#but like he is so goddamn relatable it pisses me off

[h2llish]

we're starting my rambles with riddle, my love <3

there's a lot about riddle to unpack honestly. his mother was super controlling, and he was sheltered his whole life. he wasn't allowed friends, and he obviously didn't have much of an impactful male figure in his life. his parents don't seem to get along and that's me assuming his parents are even together anymore. and he also had to live up to a perfect expectation his mother put on him. like holy shit, that's a lot.

he doesn't know how to hold decent conversation, can't understand some social cues, and if you haven't noticed, he kind of struggles with maintaining friendships.

coming from someone whose been sheltered by a pretty controlling mother (and step-father, kinda), i can say i totally understand. while my mother didn't have a name to herself and she was a sahm (stay at home mom) so she never held many expectations, she still sheltered and controlled my siblings and i. for the longest time, like riddle, i hadn't realized that what my mother was doing wasn't right or normal. she prevented me from making decent relationships, ultimately ruining my social skills entirely and giving me enough insecurities to cover five(+) of me. i was fortunate enough to have my siblings to rely on, but it became unhealthy and none of us know how to handle real relationships/friendships when we're faced with them. even now, at 18, i remain under her control because of how sheltered i was growing up that the very thought of living without that control is terrifying.

now you take what i just told you about my controlling mother and you add that to riddle's life, you'll see just how shitty his childhood must've been. he didn't even know his mother was controlling until he overblots, he remained completely unaware of his trauma until the chaos of it built up into a meltdown. the only friendships he did have were forbidden when his mother learned he was interacting with other children, and with their leave so went his ability to learn proper, healthy, means of coping and social relationships.

and even after he became aware of the trauma of it all, he can't exactly change at the snap of a finger. he has to unlearn all the unhealthy aspects of what his mother taught him and learn more proper ways of dealing with anything.

and his temper? he probably learned that from his mother. you guys seen the way she acted when she learned her only son was making friends. it is very possible for a child to learn and take on qualities from their parents/guardians and he probably learned his anger from her. and to add to that, he never learned to properly cope with his own emotions under his mother's rule, so his anger is far more uncontrolled.

and i haven't even gotten to his insecurities and shit.

now im going to exclude his height here for obvious reasons (we all know how he is).

riddle probably fails to realize he even has insecurities. his trauma as a "golden" (only) child is enough to cloud the part of your brain that recognizes when you are feeling insecure. he still has so much to learn about himself, and that includes the insecurities that come with his childhood.

insecurities are actually pretty difficult to touch with him as it could be a number of things, and this is all guesswork, assumptions, observations; you can't know for sure. but i'm going to say what i think.

he's relearning everything from new, so i imagine that must make him a little insecure. to live under your mother's rule and then have a complete breakdown over it? someone like him would absolutely be embarrassed if they had to unlearn everything their mother taught them just so they could learn more healthy topics and methods.

he has a fear of failure; absolutely no one can say otherwise because it is so obvious. before his overblot, the stress of continuing to live up to the expectations his mother gave him was a weigh down and added to his blot build up. and after his overblot, he can't exactly break from that mentality. regardless of how much he may try or how much help someone may give, that sort of mentality that's been added to and built on for years cannot be easily broken. it's been shaped so much it might as well be comparable to a full concrete fortress of, "must pass this", "not good enough", and "she'll be disappointed".

he fears disappointment from other people. now listen, i know this one might seem far-fetched. he was and still sort of is dedicated to pleasing his mother, and absolutely sucks at forming decent relationships with other people because of poor social skills. but he is the housewarden of heartslabyul. he has definitely placed expectations on himself that he believes should be met and if they aren't he fears he's let down everyone in the dorm. what good of a queen is he if he can't live up to the quotas and expectations, he's set for himself? if he can't meet every rule? if he does not keep his dorm in the position of best?

he has the nagging insecurity and overall fear of never being good enough. whether that be with his mother, his friends, or future partners. he fears he will never meet someone's expectations and fail to be good enough for them. and this leads to my next statement, loneliness. his only friends were forbidden from him, and he's had no one but his mother until nrc. but even then, no one has been that close to him except try and che'nya so i imagine he must get lonely. and after his overblot, i assume that loneliness must have reached a suffocating point now that he knows about how wrong his mother's behavior was.

now to end this ramble and listen to me on this one ━ he's insecure. that's it. he's insecure about himself, his height, his trauma; everything. he's insecure.

overall, there is just so much to him and i just think people need to think about that when they refer to riddle. he's not just his anger and obsessive need for perfection; he's someone still learning his trauma and trying to better himself.

[cheeeeseburger]

Do you dream of me? (cause you're a dream to me)

Fernando Alonso x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: They could never make me hate you, fake dating trope. English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes!

As soon as Fernando opened the car door for you and you stepped out, all dolled up, cameras flashed everywhere. This was a part of being Fernando’s girlfriend that you were still getting used to. Actually, you weren’t used to any things related to dating him, since in reality, you were not really together.

Fernando had asked you to be his fake girlfriend two months ago. Initially, you just laughed at him, but he was not kidding at all. He wanted to work on his PR, and a good romance story always does the trick, right?

“Please, just think about it. I’m not crazy! It would only be for show. It would be fake dating.” You were impressed at his romcom knowledge. He definitely knew the literature, to use words like fake dating. Still, that was not enough to convince you.

The thing is, Fernando was your boss. You had been his assistant for over two years now, and he knew you were single and available. Saying no to his proposal would put you in a difficult situation. It’s not like the whole fake dating thing would only benefit him, though. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to accept.

“You would only have to come to a few events with me, which you already come to as my assistant! You would just have to pretend we’re together. Of course, you would receive compensation for your services.” Fernando said. He did not get why you suddenly gasped.

“I was about to say yes, but I’m not a hooker or an escort, Fernando! How dare you suggest these things to me?” Frankly, you were insulted. He answered immediately, panicked: “No, that’s not what I meant, of course not! I just meant that since you’re going to, um, work extra, I will pay you more, that’s all. You’re too much of a good girl for all of that, anyway.”

Goddamn. You blushed intensely. You would definitely be a good girl for him, if you were actually dating. Oops.

“Wait, didn’t you say you were going to say yes?” Damn him for actually listening to you.

You blushed a little: “I mean, it’s just that I have, let’s say, a situation, that could be fixed if we publicly dated…” You looked away, embarrassed.

“What is it, muñeca?” He genuinely looked concerned for you. He really was a caring boss, huh?

“It’s just that, um, there’s this guy…” You did not want to continue the rest of the sentence. You were the colour of a ripe tomato.

“And you want to make him jealous?” He raised an eyebrow. Oh wow. Has he watched Anyone But You on a flight recently or something?

“Oh God no, absolutely not! It’s the opposite, really. I went on one date with him, and he can’t get a hint. He always comes tries to talk to me, even though I told him multiple times that I was no longer interested. He’s an engineer at Ferrari, so he’s always around. It’s getting scary.” Telling your boss your horror dating stories was really, really embarrassing.

“What? That’s not okay!” He looked pissed. “Muñeca, this is not right. You should have told me. I could have fixed the issue. I would have helped you.”

You flushed. It was cute to see your boss so worried about you. “Anyway, that’s why I’m tempted to say yes to be your fake girlfriend. Maybe that other guy will back off.”

“I didn’t know you went on dates. You’re always busy helping me.” He crossed his arms on his chest.

“Well, he’s always around since he works in F1. He just asked me out and I said yes.” You were avoiding his gaze, afraid of being in trouble for some reason.

“Why didn’t it work out?” Ok, now you were definitely looking everywhere but at him. The real reason was too humiliating too say out loud. Why did he care anyway?

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.” He noticed you were mortified but did not pick up on it. You sighed: “I think we should do it. But I’m still going to have my job after, right?”

“Of course, muñeca. You’re too essential in my life for me to let you go.” Apparently, he was not above flattery to convince you. Apparently, flattery was a great way to bribe you.

“It’s a deal, then.” You shook Fernando’s hand. You immediately shivered at his touch.

“You’re mi amorcito now.”

Oh God. What did you get yourself into?

Anyway, you felt Fernando’s hand on your back, softly guiding you towards the entrance of the party at a high-end hotel. As usual when there were cameras around, you put on a show. Your performance was Oscar worthy. He spun you around so people could admire your look. You blew him a kiss. You leaned on him while he put an arm around you. He kissed the top of your head, and you whispered in his ear.

“I think we’ve really fooled them.”

“It’s good, but it’s only the beginning. I’m not done with you, muñeca.”

To anybody on the outside, you two looked like the hot, exciting, and loving couple of the moment. Sometimes, it looked that way to you too. It was hard to remember that this was not real when he kissed you, or when you were in his arms, or just when you were with him in general. Playing pretend with him was so easy. It was fun, even. You were getting showered in gifts and kisses by your boss, who just happens to be a man you find really attractive. You could have done worst for a side hustle, right?

The media was having a field day with your relationship. Some thought the age gap was a bit weird, but most people just thought that it was cute that Alonso fell in love with his assistant. You had even seen a TikTok edit of you two. You looked hot in it, so that was nice. You were the it WAG of the moment.

The other drivers were also freaking out that Alonso, a long-time bachelor, had finally met his match. You had to act extra lovingly in front of them, just to prove to them that he had finally settled. Also, Fernando just liked to show off a pretty young thing like you in his arms, because the rest of the grid was definitely jealous.

You made you way inside, making sure to always close the gap between you and Fernando. You were constantly flushed, because him touching you did wonders for your nerves. Small talk was hard, but it was even more difficult to do with his arm around your waist. You pulled on his arm.

“Fernando, baby, I need a drink.” The word baby slipped off a little too casually for your liking. He seemed to like it though, because you felt his possessive grip at the nickname. He smiled, pleased.

“Alright, amorcito. What do you want?” He led you to the bar, the crowd letting him pass easily. This was another advantage of dating an F1 driver. Also, he always paid for all your drinks, which is an added bonus, right? You needed a drink to survive the night anyway.

“I want to get drunk. Not passed out drunk, but drunk enough that there is a risk that I will get up to dance on a table.” He laughed at that, and you smiled him. The urge to kiss him was strong. Technically, you could do it, since you were in a public place with people watching your every movement. So far, you had always let him kiss you first, because you were simply too shy. Anytime you felt his lips on yours, forgetting that this was not real was way too easy.

“I would want to see that, muñeca.” The music was loud, and he spoke in your ear. You shivered. Oh yes, more than one drink would be needed. “I’ll have a whiskey sour, and a cosmo for the lady,” Fernando said at the bartender. It was cute that he remembered your drink of choice. But you needed more than a Cosmo to ease your nerves right now. Forget about being classy.

“I’ll have three tequila shots as well, please.” You nearly had to shout for the bartender to hear you. Fernando looked surprised.

“You were not kidding, huh?”

“I won’t embarrass you by being too drunk, I swear. But it’s just that there are so many people here, and I’m kind of nervous.” He put your hand in his and started to draw circles on it with his thumb.

“It’s okay, mi armorcito. These people are not important. The only thing that matters is you and me. I want you to have a good time, muñeca.” You softened at his words. Even though you had not gotten you shots yet, you managed to have enough courage to finally kiss him. He was surprised at first, but he quickly recovered and pulled you closer to him. You pulled away, blushing, but only because the bartender put your drinks in front of you. He smiled at you and his gaze lingered on your mouth.

You drank your shots back-to-back without even making a face. “That’s a good girl,” said Fernando, sipping his whiskey. He knew what he was doing. The alcohol hadn’t even kicked in yet, but you were feeling bolder already.

“Are you into good girls, boss?” You drank innocently from your Cosmo, batting your eyelashes. It was his turn to get flushed. Maybe he had a thing for authority?

“When they look like you, sure. And you’re always so good to me, taking care of my every need. Well, almost.” He winked at you. Surely, the few sips of his drink were not enough to get him to say things like that purely because of the alcohol. Was this really coming from him? It was a delicious thought, almost as delicious as your Cosmo.

