great way to help stretch out and relax your muscles.

“Good for you Steven. You always are so tense after a rough training session. I know I was. Thor helped sort me out though.” You sweetly state.

“Are you serious right now? You two were practically on the verge of killing each other in the training room.”

“Great foreplay. Don’t tell me you never partook in post battle coitus with her. She is ravenous after any kind of rough play.” Thor, the sweet himbo that he is, adds in.

“Fuck this. I’m going to bed.”

“Should I call Sharon to come lick your wounds?”

“Fuck you Ci”

“Sorry not tonight, Cap.”

In the state-of-the-art training room only Stark money could provide. Left to your own devices. You and Bucky are engaged in an intense sparring session.

Each move is calculated, precise, and born from years of relentless training. Bucky, a seasoned veteran, exudes an aura of quiet confidence and strength. While you, a woman of equal skill and determination, possess an uncanny ability to anticipate his every move.

As you grappled along the training matts, your bodies intertwined in a dance of submission and evasion. Knives glinted in the dim light, their edges a constant threat that kept you both on high alert.

On an instinct, you feigned a strike. Your body language, a masterpiece of your deception. In that split second, you seized the opportunity to swiftly maneuver behind the super soldier and lock him in a chokehold.

Triumph flashed in your eyes as you tightened your grip around his throat. Victory soon at hand.

But Bucky was not a man to be outdone. With a lightning-fast reversal, he spun on his heel, catching you off guard. His powerful muscles and Vibranium arm strained as he flipped you over, pinning you to the ground. A wry smile played on his lips as he secured his victory.

Though the training session had ended, the unspoken tension between the two of you lingered in the air.

“Still too cocky for your own good, Doll.”

“Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”

“You ever gonna stop letting me best you?”

“And miss gazing into those icy blues of yours. I don’t think so. I’ve been a goner for them since the first time you laid eyes on me.”

The first time you met James Barnes was not in Germany like every likes to think. In fact, you had a prior and very intimate relationship with the Winter Soldier. You nursed him back to health long ago when he was still under Hydras thumb. He had wound up collapsed at your doorstep in the middle of nowhere when a mission went wrong and his handler died.

That was the first time he was able to begin remembering. You spent countless nights in front of the fire. Keeping each other warm as you explored these new feelings together. Keeping your skills sharp by engaging in sparring sessions that always ended up pressed flesh to flesh and covered in sweat. Helping him hold on to whatever memories would pop up. It was both sweet and dangerous.

When Hydra tripped your alarms, he begged you to just let him be retrieved. He couldn’t bare knowing any harm came to you because of him. So you let him go with a sweet kiss. But not before placing mark on his ribs that only other gods and those spelled to do so can see.

“You never told him did you?” You inquire.

“Neither did you.”

“I did it for your protection. You were on the run and I didn’t want anything to happen to you. It’s not my fault he went on the run for you. Who do you think helped him break everyone out and gave Shuri the extra juice to reverse those nasty words in your head.”

“I can’t keep watching him do this to you Ci. I’ve tried talking to him but he cant get it through his stubborn skull how good he has had it. I would give up my humanity to have you back again. I would never take you for granted. Hell, I’d happily let you keep him as a lover in our life if that’s what you so choose. I wouldn’t care who I had to share you with. Just as long as I had you.”

“James.” You whisper. “Take your shirt off.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it please.”

As he does, the rest of the team file in along with Thor and Loki to run some training exercises of their own.

“Buck why do ya got your shirt off already pal?” Steve questions.

“I asked him to.” You deadpan.

“Why the hell would you do that for Ci? Don’t you have Thor and Loki to play with. Bucky is off limits.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you wrong Steven.”

Bucky looks at you with pleading eyes. Unfortunately you just don’t care to keep this secret anymore.

“James, lift your left arm and turn your side towards our team please.”

“Oh! Your finally going to do it. I was wondering how long, if ever, you were going to let them in on it.” Loki teases.

“On what?” Steve grits out.

“On this.” With a wave of your hand a symbol appears on Bucky's ribs. Glowing a soft golden light that matches your eyes. A chalice overflowing with wine.

“He already is mine. He has been for a quite some time. And will remain that way until he draws his last breath. Which wont be for a very long time as his soul is tied to mine.”

Bucky looks at you with confusion in his eyes. “You gave me your soul bond? Even though I was under Hydras control.”

“I did. It was what gave you the extra strength to endure and survive. I knew you would make it back to me one day. As an immortal I have all the time in the world to wait.”

“But you were with me when I brought him back here.” Steve blurts out.

“Well aren’t you the observant one Stevie. It changes nothing. If he had come to me that day and declared he wanted his place by side, he’d of had it in heartbeat. After a discussion between all of us of course. I’m not actually heartless. I just come off that way.”

“What the fuck Ci?! My best friend! You couldn’t tell me you had been with my best friend when he was brainwashed.”

“Watch your tongue, Rogers. You have no room to speak upon what I did or did not disclose to you. I wasn’t the one playing games with the others heart and emotions now was I.” You seethe.

“I asked her not to.” Bucky imparts. “I was free of Hydra, and we were rebuilding our friendship and I didn’t want to mess it up by intruding on what you had. I was just happy to be near her again and that she had someone I trusted by her side. But man was I wrong. What the hell happened to you Steve? Little Stevie from Brooklyn would have never treated a dame, let alone a goddess, the way you have Ci.”

“Don’t try and turn the blame on me Buck. You could have told me you’d been with her. We shared girls before back when I couldn’t get any on my own. What was so different with her?”

The team looks at each other after that comment with curious brows.

