#because yes. The web really is that fucking dangerous

[solazu1]

Do schools not teach online safety well enough anymore or are kids just fucking dumb nowadays. Genuine question.

[electrosuite]

where no one would see us

warnings: swearing, fingering, oral sex, descriptive sex, rough sex

word count: 2k

masterlist

"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice down the best he could. He dragged you back into the alleyway he was hiding in, getting you both out of view.

"I knew you were doing this shit again, Pete. You promised you were done. Stalking escaped convicts, for what? To see if they're putting the city in danger?"

"Yes!" You tilted your head in frustration. "Baby, it's my job."

"No, your job is to take pictures for the newspaper. That's it! You don't even have your camera on you."

"I have my phone."

"Which is in your pocket."

"What do you want me to say? Huh?"

"I want you to admit that you broke your promise and are doing the Spider-Man shit again."

"Hey, baby, don't disrespect the suit." You just stared at him, clenching your jaw. "I know I promised you I was done, but if I can do something to help catch bad guys, you can't expect me not to do it."

"Yes! I can! You promised me. You're this close to getting yourself killed, and I can't just stand by and let you do it. And you're doing this right before our dinner reservations. I put on a nice, sexy dress for you, you're in a suit! If you needed to were you gonna just ditch me at that restaurant?"

"Please calm down and lower your voice. You're gonna get us caught."

"Oh, I'm gonna get us caught? Says the guy stalking a criminal in plain clothes. I might as well just walk up to him and tell you who you are myself."

Within a split second, his hand was clamped tightly over your mouth and he had you pushed up against the wall.

"Peter!" you exclaimed, your voice barely audible past his hand.

"Baby, please just be quiet for one second."

From a distance, you could hear two male voices talking. "I heard his voice from over here."

"You sure it was him?" This voice came from the man Peter was following.

"Oh yeah. I'm sure."

"Shit," Peter said, scooping you up and swinging the two of you through the alley and a few buildings down. You landed in a different alleyway, this one with a brick wall blocking the other men's path to you. "You almost got us killed, Y/N."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" There were a few seconds of silence between you two. "Look, Pete, I'm not upset about you being Spider-Man."

"Oh, could've fooled me."

"I'm upset because you lied to me." He sighed. "I don't want to lose you. And I don't like being lied to. And I really don't like the idea of you not showing up for dinner because you're fighting someone."

He nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have told you I was done, and I shouldn't be doing this before our plans. I just wanted you to feel better about all of it."

"I know. And, I mean, it doesn't matter how hot I think you are in that skin-tight suit." Your voice had changed, your tone sultry and low. He looked up at you, squinting a bit. "Or how good you look webbing up those bad guys."

"Is that so?" He slowly stepped toward you. You walked backwards at the same pace, eventually bumping into the wall.

"Mhm. Or how good your arms and your thighs look in the suit, too." He was only inches away from your face, his eyes darting from yours to your lips. "It's so private here."

"It is, isn't it?" He placed his palms flat against your sides, his mouth latching onto your throat and leaving gentle yet firm kissing to your skin.

"Mhm. You could do anything you want to me and no one would hear. No one would see us."

"What do you want?" he whispered. "Tell me."

"I want you to pin me up against this wall and fuck me so hard I can't walk home."

Within a second, he was on his knees, pushing your dress and underwear out of the way. He immediately attached his tongue to your clit, and you whimpered shakily. You lifted your left leg and propped it in his shoulder, giving him more access to you.

Goddamn, he was good at this. And he knew just how to overstimulate you. Two fingers entered you, and you were already so wet they went in with ease.

The sounds echoing in the alleyway were unholy and disgusting, your moans mixing with them to create the sound that Peter loved so, so much.

Normally the two of you would be as quiet as possible so as to not wake up his aunt May or your parents. It, admittedly, wasn't very sexy. But the times you guys would fuck while home alone, he was sure his neighbors hated your guys' guts.

Your hands pulling his hair and your thighs shaking was how he knew you were getting close. And as you began thrusting your hips to grind on his face, he knew you were teetering over the edge.

Fucks left your mouth like breaths and he had to hold you up to keep you from falling over. But he didn't stop once your high ended. In fact, he kept going until you had another orgasm, and then another.

"Peter, please, just fuck me already," you begged after your third.

He shot to his feet, quickly spinning you around and pressing your chest into the wall.

"I don't have a condom with me," he whispered as his lips attacked your shoulders.

"Good."

He almost growled at this, the thought of fucking you raw making him almost feral. He pulled your dress back up above your ass, moving your underwear back out of the way, and reaching in front of you to begin fingering you.

You were so sensitive at this point that you couldn't stop your hips from bucking backwards into his crotch, feeling how hard he was.

"Goddamn, you are dripping," he whispered. And it was true. It was like a leaky faucet, your thick juices covering your thighs and running down your legs.

You wanted to lean back against his chest but he had you pinned to the wall, keeping you perfectly still and submissive.

"Peter, please, just fuck me."

He clicked his tongue three times. "No rushing, baby. You have to be patient."

By the time your fourth orgasm washed over you, you were screaming, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Such a tease," you breathed.

He was fully holding you up at this point, your legs too weak to support yourself.

You heard him undo his belt and then his pants, the anticipation making you take a shaky breath.

Feeling his dick glide up and down your pussy lips, soaking himself in your wetness and sliding across your unbearably sensitive clit drove you insane.

But the feeling of him effortlessly sliding into you, stretching you out and filling you to the brim and then some, it almost made you collapse.

He didn't start slow this time. He immediately picked up speed, slamming into you at a speed he normally reserved for rougher sex like this. He was like a fucking machine, knowing exactly what spots to hit to make you turn to puddy in his arms.

His right hand reached up to grip your neck and pull your back against his chest, then took you a step forward so your stomach was flush with the wall. He kept your head pinned back against his shoulder so he could kiss your neck and cover your skin with hickeys.

He pulled your arms behind your body, crossing them and gripping your forearms where they overlapped. Every time he slammed into you, your body hit the wall. It took the air out of your lungs, and that combined with his hand firmly around your neck made it so it was difficult to breathe. But it turned you on to unimaginable levels.

This is the type of rough sex you loved. Being completely at his mercy and being completely controlled by him. Not even being able to reach back and touch him, almost as if you were tied up, made you antsy. You needed to be able to grip him in some way, and he knew this. Taking that away from you only established his dominance and gave him control.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours and echoing around on the concrete walls of the alley was much louder than he meant for them to be, but he was so distracted that he barely heard it.

He moaned and groaned in your ear as he drilled you, your cries of pleasure only pushing him to go faster and harder. You squeezed him so tightly, making it a slight challenge with every thrust. But he was so strong that he barely noticed, only able to focus on fulfilling your request to make it hard for you to walk home.

Peter was the only person you'd ever had sex with that could make you cum during just penetrative sex. At first you thought it was because you were already sensitive from him eating you out, but the first time you guys had sex where he didn't go down on you he still got you there just by fucking you. And typically you only had two or three orgasms during sex.

But you were approaching your fifth one in just a few minutes, and you honestly weren't sure you could handle it.

"P-Peter, fuck, I don't know if I can take another."

"Ooh, but you can, baby. I know you can."

You shook your head. "Too much."

He knew your safe word, and so did you. But you didn't want to say it. You wanted to be fucked out of your mind, to cum so many times you're out of it for hours. You wanted him to push you to your limit and see how much you could take.

"Nothing is too much for you, baby. I know it's not."

The second he pushed you over the edge, the hand on your neck went to your mouth, covering it tightly. You screamed into his hand, seeing stars and feeling him have to keep you on your feet. He didn't slow down to give you a break afterwards, in fact he somehow went even faster.

But this didn't last for long, as he could feel himself getting there too. His thrusts were becoming ever so slightly out of rhythm and his grip was tightening on you. And you noticed.

"Peter, please, cum inside me."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Fill me up, baby. Please."

He was so focused, so driven by your begging. Your ribs were slamming into the wall but you didn't care. The pain felt good. Him using you as nothing more than a fuck toy felt good. And the idea of him filling you with his warm cum was something you needed.

You squeezed down on him once more and he slammed so hard into you it hurt. With a long 'fuck' he emptied his balls into your pussy, the white substance dripping out of you, onto the ground and onto his pants.

He leaned against you for a moment, not moving either of you. You were both so dizzy and so tired that you just needed to catch your breath.

"Fuck," you whispered.

"Was that what you wanted?"

You nodded. "So good."

When he eventually let go of you, you leaned your back against the wall. You situated yourselves back to look relatively normal, aside from the sweat. He checked his watch and grimaced.

"I think we missed our reservation."

"Ah shit. By how long?"

"Ten minutes." You nodded. "Wanna just go home and shower?"

"Yeah, we need one."

He kissed you deeply and you both smiled at each other.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

"Let's get home before the cops show up, yeah? I think we were pretty loud."

"Yeah, please."

And with that, you were wrapped around his back as he swung you two back to his apartment.

[alexanderlightweight]

Amazing to see you better and back writing again! I've been pretty much off tumblr for a while because on RL stuff so quite a shock (but a wonderful surprise) to see I'd missed a Writing Wednesday, but great fun to read through the recent prompts and answers - you still write as beautifully as ever! If you are in the mood for it, I'd love to see something with Alec changing from 'In Command' to 'Melting/Falling Apart' as he walks to Magnus - any verse is good :)

hi!!! it's been a while yes but its amazing to be back and good to hear from you! I get that, RL makes it really hard to be online sometimes, when I wasn't writing I tried to stay somewhat active but tbh writing is why i'm interested in being online so I was kinda bad at it.

i'm actually relieved my writing hasn't gotten too rusty, so i'm thankful to hear that! I hope you enjoy this, it's in the petals vs and is Mirai's POV

<3 lumine

-

in his wake petals fall

Mirai is pleased with her position as Alec Lightwood’s second.  

He’s tough but fair — though he has his own weaknesses — and beyond that, he takes the lives of his hunters seriously.

Which means that when someone from the outside fucks up and puts either lives or the reputation of his Insitutte  in danger, he takes it seriously.

Like now, where he stands half-naked and dripping from his hurried decontamination shower and is dressing down a dirt-smudged, scowling shadowhunter.

“You opened up a manhole to track down a nest of demons and then you just happened to leave it open? Along with the other three hatches and locked areas you went through that allowed two dozen minor demons to flood the streets? I had to send two teams back down to make sure no mundanes fell or were dragged in.”

As he speaks Alec’s volume stays calm and measured and despite being two inches shorter than the hunter he’s scolding, he holds every bit of power in the room with just the tone of his voice. It’s cold, like ice despite the gentle pitch of it and every single hunter in the room can hear the anger and disappointment in it.

“I didn’t know we were supposed to shut it.”

It’s not a question and it’s not even an attempt at an apology and Mirai knows that Idris’ latest and best will be sent back by daybreak.

“Why is he even here?” 

It’s a valid question even if the answer is the same as it always is, politics. 

“His mother just joined the council.” Kaleb has barely looked up from his tablet since Alec was called from his office to deal with the dozens of demons loose in a mundane night market. They’d needed his skill to deal with it quickly and efficiently and even Jace was woken up to direct a city wide communication web despite having only just ended a shift. “We accepted the transfer because his scores were among the top, apparently they no longer test for critical thinking.”

“...”

Mirai has never seen a nephilim move so quickly without active runes before.  Alec’s strength due to his training and use of the bow is legendary but there is still something impressive about watching him lift someone taller and broader than him with the ease of a cat dangling a mouse.

Alec shakes him, as if that will somehow help impart the lesson he wishes to teach him. Considering that half of Alec’s skin is still raw and pink from being regrown after ichor coated it, Mirai imagines the only one truly suffering is her commander. But if this helps relieve his stress after the evening he’s had, she’ll take it.

“Alexander—” 

Salvation comes in the form of Magnus Bane and Mirai will always be grateful for the privilege of having his private phone number.  It means that there is always a quick way to de-escalate the many situations Idris creates.

Her commander drops the offending hunter like an ichor covered stele and moves just as quickly — yet far less angrily — to his husband.

“Magnus.” 

Just as soft but no longer filled with ice, Alec’s tone turns from a cold dagger to a cool, gentle breeze petting against the senses.  The dark furrow of his brow and the angry turn of his lips smoothes too quickly to catch as his eyes soften and he smiles.

If Mirai was any less confident, she’d wonder if he’d ever actually been angry at all.

There’s a quick moment where Alec’s gaze catches her and she relaxes at the pleased acknowledgment there. 

Good.

So far Alec’s never minded that she uses Magnus to reign him in, sometimes she feels almost as if he plays into it, just a bit.

Then something will happen that will remind her that no matter how far he plays into it, Alec Lightwood-Bane truly is just a smitten mess for his husband. No matter how fierce his anger or great his agony, Alec’s attention will always shift to where Magnus Bane is.

Having no need to worry about the success of her mission — the minute Alec heard his husband it was a success — she nods to Kaleb who smirks and taps the tablet in his hands.  

He’ll have the hunter processed and escorted back to Idris before Magnus is done taking her commander out for dinner.  

When she turns, Magnus has already summoned actual clothing beyond damp sweatpants for Alec and a crown of flowers that he’s actually holding away from her commander.  

“Magnus, please?” Alec’s voice is a quiet plea, something so fragile compared to his strength just moments before, as if being denied the flower crown he knows his husband specifically brought just for him will truly break him.

Magnus Bane laughs, winking at her as he shakes his head in mock pity. 

“Duty first, darling.  I can hardly give you the flowers if they might get ruined in a few moments.  You finish handling things here, then you get the crown.”

It’s an opening that in any other situation Alec might take him up on, but Mirai has watched this particular scene replay itself for months and as always, Alec delegates.

“Mirai?”

“Everything here will be handled shortly. I’m sure sending a scathing letter for the council to read publicly will be a much more effective use of your time, sir.”

He definitely agrees, if the way Alec’s immediately turning back to Magnus and dips his head down along with the offering the full effect of wide, glossy hazel eyes peering up pleadingly.

Magnus caves instantly, a crown with flowers Mirai doesn’t know from memory but a scent that tells her is honeysuckle, placed on Alec’s brow.

[see-arcane]

Do you think a Carmilla adaptation set in the modern day could hypothetically work? I know that outside of the web series (which was doing its own thing) the ones that try to go for a more contemporary setting haven't been particularly good.

I guess the biggest hurdle with that would be coming up with a way for Millie to hang around at Laura's place because faking a car crash or something would just lead to her dad calling an ambulance.

The thing that made Carmilla's stranding with Laura and her household was a very particular set of environmental needs.

The household must be in a remote area, far from heavy human population. A small community is still needed for Carmilla to eventually feed on, but nothing very peopled or close.

Carmilla's crew needs to be convincing and non-suspicious when leaving Carmilla behind with strangers as they themselves move on for an ongoing period. They do this with zero contact made between them and Laura's dad, and with no names to investigate.

