#but I am pretty sure I would have killed him

[pipsyy]

caught...

sub!hamzah x f!reader smut (lowkey perv!hamzah if you squint)

hi everyone! i thought of this idea at like 3am a couple nights ago and it has been plaguing my mind ever since. please enjoy! message me requests please! i am desperate for prompts.

summary: after losing a few of your panties, you begin to suspect your shy roommate Hamzah. but, coming home early one night, you are met with a sight that would change things for good.

warnings: smut under cut! DON'T read if you are under the age of 18.

word count: 2575

For weeks, you had been losing your underwear. You would put your clothes in the washer, then the dryer, but by the time you got back to your room and folded your clothes, one, or sometimes two, pairs of your panties were missing. It was concerning, to say the least. However, when you lost your favorite pair (pink cotton with white lace and bows), you began to get frustrated.

“Hamzah?” you ask your roommate while he’s in the kitchen getting snacks.

“Mmh?” he responds, mouth full with doritos.

“Kind of a weird question—I mean, you probably have no fucking clue—but have you seen my panties anywhere? I can’t find them.”

At the mention of panties, Hamzah’s cheeks flush a light shade of pink. “Panties?!” he asks, mouth still full. He swallows thickly. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. What do they look like?”

“Um-” you felt yourself blush a light shade of pink, thinking about how embarrassing it was talking about your panties with your hella attractive roommate. “They’re pink and white—bows too.”

If possible, Hamzah flushed an even deeper shade of red. “O-oh, no. No. I haven’t seen them anywhere,” he huffed out an awkward laugh, looking anywhere else in the room but your eyes.

“That’s okay,” you say, giggling awkwardly. The tension palpable in the room. “Just…you know, if you do see them, let me know.”

—

Later that week, after getting home early from a party, you were met with the most surprising of circumstances. You entered your apartment and kicked off your shoes; the 4-inch heels had killed your feet. Every light in the apartment was off—save for the small light emanating from the clocks on the oven and microwave—and it was dead silent. Eerily silent. You knew that Hamzah was home, I mean, he never left. But it was only 11pm, which was way too early for him to go to bed. You at least expected to hear him typing on his computer, or hear the faint sound of his laptop playing a show, or hear him yelling at whatever stupid game he was playing with Martin. But no. Absolutely nothing.

Just then you heard it. Although you weren’t exactly sure what “it” was. A faint, but deep, groan, as if someone was crying out in pain. You strained your ears, listening for that noise again. There! There it was again, the exact same noise, although this time you could hear a faint squeaking following the groan.

“Hamzah,” you hesitantly call out. You creeped forwards in the direction of his bedroom. The deep sounds followed by squeaking got louder as you neared his room. The door was ajar and you peeked through the crack. You almost let out a loud gasp at the sight before you, clapping your hands over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping your lips. Hamzah was stretched out on his bed, head tilted back as he thrust his cock into his hand. You shot back from the door, face reddening. You felt embarrassed for staring so unabashedly at the dark-haired man in such an intimate situation. Even so, you felt a throbbing deep in your core and you knew that if you reached down to touch your panties beneath your dress, you would be soaking wet. Slowly, mentally slapping yourself, you peered through the crack in the door again. Hamzah’s head was tilted back in pure ecstasy, pretty lips spilling whines and groans as the bed squeaked with every thrust into his hand. You watched, panties growing wetter by the second, as he reached next to him and brought a piece of fabric up to his nose, inhaling deeply and letting out a heady whine. Your eyes widened as you recognized the slip of fabric as your favorite pair of panties. The pink ones with the white lace. 

Your name spills from his lips, eyes rolling back into his head. Holy fuck. You sat on your knees, rolling your wet folds against the palm of your hand. You couldn’t believe the sight before your eyes. Your roommate—who you’ve had a crush on since moving in with him—was jerking off to you, your underwear pressed deeply into his nose. Hamzah’s hips stuttered, edging dangerously close to release.

“F-fuck, y/n,” he whimpered. “S-so good. So fucking pretty. G-gonna, gonna cum, shit.” At this desperate confession, a high-pitched whine escaped your parted lips and your eyes widened, clapping your hands over your mouth. Hamzah abruptly stopped his motions, whipping his head in the direction of the unprecedented sound. His glossy eyes met yours, fucked-out expression directly mirroring your own.

“S-shit,” he said breathlessly, stumbling out of bed and covering his erection with the sheets around his legs. You shot backwards from the door, tumbling directly into the wall. Hamzah fumbled to get pants on, and ran towards you, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Holy shit, y/n. I-I, um, I had no idea that you were home. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t do that. Not if I knew that you were here.”

You were still sat on the floor, pink blush fast-spreading across your cheeks. You felt a coy smile tickling your lips. “Were you—” you looked up at Hamzah, feeling a dangerous rush of confidence flood your mind, “Were you jerking off to me?”

Hamzah’s eyes widened impossibly large. “I–no. I mean…no,” he said. “Definitely not.”

“Really,” you said seductively, rising up from your position and stepping closer to the trembling man. “Because…” you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I swear I heard you say my name.” A deep red blush spread across Hamzah’s cheekbones and he swallowed audibly.

His voice lowered a decibel. “No,” he whispered. “No, I wasn’t.”

You smirked at how flustered you made him. “I didn’t take you for a liar, you know.” You pushed past the taller man into his room. The moment you enter, you felt your core throb, the smell of sweat and sex and and something purely Hamzah penetrating your nostrils. You made your way to his bed, sheets strewn carelessly, and picked up the pink underwear that had fallen to the floor in Hamzah’s rushed attempt at maintaining his dignity. You dangled the fabric from your extended pointer finger.

“So what are these then?” The panties sway from your finger, and Hamzah’s puppy-like eyes follow the cloth to and fro like a tennis match. 

“I–,” he gulped. “I don’t know how those got there.”

You stepped toward him. “So you’re really just gonna play dumb with me then, huh?” You took careful step after careful step until you were inches away from the timid, trembling man. “You’re not dumb, Hamzah.” You reached up until his glossy eyes came face-to-face with your panties. “Take them.”

Hamzah’s dumbfounded expression stared back at your own. You shifted the fabric forward, directly into his big nose, and he shakily inhaled, eyes almost rolling back into his own head. “F-fuck,” he whimpered out. Swiftly, as if they were never there in the first place, you removed the outstretched panties from his prying nostrils. The look he gave you, as his eyes slowly opened, made your legs weak and your core throb. He looked as though he would give you the world, or anything you asked, as long as he could be face-to-face with that stupid piece of cloth again.