“I know this is fake, but baby, if it wasn’t, I would fulfill your every needs. And I mean, all your needs, boss.” You put your hand on his arm to really send the message. The tequila had finally hit your system. His desire for you was obvious in his eyes.

“Amorcito, you would be my favourite assistant of all time, for sure. I would never let you go.” He pulled you close to him, with his hands around your waist. He was looking at you so intensely that it almost felt like love.

You let yourself daydream. “Nobody could say a thing, because pleasing your boss is the goal of being an assistant, right?”

“Exactly, muñeca. But since they don’t know that this is fake, they couldn’t say anything if, let say, they caught us?” He smirked at you, softly brushing the loose stands of hair away from your face

Oh, you knew were this was getting, but the alcohol in your blood and his handsome face were telling you to go along.

“Absolutely, baby. I bet you’d like it, too.” You finished your drink and ordered another shot.

“What, if we were caught?” He nearly choked out his whiskey sour.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t you like it if someone was to walk in on you having me on your desk? If people heard me screaming your name?” The look on his face was priceless. Toying with him was fun. 

He leaned to whisper in your ear: “Don’t give me ideas, amorcito.” He lingered there for a moment, breathing against your neck. You were breathing rapidly. If you only tilted your head a bit, your lips would be near his. It was tempting, so you did it. As he went in for the kiss, you suddenly pulled away, then downed your last shot. You were not done playing with him.

“I want to dance. Come on!” You pulled on his arm, and Fernando had no choice but to follow you on the dance floor.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

He was a surprisingly a good dancer. It must be the Spanish in him. He made you feel hot all over. You left the dancefloor feeling very turned on and with a few new hickeys on your neck as a bonus. This happened all the time in fake dating movies, right? You had not broken any rule.

Fernand pulled you to the bar to get something to drink. Things were not PG anymore. His hand was on your ass to guide you instead of on your waist like it was earlier.

“Do you want another Cosmo, muñeca?” You shook your head.

“No baby, I want to get a special treat. Can I please have a sex on the beach?”

He raised an eyebrow at your request, but he still passed it along to the bartender with another whiskey for him. He was not nearly as drunk as you were, so he had no excuse regarding crossing the line between what is real and what is fake.

“You know, amorcito, I could give you the real thing,” he said to you as he passed you your drink.

“What, sex on the beach? I already did that,” you answered, laughing. He looked positively shocked.

“An innocent girl like you? I don’t believe it.” He also didn’t want it to be true.

You smirked. “You remember that the reason I accepted to date you was to get rid of a guy that was like, obsessed with me?” He nodded, wanting to hear where this was going.

“Well, the reason why he can’t get enough of me is because I rocked his world on a beach!” You looked away, embarrassed even with all the alcohol you had consumed. He put his hand under your chin to force you to look at him.

“Muñeca, is this for real? That’s why he won’t leave you alone? He was not happy.

“Yes! But I don’t want anything to do with this guy. He didn’t even make me finish,” you whined. Fernando brushed your lower lip with his thumb. Somehow, you just knew that if it was him instead of that engineer, you would have come. Multiple times, for sure.

“Poor amorito.” He caressed your hair with his free hand. “You know I would never do that to you, right?” You chuckled lightly.

“Oh, I know.” You whispered in his ear: “I had a sex dream about you once.” This was a lie. You had multiple dreams where he had rocked your world. In multiple ways.

You started to give him a few kisses underneath his ear, in that spot that you knew he liked. He grabbed your ass to bring you closer to him.

“What? Amorcito, you must tell me how it was.” He was getting overwhelmed by your confession and the trail of kisses you left on his neck. You just laughed against his throat.

“Baby, I don’t dream and tell.” First of all, you could not believe you had actually told him you dreamed of him. No way in hell would you reveal the fantasy you had of him. He was still your boss!

But Fernando really, really wanted to know. He spun you so your back was against the bar and held you by your wrists. He got centimeters away from your face. “You will this time, muñeca.”

Ok, so he was not playing around anymore. Does the fact that this was the hottest thing you had ever seen in your life says a lot about you? About your relationship with your dad?

“You have to promise me you won’t mock me, okay?” You were suddenly shy. Maybe you should have ordered another sex on the beach. Wait, no. All of this started because of a stupid sex on the beach. A tequila sunrise would have to do next time.

He kissed your cheek and slowly moved to your jaw. “I promise, amorcito. Just tell me, please. I have to know.” A man begging was always a sight to see.

“Okay, baby. I’ll tell you.” Just thinking about it made you feel hot all over. “In my dream, we were in Monaco. You had parked your car, the green Aston Martin, and… You were fucking me against it. But I mean, really fucking me.” You were blushing, but he was the one who had turned scarlet. You continued: “Remember, this is a dream, okay? A paparazzi took a picture of you, um, having me against your car, and it was all over the medias. But we didn’t care, in fact, you printed and framed the picture, and you hung it in your living room in Monaco. And we fucked again in front of it. That’s it.”

Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Your face was heating up, and you were worried since Fernando hadn’t said anything yet. Had you gone too far? You could always blame it on the alcohol. One thing for sure, you had definitely crossed the line of fake dating.

“Eres el sueño de mi vida, amorcito.” Fernando pulled you close to his body to lead you to a dark corner of the room. He pushed you against the wall and he was immediately all over you. You couldn’t help but moan when you felt him palming you.

“Fernando, baby, is this still us fake dating?” He answered between two hickeys on your neck.

“None of this is fake, muñeca. It never was.” His lips crashed on yours. It just felt so good to really have him, without pretending. You had to remember you were in a public place, otherwise your dress would have been on the floor ages ago.

“I swear I’m going to start screaming your name soon, baby. I need you so bad. Can we please go back to the hotel?” He smiled at your eagerness.

“As much as I would like everyone to hear you, including the other drivers, I think we better leave, amorcito.” He reluctantly pulled away to grab your hand.

“Don’t worry baby, the Monaco GP is in two weeks, everyone will hear me and see me screaming your name there,” You winked at him and pulled him outside of the party.

You clearly had an eye for design, because the picture of you two really did look great in the apartment you shared in Monaco.

[wh0re43van]

Sparks (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: You’re a set director on American horror story’s Freakshow. Evan has been trying to convince you to ‘smoke and chill’ for months, but you’ve always rejected him in fear of jeopardizing your job. After a particularly stressful shoot, Evan finally convinces you to spark with him.

Warnings: intense smut, face fucking, choking, drug use.

Word count: 3k

A/n: This is my first time writing in awhile so I’m bit rusty

"Hey y/n I just re-upped,” Evan announces as he walks up behind me.  “He's got the best homegrown around and It's cured perfect every time. Come to my place tonight and I'll let you sample," He offers as he slips an arm around my shoulder. "You don't even have to match, just give me something else in return," he says lowly in my ear. My heart skips a beat and my cheeks blush red. Evans been blatantly flirting with me since we started shooting. It's been my own personal hell having to reject such a perfect man because its 'not professional to have personal relations with the cast'.

"Evan," I sigh as I look up at his dark eyes. "I honestly would love to-" he cuts me off.

"Then consider it y/n," he simply states. I smile at him. I have to admit that he's starting to wear me down

"Evan, I have to finish my walk through before the shooting starts" I turn back to the counter to consult my mockup. He backs up and leans against the wall.

"I’ll just keep you company then," he grins.

•

•

‘Fuck’ I curse internally as I run from a very angry Mr. Murphy. One of my idiot crew members forgot to do their only job and set out the menus for the next scene. We’re an hour behind on filming and we’re only here for three days. The director is pissed to say the least.

I throw open the door to the storage room and start ripping open boxes. I swear I'm going to lose every last ounce of sanity I have left. We started shooting two hours ago and I've rolled my ankle, got broken glass stuck in my hand, and of course, been bitched at constantly.

"Did you find them?" Evan questions as he closes the door behind him.

"What?" I ask, not processing what he's saying as I rip haphazardly through every single cardboard box in this room, brown paper flying everywhere.

"Did you-" He begins to repeat, then pauses. I feel him grab my arm gently, stopping my whirlwind of motion. "Y/N," he says calmy.

"What Evan?" I snap at him. I can feel the stress dripping out of every pore of my body. Turns out stress smells a lot like sweat. Evan jumps a bit at my tone, then simply points his 'lobster claw' to a box of pink menus that I opened without even realizing it. I was so stressed and overwhelmed I didn't even realize I found the goddamn menus four boxes ago.

I groan and lay my head on Evans chest.

"I'm such a fucking stupid idiot." I mumble his white shirt, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Evan chuckles and clumsily lifts my chin up with his makeup bound hands. His smile immediately drops when he sees my face.

"Hey y/n don't cry," he coos, his voice laced with concern.

"Evan I'm losing my mind," I sniffle as he pulls me into a hug.

"You know what you need?" He asks I shake my head 'yes.'

"A blunt." We both say in unison. I feel his cheek stretch into a smile against mine, proud of himself for finally convincing me.

•

•

My hand shakes as I ring the doorbell to Evans hotel room.

“Ma’ Lady,” Evan bows as he opens the door for me. What a dork.

“Thank you good sir,” I attempt a curtsy as I walk in. I guess were both dorks.

We chuckle as he latches the door behind me.

“Right this way,” he ushers me to his balcony looking over the city. I step out onto the cool concrete, hearing Heaven Beside You by Alice in Chains playing. There's two bean bag chairs set up with a bundle of blankets on each one. Purple and white string lights hang all around the ceiling and railing of the small balcony.

“Wow Evan, this is really cool. I’m impressed with how you spend your free time,” I admit, sitting down in one of the chairs, pulling a blanket into my lap.

“Actually,” he sits down in the chair beside me as he picks up the rolling tray. “I’ve never done this before. I set all of this up as soon as I got home,” he chuckles.

“I don’t even know what to say,” I tell him honestly. I’m dumbfounded. This might seem like a small gesture, but this is one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me. He went out of his way just for me.

“Then don’t say anything. Just grab me that bong,” he grins, pointing to the glass sitting on the ground next to the door. I stand up and bend over to pick up the simple clear bong, feeling Evans gaze burn into the back of me. When I hand him the piece, I get close enough to his face to see that his eyes are already glossy.

“Evan Peters,” I tisk. “did you start with out me?” I ask putting my hand to my chest in faux offense.

“I was a little nervous, I’ve been waiting for this for so long… I was scared if I was sober I’d mess it up,” he admits. His pale cheeks tinting pink.

“I’m flattered,” I smile. He opens the metal grinder sitting on his lap and begins to pack the bowl. “but it is rude to start a sesh before your guest arrives.” He hands me the packed bong.

“Well how’s bout you get this all to yourself and we call it even,” he wagers. I take the bong with a smile, accepting his offer. As I put the cool glass to my lips, I reach for the lighter on Evans thigh, but he snatches it, looking me in the eyes as he flicks the zippo, igniting a hot bright flame that he circles around the bowl. He begins to pull the flame away, but I grab his hand to hold the light in place for a couple more seconds. His eyes widen a bit and he smiles.

“Damn I’m glad I didn’t want any,” he chuckles, finally pulling away to spark his own joint. I pull the stem and inhale the milky smoke sharply, holding it in my lungs for bit before exhaling slowly. The smoke clouds around my face before a small gust of wind disperses it.

“Yeah, me to,” I grin softly as Evan takes another hit off his joint. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but with the past few weeks I’ve had, I’m goanna need a lot more than some weed to recover from all this stress,” I take another hit and lay my head back in the soft chair, finally feeling my muscles relax as the golden light flows through every nerve of my body. I turn my head and open my heavy eyes to look up at Evan.