While extremely tricky, these factors aren't impossible to play with.

First, remoteness. A remoteness without the modern ability to, say, drive an ailing girl to aid or contact emergency services, et cetera. This location has to be in deep countryside or wilderness. Could be a home or a vacation place, assuming we're keeping Laura's dad well-off. Regardless, it's a spot chosen for its privacy and distance from people. I'd lean toward mountainous terrain for dual points of beauty and being just Real fucking difficult to maneuver on.

Next, "Why are you ditching your daughter with us??" This is the hardest bit in the 21st century. Everyone is plugged in. Everyone demands contact info. You couldn't bullshit a single survivalist hermit living in a cave into believing that you know not what these cellular devices are, good sir. You don't just show up in the middle of the night, chuck an adolescent at the porch and run. No, not even with theatre quality con job carriage/car crashes. Because emergency services are a thing and people would be on the phone/piling her in another, non-busted vehicle to get her to a hospital before you could finish acting out your script.

We need to pile up more elements.

Say, one involving inhospitable weather. Flash flood rain. A burying snowstorm that makes even a helicopter too dangerous to fly. Something that obstructs all travel and, ideally, really does crap out the phone and Internet service.

My thought: It shifts to a story taking place in winter, on a mountainside, with Carmilla no longer a poor ailing damsel act, but a simple visitor from some fancy holiday lodge. She and her family are vacationing up here and she is so terribly bored. Might she make friends ;) with Laura in the meantime? But what's this! Oh no! A snowstorm has dropped in and she can't possibly repeat her trek back home in such weather.

A crackling phone call is staged between her and her 'family' as it comes across in sputters and static that yes, yes, she's safe, Laura's dad insists, it's all fine, she can stay until conditions improve. The phone cuts out (from the family's side) and the Internet goes down. Cue the conditions being The Shining-level isolating. The girls make the best of it, of course. <3

Until the bodies start piling up.

ANYWAY

It wouldn't be the exact premise, no, because an exact translation of almost any period piece lit story can't be replicated in a modern era. Too much has changed, too many obstructions sit between the original story and its payoff. All that can be kept is the core of the narrative and whatever factors can either be translated or built upon to make the main ideas still function.

[lrithill]

NSFW ARTphabet Headcanon: The Sacred Clown Porn Manuscript (R-Z)

Greetings, sinners and scholars!

This is the final part of the NSFW ARTphabet and I bring it to you with the reverence it truly deserves.

It's my absolute favorite. It includes my favorite letter (W), the lines I had the most fun writing, plus gore, lots of unhinged humor, romantic nonsense (essential, obviously)… and sex—he kind that makes you scream to the heavens and foam at the mouth.

In this final chapter we’ve got: homemade porn videos, the FBI, perpetual erection curses, sleep paralysis, first-hand ARTisanal milk, gumm pass (I’ll just say it could’ve been worse—and you do not want the extended cut), virginity, scorpion-tail dicks, and an ending so blasphemously tender you’ll forget just how much degeneracy you consumed and enjoyed (because that's just how it is with Art ).

*And give me some credit—yes, I made the gif myself because I needed that exact movie scene and none of the existing ones captured the vision.*

Part 1 (A-I):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780285284765089792/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

Part 2 (J-Q):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780916090799783936/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Absolutely.

Art is more than willing to explore the limits of pleasure—to him, anything goes, as long as it brings satisfaction. To him or to his partner.

I think this entire ARTphabet has made it painfully clear what kinds of risks Art is willing to take:

Sex in public? Yes.

Toys? Yes.

Kinks? Yes.

BDSM? Yes.

Morally questionable practices? Absolutely.

Role changing? He wants to— but you’ll have to get him drunk to admit it. (Though he might let it slip eventually.)

Piss play? Yes.

Cannibalism? Yes.

Necrophilia? Yes.

But here’s a particularly hilarious kind of risk Art would totally be down for: Considering he’s not just a killer, but one of the most dangerous men on Earth, and the electric chair is practically waiting for him with open arms…

There’s one risk that really gets his blood pumping.

Recording himself.

On video.

While fucking you.

And uploading it to every porn site in existence.

He’s obsessed with the idea that the only clue Miles County authorities have to work with is a three-hour porno (minimum) where he does the filthiest shit imaginable to you.

Art’s addicted to risk—but not just any risk.

What turns him on is the idea of being seen, but never caught.

Even more than that—he gets off on playing with the people trying to catch him.

That’s why filming himself fucking you—a tape where he breaks you, devours you, fills you, worships you, degrades you, loves you, ruins you—drives him insane.

Almost as insane as Interpol’s about to get.

He imagines his sex tape projected inside every precinct in Miles.

On big screens.

In PowerPoint presentations.

In university lectures on criminal profiling.

All in a desperate attempt to find anything.

They’d have to swallow—literally—a freakshow of relentless, brutal, romantic porn, analyzing it frame by frame…FOR NOTHING.

Because Art would make sure your identity is perfectly censored.

Your voice? Distorted.

The setting? Unrecognizable.

No sign of your home—just some dark, Deep Web-style basement.

He wants every sexual forensic analyst watching it, screenshotting, zooming, taking notes, frowning in frustration (or maybe… arousal).

He wants them to study it like it’s the Holy Grail of underground porn.

And if any of his enemies get hard watching it? Even better.

Let them jerk off knowing they’ll never catch him.

Let them know he’s a killer—but also the best fuck of their lives, without even touching them.

(And yes, he would definitely reply to every comment on the video.)

LOCATION: Underground Office of the Special Tracking Unit (S.T.U.), 02:41 AM.

The room is dim, lit only by the cold blue glow of the giant screen where the footage plays on loop.

There’s stale coffee, half-smoked cigarettes, and an air thick with shared trauma.

Minute 38:07

“I swear, if I see one more POV shot of that guy eating that girl’s ass like he’s searching for a secret passage, I quit.” The chief’s smoking half a cigarette—his third in a row. His eyes are glassy, and his left eyebrow’s twitching.

“Should I skip ahead?” says another agent—rookie. Nervous.

His finger hovers dangerously close to the “skip 10 sec” button.

“No, wait. He might change angles.” says the agent closest to the screen, his face like he hasn’t blinked in all 38 minutes. He clears his throat, trying to justify himself. “There could be something written on the wall, I dunno...” He sips his coffee with shaky hands.

Minute 56:45

“You think that’s his girlfriend or a hostage?” the rookie asks, trying to sound professional.

“Has to be the girlfriend. She’s sucking him off like she owes him rent and driving points.”

Suddenly, the angle shifts.

Art moves the camera away from his partner and straps it to her head.

Now we see it all from your point of view: an upward shot of him moaning, licking his lips, looking like a Greek god with a praise kink and zero shame—obscene, erotic, powerful.

“He’s looking straight at us like he’s saying, ‘Are you connecting the dots, detectives?’” someone murmurs.

“What I’m connecting is that this guy’s narcissism has more layers than a Chernobyl onion.”

Art strokes the camera—slowly. Like it’s a puppy. He smiles, tenderly.

“He’s making us his bitches,” says a voice—raspy, almost defeated.

“Yeah. And the worst part is… it’s working,” adds another, sitting down cross-legged on the chair.

Art keeps moaning, loving every second of the blowjob.

Then, without warning, he lifts the camera and points it directly at his face.

He smiles. Winks.

And starts making out with the lens.

His tongue drags across the glass, fogging it up.

They hear everything.

The kisses. Your moans. The wet sounds. Life falling apart—in HD.

A heavy silence falls over the room.

“I’ve been married 15 years, and no one’s ever kissed me like that,” whispers the lead agent.

“I can see all his molars…”

“Quick, someone get forensics to make a mold of his teeth!” shouts another, jumping to his feet.

“Might match the bite marks.”

“We’ve got enough bite marks from this guy to host a dental exhibition…and he knows it. At this point, we know his mouth well enough to get him custom braces ”.

Minute 1:34:24

“There! There!” shouts one agent, freezing the image and pointing with a laser pointer.

The camera is focused on Art’s ass.

Zoom.

A tattoo.

“What does that say…?” someone leans closer.

“Fuck the police.”

Silence.

“Either he did that with a fork, or he Sharpied it during an orgasm.”

“You think it has a double meaning?”

“There’s a triple meaning. And that is illegal in five countries.”

Minute 2:49:12

The screen now shows Art pissing directly onto the camera. A golden stream hits the lens dead-on.

“I don’t get paid enough for this…” one agent facepalms and sips his cold coffee.

“We’re gonna have to rewatch it… just in case.”

“I’m docking your pay.”

Memory Log

File 69 — Classified Evidence

Viewed 37 times by agents. No useful leads.

One agent requested a copy of the analyzed footage: He was terminated.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Art must be under some kind of perpetual erection curse, because dear God…

For him, exhaustion is a kink.

He sees you trembling, gasping, on the verge of passing out—and gets excited like a kid opening his Christmas present.

“Look what we did. One more round?” he thinks, already licking his lips.

And of course, you say no—you can’t take any more. But he’s already on top of you.

Again.

He’ll fuck you until you fall asleep from pure exhaustion—until your brain taps out and sends you straight into the "Brothel Coma", as he lovingly calls it—where he becomes your personal sexy sleep paralysis demon.

Art is insatiable.

Excessive.

Intense.

Playful.

When you finally go to bed to sleep—ha. That’s cute.

There are many, many stages to get through before sleep even dares to show up.

He crawls over you, kisses you like a starved man. He can’t help himself. He grinds his erection against you without shame— his way of saying, ‘I need you’, while holding you tight, devouring your mouth.

And when you’re done—he cuddles you.

Tries to be sweet, so you can drift off after the orgasm… But he can’t resist.

He tries to hold back—but the craving devours him.

His soft caresses turn possessive.

His affectionate kisses shift into hungry bites—his tongue claims your mouth, your neck, your ears…

He loves eating your ears. He knows it drives you wild, so he never misses the chance to leave you with not a drop of earwax left.

It’s not his fault—you turn him on too much.

Those gentle rocking motions meant to lull you like a baby? Yeah. They end in thrusts.

And you... can’t stop this train.

There’s no point in trying.

Soon enough, he’s got you right where he wants you. And he fucks you like his life depends on it.

He adores seeing you wrecked: Hair a mess, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolled back, tits bouncing with every thrust—it makes his mouth water.

And if you pass out at some point? He doesn’t care.

He’ll keep going like you’re his own sex doll.

And that? That turns him on even more.

Having you at his mercy all night, knowing you won’t even be able to walk in the morning…

You make him the happiest man on the planet.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Art loves toys.

He doesn’t just buy them—that would be far too normal. He customizes them to his image.

He builds them. They’re part of his personal collection of instruments…and oh, what a collection.

One of his favorites is a retractable drill.

Originally, he made it as a weapon—and yes, he used it as such. It was hilarious turning that poor guy into SpongeBob.

But then he realized something glorious: he could attach all kinds of things to the drill bit. Wicked things like… dildos.

He’ll put you on the bed, tied up—of course—and load up the drill with a monster cock, or whichever dildo you like best—Art always wants to see you enjoy yourself.

And then he’ll literally drill your pussy.

That bit spins at inhuman speeds, without getting tired, without complaining—because the one doing the complaining is you, sweetheart.

Art loves watching you become a screaming mess under that delicious torment.

The speed creates an optical illusion—it looks like the dildo’s not moving, but it’s going full throttle.

The vibrations ripple through your body—like he plugged you into a high-voltage power line.

And he’s just there, all comfy, holding the drill like he’s mounting a shelf.

Sometimes he goes further: slides a vibrator deep into your ass. Or presses a Hitachi wand against your clit, giving you triple stimulation with zero mercy.

And when you cum? Oh lord.

You’re a fountain.

“Squirter: Hydro Pump!” as Ash Ketchup would say.

You leave Art—who’s behind you—soaked like he just went down a waterslide, like he came straight out of the Amazon, like he rehearsed Singing in the Rain with actual stormwater.

He’s gonna need a canoe to exit the room.

And still—he won’t remove a single toy until you’re on the verge of death by dehydration.

You’ll pee the bed more than once from the overstimulation, and Art’s face will be nothing but euphoria.

He adores you.

You’re his masterpiece.

No doubt.

But not all the toys are for you… no no.

Though Art’s a bit reserved about it, every now and then—he treats himself to a little fun.

Once, on a farm, he found a cow milking machine.

And oh… that thing had too much potential to ignore.

He took it.

Cleaned it.

Added speed settings and a stop command.

And then he went on an adventure.

He loves being your little cow—being milked until he’s completely dry.

All his milk, straight into your mouth…or wherever you want it.

He approaches you, acting all cocky—biting his lip, pretending not to beg… but leaking like a faucet.

The only thing missing is a moo.

“I won’t stop ‘til I get cream, my deluxe dairy cow,” you whisper as the machine sucks the demons out of him by the dick. “Maybe we can make cheese out of you. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for science.”

And he nods.

Of course he nods.

For science.

For love.

For cheese.

He’s already visualizing the insane business you’re about to start. The branding. The jars with his face on them: “Art’s Premium Milk – Straight from the Source.”

You know him.

He’s gonna patent it.

Slogan: “You can’t make clown café… without clown.”

Brand: ARTesanak Milk & Cheese S.O.S. Hand-milked. Machine-milked. Fully blessed.

Ad campaign: Art riding a cow like a sensual rodeo star, wearing a cow-print apron, ass out, sweating like he… just got off a long, hard shift.

100% Organic.

0% Shame.

“Perfect to pair with a juicy steak. Which is, definitely… not a cow steak”

Fine print: Nothing is from cow.

This is his golden goose—Wait. WAIT. Don’t give him more ideas, please.

Customer Reviews:

James (45, frequent buyer, also frequent victim):⭐⭐⭐

"I had sleep paralysis for 36 hours.

I rode the side effects—I didn’t think the ‘Brothel Coma’ was meant literally. They did things to me during those 36 hours… I think I almost found the secret formula.

My wife left me days later—after I bought 3 batches of cheese.

The worst part isn’t that she left… it’s that she took the cheese."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He drives you insane.

He’s a certified bastard.

It doesn’t matter how much you’re trembling, begging, whimpering, falling apart… Art just does whatever the fuck he wants.

Always.

You’ve been lying there for minutes—hours? Years?—naked, soaked, legs wide open, muscles twitching on the verge of collapse.

And he’s between your thighs, admiring you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—which you are—but the hatred in your eyes only makes you more charming to him.

He leans close to your clit… and breathes on it.

Warm.

Like he’s fogging up glasses.

He slides his tongue near it—so close…too close. Every nerve screams to push your hips into his face—but you know better. If you move without permission…he’ll make you regret it.

He laughs at you, lifting his head, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers like a sweet little schoolboy—as if what he’s doing is perfectly reasonable, and not simultaneously physical and psychological torture.