“Tell me what you want,” you asked, voice low and seductive.

“You,” he whispered, eyes darting from your own, to the wall, to the panties still clutched in your hand, and back to your own.

You smile at his bashfulness. “A little louder,” you said, feeling cocky. You reach up to push back his dark, messy curls from his sweaty forehead.

Hamzah’s dark eyes met your own and you melted. “You…I want you. I want you so fucking bad it hurts.” You felt your core tighten. Hamzah looked at you with glossy, pleading eyes. You looked down and noticed the erection still straining in his pants. You turn around and walk to his bed, sitting on the edge. You pat the soft bedding next to you.

“Come here.” Hamzah moved at the speed of light, by the time you blinked he was sitting down next to you, hands politely together in his lap. You lean over to straddle Hamzah’s thick thighs, dress riding up, the thin cloth of your panties doing nothing to stop you from feeling his erection pressing against your wet folds. You intertwine your hands behind his neck while he looks up at you with intense adoration and devotion. Your hands cup his cheeks.

“What do you want, baby?” you ask. You reach down, beneath the waistband of his gym shorts, and grasp his hard length. Hamzah’s parted red lips elicit a whiny gasp as his large hands firmly grasp your waist. 

“I want–” he starts, barely able to string a sentence together as you begin to move your hand up and down his length. “I want to be inside you.” 

You chuckled coyly, moving your hand faster. “And what makes you think you have the right to be inside me.” Groans and gasps tumbled from Hamzah’s wet lips. His head was tilted back, a purely fucked-out expression bedazzling his beautiful face. 

“I just—,” he blissfully moaned out. “I just want to feel you.” His hands snaked up your dress, reaching up to grasp at your covered tits. His big hands connected with your sensitive nipples that were poking out through the fabric. A dirty, stupid idea shot into your head. You pull away from Hamzah, untangling yourself from his roaming hands. “W-what?” he said, confusion written all over his pretty face. 

“I don’t know,” you respond. “I’m kinda pissed at you right now. Do you know how fucking gross it is to come home to your roommate touching himself to you? Desperately jerking off, my favorite fucking pair of panties in your grimy hands. You’re a disgusting little slut, aren’t you?” Hamzah’s covered cock visibly twitched in his gym shorts. He let out a heady whimper at your vile tone and words. “Oh…” you said, a dark and naughty gleam twinkling in your eyes. “Do you like that shit? Do you like it when I call you a stupid fucking whore?” Hamzah’s hips grinded against the air, desperate for any sort of friction against his aching cock.

“I think,” you say, reaching down to pick up the pink panties you had discarded to the side, “That I don’t want a disgusting slut like you to touch me, not with those filthy fucking hands of yours.” Using the elastic of your lacy panties, you tie Hamzah’s hands together behind his back. He whimpered at your touch, the light graze of your fingers shooting electricity down his spine and into his desperate member. Once Hamzah was fully tied up, unable to move his hands to touch your body, you flung your current pair of panties off and sat back on his lap again. You reached into his pants once more, pulling his weeping cock from within his shorts. You rubbed his erection up and down your wet folds, looking down to see the soaking, wet mess you were making of his cock. You line his tip up with your hole, sliding him into your wet cunt. The stretch was unbearably pleasurable and Hamzah let out an unfiltered groan.

“Shut up,” you told him, placing your hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you.” You began bouncing up and down on his cock, whines and moans escaping your parted lips at the fulfilling sensation deep within your cunt. Hamzah looked completely pathetic beneath you, eyes filled with desperation as he clumsily attempted to thrust up into you. You grab onto his curls, yanking as his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot deep within your cunt. Hamzah lets out another whine at the tugging sensation. Immediately, you stop your motions and slap him across the face.

“I told you to shut up,” you said roughly, voice rattling with an emotion you had never thought could possess you: dominance. And you were enjoying it. You enjoyed seeing this tall, muscular man writhe beneath your smaller body, pathetically attempting to engage and make you feel good. An idea flitted through your head. You reached down to the floor and grabbed your discarded panties. Squeezing his cheeks together in your hands, you opened up his mouth and shoved your panties in, effectively gagging him. Hamzah let out a muffled groan at the feeling of the used cloth being shoved between his lips. Hips jerking into you now at a frenzied pace. The increased speed of his cock inside you felt like heaven, and you let out a high-pitched moan, collapsing into his shoulders. You rode his cock violently, Hamzah’s pathetic face reflecting your own shining pleasure. Hamzah’s hips began to stutter, his gagged moans becoming increasingly frequent as his eyes fluttered closed, and you knew he was close. You reached down to touch your clit, hoping to reach your climax at the same time. The combined pleasure of touching your clit and the sweet stretch of Hamzah’s cock hitting that delicious spot deep inside you made your head tip back in ecstasy. Hamzah’s eyes widened and you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

“Do you want to cum, baby?” you asked sweetly, rocking your hips softly against his. He nodded his head aggressively. Your walls fluttered around his cock, and Hamzah looked in pain, nose scrunched and eyes squeezed shut. You realized, as you continued to rock your hips, that he was waiting for your permission to cum.

“Oh,” you say sweetly. “You want my permission, hmm?” You giggle softly as Hamzah tries to talk, the soft fabric in his mouth preventing him from doing so. “You can cum, baby, I want you to.” At this admission, Hamzah’s face tightens and his hips stutter and begin to shake. The feeling of his cock twitching inside you, spurting cum against your tight walls, sent you over the edge. Hamzah’s chest was heaving as he watched you writhe on top of him, your pleasure furthering his own. You let out a high-pitched whine as you come down from your high. Hamzah’s eyes were wide, glossy, and pathetic as they met your own. You pulled the pair of panties out of his mouth and he sucked in a deep breath. You slid off his length and reached behind him, untying your panties from around his wrists. He let out a sigh as his hands became free, rubbing them together to recirculate the blood flow.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, suddenly feeling a deep sense of embarrassment. “I’m sorry! That was fucking crazy! I didn’t at all mean to take it that far.”

Hamzah looked up at you, a playful smile spreading across his face. “Are you kidding me? You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to do that with you.”

“Yeah! But…like that?” you respond. “I-I mean…I slapped you. I feel like I took it too far.” You move to leave the room, embarrassment bleeding all over your face in a deep red color. Hamzah reached you in an instant, arms wrapping around your waist from behind, head resting on your shoulder. He placed a sweet kiss on your neck.

“Trust me,” he said. “That was exactly what I wanted.”

[meanbossart]

Ask compilation: DU drow, Orin, Astarion, lore things and little fun facts.