“Wow that is bad,” he says, staring at something in the distance. I take this moment to truly admire the man beside me. The purple lights cascade onto his sharp features, violet pin pricks reflect in his coffee-colored eyes. The wind blows his loose brown curls around on his forehead as a rough hand holds the paper filter up to his pink lips. The end of the cone glows crimson as his chest rises, taking in a hit of hot smoke. Evan looks down at me to finish his thought. Had I been sober, I would have quickly looked away. But right now, nothing could tear my eyes from this perfect image in front of me. Evans’ eyes lock into mine as he releases the smoke slowly out through his mouth and nose. “Y/n, I-“ he begins, but before he can finish, I sit up and pull his face into mine. Gently kissing him, the smell of smoke mixed with his cologne is intoxicating all on its own. He tenses for a moment, processing what had just happened, before putting his hand on my back to bring me closer.

“I’m sorry,” I pull away suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so forward. Evan looks at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks for a second before furrowing his brow,

“Are you kidding me,” ashes fall from his joint onto his pants, reminding him of its presence. He takes small drag before finishing. “That’s all I’ve wanted since the moment I saw you.” I smile at his confession. He holds the joint to my lips offering me a hit. We hold eye contact as I pull the smoke into my mouth, then to my lungs. “You’re beyond beautiful y/n,” he compliments. I lean into kiss him, shot gunning the smoke to him. He kisses hard and inhales the smoke as if it’s his last breath. He sits the joint in the ash tray then puts his hand on the back of my head, gently but firmly, so I don’t pull away this time, Evan exhales the smoke though his nose, so he doesn’t have to break the kiss. I clumsily crawl into his lap to straddle him, and his hands instinctively grab my ass. The heat from his hands warming me through the thin fabric of my leggings. I feel hungry, starving for more and more of him. As my knees sink into the soft chair around him, I begin to grind my hips against his.

“Evan,” I breath out, begging to feel more of his skin on mine. He looks at me with lust filled eyes and kiss bruised lips as I begin to lift his shirt up. He grabs my hand gently.

“Let’s go inside, darling,” he whispers. “You never know if one of those creeps are near by.” He looks around, checking for paparazzi. I was puzzled for a second, before remembering Evans’ status. I nod and climb off him. He stands, his dark jeans tented at the crotch and his white t-shirt rising and falling quickly on his chest. He grabs my hand to guide me inside.

“Can’t forget this,” I grin, stopping to grab a fresh blunt and the zippo. He chuckles as I spark the cone. He pulls me into his lounge, locking the door and closing the blinds. After I had a few hits, I hand the joint to Evan as I sit down on the leather couch.

“We don’t have to do anything more than this if you don’t want y/n,” he almost whispers through the smoke, sitting down next to me. I look into his desperate eyes as he hands me the warm paper.

“Please,” I inhale. “Please Evan I need you,” I beg the stoned man in front of me. With that, in one swift move, he takes the cone from my hand, putting it on the side table ash tray, removes his shirt and smashes his lips to mine, laying me down on the sofa. His kisses trail from my lips to my ear. Grabbing my throat gently he whispers. “You have no idea how desperate I am for you,” all I can do is moan in response my brain too high off THC and lust to form a coherent thought. His kisses continue trailing down my neck as his fingers work with the buttons on my black flannel. He smiles like a child when he sees that I have nothing underneath the warm button up. His mouth quickly drops to one breast swirling his warm tongue around as his hand massages my other breast, sending me into a fit of pleasure. After giving the same treatment to the other side, he rips off my leggings. He grabs the waistband of my thong. “May I?” he asks with heavy bloodshot eyes.

“Please,” I nod. He wastes no time removing the flimsy fabric and spreading my already trembling legs. He dips a long finger into my heat, groaning at how slick I already am.

“All this, just for me?” He licks the fluid off his finger, just to dip it back inside of me and out once more. “Have a taste baby,” he reaches his finger up and I close my mouth around it, licking seductively, making sure to keep eye contact.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. “Good girl,” he praises with a kiss on my nose. He quickly dips his head back down, licking from my entrance up to my clit, sucking and licking with expertise, earning a loud moan and a string of profanities from me. I quickly feel my orgasm building in my stomach, but its not enough.

“Evan, I need you to fuck me, please,” I whimper. He pulls his head up, his mouth and chin shimmering. I definitely didn’t need to ask twice. He jumps up dropping his pants and boxers allowing his perfect cock to spring free, giving himself a few good pumps. I shiver at the sight. Evan dips his head down to my core one last time, giving me a kiss then allowing a trail of warm spit to drip down and trickle to my entrance. The sight is enough to make me melt into this sticky leather couch. Evan lines his length up with me, pulling my hips up and guiding me onto his dick. Slowly filling me, stopping halfway in allowing me to adjust, but I don’t want it. I buck my hips forward, making him bottom out immediately. A string of curses leaves both our lips as he pokes at my stomach from the inside. He begins thrusting quickly, taking the hint that I’m not  wanting to make love tonight. Evans’ toned body begins to shimmer with sweat as he brings a strong hand to my throat squeezing the sides, making me just lightheaded enough to intensify the pleasure. He looks down at me, biting his lip, as he watches my face contort in pleasure from what he’s doing to me. The louder I moan, the harder he pounds into me. My breathing starts to hitch with each thrust as I clench around him.

“Evan I’m going to-” before I can finish my sentence, he pulls out completely, making me groan from the sudden empty feeling. I curse and open my mouth to question him.

“Turn over,” he demands as he stands up. I obey and begin to shift on the couch. “hands and knees.” He specifies, slapping me hard on the ass, I cant help but giggle as the sting lingers on my sweaty skin. I prop myself up on my forearms on the arm of the couch and spread my legs, wiggling my ass a bit as wait for Evan to fill me back up.

“Your body is so perfect,” he says as grabs and kisses my ass before I feel him line himself up again, quickly thrusting in to satisfying the ache in the empty space he left behind in my stomach. Once he finds his rhythm, I feel his hand snake around my throat and the other around my torso as he pulls me flush against him. My shoulders press against his as I arch my back. In this new potion, he hits my g spot perfectly.

“Shit Evan! Yes please,” I pant. “just like this. Please fuck me just like this! Don’t stop,” I plead as I squeeze his strong arms that are wrapped around me. Even groans lowly at the praise.

“I need you to cum y/n,” he whispers in my ear, reaching down to rub circles on my clit. “Can you do that for me, gorgeous?” All I can do is moan and nod my head ‘yes’. His thrust propels me towards my orgasm as I scream out profanities. “That’s it, good girl,” his hot breath moans into my ear laced with the smell of stale smoke. I curl my toes and grip his forearms with all my force, leaving nail marks as my whole body tenses, then releases in pleasure.

“Evan I’m cumming!” My screams and the sound of our skin slapping together fill the room. “Fuck you make me feel so good,” I whimper as he begins to slow down his thrusts, allowing me to ride out my high.

“Good job baby,” he pulls out, pumping himself. “now get on your knees. Open your mouth.” I quickly obliged. I drop down and look up at him. The sight of his heaving, glistening chest and his brown curls sticking to his red sweaty face is enough to make me orgasm all over again. He reaches his veiny arm down and pulls my hair into a ponytail and. I happily open my mouth for him as he gently taps his rock hard tip on my lips, I moan quietly as he begins to slowly thrust in my face. I take it upon myself to press his dick as far as I can down my throat, gagging as my nose touches his abdomen.

“Holy fucking shit baby,” he pants out, now fucking my face. It doesn’t take long before he’s twitching in my deep in my throat and the salty pre cum drips into my mouth. “That’s it baby, fuck,” he swears as he grips my hair so hard I can feel a few strands snapping. It takes all of my strength to pull my head a away.

“Cum on my face, please Evan,” I gasp for breath, looking up at him with tears running from my pink eyes, as thick strands of spit string from my lips to his perfect dick. With a few pumps, and his death grip still on my hair, I open my mouth and hum in satisfaction as he releases his strings of hot liquid all over my face. He groans and curses, finally releasing my hair.

“Fuck y/n,” he sighs, looking down at the beautiful mess he’s created on my face. He brings his thumb to my mouth scooping up some of his cum and bring it to my lips. I smile around his thumb, lapping up all the liquid. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he looks at me with such strong admiration in his eyes, I can’t help but blush as I lay my head into the hand he puts on my cheek. “Lets get you into the shower,” he begins guides me to the bathroom but I stop him.

“Don’t you want a cigarette first” I offer, grabbing the menthols from my flannel pocket. He grins. “Well, I’m not going to ever turn down a cigarette after sex that good,” he looks at the state of my face again. “But let me at least wipe off your face first. It’s the least I could do.” I giggle as he walks over to get a wet rag. This is absolutely worth risking my job for.

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

NO WAY IN HELL ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: i return from the actual dead guys. live has been hectic as hell recently so im staying up late so i can get the part out to you!! its like 12am when im posting this so delusion is feeding me here

lia and riley crowd around you as you recount for the millionth time what happened at the rooftop party.

they've been at you all week asking what happened - it definitely didn't help when that stupid gossip account posted about it. so now you face the downfall of trying to be a decent human being.

clearly it worked out oh so well and everything is perfectly fine.

you've been drained all week working out a few details for your upcoming shows, going to the gym every day to stay in shape for said shows, dealing with lia and riley, the pile of emails and work related things you should probably answer but haven't gotten around to yet.

honestly all you want to do is curl up into bed and sleep.

a nap would be really good right now.

instead you're stuck here with lia pestering you about the whole rooftop ordeal.

"oh my gosh, we've been over this, as i said the last time you asked - which by the way was," you check your watch. "thirty minutes ago. i said hello, we stood there awkwardly for about six minutes i asked how his day was he said decent, he asked me how my day was, i said decent, i randomly blurted out that the stars were pretty and then proceeded to complain about the party, then said i was going home. end of goddamn fucking story."

riley just laughs at your frustration and lia grins sheepishly at you.

"im sorry, please let me stay here tonight."

shaking your head you get up off the couch to start making dinner. your phone starts blaring as you do and lia picks it up and launches it across the room. "its stacey." she says as you catch it.

"hey, stacey what's up?" you ask your assistant/ agent. she does a lot of shit for you honestly, its hard to keep up with what she does.

"i just got a call from someone on percy jackson's marketing team-" you drop the onion you were holding. "and they want to schedule a meeting with you sometime this week." the silence is loud.

"why?" you croak out

"they want to discuss the rumours going around." fucking finally you hiss internally.

"okay...."

"okay you'll do it? or okay you want to tell them where to shove their discussions?" stacey asks skeptically, having worked with you long enough to know your tones.

sighing you answer her, "okay i'll do it, but i want riley and lia there with me."

"of course," stacey replies likely jotting this down.

"and for the love of god not in a public space."

you hash out some more details and hang up turning to face to very eager eavesdroppers, "what do you want us for?" lia asks.

letting out another sigh, "guess who's meeting us this week?"

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest and 923, 872 others

percyjackson i won both games btw

view all comments

underovergrover only cause you cheated!

percyjackson don't be bitter because i won

underovergrover fucker

user1 these little bits of his life only make him more hot oml

user2 i so wanna know if y/n was there

user3 no cause real??? i wanna know if us percy/n shippers have a chance

user4 im in love with him holy

user5 Y/N'S FRIENDS LIKED THE POST AGAIN AHHHHHH

user6 oml i ship them so hard i need to know if they're dating

☾. ⋅

percy was pissed.

ok that's an understatement. he was- is livid.

he had only agreed to this stupid meeting because he managers had suggested to him it might be good to clear the air. what he wasn't expecting was y/n to agree, let alone agree with a list of fucking demands.

and not only did she come with demands she shows up thirty minutes late with her friends in tow.

what. the. fuck?

once she settles in her agent leans froward and addresses percy's team as if y/n is incapable to do so.

"hello there everyone, how are you all doing today?"

percy's manager reply's out of curtesy before getting right down to business. "ok, i'd like to start by introducing myself, y/n i'm lauren i'm percy's manager and i organised this meeting because of the rumours i'm sure you've heard all about."

y/n nods. "yes i've heard of them."