“Because she means more to me than just sex and that is what you would have reduced it to. I told myself, I would either get to have her fully, out in the open or not at all. Keeping my love tucked in the shadows.”

“So you’re the only one who can love her?” Steve shouts.

You clear my throat. “Ahem. You gave up that right when you kicked me to the curb yet again two weeks ago.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just get all lost in my head thinking about starting a family and how would that even be possible with a goddess if I couldn’t even get my dance with Peggy. Then I get angry and need space so I just end it so I can really think things through. I always come back though, Doll. Always.”

“Wooow.” Tony says with a clap. “Capsicle really stuck his foot in it this time.”

“So, your telling me, that instead of just having a conversation about what’s prattling around in that stubborn ass head of yours you thought it prudent to just break up with me then turn around and ask for me to take you back time and time again?” Your eyes alight with golden fire as your temperature raises.

“Avengers, I’d advise you to get behind me and Thor for your safety. I’ve only ever seen her this angry a handful of times and it usually does not end well.” Loki nonchalantly states.

“Yes. No. I-I don’t know. I was confused okay!” He shouts back. “Needed to work some shit out.”

“And that required you to be between Sharon's thighs and any attractive woman who gave you the time of day?”

“Well no, not exactly. That just helped me shut my brain off. But it never felt as good as being inside you.”

“Well, congrats to me for having such good pussy. Why is that though? Does my pussy beat better than my heart does? Boy, please, you aren’t blind. Your too smart for that lie.”

“I’m an idiot when it comes to women and love in general okay. Give me a fight and I know exactly what to do. But love? I’m clueless.”

“Don’t expect pity from me for you playing with my heart. I gave you more than enough room to grow and explore and figure things out as they came. It’s not my fault you chose to throw those things in my face. It is my fault for taking you back so many times though. Especially after Bucky arrived. But he wanted to stay loyal to you. His oldest pal. So I catered to his wishes. Even if it ended up to my detriment.”

“Seemed to be doing just fine to me while you were hooking up with Loki and Thor.”

“My Godly exes. Who I was in a relationship with a millennia ago in another realm. Men who I trust enough with my body to understand that carnal pleasure is all I am able to afford them at this time?”

“Makes no difference to me. Not when you were parading it around. I now can only imagine how it made Buck feel.”

“Didn’t bother me. I know all about how their relationships worked. Gods are different. She’s not in love with them like that. Not anymore at least. They were no threat to me. Plus I was still staying in the shadows.”

“Also.” Thor interrupts. “That lovely little soul bound symbol along Barnes’ ribs can only be seen by other Gods and anyone the bond holder deems fit to see it. So we already knew where at least half of her heart was held. Plus she is such a great lover. I never pass up the chance for such pleasure when I am afforded it.”

“Aye Aye” Loki agrees.

Steve throws his hands up and storms off. Most likely to go ruin a punching bag or five.

Bucky takes the opportunity to embrace you in front of everyone. At his acceptance of your claim, gold and black lines appear on your left shoulder. Matching the pattern of his Vibranium arm.

“Seems the bond has formerly been reciprocated. Welcome to Immortality White Wolf.”

“What are we going to do about Steve?”

“Let him go pout or fuck or whatever he needs to do. When he’s calmed down, we’ll have a conversation and figure out if he deserves a place by our side. You do have a very very long life ahead of you now.”

“Oh he has a looong way to go before I’m okay with letting him get close to you like that again. I think you gave him far too many chances.”

“I gave you a chance from the start didn’t I. Wasn’t planning to fall so quickly or for you to have such an impact on me but sometimes the fates like to play games.”

“Doesn’t help when you spell their lovers for making a pass at you.” Loki discloses.

“Excuse me, but I was spelled for my protection. If they had tried to keep their hands to themselves nothing would have happened to them.” You defend. “And If I remember correctly, you benefitted that night from the spell as well. Bedding down 3 fates at once is quite a feat. You’re welcome.”

Loki grins that devilish smile. “I’d be happy to show you my gratitude once more.”

After family dinner later that night…

“Are you serious Steve? You can’t possibly be serious right now. Who the fuck gave you the right to even speak with such vitriol on your tongue about him? He may care about maintaining his salvaged reputation but honey I am a whole mess of I don’t give a fuck. There is nothing you can do or say to me that I haven’t already done to myself. So come on. Try me. I love stupid games. I always come up with the best prizes.”

“Doll, you don’t need to do this. I’m okay. Steve's just hurting.”

“Like hell you are James. I know that look in your eyes and I’m not okay with it. Everything inside of me wants to make a scene right now. To bring America’s Golden Boy to his knees. But I know you don’t want that. So, this is the best solution.”

“Oh, wow. You need the goddess to fight your battles for you now Buck. Just look at you pussy whipped already. I must say I much preferred when I didn’t know you had had my woman before me.” The angry blonde spouts off.

That was it. That what the last nail in his soon to be coffin. Your shoulders relaxed, as a calmness took over. You turned to smile sweetly at the group of hero’s lounging around you in the common room. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You rise to your feet. Bucky reaches out with his metal arm, giving your hand a squeeze and looking into your almost vacant eyes. “Doll?”

You just squeeze his hand back before releasing it and starting to walk away. You could hear Steve’s teeth clenching as he bites down on his jaw. A quiet had settled within the room.

“Sure can dish it out. Too bad you can’t ta-“

That was all he was able to make out before your hand tightened around his windpipe. No one moved to help the hero.

“What was that? We’re you going to imply that I couldn’t take it. Tsk tsk tsk.” You make sure to dig your nails in, allowing little rivulets of crimson to take the course of gravity and stain is alabaster skin.

His eyes begin frantically searching the faces of his friends around him. Surely someone would come to his aid. He was the leader of the team wasn’t he.

