#and streetwise is just some guy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rechorites · 2 months ago

Text

cw: smut under the cut

in any life, if i could hold you for a minute

see ao3 for warnings/tags

She shouldn’t even be here, that’s the first thing.

He’s been undercover for a month. Not even really undercover - how would a Malfoy even do that? But he’s been ‘fired’ from the Auror Office for a month. Certain people have always expected that of him, and it’s those certain people they’re after.

He has to be disgruntled to sell it, so he went to the Leaky Cauldron three days in to it all and drank too much and mouthed off to anyone who’d listen, about Potter and Tonks and Robards.

He feels bad about it, after, even though it was absolutely sanctioned, because they publish the worst bits in The Prophet. In reality, Potter and Tonks and Robards have done nothing except help him rebuild his life brick by brick.

So he’s there, a month in to being the kind of Draco Malfoy who’d buy illegal potions and trade Schedule III creatures, drinking at The Green Dragon.

And she just… strolls in. With the Weaslette.

They’re disguised, a little, which is all they need these days. Unlike Potter, who could never go undercover a day in his life without Polyjuice Potion, Granger and Weaslette both took great pains to fade into obscurity after the war.

Weaslette’s gone brunette, for the evening, and Granger’s hair is silky and straight, eyes blue instead of their usual warm brown. But he’d know the way she moves anywhere, the tilt of her chin, the way she walks right past him. She smells the same, too.

He’s wanted her since she joined the Auror Office.

Longer than he should have, really. He even asked her out before she got assigned as his Trainee, only to find out she was still dating the Weasel, and she was flattered, but whatever. It’s been months since her and Weasel broke up (seven, not that he’s counting), even longer since… the incident. And she danced around him for a while, after, all these looks like she knew he was watching. Touches, light, on his forearm.

He’s never been going for subtle.

He pretend to ignore the two of them. Draco Malfoy, notorious knave, doesn’t approach random women in bars, anyway. He’s just decided that. It would be stupidly dangerous, reckless, for him to talk to any Auror, undercover or not.

He waits for Zabini.

Her eyes on him are like light through a magnifying glass, burning him where he sits.

They’re clearly out on the all-nighter they make all Trainees do just before they finish training.

Let them loose for 24 hours with nothing but their wand and the clothes on their back, the goal being to get them a bit more… streetwise, although Draco himself spent the time sitting in a quiet pub in Muggle Sussex, trying to pass the time without seeing any bloody Slytherins. The Trainees are meant to find gold, Potions, whatever illicit stuff they can get their hands on. The winner has their name added to some stupid plaque in the break room.

She’s laughing with Weasley, chatting up the bar’s regular Potions dealer in the corner of his eye. She brushes her hair over her shoulder, not used to the length of it. Draco debates just leaving before he does something regrettable.

Zabini turns up, late as usual.

He lets out a long whistle through his teeth at the sight of them. “Not often you get ladies like that, here. Think they’re lost?”

Draco tries to find his Death Eater bravado, clutches the glass of his firewhiskey.

“Not for much longer, once you find them.”

Blaise smiles.

“Just what I thought, too, Malfoy. Shall we?”

Zabini is a small fish, loosely affiliated with the circle of Slytherins headed by Marcus Flint that controls large swathes of the Black market in Europe. Not a bad guy, particularly. He’s just an in for Draco, someone to build credibility with before he can move up the food chain. Fucking it up with Zabini would make the potentially years long deep cover assignment disappear, make everything he’d done so far obsolete.

Draco raises an eyebrow, tilts his head towards them. He’s still looking behind the bar, the second he starts looking at her he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop.

“After you.”

Zabini’s far more interested in the Weaslette, which is lucky, because Granger doesn’t take her eyes off him for a second. He doubts she’ll go into Intelligence long term, more likely into serious crimes or R&D. She has the brains for it, always has.

“Anna,” she says, hand out to shake like they’re at the office. It’s a shit cover name, for her. She could never be called something so pedestrian. Draco leans forward instead, turns her hand to kiss the back of it like the old Slytherin boys do. Her skin is hot and soft for the second his lips touch her hand. She keeps looking at him, too, with those wide, wide eyes. If he squints he can imagine her without the glamours.

It doesn’t suit her, the blue. Too cold.

She hasn’t been his Trainee in a month, since he went under.

Technically, he’s not even employed by the Auror Office any more.

He likes to think she’s thinking the same thing, the way she’s looking at him.

She and the Weaslette quickly make their excuses, much to Zabini’s disappointment. They’d be in mountains of shit if they blew his cover their first time out of the office unsupervised. Draco doesn’t let himself feel anything about it, either way.

And that should be the end of it. He stays there for another hour, shooting shit with Zabini, hearing about some invention of Nott's that sounds like bad news all around.

“He’s been at Nott Manor all week, hasn’t been out drinking even once. Not like him. I’m having an intervention tomorrow. You—”

“Hey.”

And there she fucking is. Behind them at the bar, waiting to speak to him just like she would at the office. He can practically imagine her in her Trainee uniform behind him, ready to tell him how many errors she’s found in his reports, or about some new lead she’s found.

Zabini smirks widely, big white teeth gleaming, and looks at him knowingly.

“Hey,” says Blaise, before Draco can even turn around properly. “Where’s your friend?”

“She, uh… had to go home.” Is Weaslette in trouble? Draco narrows his eyes slightly. There’s a quarter of a smile at one corner of her lips that he only knows because he’s seen her do it before, the look she gives him before they do something totally off-book.

“Oh? But not you?” The way Blaise is looking at her is practically indecent, and she still won’t take those blue eyes off him. He wants to curl her hair around his fingers until it’s normal again.

“No. Not me. I’m, uh… going overseas tomorrow. And I’m free for the next few hours, so…”

Draco feels hot and cold at the same time. Maybe he’s coming down with something.

Zabini looks between them, Draco looking at her incredulously, Granger with this expression on her face like she’s just jumped off a broom, not entirely sure a cushioning charm will come and save her.

“I’m sure we could find a solution to that, Gorgeous,” says Blaise, insufferable flirt to the very end.

“I—” She looks genuinely flustered, this bug eyed looks that suits her. He’s a flirt, and a minor scoundrel, but Zabini has never been in to making women uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t miss your… Floo,” Draco says, stupidly, looking back down at the wood of the bar. Tonks would kick her out of the programme for doing something this stupid. And if his cover is blown—

“Right. Yeah. I’ll go, then.” He’s not sure if he’s imagining the disappointment in her tone.

“I’m sorry, Anna, I think my friend’s just had a brain injury. Would you excuse us a second?” says Blaise, pulling Draco practically by the collar. Granger just nods, looking uncertain, turning her head to the bar like she might order something.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Blaise. “She’s trying to pull, you tosser. You can’t let a beautiful woman walk away like that!” He releases his collar, looking back at Granger.

“I’ll fuck off, then.” Blaise says, standing and clapping Draco on the shoulder. “On for tomorrow, Malfoy?”

Draco nods, only half listening. He doesn’t know what will happen when he leaves, and where’s Weaslette, anyway? They’re meant to stay in pairs.

She’s wearing the stupidest outfit, jeans and a thin, long-sleeved t-shirt in the middle of winter, fitted closer than anything she wears at work. She’ll freeze outside.

“Draco?” she says, and Zabini’s gone. She looks weirdly… sad, for a second. Big puppy eyes. Rejected. Which is ridiculous, because she probably just wants a bed to sleep in and some money and Potions to win the stupid bloody game.

He smirks at her, the Malfoy smirk that he hasn’t been able to use in years, but that has made its way back on his face this last month. Raises an eyebrow so anyone watching won’t suspect. “Mine or yours?”

She looks at him, surprised. “Are you—”

If she’s about to ask if he’s sure, the answer is ‘no way’.

“Yours.”

---

He’s at a new flat, living above a seedy little tattoo shop that he strongly suspects injects more than just ink.

It’s not that bad for something paid for by the Auror Office, better than the usual shithole safehouse by a mile. His old flat was nicer, a posh Muggle flat in London that he got—well, right around when Granger and the Weasel got engaged. She’d been over, once, had looked right at home in front of the floor to ceiling bookshelves.

That had been the night of… the incident.

Tonks said the old place wasn’t fitting for the new Draco Malfoy, and she’d been right. He’d wanted a change, anyway.

Granger looks at home here too.

“I’ll find the floo powder,” he says. Sensible.

He could just summon it.

She walks in and starts poking around, opening the drawers in the kitchen.

“No wards? No Extendable Ears?”

“Not yet,” he says.

“Right.” She’s fiddling with his icebox, now, opening it to see a cold lot of nothing. She closes it, and looks back at him, arms by her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

It’s a studio apartment.

Her eyes flick to the bed, lightning fast, and then back to him.

He should look for the Floo powder.

“Why are you here, Granger?” he asks, although honestly he doesn’t want to know. Can’t hear it again.

And then she’s walking past him, brushing the whole side of her body against his. She smells the same, something floral that he’s never been able to place.

Then she stops, and turns, and she’s walking backwards towards the bed, looking at him. She pulls off her shoes with one hand, drops them on the floor, and he can’t stop looking at her, those blue eyes that look so wrong on her face. That hint of a smile is back again, bigger this time, like she’s finally caught him out. She is, categorically, the sexiest witch alive.

He stands there like a bloody nun.

He takes out his wand and casts Aparecium. Suddenly it’s Granger again, her warm brown eyes looking at him, and he can’t help but follow her wherever she goes. Her hair stays the same, though, and he so badly wants it to be hers again he almost asks about it.

She sits on the edge of his bed, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She’s barely breathing, air coming out in quiet little huffs that would steam up outside.

“If you stay, Granger, there’s no going back.”

He’s standing in front of her, a hair’s breadth away from standing between her legs. The way she’s looking at him is going to break his heart, how much he wants to run the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, how hard this will all be when she gets up and leaves.

“I don’t want to go back.”

The floor drops out from underneath his feet.

He reaches out, slowly, like she might change her mind, and brings one hand to the curve of her jaw, one hand to her ribcage. She’s so much softer than he could have imagined, the long line of her neck bare and pale where it’s usually covered by her uniform.

He kisses her softly, at first.

She’s so bloody soft, like velvet under his lips.

She leans back on her hands as he moves forward, keeps her hands to herself, and before he can think too hard about it he sits down and pulls her over on top of him, knees either side of his thighs, her ratty off-duty socks over the edge of his bed.

The first thing he thinks is that she’s… timid. He’s spent two years with her as his Trainee, her telling him off every five minutes in the office and more in the field, despite him technically being her superior officer. She’s always charging off somewhere, telling him and all the others what to do.

She doesn’t sit down fully, even, hovering awkwardly. He can feel the tension coming off her thighs, trying to keep herself up.

When he’s thought about this, before, he’s never allowed himself to think about the specifics of what she might be like. It would be too much, to think about her like that, under him or on top of him, timid or serious or whatever, and then have to go back to the office the next day and have her call him sir and watch her flirt with the Weasel over tea.

Not that she does that, anymore.

But he thought she’d be… bossy.

He kisses her, more, and Morgana help him if she isn’t good at it. His hands are demurely on her jean-covered thighs, the tight fabric rough under his palms. He’s half-hard already, just the reality of her in his bed enough to get him there.

His hands move up the sides of her hips. The soft swell of them is unexpected. He brushes the tips of his fingers against the smooth, cool skin just under the hem of her top.

She actually gasps.

She pulls back then, and part of him wonders if that’s it. Eight months ago it might have been enough, but now that he’s tasted her, now that he knows what she looks like sitting on his bed, he thinks if she gets up and walk away he might just keel over and die.

Instead, she pulls her top off.

Draco feels any latent capability of higher thought evaporate.