He kisses your tits—not as eager as usual, but just enough to give you hope.

Then he trails kisses down your belly, carving a path down your trembling skin.

He’s getting closer.

Closer to your aching, desperate center.

You shut your eyes, bracing for those kisses to finally land where you need them most—

And just when it seems like he’s going to do it…

He fakes you out.

His kisses pass right by your clit, almost waving goodbye to it mid-flight—like it’s a stranger to him...

So disrespectful.

And he keeps going…all the way down…to your knee.

And he makes out with your knee.

Your. Fucking. Knee.

He kisses your knee exactly the way you want him to eat your pussy.

He even massages your calf with one hand—like he suddenly has a master’s degree in erogenous zones of latex balloons.

You feel him smile against your knee.

That bastard.

“You want me to beg, don’t you?” you growl through your teeth. “It’s not enough to see me writhing, arched, teary-eyed, huh?”

Art makes puppy eyes, then gives you the “just a little” finger gesture—index and thumb close together—inviting your best performance. A fast-track humiliation.

“I’ve been such a good girl… I earned it… please, Art… I need you inside me…” you plead, voice soaked in desperate, filthy sweetness.

He nods, satisfied. Delighted by your prayer. He does the little Spider-Man finger move—he knows that drives you wild.

And he gives you exactly what you asked for.

He puts two fingers inside you.

And leaves them there.

Like he’s taking your fucking temperature.

He looks at you with that smug grin, as if to say:

“You like that? You think you’re gonna cum now?”

You grunt.

Groan.

Pray.

You know you’re gonna be here a long time.

Sometimes, he uses other forms of torture—on days when he’s feeling especially cruel.

Like fucking you agonizingly slow—like a grandpa who just rose from his wheelchair—from the grave, even—just to have one last fuck.

Or when he turns into a statue right at your climax.

Two seconds away from touching the sky…

He stops.

Stops.

And stares at you.

Like he’s just seen the Virgin Mary appear in front of him.

Like he’s witnessing a miracle.

He watches the smile fade from your lips.

Watches the light leave your eyes.

Feels your walls stop contracting.

And then… he kisses you. Deep. Slow. Damned.

Like he doesn’t know your whole body is about to detonate.

He kisses you with genuine love. Because he’s in love. Not with you…

But with your suffering.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Uhh… he’s mute.

But that doesn’t mean he’s quiet.

He breathes.

And with every thrust, his breathing changes: he sighs , exhales , sucks air through his teeth, pants with a heaving chest, sweating.

Every sound his body makes escapes him like he just can’t hold it in.

He’s incredibly expressive. He doesn’t need words. His body says everything.

Mouth parted.

Eyes rolling back.

Lips bitten in desperation.

Brows furrowed—knit together with pleasure.

You may not hear him moan… but you know he’s screaming on the inside.

And he doesn’t try to hide it.

Quite the opposite—he wants you to know.

He wants you to see how good you make him feel. To understand that you’re driving him mad, too.

He kisses you.

And in that kiss, two moans collide—soundless, but overwhelming.

Silence and hunger crash together.

He pulls back just enough, lips still brushing yours—breathing into your mouth, both of you trembling, tongues timidly seeking one another, sliding forward to taste, to tangle.

A frenzy of passion.

A symphony of bodies that don’t need to speak to say everything.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Back in his teenage years, Art never had much luck with girls—or boys. He didn’t know how to flirt. He didn’t understand the rules.

And people found him… off.

Even though he was far from the creature he is now, he already felt like a misfit.

Often—on the schoolyard, or just walking down the street—he’d stop and stare at young couples kissing, discovering each other for the first time.

And there was one kind of kiss that fascinated him in particular: the gum pass.

There was something about it that stirred something deep in his chest. Watching two wet, eager tongues share a piece of sweet gum—a mix of lust and innocence that left him entranced.

Of course, he grew up… and never got to try it.

Until now.

But his tastes have changed.

Gum doesn’t do it for him anymore. He needs something more… intense.

If you’re with him—and you happen to witness a murder up close—you’ll see him approach the poor bastard.

He plucks out an eye—preferably while they’re still breathing. Right at the end.

He slips it into his mouth. Rolls it on his tongue.

It’s already slippery, but he soaks it in saliva, savors it like it’s a candy.

And then he kisses you.

And he passes you the eye.

You take it in—half disgusted, half laughing. It’s soft. Fibrous. Mucousy. With a hint of metal.

You try to pass it back, but he refuses —slowly pushing it back… deeper into your mouth, like it belongs there… using nothing but his tongue. He wants it to melt into you.

To swim in your warmth.

It turns him on beyond belief.

The optic nerve brushes your tongue, tickles between your teeth, leaves a little twitch of nerves behind.

You make him feel like a teenager again—but better in every possible way.

This is his version of a first kiss. And for so long, it’s what he wanted.

Art doesn’t make a sound, but his breath says everything. He’s fully turned on. He can’t stop.

You feel it in the way he bites your lower lip.

In his closed eyes, losing himself in the moment.

In the hard length already pressing between your legs.

A chill runs down your spine—a pull so visceral you don’t know if it’s from disgust or desire, but it blends perfectly with the heat burning between your thighs.

Art feels it too.

You can see it in the way he grinds against you—hard, pulsing, lost in this sick , perfect moment.

He doesn’t need words—his hands tell you everything.

He grabs your jaw with blood-stained fingers—fresh blood still dripping down his forearms—holding you close, like he never wants this kiss to end.

His tongue keeps searching for yours, never stopping its dance around the eye still sliding between your mouths.

It’s repulsive.

It’s delicious.

It’s perfect.

It’s so intimate—you feel like virgins.

Without warning, he slams you against the wall—his weight crushing you, his hands gripping your hips, tracing every curve like he’s discovering you for the first time.

He hikes your skirt up, quick and clumsy from how wrecked with need he is.

He doesn’t take your panties off. Just pushes them aside. That’s all he needs.

And when he enters you—it’s all at once.

With the kind of force that screams: “I needed this.”

He fucks you like he’s been waiting years.

And maybe… he has.

He moans silently, and you feel him vibrate inside you.

Your walls tighten, and you both know this won’t last long.

You’re melting into a kiss that feels like your first—like the first time either of you ever knew what it meant to burn for someone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is just as dangerous as the rest of him.

About eight inches of mass destruction.

Twenty centimeters of punishment and reward.

And here’s something you should know: he doesn’t wear underwear.

Ever.

Nobody knows what he has against briefs…but there he goes, ding-a-linging around, balls swinging, heavy and unrestrained.

Sometimes you wonder how he manages to go "full commando" under that suit. He’s risking someone grabbing his balls and squeezing.

Maybe that turns him on. Nobody knows for sure.

(He probably does. And he enjoys the risk.)

As for color?

Same as the rest of him—snow-white.

Also, he's Team shower.

Which means he’s always on full display—he doesn’t need to get hard to intimidate. That thing hangs like it’s ready for war 24/7.

Art loves to brag about his big dick.

And of course, he adores nudity.

When you first met him, you nearly fell backward the first time you saw him naked.

There he was—completely, unapologetically bare-assed —watching TV like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Legs spread wide, his arms thrown over the backrest, cock dangling with absolute impunity.

So casual. So chill. So offensively at ease with himself.

And you just stood there, staring—not sure whether to scream, scold him, kick him out, embrace his nudist lifestyle, sit beside him… 

Sit on him?

And it’s not just the size.

Thick. Curved. Veiny. Intimidating. 

Built to hit all the right spots—and the wrong ones.

Especially the wrong ones. The ones you feel the most. The ones he loves the most.

Made—whether he likes it or not—to give pleasure.

Sometimes, it actually pisses him off.

“Why can’t I have a venomous scorpion tail for a cock?” he’s thought more than once.

That would be fun, he thinks—using it to stab people. He’s spent plenty of time fantasizing about it, laughing to himself at the possibilities.

But then he remembers how good it feels to impale you.

He loves watching you open up for him, watching himself disappear inside you, inch by inch, slowly.

He knows how deep he goes—all the way to your navel.

Like he’s rearranging your guts to make space, or like they move aside just for him.

And what obsesses him most is that moment he’s inside you…watching you struggle to take it.

He feels your body adjust—your pussy clenching, trying to accommodate that massive, unmovable object.

The look on your face.

Brows furrowed.

Eyes squeezed shut.

Lip between your teeth.

Hands gripping the sheets.

Your breath hitching.

He watches you with drool on his chin—dying to fuck you into heaven… or hell.

“Wait, Art…” you beg, trembling. “I’m trying to fit you in…”

And just when it seems like you’re managing—when you finally take a breath—

BAM.

He thrusts the rest in.

All the way.

Until you feel his balls smack your ass.

The bastard was holding back the last few inches for the end.

And he laughs when you freeze—mouth open, eyes unfocused—like you’re genuinely afraid he might… fuck your heart.

(He already fucked your brain, that much is certain.)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

In his teenage years and early youth, he was… normal.

Or at least, what you’d expect from someone his age. He had a sex drive, fantasies, curiosity (he was a weirdo tough).

But as he grew older, and started to understand his true feelings toward people, all of that began to dim.

And once he became a killer, his sexual desire nearly vanished altogether.

Only a few fetishes remained—dark, extreme ones—like necrophilia, piquerism... But sex with a living human being? The idea of a relationship? That felt alien.

He was beyond that.

The only thing that truly gave him pleasure… was killing.

Still, he always knew how to have fun with his victims.

He understood how uncomfortable it is when a stranger tries to flirt with you—and he learned to weaponize that.

He didn’t mind kissing someone, holding hands, even dancing.

But it was never about desire.

It was about amusement. Mockery. Control. A twisted little manipulation game.

He’d play nice—just enough to lower your guard—right before showing you how deep the horror really goes.

Until you came into his life.

He was in a weakened state, vulnerable.

So he figured he’d use you—crash at your place, eat, recover…

You weren’t annoying.

You didn’t run.

You didn’t hide.

You didn’t question him.

He tried to fit you into the role of a tool, a toy, a service—but for some reason, you didn’t quite belong in any of those boxes.

And that cracked something open inside his mind—Uncomfortable. Rotten. Irresistible.

He’d stare at you, trying to figure you out…and you’d stare right back.

He wanted to see fear in your eyes—but what he found instead was… humanity?

He saw his own reflection in your pupils. And suddenly, he looked like… someone?

You didn’t see him as a monster.

You looked at him like he was your friend, or something.

It was unbearable.

Unacceptable.

A waking nightmare.

Until one night, he had a real one.

You, touching him with gentleness.

You, holding his dirty hands.

You, kissing his bloodied mouth.

You, moaning his name while he fucked you—not as punishment, not as part of the game. As if you wanted him.

He woke up tense, panting, sweating like a pig.

And hard. Like an idiot.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he touched himself thinking of a real woman—not for fun.

Not for mockery.

But because he actually needed it.

And he imagined you watching him.

Slipping under the sheets, brushing his hand away to touch him yourself.

And worse—he wanted you to touch yourself thinking of him.

For days, he hated himself for it.

He thought about killing you. Torturing you. Burning you. Tearing you apart.

But he couldn’t.

For reasons that terrified him more than anything—he never could.

And his sex drive began to grow. Day by day.

Every time he saw you. Every accidental touch, every shared meal, every nap, every smile…

He wanted you.

And he hated himself for it.

And when he finally took you—when he trembled inside you—he made sure that your thirst for him matched his own.

He’d like to think it did.

But deep down, he knows it’s impossible.

No one could ever want anything as much as he wants you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Art doesn’t need much sleep. He’s restless. Hyperactive. He needs to stay in motion—keep his mind occupied.

Thinking. Creating. Destroying.

But after sex… It’s like flipping a switch inside his brain.

Blackout.

His eyes start to close. He tries to fight it, but he can’t.

His body craves a break—just a moment of peace, a pause from the chaos that consumes him.

A little refuge.

So he curls up next to you. He finds you. He settles in—and kisses you…until he falls asleep.

He needs your naked body against his, your warmth, your fingers tracing him softly.

Sometimes it’s spooning—he doesn’t care who’s big spoon.

Sometimes it’s him on his back, with your head on his chest.

And sometimes, he’s completely sprawled over you—using you as a mattress.

His forehead rests against the crook of your neck, arms and legs wrapped around you like a serpent, refusing to let go.

But then there are times he doesn’t sleep.

He just lies there, staring at you.

Not in a psychotic way—well… maybe a little—but more like adoration.

You, so full of him—so filled with his cum, his venom, his madness—, so his. And yet… at peace.

And in that moment, he knows—without a doubt:

He didn’t regret not killing you. Not for a second.

He wants you by his side. Forever.

Even fully aware of what that entails

But when he does fall asleep beside you, you can't help but whisper all the things you love about him.

You know he adores your voice. And even more, he adores hearing what you have to say.

“Have I ever told you all the things I like about you?”

“You’re funny. You always make me laugh with those hand gestures and faces only you can make.”

“You’re clever. You always find a solution when I feel overwhelmed—even if… sometimes they’re a little drastic.”

“You’re delicate. You do horrible things… but you touch me like you’re afraid to break me.”

“You’re patient. You fight so hard to hold yourself back, even when it tears you apart.”

“You’re innocent. When you tilt your head, like you're trying to understand something you can only feel.”

“You’re attentive. You don’t say anything… but somehow, you always let me know everything.”

“You’re sweet. When you hold me like you never want to let go.”

“You’re naughty. You get turned on by things no one else would.”

“You’re honest. You've never sent me mixed signals.”

“You’re romantic. In your own bizarre, beautiful way.”

“You’re poetic. A blend of art and chaos.”

“You’re weird. But so am I.”

“You're one of a kind.”

You pause. He breathes deeply, slower—as if your words are caressing him.

“I like you, Art. All of you. Exactly as you are. You make me happy.”

Thank you for reading all the way to the end.

If you’ve made it through all three parts… you must be a true masochist and honestly, I fear you.

And if you liked, commented or rebloged—you're in my heart forever (no escape).

I’ve seen those wholesome SFW alphabets going around… NO.

I won’t do it…

(…unless?)

After this unhinged amount of porn, please expect my next fanfic to be soft, emotional, cute, gentle, pretty, with fireworks and music...

I need to detox, please… I...

I NEED THERAPY, FOR GOD'S SAKE.