“Oh, they won’t help you my dear. As you know I’m not exactly mortal. And therefore, even with all their nifty enhancements. They are no match for me. Expect Wanda. Although I really don’t want to know the truth to that. I very much like the Scarlet Witch.”

You allow him to take a quick breath and he squeaks out. “Thor. Loki.”

“My demi god exes?” You start to laugh. “You think the can or will save you?”

He nods.

“Oh you poor unfortunate soul. That’s not going to happen. You see, I can control the elements and well all that lovely Thunder can be rendered useless with a snap of my fingers. I’m also the mother of magic. Only one close to me is Freya. Loki’s magic technically stems from me.”

You turn to the blonde Adonis and dark prince with a smile. “I wouldn’t do anything to you without just cause. You know that.” You send them a wink and they beam a smile your way.

“Doll, he’s starting to turn red.” Bucky states.

“Oops.” You loosen the pressure on his windpipe but keep your hand firmly in place around his thick and bleeding neck.

“I think it’s due time for you to retire to your wing for the night Captain. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you that can’t be reversed.”

You take a step back, releasing him. Watching as he clutches his neck. Eyes brimming with hurt and anger.

You lean forward and run your tongue along an errant trail of his life force. Making sure he watches as you trace it along your lips, before pulling it into your mouth and swallowing. With the snap of your crimson covered fingers all traces of blood disappear.

“Now run along. And remember,” You step forward so that you may whisper in his ear. “This was but a warning. It would more than please me for you to fuck around and find out what I would do if you slight what is mine again.” You place a kiss to his cheek and return to your White Wolf.

Everyone watches on as he huffs and puffs. Stomping towards the elevators.

Everyone except for Bucky. He only has eyes for you.

He pulls you down to straddle his lap. You can feel exactly what that little display of your power used against his best friend did to him pushing against his zipper. His flesh hand grips your hip tightly as his metal thumb runs along your bottom lip. “Say goodnight to our friends, Doll.”

“Why? Steve’s gone. We can enjoy the rest of our evening in peace now.”

“Say goodnight, георгин. Unless you want our friends to see you get fucked stupid.”

You bite your lip and maintain eye contact with his steel greys. “Goodnight, Earth’s mightiest.”

He grips your thighs tight and rises from his seat. Heading for the elevators. “Tony, up the sound proofing for our floor. Oh and can you funnel the audio to my Asshole best friends room as well.”

“Damn that’s pouring lemon and salt into the wound.” Clint quips.

Tony messes with a screen on his watch for a moment. “Done and done terminator. Try not to break too much furniture this time please. I’m gonna have to start a tab soon with you two.”

Before the elevator doors can fully close you shout out. “What’s the fun in that!”

[wispmotherr]

Vessel/II as Achilles/Patroclus? My wrath at your loss will etch both of our names indelibly into history? In turning divine we tangle endlessly?? Is this anything?

OH ITS SOMETHING ANON. (this is likely not what you were hoping for probably but im just do some word vom because i shit you not i have a weird fantasy au wip that run really close to this idea/concept so now you just get whatever is going on down there sorry sorry sorry) --- In the space left by the absence of name and station, a single vestige of the life torn down by an angry, dying god remains in the bond between Vessel and Two. The shadow of who Vessel might have been Before only exists where Two is; where his unflinching loyalty to the man hints at what might have once been, what might still come back to them. Two offered his devotion to Vessel long ago, long before their journey began, long before the curse and the Sea and her; before he could have even possibly understood what he gave and the depth and solemnity of his promise yet he gave it all the same and never once faltered. Because to his mind there was no other path to follow, no other fate he would rather entwine himself into than to follow where Vessel would lead: to be his hound and his hawk, his guardian and companion. In Vessel he saw all that was absent in himself; softness and kindness and gentleness and he longed to preserve those things, to see them take root in Vessel and bloom; would have offered his devotion again and again, would live a hundred, a thousand lives if it meant Vessel remained. Vessel knows he doesn't deserve this devotion. He knows, viscerally, that he is unworthy of the other man. Two is steadfast and honorable and strong and beautiful and would lay down his life for Vessel and that fact alone destroys and rebuilds the man every time he is reminded of it. To know that Two would hand his own blade to Vessel, would expose his neck, would show him where to press the sharp edge to let him spill crimson like too much wine, like roses and rubies and ink that's yet to dry if it meant keeping Vessel safe, keeping him alive, giving him whatever chance he needed to break his curse is a power Vessel cannot bear to hold. And yet Two presses it into his hands with every lingering glance, every gentle, idle touch, and stolen, fervent kiss. So what else can he do but match this fidelity, this devotion and loyalty that runs deeper than he can explain, that means more to him than his own life? Vessel would drink the Sea and set the sky alight for Two, would defy an angry, dying god and give all of himself, if he had to. He would do whatever it took to earn him.

[emkini]

heyy I read towards the sun the other day bc I saw you mention it and it fucked. so ty!!!! if you feel like it, do you have other atla recs? 👀

Ohohoh do I

Notes:

I tend to be primarily a zuko-centric gen fic enjoyer in the atla fandom so that's what most of these are gonna be!

Pretty much every author on this list has a bunch of stellar works and I'd recommend checking out all of their ao3 profiles, but these are just some of my personal favorites!

I've been having a Rough Time™ lately, so most of my faves fall on the soft and squishy side– if you're looking for heavy angst I do not have much of it 😔

-----------

Salvage (complete) by @muffinlance is by the same author as Towards The Sun and a fandom classic at this point; I cannot recommend it enough. Summary: Mid-Season-One Zuko is held for ransom by Chief Hakoda. Ozai's replies to the Water Tribe's demands are A+ Parenting. Hakoda is… deeply concerned, for this son that isn't his, and who might be safer among enemies than with his own father.