She is— Merlin, she is gorgeous. Smooth, sunkissed skin, muscles taut across her stomach from Auror training, the soft cruve of her hip in contrast. Plain nude bra, sensible in all ways except this one, the one where she’s in his bed in his dodgy cover studio. There are tiny scars on her shoulders, smooth little bumps that have faded with time. On her forearm is the Mudblood scar she got all those years ago. He’s seen it often enough that it doesn’t surprise him, any more, just another part of her.

He’s looking, properly looking, and she blushes.

Hermione Granger, shy. He can’t quite believe it.

She chews at her lip, hands still clutching at her top like she could put it back on. He takes it off her, gently, and drops it to the floor.

He rolls them over, again, so she’s leaning back in the bed, one arm supporting herself, the other lightly on his chest. Timid. He kisses her neck, once, not hard enough to mark, although he wants—

She lets out another gasp, breathier this time. So that works.

Her hair is so carefully straight that it doesn’t get in his face even once. Over the past two years he’s had it in his face more times than he can count, when they’ve flown together on a broom, when she’s sitting next to him in morning briefings. He found a strand in the collar of his shirt once, coiled around a button.

He runs his hands down the sides of her, once, twice, just to know what it’s like. She’s warming up now in the heat of his flat, the goosebumps on her arms calming down.

He undoes the button on her jeans, and then the zip. She wriggles down to help, and he moves aside to let her take them off fully.

Hermione Granger is in her underwear in his bed.

Black knickers that don’t match her bra. There’s a line running just above them where her tan starts, and Draco fights the urge to lick along it. She’s still got that tense look about her, and yeah, he’s the same— he doesn’t know what he wants, especially if this is the only time. Gentle, he supposes. He wants to savour it.

And she’s so quiet.

She’s nervous.

He knows it now, knows that wide-eyed lip chew from the first time they went in the field together, from when Tonks or Robards calls her into their office. Like she might be in trouble.

All that bravado from the bar gone out the window.

“Granger,” he says, not sure what to follow it up with, but it’s enough. He gets that quarter smile back again.

“I’m half-naked in your bed, Malfoy, you can call me Hermione.”

“Oh?”

She doesn’t call him Draco, though.

He kisses her neck again, and she moves this time, tilting her head to give him room. The feel of her underneath him is like some new potion they try out in R&D, something they need to bottle and mass produce. Her thighs spread apart further, tilting her hips up, and even through his trousers he can feel the heat of her through her underwear. He presses open mouth kisses down from her pointy little chin to where her shoulder meets her neck, and she tenses her thighs beneath him a few times, rhythmic enough that it’s on purpose.

But she’s still so quiet, so serious.

He’s gotten to know her enough, over the past two years, that he knows that she’s not like that all the time. When she’s happy, at least. She talks, she’s funny, joking around with Weaslette and Potter and even him, since she broke up with the Weasel.

She’s nothing like he thought she was at school. She’s better.

He runs a hand up and down her side, soothing, and she hikes a leg up to his hip. His hand goes to her knee automatically, lining her up just right over the bulge in his trousers, and he thrusts, this shallow movement that feels just right. She arches, eyes rolling back, a moan finally coming from her lips.

He wants her to do it again. Wants to keep her here, in his bed, until he discovers every noise she can make and more, every thing he can do that makes her look like that.

The urge to just pull down his trousers and bury himself inside her almost overwhelms him.

Slow. Gentle. Savour.

He goes back to her neck, sucks a little harder, and she grips his shoulder, pushing her hips up into him again. So she likes that. (He likes it too, incidentally, the idea that she’ll have to look in the mirror tomorrow and see him, that everyone will know—)

She’s back to quiet, though, quieter than she’s ever been when they’re in the field together.

He pulls back and looks at her again, tries to commit the shape of her to memory, the curve of her hip and the line of her ribcage. She reaches back and unclasps her bra, the straps going loose on her shoulders, and pulls it off.

Draco doesn’t waste time.

He kisses down from her collarbone, circling one nipple with his tongue while he cups the other one in his hand. Perfectly formed, he thinks, as they pebble quickly under his attention. She’s quiet, though, shifting restlessly against him with her hips, never settling into a rhythm.

He doesn’t want quiet.

He knows she must be capable of it, knows that bossiness must extend out of her professional life.

He sits back on his knees and runs his fingers along the inside of the elastic line of her underwear, just below her hip bones, barely feeling the scratch of the hair, and she inhales quickly, a big twitch of her thigh.

She’s looking at him again, now, those brown eyes like she can’t quite believe it’s him. Her mouth is slightly open, the pink of her tongue darting out. She nods, once, and he hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls, down, down, down, her back arching off the bed to give him room.

He stops, for a second, and just looks again. Hermione Granger, on her back on his sheets.

He needs to memorise her while he has the chance, wants to kiss every bare inch of skin and figure out what she likes, the warm light brown of her skin such a contrast to his that he can hardly take his eyes off his hand on her thigh. She’s all laid out in front of him, and he can hardly decide where to look, the dark pink between her thighs, her breasts, high and drawn tight with her arm raised above her head.

She’s chewing on her lip again while watching him, arm creeping over her forehead like she might cover her eyes.

He drags his fingers across her inner thigh, the skin there so soft he wants to rub his face up against it.

One step at a time.

Every muscle in her stomach goes tight, clenching quickly. She’s looking at him now, her arm half covering her eyes, chest bare and the other hand gripping onto the sheets for dear life.

He runs his finger through the length of her, and her hips jerk as she sucks in a ragged breath.

She is— Merlin, she is wet.

He rubs her clit, just a little, and her chin comes up, a feral little jut as she bites her lip again. She’ll bite it clean off if she’s not careful.

“Malfoy,” she says, quiet.

He rubs again, small circles around in a way that girls have liked before, and her eyes flutter.

“More, Malfoy.” There she is.

“More, like what?”

“I don’t—I want—” She takes a deep breath, frustrated that he’s making her say it. “Harder. Inside.”

He grins at her, and then moves down to kiss the skin of her stomach, lower again just above her hipbone, and she twiches again, arse coming off the bed.

“Malfoy—” Her eyes are wide again, surprised. “What are you doing?” Her voice is pitched higher, just a little, like maybe she really didn’t expect it.

Draco moves his free hand under her thigh, nudging her down the bed in response, so his knees are on the floor. She goes, quickly, and he gets one of her ankles hooked on his shoulder, his right hand still working her slowly, firmly, her hips moving rhythmically in response to his small circles.

Her heel is cold and sharp against the fabric on his shoulder, and she’s resting on her elbows now, looking at him with that wide-eyed look she had when he brought her up here.

He looks at her in the dim light of his shitty little flat, the dark wetness of her. The potency of wanting makes him lose his breath.

“Hermione,” he says quietly. “Let me.”

She looks at him still and opens her legs further, tilting her hips up towards him with intent. He moves his face down and licks, hard, slipping his finger down and pushing into her where she’s the wettest, the hot warm closeness making him feel out of control. He uses the flat of his tongue against her clit, long hard licks that she presses into. She’s tight around his finger, and the feeling is enough to have him pressing his own hips uselessly into the side of the bed, erection trapped in his trousers.

“Is that…” he starts, and she nods her head quickly. “Are you sure?”

He’s been privvy to her uncensored opinion on everything for almost two years: everything the other Trainees do, the laws and policies that govern them, the intricacies of all the assignments they’ve had. He actually thinks, possibly, this is the longest they’ve been in a room together without her telling him what to do.

He finds an angle she likes, the barest of sounds coming out of her, and the smell of her wetness is heady and intoxicating. He wants to smear her over him, all these primitive instincts coming out of nowhere.

He adds another finger, this ‘come here’ motion inside that Pansy taught him, and her leg jerks down, rubbing against the bone in his shoulder.

“Fuck, Draco. Don’t— don’t stop.”

She coils up in front of him, the heel that’s still on the bed pushing down and tilting her towards him, and she’s breathing heavier now, almost as if—

She takes this deep intake of breath, sudden, and her head drops back, pink flush spreading all across her chest. It doesn’t take long until she’s gasping, little noises that must mean she likes it.

Her hips come up, quickly, almost hitting him in the nose, and she comes fast, clenching around his fingers, quick and rhythmic. It’s short, not a particularly big one, but he tries to make it last, grinds his tongue into her clit.

He doesn’t stop moving until she makes this rough moan, flopping back on to the bed with her eyes closed, slipping her leg off his shoulder.

“Was that—?”

“Oh my God, Malfoy.”

So yeah, he’s pretty pleased with himself.

He wants to do it again, but his erection is starting to border on painful, something about having her in his hands and not acting on it.

He wipes his face on her inner thigh, drops a kiss there that feels far too affectionate for what they are to each other. She groans when he pulls his fingers out, slippery and wet, and he licks them just for another taste. Her eyes are open again, watching, and she grabs him by the lapels and half drags him up the bed on top of her.

He tries use his arms to keep his weight off her, but she pushes them out from under him in the same way they got taught in non-magical combat, pushing her face into his neck and bringing her legs to wrap around him.

“Oh, shit,” she says, looking down at where she’s just rubbed herself onto his trousers. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

He laughs at her, then, a low rumble. “I got a bit… distracted.”

She looks pleased now, at least, and then she goes tense again and rolls him over onto his back, straddling his stomach. Before he knows what’s happened, she has her wand in her hand, pointing down at him.

He has the good sense to feel alarmed.

Then, without any warning, she vanishes his top, leaving him bare-chested. She lifts her hips—and Godric, that’s a view—and vanishes his trousers too, leaving him in just his boxers.

She gives him a wicked grin for a second, just a trace of the Granger he’s gotten to know, and then is straight back to serious. The second is enough, though, and already he wants to find whatever will make her look at him like that again. She smiles more at him now—or did, when he was still at the office—this bright, open thing that makes his heart leap out of his chest every time.

She pushes him all the way up the bed, man-handling him in a way that he’s fond of immediately, until she’s hovering above his thighs. She pushes down his boxers off his hips, slow, like maybe she’s trying to savour it too, and he’s hit with such a wave of affection for her that it’s practically indecent.

She looks back at him when she decided he’s in the right place, and the sight of her, naked on his thighs next to his cock, all that smooth tan skin and the hair on her forehead starting to frizz up again with sweat, might nearly be enough to get him there.

Hermione has other plans, though.

Her hand is on his cock, suddenly, and his hips jerk so suddenly it almost bucks her off. She laughs, loud and teasing. “Is that… alright?” she asks, a sly grin on her lips. She’s pumping up and down, a hair’s breadth on the side of too tight, and any part of Draco that could have responded coolly was gone, dead years ago when the day turned up at the Auror Office with a black eye from training saying she’d been assigned to him.

Draco lets out a choked noise that might be a laugh. "Yes. Yeah.” The visual of her hand on him is something that he will never, ever forget. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever function normally again.

He wants to be inside her, needs it more than he needs air to breath, but she’s looking at him calculatingly, pumping him up and down, this twist at the head that’s well-practiced enough that he doesn’t want to think about who she learned it from. She’s serious again, all trace of laughter gone.

And then she tucks her hair behind her ears.

Draco refuses to think anything, but already she’s bending down, shuffling back a bit in a way that’s smearing wetness on his legs.

“Hermione, you don’t have to—”

“Let me, Draco,” she says, an echo of his words earlier. He can’t take his eyes off her, and she takes him in her mouth. The warm wetness is almost too much, the sight of her on top of him like this, the view down her back and the curve of her arse.

He pulls on the sheets so he doesn’t grab her head, and she brings one of her hands around the base of his cock, setting up a rhythm, and he can hear himself half-panting as he watches her, just watches and watches.

She picks up one of his hands and rests it on her head, and fuck, fuck—

He makes a strangled noise and grips her hair by accident, too tightly, but she moans on his cock and he feels the vibrations all the way down in the base of his spine.

He pulls her off quickly, her mouth making this indecent wet noise as she comes off that almost packs him in.

She sits up on his legs again, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Up to standard, sir?” she says, cheeky, the kind of shit she says to Potter when she does some bullshit assignment in half the time and twice as good as anyone else could.