Trying to make a dent in this dang inbox. As always, thank you so much everyone for your patience and curiosity! Sorry that it is straight up no longer possible for me to reply to everyone, but I will keep doing my best within reason. Enjoy!

Absolutely! I had a lot of requests for bottom Astarion on my patreon which is why I was kind of on a roll there for a minute.

Though, for the record - I am really not very invested in strict bedroom roles at all. Or clear and distinct dominant/submissive dynamics. So please don't overthink it whenever there's a switch, no pun intended.

You wanna know how often they smash? Man, I don't know, I guess fairly often considering their lifestyle post-game (very active, often on the road).

Assuming that everyone agrees that sex doesn't have to involve penetration, I'd say once every other day or less, really depends on the circumstances though. DU drow's libido is much higher than Astarion's, but he's not an animal and can hold off fine. Astarion is likely to be pickier in regards to location and how-recently-have-we-bathed status as well.

I keep meaning to draw him, but I have like... A million things I want to do 😂 so its rough!

BUT you will at least continue to see him in ANE! And I'm sure i'm bound to draw him again in the future.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

If you mean in his bhaalist "AU", where he has the red robe and the extra scars, I imagine he would have gotten it through killing Isobel.

I think as a changeling she probably has the ability to just... Transform her hair however she likes at will, right? And based on her attitude plus some lines we get from Sceleritas about her own former-butler, it sounds like she would be really opposed to being serviced in that way, to me at least.

I see her as pretty aggressively independent with the way she operates, which is another factor that sets her apart from DU drow, who really enjoyed lording over the other Bhaalists and making an errand boy out of Sceleritas, to the point where he practically depended on their help to function.

Neither! I wasn't willing to let anyone take either of my eyes in my first playthrough, LOL.

I have since always given the Volo eye to SOMEONE, usually Gale, but I don't consider that canonical. I don't think anyone was desperate enough to let mister frumpy-hat over there ice-pick their eyes out.

He did do them himself. It was a profoundly stupid display he got caught up in because of Gortash. Also, de-handment is kind of a theme in his life, at least inside his head.

I have a comic about it planned for the future ;)

What do you mean, that's canonical to the game and everything! He loves the cuck chair!

He is an angsty 29-year old in denial. Your interpretation is still perfectly accurate.

Hates the guy. Hates when Shadowheart Astarion people joke about him being the Drizzt of his generation. Hates the guy like literally any countercultural weirdo hates Taylor Swift or the Weeknd. If he saw him at the line in the grocery store DU drow would find a way to roll his eyes loudly just so he could notice being an asshole.

Stay tuned, I'm cooking 🧑‍🍳

If you're asking about game strats, badly, LOL. Pretty sure I died twice to her in my first run and it was a rough way of being thrown into "serious" DnD combat.

With the exception of a couple of encounters that just so happened to turn out SURPRISINGLY cinematic, I'm just realizing that I actually don't think too often about how most of the fights went in real-time! I imagine Autie Ethel's in particular wasn't one that DU drow went into of his own accord, probably rather at a companion's insistence. That's as deep as I've thought about that personally.

Now... Back to game strats. I personally try to get a surprise round on her however I can by sneaking and shooting an arrow or AOE in her general location, since she always stands on roughly the same spot while invisible. I have my companions spread about the arena so we can take her clones down as fast as possible, and as soon as I identify who the real Ethel is I just have the strongest martial characters wail on her until she begs to be let go. Hers is one of the few fights that is actually pretty dang easy at this point for me - and I SUCK at this game.

That would certainly take a while! But, Bhaalist DU drow does kind of have an end goal, actually.

That might also turn into a comic eventually, but it would a rough one.

He pretty swiftly disposed of her, DU drow doesn't like being talked down to, which Minthara very promptly does. Him (and I, by extension) had very limited exposure to her and she was just kind of a speck of dust in his story in particular. Though I have since grown to adore her character in my proceeding runs where I do recruit her!

I guess if he got an invitation and it wasn't particularly painful to arrive at the venue, sure! He would specially love to take Astarion to Gale's wedding ceremony and purposely upstage him at every at every opportunity, LOL.

Yes. He got pretty freaky with the pain-priest. This is gonna sound like a lie but I made him get naked for it without even knowing there was a buff to be gained (I didn't get it, unfortunately, I don't remember whether I failed a check or if I had camp clothes toggled on, so it didn't count as being truly nude). I wasn't taking the game very seriously and just doing dumb roleplay things to see what would happen, LOL.

And I consider that canonical. I think DU drow saw the opportunity to show off his physique And had a strange inkling that this was a practice he was... Somehow familiar with.

Imagine my joy when Astarion and Shadowheart start having a back-and-forth about my absurd display. That's when i knew those were my people, to be honest.

[sgt-tombstone]

The End of the World

Teen || Ghost x Soap || 1.5k

Read it on AO3

--------

cw: nuclear warfare, angst, major character death

The 141 had failed.

Really, the whole world had failed, but it was hard not to shoulder the blame as a personal burden. Mutually Assured Destruction, Price had called it, and Soap hadn't realized just how apt the name was until he'd seen it for himself.

World War 3, some called it, but most called it how they saw it: the end of the world.

There wasn't a country on earth left unaffected. Bomb shelters hadn't saved even the billionaires, and everyone below them hadn't stood a chance. Ground troops weren't needed for nuclear war, so the 141 had been disbanded pretty quickly after launch codes started being thrown around. Price and Laswell had done what they could, had started to take matters into their own hands, but there were only so many assassinations they could pull off in the short time they had before the aforementioned end of the fucking world, and once bombs had started flying, killing the top dogs was rendered next to useless.

So Price had cut them loose, told them to go spend their last moments with family instead of dying in some military barrack. It had been a gut wrenching moment. Soap had hugged Price and Gaz in turn and hadn't ever wanted to let go of either of them. But he had to; Price and Nik were fucking off to wherever they planned to spend the rest of their days, and Gaz had enough living relatives that he actually liked to make going home worth it.

That left Soap and Ghost.

Which was fine by them, really. It had always been the two of them; sergeant and lieutenant, Soap and Ghost, Johnny and Simon. It seemed fitting that it would be the two of them at the end of it all, too.

They were sitting on a grassy hill somewhere in Scotland, partially because it was where Johnny’s car had run out of gas and partially because it afforded them a truly excellent view of the entirety of England burning on the horizon. Johnny sat in between Simon’s legs, his back pressed to Simon’s chest, and his arms resting atop Simon’s where they were wrapped around his torso. He could feel each of Simon’s slow, measured breaths against his back and cheek, their faces next to each other as they both stared into the distance.