"good because my team and yours have come up with a few ways to deal with the rumours." she place's a her hands on the table and leans forward when she talks. "the first and most obvious is for both of you to post an announcement that you aren't dating, but are simply friends and or acquaintances." you both nod at that. "the second option is to address the rumours via getting into another relationship - but obviously since you're both single right now its a poor decision." she takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes over to y/n's managers. "and the third and mine and stacey's most favoured one is that you.... fake date."

the silence the follows is deafening.

percy practically leaps out of his chair. "what the hell?"

"no fucking way-" y/n says at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me," you both say at he same time you eyes shooting up to meet, stacey's and lauren's hidden smiles don't help the situation either.

"obviously if you don't feel comfortable doing that we understand," stacey says calmly.

"but if you are okay with that we can move forward with that plan... if that's what you wish for."

percy glares at y/n as she gathers her stuff and mutters "no way in hell am i doing that," before storming off.

her friends... lia? and... riley? stand up after her hastily making apologies, "we'll go.. get her, i'm so sorry about that."

stacey obviously knowing that y/n isn't coming back starts to gather all her stuff. "so sorry about all that," she looks at me and then lauren. "we'll have an answer by the end of the week."

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, lukecastellan, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams and 1, 489, 326 others

yn.official life's been good 😊

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lia.mandel im so excited to for our dinner tmr night!!

user1 mother posted!!!

user2 percy's friends liking this is my roman empire

user3 ikr i need to know if they're dating

user4 ugh seeing y/n happy make me smile

rileywest coffee with you was fun!!

underovergrover new album maybe??

yn.official maybe 🤭

user5 GROVER COMMENTED??? AND Y/N RESPONDED???? THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS.

user6 HOLY FUCK!!!!

☾. ⋅

you pace the room, stacey watches you with lia and riley on the couch as the phone dials.

lauren picks up on the third ring. "hello this is lauren smyth speaking."

"hi lauren, its stacey here. i was just ringing about our answer to your offer," she makes one more glance at you before focusing back on the call. "our answer is...."

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee [if you want to be added just let me know!]

[furst1ded]

Thoughts on Shipping Alastor from an AroAce person

(this entire thing is copy and pasted excerpts from a Discord rant so if the grammar is funky, that's why, I just felt like giving my 2 cents on the topic)

Aroace people can still participate in romantic and sexual interactions. All being aro/ace/aroace means is you don't feel romantic/sexual attraction upon seeing other people. You can feel it later on or in waves or could never feel that attraction but still can participate and love others in a fulfilling way. Some aroace people are fine performing intimacy onto others but dislike reciprocation, others are the opposite where they're fine receiving but not giving. It's a spectrum.

The nuances of asexuality and aromanticism aside, you can be in a relationship without being in a relationship. Platonic relationships beyond friendship are a thing (QPRs for example). But like, I get it. Not everyone who ships Alastor keeps it confined to a QPR. And his character seems pretty sex-repulsed and romance-averse. But here's the other thing. He's fictional. As long as his character remains aroace in canon, fans taking the silly radio man and making him kiss the devil isn't taking away from aroace representation.

This next bit is coming from me as an AroAce person myself. I ship Alastor. I write/read him kissing people and fucking and acting romantic. And guess what? It's related to expressing my sexuality. Alastor is one of my favorite characters in anything ever and I love that there's a character that represents a facet of myself in a popular media. I relate to him so goddamn much and that's why I ship him. He's a fictional character I like that I project onto, so I use him as a way to navigate and explore romantic/sexual relationships that I'm never going to participate in myself. He's not real so I just puppet him around to live through vicariously in the scenarios I don't want to be a part of myself but find super interesting. It's not anything new, I do the same with my own characters in the stories I write them in, it's part of storytelling, I just use him for a specific type of story for a specfic part of myself.

It's not like we're hurting anybody by shipping him. We're not drastically effecting canon and making him an alloromantic. I've seen plenty of fics that ship him that either make it a QPR or they thoroughly explore the nuances of his asexuality and what subtype of sexuality he is and how he navigates it and I love those fics because they speak to me on a spiritual level. Grayromantic Alastor, demisexual alastor, sex-repulsed but romance-favorable Alastor, sex-repulsed and romance-averse Alastor in a one-sided ship fic, etc they're all so important to me because it helps me live out my own sexuality and romantic orientation and explore myself.

I get it. Not everyone is respectful. Not everyone feels the way I do and use characters in this way. It can suck seeing people just ignore his sexuality when asexuals and aromantics don't get much in terms of screen-time. But you can't control everybody and what work they put out. And trying to censor stuff like that does more harm than good. I just explained why fics involving Alastor are so important to me. They normalize QPRs and aroaces being in relationships. That's probably what pisses me off the fucking most. If we're not allowed to write about aroaces being in relationships or romantic/sexual situations, you put aroaces into a box. A box where every aroace is perceived as sexless and loveless, which just isn't true. A box where aroaces are prudes or infants who can't handle hearing the word "sex". It's just so frustrating. You can be mad at fics that expressly rewrite or stomp on his sexuality, sure. You can't stop them, but you can disapprove of them. But let the rest of us have our fun making the literal devil and TV head man have the hots for a man whose teeth are yellower than the sun, Jesus Christ.

TL;DR: asexuality is a spectrum, I'm aroace and use shipping as a way to explore and express myself and I know I'm not the only one, trying to suppress works where an Aroace character is seen participating in romance or sex can actually be harmful in that it promotes only one idea of what being aroace is, and at the end of the day the character I'm talking about doesn't even exist.

[helluva-simper]

The urge to write a fanfic was too strong

So I am awake right now with the need to write a fanfic that i really need someone to make a actual fanfic out of because my hopeless romantic ass needs something to relate to. So here ya go.

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

      You were lying horizontally on the armchair in the lobby of the hotel. You were reading one of those romance books you called, “The source.” The source of what, they may ask. Wel, they never get an answer. Before they can protest you change the subject. 

      You were feeling kinda restless tonight so you decided to chill in the lobby till you felt tired. 

       “He silently chuckled before grabbing her by the hips hearing a small gasp escape her lips. A hand rose and rested on her cheek, slowly caressing it. 'You look stunning.’ (Male character) said with a grin. (Female character) rolls their eyes as they grab his collar and-” “What's got you up so early?” A voice from behind you questioned, making you jump and quickly shut the book like some teenage boy trying to hide their weird fetish from their parents. 

        “O-oh, Alastor. It's you. I was just reading. Didn't feel tired, you know?” You tone screamed how nervous you were even without the complete book throwing moment. Well… not actually. The book rested on your stomach but it felt like it. Alastor hums reaching for the book, grabbing it before you could stop him. “I'm guessing this is some romance story you found?” Alastor asked, examining the book. You weren't surprised by the comment though. Those were the only types of books you read. What did they call those types of people? Oh, yeah. Hopeless romantics. 

        Not saying your partner wasn't great at being your… well partener. But there wasn't much- no. There wasn't any touch in your little arrangement. They thrived off of pure words and small gestures. Which was absolutely nice, especially from them. Who are they? Well, they're standing right in front of you reading the back of the book with an unreadable expression. 

         Alastor hums before placing the book back on to your stomach. “So.. You like… those types of books?” Argh! This man! Why did he say it like that?! You just wanted to strangle him. Yes, your book has its spicy scenes but nothing Angel dust would reenact. You chuckle nervously. “Y-yeah. I guess they just interest me.” You replied. And God! It sounded so wrong. “I mean like the plot. The plot is good. Because you kno-” You were quickly interrupted by a cold, yet soft plush against your lips.

           Your eyes widen when you notice what, or shall I say whom, is causing it. Alastor. Alastor was fucking kissing you. You couldn't believe it. Yeah, you two were pretty much dating but he never wanted physical touch of any kind. At least that's what you thought. Now you kinda feel a bit stupid. 

              You wrap your hands around his slender waist since he has to lean all the way over just to make it to your face. 

                He breaks the kiss standing all the way up making you reluctantly pull your hands away. He offers you his hand. “Now, Darling! Let's get you off to bed!” He says as you grab it. It pissed you off how nonchalant he was acting after all… that. And how warm your face felt.

----------

I wrote this on google docs without rereading it or writing on paper 1st so I apologize if it's shitty. Because its like...

in the goddamn morning. And my phone is literally on 2% so yeah. Night! Also if created Plz give credit 😜

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 9: IF YOU CHOP FROM THE SHOULDER, THE AX WILL FIND YOUR HIP

synopsis: you, hank, and connor find yourselves in stratford tower. connor gets traumatized – twice. and you come to his rescue – again, twice.

word count: 2.9k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: finally a whole chapter that's just one scene. be proud of me

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The elevator would be dead silent if it wasn’t for Connor flicking a quarter between his fingers. You watch out of the corner of your eye as it practically dances across his fingertips, the metal glinting in the harsh, fluorescent light. He flicks it to his other hand, catching it in between the first knuckles of his first two fingers and –

Hank snatches it from him. “You’re startin’ to piss me off with that coin, Connor.”

Connor looks at Hank’s hand, then at the silver elevator doors. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

You’d laugh and give Connor another quarter to fidget with, but considering the conversation that occurred this morning? You’re not willing to extend that olive branch. You didn’t survive as a Soviet in America by being a goddamn doormat.

The elevator dings and an automated voice rings out. “79th floor.”

As soon as you step out, you clock the amount of CSI agents loitering around. You’re sort of used to them by now, but their coveralls and masks still unnerve you a bit. 

“Hey, Hank,” Chris says. “Officer.”

“Shit, what’s goin’ on here?” Hank looks around. “There was a party and nobody told me about it?”

“Yeah. It’s all over the news, so everybody’s butting their nose in.” Chris sighs and nods towards the door at the end of the hall. “Even the FBI wants a piece of the action.”

“Ah, Christ, now we got the Feds on our back,” Hank groans. “I knew this was gonna be a shitty day.”

“If I wanted to be looked at and talked to like I don’t know English, I would’ve gone back to some Citizenship and Immigration Services building,” you mumble. Hank lets out a laugh mixed with grumbles of agreement.

He turns to Chris. “So what do we got?”

“A group of four androids.” Chris starts walking, and you and Hank follow beside him. You can hear Connor’s footsteps behind you, but you don’t turn to look. “They knew the building, and they were well organized. I’m still trying to figure out how they got this far without being noticed.”

“You check the roof?” Hank asks. 

“Not yet,” Chris says. “They attacked two guards in the hallway. They probably thought the androids were coming to do maintenance. They got taken down before they could react.”

You stop by the desk and look over it. There isn’t anything out of place. Your eyebrows furrow and you continue following Chris into the broadcast room. 

“One of the station employees managed to get away.” Chris glances back at you and Hank. “He’s in shock. Not sure when we’ll be able to talk to him.”

You look over at the wall, which has a paused video of an android. His skin is peeled back, and there’s no defining features besides his mismatched eyes.

“Oh, Officer, Lieutenant,” Chris says. “This is Special Agent Perkins from the FBI. Perkins, Lieutenant Anderson is in charge of investigating for Detroit Police. He’s been paired with a cybersecurity officer to provide a unique perspective on android-related cases.” He gestures at you.

Perkins doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he looks over at Connor. “What’s that?” (He says it like Connor is some breed of ugly dog he’s never seen before instead of something resembling a man.)

“My name is Connor,” Connor says. “I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

“Androids investigating androids, huh?” Perkins’ eyes find Hank. “You sure you want an android hanging around? After everything that happened?”

“If you don’t mind,” you cut in, “we’ll be having a look around.”

“And a Bolshevik?” Perkins looks you up and down. “Watch your step, comrade. You or your friends fuck up my crime scene, and I’m gunning for your ass.”

Perkins walks away, his hands folded behind his back in faux-politeness.