Draco feels like his brain has gone smooth.

She rubs across his chest, now, feeling the planes of him, finally looking like he won’t turn around and bite her—or maybe like he will, who knows, with this girl.Hhe thinks the orgasm has calmed her down, and possibly also seeing him almost come in his boxers at the sight of her. He imagines it would have an ego-boosting effect.

Salazar, he’s missed her.

It’s only been a month, and now that he’s over the surprise of having her here, in the bar and in his bed, he can’t remember why he ever took this assignment, why he would be so stupid as to give up having her at the desk next to him.

Well, he can. But she’s here now.

She’s moving forwards, close enough that her stomach brushes against his cock every time she arches her back, and Merlin, the way she’s looking at him is doing it for him almost as much as anything else, this focused, studious look that makes him think of her in the bloody Hogwarts Potions lab, the way she always drove him up the wall with confused wanting.

“I’m… uh, not on the Potion,” she says. Of course not, no Weasel around. He shouldn’t be pleased that it probably means there’s been no one else.

“Right.”

“Have you—I mean, do we need to—” she gestures at him, presumably asking if he’s been with anyone else, if they need the Contraceptive Spell or something more. She looks like she doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Just the spell.”

“Right.” She gets out her wand and a muscle in her cheek twitches, satisfied with his answer. She points it at herself, and then him. He’s never let anyone else cast it, before, certainly not any of the Slytherin girls who would have happily taken the Malfoy family fortune, even if he came along with it.

He must trust her, or whatever.

She pushes herself up onto her knees, catching her lip between her teeth again as she lines them up, the wetness at her entrance catching the head of his cock. She feels so unbelievably good.

He holds his breath as she sinks down.

He feels it everywhere, her on top of him, the pressure of her on his cock, tight, tight, and he’s thankful she pauses at the bottom to catch her breath because he needs it too, an awful amount. She bows her head, her hair coming over her face.

There’s a strip of a streetlight coming through the window and it lands across her, a straight line of skin illuminated.

“Will you tell me something?” she asks, quiet again.

“Anything,” he says, all pretense out the window. She could ask him to change his name to Derek Milford right about now and he’d do it, no questions asked.

A broad grin spreads across her face as she looks down at where they’re joined, and clearly he’s given too much away.

“When did you first… like me?”

She’s blushing, too, and he’s actually— Merlin, he’s inside her. If ever there was a time to be honest.

“A long time ago, Granger.”

And she lets him get away with it, just smiles and tilts her hips, the smallest movement that has them both tensing. “Knew it.” And then she’s rolling her hips, slowly at first, wicked little flicks at the end that make him feel as though he couldn’t possibly get any deeper.

She keeps her eyes open, looking down at him. She takes one of his hands in hers, skinny little fingers scrabbling against his palm for a second before lacing their fingers together.

There’s no way he can stay undercover after this. No fucking way. He’s going to go back to Robards and beg for his job back, sting assignment be damned.

He wants to stay here forever.

“Hermione,” he says, and her eyes flutter close. She likes hearing her name.

Her hips start to roll properly, now, a quick rhythm as she leans forward on his chest, and he brings his free hand forward to her her clit, pushing apart her folds. The feeling of the join where he’s inside of her is something else, and she gasps quickly as he touches her like it’s too much.

“You don’t have to—” she starts. “I can usually only… come… once,” she says, voice dropping on the word come in a way that makes him twitch, like maybe the Tattoo Parlour downstairs might hear. He’s filled with the urge to make her loud, properly loud, so the whole of bloody Knockturn Alley can hear Draco Malfoy fucking Hermione Granger.

“Right,” he says. He’s not disappointed by that, not really, but if he’d known it had been a one and done situation he would have drawn it out longer, savoured it properly. Would have held her on the edge until she had to talk to him. If he stays here, if she goes back—

He wanted to see her do it again. That’s all.

He rolls them, her leg coming up to hook around his hip, sticky thighs open wide, and she moans—loud—as he bottoms out, back arching against him. Which—

She doesn’t sound like someone who can only come once.

She’s not an idiot, she’s had sex before, obviously, and she would know if she could—

Draco finds a rhythm, slow and gentle, like he hasn’t got anywhere to be. He won’t last much longer, her hot and wet around him. She looks the part, too, all mussed and sweaty, eyes half closed. His hand creeps back down between them.

“It still feels good, though, right?” He rolls around it, in case she’s sensitive, but she’s pushing her hips up with every thrust in a way that says she’s definitely not done, heels digging in to the mattress to get the leverage she needs.

‘I—Yeah. Really—Keep going,” and her voice makes him stutter a bit, how husky it is. Her hair is over the pillow, so long like this.

He kisses the corner of her mouth, now, and she tilts her head up to kiss him properly, grinning like she’s just remembered she can. He kisses down her throat, pausing on a spot that makes her groan, sucking. Finally, she’s making some noise.

“Yes, Draco. Right there.”

He can feel it inside him, building and building, but he just has to—

She did say usually.

His teeth graze her pulse point just as her knee moves back just a little, and she cries out, loud, head thrown back as he keeps circling her clit, that same relentless pace. She goes tense all over, inside too, which is a feeling he totally wasn’t prepared for, and lets out another noise somewhere between a yell and a moan.

Her hips are pressed all the way forward as he drives into her, pushing and pushing against him like she can’t do anything else.

“Draco,” she says, loud, warningly. “Draco, don’t, fucking, stop— don’t—” His hand between her legs is beginning to cramp, awkwardly pressed between them, but she’s getting that same flush on her chest, and now he’s close enough to see it on her cheeks too, this rosy tint that he can see spreading across her like something blossoming.

One of her hands clutches at his back, hard enough to hurt, her neatly trimmed nails still long enough to scratch, and he wants it, he wants to look in the mirror tomorrow and see all the parts of her she can leave behind, wants to mark her in some dark, primal way. He wants her to think of him.

“Please, Draco,”she whines, and Merlin, that really does it for him, this greedy tone in her voice that makes him want to give her the world. She’s sweating, and he stops sucking her neck long enough to lick a broad stroke on her collarbones, the taste of her like salt and Hermione and sex.

“Fuck, Hermione, you sound so good. Like it when you moan.”

He moves his hand off her clit, pulling her ass closer, and then goes back and makes the circles tighter, brushing over it each time, and suddenly she’s loud, like proper, Muffling Charm on the door, loud, a long moan that scratches his brain just right, everywhere.

“I wanted you in eighth year, even, before this all,” he’s whispering in her ear, and she likes that, these tiny little groans in time with his thrusts. “And then when you joined the Auror Office, that first week, all this time—” Her arms are wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him close, and he’s so close, but he just feels like she might—

“Draco, Draco, please.” She’s meeting every thrust, just at the edge of her range of motion, these quick pulses of her arse. “I’m so—please.” And fuck if that doesn’t do it for him, the sound of his name and her practically begging—

“Hermione, just like that, fuck. You’re so perfect.”

He is so fucking close that it actually hurts not to come, sheer bloody-mindedness the only thing keeping him together.

Something hits just right, and then she’s making this high, long noise as she comes, so loud it rattles around his brain. Her legs come up, dropping them to the mattress, pulling him so close he can’t even move without her following him. He can feel it inside of her, this tight, quick pulsing of her cunt that’s nearly too much for him.

He doesn’t stop thrusting the whole time, the shallow movement of his hips fucking her into the mattress as he wrings it out, her hips and thighs gripped so tightly around him that there’s not even an inch between them as he does it, her orgasm long and deep.

Her cunt flutters for what feels like an age, every twitch sending shocks up his spine.

When it finally stops, he rests on his elbows, but she pulls him down again, right on top of her, his face next to her neck.

She laughs, then, this bubbling, hysterical thing that he feels through his whole body, still inside of her.

“You’re going to be so insufferable about that, aren’t you?” she says finally, patting down the sides of his body like she’s checking he’s still real.

He barks out a laugh at that, too, because yes, he is. “Me? Insufferable?” And she smacks him, gently, on the side of his chest.

He would pull the moon from the sky for her.

She yawns, loudly, exagerrated like she’s messing with him, and he looks up at the clock. Eleven, still ten hours before she needs to be back at the office in uniform. Now that he’s got her loud, he would place a bet that next time she’d start that way.

She pulls back a bit, looks at him. “Need something, Malfoy?” she asks, cocky and self-satisfied. She clenches around him once, breathing through her teeth at the feel of it. She must be so sensitive.

Morgana help him, he wants to tell her everything. Wants to tell her that he’ll lock the door and keep her here forever, get his old flat back and let her re-organise his library the way she was obviously itching to do that night, that he’ll go back to being an Auror properly or quit being an Auror entirely or something, anything, whatever she wants.

She rolls her hips once, and then pulls her knees up and apart with her hands, wide, so she’s totally spread open in front of him. Draco feels his mouth drop open.

“Go on, Draco." She cocks her head to the side, daring him, just like she would in duelling practice, this knowing look like she sees right through him. “Show me what you can do.” Her eyes have gone all dark and glossy.

And fuck. That is one hell of an invitation.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, and she snorts at him, brushing her hair off her face. It’s a relief, actually, that she’s his Hermione underneath, the same one he’s gotten to know at the office, at the Auror bar. Not that he wouldn’t like her all kinds of ways, but—he likes his Hermione a lot.

He leans forward, rubs his nose in the hollow behind her ear, and starts thrusting, running the whole length of himself slowly out and then pushing back in, a quick flick of his hips hard and fast. She starts clenching against him, tight and on purpose as he pulls out, this pressure all around that builds so quickly he can’t believe it.

He gets sloppy, ragged, the feeling of her everywhere. Hermione Granger.

She brings her hand up to his hair and runs her fingers through it. It’s catching up to him now, that edge that’s been there since she had his hands on him, her mouth on him, the hot, tight, relentless pull of her. He’s been putting it off for so long that it actually hurts, just this side of pain.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, too,” she says, and that does it for him. That really does it for him.

His whole brain goes white and fuzzy.

He thinks he must keep thrusting, some ungainly noise coming out from his mouth, but he can’t remember it after.

He melts on to her, unceremoniously, and she kneads her hand on his scalp and runs it through his hair, pulling it up in all sorts of directions.

They’re silent for several long minutes, the sound of their breathing and her heartbeat underneath him.

“Are you really staying undercover?” she says eventually, quietly into the air. It’s cold in here now, the sweat on his back cooling rapidly, the wet between their legs turning sticky.

He doesn’t have an answer for her. Or he does, but he doesn’t want to tell her, doesn’t want it to be real.

“There’s a plan, Granger. It’s not— there’s no one else.”

“Yeah. Only one Malfoy.”

He laughs, grim, thinking of the two other Malfoys left alive who would probably die of shock to know what he’s doing right now.

He shifts, pulling out of her, and she lets out this groan that he wants to hear every day he’s alive on this earth. He grabs his wand, cleaning them both off, gentle between her legs. She watches him with her eyes going all sleepy between her lashes.

The thing is, Tonks has been on at him about going undercover for years, long before Granger joined the Auror Office, ever since he started. A unique opportunity, she called it, given his past. But he never gave it a single thought until a month and a bit ago, when he thought—when it seemed like Granger finally, finally stopped dancing around him, when he thought he really had no chance.

He opens up the duvet on one side, nudging her underneath, one last effort. Ten hours left.

He would have waited for a lifetime, if he knew she might have said yes.

“I’m going to lose the bloody game,” she says, half asleep now. “Ginny will never let me hear the end of it.”

Longbottom had won, in his year, after repeating the last year of Auror training and turning up unexpectedly with a bag full of Potion vials and 100 Galleons. He’d never told anyone how he’d done it.

She wraps into his side, soft and clean and small, rubs her head against his shoulder fondly.

“We only have to be there at nine, you know. We could go again.” She wanders her hand over him slowly, badly disguising a yawn.