The Fire Nation Yacht Club series (reads as complete) by @sword-and-stars gives me all the emotions. Summary: Sokka knows three (3) things: 1. The caldera is on fire. 2. Ozai’s really, really dead (and so is his daughter). 3. The only one having a worse day is probably Zuko. / Everyone has their breaking point. This is what happens after you’ve broken. In which healing is a process and also it kind of sucks.

For Hearth and Home (complete) is another classic fic by the same author (honestly just check out all of their work, it's all stellar) that I absolutely adore. Summary: There’s a child underneath Fire Lord Zuko’s desk. He doesn’t realize this until he sits down and tiny hands wrap themselves around his ankles, and Fire Lord Zuko definitely does not shriek and backpedal away at the unexpected touch. He definitely does do that but Gou, the single guard he’s agreed to let shadow him, is kind enough not to mention it.

Mountains and Badgermolehills (complete) by Glass_Onion is an incredibly fun and well-written romp of a read. Summary: After the Blue Spirit frees the Avatar from the Pohuai Stronghold, Admiral Zhao captures Prince Zuko under suspicion of treason. Isolated from his Uncle and his crew, Zuko has only one ally: the chatty prisoner one cell over.

The Art of Burning (incomplete, ongoing) by @hella1975 is superb- lots of angst, lots of emotions, and lots of memes. Summary (excerpt): In a warring land, the Water Tribe forgave the enemy in an act of defiance. For this, he was torn from them, and this time, his wounds won't heal so easily.

Embers (complete) by Vathara is another fandom classic– one I have not yet been able to finish because dear god is it long. like holy shit. Very dense and plot-heavy and an incredible read if you're a lover of worldbuilding and fantasy politics. Summary: Dragon's fire is not so easily extinguished; when Zuko rediscovers a lost firebending technique, shifting flames can shift the world...

where the stars do not take sides (complete) by WitchofEndor is a very sweet and interesting canon divergence fic, and of course as always I am a SUCKER for the fire siblings being close. Such a sucker. Summary: When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them. Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.

Honor & Vengeance on the High Seas (complete) by @paramouradrift is a very fun read– I haven't finished it yet but if you love boats, pirate Zuko, and angry teenagers being gay and doing crime, I guarantee you'll have a good time. Summary: Zuko was banished, but instead of devoting his life to finding the Avatar to regain his honor he gave in to his spite and became a pirate against Ozai.

And the world, still so wild, called to me (I was lost, I’d been kept on my knees) (complete) by delightfullydiscordant– An Aang-centric fic that hurts my HEART Summary (excerpt): A study in grief and loss, in anger and hate.

a viper-lizard's tales (incomplete, ongoing) by Yumi_Take is really sweet and very fun; it has a simple but unique and interesting prose style that I really like. Summary: The desert sun burns and Zuko probably shouldn't touch the moving cloth, but he does anyway.

[tinyozlion]

“True Friends” - Understanding Mr. Treize and the Contradictions of OZ

“Treize himself has a tremendous disdain for any tactic that allows for excess casualties. Ignoble behavior on the battlefield sullies any victory, and civilian death makes a mockery of what a True Soldier fights and dies for. For Treize, there is nothing more hateful than removing the human component from battle, or the cowardly avoidance of responsibility for human death.”

Gosh! What a great quote! I wonder who said that? Oh right, that was me! I did. I wrote that in the entry about “True Soldiers: Aesthetics, Honor, and Chivalry”.   

Let’s examine that a little more, shall we? 

“His Excellency doesn’t want battles that involve civilians.”

Everyone who knows Treize best, his “True Friends”, who grew up with him, who were trained by him, who understand him, all seem to agree: His Excellency wouldn’t stand for needless casualties. OZ may be ruthlessly pragmatic and underhanded, but that couldn’t be Treize’s fault– no, it’s always Lady Une! It’s his fanatically devoted colonel who always chooses the path of greatest violence, heedless of any collateral damage– she’s the one to blame! Treize would never give an order that risked civilian lives.

…Right?

…Right?

Surely he would stop her, admonish her, make her face serious consequences for the atrocities she was willing to commit. He’d leave no room for doubt that she had failed him and disappointed him.

...Right?

Yeah, that’s right, a firm slap on the wrist oughta do it. Tell her to try a little harder next time to understand the value of human life. Just do better! It’s alright to use mobile suits to attack a school, but we’re going to put a stop to it because I’ve changed my mind about killing a teenage girl, as a personal favor to a friend. 

–Friends of His Excellency would certainly like to believe that he would never knowingly sacrifice civilians, but he sure doesn’t seem to mind benefiting from someone else doing it for him.

How well do Treize’s friends really understand him, when they seem unaware of how wide a margin of error he finds acceptable in pursuing his ideals? 

Well, ideals are fine and all, but war is war, and some amount of pragmatism is necessary to stay on top. Treize isn’t the one calling all the shots (yet), and the organization he reports to expects results. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, right? That’s why it pays to have a Chief Omelet Maker working for you, so she can break all the eggs, and murder school children, and threaten nuclear assault, and you can come away still smelling like roses. 

…But what sort of effect does that have on her? 

It’s better for a ruler to be feared than loved; being hated is the perfect motivation to stay strong; fighting will never disappear from the world, so the strong should rule it for the sake of damage control; God was too lenient when he gave mankind the free will to rebel; people find comfort in being controlled by the powerful. 

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals. 