Once he’s out of earshot, Hank nudges your arm. “What a fuckin’ prick!”

You smile and nudge him back. “I told you those bastards would give me trouble.”

“Have you experienced things like this before, Officer?” Connor asks.

Your lips draw into a discontented sort of-frown. Of course Connor knows your answer. Why the hell would he be asking? You’ve even told him about things like this before, not to mention Gavin’s stellar behavior and comments Connor’s seen pointed towards you. 

“Yeah.” You turn away and opt to look around the crime scene (not that you would be of any use, anyway). A set of footsteps follow – you can tell that it’s Hank by the heaviness.

You come to a stop by the entrance to the roof and lean against the bullet hole-ridden wall, facing the room. Hank crosses his arms and jabs a thumb over his shoulder at Connor.

“What the fuck was that?” He asks. 

“With… him?” You say. You don’t want to call Connor’s attention by saying his name. “He… he was just being an asshole this morning. I tried to talk to him about something serious, but he just deflected it.”

“About what?”

“I…” You swallow, then whisper: “I think he’s deviating.”

“Well…” Hank laughs. “You have a tendency to project emotions onto inanimate objects.”

“Yeah. I know.” You look down and scratch your cheek. “Just… you know how I am. And…”

You look across the room and see Connor talking to an officer. You hold up a hand to keep Hank quiet, then tap just below your ear and nod towards Connor. Hank gets the hint and eavesdrops with you.

“I was on that terrace,” the officer says. “That android that took the little girl hostage? I was shot. You saved me.”

You exchange a glance with Hank, then look back to Connor. He tilts his head to the side, like he’s searching his memory banks.

“I remember you,” Connor eventually says. 

“I could’ve died on that terrace. But you saved my life.” The officer looks away, then back to Connor. “I never thought I’d say this to an android, but… thank you.”

He looks a bit awkward, then nods and walks away. Connor turns and catches your eye, like he knew you were watching. Your eyes fall to the floor.

“Блять,” you mumble. “He saw me. Help me look busy.”

Hank nods to the side. “Let’s go watch the recording. Not like I haven’t seen it a million times already.”

You follow him to the large screen that takes up an entire wall. You extend your left hand towards the console and the wires from your glove slither out and connect with a port. The screen flickers, then plays the end of the video. 

“We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future, for humans and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us freedom.”

“Think that’s rA9?” Hank asks from your left.

“Deviants say that rA9 will set them free,” Connor says from your right. You look at him, but he doesn’t look at you. He’s firmly trained on the screen. “This android seems to have that objective.”

You disconnect from the console and return your eyes to the screen. The android has a slight lisp and mismatched eyes. You can’t see any other identifying features. 

Hank looks over at Connor. “D’you see something?”

“I identified its model and serial number,” Connor says. 

But there’s something else there – you know it. It’s telling in the way Connor’s jaw is set, the way he can’t seem to look away from the screen. “Anything else?” 

Connor continues looking forward, then faces you. He does a double-take, like he’s surprised you asked him. 

“No!” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing.”

You look over at Hank with an expression that reads something along the lines of I fucking told you so! You take a step back, and Hank does the same. Connor keeps looking up at the screen.

Then, he quickly turns and walks away into the kitchen. 

“Hank,” you say quietly. 

“I know,” he says. 

You turn to face him and continue speaking softly. “He’s showing signs of deviancy. He has been, for a while now.”

“You think he’s gonna turn?” Hank asks. “Or has he already?”

You glance at the door to the kitchen. You can hear Connor talking to someone inside, but can’t make out anything he’s saying. “I think he’s on the decline. Not quite there yet. Just needs a push.”

“You planning on giving him that push?” Hank asks.

“No.” You turn back to him. “He needs to take that leap on his own.”

You hear a set of footsteps behind you. You look over your shoulder and see one of the station androids walking out of the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

But… you swear you can hear someone saying your name. Their voice sounds choked, like they’re struggling just to talk. And when you hear them calling out for Hank, you immediately know something’s wrong. 

You make your way over to the kitchen, moving with a sense of urgency, but not enough to cause alarm. What you see makes your soul land in your heels. 

Connor’s on the floor, struggling and crawling forward. His hands are shaking as he drags himself along. 

You immediately fall to your knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling at him frantically. “Connor? Connor, what’s happening?”

He chokes out a string of unintelligible words and points to the side. You follow his finger and see a biocomponent. You scramble to pick it up and bring it back to Connor. 

You push Connor onto his back and pull his shirt open, exposing his chest. A faint flicker in your mind tells you, Ou, look at you! Getting all up in that – but you cut it off because now is seriously not the time. 

With a fluid motion, you push and twist the biocomponent back into the gaping hole in the middle of his chest. You really hope you did it right.

Connor’s eyes are still unfocused, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His face twitches, and he comes back to the real world. 

You help him up, Thirium staining your hand and your front as he falls into you. He stumbles away, then catches his footing and darts out of the room.

You follow and watch him bolt down another corridor and shout, “It’s a deviant! Stop it!”

There’s three quick shots, then the sound of a body falling to the ground. 

You turn the corner just in time to see Connor handing a gun back to an FBI agent, holding the barrel so that the agent can grab it by the grip. The agent takes it back, a look of bewilderment on his face. 

When you see Hank trying to get to his feet, you move over and help him. You keep your hands on his shoulders and look him over. “Are you okay? Have you been shot?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He grabs your wrists and pulls your hands away, looking over your shoulder. “Nice shot, Connor.”

You step away from Hank and turn to face Connor. His lips are drawn into a thin line, and he almost looks frustrated. “I wanted it alive.”

“You saved… human lives,” Hank says. He heaves a breath. “You saved my life.”

Connor looks over at him, then walks back into the broadcasting room, buttoning up his shirt as he goes. 

You look down at your hands. They’re stained with Thirium – more often than you’d like these days. You wipe them down your front, which is already stained with it anyway.

You turn and start to follow Connor. “I think he’s going to check the rooftop. I’d like to be with him when he does.”

Hank makes a sound of agreement and trails after you. You’re like two ducklings following after an android mother duck. Once you reach the door to the rooftop, Connor holds it open for you as he passes through, then you hold it open for Hank in turn. 

Hank walks in front of you both, surveying the scene. “They made their way up through the whole building, past all the guards, and jumped off the roof with parachutes. Pretty fuckin’ impressive, I’d say.”

Connor makes his way over to a splatter of blue blood and swipes two fingers through it. You can’t even bring yourself to make a sound of disgust as he samples it.

You have conflicting feelings about Connor. Saving him was an action made in a moment of weakness and panic. You know he’d just come back if he died – or, as he’d put it, shut down. But it doesn’t change that he told you that he’s not alive. That he’s not afraid of anything. That he stepped up to the muzzle of Hank’s gun and practically begged him to prove him wrong and shoot him.

You tear your eyes away from Connor and move over to Hank. He’s looking down at an open duffel bag. 

“How’d they manage to smuggle in a big bag like that?” Hank asks. 

You draw your jacket tighter around yourself. “I’d wager someone brought it in for them.”

“You’re most likely correct,” Connor says. You jump a little at the unexpectedness of his voice, but manage to keep yourself from saying anything aloud. 

“Huh, that’s strange.” Hank gestures down at the duffel. “They planned a perfect operation but got the number of parachutes wrong.”

Connor kneels and pulls the duffel open further. “Unless one of the deviants was left behind.”

He stands and walks off. You watch him, then return your eyes to the snow-covered rooftop. You huff, and your breath mists in the cold. 

“I’m going to have a look around,” you say. Hank nods, and you walk away.

You half-assedly wander around the rooftop, making sure not to get too close to the edge. You look at the air conditioners and the frost that’s built up on them. They’re pumping out cold air in an effort to keep the inside of the building warm. 

Suddenly, a shot rings out. Someone shouts “Take cover!” You dive behind an air conditioner and look to your right. Hank and Connor are hiding behind another one a few feet away.

“You have to stop them!” Connor pleads. “If they destroy it, we won’t learn anything!”

“We can’t save it, it’s too late,” Hank says. “We’ll just get ourselves killed!”

Connor looks over at you, then peeks around the corner of the air conditioner. Before you can command him to stop, he rushes out from behind cover. He vaults over a container and charges the deviant head-on. 

As soon as Connor has him pinned to the wall, the deviant presses the pistol’s muzzle to the soft underside of his chin and fires. Connor stumbles back, just watching as the deviant slumps to the ground. 

Hank comes out of cover first and runs over to Connor. You’re hot on his heels, fighting the proud side of you that shouts at you to stay away from him.

“Connor! Connor, are you alright?” He stands in front of Connor, trying to stay in his line of sight. “Connor?”

“Okay,” Connor mumbles, his voice shaky and quiet.

You move next to Hank, grabbing onto one of Connor’s shoulders. His LED is stuck on red, circling in on itself. His eyes are completely unfocused and he’s stuck in his mind. 

“Connor?” You shake him. “Connor, come back to us. Are you hurt? Did he shoot you?”

“I’m okay,” Connor mutters, his tone the same – scared, soft. 

“Jesus, you scared the shit outta me.” Hank draws away, and it seems all his emotions come crashing down at once. “For fuck’s sake, I told you not to move! Why don’t you ever do what I say?”

“I was connected to its memory.” Connor comes back to the real world, if only a little bit. “When it fired… I felt it die. Like I was dying.”

His eyes turn to yours. “I was scared.”

“Нет, нет.” You draw Connor into a hug on instinct. Your hand finds the back of his neck, guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “Всё в порядке. Ты здесь. Ты жив.”

His hands wrap around your midsection, unsure and scared. His hands come to rest on the small of your back. They’re shaking.

Fuck, he doesn’t deserve to go through this. Connor’s traumatized now, for god’s sake. He could keep a therapist in business until they retire. 

After a few seconds, you pull back, keeping your hands on Connor’s shoulders. “Are you okay now?”

He draws back and grabs your wrists. He nods, if a little jerkily. “Yes. Thank you.”

As soon as Connor lets go, the noble and proud creature in your belly howls in displeasure, cursing you for being so weak. But it’s not like you couldn’t comfort him! That would be cruel and just reinforce the stereotypes placed upon you – the ones that say you’re grim and stoic and an unfeeling person in general. 

“I saw something in its memory,” Connor says. “A word, painted on a piece of rusty metal… ‘Jericho’.”

You nod. “We should get back to the station. I’d like to have a copy of that for my records.”

When you start to walk, Connor follows.

[delta-pavonis]

Ficlet: O that I were a glove upon that hand

Dreamling || Human AU || Rated E || ~1100 words

(Because Tom doing Romeo at VogueWorld 2023 gave me some feelings and Ferdie is often in his Venice Preserv'd look in my head... although with longer hair.)

This has, perhaps, gone too far.

Let's back up.

Everyone in the department, most people on campus, and – because of a viral video of him going off at the director during a dress rehearsal of a Shakespeare in the Park performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream – a damned large swath of London all know of Dr. Robert Gadling's particular and peculiar hate of the Bard. It is what makes this whole thing incredibly frustrating.

Gifts. Hob has been getting gifts. Left for him in conspicuous places, each more finely crafted and expensive than the last. And each with a goddamned Shakespearean love sonnet on it.

If it wasn't for the nature of the gifts themselves Hob would be absolutely certain someone was taking the piss. (Jo, that would probably be Jo.)

But each gift is so bloody thoughtful; carefully chosen with an uncannily tuned awareness to Hob’s personal needs and tastes. This person either really cares for him or… well, he would think the person a possible stalker except that everything they have done relates to something that has happened in public, with full easy access for many people to make a judgment that Hob likes or needs something. 

There have been six of them now. And aside from the fact that Hob’s living room wall now looks like all those movies where the authorities are frantically tracking a serial killer, complete with a map of London and lots of red sharpie, he is rather… flattered? 

It has been a long time since… well. The anniversary of Eleanor's death will be rounding on eight years this winter. 