He pulls her closer, kisses the side of her head on one wayward curl. “Sure, Granger. Whatever you want.”

She’s asleep in minutes, dead weight on his side as her breath deepens.

He looks at her, face blank with sleep.

She shouldn’t be here, sure, but Merlin, he’d give anything to keep her.

#dramione fanfiction #dramione #dramione smut #dramione fanfic #draco x hermione

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nkn0va · 10 months ago

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Wagner, Tsubaki, and Kaguya with a s/o who grew up very poor? I mean ghetto type of poor, like Cali and vegas.

Straight Outta Compton lookin' ass S/O lmao

-Wagner...has no idea how the hell she ever managed to fall for such a "commoner" like you. No matter how much time passes she will never really have an answer.

-Her family is absolutely not going to approve of you if they found out about you now, she knows that, but she can't help but stay with you anyway. She finds such an act of rebellion exciting, though she'll never say that to anyone.

-That said though, if she really wishes to stay with you in the long term, she'll have to teach you proper rich person etiquette. She low key makes a date out of teaching you how to best behave in front of her family for when the day inevitably comes.

-She grew up pampered and in luxury, so getting to know you on a more intimate level was like learning about an entirely new world. As primitive and beneath her as she felt it to be, learning about growing up the way you did was...intriguing, if nothing else.

-It definitely took Wagner a while to warm up to the thought of dating you. She needed to truly test if you were really in love with her, not just her money considering your background. She made you do some...really obscure things, and leave it at that. Especially if you're a guy.

-That said once she did finally convince herself her growing attraction was mutual, she found a surprisingly down to earth, albeit maybe vulgar S/O that could match her hot-headedness and determination. That was something she never knew she needed before.

-Tsubaki is much more open to the idea of an S/O from a rural area. Likely you managed to get into the Torifune Academy through sheer talent in one area or another, so she immediately had some respect for you getting into such a prestigious academy without a rich family name backing you.

-You were...among her more assertive acquaintances, but she understood to an extent. You had to be strong-willed to survive in the lower levels of a Hierarchical City. She was about to stand up for you when you were facing bullying from other students from noble families, but you quickly showed you were having none of that, verbally destroying them much worse than Tsubaki was about to.

-That was the first huge boost of admiration she had for you, which would eventually become attraction the more she got to know you. You were...skeptical at first, but her sincerity and earnestness was unlike anyone else there and she started winning you over before you knew it.

-There was a palpable romantic tension throughout your years at the academy that everyone could sense, however it took an accidental slip-up on Tsubaki's part for her feelings to come out, resulting in a very prominent blush and a reluctant, nervous confession, which you were more than happy to return.

-The two of you make a surprisingly good pair in battle. Her methodical, graceful fighting style combined with your streetwise, relentless ways of fighting. You made it extremely difficult for any opponent to learn how to adapt to both of you at once, and together were almost undefeated in sparring both at the academy and in the NOL itself.

-No matter what her old man may think of you, she will do everything in her power to defend you regardless of your Ars Magus aptitude. You're the best partner she could've possibly asked for, and she'll fight to keep you by her side no matter what it takes.

-Kaguya definitely understands your attitude the most. She used to be much the same during her childhood, as embarrassed as she is about it. She won't ever be telling you about it, though.

-She actually sees quite a bit of her old self in you, finding it rather amusing. This went doubly so for when she eventually started catching feelings for you. She didn't really know what to make of it.

-There was no denying her feelings however, and when she gets feelings, she conveys them by teasing. She will stop if you ask her to but that won't stop her from doing it again eventually, it's just too much fun, especially if your reaction is to get angry or flustered.

-She might try to fix your manners like Wagner will, but she's much less strict on it. If you don't want to, it's not a deal breaker for her, though she will ask you to maybe tone down the cursing if you do it a bit too much. You're too good looking to have a such a dirty mouth, at least if you ask her.

-If you're an In-Birth she is more than willing to follow you in and will probably end up provoking someone to fight you if you don't do it first, purely to see you in action, all with a smug smile on her face. Of course she'll jump in and help if they prove to be too much for you but that doesn't really make it better.

-She's going to protect you of course, even if you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but she just wants to see her big strong S/O do their thing. It rolls off her tongue as if it's totally normal to put your partner in dangerous situations for your own amusement. She really kills you sometimes...

#blazblue #blazblue x reader #under night in birth #tsubaki yayoi #kaguya #erika wagner #headcanon #relationship headcanons #x reader #anon ask

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terrence-silver · 1 year ago

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What signature moves do TIG's characters have (any that you want, but as always I'm partial to CK Terry and Cash) when trying to seduce beloved for the first time? I know that most mortals would hop into bed with him without him needing to lift a finger, but let's say for argument's sake beloved doesn't want to seem easy.

---

― For Terry Silver, one would think his signature move of seduction is flaunting his wealth, money, connections, mansions, cars, material possessions and himself too primarily, because, well, he's Terry Silver and he knows entirely the effect he has on people, a factor he majorly and very gleefully exploits at any given opportunity, but I feel strategies like this are ironically reserved for individuals and situations he has an entirely transactional leaning towards. You scratch my back, I reward you for your due diligence once you deserve it because nothing's for free. He's a shrewd businessman and Machiavellian after all and some things in life are strictly business. For people he genuinely likes, though? His seduction equals with big promises he entirely intends to make come true to their fullest and then some. Promises of everlasting devotion. Protection. Fealty. Pretty much fixing someone's life from the bottom up. Helping his person get away with bloody murder, if need be. You name it. Terry flinches from nothing. Never. He's a shockingly gracious and stubbornly forthcoming person to be loved by when you really think about it. At his most honest, Terry can be as blunt and transparent as grabbing someone by the shoulders, looking right into their eyes and just openly telling them everything he intends to do for them for the rest of their life, always, and then staying true to his word with every fiber of his being seeing as how he makes it his life's mission to do right by his beloved. If that isn't enough to not only seduce someone but make them swoon with intoxicated wonder and bewilderment, then I don't know what will.

― In the case of Terry McCain, jumping into bed isn't paramount to him, because in his own words, vaguely paraphrased from memory, that isn't a priority to him and he's not that kind of guy. Even though, validly, he could get all the action he wanted if he wanted. Thing is, he doesn't want it. Not from just anyone. Only one special person. Catholic principles, huh? As such, his signature move is poised more on love and how he achieves that is by being available for his beloved whenever and however --- whether they agree to it or not. Which means this man will almost stubbornly be in beloved's shadow, tail them, be close at hand, pester them to a degree if need be and pretty much insert himself into their life until he's accepted by them however long it takes. Breaking into their life, privacy and sphere, literally and figuratively isn't entirely out of the question either. He is stubborn, he is temperamental and he won't give up until the subject of his affection accepts him and his advances; a tactic slightly contradictive for a man who's existence is dedicated to the upholding of law and order. But, you see, Terry doesn't think he's doing anything wrong or that he's even some sort of sleaze with ulterior motives who's committing a crime of passion. Not like those lowlives on the streets he apprehends. He is himself and they're...them. No, no, he seduces by being consistently there until it becomes a given he's sleeping with you. And eventually? You'll simply have to understand and accept just how much he cares for you. That he's the best for you. Always was. Just took him never giving up for you to see it.

― Gus Travis is a gangbanger and his method of seduction is, initially at least, typically streetwise and the approach any tatted up bad man in a leather jacket with a gun tucked into his jeans would go for; a hint of danger, a hint of sexiness, coming at you first and doing so boldly, buying you a drink or five, putting his arms around you, heated banter, flirting very openly, jealously getting in your space and ensuring every other person within eye distance steers clear of you because for the time being, this is his turf. But, it ain't that simple, because Gus has layers to him and while he might seem like a dangerous, detached criminal sort (and god knows he is) the very process of the seduction it takes to get you into bed might just hit Gus harder than the very subject of the seduction and he very well could end up smitten with you when it was you was supposed to be enchanted by him first and he might end up smitten way before he gets anywhere near second base. Man falls into his own trap, in a sense, and yeah, suddenly, getting to fuck you simply isn't enough anymore. He's here thinking being exclusive, claiming you, making you the Bonnie to his Clyde, tattooing your face over his heart, marriage, being partners in crime, and for all we know, sailing the seven seas with you in a boat bearing your name. His imagination runs wild and he seduces himself where you are concerned. Man's actually pathetically in love and he gets to this state awfully quickly. What starts out as him trying to get into your pants might just result in being tied to him in matrimony a week from then.

― Jack Blaylock's signature move of seduction is being relatable. Being more or less just some guy working as a PI out abroad. Posing himself as interesting enough to be peculiar and catch the attention of those who seek him out and even those who don't, with a dash of being seemingly ordinary enough to feel secure. Being that whiff of civilian normality, safety and the known in an unknown place. You could almost be relieved wherever you're travelling in the world that you stumbled upon a kindred spirit like him in a sea of strangers and that as a result, you've someone to share similar topics with, similar interests, anecdotes, worldviews, desires, but little do you know Jack, or rather Timothy, deliberately placed himself on your path and designed whatever persona he presents to you to intentionally appeal to you so far from your roots. To get you to trust him. Open up to him. Come to him for help and advice. Put your guard down. To give him the chance to befriend you. Sure, act the honeypot by taking you to bed and making it seem like a spontaneous development of things. This is a professional deformation of his, being an undercover Hitman --- utilizing subterfuge to get a target disarmed. Not that you're a target...but in a way, yeah, yes you are. You're his target. The prime target. The target that matters most. So, fact is, Jack will literally befriend you straight into seduction, into his bed and then right into his crosshairs.

― When it comes to Cash, I don't figure he seduces --- he just takes. Because, keep in mind, he's not the oratorial type. He isn't a schmoozer. He won't charm in the classical sense. He won't act slick. He won't be braggadocious. He won't utilize big words. Sometimes even no words at all. He won't jump through verbal hoops of fire to knock someone off their feet because that's just not in his character to do. His signature 'move' isn't him being any sort of Casanova. His signature move is his quiet audacity. The fact he'll know all your whereabouts. The in's and out's of your life. Your comings. Goings. That he'll totally abuse the privileges of his badge to discover all he can about you. What's the worst that can happen? He'll get suspended? Heck, he already got suspended for much, much worse. That he'll watch. Observe from afar. In broad daylight, if need be. Yes. Stalk. And he doesn't even particularly care if it's stalking. He developed an interest and this territory? You in it? It's all his. One step at a time, without beloved, beloved you even noticing he slips closer and closer to the target and by the time you two officially 'meet' you'll never really know that Cash has already met you months ago and knows everything there is to know about you. Who would've thought? He seems so unassuming too. Strong, silent type. Cop. The way you 'met'? Undoubtedly just as unassuming and day-to-day ordinary to the degree there's no discernable tactic one can single out for Cash to use. He just appears in your life. And yet, all the strategies he utilized to get there were undoubtedly a web of complex machinations tucked behind a silent facade that ensure you'll never even put two and two together that this man basically besieged your whole life and virtually took you hostage a long time ago.

― Jan Valek doesn't have signature moves in the modern, contemporary understanding of it all. Man's medieval. Quite literally speaking. His manner is medieval. His view of things is medieval. And his approach is, in weird ways, medieval too, regardless of the fact he's been alive for six centuries; much of him hasn't changed and remained frozen in time, just like he himself has. There's something almost chivalrous to him in spite of him being quite literally The Father of the Damned. There's something worshipful and adoring as he presses a lingering kiss to his beloved's hand, talks about them in highly idealistic and poetic terms and looks at them like they hung the stars and the moon itself on the sky right from the get go, mixing raw eroticism with an anachronistic, near courtly feel for romance, quite literally loving them into seduction and it could, technically, taking a vampire's innate, supernatural charm into consideration, take him no time at all to consummate beloved, as such, his trick, if it can even be called a trick, on how he gets beloved to open up for him like a blossoming flower is by downright wooing them like they're heavenly perfection itself and in his eyes --- they are. None of this is a ploy or a ruse. Manipulation. Strategy. For Jan Valek, this is absolute honesty. His undead heart wholly and entirely on display. So, if beloved gives in, it'll be genuinely because of how unabashedly lionizing and reverent Jan Valek is towards them, bordering on deification. After all, how many people, immortal or mortal will compare the subject of their interest to God's light and the Sun itself and actually mean it?