It was oddly quiet, the calm before the storm, peaceful despite the impending danger. Birds sang in the trees above them even as Johnny felt heat from the blast on his face. They didn’t have long before the bombs got close enough to catch them in the radius of nuclear fallout; an hour, maybe, probably less.

“I didn’t want it to end like this,” Simon murmured, soft against the shell of Johnny’s ear.

“We did everything we could, love,” Johnny replied, turning sideways in Simon’s hold to be able to press a kiss to the bare skin of his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince SImon or himself, but it was fairly moot either way. In an hour, it wouldn’t matter if they’d done their best or not; they’d still be dead. Simon hummed in response, as unconvinced as Johnny was. Johnny twisted back to his original position, secure in SImon’s arms, eyes on the horizon.

It was beautiful, in a way. The pyromaniac in him could appreciate the bright flashes of reds and yellows and the Scotsman in him could appreciate the sight of England burning. But he knew better than to let his personal prejudice, joking or not, cloud his empathy towards millions of lives going up, quite literally, in flames. The sheer world wide devastation was sobering. Haunting. Terrifying.

“Simon,” he said softly, after a long moment of silence. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Simon said, just as softly. “I am, too.”

The admission was a far cry from where they’d started, all those years ago. The Simon that Johnny had first met, shrouded in bone and eyeblack, would never had admitted so easily to fear. The Johnny that Simon had first met probably wouldn’t have, either. But they’d spent almost a decade tearing down and rebuilding their walls, firmly ensconcing each other within the protective boundaries of their hearts. There was nothing that they couldn’t reveal to each other now.

“I would’ve married you, Johnny,” Simon whispered. “If they’d have let me.”

“Yeah?” Johnny asked, his heart and breath jumping in his throat. Marriage, for them, had always been an impossibility and they’d both known it. Even without laws restricting gay men in service, their relationship was a clear breach of fraternization rules. Price had turned a blind eye to it, but making it official in the eyes of the government was a far-fetched dream.

“In a heartbeat,” Simon hummed in confirmation. “Small ceremony, just the 141 and whichever friends weren’t getting shot at for long enough to come. Always imagined you walkin’ down the aisle in a kilt, Price givin’ you away. But if you wanted it the other way around, I’d’ve walked down the aisle for you. ‘S long as it ended with us both at the altar.”

“Simon,” Johnny breathed, turning to stare at his profile, silhouetted by brilliant, glowing red.

“Would’ve had fireworks for our send off,” Simon continued, tilting his head to meet Johnny’s gaze with a small, sad smile. “Know how much you love ‘em.” He looked back to the horizon, to his home country burning to the ground. “I guess this is as close as we’ll ever get to that.”

And then Johnny was crying. Silent tears at first, burning the edges of his eyes like lit gunpowder, and then great, heaving sobs that shook his entire frame. The depth of his want was an ache in his chest, a gaping maw that threatened to cave his ribs in, to sink his breastbone until it hit his spine, nothing but sheer, desperate yearning left in its wake. It was childish, he knew, to cry over something as trivial as an impossible ceremony when he’d spent years by his love’s side, but it wasn’t just that, not really. It was the unfairness of it all. The greed, the ambition, the ignorance that had gotten them here, to this awful, hopeless moment.

“It’s not fair,” he sobbed, burying his face in Simon’s chest, his hands clutching desperately at the soft shirt stretched across his broad back like a lifeline, like the crumpled fabric in his fists was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“It’s not,” Simon murmured, his lips pressed into his hair, and Johnny could hear the tears in his voice, the hitch in his breath. “It’s not fucking fair, love.”

There was no comfort in the words, only helpless commiseration. The only comfort lay in the heat of Simon’s thighs bracketing his, the tears he could feel dripping from Simon’s chin onto the shaved portions of his head, the stuttered sweep of Simon’s hand down his back.

When his sobs leveled out, smoothing into soft breathing again, his tears were dried by the impending heat. The explosions were closer now, close enough to shake the ground beneath them, but neither of them moved. There was no escaping. Johnny felt wrung out as he leaned his weight on Simon, leaning into the comforting heat of him instead of the familiar heat of destruction. He hadn’t wanted it to end like this, either. He’d wanted that wedding, retirement with the love of his life, a secluded cottage with a cat or two, lazy nights and even lazier mornings. He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with Simon, but not like this. Never like this.

It was better than nothing, though.

“I’m glad that it’s us,” he said, voice roughened by tears and the dust kicked up from the approaching devastation. “I didn’t want it to end this way, but I’m glad that we’re together.”

The next explosion was close enough to ruffle their clothes in the shockwave and Simon tilted Johnny’s head up, his thumb lightly stroking the scar there with an impossibly soft look in his eyes. Johnny wanted to live in his eyes, wanted to drown in that softness. He’d never tire of Simon’s eyes and the depths they held.

“It’ll always be us, Johnny,” Simon said. “Where you go, I go. I’ve got your six.”

The birdsong had stopped, Johnny vaguely registered, but it was the least of his concerns as Simon pulled him closer, their lips connecting in a gentle brush. There was no rush, no thrumming impatience, no underlying need to take more. Just the two of them, tangled together so tightly that neither knew where one ended and the other began, their endless love expressed in the simple press of skin and lips.

Centuries later, when their bones were found, skeletons curled together like puzzle pieces, locked in an immortal embrace, the only thing that was known about them was that they loved each other, deeply, infinitely, right up until the end.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Please I beg u, I am in desperate need of jealous Poe! 😭😩🤧 can be fo! or resistance, doesn't matter. No pressure ofc!!

Ooh! I'ma go with Resistance Poe because FO!Poe would probably just kill that person and punish reader for not telling that individual off lol.

Not on my watch

Poe Dameron x fem!reader

Wanna get tagged?

Summary: The new recruit was flirting with you. Poe did not like that.

Cw/triggers: Nsfw, jealous and possessive Poe, p in v, oral (fem! receiving).

The new recruit who had just been at the base a couple of days, was helping you out of your X-Wing, grasping your hand gently, too gentle in his hand, looking at you with lovesick expression.

"Thanks." you gave a friendly smile.

"You're welcome. Gotta say, didn't expect some pilots to be as gorgeous as you." he winked, having no intentions of releasing your hand yet.

Both of you were unaware of BB-8 zipping around nearby, catching that guy's obvious flirtation with you.

He gestured towards your helmet. "Oh, mind me holding that for you?" without waiting for your answer, he unclasped and gently moved it off from your head.