So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals unflinchingly, no matter how much blood ends up on her hands. Better her hands than His. OZ has to be the strongest. OZ has to win. OZ must be victorious at any cost. Damn the Colonies, damn the politician’s daughter who made herself a liability, damn the wounded soldiers left behind at New Edwards Base– she’s going to make OZ so absolutely unfuckwithable that their enemies shit themselves at the mention of its name, and she’ll do it herself if no one else will. Because THAT is what His Excellency wants. She understands him. 

...So why does he keep telling her– ever so gently, ever so gracefully, that she’s wrong? If making sure the strongest rule and the weak obey isn’t what pleases him, then what will? 

Killing is simple– anyone is capable of killing anyone, so you mustn't abuse that capability. The Earth is fragile and infinitely beautiful. Human life is fragile and infinitely beautiful. One must always take responsibility for the fates of those who fight for you, and honor the sacrifice of those who die. Tragedy in war is inevitable. 

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals. 

So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals with grace and empathy, to bring an end to needless bloodshed. The world needs a strong, compassionate leader, who is capable of loving humanity and guiding them to a peaceful future, where loss and war are tragedies of the past. Order and peace can be maintained without sacrifice, by using technical advancements to replace soldiers on the battlefield and keep them out of harm’s way. That is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.

...So why does he tell her– so sadly, plaintively, that she is wrong? That he is not who she thinks he is, that the future she has so carefully laid out for him is a fantasy of her own making? Why does he plead with her to come back to him, as the person he once knew so fondly?

Civility and honorable conduct on the battlefield is worth more than victory. To fight for something one believes in with perfect clarity is the purest endeavor of mankind. The tragedy of loss is what gives a battle meaning. Honoring the sacrifice of those who have died for your cause means being willing to die for it yourself. To fight, to lose, to die for a noble cause is to move the hearts of all humanity, to touch immortality. 

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals. 

And so she does– she sacrifices herself to save the Gundam pilots and turn the tides in outer space, rejecting Romefeller, rejecting the Mobile Dolls. At last, she understands him. 

…But didn’t she always?

Except perhaps in the case of using Mobile Dolls to replace soldiers (an idea that was easily manipulated by its inventors to fit into her worldview at the time), her understanding of Treize’s ideals wasn’t ever wrong, just fragmented. She focused on a single facet at a time, each time excluding the contradictions of the other sides– light bouncing off a solid plane without revealing the rest of the prism’s convoluted geometry. 

She isn’t mistakenly interpreting him– HE is a mess, and she is representing him accurately, one dimension at a time. 

What is more significant is that he finally understands this about her.

Treize is mortified to realize what sort of effect he has been having on someone he cares about, during a period where he is questioning the validity of his own beliefs and significance. He may mistakenly believe that he is responsible for having fragmented Lady Une’s personality– which is not how the condition she has operates– but he is not mistaken in taking responsibility for her distress, and the danger he has put her in.

Losing her, or believing that he has lost her, is devastating. Rather than moving him to action, it moves him to inaction; aware that he has come to represent ideals that are too easily manipulated by people who he fundamentally disagrees with, that the idea of him is too powerful to be used responsibly by the current rulers, he withdraws. 

Treize cannot switch off the magnetic field of his charisma or its continuous pull on the soldiers who take inspiration from him, but he refuses to willingly lend himself to a cause that he finds irresponsible. In fact, he refuses to join any cause until one presents itself that he can have complete faith in– and complete control over. 

The people whom Treize considers his True Friends are the ones who “understand” him– this includes his enemies, the ones who oppose him but nevertheless espouse values that he can respect. In fact, ANY strongly held ideal, even ones in opposition to him, and ANY display of courage, is more admirable in Treize’s estimation than lip service to his own ideals or those of his organization. The “fighting spirit” that is of paramount value in his worldview is not limited to combatants– he expresses immense respect for Relena Peacecraft, more so even than his respect for the Gundam pilots, who he comes to idolize. What matters is the strength of conviction. What matters is courage.

He respects and admires Lady Une, even when her errors in judgment have megaton consequences, because she is so singularly and ferociously dedicated to her goals. He tolerates the violence and inhumane actions of the Specials and OZ soldiers because they are fanatically ambitious and ready to die for their ideals. As long as the ultraviolence isn’t cowardly or self-serving, then Treize can and will overlook the body count– noble sacrifices, all. He’ll memorize their names later on today.

Treize’s ideals are flawed and contradictory. There is a tipping point in the series where he gains enough self-awareness to recognize this fact. This does not stop him from believing in his ideals– he can’t simply turn away completely from what he values and loves about humanity and its “fighting spirit”– but it does allow him to appreciate those who see his hypocrisy for what it is, and who despise him for it. 

“You’re only capable of looking down on others; you’re only fighting to satisfy your ego. How many people have died because of you?”

The fact that Treize has memorized the names of all 99 thousand people who have died for him does not do anything to improve Wufei’s opinion. For Treize, that number is a sacred personal burden; to Wufei, it is evidence of offensive, monstrous egotism. 

Wufei, of all the Gundam pilots, is best acquainted with how wide the margin of error is in Treize’s ideal of chivalry. Nataku herself, the namesake for Wufei’s gundam, fell neatly into that margin and died in it. Long before they met and dueled, Wufei knew of Treize as the OZ official jointly responsible for an attack on his Colony. While General Septem of the Alliance (then in control) would have murdered everyone on the Colony indiscriminately with biological weapons, Treize’s solution was more sporting: OZ sent in Mobile Suit troops to directly eliminate the rebel element, who were armed with nothing but a single decrepit prototype Leo and an unfinished Gundam with no ammo-- a much more chivalrous way of sterilizing a Colony, allowing the largely unarmed group of dissidents to die fighting rather than be killed with the push of a button.