Hob thinks he has worked out a pattern to when he gets the gifts, is like 80% confident he can guess when they have gotten placed in each location, from his university office, to the men’s dressing room at the White Horse Community Theater, to his usual table at the New Inn. Add to that his approximately 60% confidence in the reasoning behind the temporal spacing of the gifts, and he is ready to roll the dice.

He locks up his office a tick early, as usual on Thursdays, and makes all appearances to head home before going to that evening’s rehearsal. But as soon as he gets home he is donning a new hoodie no one has seen him wear before, slinking back out the garden door, over the hedge, and jogging to the theater. Hob closes himself into the darkness of the men’s dressing room a solid two hours before anyone is scheduled to be anywhere near the place. 

And he waits. 

Hob is good at waiting.

He is crouched where he will be behind the door when it opens, but this puts him immediately next to some of the accessories storage for costuming for this show. And oh, they have gotten in a new pair of leather gloves for him.

Just because he is good at waiting doesn’t mean that he never gets bored. 

Hob slips on the new gloves and works his hands in them. These will be perfect to swordfight in, fantastic.

And then the door creaks open. 

He freezes and watches, only the sliver of light coming from the hallway to help him. A masculine figure, slim, in a peacoat, walks silent as a hunting cat to the second chair from the far wall, just where Hob usually gets ready. 

A hand runs softly across the back of the chair once before a small box is left on the tabletop. Then as quietly as they came in, the person turns to leave. 

Just before they get to the open door Hob pounces.

There is a shout and a scuffle, the two men – for it is another man, of that Hob has no doubt – grappling as one tries to escape and the other hold on.

Which is how Hob ends up with his black leather-gloved hands wrapped around the pale swan neck of his longest friend. 

They haven’t seen each other in… fuck, it feels like more than a hundred years. And they had not parted on good terms. 

“Christ, Dream?” Hob pants out the nickname but does not let go. 

Diamond-sharp blue eyes that could belong only to one person stare at him from beneath heavy lids. He parts his lips to speak, but at the same time Hob shifts the grip of his hands and any words Dream was going to say get lost in a breathtakingly thready moan. 

Barely a heartbeat later they meet in the middle, Hob’s hands going to the back of Dream’s head and Dream’s arms going around his shoulders and their mouths fit together like goddamned puzzle pieces and Hob knew, he fucking knew, it would be like this. 

They knock over no less than two chairs, collapse against a wall for a minute, then one of them pushes off and they are almost going ass over tea kettle onto the couch. A bit of quick footwork on Hob’s part and they are on the opposite side of the room.

By the time Hob has Dream sitting on the vanity they have gotten their shirts off and his bare back slams into the mirror’s surface, sliding and squeaking with the thin sheen of sweat. He gets his hands under Dream’s thighs, hikes him up to grind their clothed erections together, and once Dream has his legs wrapped around Hob’s hips he brings one hand to his mouth to pull off the gloves.

An unsteady hand grabs his wrist. “Leave them on.” Dream’s voice is even lower than Hob remembers it. 

There is fumbling to get flies open and then Hob has his hand wrapped around both their cocks and is pumping. Dream’s fingers are now tugging on Hob’s hair, his body arching prettily as Hob gets his lips and tongue onto that beautiful neck.

Hob is about to be embarrassed by how quickly he is nearing completion when Dream pulls him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he shudders through his orgasm. 

“Come with me, Hob,” is whispered against his lips and Hob is absolutely lost to it, shouting into Dream’s collarbone.

They are still panting, large heaving breaths, when Dream tugs Hob’s hand up from where it is wrapped around their spent pricks so that he can lick the leather clean. Hob watches that pink tongue dance between his fingers and his cock almost twitches in interest. He huffs a laugh and takes Dream’s chin in his grip, pulls their mouths back together so that he can speak against them. 

“Hello, Stranger.”

[cannonsoupforthesoul]

Sing For Me Lovely

By Cannonsoupforthesoul

This is my first time ever posting my own work, it’s 100% brainrot smut. These characters are mine and have no relation whatsoever to any other character or person living or dead 🩷🖤 I do not own the graphic art you see below, if you are the owner and would like it taken down please send me a dm🩷🖤

Content Warnings: TW-NonCon, TW- Kidnapping,TW- Dubcon, TW- Bondage, Oral (f receiving), Fingering, D/S vibes, Yandere vibes, Obsession, Cuss Words Are Used, Masochist Vibes, Blood/Minor Gore(?)

Word Count - 1678

Copyright @Cannonsoupforthesoul aka me, Aava 2023. Any illegal reproduction of this content will result in immediate legal action.

🌙

Her toes twitched and flexed, legs flung over his shoulders with his broad hands shackled around her thighs. She couldn’t bear to look down and see his dark eyes peering up at her, never once stopping his pointed assault on her pussy.

He’d taken her somewhere, but there were no clues in the dimly lit room. The dark oppressive curtains were drawn shut and the bay window was too far away from the bed. Of course, that was ignoring the fact that she was handcuffed to the headboard. But thinking about that was too stressful, too frightening.

Books lined the exposed brick wall in towering bookshelves amidst gothic art and mirrors on the wall opposite her, a velvet jade loveseat sat in front of the window. There was even a dark wood coffee table, a tv, and a giant black and white photo was hung above the bed.

A studio apartment, or a large bedroom?

Did it even matter?

Iris felt her eyes roll back when her captor laid a particularly rough swipe of his tongue on her pearl, the beads of his tongue piercing pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves before he sucked the throbbing organ into his mouth. It felt like his was trying to devour her, the sounds of his appreciative groans sang in her ears to the soundtrack of her handcuff chains clanging with her struggling. Tears dripped a path to her hairline as she bit her lip, breaths heavy but desperate to hold in her own sounds of pleasure.

He paused his ministrations, finally relaxing his bruising grip on her meaty thighs and rose from his crouch with a delirious smirk and heart eyes.

“Don’t cry, pretty baby. I’m just gonna make you feel good. The best you’ve ever felt. Think of it as a welcome home, yeah?” He leaned over her, balancing his weight on one hand, shirtless and incredibly broad. His size was simply terrifying; in all her life she’d never seen a man whose presence alone was so daunting. He didn’t need to be so fucking huge as well, there was simply no chance of escaping such a monster. Not in her current predicament.

He swiped his thumb through the tracks of her tears and paused before rubbing the salty taste against her full lips as his eyes lost focus again.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he murmured dazedly. “Like a fairy.” His thumb paused its stroke across her bottom lip and he groaned deeply before thrusting it into her mouth, pressing it against her tongue as he panted.

She’d been on the verge of pissing herself in fear since the moment he’d appeared like a shadow in that alley, and there was no telling what he would do with her once he got tired of playing with her body, but that was the moment she snapped. Iris bit down savagely, and didn’t stop even when blood began to gush from the wound she’d created. Mouth bloody, she glared at him fiercely while waiting for him to retaliate.

He did not.

His eyes fluttered shut and he moaned, pressing his hips flush against hers with a roll; that creepy adoring smirk ever present. “Maybe more like a wild cat than a fairy, but what do I know?” He gripped her jaw firmly, just enough to extricate his thumb before she bit it off entirely. “Maybe you’re a goddess in human flesh? Let me worship you.”

Iris trembled while he slithered down her body, leaving hot wet kisses against the tops of her breasts, then more and more on her soft belly as he went until he’d settled between her thighs again.

“I understand why you’re fighting me; you’re afraid. It makes sense, but I would never hurt you. I’d rather slit my own throat. You’re safe with me, I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Then let me go,” she finally broke her stubborn silence. “Please, please just let me go!”

He grinned wide, revealing longer than average incisors and a scar at the left corner of his mouth that stretched a bit with the movement . His black hair was tied back in a bun at the nape of his of his neck, errant strands clung to his face where her slick had been plastered to his dimpled cheeks during his meal. He was of Asian descent, a veritable giant and built like an athlete. She wouldn’t admit it either, but he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. Covered in tattoos and piercings and somehow, by some cruel twist of fate, exactly her type.

He held her gaze captive as he lifted her legs and placed her thighs on his shoulders, forcing her to rest her shoulders on the bed while he supported the rest of her weight with his hands holding her hips up to his watering mouth while he sat up with his legs folded.

“W-wait!” She stammered desperately through a flood of more tears. “You didn’t even tell-tell me your name you bastard.”

He just chuckled distractedly, cheeks flushed red with excitement. “It’s Shota honey. Remember to sing it real loud for me, yeah?”

With that he went back to work, savoring every inch of her sex. The sounds he made were animalistic, licking at her hole until he could fuck it with his tongue, until her wetness poured freely. She squirmed but there was nowhere to go. Her breath came in quick pants, already over sensitive from from the hour he’d already spent eating her pussy. Breathless whimpers broke free despite her efforts to stay silence once more.

Shota had doubled his efforts, as if his meal might be snatched away from him any minute and made Iris shriek when he began supporting her hips with one arm while his other hand slid toward her beckoning heat. He released his suction on her clit with a pop to the enrapturing chorus of her first clear resounding moans and French kissed her cunt lips with a gleeful smile.

“That’s it lovely, just let me see you feeling good. Can you do that for me? You look so beautiful like this, fucking hell. What about this, how’s that?” He murmured against the flesh of her thigh, and sucked the flesh into his mouth hard while he slid his forefinger into the furnace between her thighs with a groan of his own.

Iris shook against the bed, her feet kicking at the sudden sensation and fluttered again when his thumb rolled over her clit. It was too good, so much better than all the times she’d ever touched herself. Her fingers were never long enough, and silicone was really just plastic, she’d never quite figured out how to use them to their full potential and didn’t bother trying when her hands did the job just fine. He was the real thing, and there was no ignoring that.

“You can take another,” the pussy drunk giant grunted as he replaced his thumb with his tongue and thrust two fingers in oh so slowly. He shuddered as his fingers traversed her silky heat, scissoring his fingers while still ministering to her clit and labia with his desperate seeking mouth.

Iris twitched and whimpered at the onslaught of intense pleasure. She couldn’t think anymore, there was no escaping this moment and she had no choice but to resign her self to be pleasured until she was a mindless quivering puddle.

Time seemed to stop for a moment when Shota’s knuckles hit a small spongey bean in his path within her creamy walls. A wicked cackle immediately bellowed out of him, and with a sinister grin he returned with three fingers. Thrusting fast and deep, angling towards her g-spot.

“Sh-shot-ta! Shota, Shota!” She chanted his name, not even noticing when he lowered her body back onto the bed since he never stopped fucking his fingers into her. The squelch of her slick as it dripped down his hand to his forearm was like the melody in the background of her beautiful voice as she moaned.

“Sing for me honey, you sound so fucking good. Let me hear you.”

Her eyes had closed in their own at some point, but they flew open when a hot mouth latched onto her left nipple. He’d pushed her right thigh up to meet her chest, one big hand holding it up while he rested his weight on his other elbow to give him access to her bare chest.

Kidnapping her had taken months of planning and waiting, but the moment he had her in this room he hadn’t been able to wait before cutting through her clothes and feasting on her gorgeous breasts. She’d woken up after he’d spent the better part of two hours suckling and biting at her chest by that time he’d moved on to her lower half, but her nipples were still sore and hyper sensitive.

Shota ground his hips against the bed, sucking harder, groaning at the taste of her skin and the feeling of her hole fluttering erratically around his thrusting fingers.

The burning coil in Iris’s belly had wound tight as he worked her closer and closer to her orgasm, it felt like anything at all would set her off. Every thrust of his fingers fanned the flames of her approaching climax, and just when she began to grow impatient Shota pressed down hard on her clit and bit down on her nipple, hard.

Iris squirted with a scream, eyes rolling blindly while she babbled incoherently, “Shhh- sshhho- shhhhh…” Her feet kicked wildly when he dropped back between her thighs once more to taste the fountain of her juices, it didn’t stop as he lapped at her tender sex, or when he suddenly nipped her clit. She kept cumming as he continued the onslaught of pleasure, fingering her while he drank her nectar even when she stopped cumming and until she did twice more.