Suddenly BB-8 rolled up beside you, tilting its dome up and beeping curiously at you.

Just a second later, a familiar voice boomed through the hangar.

"Hey, you there!"

Poe approached you both, already looking displeased.

"That's your helmet?" Poe asked, his voice was filled with venom but he kept calm.

The recruit just smiled. "No, it's her helmet. I thought I'd be a gentleman for our pretty pilot."

Poe stared him down, his blood boiling up. "Well, I don't know if it works that way, buddy."

"And who are you?" The recruit scoffed, turning to face Poe, still grasping your helmet in his hands.

"Who do you think I am, recruit?" Poe tested him, arching his brow up.

The recruit scrutinized Poe, his eyes widened in realization as he spotted the rank tag.

"Oh, you're the com–"

"Yeah, the commander, that's right." Poe nodded, putting his hands on his hips.

The recruit literally swallowed down his cockiness and ego.

"Sorry about that, sir, I-I won't bother you again.." he stammered, handing you back your helmet then turned to leave, giving off how exposed and embarrassed he is.

Poe turned his attention to you. "Who was that guy?"

"A new recruit apparently." you shrug.

Poe arched his brow up once more. "And you let that guy get you out of your cockpit and almost pamper you?"

"I did not let him– wait, how do you know that?"

"BB-8 saw everything."

BB-8 confirmed Poe's statement with a proud beep.

"Anyways, you showed him his place. He won't annoy me anymore."

Poe cracked a cocky smile. "Yeah I did," he nods, then his demeanor turned more serious "and later I will show you yours too."

Not sure if you've heard him correctly, you blinked at his words. "Excuse me?" you gave a confused smile.

Poe's cocky smile turned into a grin. "I know you heard me, baby."

"Poe, it was just a recruit not knowing where his place was until you showed up." you giggle.

Poe looked around to see if he could catch the recruit again, seeing him carrying a crate, then stepped closer to you, leaning in for a hug, making sure to make it obvious so the guy would look.

Once Poe saw the recruit looking, both of his hands slid down your back to cup your ass, giving a soft squeeze.

"Well, he tried charming the wrong person. You're my girl, nobody gets to pamper her except me." he whispered into your ear, glancing back at the recruit, who's mouth was agape.

Seeing that reaction from the recruit, Poe couldn't help but smirk before he upped the game by planting kisses along the side of your neck.

"Poe, we're in the hangar." you chided softly but unable to hide the smile.

Only now did Poe pull away. "I know. Gotta make sure everyone knows who you belong to, right?" he smirked.

Later that day, Poe stormed into your quarters, sparing no second to get you undressed on the bed and on top of you.

"Baby, imagine that prick seeing me worshipping you rightnow."

Poe licks his way downwards your stomach, your belly, making you squirm and buck up as he changes his way to your inner thigh.

"You still can't get that guy out of your head?" you chuckle.

Poe smirks against your skin. "After all he was flirting with my girl, of course."

"You're being ridiculous–"

He didn't gave you another second, latching his mouth onto your dripping hole, sucking and licking until it was impossible for you to think straight.

"Maybe I am." he mumbled against you, dipping his tongue inside as far as possible. Then looked up, seeing your beautiful face contorted into pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles were white.

Poe smirked, knowing he had you where he wanted you - underneath him, with the only thing on your mind being the pleasure he's giving you.

You got ripped out of the intense feeling he gave you when he abruptly stopped, making you whine at the loss, only so Poe could free himself.

Poe got between your legs, aligning his dick with your hole and leaning down to your ear.

"But hey, sometimes it's my job to make sure people know you're mine."

He started thrusting into you, slowly at first to get you riled up some more, increasing his movements as your moans got needier.

Suddenly Poe stopped, his mouth went next to your ear, letting you feel his hot breath against your skin.

"Tell me you're mine, sweetie..." he whispered huskily.

Your mind couldn't really comprehend what he just said due to you still being numb from all the ecstasy.

"W-what- wait what?" you gasp, bucking your hips up to get some desperate friction.

Poe chuckled lowly, thrusting into you all the way until he was fully sheathed, then proceeds to grind his pelvis against you, driving you mad with pleasure, then stopping again.

"Come on, baby," in a tortuously slow movement, he started thrusting again, knowing it will make your mind go blank "say it."

"P-Poe, you're killing me!" you whine, but it sounded more like a moan.

"That's not what I wanted you to say, honey." Poe chuckled, figuring you must be close due to your desperation.

You bucked your hips again, feeling your peak approaching. "I'm yours, Poe. All yours." you blurt out, your imminent orgasm made you sound so desperate.

Poe grins, starting to pound into you, sending your mind spiraling. "There you go, baby." he pants, his movements got sloppier with every thrust.

You came first, with Poe only a second behind before he released himself into you.

With both of you laying on the bed together afterwards, you couldn't help but ask. "Did you calm down now?"

Poe took you into his arms. "No chance, sweetie." he chuckled, giving you a lingering kiss. "If I catch that prick flirting with you again then I don't know what I will do."

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

With this fic I'd like to introduce my very new taglist! :)

No pressure, only if you're interested! <3

@nekoyin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[rosepetalkitty]

ngl hdg kinda amazes me in its ability to cater to my kinks pretty much perfectly while simultaneously triggering several of the worst parts of my trauma.

like how is it that it hits on everything i like on the surface, provides semi-decent worldbuilding to back it all up and enable the creation of stories, and even has consistent backstory and stuff, and yet the entire damn thing instills this looming sense of dread and fear that i can't shake enough to properly enjoy it...

below the break im gonna talk in like. moderate detail. about the parts that scare me. so uh yeah be aware that it'll get heavy that's just how it is.

ok, so the worst thing for me. wellness checks. the idea is cute and kinda hot on the surface. "make sure you're okay and if you're not you're getting domesticated" (which is supposed to be like. a happy thing. "now you get to just chill and be happy and get taken care of forever and in return you give me only your submission"). yeah, fuck it, im into that. hell that's not even an uncommon trope in the realm of cnc/mc writing.

except whenever i read an hdg wellness check story (in the sense of those long-ish tumblr posts that people write—i haven't even really considered reading the longer form content on ao3) there's something viscerally... off... about the tone. it stops feeling like kink and starts feeling like a nightmare when things happen to line up just so, and then it clicks, and reminds me that i knew people, real people, who had "wellness checks" happen in real life, except that instead of it being a kink thing that made them happy and was genuinely for their wellbeing, it was that their parents had hired people to kidnap them and drag them to a psych ward when they just needed a therapist. not all of those people that i knew have come home, as far as im aware. some have been gone for years.