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tf-cyberaligned · 2 years ago

Text

The Protectobots

The Protectobots founded the Rescue Academy and Rescue City. The gestalt all had a base coding for rescue work, with sub coding for positions such as fire rescue, medical, scouting, and enforcement.

Hotspot is their leader, and the oldest. He leads his teams by word and deed. He is a very enthusiastic and energetic leader, sometimes tiring out his siblings. His leadership keeps his team out of harm's way, ensuring that their time in battle or rescues are swift and without complications. His fighting style is considered to be brash, being more of a hand to hand combat guy. However he does have the ability to mix acid with his water-lines, and he owns twin fireball rifles. When him and his siblings combine, he forms the torso and head of Defensor.

Blades is the youngest, but the most experienced fighter of the group. He is fiercely protective of his gestalt, which sometimes scares his fellow Autobots whenever he is pissed. Many mistake his protective nature for being arrogant and unhinged. He supplies air support for his siblings, while also being able to take over some medical rescues in the case that First Aid is busy. His fighting style is very gruesome, whether using his own rotor blades are swords, or using his twin energon pistols, he is a force to be feared by both sides. Several Decepticons who had the misfortune of fighting him have nicknamed him the "Angel of Death." He forms the right hand of Defensor.

First Aid is the resident medic of the team. She is a very timid mech on a normal day, but in the middle of a fight or rescue she can be the most level headed mech there. She is very empathetic, considerate, and kind. Her compassion knows no ends and she will work relentlessly to fix anyone and anything, from broken down tech to Decepticons. She served as an apprentice to Ratchet, having grown close to the old medic to consider him a honorary brother. Her beliefs are rooted more in pacifism, but if anything or anyone threatens her gestalt or the academy, she will not hesitate to stand up and defend those she loves. She has a forcefield just like the gestalt, but hers is able to extend further and take more hits. She forms the left arm of Defensor.

Groove is the scout of the team. She is a free spirited bot, and times before the war she was known to go off on adventures by herself for days on end. She loved her gestalt, but sometimes the long drives are needed for her sanity. She is a true pacifist at spark, she hates the violence of war but has no way to avoid it. The threat the Decepticons have on the academy puts her into a moral struggle, where she wants to protect but without violence. Her weapons are considered to be more pacifist, temporarily stunning the enemy instead of killing. She forms the right leg of Defensor.

Streetwise is the interceptor of the team. He follows his logic, but is led by his spark. He is the smartest mech in the gestalt, and is able to track down any mech, using his processor and speed to outsmart anyone. His weapon arsenal is a combination of long range and short range weapons. He owns twin tonfas, alongside his favorite smoke grenades and explosives. He is often underestimated by the enemy, only to flip that mechs world upside down when he ends the fight. He forms the left leg of Defensor.

Designs

Plus their holoforms

The team originally wanted to keep Rescue City as a true neutral in the war, with their teams and recruits helping Autobots and Decepticons alike. But after Megatron deemed them an enemy due to them helping the Autobots, the Protectobots joined the war on the Autobot side. They kept the academy neutral, while becoming the city's sole protector.

Their fall during their battle with Devastator at Tagan Heights left Rescue City without protection. In the Vorns following the fall Megatron called for the destruction of the city and its inhabitants, leading to the Rescue Bot Massacre.

Unknown to them at the time however, a Sigma ship was in deep space, its crew in stasis.

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wri0thesley · 1 year ago

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Genshin men as cat dads because I’m sick right now and bored

Diluc: best cat dad. He is a walking heating pad so the cats follow him around waiting to swoop onto any unoccupied thigh or foot permanently binding him to the chair. He also is the kind to pick up a mischievous kitty and pepper them with kisses because they’re too cute to be mad at. Any kitty no matter how thin they were before their care will become a plump beast in days of staying at the winery. Not only will Adelinde be spoiling him but Diluc is weak to their cute little meows and pleading eyes even if its their second dinner.

Thoma is just the perfect animal dad. He’s such a ray of sunshine that even the most terrified and scared kitty ends up warming up to him and cuddling beside his thigh.

Itto the kind of cat dad who probably takes in a orphaned kitten thus turning them into a overly clingy and playful cat. You bet that cat isa hefty one too and is well fed. Such a well loved and plump kitty

Lyney would be a literal cat dad. He probably has a better understanding of cats than anyone else to the point where it is like a genuine child to him he’s taking care of. He probably attracts tons of cats.

Pantalone would spoil his kitty rotten. Likely a purebred white cat to lay on his lap for him to pet like a cartoon villain. But cats aren’t always serious and often are foils to their owners. So i think it would be funny if his kitty was more needy and playful than one might expect. It pats at his jewelry or loose hair. It meows rudely when it wants food. Still he keeps the little guy. If anything their defiance of normal cat behavior is amusing and entertaining to a man who hardly leaves his office. Besides, nothing is better than sitting at his desk with a purring kitty laying on his paperwork giving him a much needed break to gently stroke their fur.

Neuvillete in my humble opinion, has a weakness for small and big eyed critters. Especially ones with pure hearts or simple minds. From the adorable and sweet melusines to the mischievous but sweet cats. Its rare he gets to stop and pet a cat but if he does see one on his way to work he will pet it at least once. My personal idea is that his dangling clothes and fabrics would attract a playful and persistent little kitty who would follow him everywhere until they had to be kicked out of the courtroom. But he can’t bare to kick them out so he simply puts them in a room and brings them home later. He knows cats can handle themselves, but he can’t resist the adoring eyes of such a small creature that meows at him for something.

i hope you have been feeling better since you sent this ask, anon!!! thinking about all of the genshin men and the cat dads has me smiling silly... if i may add some more thoughts;

alhaitham tries to take absolutely perfect care of his cat; nutritional meals and scheduled playtimes and such. unfortunately, kaveh is a Spoiler and so the kitty that lives with them becomes an entitled little creature meowing at all hours and desperate and needy for snuggles and love whenever either of the two are around. alhaitham ends up accepting this because how can you say no to that little face!!!

venti attracts cats he is certain because he is allergic; mostly he can manage to hide from them, but there's this one incredibly persistent little orange who seems to have imprinted upon him who can find him no matter where he is . . . and diluc of the angel's share takes great pleasure in allowing it into the tavern to rub along venti's legs and purr and sit beside his dandelion wine on the table.

wriothesley cannot keep an animal because of the conditions of the fortress, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love them. he's more of a dog person than a cat person, but he has a soft spot for older streetwise alley cats with missing eyes and a limp and gives . . . rather a lot of money to animal charities within the court of fontaine.

#nat.txt #genshin impact posting

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loadednachosao3 · 8 months ago

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Do you think Lalo was ever poor? Or it's a completely unrelatable person situation? Because for a rich kid he blends in very well.

it's an interesting idea... I personally have always figured the Salamancas were well-connected and rich by the time he was born, but... by my count, Hector was about 20 when Lalo was born. we can say that older Salamancas were already dealing drugs/in the cartel/from well-off families by then and it kept them comfortable until later when they became millionaires officially, but then again, in canon -- I know they don't digitally de-age, so this is a little unreliable, but let me cook -- Hector looked to be at least in his 40s-50s by the time the Eladio poolside scenes began. timelines are hard... whatever, work with me here.

we also know that the cartel didn't even start dealing the (more profitable) meth until after Gus joined up and convinced them to switch gears. they were dealing cocaine before, which, sure, the cartel would still be full of millionaires from that, but maybe their operation was smaller? less of it to go around?

so let's spin a yarn: if Lalo's family was poor until at least the age of 18 (when TD says he was shipped off to a "good school" in the US, which would require both visa and school money), what would that be like? I imagine his family was always involved with drugs in some form, be that using or dealing. users becoming dealers is not at all uncommon, after all.

so, little Lalo, not yet a cartel prince, family scraping by on drug money without being affiliated with any official organized criminal groups... he knows what it's like to want for more. knows exactly why, for example, Nacho joined up (and sees himself in him).

let's think. Lalo, maybe 15, dealing where he shouldn't because it's all he knows and he wants more money he can't get in his family's tiny little patch of unofficial "territory." business-smart even in those days -- little Lalo all holed up in the sparse libraries nearby, learning English just so he has more options to read about business and money and all that stuff.

the cartel in bcs was apparently built by Eladio and the Salamancas. maybe it was Eladio's family who was rich and well-connected, but the Salamancas who worked street-level as muscle and dealers. maybe Lalo is the reason. streetwise and book-smart kid running around, making schemes to muscle out the competition, catching the attention of Eladio's family, who had been dealing longer, more, still new, still without a huge grasp on the market, but they see potential with young Lalo Salamanca and his ruthless family.

maybe Lalo is the way he is because he NEEDED to be. smiling because you make friends and connections that way, hurting people because you get their money and (frightened) loyalty that way. going off to college a few years after his actions introduced his family to Eladio's. coming back to see that they're millionaires now. letting it get to his head because he was so instrumental in it. being resentful when Hector takes the lead and the credit. (you can stay at Casa Tranquila, tio. they have such good care!)

he doesn't want to go back to that early life of smoke-thick rooms and cigarette burns and drunk parents who would rent you out if it meant getting another hit. he doesn't ever want to feel what it's like to not be able to afford something ever again. to not get what he wants.

so what if Lalo isn't spoiled because he grew up a pampered cartel prince, but because he DIDN'T? because he thinks he deserves every penny he and his family have? because he's terrified of the idea of being destitute again? because if all it takes to be rich is a little ruthlessness, a little willingness to hurt people the way he was hurt, why should he ever try to act any other way?

but it comes out, his past, just a little, when he's playing poker with the guys, or chatting with a corner store clerk, or helping an abuela across the street. it comes out in the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and his genuine laughter, and his relatable, friendly body language, everyone's friend, people pleaser, look at Lalo, he's so nice! you'd hardly even think he was born into the cartel (because he wasn't, because he never thought his life would turn out this way, because sometimes he wonders what it would be like if he had the chance to go back and rewrite history).

maybe this Lalo would understand why Nacho poisoned his uncle. maybe he'd see Manuel working hard for an honest life, and Nacho charmed by the cartel's dazzling facade, and empathize. maybe, if Nacho were to tell him about the blackmail, he wouldn't skin him alive. maybe he'd kiss him and tell him "I get it" and "I'm sorry" and maybe even "thank you." maybe he'd try to help Nacho get free, even if that meant sending him to Canada with his father and never, ever seeing him again. maybe that's the right thing to do.

maybe he doesn't want to do it, though, because he wants to keep getting what he wants. maybe he's selfish.

maybe that's okay.

WELL ANYWAY like I said, I tend to think of him as being born into wealth even without the cartel and being super spoiled because of that, but this certainly was fun to think of and ramble incoherently about! thanks, anon!

#ask tag #anonymous #lacho

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sullustangin · 1 year ago

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SWTOR Secret Santa 2023

This is for @levedor-legacy for the SWTOR Secret Santa 2023 – thank you @frauleiiin for running this!

Here’s a Life Day story starring “a deadly can of Arizona Iced Tea,” the Himbolorian himself, Orriel Devero.

Orriel stared at the Galactic Trade Network.

…Math was hard.

Life Day was one of Orriel’s favorite holidays of the year. He knew it was expensive, so he made it point to pick up a few extra bounties. He even did some of the silly ones that really didn’t require a bounty hounter, but hey, if they were willing pay to see him get mauled by an agitated loth cat stuck in a tree, Orriel would do it.