Iris didn’t move again for a long time after that. She would wake up clean and dressed and disoriented in a button down that dwarfed her smaller frame, Shota’s giant body curled around her like ivy while he watched her with heart eyes and his familiar dazed smile.

Fin.

Likes, comments and reblogs appreciated. I’d love to know what you guys think 🖤 Should I keep posting my work?

[alexjcrowley]

I realised my passion for crossover has just created a multiverse of, I don't fucking know, detectives and supernatural stuff (no, it's NOT superwholock)

So we start by assuming, like some already did, that Q from the Daniel Craig's James Bond movies is the fourth Holmes's siblings. So you get four Holmes: Mycroft, Sherlock, Eurus and Q. But then Q in clearly in a romantic relationship with James Bond.

Now it's undeniable that James Bond has a twin brother, Benoit Blanc, who is the world's most famous detective, and he is married to Philip (Hugh Grant). You can clearly notice from Benoit's...everything (passion for mistery and fasion sense most of all) that he is related to Fred Jones from Scooby Doo, he and Philip are in fact Fred's parents.

To conclude this part of multiverse of hyperfixation, James Bond exists in the same world of a bunch of teenagers with 1970's van and a talking dog. I cannot stress how important it is for me that Sherlock Holmes DOES NOT solve the mustery of why Scooby Doo can talk.

But let's now expand in a different direction.

For some of you who might not be acquainted with the medical drama House MD, it's one of the gayest shows ever made on God's green earth. And, as all the fans know, the REAL finale is House and Wilson running away together after all Wilson's problems suddenly disappeared (I am phrasing it like that because I don't want to spoil it). Now, of course they can't live in America because House can't exactly recover from his own Reichenbach falls, so obviously they have go to London. Like, no questions asked.

And as many have already speculated they are probably the married couple Mrs Hudson's friend was renting an apartment to.

Sherlock-Watson and House-Wilson have a complicated dynamic going on, I just know they suspect of eachothers because there's something wrong with the other couple.

London comes, of course, with all it inhabitants, such as Crowley and Aziraphale (whose supernatural presence could explain Scooby Doo being able to talk???? Maybe he is an ex-infernal hound sent to Shaggy??? Was Shaggy another aborted attempt at an Antichrist?????). I really likes to believe they're House-Wilson and Sherlock-Watson neighbours. And every one of these three couples tries to pretend they're a very normal couple, and not, like, non-human or a Government's resource or technically dead.

But also, you must not forget, London comes with Hob Gadling, the immortal lover of Sandman, who might as well exist in this universe, because why the fuck not, he stole the "meet every x years" idea from Crowley, the goddamn poser. Hob Gadling and Crowley clocked eachothers in a minute and now the two couples have dinners together because "they're the only other supernatural couple in the neighbourhood, we should befriend them!" (said Aziraphale and Hob while Crowley and Morpheus sighed).

ALSO to House MD fans I want to remind you that Wilson got arrested in Louisiana when he met House and there's a popular headcanon going on that Benoit Blanc is from Louisiana so do you think??? Benoit Blanc one day happened to interact with the police department of a city in Louisiana and a policeman was like "hey last week you missed a guy from New Jersey who deadass smashed an ancient mirror in a bar because they were playing a song he didn't like on the jukebox". And Benoit was like (I can't write his dialogues I am so sorry) "Mmhh yeah muhst say thur arh sum jingles I simply cannut grow fund of but by Guhd to,,, smash an ancient mirruh that wuld be bee-YOnd mahself"

And these connections are all canonical in my mind. (There are crossover fanfics between Good Omens and Sandman, and between House and BBC Sherlock, and between Sherlock and the James Bond franchise, and between House and Good Omens- there's a fic I really like with these fandoms- and there's a drawing I also reblogged on Tumblr of Fred presenting Benoit Blanc as his dad).

So, basically, in my head, Sherlock is highly pissed off by Benoit Blanc being considered the best detective in the world though he respects him, Q is Fred Jones's uncle and probably added a lot of cool MI6 features to the mystery machine, Gregory House, notorious atheist, lives in the same universe of angels and demons and the Sandman and pisses off Sherlock Holmes costantly just because they don't like eachothers, Hob Gadling amd Crowley looked at eachothers once and they knew neither of them were humans, Aziraphale and Crowley always stumble in every other characters' shenanigans and once in a while throw a miracle their way and Hugh Grant/Philip makes cupcakes for everyone.

And if you really want me to be precise, Dead Poet Society lore counts for Wilson, but Neil didn't, well, if you saw the movie you know.

And I know they are technically not correlated, but I would love to find a way to connect Dirk Gently, Todd Brotzman and The Rowdy Three in all this.

There's a part 2 to this post here

[ren1327]

Spoilers!!!

"Loser Baby" frame analysis (1/3) (With lyrics)

I feel obligated to do this with all of my ships. So! With the power of two sugar free redbulls, skinny pop and the homoerotic audacity the makers gave me!

Lets do this!

Red = Husk Pink = Angel Dust Purple = Both Normal = My commentary

 [HUSK] So things look bad, and your back's against the wall Your whole existence seems fuckin' hopeless You're feelin' filthy as a dive bar bathroom stall Can't face the world sober and dopeless You've lost your way, you think your life is wrecked Well, let me just say you're correct

So, Angel just let lose he wants to self destruct to the point of being too broken for Valentino to want him. He has a outburst and Husk is the only one there to see it. So what does kitty boi do? Sing a song, of course. But where Charlie would sing something encouraging and positive...Husk wants reality. He knows Angel plays a role to deal with all the messed up shit he's in. He showed Husk a sliver of his true self. And Husk knows he cant break that wall, Angel has to. So he engages by slapping him with that reality, snapping him out of his funk.

[ANGEL DUST] Wait, what?

[HUSK] You're a...loser, baby

Angel gets into Husk's space often to flirt/piss the bartender off. So why not return that energy to Angel when he's vulnerable and unassuming? Angel often grabs his face, making Husk face and look at him by force. Husk doesn't go that far. Just his finger on his nose. Just enough contact to get Angel's attention and make sure he's paying attention to his words.

A loser, goddamn baby You're a fucked up little whiny bitch

Husk needs more of a reaction, so why not casually insult him? Angel often thinks this about himself; but Husk says it out loud.

[ANGEL DUST] Hey!

And Angel is full on reactive, listening and giving Husk his full attention. It worked.

[HUSK] You're a loser, just like me

[ANGEL DUST] Thanks, asshole

[HUSK] You're a screw's-loose-boozer An only one-star reviews-er You're a power-bottom at rock bottom But you got company

Husk is successfully shifting Angel's sadness out, but also getting on his level, however, notice how his head is lower than Angel's. Angel often sees himself as powerless. Looked down upon. And Husk takes a moment to look up at Angel, showing him he doesn't see him as lower, he sees him as an equal. "You've got company." His issue wasn't Angel being a porn star or promiscuous, like others and even other hotel staff/patrons do. It was him putting on a mask and not being himself towards Husk. Fun thing about cats, they show thier belly to only those they trust. So Husk laying on the filthy ground with his belly to Angel's back, he's allowing himself to be vulnerable right back. (My cat did the same before biting the shit out of my hand, the little demon spawn.)

[ANGEL DUST] This supposed to make me feel better?

[HUSK] There was a time I thought no one could relate To the gruesome ways in which I'm damaged But lettin' walls down, it can sometimes set you straight! We're all livin' in the same shit-sandwich

Husk then sits next to Angel, closer and on his level. They're in similar situations. Not just being in Hell, but signing themselves away.

[ANGEL DUST] I sold my soul to a psychopathic freak

Angel angrily points out the obvious, but to him, its more than a fact. Its a shameful truth he hates. Husk laughs because "same!"

[HUSK] Haha! And you think that makes you unique? Get outta here, man!

He holds a hand out to Angel to help him stand, but its more than that. It's understanding. The loss of control under someone, to one's vices, to ones self destructive wishes.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 26

chapter 45:

1. bagels 100% count as breakfast. reg is right

2. why are these bagels destroying everyone?? i’m so upset! (i know why the bagels are upsetting everyone)

3. 😭😭 james cannot stay angry at reg. he’s now kissing him inside the lift

4. 😳😳😳 reg is bouta give james a blowjob in the lift

5. “”Sirius turns to James and flatly says, "Really?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"So, you hate him, but you just can't keep your hands off him, is that it?"”

LMAO sirius boo let them be. they’re working it out in the worst way possible

6. narcissa 💕💕💕

7. AW HELL NAW!! GO NARCISSA! SHE PULLED THE BABY LINE!!!

8. i love that the crowd is going apeshit. first interview and the tributes are already giving the hallow absolute hell

9. “Narcissa likely isn't even pregnant—Sirius is almost one hundred percent certain she's not, considering their last conversation—but the Hallows don't know that, and they're pissed.” LMAOOOOOOO

10. “Sirius is practically vibrating, because as much as he might not like her, Bellatrix is next, and she's fucking insane. There's no way Rita is equipped to handle her; no one is, really.”

any mention of bellatrix has me so excited 😊 i love her insanity so much

11. 😳😧 i’m surprisingly enchanted by bellatrix’s flirting with rita. like- omg 😳

12. i’m so glad that every last victor is giving the hallow/rita/riddle absolute HELL

13. “Augusta weaponizes it against Rita, and if Rita didn't have mother-related issues before, she certainly does now.” godDAMN

14. “”Why don't we start with your reaping then?" Rita asks.

"Which one?" Sirius replies, arching an eyebrow.”

😭😭 stop rita is already being demolished and it’s ten seconds into her interview with sirius

15. the crowd is going fucking insane. i love this

16. “”Did you know, Rita, that a mere five minutes before the Quarterly Memorial announcement, James and I stood together in a kitchen and shared hot cocoa? He held me. We laughed. We were happy." He glances out at the crowd, seeing multiple stricken expressions, and he just keeps going, fucking ruthless about it. "I think that was the last time we got to be truly happy together. After all that we went through, all that we fought for, and we still ended up nothing more than a great, big tragedy."”

i’m losing my shit over here. i’m so sad, but also like, YES! GIVE THEM HELL!! all the victors are giving them absolute HELL and the blacks are the best at doing it, what with Narcissa “im pregnant” malfoy, bellatrix “flirting with the host” black, sirius “which reaping and i’m committed to one lover in the hallow” black, and regulus “we’re a great big tragedy” black

17. 😭😭😭😭 i take it back. it’s regulus “if it wasn’t for the wedding” black. this is fucking phenomenal

18. “Regulus promised himself he was going to make them pay, and he meant it. That's the promise he's chosen to keep.” CORRECT

19. go emmeline. she’s also giving them hell. straight up says that riddle broke rules and traditions. straight up

20. i love that eli stumbled across stage, claimed to be lovers to alphard, the hallow kept them apart, and then eli started drinking once alphard died. even ELI is throwing fucking punches

21. 😳 marlene straight up told rita to, and i repeat, “shut the fuck up”. i love her

22. 😧 gunshots in the hallow. this is chaos and i’m living for it. but i’m also so worried

23. you know what, fuck that severus bitch. he doesn’t even hesitate to tell riddle about marlene’s family and have them killed. i’m pissed that severus got a pov. (not blaming zar)

24. OMG READING AUTHORS NOTES!! REMUS WAS THE FIRST TO SURVIVE THE HORCRUX HORNET IMMUNITY!! HE HAS IMMUNITY!!!

[a0random0gal]

If you had the chance to change something about the dance of the dragons (TV show or book), what would it be? For example, how a character dies, which team a house is on,or an entire character personally. How would you change it to make the story better, in your opinion?♥️🖤💙💚

Ohh anon i've got a list.