and what about the whole idea of the non-consensual part being okay because "it's for your own good". in hdg-land it is. it's genuinely good for you and everyone seems to be happy with it, other than the occasional "bad guy who hates good things" trope (feralists, in hdg, afaik). but that's exactly what they told me when they cut contact between my boyfriend and i while he was in the hospital. "it's for your own good." guess what, it wasn't. his parents didn't like our relationship. they wanted me to forget him. they either didn't understand or didn't care that i couldn't. it was a year and a half before he came home and i had forgotten nothing.

our loss of communication was the tipping point in a series of events that, had i made one decision differently in the end, would have killed me. thankfully i fucked it up and am here today, no longer in that bad of a place may i add. im choosing not to share any of what happened to me directly right now because i don't want to turn this into a full on trauma dump, but suffice it to say there are recurring themes.

it's so interesting to me because in a lot of ways i have found comfort from those experiences in kink and writing. take flames of averon: mech pilots are neurochemically bonded to their handlers. how different is this from what the affini do to their florets? well, you have to sign up to be a pilot, and there's no authority in the world threatening you if you choose not to. even the coalition military wouldn't dare force you to become a pilot against your will, though they might never stop sending you promotional flyers if they find out you're able to tolerate the cyberware /lh

hell, im into cnc. im really into it. i chose to leave it as an opening between pilots and handlers in foa. the implication exists that if a handler tells their pilot to do something the poor thing will have a hell of a time saying no. that's intentional. it's hot to me, on either end. but the safety comes from other things.

yes, your handler has a lot of influence over you at a level that's hard to imagine, but you chose them and they chose you (most of the time), or at the very least neither of you had any complaints to raise with your supervisor when the paperwork came in for syncing your link chips (holly and astrid from seat of consciousness).

yes it's true, you can't be reassigned now that you're bonded, but that doesn't mean you have zero recourse if your handler is treating you badly. if you need to, you can always file paperwork with your commanding officer to request that something be done.

plus, handlers go through a lot of training, which includes screening to filter out people who would actually harm their pilots. yeah, some handlers are a little sadistic, but when it comes down to it they are on your side. if that wasn't the case they would never have passed pre-basic.

put another way, as a pilot in flames of averon, the closest thing ive ever written to a floret, there are a multitude of points at which you could have said no and didn't, and although that's obviously still noncon in the grand scheme of things, it's "signing away your freedom" cnc compared to the hdg flavor of "you 'consented' via it being the best thing for you whether you like it or not."

even if your handler just told you to "stay" for the first time and you're currently panicking and trying to figure out why your legs won't move, you still have some tiny amount of agency—an escape hatch, so to speak—and you'll just never end up having to use it.

and to me, the loss of that minute level of agency which will never be invoked is the difference between "this is hot as hell and feels perfectly safe" and "this is the abuse that was once leveraged against those i cared about, and to some degree myself, and it's simply been repackaged with a kink sticker slapped on."

none of this is to say i hate hdg, it's fans, those who write about it, or even the parts of it which scare me. i do think the idea is hot. hdg is pretty cool. hell, it was one of my inspirations in writing a lot of the pilot/handler dynamics in flames of averon. but it does scare me. and no matter what i tell myself i can't shake that fear.

it's frustrating, because oftentimes fear can be part of what makes something hot, but the particular flavor of fear which hdg instills in me is one which makes bitter all that it reaches. maybe someday i'll grow out of it. the traumatic memories from which that fear stems were only created in the past couple of years, to be fair. but something tells me a piece of that fear will never be fully dislodged from my mind.

so, all this to say, while i am into hdg, it's a complicated relationship.

(and on a sillier in character note to lighten the mood—please feel free to respond to this with roleplay or whatever you like!)

to any Affini out there who might be reading this, know that im not scared of you. im not scared of what you represent. im only scared by the fact that you mimic that which has left the scars you see on my soul today. im not against being taken in as a floret, and none of this is to say that i hold any level of disdain for you.

i only ask that you be gentle with me. what has been broken once can be broken again. please, do not let it come to that.

[lisaiese]

lyrics in EPIC: the musical that changed my life trajectory

I don't know if it is the fact that I spent five years of high school studying Latin and Greek classics that makes me do this, but here I am writing a long ass tumblr post about some lyrics from the songs of a musical based on The Odyssey, the Homeric epic poem.

Enough chit chat, let's start from the lyrics in the first very song of the musical, 'The Horse and The Infant' from The Troy Saga:

The blood on your hands is something you won't lose All you can choose is whose

UGH so good already! Here we have Zeus speaking at the end of the song, basically telling Odysseus that killing in war is his duty as a man and a hero. This obviously kind of sounds like bullshit for us, but we have to understand the ancient culture behind it: in ancient Greece going to war was a symbol of honor. Think of the scene where Hector and Andromache met again, Hector really embodied the "I know that I probably won't come back to you and to our son (opsie), but I have to go"

Andromache said: “Dearest, your own great strength will be your death, and you have no pity on your little son, nor on me, ill-starred, who soon must be your widow…Please take pity upon me then, stay here on the rampart, that you may not leave your child an orphan, your wife a widow.” Hector responded: “All these things are in my mind also, lady; yet I would feel deep shame before the Trojans, and the Trojan women with trailing garments, if like a coward I were to shrink aside from the fighting.”

A key word is shame: many times my professor told us students about the 'shame culture' in ancient Greece, which Hector clearly refers to here. Therefore, it's either honor or shame: for the Greek dying in war was better than living like a coward. Through these lyrics - and also the next song of the album ('Just a Man') - we can notice how the characterization of Odysseus is different from that of heroes like Hector and Achilles: he seems more human. After all, it is no coincidence that he is characterized not only by physical strength but above all by intelligence: he is a 'Warrior of the Mind' (quoting one of the most iconic songs of the musical). In the first verse of The Odyssey, Homer calls Odysseus πολύτροπος, a term that literally means "of many turns" and can be translated as multifaceted, versatile, cunning.