He went to scratch his head, but then he remembered that he still had his helmet on – always did on Vaiken. The problem was the Life Day sales. Were they really sales? Or had the prices been jacked up a few weeks before and now there was a ‘sale’? Orriel wasn’t a genius, but he was streetwise enough to know a few tricks people used to boost sales.

Sale or not, credits came in on the regular – Orriel was a damn good bounty hunter. Hell, he was the Grand Champion of the Great Hunt. That said, Gault was the one who tracked the credits and investments, and Mako made sure all those credits continued to exist for Orriel – not Gault.

Somehow, though, whenever Life Day rolled around, Orriel felt uneasy about whether he’d have enough. Anxiety wasn’t his thing but… he wanted to get it right for everyone.

…well, almost everyone. Orriel still wasn’t sure what to do about the newest crewmember. It probably hadn’t been the best idea to pick up a new crewmember from Belsavis, the Pub’s secret prison planet. At the time, Orriel had needed a hand, and he never really knew how to end a contract with someone…

Ok, so he did, but that was going to be a mess for 2V to clean up, and even droids deserved Life Day. And Skadge seemed like one of those guys that would always turn up again, even if he was dumped on an abandoned asteroid. Fortunately, he kept mostly to himself underdecks. He had little interest in the other members of the crew.

It wasn’t just the new crewmember that had Orriel worried about the finances for Life Day gifts. There was Mako.

…she was his best gal. His only gal, if he was really honest. He wanted to get something special, but… whenever he looked at the ads for rings and stuff like that, none of the women were like Mako. They didn’t have dirt and oil under their nails, and they definitely didn’t seem to know their way around a blaster or a kolto probe. In the type of work they did, a ring that could get dented, broken, or have the stone fall out was no good. Or it could get stuck on her finger and have to be chopped off – Mandos liked women with scars and battle wounds, but Orriel was pretty sure Mako wanted to keep all of her fingers, regardless of how hot he thought it was.

A group gift from the entire crew was considered, to play it safe… but Orriel wanted it to be from him – just him. Advice for personal gifts to girls was also not probably going to be found on-ship; the only person he knew that had a girlfriend in the past was Gault, and that apparently didn’t end well for her.

“Orriel! Su'cuy, vod!” Orriel turned at Torian’s greeting.

“You got everything you needed?” Orriel asked.

“Had a plan. Carried it out. Easy enough,” Torian replied.

“Ori’jate.” Orriel eyed the GTN kiosk. ��…did you get a gift for everyone?”

“Yeah. Having trouble?”

Orriel nodded. “No idea what to get for someone who makes the ship run. How do you express how much you appreciate them?”

Torian sagely nodded. Then he told him, “Explosives.”

Orriel stared at Torian. “Seriously?”

“Don’t overcomplicate things,” Torian advised him. “I know we buy Blizz ordinance weekly, but sometimes ‘more’ of a person’s favorite things is exactly what they want.”

Oh. Orriel touched his hand to his helmet. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then he stopped, and slowly, surely, he had a thought. “Torian, did we keep the scraps around from when we recast my helmet?”

“Think so. Have to check the cargo bay.”

“Great. Grab a crate of iced tea from the station cantina, and I’ll meet you back at the ship.”

Somehow, accidentally, Skadge was left at Vaiken. Somehow, for unknown reasons, none of his messages were getting through the main comm boards.

Blizz told Orriel that he’d fix it … after Life Day. “Blizz need to fix engine room. New guy messy. No system!” Orriel had been completely unaware of any system of organization created by Blizz, but he took the little guy’s word for it.

Torian had been right; Blizz just wanted more explosives, and he was happy as a droid in an oil bath. “Thanks, Boss!”

Gault, as usual, had printed “GIFT CARDS OR CREDITS” across the top of his LIFE DAY GIFT LIST. He had plastered numerous copies of the list to the interior of the windshield of the Mantis, so Orriel would get the hint this year. He did.

Torian’s gift was one that that Orriel took some pride in. He’d managed to source some spare parts for Torian’s antique techstaff; it’d been passed down on his mother’s side for centuries. Techstaffs themselves hadn’t evolved very much, but that particular model had been discontinued way, way before Torian was born. Orriel knew a guy who knew a guy, and the well-packaged crate had arrived well ahead of Life Day.

Torian hadn’t said much – never did. But Orriel didn’t miss how those blue eyes sparkled at the sight of the parts and then how quickly he’d disappeared off to the ship’s worktable.

Orriel smiled at the small pile of gifts on the dashboard. He wasn’t that hard to shop for: give him gas canisters and cartridges, a vibroknife, and explosives, and he was happy.

That said, Mako had done the best: she got him a new weapons rack that latched into both of his closet doors. When the door was opened, it expanded out to its full size, but when the door closed, it got all nice and compact. Mako was the absolute best.

And when the chrono clicked over and Gault came up to the cockpit, it was time for Mako to get her gift.

Gault clapped his shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Orriel gave Gault a quizzical look, then he headed below to the crew quarters. Mako, being the only girl on the ship, got her own little partition, and that’s where he found her, scrolling through the Holonet on her datapad. She immediately looked up when Orriel leaned in her doorway and gave him a smile. “Hey.”

“Thanks for weapons rack. How’d you get it in there?”

Mako got up from her bunk and walked past him into the hallway. “Blizz says we need to do duct maintenance. Really dusty in there, and the last thing you want is any mouse – droid or otherwise – nesting in there.” Mako tossed a teasing grin over her shoulder as she made her way toward the big viewport.

“Blizz is awesome,” Orriel said, as he followed her. “He seemed really, really happy with all the ordnance.”

“I don’t want to hear it when one of you blows your hand off.” Mako rolled her eyes, but he knew she was teasing him.

And that was his opening. “Yeah, and see, that’s why I didn’t get you a ring. Hand blown off, no more ring!”

Mako looked at him as if he was nuts.

“You’d still be cute, but I didn’t want you risk losing anything because of our line of work – statistically more likely to get injure—” Orriel trailed off at she continued to stare at him like he'd grown a tail.

Ok, probably not the best idea to talk about casualty statistics with her on Life Day right before giving her a present. “But I still want to give you something you can wear, all the time.” He tapped his armor’s chest pocket, and the hydraulics hissed open. “So I’m always with you.”

Her face immediately went soft at those words.

Carefully, Orriel fished the chain out of his pocket. He held it up to dangle between him and Mako. The ring threaded upon it spun and reflected the light of some nearby sun shining through the viewport.

Mako stepped forward, her eyes large, to gently cup the bottom of the chain in her hand, letting Orriel hang onto it for now. “It….it’s green. And the ring– pink –” She stared at it a moment longer. “It’s from your armor?” she whispered.

Orriel nodded, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, ruffling up his red hair. “When Torian and I recast my helmet, we saved the scraps and the shavings for patches, but then…you.” He rested his hand on the back of his neck for a few moments before gesturing toward her. I—Listen, I don’t know how you feel about the big, big long term – but you should know –”

“Shut up” was the only warning Orriel had before Mako pounced on him, sending the armored figure clattering to the floor, still valiantly holding up the necklace –

Which was soon snatched away and quickly worn.

It was a most excellent Life Day.

#swtor #swtor secret santa 2023 #oc: orriel devero #levedor legacy #bounty hunter oc #torian cadera #mako #blizz

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t00fumaple · 1 year ago

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The State of Paimon

The Fontaine AC, Furina SQ, and Roses and Muskets event spoilers possibly, rant, so not really cohesive

Sorry for all the people who expected Paimon slander, that isn’t happening here. I am Paimon’s strongest defender, she is my daughter I would never say anything mean to her!

That said, I just want to kind of defend Paimon but also rant about how the writing team has wrote her recently, or perhaps that could be localization’s team fault. I would like whoever can understand what the original text was trying to get that out there.

If you guys have done Furina’s story quest, you would know how insensitive they wrote Paimon there for no reason.

(Screenshots courtesy of Streetwise Rhapsody on YT, thank you.)

Like this is really insensitive to Furina, but I can literally excuse it by the fact Paimon is like 4, she doesn’t fully understand the situation. Paimon never found out what Furina had to go through, also Paimon legit lacks the critical thinking skills to realize “ oh wow I should lay off “ without being told to do so.

In my opinion, Traveler is even worse. Even though they don’t comment on it as frequently as Paimon. They know, they’ve seen it. All the times Furina had to suffer for those hellish 500 years just to play a part. In some capacity they understood what happened to her, Paimon hasn’t. And yet, they still force her to try and act in a play when she would never feel comfortable with the fact.

Paimon was insensitive throughout the whole quest but it’s kind of weird for most of the fandom to only point fingers at her when Traveler does the exact same thing lol

Hell, Paimon even comments on it

Like I will admit, I don’t like how they portrayed her in this quest, nor the Traveler. Especially since Furina shot up to one of my favorite characters since 4.2 dropped.

I think this quest is kind of held back by the fact they had to force Furina to be put into the position of a director, which would explain why the Traveler and Paimon are so mean to her, why they wrote them like that? Who actually knows.

Though recently in the new event, Furina has bit back now and you can see that Paimon is starting to become a little kinder to her than before. Hell they even pose together. Which hopefully means that we won’t get anymore Paimon insensitive moments.

Another character I want to mention that Paimon is especially disrespectful for, and gets mentioned a lot in how Paimon is the worst and she should be banned from this character.

Wanderer, Scaramouche, Kabukimono, bro has like 20 names and yet still goes by none of them.

To be honest, I really don’t get why people bring this guy up on how Paimon shouldn’t be as rude to him as others. Which like, it makes sense

Even after he erased himself, I’m like 99% sure Paimon is still aware that he’s tried killing the Traveler multiple times.

Paimon has every right to be mean to this guy since the Traveler are the only constant in Paimon’s life. They are her whole world, they are practically her parent at this point.

I genuinely can see from Paimon’s POV that she has no reason to feel bad for Wanderer. Even in the scene where she tells him to hurry up on his remembering shit.

To be honest, hella based Paimon at that moment. Like it’s one of the worst things to do, really insensitive but I can forgive it because the Traveler was about to die protecting his ass, also mind you, she is a toddler. My only problem is that like, it feels really out of place.

Don’t get me wrong, Wanderer is great, I love him, he’s actually amazing. But it’s good to understand that Paimon has every right to be disrespectful to him, and to be honest, he would do the exact same thing to Paimon if that happened to her.

Now I will admit, these two instances of her being disrespectful is really terrible by her, and I really blame that mostly on the writing team.

I feel like it’s just weird that they seem to write her however they like? Her character hasn’t been that consistent, she can show a lot of empathy for some characters but absolutely shred other characters for no reason?

It’s sad to see since I adore Paimon, she’s amazing but it’s really tiring to see that they’ve kind of made her really annoying, when they could’ve kept her character consistent.

It’s really sad to see, and I really hope in the future they are able to just, write her better hopefully.

That’s really just all, Paimon is my beloved and its hard being a Paimon fan in this fandom since so many people dislike her 😔

I wanted to put my thoughts out there too, it’s okay if you hate Paimon!!! I can 100% understand but it’s really sad to see because most of that is because the writing is doing a terrible job at writing her.

Justice for Paimon

#it’s nice to make these little posts #I want to make more in the future #possibly like with Furina and another character I love #and why they should totally meet and be besties #genshin impact #paimon #paimon genshin impact

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cantsomeoneelsedoit · 10 months ago

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Ch 58: Eyes of the Dragon

This chapter starts with three lead pages before the title page, which I think is a new record for UU. Tozuka's like HERE TAKE THIS FLASHBACK, TOO! WE CAN MAKE IT FIT!

He really makes the best appetizers, too, bc Shen's origin story is guaranteed to be interesting. Unlike some of the other Negators, his life was already rough even before his ability awakened; maybe that's why he relies on his physical strength more than his ability since it's just second nature to him.