Part 1 (A-I):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780285284765089792/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

Part 2 (J-Q):

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/780916090799783936/nsfw-artphabet-headcanon-the-sacred-clown-porn?source=share

[anxi-aashi]

ok i dont have the energy to put this into a fic rn but i CANT stop thinking about college au! childe almost walking in on you while you're getting yourself off.

like he'd still knock of course, but it would scare the absolute shit out of you. instead of hanging out with your roommates that he's friends with (who are most certainly NOT gathered in your room) he'd be all "hey pookie can i come bother you I'm bored," while you're fully sat on a dildo.

and bc you wouldnt want to seem suspicious, you'd say sure, just a sec! and immediately run to throw the sopping wet toy into your bathroom sink before letting him in.

and he's just too observant for his own good. "hey you ok? you seem out of breath" yeah because you were.... working out! "really? you're not sweating though?" CHILDE DROP IT OMFG but he wouldn't. he just asks so many goddamn questions and you honestly can't tell if he's just fuckign with you or if he's just genuinely concerned for you. what were you doing? pilates? so thats why you're walking a bit weird? how tf were you not sweating after pilates? oh you just started? well sorry to interrupt!

yeah.... you're sorry too -_-

but hes here now so you offer to watch a movie and hang out, nevermind the cum threatening to run down your leg. "sure! you pick smth out and ill go to the bathroom real quick!" he says and curse your post-orgasm clouded mind for not being quick enough to warn him bc now he's standing in front of you, dildo in his hand, looking at you knowingly.

youre mortified obviously. the two of you are cordial but not THAT close and god you can almost picture the slick and cum that's smearing all over his hand now. why is he holding it for fucks sake???

childe wouldnt be merciful either -- this is a fucking gold mine for him. "well, i guess this is a workout" and you would like the earth to swallow you up so that you don't have to look at him with that shit-eating grin that's creeping up his face.

hed switch the dildo to his other hand and start opening and closing his fingers together, making webs of cum string in between. "you said you just started?" no, you'd have to refute, that part was a lie.

"and you were getting off with this?" and now WHAT was that supposed to mean bc there was truly nothing wrong with the dildo size!!! it was perfectly fine, it did its job. sure it could be a tad bit longer, but you had bills to pay. he lets it go (with a judgemental eyebrow raise), but when he opens his mouth again to ask "what were you doing?" you almost wish he had kept making fun of your tiny ass toy. "were you using your hands or the suction cup?"

god he'd have a dangerous look on his face by now, lidded eyes looking at you like you were gonna be his next meal; pitching his voice just a tad bit lower just to see you squirm.

"you don't have to answer, but i would really, really like to know." aaaaaand there it goes. there's goes the last bit of your sanity bc huhh?? huuuuhh??? dear lord i would fully melt into a puddle we love a man that can make consent sexy.

fuck it, right? yeah, you were using the suction cup. "yeah? you like riding dick?" SHFBAN;DNSJF;F GODDDD

"you got any other toys?" yes sirrr yes I do, got a vibrator right over there in the nightstand. and duh now he's gotta follow up with "ever use both?"

which you have. who hasn't? but you usually only use it for quickies, you say. don't want it to be over too fast, ya know?

but then. thennnnnn he'd hit you with this: "you still horny?"

lorddddd you have NO idea, but you don't say that lest it get to his head (but lets be honest, he knows what he's doing; he knows how desperate he's making you). so he walks up to you, finally, and hands you your dildo, all sticky and starting to dry by now.

"well don't stop on my account."

and he plops down on your bed, manspreading just the tiiiiiniest bit to where you can see the tent in his pants.

which is how you find yourself back in your desk chair, thighs burning from fucking yourself on a dildo you now know is much smaller than whatever childe is packing while he just watches, palming his cock over his pants.

anyways gonna go work on my wips now lolololololololoolo

[crow-girl-cock]

Hai :7

I love you!

yes you!

click this.

now for introduction.

my name is Renée Corbeau

but you can call me ren or crow

I love crows! they feel like family to me and I hope next cycle I get to experience the life of a crow.

I have gone through alot in life and fancy myself some sort of activist by proxy of that pain, am I perfect? fuck no! I am still learning and probably operate under toxic bias still despite all the effort I have put into growth.

I'm adhd, autistic, anxious, depressive, dissociative, probably some degree of plurality.

I'm a gender non-conforming transwoman, definitely puppy coded, and severely down bad for women, especially butch women!

that being said the human body is beautiful. especially fat bodies, I'm a sucker for meat :3

all my guys, gals, and non binary pals deserve kisses (assuming that they want them)

I love gender fuckery, people who actively blur those lines are doing the lords work.

despite being very friendly and appearing slightly outgoing sometimes, I am very shy and dont have a very large social battery.

if I ever dont respond dont take it personally there are loads of reasons why this could be.

U⁠^ᴥ^⁠U U⁠^ᴥ^⁠U U⁠^ᴥ^⁠U

I am kind of a red mage when it comes to special interests, I know a little bit about alot.

(all lists are not ordered and not exhaustive)

some examples include;

from gaming~ pokemon, zelda, elderscrolls, darksouls, minecraft, osu!, space sims (elite dangerous, astroneer, dyson sphere project, hardspaceshipbreaker), roguelikes (noita, deadcells, gungeon, vagante, slaythespire)

from other media~ pokemon again, bluey, adventure time, atla, bee and puppycat, studio ghibli (nausicaa is goat), csm, bleach, dragonball, naruto, she-ra, dungeon meshi

from *gasps* real life~

space (and metaphysics), nature (it's peculiarities and the many funky adorable little guys born in it) I'm definitely a poser but skateboarding and rollerskating (I really want to get into rollerderby) philosophy (to the extent that any skid is);

History!

(not as well read as I would like because there is so much of it, and so much of the truth is buried under misinformation, but I have deconstructed the whole western myth of how things went and painted myself a much clearer picture as to how things got so bad and am learning new things about the world all the time, please feel free to info dump about anything history related I'd love to hear it. anthropology and archaeology too obvs)

Art!

(this is my chosen field for better or worse >⁠.⁠< I am going to college for web and graphic design (2024-2026) I might extend that an extra 2 years to make it a bachelor of design and hope to one day make graphic novels, beautifully illustrated with deep thought provoking stories)

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ ૮꒰՞⸝⸝- ༝ -⸝⸝꒱ა ໒꒰՞⸝⸝. ̫ .ܸ⸝⸝ ꒱ა

Kink! (definitely subject to change)

petplay, musk, intox, bondage, impact, cnc, degradation, somno, hypno, blood, knives, size difference probably more I haven't thought of

I'm poly and very t4t

I'm a switch but this hellsite has been steadily turning me into a bottom day by day heheh

but no actually

I used to be a hypersexual dom pre-transition

but E has made me alot less uncontrollably horny and far more sensitive and inclined to seek vulnerability, all my drive to dom has dissolved

also I suck at tagging and will sometimes will reblog art/random things from tags without checking bios

if that upsets you or makes you uncomfortable please see the block button for more info ;3c

.♡. .♡. .♡.

anyways since you made it this far

here have some headpats

spread kindness please and thank you ^v^

As above, So below.

Hai :7

I love you!

yes you!

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER SIX

You grit your teeth, digging deeper, flipping through files—

Then, suddenly—

A presence.

A shadow loomed behind you, blocking the dim light from the doorway.

You froze.

“Tell me you’re not this fucking stupid.”

Mingyu.

His voice was low, quiet—but burning with barely restrained anger.

Your grip on the open drawer tightened, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Shit.

You turned slowly, schooling your expression into one of feigned innocence. “It’s not what it looks like.”

His jaw clenched. “Then tell me—what the hell is it?”

You straightened your shoulders, refusing to shrink beneath his glare. “I—”

“Don’t.” His voice was cold, cutting through the air like a blade. “Don’t lie to me.”

You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I’m not—”

Mingyu was in front of you in two long strides, towering over you, the weight of his presence suffocating. His voice dropped lower, quieter, but no less furious.

“You’re reckless,” he bit out. “Do you have any idea what will happen if someone else finds you here?”

You tilted your chin up defiantly. “Then it’s a good thing you’re the one who did.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration palpable. “You think this is funny?”

You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “A little.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not harshly, but firmly. “We’re leaving.”

You yanked your arm back. “I’m not done.”

“Yes. You are.” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

You glared at him, your pulse hammering. “Or what?”

His expression darkened. “Do you really want to find out?”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled with tension—thick, suffocating, dangerous.

Then, footsteps echoed down the hall.

Your breath caught. Mingyu cursed under his breath.

Without thinking, he grabbed your waist and pulled you against him, backing them both into the shadows between the shelves.

His grip was unyielding, his body heat searing against hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Her heart pounded.

The footsteps stopped.

You didn’t dare move.

Neither did Mingyu.

And then—

The door handle rattled.

The door creaked open. Mingyu’s grip on your waist remained firm as they pressed deeper into the shadows between the shelves. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the controlled rise and fall of his chest against your back.

A pair of heels clicked against the marble floor.

“I understand, sir.” The voice was smooth, professional—your father’s secretary. “Yes. I’ll confirm with the shipment team, but the package is already in transit.”

You frowned. Shipment?

Mingyu was as still as stone behind you, his body locked in silent tension.

“No, sir,” the woman continued, the faint glow of her phone screen casting shadows on the shelves. “Everything is moving as planned. We don’t want a repeat of last time.” A pause. “Yes. Mr. Moon was understanding, but if it had been anyone else, we wouldn’t have been able to contain it.”

Your stomach twisted. 

“Lia.” The secretary’s voice dropped lower, almost hesitant. “Yes, sir. I know. It was unfortunate.” Another pause. “Of course, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You felt like the floor had just slipped out from under you.

Lia.

Your breath caught, and instinctively, you shifted—just a fraction, but Mingyu noticed. His hand pressed against your hip, a silent warning. Stay still.

The secretary turned slightly, eyes flicking toward the shelves as if sensing something.

You clenched your jaw. If they were caught now—

But after a moment, the woman exhaled. “Yes, sir. I’ll oversee it personally.”

The door handle clicked. A second later, the room was empty again.

Silence.

Then—

Mingyu released you like you burned him. You turned sharply, heart still hammering against your ribs, but his expression was unreadable.

“Lia,” you whispered. “What the hell was she talking about?”

Mingyu’s jaw clenched. “Not here.”

You swallowed. You didn’t trust him, not fully—not yet. But you knew one thing: whatever this was, it was bigger than you.

And you were going to find out the truth.

"Then help me find that fucking file," You hissed, stepping closer, your voice low but urgent.

Mingyu’s eyes flashed with anger, his stance unyielding. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he whispered harshly. “You heard what she just said.”

You clenched your jaw. “Exactly. Which is why I need to find that file.”

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “No. What you need to do is walk out of here before you make this worse for yourself.” His voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “I know enough.”

His jaw ticked. “No, you don’t. You’re grasping at straws, Eva.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said your name—low, like a warning. But you refused to let it shake you. “If you’re not going to help me, then get out of my way.”

Mingyu let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?” He stepped closer, closing the already suffocating space between them. “You think you’re in control of this? That you can just walk in here, dig around, and what? You’ll find the truth? And then what, Eva?” His voice dropped lower, sharper. “What are you going to do with it?”

You exhaled through your nose, refusing to waver under his scrutiny. “I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s all I have!” The words ripped from you, your voice raw, cracking at the edges.

For the first time, Mingyu stilled. His brows pulled together, his gaze flickering over your face like he was seeing something he hadn’t before.

Mingyu’s breath came sharp, his chest rising and falling with restrained frustration. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab you, shake some sense into you. But for the first time since walking into this room, he didn’t have another sharp retort waiting on his tongue.

You had never begged for anything in your life.

And yet, here you were—eyes burning, voice barely above a whisper, asking him for something he didn’t even know how to give.

His throat bobbed. “Eva…”

“Please,” you repeated, voice steadier this time, but just as desperate. “I need to know.”

Mingyu clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. Because he didn’t know. Because he didn’t have the answers you were searching for. Because despite everything—despite knowing you were reckless and stubborn and walking a thin line that could break beneath you at any second—he didn’t want to watch you shatter.

And yet—

“This isn’t safe,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, tension radiating off him in waves. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your lips parted, a bitter laugh escaping. “And yet, here you are. Stopping me instead of helping me.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I don’t even know what the fuck you’re looking for, Eva.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, turning back to the open drawer, the stacks of files blurred in her vision. “Then help me find out.”

Mingyu dragged a hand down his face. This was insanity. He was supposed to be protecting you—from people who wanted to hurt you, from threats lurking in the shadows. Not from yourself.

And yet, the way you were looking at him now—like he was the only lifeline you had left—made something in his resolve crack.

He cursed under his breath. “We have five minutes.”

"Actually three. Three minutes before Jack turns the lights back on."

Mingyu let out a sharp breath, muttering another curse. “Three minutes? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You shot him a look before turning back to the drawers, your fingers trembling slightly as you yanked them open. “If you’re not gonna help, at least don’t waste my time.”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his broad frame blocking part of the dim light filtering through the cracked door. “I shouldn’t be helping you at all.”

“And yet,” you snapped, rifling through the files, “you’re still here.”

His glare burned into the side of your face, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Pages flipped beneath you fingers, document after document, none of them the one youy needed.

Two minutes.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, then stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of a file as he scanned the labels. He wasn’t even sure what the hell he was looking for.

“This is insane,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored him.

Then—

Her fingers stilled.

Project Dominion – Financial Records

Her heart lurched. This was it. The file Elais wanted.

One minute.

You yanked it out, barely breathing as she flipped through the contents. She didn’t have time to process all of it—just enough to confirm the details, the numbers, the undeniable proof of whatever her father was doing. 

Mingyu’s voice cut through the haze. “Eva, we have to go. Now.”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

His hand closed around your wrist—more rough than firm. “Eva.”

Thirty seconds.

Your pulse roared in your ears as you shoved the file into your clutch.

Mingyu was already moving, pulling you toward the door.

Fifteen seconds.

You exhaled sharply, casting one last glance at the room before slipping out into the dark hallway.

And just as the door clicked shut behind them—

The lights flickered back on.

Mingyu barely had time to process what was happening before you pulled out your phone and pressed it to your ear.

Her voice was steady, cold. “Yes, I have it.”

He stiffened beside her, every muscle coiled tight. What the fuck was she doing?

You turned slightly, angling your body away as you listened. A pause. Then, your lips curled slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite anything he could place. “They’ll be in your inbox in ten.”

Mingyu’s patience snapped. “What the hell was that?”

Not your business.”

His teeth clenched. “Like hell it isn’t. You just stole something, Eva. And now you’re making deals?”

“I’m handling it.”

“You’re—” He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand down his face. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You rolled your eyes, already walking. “Save the lecture, bodyguard.”

He grabbed you again—this time by the arm, turning her to face him. “You think this is a game?”

Your breath hitched. “Let me go.”

He didn’t. Not yet. His fingers pressed into the fabric of your dress, his expression dark. “Tell me who was on the phone.”

Eva tilted her chin up. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Silence crackled between them.

Then, after a long moment—

Mingyu exhaled, jaw tight. “You will if you want me to say quiet.”