Would the deaths of the Long Clan have been meaningful sacrifices in Treize’s eyes? Was exterminating civilians for the sake of convenience a noble cause to fight for?

One could argue that the existence of the then-in-development Gundam was enough of a threat to justify an attack, but at the time the idea of gundanium mobile suits was no more than a rumor. Could Treize, back on Earth, have reasonably predicted its invention? 

Not if we are to believe his own words, which clearly indicate that the Gundam’s existence was unknown to him until reported after the attack.  

For those who fall outside of his cult of personality it is easier to see past the charisma to the reality: no matter what his soldiers think of him, Treize is not a god. He is only a man, and no one person has the right to decree some deaths necessary to the future. 

–And Treize, for his part, would agree. He is a single individual, whose ideals people put too much faith in without fully realizing the essence of what they mean. But the belief people place in him gives Treize a level of power that must be acknowledged and used responsibly, and to the best of his ability, he tries to use it for the good of Earth and humankind. 

As a symbol, he is far more influential than he could ever be as a man, and his awareness of that fact leads him to choose the path of martyrdom, knowing that his very existence is a threat to peace. The only way he can neutralize his own power as a military icon is to join the sacrifices to the cause. And what more iconic way to do that than with a duel?

Treize may have resigned himself to being an anachronism and a dreamer, but if he is going to die for the sake of the future, he will at least go out according to his ideals: gracefully, nobly, at the hands of an enemy he respects. 

For personal and aesthetic reasons, Milliardo is Treize’s hopeful first choice as a dueling partner, but Milliardo had his own role to play in their final performance, which prevented him from participating in a duel for their mutual actualization. So Wufei is the right choice; Wufei both understands him and has a justified reason to want him dead. Besides, it’s an elegant, symmetrical solution– the continuation of a duel that he predicted they would be destined to finish in mobile suits.

--And what effect does that have on Wufei? Perhaps expectedly, a fracturing one. 

It shouldn’t be surprising that Treize’s ideals resonate so powerfully with someone who was raised in a warrior culture, especially someone who only knows how to express his beliefs and sense his self worth through combat.

Wufei, too, lives with contradictions that he cannot fully unify. 

Treize Khushrenada cannot live in the world he wishes to see realized. 

 If he were to win the war against White Fang, the cycle of oppression and resentment would continue. Even if he were to immediately relinquish his power to Relena and demilitarize the Earth Sphere, the end result would lead to more conflict; his refusal to take control of the Colonies would be seen as capitulation, and a betrayal of those who fought for him against the threat of annihilation from space. Even the considerable power of his charisma would evaporate overnight if he were to appear to be turning his back on the soldiers whose fanatic loyalty had allowed the unified mobilization of Earth’s military forces under his banner. But, as a general leading from the front lines in a noble defense of Earth, dying gloriously in battle for the sake of peace lends all that charisma to the future he fought for. 

--The message left to the surviving soldiers is not: “His Excellency led us into battle and then abandoned us when he won”, but instead: “this is the peace His Excellency died protecting.” 

Indeed, after his death, Treize’s name IS used in an attempt to lend legitimacy to the argument that soldiers have been devalued in a time of peace, and that continuous war to determine the strongest victor to lead humanity is his true legacy. But it doesn’t stick– the would-be dictator who tries to use Treize’s name in service of his military takeover is killed by a nameless soldier, whose change of heart is motivated by the memory of what Treize actually died for. 

--It is not a victor who moved the hearts of the people, but a glorious loser.

[box-architecture]

11.

His Majesty had called him to the throne room that evening, drawing the curtains for a more private conversation. It had been a talk Punz had been dreading the entire day, ever since they had locked eyes with him over the breakfast table that very morning. His Majesty had chosen the seat on the left side instead of one on the right. Unusual, but Punz had thought nothing of it at the time, too excited to have the rare chance to see His Majesty's unobstructed face all morning, rather than just his hair (and on particularly blessed days, the slope of his neck.)

They'd been too caught up in their foolish crush to realize how obvious they had become, until suddenly his eyes had flicked towards them, piercing through the dream and freezing them in place

Punz had quickly stifled their fantasies, but His Majesty's eyes had widened minutely, and they knew he had read the them in their entirety.

(Hunger. Lust. Devotion. Worship. Love.)

They marched dutifully to towards their fate, resigned. There was no law against staring at the King. His Majesty was a good and honorable man who had forbidden senseless shit like that, and who's tyranny was limited to nobles trying to line their pockets rather nurture their Kingdom. Punz would not be executed for a faux pas.

They would, however, likely be transferred from their position as part of His Majesty's personal guard for making his King uncomfortable. No longer would Punz get to witness their lord soft and sleepy in the mornings, or coming out of a bath with wet hair and a relaxed smile. His Majesty stayed up late most days, working tirelessly in the study. Most of the personal guard elected to stay in the hall during these times, but Punz had always made sure to stand vigilant in the corner of the room, watching his back and longing to wrap the man up in a quilt and take him to bed. Kiss his forehead, brush his hair out of his face, even, before doing his duty and sinking to his knees-

It was agony, the idea that they would lose him, but they were willing to beg forgiveness, to never think another lustful thought in his presence, if only he would allow them to stay by his side.

"Punz." Their Lord greeted them quietly. The servants had already lit the lanterns for the evening, giving him a softer glow that felt heavenly to witness.

"You're Majesty." Punz bowed their head. They tried to keep their face relaxed, neutral, but they suddenly felt flush. He had said their name, and oh, how good it sounded, held in his mouth.

Their palms began to sweat as his Lord met their gaze once again, knowingly, and it was clear that Punz had failed at neutrality.