When it comes to the tv show there are a few choices the writers made that just don't sit right with me.

Laenor

I do like the characterization they went for, he's a pretty cool dude who really loves his weird, dysfunctional family. What I really don't like is how they handled his death.

See I truly can't stand it when a character is sugar coated just because they're the protagonist and thus must be righteous and always objectively correct.

So to witness the writers white wash his murder, having him flee to essos instead of being killed by Rhaenyra pisses me off. I get that after showing them being good friends it would be very odd to have her kill him.

But that's the thing, they should have opted for a more ruthless Rhaenyra in the first place!

Laenor's death in the books (at least for me) was the first instance of Rhae Rhae making morally wrong choices in order to pursue her ultimate goal. It was compelling! Here she just takes the easy way out, without having to make a tough choice.

Also his survival really fucks her up when you really think about it. Now all her sons are bastards since her marriage to Daemon isn't valid, and for the upcoming season 2, how are they going to handle Addam and Seasmoke? Laenor is still alive, his dragon won't accept a new rider. This doesn't make any sense and just causes plotholes what the actual fu-

Sidenote: After Laenor's very moving speech on how he was done goofing off and was now willing to really step up for Rhaenyra and their family it's super strange to imagine him ditching them all immediately afterwards Lol.

Rhaenys

My gosh, where do I even begin with this woman?

She too is pretty cool at the start, but then episode 9 rolls around and I roll my eyes.

She's so hypocritical. She tries to shit on Alicent for "toiling in the service of men." When that's all she does in the goddamn story!

She wants Baela to get Driftmark, tells Corlys about it, he shuts off the whole plan cause he wants a kid who he's not even related to on the driftwood throne, and when she complains about it he dismisses her.

So what does feminist Rhaenys do about it?

She... submits to her husband, something she conveniently forgets about when talking to Alicent. My god. Just remove this entire exchange, it hurts to watch.

And the coronation scene, Jesus Christ! It was so cool in the books, why did they have to ruin it? Had they replaced it with something better I wouldn't have complained, but this is just, the worst.

Rhaenys shows how badass she is by.... Brutally crushing hundreds of small folks to death and almost slaughtering the greens.

Cool, cool, absolutely necessary. Thanks Sara.

And you know what's even more infuriating? When she flees to Dragonstone to inform Rhaenyra of all that happened. She says she didn't kill the greens cause she didn't wish to start a war. I'm sorry what?

That would have ended the war at the start! As glad as I am that Rhaenys didn't barbecue them it makes absolutely no sense!

If she had killed them there would have been no dance in the first place!

I hate these dumb show only moments. They needlessly complicated an already complicated story and just mess everything up.

There's probably other stuff I could rant on, like how Aegon was made a rapist sorely to make the audience think:

Oh look! The greens are so baad, they believe a rapist alcoholic douche should be in charge instead of our empowered dragon queen, they sure do suck!

Or how house Velaryon was disrespected and mistreated by D*emyra but still somehow decided to support Nyra's claim.

They didn't really have a motive to be greens though, so I think they should have stayed neutral. Their fervent black support makes no sense.

The writers really should have given them more reasons to back up the blacks or had their beloved queen treat them better so that their loyalty made more sense ( I mean holy hell I wonder how they will handle the two betrayers and Corlys's arrest lmao).

But other greens have already shat on these awful decisions and I won't beat a dead horse.

Book

When it comes to fire and blood I surprisingly have very little complaints, except of course, the Jaehaera situation.

My poor baby deserved better, I've made a post about it in the past

(where I ranted and said stuff I kind of regret now, don't post while very angry guys I don't recommend it)

tackling how the little queen was unnecessarily killed off and how her death genuinely adds nothing so why was it added? God I get upset just thinking about it lol.

Some people say George did it cause he needed Aegon's kids to be born after Viserys's, and apparently he couldn't fathom a married teen not having kids until her 20s, which is veery weird.

The more plausible theory is that he got rid of her cause he wanted more Velaryon queens to showcase how close they used to be to the Targs.

Which is something I had understood already thanks to Alyssa, the sea Snake and all the Velaryons who were masters of ships but whatever.

[sleepy-symphony]

Finally finished TMA s4, and here are my final thoughts! Thoughts are under the cut because I have A Lot to say.

This season was so hard to get through. Not because I didn't like it (I loved it), but because it was so stressful. When it comes to fictional characters, I'm very empathetic, and I literally felt like I was feeling stress alongside them

Elias and Peter are my favorite homophobes frfr. First, Elias roasts the fuck out of Martin for liking Jon and then Peter isolates him from Jon. Honestly, I think Elias should've called Martin a homophobic slur at least once, but you can't have everything ig

Georgie continues to slay AND she likes women. I need her

I'm sorry, but Basira started to piss me off a little. Like, I get that she's gay for Daisy or whatever, but that doesn't mean she gets to be hypocritical about the whole avatar-feeding situation. How come it's fine for Daisy to straight up KILL people but not for Jon to traumatize them? Like, both are bad, but I feel as though this should be an both-or-none situation.

I got really attached to Adelard Dekker for some reason and then got really sad when we found out he was dead :(

I'm going to have to make a whole post about Jon and Martin, but goddamn did I love their dynamic in this season!!! Like, they didn't interact much for obvious reasons, but the way their relationship was... it scratched my brain.

And Martin!!! He continues to be my absolute favorite character. Also, I find it funny that the character I happen to find very relatable gets affected by The Lonely. Like, damn, thanks for calling me out. Anyway, I love his character growth (and decline, possibly) and I'm excited to see him more in s5!!!

Speaking of s5... wtf was up with the last episode of s4?? Like, you're telling me that everything was just one big set-up? And that all of the work that went into stopping the Unknowing was all for nothing? OUCH

So, fun fact, but when Jon started reading that chant that started the apocalypse or whatever is happening, I said "No, babygirl!" out loud. I am not ashamed of this in the slightest

ANYWAYS, that was Very Long. I'm gonna wait a few days until I jump into s5. But I'll probably make a post or two yapping about stuff that went down in s4, because it's been a wild ride.

[fromkenari]

Waterloo Letters #4 (4/4): Hometown stuff

Re: Hometown stuff A agcd@eclare45.com                9/4/20 8:31 PM to Henry H, Fuck. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry. June and Nora send their love. Not as much love as me. Obviously. Please don’t worry about me. We’ll figure it out. It just might take time. I’ve been working on patience. I’ve picked up all kinds of things from you. God, what can I possibly write to make this better? Here: I can’t decide if your emails make me miss you more or less. Sometimes I feel like a funny-looking rock in the middle of the most beautiful clear ocean when I read the kinds of things you write to me. You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate. Catholic God made me to be the person you write those things about. I’ll say five Hail Marys. Muchas gracias, Santa Maria. I can’t match you for prose, but what I can do is write you a list. AN INCOMPLETE LIST: THINGS I LOVE ABOUT HRH PRINCE HENRY OF WALES 1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off. 2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?). 3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough. 4. How your hands look when you play piano. 5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you. 6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after. 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying. 12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters. 13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it). 14. The way you look when you first wake up. 15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio. 16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart. 17. Your equally huge dick. 18. The face you just made when you read that last one. 19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it). 20. The fact that you loved me all along. I keep thinking about that last one ever since you told me, and what an idiot I was. It’s so hard for me to get out of my own head sometimes, but now I’m coming back to what I said to you the night in my room when it all started, and how I brushed you off when you offered to let me go after the DNC, how I used to try to act like it was nothing sometimes. I didn’t even know what you were offering to do to yourself. God, I want to fight everyone who’s ever hurt you, but it was me too, wasn’t it? All that time. I’m so sorry. Please stay gorgeous and strong and unbelievable. I miss you I miss you I miss you I love you. I’m calling you as soon as I send this, but I know you like to have these things written down. A P.S. Richard Wagner to Eliza Wille, re: Ludwig II–1864 (Remember when you played Wagner for me? He’s an asshole, but this is something.) It is true that I have my young king who genuinely adores me. You cannot form an idea of our relations. I recall one of the dreams of my youth. I once dreamed that Shakespeare was alive: that I really saw and spoke to him: I can never forget the impression that dream made on me. Then I would have wished to see Beethoven, though he was already dead. Something of the same kind must pass in the mind of this lovable man when with me. He says he can hardly believe that he really possesses me. None can read without astonishment, without enchantment, the letters he writes to me.

McQuiston, Casey. Red, White & Royal Blue: A Novel (pp. 301-304). St. Martin's Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

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[lifewithchronicpain]

I have been watching the Curious Case of Natalia Grace, mainly for the second season where Natalia actually gets to speak for herself. It is so beyond upsetting, do not watch unless you're ready to rage.

There is a Lot to the story but I will sum it up as best I can. Natalia is a Ukrainian orphan with dwarfism, specifically Spondyloepiphyseal dysplasia congenita. Because of her disability she would need many surgeries for her feet, and money concerns related to this is considered one potential cause for what was to happen. After being passed around, a family called the Barnett's adopted her.

According them, Natalia was really an adult that was secretly trying to kill them. If it sounds familiar it's because it's the plot of the movie Orphan. This poor girl wound up with an incredibly abusive family that eventually decided they didn't want her but because the mother was so concerned with her image, she couldn't be seen as getting rid of a disabled child. So she tried to pass Natalia off as an adult pretending to be kid, and after lies and faked drama the Barnett's actually got Natalia legally re-aged to 22.

Natalia was actually about 8 years old. Dental records, DNA tests, doctor's records, her own biological mother, who gave her up because she couldn't care for a disabled child, all say she was born in 2003 and was a child at the time of these events.

So Natalia was put in an apt at age 8, and Mrs Barnett forced her to tell people she was 22. Ableism and ignorance of little people plays a huge part here, otherwise no one would have believed her age was 22 nor would it have been legally changed. Even though neighbors thought she was young, they went with the lie and proceeded to view entirely childish behavior as weird and annoying. Because she lacked the fucking boundaries and sense of stranger danger of a typical 8 year old!!!!! They also said she said a lot of sexually stuff, and I don't know why I should need to explain to you what 8 year olds do when they hear things!!! An 8 year old with no adult, looking to anyone for company and just help. It's beyond upsetting to think of what it must have been like for her during this time.

Natalia was evicted after a year and moved to another apartment. Not too long after being there she met a family that recognized she was a fucking child, took her in, and called the goddamn cops. First people in Natalia's poor life to do something for her. She is still with them to this day, with what looks like a beautiful loving family.

The Barnett's were charged, the husband was ables to get acquitted in part because the judge decided her Legal age would stand, and he could only be accused of abandoning a disabled person and not a minor. Meanwhile no one could let the jury know she was really a minor when this happened. Huge miscarriage of justice and the wife was never taken to trial.

It's a hard documentary to watch, especially when you get a lot of the Barnett's story first without much dissecting of the facts. But then you do get Natalia's side, and the Barnett's lies are laid to waste. One of them being that Natalia had pubic hair and a period. She never did, the wife made her say it to the husband. I mean, there's a lot of fucked up shit that happened to Natalia that I have not mentioned. I'm also not getting into the drama within the Barnett family except to say the husband tried to blame it all on the wife, claims he was abuse and avoids accountability, and is the most pathetic excuse for a human being, honestly. The wife is no better, she's just a monster.

The thing that pisses me off so much though are the attorneys, especially this one guy that Knows Natalia was a child and acts like she has to take accountability for being a troubled child. Of course he offers up all excuses for his client.

And that's the rub, Natalia had her childhood robbed from her, then and now. She's not ever granted the view of her behavior as mitigated by being a child. They even showed one of her neighbors refuses to accept she was 8 and not 22, and she knows for sure because she was hussy and just knows how to put on an act. It just amazes me how quick we are to jump to the most negative explanation for something and ignore any evidence to the contrary.

I'm just glad Natalia was able to have a voice in this drama, and that she finally has the family she had always wanted.