---

You barely had time to breathe before Caro appeared at your side, slipping her arm through your's with a familiar ease—except this time, there was tension in the way her fingers curled around your wrist.

“There you are,” Caro said, her voice light but edged with something sharper. “Where the hell did you disappear to?”

You swallowed, forcing your expression into something unreadable. “Just needed some air.”

Caro hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Air.”

You glanced at her, only to find Caro already watching you, gaze searching. It made something twist uncomfortably in your chest.

Caro sighed, her grip loosening. “You could’ve told me, you know.”

You stiffened. “Told you what?”

Caro let out a small, humorless laugh, looking away. “Never mind.”

The air between them thickened, heavy with words neither of them were saying.

Then—

“Ms. Perez”

A voice interrupted them. A man—one of her father’s associates, charming and slick, stepping in front of her with an outstretched hand. “Care to dance?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You hesitated, glancing at Caro for just a second—

And in that second, you saw it.

The way Caro’s expression fell, just slightly. The way her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach for you but thought better of it. The way something small and fragile inside her seemed to crack.

But Caro just smiled, the same way she always did, and stepped back.

“Go,” she said, voice soft, forcing brightness into it. “You should.”

You hesitated.

But the man was already waiting, and the weight of the room—the expectations, the eyes—pushed you forward.

You let him take your hand.

And as you were wept away onto the dance floor, you caught one last glimpse of Caro, standing alone, her hands clasped in front of her, her smile frozen in place.

And it broke something in you, too.

---

Seungcheol wasn’t looking for her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But his eyes still found Caroline across the ballroom, standing alone near the gilded columns, her expression carefully neutral—except for the way her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of her dress, like she was holding herself together.

His brows furrowed.

She looked… small. Smaller than usual.

He took a step forward, the instinct to go to her—say something, anything—taking over before he could think twice.

And then—

“Seungcheol.”

A delicate hand curled around his wrist, stopping him.

Aurelia Graham.

She was smiling up at him, the kind of poised, practiced smile that belonged in rooms like this. “Dance with me?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to Caro. She still hadn’t moved, still standing there with that unreadable look on her face.

Aurelia followed his line of sight, and something in her expression turned sharper, lips curving into something almost amused. “Oh, Mr. Perez,” she tutted, leaning in slightly. “You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. “What?”

She gestured subtly in Caro’s direction, her voice dropping to a whisper just for him. “Girls like her… they don’t belong here. And if you want to keep your reputation intact, you’d do well to remember that.”

A flash of anger surged through him.

His grip on Aurelia's hand almost loosened—almost—but then, across the room, Caro shifted.

She had heard.

She had definitely heard.

Her shoulders tensed, and before she could stop herself, she curled inward just the slightest bit—shrinking, like she always did when the world around her reminded her that she was out of place.

Something inside him twisted.

Aurelia was still waiting for an answer, still standing too close, still looking at him like she expected him to agree.

And Caro—

Caro was already looking away.

Aurelia barely had time to react before Seungcheol gently pulled his wrist from her grasp.

“Pardon me, Ms. Graham,” he said smoothly, his tone polite but distant—final.

Then, before he could think better of it, he stepped past her and toward Caro.

Her head snapped up, eyes widening as he reached for her hand.

“I’d rather dance with the realest person in this room.”

Caro froze.

For a second, she just stared at him, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

Seungcheol didn’t let go.

He felt the delicate hesitation in her fingers before, finally, slowly, she let him lead her to the dance floor.

Behind them, Aurelia scoffed, but he didn’t care.

All he cared about was the way Caro’s palm felt in his—the way she looked at him, uncertain but something else, too. Something softer.

Something real.

Seungcheol led Caro to the center of the grand hall, where couples swayed in elegant synchronization beneath the shimmering chandeliers. The music swelled around them, slow and steady, as he placed a careful hand on her waist.

Caro hesitated, her fingers barely resting on his shoulder, like she wasn’t sure she belonged here—like she wasn’t sure he was sure.

“You don’t have to do this,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on her tightened just slightly, just enough to ground her. “I want to.”

Caro swallowed, eyes flickering toward the people watching. She could feel them—feel the weight of their gazes, the judgment, the whispers just barely out of reach.

But then Seungcheol moved, guiding her into the first step of the waltz, and suddenly it was just them.

Just the warmth of his touch, the quiet steadiness in his gaze, the way his presence wrapped around her like a shield against everything else.

“You don’t have to look so nervous,” he said, voice laced with the hint of a smile. “I’m not that bad of a dancer.”

A breath of laughter escaped her, quick and unguarded. “I know you’re not.”

“Then what is it?”

She hesitated. “They’re all staring.”

He hummed, glancing around briefly before meeting her eyes again. “Let them, Carrie.”

Caro’s heart lurched. That nickname always had that effect on her.

There was no hesitation in his voice, no second-guessing. He said it like it was easy. Like he had already made his choice and wasn’t afraid of anyone knowing it.

The thought made her chest ache.

She lowered her gaze, focusing on the rhythm of their steps, the warmth of his hand in hers. The room blurred at the edges, the whispers fading into the music.

For the first time tonight, she allowed herself to exist in the moment.

And for the first time ever, she let herself wonder—just for a second—what it would be like if this wasn’t temporary.

Caro let out a quiet breath as the waltz slowed, the music swelling into its final notes. Her fingers tightened slightly against Seungcheol’s shoulder, holding onto the moment just a little longer before reality could creep back in.

She looked up at him, her lips parting before she could stop herself. “Thank you, Seungcheol.”

His eyes softened, the corners of his mouth twitching up like he meant every word before he even spoke them. “Of course,” he said simply. “You’re my sister’s best friend, after all.”

The words landed like a blow she hadn’t braced for.

Caro barely managed to keep her expression from falling, but something in her chest pulled tight, something fragile and aching.

Right. Eva's best friend. That’s all she was to him.

She forced a smile, nodding as she stepped back, slipping her hand from his grasp before he could feel how cold her fingers had become.

“Right,” she echoed, voice quieter than before. “Of course.”

She took another step back, then another, until she was no longer in the center of the dance floor—no longer under his careful gaze.

Seungcheol furrowed his brows slightly, as if sensing the shift, but she didn’t give him the chance to question it.

Because if she stayed any longer, she wasn’t sure she could keep the hurt from showing.

And the last thing she wanted was for him to see it.

----

<a/n> guys. what do we think about the cheol caro romance ;) p.s so proud of me to update so soon

taglist!

@svtrightherekids @syluslittlecrows

[shubox-imagines]

Ooooh, new writing blog, welcome to the web *bad dumn pun* I'm waiting for someone to write something romantic on Aaron and Peter B x Reader. Anything. Any little thing. Will I be the first ask that modifies your "no write for"??? (also, do you do yandere?)

how dare you walk in here and PUN ME

i’m jk ily thank u for the ask 💅

so to answer the question before the request, I have never written yandere before. i’m not saying I wouldn’t, but idk just how far i’d go into. i guess you gotta ask and see!

now since you said anything imma just do general ship HCs for them. gotta say the aaron ask surprised me but imma do it 👌

Peter B. Parker

hi this man is a certified goober and we love him v much but he loves you more

he’s such an awkward dork trying to be this suave superhero who just wants to impress you

even if you tell him he doesn’t need to he’s still going to just let him be special for you

he’s always going to do his best to make time for you between his spider-man’ing shenanigans

if you’re a spider too then he’s gonna try to make sure you don’t get yourself killed

which HES ONE TO TALK

he knows he can be awkward and distant sometimes, but he just wants to protect you, even if you can protect yourself.

he knows you think that robe is comfy and yes he will let you wear it

or he’ll get you your own and be a good about how the both of you match 💅

he’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy because he’s had too much experience in fucking up relationships to ever want to do it again

peter b just loves you so much and wants to make you happy if you’ll let him 🥺

Aaron Davis

so you’re just walking around with the definition of suave like it’s nothing okay go off

man is so beyond smooth it’s almost scary

he isn’t gonna start shit, but boy will he finish shit if they wanna start it with you

and GOD help them if they start disrespecting you

you tell him it’s no big deal and that they’re just some asshole

but funny enough, you never really saw that person again after that. odd.

he’s really good at deflecting, and making sure you don’t worry about him on his random outings where he disappears for days at a time.

but this man will do anything for you.

you want something? it’s yours

someone’s bothering you? never again

you just wanna cuddle with him? cmere he’s got big arms that are good for hugs and a couch that is hella comfy

he does wanna tell you about his actual job, but he doesn’t want you to worry about him. it’s dangerous, but he’s a capable man

but he can’t lie, he does worry about how you’ll react if you ever find out

but for now, he’s just here making sure that you’re safe, happy and loved, and ain’t no one gonna do that better than him.

but it’s been a while since he’d come back this time, and you were getting worried

but it’s aaron

he’s always okay

little tiny angst thing at the end there not really BUT STILL

i’m sorry if they seem OOC i am ✨out of the house✨ and have also never written for aaron ever?? BUT i hope they are good enough

requests are open,

ily all sm 💜

[strangelittlestories]

When the bad dreams start coming, thick enough to ooze their way past your webs and wards, you sometimes need to ask yourself: am I being Oracle'd or am I being Krueger'd?

These are both bad.

If you're being Krueger'd, then some malicious spirit or fellow dreamweaver has found a way past the ward-webs around your dreamspace and is - to put it plainly - *fucking with you*. And, if you don't act pretty damn decisively, they will keep doing it until you die.

If you're lucky, they've fallen into the trap of instituting full 'if you die in the dream, you die in real life' rules. This is a rookie error for all ghosts and dream-dabblers because, fundamentally, what is true for me in my dreams must also be true for *you*. So the asshole who goes this route, you just have to find them and fight them. And, yes, finding them can be tricky; a smart operator will set traps in your subconscious, make minions of your baby fears, and set your wild nightmares loose to go a-reaving.

But all that shit still leaves a psychic trace. It’s like an artist's signature style on the weave. And if you pick apart one thread, then you can follow the unravelling right back to the source. Once you’ve found them, you just have to do a big old metaphorical dream fight about it.

And once you've beaten them about the head with a giant frozen raincloud that represents your inner sense of shame ... well, then you're home free.

A more cunning 'weaver will just straight up try to kill you with exhaustion.

They won’t even need to step foot in your dreams personally. Not all the way at least. Not enough to put them in danger of reprisals. They’ll just stick one dainty toe into the waters of your deep thoughts, stirring it up with just a drop of malevolence and the whole 5-fathom depth will turn roiling and rancid.

Goodbye 8 hours a night. Goodbye REM. Goodbye anything resembling lucidity. And hello to ‘countdown to the inevitable’. Because once your sleep is wrecked enough that you realise what’s happened, you really only have a few days left before it’s too late and your body just *stops*.

And it’s a few days of exhaustion, moodiness, brain fog and moderate-to-severe hallucinations too. So, uh, good luck sleuthing your way to your would-be killer while all *that* is going on.

So step 1: get help. Step 2: hope like hell whatever rot they stuck in the dank part of your mind gives you some kind of trail. Step 3: good old fashioned, mundane detective work (this goes faster if you already have a list of your enemies). Step 4: revenge/justice/peacetalks (delete as appropriate). Step 5: an exhaustive cleansing process that will probably involve facing your deepest insecurities or some other nonsense.

Yeah. Getting Krueger’d is a *lot* and you’ve gotta be either real good, real fortunate, or have a hell of a support network to get out alive.

But it’s still better than being Oracle’d.

Because when you start having *prophetic* dreams? Oh buddy, once fate has gotten its fangs in you, everything else is just a delaying tactic. You could spin up strands of dreamsilk made of solid night, folded like steel a hundred times and entwine it into a net more perfect than a thousand spiders could make … destiny will burn through it in days.

And once the future plants a seed in the earth of you? Once it starts writing the future in its roots across your slumber? Well, there’s only one way to fight the future, babe.

You see, the future *will* happen to you. The only thing you can do is happen to *it* too. As hard as you can, for as long as you can.

Otherwise, fate will make you its loose thread. Every time.

[bimboficationblues]

Top 5 evil comic book women

going to try and focus on like, legitimately evil women? I mean I love my morally grey cutie pies like Ivy, Harley, Emma Frost, Black Cat, Scarlet Witch, Elektra - all of whom would probably make the list otherwise - but all of them have been trending "heroic" or at least antiheroic, often for longer than they were even villains or actually evil (if ever), and I know that's not what you're here for.

Mystique. I really love how deeply she is embedded in the web of relationships between the X-Men and yet fundamentally at odds with their way of doing things even when that way changes. because Mystique is fundamentally a being of sensual selfishness, an embodiment of mutant adaptability and a dark representation of "fuck you got mine" survivalism. this status as a kind of "deviant" X-Man constantly yo-yos her from "outside" to "inside" their circle even as it expands and contracts, forever escaping whatever conceptualization or box Xavier's disciples try to put her into, in a way I find a lot different from how e.g. Magneto is treated. Also the latest retcon establishing that she and Destiny are both Nightcrawler's biological mothers because she shapeshifted into a form that could cum in Destiny is uhhhhhh good.

Makima. I think Makima has like, one of the most interesting psychologies of an antagonistic character I have ever read. One thing I love is that the whole concept of devils in Chainsaw Man demands metaphorical readings of the characters and their relationships, and Denji's relationship to "control" remains contested even up through the end of the first part of the manga.

Cassandra Nova. Definitely a character with extremely diminishing returns, but at her original peak she's incredibly effective. Xavier's imperial shadow-self.

Lady Shiva. Just raw destructive talent pointed wherever she pleases - not without humanity but you wouldn't call those qualities "good" necessarily. Really excited to see her and her daughter lock horns in the new Batgirl series because they're a great foil pairing: Cassandra, the successor of Bruce who is most wedded to his idealism, and Shiva, the peer of Bruce who is one of the most vocally against it from the lens of reason and interest.

Cheetah. I don't really have a good reason, I think she just slays.

Bonus

Amanda Waller. Yes, Waller is (in my view) unequivocally evil. I think where people like her best is that she's a very grounded form of evil - a highly motivated actor within a bureaucratic and carceral system - who still comes across as larger-than-life amidst the huge personalities that typically surround to her.

Isabella (Promised Neverland). On top of being genuinely dangerous and clever, I have a real fascination with this character and what she represents, a portrayal of motherhood as a kind of socially-reproductive middle-management where you're simultaneously offered power through submission, and enter into sincere emotional relationships that you nevertheless sacrifice on an altar of blood. I put her in bonus because I guess she has a face turn.

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 7: The Escape II

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

Read on AO3 Here

Several flights of stairs and hallways later, Sawyer felt like her calves would fall off. It didn't help that her muscles were sore from trying to outmaneuver the Saber that came close to biting her head clean back in the locker room. Running from danger was something she had grown accustomed to over the years, but at this point, it was getting old--almost unbearable, until Luis and she came to a junction and stopped. She took this moment to catch her breath while combing her body of bruises. There were several on her arms at this point. She felt the wound on her head as well, noting that it didn't feel as swollen as when Luis checked it out in the basement.