"You can speak freely here." Dream inclined his head at the curtains surrounding the throne. "You are not on trial, and I ask only for your honesty, as promised to me when you swore your oaths."

Punz's gut clenched. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"It's Dream." He spoke softly. "As long as we are free to speak, it's Dream to you."

All breath left them. The honor, the privilege-

"Dream." They dropped to their knees, desperation their ugliest virtue. "I'm sorry, it was never my intention to make you uncomfortable, my lord. I had only- I had just-"

They struggled with their words. They couldn't say I hadn't meant to stare, to lie when they had promised Dream the truth would surely be more sinful than the act itself. But they needed his forgiveness.

"I will never look again if you don't wish it." Punz swore, turning their gaze to the ground. "It was unacceptable of me to think of you in such a way, and if you let me stay I swear I will never-"

They startled as fingers touched their chin. Dream knelt before them, lifting their head up to meet his beautiful eyes once more.

"In what way," Dream murmured. "Were you thinking of me?"

[sorenblr]

Prepare those calzones rojos and don't choke til you swallow that twelfth grape.

Any "best of '23" lists you wanna expose to this here tumblr audience?

I've waited until the very end to answer this, since my yearly vacation lines up with the last week of December, allowing maximum time to devote to "gaming like a monster". I still didn't play shit for new games this year, but I am confident that every title on this list makes Baldur's Gate 3 and Tears of the Kingdom look like a bunch of muddy, wet shit:

Heart of the Killer

The 8th and penultimate episode in thecatamites' Anthology of the Killer series, which in aggregate is the most compelling project to come out of the medium in recent memory. Follow zinester and aspiring murder victim BB as she navigates a strange world of maniac killers and maniac killer paraphernalia. Combines the warm trappings of pulp horror and associated genre schlock with the profound literary sense and humor of the author. Boasts the rare perfect art design.

This one features 'liminal spaces' and is about the regulation and dictation of desire. Oh shit!

Varney Lake

Another 'pixel-pulp' title by the Argentine LCB Studio, this time a King or Bradbury-esque portrait of mournful childhood nostalgia set in the summer of 1954. Three friends find a dracula in the woods and he turns out to be basically just a stand-up kind of guy. Sincere, intelligent writing and gorgeous CGA-inspired art that transcends mere imitation of that style.

Pseudo-sequel to the fantastic Mothmen 1966 and best enjoyed in sequence with that game.

Stomp Plonk

It's just good old-fashioned fun to stomp and plonk around in Marek Kapolka's wordless fantasy world. The character designs and animation here bring me a lot of joy. Sometimes a game just needs to be a collection of little cretins.

Pseudoregalia

Sharply designed 3D metroidvania based on an earlier game jam project. Strangely melancholic tone and a nice, expressive moveset. One of the more engaging translations of the genre to 3D.

You can tell the developer didn't expect so many eyes on this because the protagonist has her big goat ass hanging all the way out and they had to include a toggle for pants in the options menu.

Honorable Mentions:

Shards of God: point-and-click agatha christie murder mystery set on a dune-esque desert planet. good

Orbo's Odyssey: kinetic 3d platformer. movement funny... but good?? slay 4 golden draculas

Kowloon's Curse: Lost Report: any game with an explorable desktop w/ fake sites and shit is good

Tommy Gun Witches: if you haven't seen the main promo screen for this game, there's still time for you to correct that

DOCTRINESPACE: cool twine game about a future where crypto bullshit is king, and the doctrines are hotter than ever

Kane & Lynch 2: Dog Days: mostly about killing chinese police officers and any civilians foolish enough to enter your line of sight. kane and lynch are craaaaazy!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2023 games that I would like to have played but couldn't squeeze in: Blasphemous 2, Crypt Underworld, Bahnsen Knights, Knuckle Sandwich, 24 Killers etc.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 1 - Side A

Propaganda below ⬇️

Enrico propaganda

He grew up in the church and became a priest. so devoted to his faith he ended the UNIVERSE to achieve the perfect world aka heaven

Hes Catholic but also so gay for this one vampire that he ended the world for him

He is LITERALLY one big metaphor for the catholic church as a villain. He’s a guy who believes himself to be a martyr on a fundamentally altruistic quest that will better humanity and the world, but in truth hes a destructive force blind to his faults and hypocritical of the atrocities he commits. Even his altruisim is just a lie (that he does believe himself though) because it all just stems from a deep rooted desire he has to alliviate the guilt he feels. Also hes obsessed with ”the world to come” to the point that hes downright nihilistic towards the current world he actually lives in, as well as the other people in it. which i mean. lol. Ultimately hes an insane delusional queen and he should win this because he is just That catholic. also he is a catholic priest :)

his names pussy bc he served cunt (in a catholic god honoring way)

I want my bestie’s guy in bere

No one could feel guilt to this level if not catholic

Religious Allegory mostly woth how his power(white snake) is contradictory it has white to make you think of good things but it contrast with snake a creature that tempted adam and eve. Although he is a Man of faith his stand's design is far from it being incredibly intimidating and lined with the genetic of dna whihc is scientific compared to faith.