Next lyrics are from 'Remember Them' from The Cyclops Saga:

What good would killing do? When mercy is a skill More of this world could learn to use

I chose these lyrics for two reason:

they are so well connected with the first ones and show how Odysseus still has his morality here (you have a long way my friend)

it is such a good phrase honestly, let's appreciate it

Actually, something to reflect on could be the theme of mercy, but I don't really remember a lot of information about it and I don't want to write about things I'm not so sure about. In fact, what I rememeber pretty well is mercy related to the Roman/Latin culture, in particular to the figure of Ceasar: Cicero attributes to Caesar the virtue of clementia, which is the term used in Latin to represent mercy. Apparently he is the only one who, among all the military leaders, stood out for his goodness of soul, so noble that it is not enough to simply compare him to great men, but he must be judged similar to a god («haec qui faciat, non ego eum cum summis viris comparo, sed simillimum deo iudico»). That's basically everything I can give you about the topic. I would dive into it more by talking about the musical itself, analysing how this is connected to Odysseus' relationship with his morality, but then I would really be writing an essay here and now, which would ruin the order and logic of this very long text.

Let's move on to the next lyrics from 'Ruthlessness', from The Ocean Saga, which made me gasp so hard the first I heard them:

You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great A Greek who reeks of false righteousness, that's what I have 'Cause you fight to save lives, but won't kill and don't get the job done

Speechless. Mind-blowing. The earth shook. You are the worst kind of good 'cause you're not even great Hello??? Sorry Ulysses, but Poseidon ate. 'Cause you fight to save lives, but won't kill and don't get the job done Like, where do I even start to talk about this. Poseidon is actually throwing the naked truth in Odysseus' face! Everything so far has a logic:

Zeus tells Odysseus that he has to kill Hector's son Astynax (which he does in the end, for the sake of going home)

Odysseus spares Polyphemus (maybe because of guilt? He is just a man, afterall...)

That mercy results in a literal god (Poseidon) wanting to have vengeance: if Odysseus had been ruthless, he would have put mercy upon himself (yeah that's a direct reference to the lyrics Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves)

Now we finally arrive at my favorite saga (aaaaa): The Circe saga. Starting from some very simple lyrics, but so impactful, from the 'Puppeteer':

But this was a hell of a twist, cause we are weak to a power like this What was it? A woman

Hell yeah, a woman! Clearly, you are just a man (another reference, got you!). Ok, return to serious talk. I think most of us know that women were often portrayed as bewitchers, source of evil and misfortune, in ancient times, especially in the Greek culture. Let's think about the story of Pandora's box: it is a myth narrated by Hesiod in the poem Works and Days. According to it, the first woman on earth, named Pandora, was gifted a jar by the gods. However, led by curiosity, she opened it and, by doing so, she released sickness, death and many other unspecified evils. She then closed the jar and only one thing was left behind: Hope. This story (one of many and one of the most famous) perfeclty exemplifies how women were considered dangerous and, at the same time, powerful, as bringers of evil.

Next, from the same saga, let me present to you the best lyrics from the song 'There Are Other Ways':

There are many ways of persuasion There are many modes of control Maybe showing one act of kindness Leads to kinder sould down the road

AAAAAAA. Circe you are such *incomprehensible adjectives of praise* woman. Here Circe basically gives Odysseus' morality hope, let me explain: until now we saw how Odysseus' kind soul and his mercy led him to antagonize a god, on the other hand (in theory) killing a child opened the doors for him to return home. From these observations the only "lesson" that can be deduced is that behaving like a "monster" is better than just "being a man" (yeah I love referencing). BUT Circe kind of destroys this reasoning, proving that a good soul can take him so far... aaaand of course it's a woman who does this

Moving on: The Underworld Saga, lyrics sung by our favorite prophet Tiresias:

I see you wife with a man who is haunting A man with a trail of bodies (who?)

This song? Chills. Literal Chills. The song in itself is a forshadowing, an oracle. I chose these lyrics specifically because they forshadow Odysseus' darkest moments in the journey, by specifically pointing out what he becomes: [...] a man who is haunting A man with a trail of bodies Who? Odysseus you ask. It's you. It's you in the future, and you know why it's "no longer you" (yeah, another quoting)? Because you will have lost your morality by then. Honestly? We kind of all expected that, sorry not sorry Odysseus.

And directly connected to that we have the lyrics from 'Scylla', from The Tunder Saga (it's orange because there is no yellow):

We are the same, you and I, I

Just this one final verse, so powerful. Odysseus encountered mermaids and was merciless with them, after that he went to the lair of Scylla. They are actually the same: monsters. Or at least, Odysseus has become like her.

And now, in The Wisdom Saga, we welcome back the badass of the arena: Athena! Let's hear what she wisely says in 'Little Wolf':

One young wolf has a larger heart than all these men combined

It's always the women guys. Athena's appearance to help Telemachus fighting the suitors is so crucial: her words and herself gift us that ray of hope and goodness that was lacking ever since The Underworld Saga. Here she refers to Telemachus, Odysseus' son, who is called a young wolf. While at the beginning of the song the suitors were using the term "little wolf" to basically mock him, Athena changes the connotation: he is not a little wolf, he is a just a young wolf, with a good soul and heart. Even a wolf (an animal) is more good-hearted than a man, but here who actually is the animal and who is the man? Athena, a godess, knows best.

Finally, The Vengeance Saga, from which the best song (almost cried listening to it) is, of course, 'Six Hundred Strike':

After everything you've done... ...how will you sleep at night? Next to my wife...

OMG. Literally OMG. Here, at the final showdown between Odysseus and Poseidon, our hero prevails. Poseidon asks: "After everyhting you've done... how will you sleep at night?". I don't know if my interpretation is right, but this is what I think Poseidon meant with his words:

after everything you've done (and been through) to get here... how will you sleep at night? -> will the trauma spare you?

after everything you've done as you became a monster... how will you sleep at night? -> will the guilt spare you?

And Odysseus just answers with a "Next to my wife", because that's what he wanted from the very beginning, to come home, and he will achieve his goal. His story is the story of a journey: obviously, a journey back home, but most importantly, a journey of someone who is 'Just a Man' (got you again with the reference). Odysseus is just a man, a human being who has encountered countless obstacles, who has had his ups and downs, who has thrown his morality into the sea to return home. And what is this, if not life?

[bfire92]

While I continue the work to finish my fanfic, I am still diving into the ether of this fandom and the works. So another little thing I started thinking of while on a walk today. We know that Garaki, the Doctor, told Yamada that Shirakumo was never the target for their attack. Aizawa and his quirk was:

(From chapter 270) It's clear he did enough research either on beforehand, or after he got their hands on Shirakumo, to know that this trio was close. The Doctor even refers to Yamada as "Kurogiri's friend". Now, as it turned out, Shirakumo's cloud quirk and his personality was still pretty useful for the making of a high end nomu used to take care of Shigaraki. But the thing that kept buggering me, was why he didn't just try again? What was stopping the Doctor from setting up another attack, and get his hands on Aizawa and Erasure? And then I thought, maybe he simply was too difficult to find?