“Gracias Christo, yes! We're going the right way!" Two Legs exclaimed in between panting, having moved from Sawyer to double-check a sign on the wall. He was so ecstatic that he didn't feel the sudden daggers Sawyer sent straight to his back. (1)

"Hold up," Sawyer furrowed her brows, meeting his gaze as he turned around. "You mean to tell me this whole time you didn't know where the hell we were going?" 

"I--" Two Legs hesitated, biting his lip nervously as he let out a giggle. "Okay, maybe I've been improvising just a little bit…" He made a pinching gesture as if that would take the edge off the situation. 

"Luis, are you fucking serious right now!?" 

"Hey! Hear me out!" Two Legs defended himself, gesturing with his arms out toward her. "I know for certain there is a waste hatch. I told you, I could smell it! When we find the bronze tunnel, I'm sure it's at the end waiting for us!"

Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "You're not exactly inspiring confidence right now. This place is huge; for all we know, there could be a hundred bronze tunnels!" 

"My nose has never failed me!" Two Legs confidently retorted. "Yes, I've been making things up as I go, but we're on the right trail! I caught the scent, and I've seen this sign before! We just…took a little detour, is all!" 

Guess he is a goddamn dog after all… Sawyer recalled her earlier banter with him in the basement before she continued to criticize him. "Y'know, you could've said something sooner before getting my hopes up!" 

Two Legs frowned, his earlier confidence waning. Luis's memories of comforting others failed him in this situation. Telling half-truths backfired, and the plaga didn't understand how his actions had been inappropriate. At the very least, he thought she'd appreciate the humor of the situation—people quickly forgave Luis of his trespasses because of his wit. 

"But…" he hesitated, fumbling over his thoughts. "Earlier, weren't you upset?"

"So what if I was?" Sawyer balked.

" So what? " Two Legs mimicked. "Are you really going to condemn me for trying to soothe you?"

"I'm going to condemn you if we both end up dying because you forgot which way to go! You should've been straight with me!" 

Discomfort nestled in Two Legs, the memory of failing to predate on Sawyer the previous night resurfaced. While entertaining the thought of attempting that again—given her attitude—his nerves from his spine to his feet began to tingle, dancing alongside his knotted stomach. 

He realized he was enjoying this tension. 

"Harsh words from someone so ungrateful," he grinned, suppressing a laugh. "You can't damn me if we're both corpses, now can you, senorita ?" (2)

"Last I checked, hauntings haven't been disproven," Sawyer remarked sarcastically. She stepped closer into his space, her voice low and intense. "I'm not great at Spanish, but I know you're trying to undermine--!"

"Shh!" 

"You're the human equivalent of a twig with feet, don't you shh me!" 

Two Legs suddenly clamped his hand over her mouth. Sawyer's eyes widened in protest, but she quickly noticed what had alarmed him: low snarls from the left. 

A mutual silence fell between the two, and Sawyer's gaze slowly traveled up to Luis, watching his nostrils flare and his chest rise steadily. The stillness in his eyes reminded Sawyer of a professional sniper, honing in on his target before taking a shot. Luis didn't seem the type to be someone of that ilk, but the strangeness of his behavior faded when she spotted movement from ahead. 

Three Dires emerged, their canine human forms slinking from the darkness underneath fluttering lights. As they advanced, their yellow eyes carried an eerie glow, sensing a disturbance within their territory. The large humps on their upper backs flexed with every step they took, showcasing powerful muscles underneath the flesh. 

"The meth wolves," Sawyer whispered under her breath as Two Legs removed his hand from her mouth. She immediately thought of Kari, how she was alone facing a horde of these creatures or worse--these were the survivors, and she was dead. "Oh shit…"

"How good is your aim?" Two Legs asked, his voice tense as he kept his eyes on the BOWs. 

"Decent. Why?" 

"Cover me." 

"What?!"

Without further explanation, Two Legs grabbed a discarded metal panel and threw it against the wall with a loud clang. The Dires turned towards the noise, momentarily distracted as Two Legs ran forward, waving his hands to draw their attention while he shouted. 

"Hey, over here!" 

The Dires released a series of snarling clicks like hyenas alerting one another and proceeded to advance on him. At first, the creatures were in a sprint as Two Legs began to run backward, keeping his eyes focused on them. But then he saw the look of familiarity as the BOWs paused, getting on all fours as they precariously inched toward him. Their noses twitched as the growls became deeper.

Seizing the opportunity, Sawyer aimed her handgun. Her hands shook while she sharpened her focus. Luis was insane for doing this, but with the BOWs' backs turned to her, Sawyer had a clear shot at their heads and assumed vital spots. The air became stiff as she narrowed down her first target, feeling startled when the creature's tactics changed. It was almost as if Luis had them hypnotized. She couldn't believe it, much less process what she was looking at.

Two Legs felt conflicted as he slowly backed up further, sensing through vibrations that the parasites within these entities had difficulty telling if he was a friend or foe. He sensed Sawyer's gaze and let out a yell toward the BOWs. It was enough to break the trance, and the leader took a shot at him--swiping its powerful right arm toward his direction, narrowly missing his abdomen as Two Legs jumped back. 

The first shot echoed through the corridor, dropping the nearest Dire with a headshot. Four more shots took down another, striking the head and legs. Realizing the secondary threat, the third Dire spun around and ran at full speed toward Sawyer. Just as it leaped into the air, its jaws open wide, she fired several shots--the bullets piercing through the mouth and skull before the body toppled to the ground with a thud.

Sawyer exhaled sharply. Although the encounter lasted only seconds, the adrenaline made it feel longer. Her grip on the gun relaxed.

Two Legs whistled in approval as he backtracked, kicking the Dire at Sawyer's feet to ensure it was dead. He chuckled amusingly, trying to cover up his mixed feelings about the creatures and his relation to them.

"Nice shooting!" he muttered, a hint of a smile on his lips. "For a second, I thought you were gonna let them eat me."

"It did cross my mind," Sawyer replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart. She reloaded her weapon and gestured for Luis to lead the way. "Keep going. I'll follow."

"Oh, really now?" Two Legs looked at her, eyebrows raised. "I thought you were angry with me?" 

"Oh, believe me, I still am," Sawyer replied mockingly, a nervous laugh escaping her. "But I can't be mad at you if we're both dead, so let's move."

"So, does that mean I won our argument?"

"Shut up, Luis."  

Two Legs grinned, nodding as he gestured with his head to follow. 

They continued down a narrow hall, leaving the fallen Dires behind. As they neared their destination, Two Legs's nose twitched at the sudden stench of sour milk and rotting vegetables. He paused, gagging as the smells hit his olfactory system like a train.

"Did you swallow a fly mid-run?" Sawyer quipped as she came to his side to check on him.

"Good one," Two Legs huffed with a laugh, shaking his head. "No, it's the waste hatch. We're getting close! See?" 

A bronze tunnel came into view ahead of them. They rounded a corner and rushed toward the exit. Ultimately, Two Legs and Sawyer entered a large sterile room with faded walls and a high ceiling. The space resembled a testing site where Soldado's monsters no doubt took their first breaths, its haunting imagery further exemplified by the scent of chemicals and something raw that neither Two Legs nor Sawyer could place. Sawyer furrowed her brows and licked her dry lips, not wanting to imagine the other horrors that had transpired here.

"Where's the hatch?" She asked, trying to take her mind off her thoughts. 

Two Legs placed a hand on her shoulder as he quickly walked past. "I'm gonna find it! See if you can find a gun for me in the meantime, eh? Don't wander too far!"

Before she could protest, Luis was out of sight. There was no point in arguing with him to stay put or offering to help. Accepting her lot, Sawyer began to look around, rubbing her eyes as they watered from the bleach and mildew scents in the lab.

Rows of large glass tanks lined the area, some shattered and others intact. A few flickered with faulty lights, casting gloomy shadows on the ground and illuminating the turquoise water that filled each capsule. Inside the intact tubes, remnants of creatures were visible—mangled limbs, disembodied organs, and twisted spines—floating in a viscous fluid. How each piece moved against the glass reminded Sawyer of an undeveloped fetus hanging onto the placenta, and she nearly gagged at the thought. Finding a gun for Luis was the furthest thing from her mind as her eyes widened with disdain, realizing the depth of Soldado's operations. It seemed he had never left Umbrella behind, unlike how he bragged about it back at the Plaza. She couldn't fathom why people like Soldado pushed the envelope all in the name of progress. The gallery of grotesque creations didn't seem worth whatever he had been trying to accomplish.

As Sawyer pondered the what-ifs, cautiously navigating through the labyrinth of tanks, she stopped at one in particular--unable to tear away as she peered into it. A mass of organs and spider-like legs floated in the fluid, pulsating as if still alive. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising nausea, memories of the locker room incident flooding back—how the Sabers mandibles had protruded from its cheeks and the insect-like mannerisms of the Dires formation. These things—plaga, or whatever they were—seemed obsessively revered by Soldado. She wondered how he had developed such a twisted fascination with them and where the hell they had come from in the first place. There had to be more to the story than just the caves Soldado had mentioned in passing.

He sure had a kink for bugs if there ever was one, that's for damn sure…

Just as Sawyer was about to turn away, something moved. A bloody hand lunged at the space between the tanks right at her.

"Whoa! Whoa! Fuck--!” Sawyer yelled, stumbling back in shock, nearly knocking over a desk. The sound bounced through the room, amplifying the eerie atmosphere. She struggled to regain her composure, her gun trained on the bloodied appendage.

"Kiddo," a hoarse voice called out. "It's… it's me. Put the gun down."

Sawyer hesitated, her hands shaking slightly, but then took a deep breath and peered further as the figure behind the tanks rose. Covered in blood and grime, Samuel grunted as he managed to limp around and stood before her. There was no mistaking the familiar face as Sawyer met his pained stare.

"Samuel?" Sawyer gasped, lowering her gun. She couldn't believe her eyes. "How...?"

"Surprise," Samuel feebly chuckled, his voice barely audible. He winced and fell onto his knees, his body battered and sore. Eyes unfocused and hazy, he struggled to push himself up. "Shit..."

Sawyer knelt beside him, and she gently cupped his face, careful not to touch the bruises and cuts scattered across his skin. 

"Sam, what happened to you?" Her voice shook with relief. "Are you okay?"

"Kiddo, I…." Samuel coughed, wincing as he tried to sit up. "I…I got separated from Mobley. We were ambushed…by an elephant man."

"Elephant man?" 

"Big…elephant BOW. It came out of nowhere…knocked me on my ass." His words were halting, each breath labored. Samuel glanced down at his side, where a makeshift bandage was hastily wrapped around his abdomen. Blood had seeped through the fabric, staining it a dark red. "I woke up...in an office. Found a first aid kit and...tried to patch myself up, and crawled here."

Sawyer's eyes softened, and she let go of his face, whispering an apology as he grimaced from her touch. "There's a waste hatch that leads out of here, Sam. We're gonna get out of this damn place."

Samuel smiled weakly, his voice muffled. "I missed your cursing."

"And I missed when you weren't bleeding to death," Sawyer countered playfully, trying to lighten the situation for both their sakes.

"This has been…one hell of a bust, Kiddo."

"You don't say," Sawyer quipped playfully, then tried to give him some hope to latch onto. "We can bitch about it over drinks, I promise." 

"I'll…make sure those are…both teas," Samuel grinned, straining the muscles in his mouth. "I wouldn't want...to break your streak."

Not far from the pair, Two Legs had been watching the exchange; he had arrived shortly after hearing Sawyer scream. Confusion bloomed in his eyes. This Samuel and his quarry weren't related by blood—Two Legs could smell their differences from their sweat alone—but their connection was significant nonetheless. An unfamiliar feeling roosted under his ribs as he observed them—a mix of covetousness and something else he couldn't quite place. Whatever was going on with his body deeply unsettled his composure as he finally forced himself to approach the two.

"Hey! I heard you yelling, are you good?" Two Legs called out, pushing the emotions down while pretending not to notice Samuel at first. 

Samuel's gaze shifted to Two Legs, and a sense of recognition crossed his features. "Who's...this fella?"

"This is Luis. He's been helping me," Sawyer answered quickly, her voice steadying as she gestured toward him. "Luis, this is my good friend Sam I've told you about."

"Hola!" Two Legs grinned, giving a slight wave with his hand. He felt the weight of Samuel's scrutiny. Though clouded with immense pain, the man's eyes held a clarity that unnerved him. It was as if Samuel was seeing through the facade, sensing something that even Sawyer hadn't fully grasped.

Two Legs lowered his hand and made a fist.

"Let's get you out of here," Sawyer gently touched Samuel's shoulder. "Can you stand?"

Samuel nodded, though he clearly struggled with his wounds and feelings toward Sawyer's companion. With their help, he slowly rose, wincing with each movement. All the while, the expression of Two Legs remained unreadable as Samuel studied him.

"How far is the hatch, Luis?" Sawyer asked.

"Oh, it's on the other side of these gestation tanks! I don't think your friend here will struggle getting to it once he finds his feet."

"How comforting of you…" Samuel muttered, followed by a rough cough.

Two Legs felt a strange, awkward sensation as he stared at Samuel.  He realized it wasn't just his obvious connection with Sawyer that bothered the plaga, but something else. One thing was sure: Two Legs didn't like how it made him feel, almost on edge—his false display as Luis threatened to lift with each passing breath because of it.

"You're pretty tough for an older guy. It sure looks like you've seen better days, eh?" Two Legs gestured toward Samuel's injury. He couldn't help but try to pry and see what else was happening.

"Can we...cut the small talk for now?" Samuel asked, coughing once more.

"Jesus, Sam, your mouth is bleeding bad." Sawyer pointed out.

"I'll be fine," Samuel protested. "Trust me...I'll be alright."

The coughing of blood made Two Legs connect the dots, but to be sure, he needed to use his senses to feel out the room. Subtly, the tendrils in his body sent out microscopic pulses of vibration. The waves created varying degrees of noise that only those of his kind could hear. Two Legs turned his attention inward, intently focusing on Samuel as the frequencies returned to him, constructing a series of heat signature images behind his eyes. As the pictures focused, his stomach dropped.  

A blue-green aura existed inside Samuel, taking the shape of a plaga and coiling throughout his body, leeching into his spine. The parasite stopped moving and turned its head toward the source of the sudden racket that had knocked it off course. The creature responded to Two Legs with a violent sequence of sounds, causing Two Legs' eyes to widen and his breath to hitch.

"Sam?" Sawyer backed up a little as Samuel coughed more blood into his palms.

"Sawyer, you need to get away from him!" Two Legs stepped back, his voice urgent.