Bro tries to kill a child

serial killer priest bro

HE IS INSANE He spent his whole life believing in fate and when his world turned around Shakespeare tragedy style he made it his mission to bring 「HEAVEN TO EARTH」, which means TEARING AWAY THE FABRIC OF REALITY SO THAT EVERYONE IS AWARE OF THEIR OWN FATE. How does he get there? Simple! By using a half-baked horse to SPEED UP TIME UNTIL THE UNIVERSE RESETS AND LAUNCHES EVERYONE INTO A NEW WORLD. How did he GET this horse??? Oh, as one does - his (dead) best friend's toe bone grew into a baby made of leaves that vored him, but he survived and grew even more eyebrows than he already had. And that's without getting into the STUFF that makes him a phenomenal, S-tier, fine wine that EXPLODES and causes you to see VISIONS type of character. That's just the surface. But, ah, that's Catholics for ya. Vote Enrico Pucci for king of the Catholic tournament. 👍🏻

Flayn Propaganda

she's honestly so much more interesting than people give her credit for. like she often gets written off as "funny little girl who likes fish" but like,,, she is so strong?? after you save her in chapter 6 and seteths first instinct is to hide themselves away from the world again and shes like fuck that shit! she has so much more of a connection to humanity than the others of her kind and that shows in her solo ending vs her paired ending w seteth, wherein she emerges from hiding as soon as she can when on her own but she and seteth emerge to a fódlan thats changed a lot technologically, so far far later. and i love her supports with everyone and shes so genuine and sweet and kind. flayns great i love her.

Patron Saint of Fish 🐟

[blitz0hno]

For the ask game: general 1, 3, 6, 7. Prisoner, 1, 3 (Amane), 4 (mikoto) I didn’t ask too much questions did I

I AM SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG RAHHHH I got the notif, forgor, got another ask for this like a day ago, forgot again, and finally check my inbox today lmao you asked the perfect amount of questions no worries!!

General:

1. My favorite prisoner? It really is Mikoto I cannot tell a lie 😭 why? He's just... So heartbreakingly earnest. And when I was on Milgram Twitter back in 2021 I really didn't want his story to be a DID story. I wasn't about to discuss that stuff on a pretty public account no matter how intrigued we were. However, as time went on, and we thought about how all the other prisoners are "mentally ill" in some form or another, we held out hope that the whole "DID murderer who doesn't remember" thing would be subverted in some way. We came to really really look forward to his second trial, and after Purge March even moreso. In our opinion, Milgram team fuckin DELIVERED when Oct. 25th came around. While I personally relate more to John, Mikoto's story and how it's being told are very important to me. The extreme ambiguity of it all makes it better honestly; it's strikingly realistic in that sense. A host who has no idea what's going on or how to deal with it, in a boat with a bunch of presumable singlets who feel the same way, strikes a chord that few other medias have. Plurality is a very difficult topic to do justice, but I think Mikoto's narrative is very humanizing.

3. Favorite headcanon has gotta be the sibling-type relationships, particularly Amane and Fuuta. I love the idea of them stirring up trouble together. Trans headcanons are also my favorite anything ever (transmasc Fuuta and Mikoto/John and nonbinary Amane are my personal favs but transfemme!Fuuta, transfemme!Kazui and other trans headcanons are all GOATed imo)

6. RAHHHHHHH DIFFICULT favorite MV? siiiigh it probably is MeMe. Surprise tone-shift? Check. Tarot motif? Check. THE CRIME IN BRUTAL DETAIL? Check. Lyrics go crazy. Color palette goes crazy. Outfits go crazy. Although I will say "I Love You" is criminally underrated and provocative. Also LOVVVVED Harrow, Tear Drop, INMF, Purge March and Deep Cover. It's so hard to pick!!

7. Who I would get along with? Ironically, probably Fuuta. I think I would put up with his gruff attitude better than most, and we'd probably have similar worldviews regarding justice and the systems in place in society. I've been in similar (thankfully less serious) positions regarding his murder. We both enjoy video games and ramen lol he's still a little shit tho. I also feel like Yuno and I have very similar worldviews and would get along just fine.

Prisoners:

1. What do I think of Amane? Easily one of my favorites. Why? SHE IS SO REAL THAT'S WHY. She's thoroughly heartbreakingly indoctrinated but STILL trusts herself enough to do what's in her best interest in protecting herself. She denies herself so much joy to honor her devotions, even though I'm almost sure she will come to realize that the only "god" looking out for her is her. She just wants everyone to have the "heaven" of infinite happiness she's been promised, and doesn't yet understand that it's something one must make for themselves and that no one can see and know her every move and judge her like that.

3. Amane's first verdict was cruel, but I understand why it happened. Magic's very vague about who she killed and it seemed like she did it simply because the doctrine said to. It was almost like she'd been manipulated into doing it and didn't feel bad at all. When really, she was just joyous that she got to punish her abuser for once, using the rules THEY told her; not the other way around. I still do regret voting "unforgiven," personally. Her second verdict though? Based. I was in the trenches w y'all for that shit. Purge March my beloved. She had every right to punish someone who would torture a child and I don't see how Kotoko doesn't get that??? Amane inno sweep all the way they better treat my girl RIGHT from now on.

4. What do I wish people understood more about Mikoto? Woooo boy. How do I word this.

In the fandom: Mikoto is just a host alter - he's as capable of being mean and aggressive as John is capable of being nice. And his response to John and anger towards the protector is as natural as it is unfair. He's not immune to being a flawed human and deals with stress very differently from John despite sharing a body. Mikoto's denial keeps him going along "normally," but it's doubtless that "he," Mikoto, is truly the responsible one for the crime (as hosts often are the ones making big decisions). And idk, people seem to understand overall?? But there still seems to be confusion sometimes, about how John isn't "just" a protector, but a completely separate person/ego state. Neither one is the "main" alter, or a "nicer"/"better" alter. They're rounded people like the rest of the prison.

In-universe: I wish they understood him and John. I wish they knew he switched sometimes, and that though they're different they aren't dangerous just by virtue of being like that. I wish Mikoto wouldn't shame himself for not "measuring up," and accept himself and what he's done. But we're going to superhell so idk about that.

Thanks for asking!