It turns out that Shen was once a fighting street urchin with a heart of gold! Notice how Mei is telling him in this scene and the scene from the previous chapter that she already has enough and Shen doesn't have to fight. But Shen isn't easily satisfied!

Little Shen was a streetwise orphan who wasn't content to just exist. Something was always driving him to try to create a better version of himself and the lives of those around him.

Unfortunately, Shen wasn't able to win the tournament. Still, his showing as the untrained-but-incredibly-gifted-kid was enough to gather the attention of someone.

Shen has a Xianxia origin story: A plucky orphan who has some kind of unquenchable drive for strength, plus a dependent sibling and "eyes of the dragon," is recruited by an old master whose current #1 student is poised to become an unwilling rival, and so he joins his mysterious martial arts school to train to become the very best. We're still missing some Chinese magicians, alchemy, and immortal hermits to complete the genre lmao. Tozuka may yet surprise us!

His teacher's ability to sense strong chi/ki/talent will be important to the story later.

But first, the title page:

Poor Shen! He really would've enjoyed training that way! He just can't sleep at night knowing that there might be strong opponents out there.

"Hey, Shen, I heard you're pretty strong!"

Shen's like a little brother trying to get all the JUICY DETAILS about Andy's EXCITING ADVENTURES and TALES OF COMBAT while Andy's like "Actually it was extremely traumatizing. So anyway, about the firework monsters..."

A mysterious staff appears! And is that Summer's core?

The Summer arc has so many gorgeous panels. I really like the white space in the next one.

It's Feng! And he's put the core into one of the Juniors before setting them loose to cause destruction.

The UMAs take off and shoot vertically up the skyscraper. Andy tells Shen to stay back and fight Feng, but Shen's already gone!

Fuuko and Mui both get caught in the crossfire of the guys yelling at each other.

Feng scoffs at Shen because he eagerly chased after the Juniors instead of recognizing that Feng was the greater threat. It seems that Shen hasn't yet mastered the ability to sense a person's strength.

Another zombie fight! Feng's prayer beads produce four jiangshi who take fighting stances. Shen hits that subscribe button right away.

This is finally Shen's chance to fight the great fighters of the past, just like he wanted!! Just look how happy he is!

The jiangshi attack at the same time with a variety of styles, kind of like the enemies Bruce Lee faces as he fights his way up the tower in the movie Game of Death. He also fights Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, which is totally worth watching.

Interestingly, Game of Death is an unfinished movie. I believe that fact gives us a clue about the Artifact of the same name in UU, but I'll have to come back to that later.

Shen uses his ability in a fabulous double spread. He's literally punching their faces in! That's our boy!

But something interrupts his smile...

Even though he beat all four easily, both Shen and Mui are unsettled. He has a dark shadow on his face instead of his usual grin, and she's worried what this means for Shen's future.

Holy shit! It's that guy who beat Shen at the tournament in the flashback! And Feng killed him at some point?! If Feng has already killed off Shen's old rivals, then Mui is right to be worried.

This spread is so cool. Feng was testing the waters with Shen, asking if his emotions would affect his fighting. Shen reassured Feng that he was just here to test his own strength and find satisfaction in the battle itself, and Feng grinned right back at him. These two seem like a perfect match!

Masterpost

#overreading undead unluck #undead unluck

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words-and-threads · 3 months ago

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I think I understand what Kelly Marcel is doing. If you look at her writing credits it all becomes clear.

First you have Fifty Shades of Gray, which if Dan Olsen is to be believed had a script markedly better than the book. Engaging tension, a protagonist who doesn't react to everything like a baby duckling in an abbatoir, some genuine humor and a plot that made sense. For this work, Marcel was constantly screamed at by Erica Mitchell and then fired before the second movie.

Everything since then has been Marcel's revenge. You don't care about comprehensible motivation? Here's Cruella, all vibes, no logic. Eat it up you filthy animals. Or don't, I don't give a shit. Do you actually care about ethics? When I lie to your face about how Walt Disney treated P.L. Travers and edit out how fucking insufferable they both were, will you care? Because the studio will be thrilled I sanded off the rough edges of the truth and enough people will watch to make them their money back.

And the Venom movies are her full expression of villainy. Did you start to care about these characters? Fuck you they're dead now. Were you thinking about the implications of that scene? Wake up you soppy babies it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Are you troubled that I invoked abuse by name repeatedly? Does it bother you that the victims either had to eat that shit and move on or die horribly? Too fucking bad! Yes I made characters sympathetic on purpose and then I hurt them indiscriminately. Streetwise homeless ladies, troubled scientists, haunted cops, little girls, the tormented and the average and the evil, all just meat for the grinder. Then I gave the grinder a name and pathos and hurt him too. Do you care now? Do you believe he loves the sad little man he berates and beats, whose belongings he destroys out of spite? I called it abuse. I showed him going on a murder spree. But you don't care, do you? You don't want heroes. You don't want growth. You don't want to see people do the right thing. You just want the tension of pain and the relief of its ending. I can show you the depths underneath but you'll forget them the moment I give you a pretty visual and some nice words. And then the moment you relax I'm gonna start hurting you again.

If Kelly Marcel or Tom Hardy (who also did a bunch of the writing) were known for being just...real stupid, I would assume this was an accident, but they aren't. They're both competent people with some understanding of human nature.

I must therefore believe that the Venom movies are an act of sadism against the audience, the film industry, possibly against the art form itself. You will be given no true relief, no closure, no satisfaction. You won't even be allowed to relax into nihilism because they will lure you back into caring with sympathetic motivation, with artful depictions of suffering. And then they'll say "fuck this guy" and bite off his head, kill her with a symbiote, throw him on a spike, drop a church bell on her. Did you want meaning? Did you want hope? Did you want a little warmth in this cold cruel world? Fuck you. Suffer. Hate this movie. Bankrupt the studio who made it. Your boos mean nothing. I've seen what makes you cheer.

Honestly, go off queen.

#content warning discussion of intimate partner violence and child abuse #venom #kelly marcel

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honor-among-thieves · 2 years ago

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🥀 back at you and 🍂 for Connor, and a 💫 for you?

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Well, I'm canonizing his Deku notebooks, which are just a collection of notebooks categorizing all the villains and henchies he knows about and their powers and mods, filled with scratchy handwriting and doodles. It fits his, "I'm somehow streetwise but a huge nerd" vibes. I think he gets like... one anime sticker from sticker machines you see at grocery stores and sticks it on the cover and is internal like "heh, yissss" when he sees it and gets his singular molecule of dopamine for the day.

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

He does not enjoy hugs in because he sees them as a performance that put him on the spot. If he turns down a hug it's going to be awkward, also where does he put his hands now, and his face is way too close to someone else's and how long is he supposed to do this anyway? He doesn't mind other forms of physical affection as long as he knows they are coming on some level (ok with being shoulder bumped, leaned on, arm hooked, hand held etc.). He likes cuddling because it can be as little or as much physical contact as he feels like and it's easier to disentangle himself if he decides he wants or needs to.

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

His first name is just a really common Guy Name and even though he was jokingly named after RK800, the name Conchobhar means "lover of wolves" or "master of hounds" which is fitting given the context of Sidestep as a canonical dog-lover.

#connor szarvas #sidestep #fhr #fallen hero #ask

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enarmor · 2 years ago

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deep dive character sheet

stolen from: ree and everyone else tagging: every. last. one of you

NAME: SAIN

BODY

height: 188cm / 6′ 2

strength ★★★★☆ (he's pretty big as far as knights go, trained under wallace, and likes to flaunt his build)

dexterity ★★☆☆☆ (the lower of the two skl stats for this christmas cav pair. he's also just got more of a wild style that relies on strength and charging to overwhelm foes as opposed to deft lancemanship)

health ★★★☆☆ (reckless, but not neglectful of his health. has put himself in harm's way to use as an icebreaker with women)

energy ★★★★★ (he literally makes genki noises. c'mon.)

beauty ★★★★★ (ugliness is almost never among a lady's complaints about him)

style ★☆☆☆☆ (caelin moment. i will say he's getting somewhere with the scarf but there's an entire support chain that talks about how uncool lycians dress)

hygiene ★★★★★ (uses cosmetic product and almost always smells like flowers)

SKILLS

perception ★★★★☆ (can be willfully ignorant if he wants to be, but generally very perceptive. especially in social scenarios)

communication ★★★★☆ (can and will talk your ear off but faces a boy who cried wolf scenario with regards to his actual feelings. they are so pronounced at times that nobody believes him when they really get serious)

persuasion ★★☆☆☆ (kind of a tough one because sain gets a lot of no's but he is damn persistent and can excel in other areas. docking one star for being in an unpaired ending)

mediation ★★★★★ (he's so annoying that any would-be quarrelers will drop their fight in favor of ganging up on him)

literacy ★★★★☆ (not a scholar by any means but poetry counts for a lot)

creativity ★★★★★ (always trying a new angle. always improvising)

cooking ★★★☆☆ (i'm pegging this as a budding talent. he's got it in him but hasn't had the upbringing to bring it out)

tech savvy ★★☆☆☆ (a little simple-minded plus prefers the natural world)

combat ★★★★☆ (he was named subcommander for a reason, and this is postgame sain who participated in battles against nergal and a dragon so. pretty good)

survival ★☆☆☆☆ (his one star is earned by thinking thoughts like "what would kent say")

stealth ☆☆☆☆☆ (loud + clunky armor + doesn't like staying quiet)

street smarts ★★★★☆ (as one who mingles with the townfolk a lot, sain has to be streetwise or else fall into some pretty dangerous traps. this is also his only claim to being a mentor to anyone)

seduction ★★★☆☆ (HE SUCCEEDS OCCASIONALLY)

luck ★★★★☆ (his series of life events is pretty fortunate if you look at it all in hindsight. also has the higher lck base + growth out of his cav duo)

handling animals ★★★☆☆ (his horse bears the unfortunate tragedy of having watched him develop into a womanizer and does nawt like him for it)

pacifying children ★★★★★ (he is like a storybook character to them and also a funny fool)

MIND

intelligence ★★☆☆☆ (his reputation as a dunce is definitely a little bit intentional but there is something seriously wrong with his emotional intelligence)

happiness ★★★☆☆ (subject to change as threads progress. presents as a 5 though)

spirituality ★☆☆☆☆ (isn't really big on either of elibe's major religious systems but knows enough to make allusions while flirting)

confidence ★★★★★ (yeah.)

humor ★★★★★ (yeah...)

anxiety ★★☆☆☆(something that gets a little worse with each rejection but has yet to make any impact on anything)

patience ★★★☆☆ (definitely more of a 'this needs to happen NOW' kinda guy, though that naturally changes when waiting for his beloved to say yes to him)

passion ★★★★★ (he hails from caelin canton, home to men of passion and fire)

nice ☆★☆☆☆ mean (can rag on people and can be a snide ass if you're mean first (or boss him around too much; though kent is immune) but generally very pleasant)

brave ★☆☆☆☆ cowardly (you will never hear the end of this quality)

pacifist ☆☆☆★☆ violent (sain is a man of war at the end of the day, even if he appreciates peace)

thoughtful ☆☆☆★☆ impulsive (schemes sometimes and thinks when it is desperately required of him)

agreeable ☆☆★☆☆ contrary (this one depends on who you ask)

idealistic ★☆☆☆☆ pragmatic (lost in a world of fantasy~)

frugal ☆☆☆☆★ big spender (very prone to spending money. very.)

extrovert ★☆☆☆☆ introvert (going out into town is how he recharges)

collected ☆☆☆☆★ wild (it's part of his charm, or so he'll have you believe)

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ★★★★★ (i know we all like to point and laugh at him but he is genuinely charming and funny. "much beloved by the citizenry" to quote fe7 directly)

empathy ★★★☆☆ (the sylvain forging bonds really made me rethink this one. sain has his moments)

generosity ★★★★☆ (goes hand-in-hand with his money-spending, though he is more vocal about his generosity being ultimately selfish)

wealth ★★★☆☆ (was paid pretty well as subcommander, though sain's accumulated funds quickly dwindled when he went rogue)

honest ☆☆★☆☆ deceptive (not deceptive for malicious reasons but he is quick to bury any feelings that aren't pleasant)

leader ☆☆★☆☆ follower (he was second in command so lead but followed at the same time. marches to the beat of his own drum but that drum is also simping for lyn)

polite ☆☆★☆☆ rude (he can be either and it depends who you ask)

political ☆☆☆★☆ indifferent (pretty much holds the "all politicians are stupid and corrupt" belief. has lycia proven him wrong?)