"What are you talking about?" Sawyer's head snapped up, confusion and anger flashing in her eyes. "He needs our help!"

Samuel looked between them, his expression darkening as his breath quickened. "What the hell are you saying?"

Two Legs struggled to find the words—the human words—to explain himself as he glanced frantically between the two.

"He's infected," He finally managed, his tone insistent as he abruptly sensed more of his brethren's aggression coming through. "There's a parasite inside him!"

"No, that's impossible," Sawyer whispered, denial thick in her tone. She could feel her face turning pale as she met Samuel's eyes. "Samuel, tell him—tell him it's not true!"

"I…I don't know," Samuel admitted, his voice breaking as his eyes wandered around. "During the fight with the BOW, something…something stabbed me. Like a stinger."

Samuel glimpsed down at his bandaged side, realization dawning on his face as horror crept into his voice. 

"Oh god…"

"No!" Sawyer's hands shook as she gripped Samuel's left arm, her eyes pleading. "There has to be a way to help you! We'll cut the son of a bitch out once we leave!" 

"We don't have time for that!" Two Legs interjected grimly. He shook his head. "The parasite will take over soon. We need to stop it now!"

"How the hell do you know that, Luis?" Sawyer spat. "He doesn't even look infected!"

"I know--" Two Legs felt sweat trickling down his face before he remembered pocketing documents on Plaga Type E back in the security office. "I know because of Soldado's notes! I found them with his corpse. You can check the back of my pants if you don't believe me; I stashed them!"

The atmosphere grew dense as Sawyer and Two Legs stared each other down, their mutual suspicion and bitterness rising. Samuel, caught between them, felt his panic mounting. He suddenly became acutely aware of the thing inside him--a cold, alien presence slithering against his bones and organs.

The room grew darker as his body began to cringe. His heart picked up in speed. 

"We have to leave him behind," Two Legs pleaded, seeing the ache in Sawyer's eyes and her unwillingness to let go. He felt a pang of something—empathy, perhaps—but he pushed it aside. There was no room for that, not now. His voice became frustrated, recalling his previous mistakes. "You told me to be straight with you earlier, and now that I'm doing that, you suddenly want comforting lies?! Jesus, make up your mind!"

"I am not leaving Sam, and that's final!" Sawyer yelled, her eyes blazing with a mix of defiance and fear.

"Ki-Kiddo…"... Samuel's voice was barely a whisper.

His body started to convulse.

"S-Sam...?"

“R--u--Run…” 

Those were the last words Samuel managed to choke out before a guttural scream tore from his throat. His eyes glowed with a startling, unnatural hue while his skin rippled grotesquely as the parasite took control, bones cracking and elongating beneath the surface.

Sawyer quickly moved away, her heart sprinting in her chest as his face contorted in agony. Inhuman roars reverberated through the area as Samuel's features continued to warp. She watched as his hands thickened and extended into grayish appendages, the nails hardening into opaque, chitinous claws. His skin became darker and toughened, taking on a leathery texture. With an agonizing wail, Samuel's back arched, and a spine of segmented armor erupted along his vertebrae--reminiscent of a beetle's carapace. His chest expanded as more bones realigned to support the growing mass as his body gained height. A pair of tusks--long and sharp--protruded from his mouth, giving an ungainly appearance. 

The last glow of humanity in Samuel's eyes faded as he stared at Sawyer, his arms extending outward as he let out a thick screech that rattled every gestation tank in the lab.

As Samuel continued to cry out, Two Legs watched in horrified fascination. He felt the parasite's malicious intent directed toward him, sensing the elder plaga had no intention of letting anyone in this room out alive. The last time he felt like prey was back in the village, and a deep-seated fear stirred within him.

Sawyer stood frozen. Her vision blurred, and the sounds around her dulled as if she were underwater. Each blink of her eyes replayed Samuel's despairing screams, blending with haunting memories of Carmen rising from her bed, arms outstretched in a desperate plea for mercy. A wave of detachment washed over Sawyer, incapable of reconciling the hell unfurling before her.

Without warning, Samuel—now fully the Tusk—turned his newfound strength against her. With a violent shove, he hurled Sawyer aside like a rag doll. The force sent her crashing across the room, the world spinning around her in a dizzying haze. Pain spread through her body, but it felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else. 

Two Legs sprang into action, his movements a blur as he launched himself toward Sawyer to intercept, hitting the ground with a grunt that reflected his exertion. He skidded slightly from the impact but managed to break her fall, using his body as a shield as she collided with him. The force of the impact knocked the air out of his chest, but he clung to Sawyer, absorbing the brunt of the blow to protect her.

Breathing heavily, Two Legs looked down at her, her eyes wide with shock. The raw affliction on her face seemed to threaten to unravel her resolve, but there was no time to dwell on it, much less Two Legs conflicted feelings about risking everything for someone he saw as prey.

Two Legs made haste as he maneuvered Sawyer into a safer position, his hands gripping her shoulders to steady her. "Are you alright?"

Sawyer nodded, her breath in fleeting gasps as she struggled to regain her composure. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, quivering but finding ground. Her eyes met his, and a silent understanding passed between them—a shared resolve to survive and a knowledge of what the outcome meant for Samuel. 

"We can't let him find the hatch! He's too dangerous," Two Legs pressed, his voice edged with desperation. "I know this...hurts you, but we must take him down together!"

Sawyer nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She scrambled to grab her handgun, which fell not far from her, and tightened her grip on it, firming her will even though all she wanted to do was mourn.

"Do you have any ideas?" Sawyer breathed. 

"Besides not dying? Nadda…” Two Legs admitted, his gaze shifting back to Samuel. The intimidating presence of the beast loomed larger as it barreled toward them with alarming speed. "Joder!"

"Remember how we took down the meth wolves earlier?"

"Si?"

"It can't hurt to try it again!" Sawyer exclaimed. "Distract him, I'll shoot!"

"Wait, wait, wait, why am I the bait this time?!" 

"He looks more pissed at you than me, now go!" 

As the Tusk lunged to crush them, the pair jumped into action, playing to their respective strengths. Two Legs moved frenetically, darting around Samuel and drawing his ire.

"Oye, bastardo feo! Were you looking for me?" Two Legs taunted, his voice taut with adrenaline as he narrowly dodged Samuel's monstrous swing. The Tusk's massive trunk-like arm crashed into a metal support beam with a deafening clang, sending a shiver through the room. Debris rained down, shattering gestation tanks and spilling their contents. (3)

Seizing the momentary distraction, Sawyer fired her gun with grit, aiming at the vulnerable joints and gaps in the Tusk's exoskeleton. Her bullets chipped away at the creature's flesh, and as she missed some shots, she could feel her frustration mount. She watched Luis continue to lead the Tusk on a wild chase through the facility, calculating each movement to trick the BOW into smashing into dangerous objects and the walls.

"Missed me!" Two Legs heckled as the Tusk slammed its arms into four gestation tanks simultaneously while attempting to grab him. The glass embedded deeply into its skin, and the BOW erupted in a ferocious roar that clapped like thunder. Its eyes zeroed in on Two Legs, the parasites' relentless drive to eliminate the perceived higher threat overriding all other concerns. The BOW charged with renewed ferocity, its tusks now fully extended and gleaming with razor-sharp ends. At the same time, more beetle traits emerged, such as an armored shell and menacing mandibles snapping viciously.

Two Legs weaved through the chaos with agile precision, using his smaller size to his advantage as he dodged the plagas' aggressive attacks. He was getting into a flow as the lab shook, with each of the Tusk's giant steps, the walls, and the equipment bearing the brunt of its rage. Eventually, luck ran out for Two Legs as the Tusk grabbed him mid-jump.

"S-shit!" Two Legs exclaimed, feeling the creature apply pressure to his entire body. He could feel his lungs deflate, his mind combing through Luis's memories at lightning speed to try and find a way out of this, but the pain became more unyielding as he could feel his host's bones wanting to give out even with the biological reinforcements Two Legs had developed over the years. He couldn't afford to mutate, and even then, Two Legs knew it wouldn't be of use at that moment.

Suddenly, several bullets hit one of the Tusk's mandibles, sending the appendage flying off in a bloody cloud and drawing a snarl of rage from the beast. The creature's eyes snapped toward Sawyer; the parasite recognized her as a more significant threat, tossing Two Legs to the side before it rushed at her, ignoring the bullets hitting its chest.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" Sawyer's curse cut through the noise as her gun jammed unexpectedly. Panic surged through her veins, her hands desperately trying to clear the blockage. She scrambled for cover, but it was too late.

The Tusk launched forward, and its right arm swung, crushing and slamming into the ground, sending Sawyer crashing to the floor. Her face smacked against the cold ground; wind knocked from her lungs as the gun skidded out of reach.

"No, no, no!" Sawyer muttered, her voice shaking with fear. She struggled to push herself up. The Tusk overlooked her, its immense shadow casting a suffocating chill.

"Oh no you don't!" Two Legs shouted, his voice raw as he charged. He skidded to a halt, scarcely avoiding a crushing blow from the parasite's massive right foot. In a desperate move, Two Legs snatched a jagged glass piece from the debris. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he drove it into the tender underside of the tusk leg. The creature bellowed in distress, its enormous frame staggering back as it clutched at the wound and fell.

Two Legs took the momentary reprieve to rush to Sawyer's side, his face etched with worry. 

"We need to quit meeting like this, cariño!" he shouted, his hands trembling as he helped her to her feet. "This one's on me for earlier!" (4)

Sawyer groaned, pushing through the mist of pain and disorientation. Her gaze fixed on Samuel, who was still squirming in agony, now on his hands and knees ravaging what remained of the lab, his furious strikes gouging deep craters into the floor and shattering anything in his path as he trapped himself in cords and other electrical equipment. The sight hardened Sawyer's stare. She understood there was no turning back now, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

"We have to end this," Sawyer's eyes darted around, heart sinking when she saw her gun too far out of range. It wouldn't make sense anyway to waste what little energy she had to unjam the damn thing. Her sight fell onto a fallen pipe within arm's reach, the sharp end illuminating under the dimming lights.

"One last time, get him pissed!"

Two Legs hesitated, his eyes betraying doubt, but he settled with his lot. Once again, he sprinted toward the Tusk, his insults laced with scorn as he dodged the creature's feral swings.

The BOW found its footing and ran at him, and as Two Legs darted underneath a table, narrowly avoiding being stomped, the Tusk fell forward and onto its face. Its legs had been trapped and entangled by debris and wiring, causing the creature to trip. Its frantic movements further entrapped the BOW while its claws dug into the ground, attempting to thrash away at its confinements, feeling steel wires wrap around its neck and sinking into its flesh.

With Samuel in the perfect position and nowhere to retreat, Sawyer knew the moment had arrived. She charged, her grip on the pipe white-knuckled, and with a decisive strike, she drove it into the soft tissue of the Tusk's throat, just below the start of its exoskeleton. The creature spat blood as it roared, and Sawyer yelled as she forced the pipe deeper, angling it to drive into the brain so it would kill him faster.

"Sam…" Sawyer's voice cracked, the words barely escaping through her gasping breaths.

The growls twisted into desperate gurgles as the BOW choked on its bile, movements coming to a sluggish crawl. The parasite's grip on Samuel's body weakened as it could feel its life force draining alongside its host--unable to contend with the arteries its attacker severed all at once.

"Sam, I'm so sorry—I'm so sorry, Sam!"

In his final moments, Samuel's eyes locked onto hers. His monstrous form seemed to falter as fleeting recognition and profound sorrow had etched across his ghastly appearance.

Sawyer shook her head, tears blurring as she whispered, "Sam, I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry…"

With a final, shuddering breath, the Tusk collapsed, its massive body crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. 

Silence enveloped the facility, only interrupted by Sawyer's breathing, the crackling of failing electrical equipment, and the blaring of the overhead alarm system.

Less than two minutes before red protocol is activated. 

She stood over the fallen creature, the pipe still clutched in her trembling hands. The moment's weight pressed down on her, her mind racing and subjugated by the crushing reality of what she had just done.

She had killed her best friend.

Two Legs crawled out from his hiding place and approached Sawyer cautiously. A somber stillness masked his expression while he watched her grip on the pipe loosen, the metal object making a squelching noise as it remained embedded into Samuel's flesh. The quiet that followed was heavy, laden with the consequence of their actions.

"He's... he's gone," Sawyer whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her eyes remained locked on the lifeless form of her friend, the horror and despair evident in her gaze.

The rawness of her grief made Two Legs reluctant to intrude, much less offer comfort. A memory from "the other place" imposed itself upon him, showing Luis and Abuelo putting down a bird whose wings were trapped in barbed wire. The unfortunate animal had torn itself apart while trying to escape. He could hear the two arguing in his head about whether to nurse the creature back to health or to end its suffering, with Luis heavily debating the ethics long after the deed was done.

"Sometimes…" Two Legs began, his voice hesitant and heavy. The rest of the memory played out.

Abuelo ended the conversation in one fell swoop—the words leaving an impact on a young Luis that would follow him for years.

"Sometimes, there are no good choices."

Sixty seconds until red protocol activation. 

"We need to move," Two Legs said, his voice unwavering despite the mixed emotions tugging at him. "C'mon, c'mon, you can't stay here."

Sawyer stole one last lingering look at Samuel's lifeless body, then followed Two Legs. They ran across to the other side of the lab, sliding into the hatch, and fell rapidly down a dark tunnel.

As they emerged on the other side, crashing into one another and tumbling through mud and garbage, they found themselves further away from the site than expected. They crawled out of the grime and stood up, noticing the expanse of twilight shadows and the distant glow of the sun.

The howl of the explosion shattered the moment of peace as the facility erupted in a brilliant burst, lighting up the sky with a searing glow.

Sawyer stood frozen momentarily, her face illuminated by the distant flames. The shock of it all felt surreal as if she were watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion. She wondered if this was how Carmen felt when Raccoon City fell to the undead—alone and hopeless, knowing that everything she cared about, every person she loved, had been reaped without mercy.

Two Legs swallowed hard as he watched the blaze. He could almost feel the heat of the fire engulfing Abuelo's house as Luis stood not more than a few feet away, watching his home and even his identity perish. That was one of Luis's core memories that he would rather soon forget than relive. He needed a distraction and fast.

Glancing at Sawyer, Two Legs eyes echoed the ferocity of the flames. His stomach twisted as hunger urged him to sink his teeth into his quarry. He had gone the extra mile not only to save himself but also her own hide. All this effort was to finish what he had started last night and end this strange sense of obligation that was lingering in his mind. He was so close, he could practically feel her arteries gushing around his mouth.

Then her eyes met his.

His heart beat wildly, like back in the basement.  

"C'mon," Two Legs urged almost bitterly as he blinked, his voice barely whispering above calamity ahead. He moved away from Sawyer, his steps hurried and desperate. The terrain grew uneven as he approached the river's edge, which was just a short distance away, and he turned to see if she was following.