(From Vigilantes chapter 65) In chapter 198, Aizawa tells Shinso that it took him SIX years to master the use of the binding cloth. He was by no means done learning by the time he graduated UA. Surely, it would be easier to take him down when he was recently graduated. Had he been anyone else, he would have spent a few years as a sidekick in an agency to gain experience. Which would have had him more easily recognizable, and not to mention, traceable.

Did the Doctor bide his time until graduation, thinking Aizawa would be easy picking as a sidekick, only to discover he was no-where to be found?

By the time Aizawa takes some spotlight again, in the Vigilantes arch and later on when he becomes a teacher at UA, he is experienced and has a network of people around him. And let's face it, Aizawa is very difficult to kill. When he is beaten up during the USJ arch, what happens?

(From chapter 20)

Well, turns out even if you CAN knock Aizawa down, there is a whole bunch of people ready to interfere. (I really wanted to screenshot a scene from episode 13 here, where you see Shoji carrying Aizawa in the background, and Yamada stepping up in front of them to use Voice, but it's not a scene easily captured. It's not featured in the manga, but I sincerely wish it was. It's one of the few times we see Aizawa being behind Yamada, whereas most scenes of them have Aizawa in front. I can't help but think they added this scene specifically to hint at the friendship between the two characters. Also, isn't it a little f'ed up that Yamada gets this nugget of information from the Doctor, and then when all is settled, Kayama has died and Aizawa is in hospital? Did he even tell anyone about Erasure being the original target fifteen years ago? A lose thread that isn't followed up in the story ever again...) Any thoughts, add a comment down below!

If you want to add some support, go ahead and leave a kudos over at my fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/series/4400791 (the final part 3 is on its way) And for everyone else, once I am done with my fic, I'll return to our scheduled Three Gods and a New Apartment.

[ultimatebottom69]

I would have killed him

an underrated detail in pride and prejudice is that elizabeth bennett was home alone on the day darcy proposed because she had a headache. can you imagine. this was in the pre-painkillers era. you're at home with a headache and then this asshole walks into the room and tells you he loves you and wants to marry you even though he hates your whole family and you're beneath him. imagine having to deal with that while also having a headache. she doesn't even have ibuprofen

[sallymew4]

kids when they hear that their dad is back in town VS. kids when theyre hanging out with a conman that accidentally stole their wallet once

im not even joking btw

bonus heres me being crazy about them in dms ^^^

[good-beanswrites]

I have questions about that last fic. How did the prisoners alter their uniforms, and what were the consequences? What did they throw at Es? What did they trick Fuuta into eating and how? How did they try to catch Jackalope?

LMAO murder aside these ten know how to cause problems on purpose 😭 Hehe thank you for your curiosity, I genuinely had visualized some specifics for these while writing >:3 So --

Mahiru started sewing patches and ribbons and things onto her uniform dress. She got very bold very quickly, though, completely replacing whole sections with colorful fabric (like swapping out the entire skirt/bodice/sleeves) so it was pretty obvious. Es replaced all her uniforms with the standard ones and limited her requests to only small amounts of fabric at a time. (Who’s to say she isn’t secreting these away to patch together later, though…)

I was influenced by seeing two “what are the limits of Milgram’s no-violence policy, really” posts very recently. I think if the object could cause absolutely no harm, it’s possible to hit Es with it. I’m thinking basic crumpled paper or even a lightweight food -- something harmless but very sticky and gets in their hair… either way Es is Not Pleased. I feel like this could have been anyone except Haruka and Mahiru, as even the more "mature" prisoners would just be curious about what would happen.

My original thought was cake, but now that I’m fact checking I see that it grows mold pretty quickly… So maybe pudding: the eggs and milk spoil a bit before you see actual mold. Whoever has decided to be a menace (my guess is Yuno or Mikoto) puts up a whole farce about food preferences and whether or not they can identify specific flavors in this special dessert Jackalope secreted away, and unfortunately Fuuta is a hungry boy and it’s not very difficult to get him to take a big bite 😔

Jackalope lounges around the prison, chilling with the prisoners and taking naps in whatever place he finds comfortable. They try sneaking up to where he’s settled in, distracting him with treats and gentle words to see how long they can keep him in place as they give him gradually more noticeable pets. Muu has coaxed him into enough peace to take off his hat and pet his head, but no one’s managed to give him little scritches before he tries to regain his dignity and scurries away. Little do they know, he forces Es to scratch, pet, brush, and cuddle him every single night under the pretense of their official duties.

[hirazuki]

Okay, see, the thing about your story ending on a negative/dystopian/'despite everything that's happened nothing has changed in society' note and doing so successfully? It needs to have been set up for that in the first place, and it needs to be done in an intentional manner.

I have nothing against works that reinforce how cruel/meaningless/pointless/etc. the world is -- I enjoy a fair few! -- but the works themselves need to be some sort of commentary about it; the plot might be demonstrative of the futility of everything, but the story never should. It should take that and build on it and use it to make a statement, underscore a point, etc. to its readers. Having everything carry on business-as-usual without acknowledging it, especially in a genre that's generally meant to conclude on optimistic, uplifting, and hopeful notes, comes off as callous and in direct opposition with the values it extols.

Plus, the story itself should never be futile because, then, well, it never mattered as a work and it makes no difference if you've read it or not. Which... that's just a badly written story lmao.

[molliemoo3]

konkretmagasin: @dennishauger X @konkretmagasin

[azems-familiar]

Revan Adarii meets ""canon"" Revan What happens? :p

"canon" revan's a little bitch and wouldn't be able to withstand her sheer toxic queer swag. he evaporates on the spot

[monstersqueen]

anyway my recent conclusions have been

mori leaked ango's mafia spy's status to mimic and sent odasaku after him so he could break up the buraiha trio

reading wan "wow odasaku did not listen to tiny ango and tiny dazai before going to fight gide !!"

which combined with older conclusions of

wow dazai sure went straight from "here's why ango's a traitor" to one of his most upsetting "i want to die" moments

....that's probably part of why he blame ango for odasaku's death, because in his head ango's betrayal made odasaku not want to live anymore, because that's what it did to him

pretty much. paints the picture that dazai is not entirely wrong there. i'm pretty sure mori in his calculations went "so in order to get the permit we need to defeat mimic. the best/only way we have to do that is to send oda at them. unfortunately oda doesn't kill. time to destroy his support system i guess" and proceeded to out ango's cover :p

[weidli]

god in my time of dying really does get me Every time

[bootleg-nessie]

Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are