BELIEFS

higher power ★★☆☆☆ (saint elimine exists sure but the only time he's kneeling and invoking her name is to flirt with a lady)

fate/destiny ★★★★★ (this is one of the cornerstones of fe7 and also a thing that gets brought up in numerous sain interactions. even if it sounds like he's just using fate as a sweet nothing i think a big part of him genuinely believes in every woman he happens across. hence why the letdown is always so great)

magic ★★★★★ (spells aside, sain bears witness to morphs, draconic resurrection, legendary weapons, and now--elementals)

soulmates ★★★★★ (everyone can be The One unless proven otherwise)

good and evil ★★★★★ (in a poetic justice sort of sense. knights are good, scoundrels are evil)

luck ★★★★☆ (personifying her as a woman is very on-brand of him)

PRIORITIES

family ☆☆☆☆☆ (i headcanon that he killed his father, and if he had any siblings or a mother in his life we would have heard about them by now. they do not matter to sain)

friends ★★★★★ (the lyndis legion are who sain lives and dies for. nothing comes before them...)

love ★★★★★ (...except maybe this one)

home ★☆☆☆☆ (now that it's been abdicated there's not much of a home to prioritize. one star for keeping its memory alive)

health ★★★☆☆ (he's reckless but he eats, exercises, and sleeps right)

praise ★★★★★ (especially from ladies. especially from lyn.)

justice ★★★★★ (he is a knight, after all)

truth ★★☆☆☆ (cares about honesty until doing so requires admitting to some ugly things)

power ★☆☆☆☆ (wants to look big and strong but actual power interests him little if the results aren't tangible)

fame ★★★☆☆ (sort of goes hand-in-hand with praise, but he doesn't care for infamy even if it seems to follow him)

wealth ★☆☆☆☆ (as long as he can live comfortably)

others' opinions ★★☆☆☆ (sort of. he's very aware of his reputation and doesn't change but he would care if his loyalty was questioned)

#OOC #HEADCANONS #//behold

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thebuckblogimo · 1 year ago

Text

For me, this is when "the '60s" started.

October 23, 2023

Since we roomed together as freshmen in college almost 60 years ago, my buddy Eric and I have shared numerous letters and e-mails. Over the last few years we have compared personal insights into our early years at MSU. Recently he caused me to reflect on the subject of "when everything changed" on campus. I thought you might enjoy my reply to him. Here is my communication, edited slightly for the blogosphere:

Eric, My Boy...

Two years ago you asked me what kind of thought process brought me to Abbot Hall as a freshman in 1965. Then, a couple weeks ago, you e-mailed a reference to what life was like on campus during that first year at MSU. It struck a chord, inspiring me to reminisce about the zeitgeist of those times. So buckle up as I unload. Some of this stuff you've heard before. Some of it you may not be aware of:

A month prior to the move from my East Dearborn neighborhood to East Lansing, some of my closest friends--Tony, Garry, Larry and Vince--had already begun their freshman years in late August at Western Michigan and U-M, schools that were on the trimester system. Other close friends--Joe, Butch, Keller, Bernie, the "Bear," etc.--probably hadn't thought seriously about what they would do after high school. Within a year they were all either drafted into the service, enlisted, or joined the reserves due to the escalation of the War in Vietnam.

MSU was on the quarter system back then. I would be moving into Abbott Hall at the end of September--on my own, without anyone from my considerable childhood "support group." For the first time since going to camp, I was beginning to feel--pick an adjective--apprehensive, anxious, lonely.

For some strange reason, three images stand out for me from those last 30 days that I was home: 1) shopping with my Mom for "school clothes," including Italian "swirl" shoes and a brown corduroy-and-suede winter jacket at the downtown Hudson's store; 2) reading a story in the Detroit News--while sitting on a milk crate, in the doorway of my Dad's marble shop--about a 13-3 MSU football victory in the season opener against UCLA; and 3) sitting in my Dad's '63 Pontiac Bonneville, feeling melancholy as I listened to Johnathon King's "Everyone's Gone To The Moon" on the radio while he ran into Allo Bar at 35th and Horatio in Detroit for a "fast one" after work.

During the run-up to the start of school, I kept thinking about how I would soon be entering an unknown world. It was heady stuff for the first kid in the Bokuniewicz family to attend college.

Finally, on a Sunday afternoon, my parents drove me to East Lansing, helped me move my stuff into the dorm, and said goodbye. I didn't kiss my mother. I'm not sure I even hugged her, as my family just didn't do that sort of thing. My folks would never again set foot on the MSU campus.

I met my two roommates at 271 Abbot Hall that day--a couple of guys from "the thumb" of Michigan. One with a vaguely moppish head of hair, wearing jeans, penny loafers and "no socks" (that would be you); the other a pimply-faced son of a big-time sugar beet farmer who told me he was an "egg major." (Turns out he actually said "ag major." Who knew?)

Usually wearing tight pants and my Italian swirls during those first few weeks--and with a jar of Dixie Peach Pomade on my dresser, plainly visible to all who entered our room--it took only a few days for me to realize that in the eyes of the guys in the House of Abode, I had been judged as someone "different."

A couple guys, I would eventually learn, thought that I was possibly a member of a gang. I was being perceived by some as that "streetwise kid from Detroit."

I began thinking, What don't these people get about me? And what is it about them? When they dressed for Sunday dinner (as we were required to do in the dorm in those days), they wore herringbone sport coats, rep ties and wing tips. I wore a sharkskin suit and "thick-on-thin" socks. They liked tunes such as "Little Honda" by the Hondells, which I thought was kinda weird. As a matter of fact, I was amazed by the proliferation of Hondas (especially Honda Hawks) all over the MSU campus.

In my neighborhood, guys rode big-ass Triumph, BSA and Norton motorcycles. We listened to the Temptations, Four Tops and obscure groups on black radio stations. Where I came from, most popcorn-machine-riding, bubble-gum-music-listening types would be derided as "cake eaters."

So that's the backdrop to the period you succinctly described in a dozen words: "The times, they weren't a-changin' yet, but a change was gonna come."

And "Whoa, Nellie," did things ever change.

During that first quarter at MSU, I recall sitting in my seat at the Nat Sci building one morning, reading the State News before class started, about Mario Savio and the Free Speech Movement at Berkeley. It seemed that people all over campus were talking about it. Also, I was aware that something called the Gulf of Tonkin incident had occurred the previous year, but now I was beginning to hear about a troop build-up in South Vietnam.

The change that was gonna come--at least in East Lansing--seemed to begin with the Ramparts magazine article a few months later (April of '66) about MSU's clandestine involvement with the CIA and South Vietnamese government. I remember well the four-color illustration of a large-breasted, Vietnamese-looking MSU cheerleader--Michigan State pennant in hand--on the cover.

Next thing I knew, shit was hitting the fan.

That story marked the beginning of things radical and revolutionary on campus. I soon found myself reading more than just the sports section every day and listening to political debates among students in the grill. Sophomore year I started attending speeches in protest of the war at Fairchild Theater; and about "black power" and the class struggle, as espoused by the Black Panther Party; and about revelations concerning ground bits of bone and mouse ears that could be found in hot dogs, according to consumer advocate Ralph Nader.

After the Ramparts story, it seemed as though students were railing everywhere against the Vietnam War--in the State News, at gatherings in kivas, and at sites on campus such as the old administration building and Beaumont Tower.

Initially, I was bewildered by it all. My Dad and uncles were World War II veterans. I had never heard them criticize the concept of war. How could our country not be right about what it was doing in Southeast Asia, I thought?

I can't pinpoint the exact moment that I came to understand that the War in Vietnam was "all wrong," but by the time you and I moved into 276 Abbot Hall (or was it 275?) in the fall of '66, changes of all kinds were indeed on. Some examples:

Long Hair. The style on campus was transitioning from Brian Wilson-like to Mick Jagger-like. (By Thanksgiving I was parting my hair rather than combing it back ala Bobby Rydell.) Guys began wearing "fatigue jackets" and girls were getting into the "peasant look." (Thanks to your influence, I ditched my typical footwear for a pair of Bass Weejuns in the fall and a pair of Bates Floaters to plow through the snow winter term. These were the first mini steps in a change of personal identity for me.) Along with the changes in hair styles and clothing on campus we began hearing terms like "hippies, radicals and freaks."

The Music. By September of '66, the Beatles had released at least a half dozen albums. Same for the Rolling Stones. The next thing I knew, you went from being a Chad and Jeremy fan to a devotee of the Mothers of Invention, as well as Captain Beefhart. Big-time change. I hung in there as the maven of Motown in the House of Abode which, of course, underwent a name change to the House of Abortion.

The Sexual Revolution. I recall walking alone to the auditorium across from Bessie Hall to hear someone--I have no idea who--give a speech about the sexual revolution. I recall sitting in my seat when the speaker on stage exhorted everyone to turn and look into the eyes of the person next to us, and, on the count of three, to yell "pussy"--ostensibly to help us get over our inhibitions. I thought to myself, Lenny, we're not at St. Al's any more.

The Generation Gap. I think it was Jack Weinberg of the Free Speech Movement who said, "Don't trust anyone over 30." I recall you concluding, "When I turn 30 I won't be able to trust myself anymore." And every time I would go home and see my next door neighbor, Mr. Phillips, some of my uncles and, eventually, work associates from the Greatest Generation, we would engage in a lively debate about "the war." I think of that time as the beginning of the first "great divide."

Politics. Now I was really paying attention to the national dissent over Vietnam. In fact, practically every student on campus was paying attention. I started subscribing to Newsweek and would do so for the next 40 years, in order to stay apprised of the great issues of the day. I even took an elective class called Great Issues, as well as a political science class called The Isms (socialism, Marxism, Leninism, Communism, Fascism). By junior year I was watching the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite practically every night. I couldn't wait to hear the insightful commentary of Eric Sevareid at the conclusion of each show.

The Civil Rights Movement. As a child, I had been aware of "colored" kids being escorted into an all-white school in the South during the Eisenhauer administration. But it was Martin Luther King who epitomized "the movement" in the early-to-mid '60s with his non-violent approach to civil disobedience. Then came the Detroit riot during the "long, hot summer of 1967." "The times they were a-changin'."

Drugs. I'm not even sure that I had heard about pot or LSD in high school. But during that first term at MSU there was all kinds of coverage in the student newspaper, Playboy magazine and other media about Dr. Timothy Leary and his experiments with LSD. He was exhorting everyone to "Tune in, turn on, drop out." Or was it "Turn on, tune in, drop out"? Anyway, by the time we graduated, it was the rare college kid who had not at least tried smoking reefer. Beyond that I did dexedrine a few times to stay up all night to cram for final exams, but I never did a psychedelic trip on acid.

Many times I have said that society changed more from 1965 to 1970--socially, politically, racially, musically, culturally, sexually, etc.--than during any other five-year period in my lifetime. And, while it was happening, our football jones was being satisfied by Duffy Daugherty, Bubba, and his All-American buddies, leading up to the first "game of the century," the 10-10 tie with Notre Dame in the last game of the '66 season, and a share of consecutive national football championships our first two years in school.

Oh, how the world turned in the '60s. For my money, it was the best time in history to be a student at MSU

Ad finem.

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