Silently, Sawyer acknowledged the fire one last time and turned her back. She followed Luis deep into the woods, the river soothing her frayed nerves as she picked up the pace.  She had no idea what to do now except to keep running—just like she always did.

Even if it hurt.

Notes:

1. Gracias Christo = Thank Christ! 2. Senorita = Miss/ young girl 3. Bastardo feo = Ugly bastard 4. Cariño! = Sweetheart / Dear

[colourfulbookdragon]

Spoilers for up to 151 of the magnus arechive

I keept needed to know more and ended up going through a lot of episodes

135 dark matter

The dark yay watch jon further burn his hand that had the handshake by touching the sun or something. also yay the last datulus one at least someone on that forsaken space ship knew what the hell was happening and bassira and Elias also the statment is deffinitly giving please is Jonah Magnus hints because they are extending the offer to all the long lived avatars and Elias + just referring to him as gerturds boss I will be so sad if I'm wrong but there is so much evidence that I will just Wright a fic if I am. I was somewhat right about Daisy, bu I was very wrong about Sasha.

136 puppeteer

It almost feels to say to assume that the therapist is part of the web but like she definitly is thought because the episode established both that the web likes to be tricky and that that have a working relationship whit the institute and I would be disappointed if they were for the eye so. The timing is to close.

Cerppy special effects dude is back maby she moved the rigging and he was working on the set or unable was just controlling him thought her own webs during the first statment with him

And I love Daisy and jon being friends . Yes, tell each other what you need to hear Daisy in a soft sense that she's still important and jon to quit feeling sorry for himself

137 the nemesis

Slaughter ritual gone, yay. I don't really have that many thoughts

138 the architect of fear

Smirk story: Yay, watch Elias being in a prison that connects to the institute and the tunnels so he can do the watchers crown. Also any doubt I had as to werether or not the eye ritual will happen has just been wiped it's deffinitly gonna happen also Elias/ Jonah deffinitly knows how to stop all of the rituals and he's just a fcking badtard he deffinitly knows relatively what they are and he dam well knows who put the information so they are able to be done better. Robert smirk knowing he cause the rituals and he can't control them is great just suffering the consequences of his own actions and trying to convince his dear friend to stop witch he will not do will jon find the tapes with enough time to do anything for Martin and do we get some happiness for them

What will happen when the watchers crown starts we now know it's where able and Elias will probably try to put it on but will it go to jon instead and will jon just be a helpless figure after it first starts or can he do anything to stop it will he want to stop it will the others get killed or the connection severed and they get to go free.

139 chosen

Agnes I think the combination factors causes her down all and no one allone whould have been enough alolthough we don't yet know what gertrude did but that hilltop road and coffee shop were all needed also jon was probably chosen because he was traumatized so young right?

140 the movement of the heavens

Get the ritual down and stopped please, without getting destroyed in the dark

141 doomed voyage

Non-consensual statment extraction: Would things be better or worse if jon knows why he's doing things

Wonder if it's called doomed voyage cause somethings gonna happen when they are gone to fuck everything up at home

142 scrutiny

Jon no quit steeling people fears at least when they come into the archive there's some base level or concent random people on boats or in coffee shops don't give concent. I know he can't help it, but at least try. Martin's just like, let me protect you without seeing you for protection, then being surprised when he doesn't know beforehand if going to do the dangerous shit Jon's going to do . If you were talking, u would know

143 heart of darkness

Hellen yay also love that just giving the eye /ceaseless watcher a direct view destroyed it like it makes so much sence and hellesn you say u feel like your gonna die alot like maby he keeps getting put in thous positions and has not yet reconciled with the fact that he is now verry difficult to kill

144 decrypted

I feel bad for rosie??? Idk if that her name Elias s assistant because peter sure is giving avatar bosses a bad rep with his shit poor Martin just having to deal with it also Martin be nice to daisy I've given up on everyone getting allong at the same time but like at least pretend to try she just wants to make up for her past

145 infectious doubts

Angnus also maby u just chose the wrong god like go gertrude also poor jon he is just getting no rest from the monster accusations

146 threshold

Jon, i don't want to be controlled or have my actions not be my own

Also, John, I kind of just assume it will turn on if it's important

Like the hypocrisy also intervention on eating people fears yay "just shut up jon "

He got the statement not just because of Hilltop Road but to inform him that being marked is inevitable and he can't stop it only to avoid until he can't right. They r going to get hurt, probably Daisy in the house.

147 weaver

Free will introspection poor jon he has to deal with the worst ever thing realising his actions are his own now what will he do from hear also I love Annabelle being able to lie is it because she wrote away from the institute at hill top road or is the web just like that tm. Jon is really just feeding the web the whole time with his fear "covering himself in the strings of conspiracy "

148 extended surveillance

You know jon being addicted to the statments should not come as a surprise cause we knew about the nicotine, so he is pre desposed to it in some degere, and he probably might get over it. i also forgot they xan get eye statments and was trying so hard to figure out a different answere avoiding the frear self cannibalism

149 concrete jungle

I don't tend to get scared from statments but dam did this one get me maby it's just the extinction that gets me because I am deffinitly terrified of what comes after being worst and us failing to fix our stuff leaving a bigger permanent scar on the planet. Also give marting friends and free him from the lonely don't let him go invisible and talk away the avatar static he needs people plus I'm fairly certain he will fail and it won't be his fault maby it will be Jon's maby it will just have been inevitable that he does also love how he's getting pissed at Georgie for not doing his job (helping jon be better)

150 cul-de-sac

Un lonely Martin, he deserves better. Also, poor Melanie, she better not actually be seeing a web therapist she also deserves better. Why not let everyone be happy and not trapped and forced into whatever Eliass plan is

151

Simon Fairchild, yay, un lonely Martin, if I keep asking, it will happen, but anyways don't kill him either cause he's the one I have pined as making it out of this alive and the best off. Melinie wants out to bad so it won't be her basirea and daisy are two tied together and have been stuck to long to get out well jon is in to deep and is probably gonna die in the last episode is some traumatic way with him being to much of a monster that he needs it eneded and wants it to happen at that point he allready has low enough self estimate for it just make him suffer a bit more and be the cause of something on accident and it will happen Martin needs to make it out or no one will.

[antheraea]

Flash Was Killed Because It Was Objectively Dangerous

I get it, I get the Flash nostalgia and the fondness for old Flash games. I was big on Neopets before they decided to ruin the art and make all the pets samey paper dolls to play dressup with (completely ruining the point of the far more expensive "redraw" colors like Mutant and Faerie and Desert). I have fond memories of Newgrounds games and I even managed to take a class for a semester in high school where I could learn flash.

But I also remember how terrible it was. And you should too.

Leaving aside all of the issues involving performance and inaccessibility (such as being easily broken by bog-standard browser actions like the back button, and its ability to modify web code AND OS code in real time likely broke a lot of accessibility tech too), Flash was legitimately one of the most dangerous web technologies for the end user. An end-user is you, or more specifically back then, child-you.

According to Wikipedia and its sources, Flash Player has over a thousand vulnerabilities known and listed and over 800 of these lead to arbitrary code execution.

What is arbitrary code execution? That's when someone can just run any commands they want on a machine or program that didn't intend it. A fun way to see this is in this infamous Pokemon tool-assisted speedrun where they manage to get an SNES to show the host's twitch chat in real time. It's not so fun though when it's someone stealing all the files on your computer, grabbing your credentials so they could clean out your Neopets account (yes, really, it was a pretty common concern at the time), and other nefarious works. Also, there was a time where it allowed people to spy on you with your webcam and microphone.

Oh and on top of all of this, Flash had its own "flash cookies", which could not be cleared by ordinary means and thus could be used to track users indefinitely, at least until Adobe slapped a bandaid over it by introducing yet another screen an ordinary person wouldn't know to use. (I assume this is how the infamous neopets "cookie grabbers" worked, so they could get into your account. This is mainly what I remember about using Flash back in the early 2000s lol) So it not only was a "stranger taking over your machine" concern, but a bog-standard privacy concern too, arguably a precursor to our current panopticon internet landscape, where greedy websites would track you because they could and maybe get some money out of it, facilitated by this technology.

When Apple decided to block it, it wasn't out of greed; Steve Jobs cited its abysmal performance and security record, among other issues such as an inherent lack of touchscreen support, and Apple cited specific vulnerability use-cases when blocking specific versions before they nuked it entirely. When Mozilla, who makes Firefox, decided to block it, it's not like they would've gotten money out of doing so, or by offering an alternative; they did so because it is fucking dangerous.

Your ire and nostalgia is misplaced. Flash was not killed by our current shitty web practices that ruin unique spaces and fun games. Flash was killed because both Macromedia (its original developers) and Adobe were incapable of making it safe, if that was even possible, and it was killed after third-parties, in an unprecedented gesture, collectively threw their hands up and said enough.

Well, that and HTML5 being developed and becoming more widespread, being able to do everything Flash can do without being a pox on technology. One could argue that you should bemoan the lack of Flash-to-HTML5 conversion efforts, but that requires asking a lot of effort of people who would have to do that shit for free...and if they have to run Flash to do so, opening themselves up to some of the nastiest exploits on the internet.

Nostalgia is a fucking liar. The games themselves I think are worth having nostalgia over (look, I still find myself pining for that one bullet hell Neopets made and Hannah and the Pirate Caves), but Flash itself deserves none of that, and absolutely deserved to be put in the fucking ground. You're blaming the wrong causes. It was terrible.

(specifics and sources found via its wikipedia page, which has a lot more than is mentioned here. and also my own opinions and experiences back then. lol)

[orpheusilver]

care to elaborate on the miles venom arc?

YES okay so. the thing abt the symbiote is that (like any good corruption arc) it feeds on and amplifies the worst traits of a character, which is pretty straightforward in peters case - his biggest issue is his anger, usually manifesting via retribution (eg. "i missed the part where thats my problem", hunting down uncle bens killer), so his origin story is always the great power/great responsibility thing so he learns to temper that rage. what the symbiote does, practically, is force him to unlearn that foundational character arc and regress to his worst self

since the symbiote really really loves aggression peter parker is literally its dream guy but miles is a little more complex. hes definitely susceptible to that same anger (eg. wanting to "make kingpin pay", the entire sm2 martin li arc) but not as often and nowhere near as hardcore, so the peter playbook wont work as well for him (and also it would be fucking boring. weve seen that shit like 8 times already (not saying symbiote peter is boring i just think modern iterations need to explore new aspects to avoid treading the same ground constantly (sm2 does this very fucking well (also yuri lowenthal is a great va for peter like right up there with josh keaton (i think this many parentheses means im off topic (the adhd demon got me))))))

SO. whats miles' major issue he needs to overcome in his origin story? full disclosure i have not read the comics (but i heard they had some issues with his initial characterization anyway? which is fair enough tbh writing the successor to such an iconic guy is Fucking Hard) so TO ME PERSONALLY!! spider-verse miles is the definitive iteration of the guy and like. we all remember the whats up danger scene, his origin arc is overcoming self-doubt and learning to believe in himself ("its a leap of faith", "youre on your way, just keep going") which, alongside social anxiety (eg. the itsv "everyone knows" scene, sm2 "are you mad at me? it sounds like youre mad at me" dialog), seems to be part of some general anxiety issues. this is pretty well supported by the recent "the spider within" short film (which funnily enough is very fucking reminiscent of some sequences in kravens last hunt, not relevant but kinda cool) which also shows how miles responds by self-isolating, similarly to ps5 miles when peter ignores him

the symbiote can exploit his self-doubt pretty easily, the inherent power boost will do most of the heavy lifting to make him feel like hes not good enough without it - what if he runs out of web at the worst moment? what if hes not strong or fast enough to save someone? what if hes caught mid-costume change because hes so used to the suit changing itself? the more valid the (inital) concerns the better imo

the social anxiety is a tricky one but i think if miles traps himself in a doom loop of self-isolation he might spiral into genuine paranoia, which combined w/ the patented symbiote rage could lead him to lash out at people around him. "everyone secretly hates me so im gonna avoid being around people" -> "i feel alienated from everyone i know so im gonna avoid them even harder" -> "am i 'okay'? why would you care? what are you playing at? fuck off and leave me alone" -> "nobody wants to interact w/ me so everyone who does must have ulterior motives and is therefore a threat to me/my family/my city" -> "im completely isolated but bad things are still happening so people must be conspiring against me w/o my knowledge" -> "literally everyone on earth is out to get me and i need to fight them about it"

from there i think the ideal conclusion is pretty self-evident - miles takes a metaphorical leap of faith (calling back to the lesson learned in his origin arc) by actively choosing to trust someone, reach out and ask for help w/ removing the symbiote and dealing with the contemporary big bad (potentially his local peter variant bc hes got experience w/ symbiote removal and it would tie into the "leap of faith" motif but idk)

so tldr: a miles symbiote arc would be different to peters arcs in some (very interesting) key ways - rather than unbridled aggression he could be characterized by intense anxiety, manifesting as paranoid self-isolation and a sense of dependence on the symbiote suit, and would end the arc by reaching out for help in a symbolic leap of faith

[neuclearbandit]

Review

My Hero Academia is pretty weird. I would say it’s mostly about how scary teenagers are. They always fighting, wanking, or crying. Izuku Midoriya, who is a homosexual, is less superpowered than the guy with webbed hands. Do not be deceived by his shirt that says “shirt” he is ripped. 

The character All-Might is a pretty clear metaphor for how western superhero media may seem cool, and successful, but in reality is just another stone having the blood sucked out of it by capitalism. It also effectively de-romanticizes tuberculosis, because much of our gothic society would have you think that tuberculosis is sexy. It is not.

The character of Tokoyami made me a feathery. He’s also a dark fuck prince, but that is mostly unrelated to my feathery status.

Homosexuality, it happens often, and by often I mean between Bakugo, and Kirishima. It’s kind of all about the toxic homoerotic masculinity. Is that good, or bad? I know, I like men that way.

I think it’s admirable that Kohei Horikoshi just draws old men, and hands, and that became a manga. Teenagers use their hands for many things, like punching each other, or jerking off. It is really frightening how often the main characters throw themselves at danger, or get thrown in dangerous circumstances, and think, “Well, that’s just an occupational hazard of super heroism.” and yes, but even I take vacations, and the most dangerous thing that happens to me at my job is the smell of expired fish. What Gerard Way said nearly 20 years ago is still true today, “teenagers scare the living shit out of me.” I mean like, Ida was prepared to murder a guy for revenge!

Shigaraki shows the danger of not treating a teenager’s eczema. Due to not being able to whack off, he can only express himself with violence, and his terrifying five finger dry skin attack, which dries people's skin so severely they die. He hangs out only with adults who neglect his needs as a boy (moisture) and suffers for it.

The tournament was too long.