#but the corporate speak and the rationalization of it????

[upwardsdescensum]

can't argue with that ,terrifyingly

[forsworned]

JINX! YOU OWE ME A SODA! ft. KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK

Author's note: Because Kyle does not get enough love and I really wanted to write for him and the little interactions between the 141 :)

Tags: Sexual Content, Masturbation, AFAB!Reader, Brainrot convos amongst 141 men, Team Building and Banter w/141

It's breakfast time in the mess hall and Kyle is navigating to the usual spot that the 141 hangs out in. Clandestine, blue rusty bench right against the large panel windows, with a clear view of the crisp evergreens and wildflowers stretching out in the horizon. A peaceful outlook for a proper meal and some banter.

"Brekkie for a champ." Johnny winks up at him, noshing on his breakfast burrito.

Kyle chuckles as he takes his assigned-unassigned seat next to the friendly Scotsman and they start chatting about last night's fútbol game. It is followed by Simon sliding his tray, seating himself opposite Johnny with a quiet clatter as he attempts to slip his large body onto the bench. And then it's Price coming from behind him, jostling the skull-masked behemoth to scare him, but it's lost on Simon because he's just giving him an uninterested stare that causes the table to shake with laughter.

And you? You're sitting there from the outside, munching on your home fries with a pang of envy at their camaraderie. Never really having a taste of it as you sit alone most days unless you're on the go, rushing to a mission and you're sharing a ration bar with whatever squad they stick you in. But let's face it, no one really wants to be around you.

Jinx.

That was your nickname. Luckless, star-crossed with death, always skulking closely in your shadow.

Your reputation presided over you. Seven squads KIA, and you were the only one to survive them every single time.

So, it's no wonder you're a lone wolf in a mess hall full of lively, rowdy soldiers.

"Why don't we sit here?" A new recruit inquires to their Sergeant.

Their superior takes one glance at you before giving you a tight-lipped smile, "Actually, I just remembered Corporal Dunn (s/o to my mans) needs us back in his office, so let's just have lunch there, yeah?"

The rookie's wide, naive eyes peer over at you and they wordlessly nod at their CO and you don't even bother to see if they've glanced over their shoulders, whispering to one another about you.

"...seven...?!"

"Keep your voice down, soldier..."

"...sorry."

But somebody seems to have their sights set on you and your sharp, feline-like eyes are on the Sergeant tables away, tucked away into a corner and he can't help but jump a little as he's downing his morning brew.

And suddenly he's snorting it up and his teammates are throwing jests his way.

"Keep y'er coffee in y'er mouth, dammit!" Johnny bellows as he erupts into laughter, patting his back.

And there's something inaudible said by Kyle and you're studying the way his pretty, plump lips move.

"'s that Sergeant over there."

And suddenly four Brits are shamelessly turning your way and you're not tearing your gaze away from them as you're scoffing down your scrambled eggs.

"Heard she's lost seven squads, only one to make it out alive." Simon speaks in a nonchalant tone, popping a piece of celery into his mouth before his face contorts into something that resembles disgust.

A "Bloody hell, that's disgusting." is drowned out by the continued conversation between the three of them about your unfortunate rep.

"'s not the lass's fault." Price adds, leaning back a little to crack his spine. "Oh, yeah, tha's the stuff." A satisfied groan leaves his lips as he rests his elbows on the table, listening in on the little shred of gossip.

This time, it's between Johnny and Simon as Kyle zones them out and his honey eyes are training back on you. A frisson runs up his spinal column when he realizes your gaze never strayed. Like a cat, you're fixating on him, wagging your tail, not yet ready to strike just simply observing with a piquing interest.

And then the subject changes when Simon decides to make a jab at how Johnny's overgrown mohawk resembles a porcupine and he's chuckling to himself as the Scot gets riled up. Kyle thinks that one last glance won't hurt, but you're gone. Not even a trace of maybe some crumbs left from your English muffin. He's intrigued to say the least.

Kyle is spending his days in search of you. You're like an apparition that only gets spotted on odd days of the week at unsuspecting time frames, nestled snugly into unfrequented areas on base. He's trying hard to remember the way your hair looks, your lips, the curve of your nose but all that's burned into his memory is your pointed gaze burring holes into his vision.

He stays up late when he catches a glimpse of you in the armory as he's passing by it, in deep conversation with his Captain about how Koala bears do indeed have chlamydia. And he's backstepping to gaze through the window, but you're gone and he's starting to think that maybe you are a ghost.

How stealthy and lithe your body must have to be under that black, compression tee and those tight, tight tactical pants...

And he's fisting away at his dick, half frustrated and half aroused by the allure of your mystique. Little black cat, thumping her tail against the concrete with enigmatic, hypnotizing eyes that entrance him.

"Fuck!" And he's spilling all over his sheets, taut, heaving abdomen, and humiliatingly enough, right on his chin. He dabs at the cum that's dripping on his face and then gazes over the opulent arousal, before throwing his head back and groaning.

Why was you being such a quandary turning him into a fucking pillock?

"...Kyle...Kyle!" Price's hasty voice rips into his stupor, slinging him back into reality.

"Goddammit, Kyle, ya missed th' shot..." Price clicks his tongue, shaking his head under his gilly suit as he makes up for his mistake. "Are ya soft in’t head or summat?"

"No, sir." Kyle mumbles, embarrassed at the fact that his Captain is cleaning up after him.

"He's gey glaikit" Johnny pokes over the comms.

"English, MacTavish." Simon presses the Scotsman.

"He's fuckin' dazed." Johnny quips. "Fuckin' cunt."

And then there's a collective laughter amongst the four soldiers and Kyle can breathe again, the memory of you tossed into the backlogs of his mind as he's back in the fray.

But then it's 2am on the base, and he can't sleep so he's in the kitchen trying to whip up some Pinterest drink,

"Angel's milk?" He scrunches his brows at his phone screen as it casts a blue shadow over his flummoxed features.

He shrugs his shoulders as he squeezes the bottle of honey into the bottom of his mug, followed by a generous amount of milk, and then he pops it into the microwave for a minute and a half. He leans against the kitchen island and lets out a sharp exhale.

"You were supposed to add vanilla."

He practically feels his skeleton jump out of his skin at the voice, but he can't lie about the fact that he was more than elated to see who was standing beside him.

Hell's fuckin' bells, as Johnny would say.

She was standing beside him, arms crossed, hair in a cutesy haphazard manner, dark circles carved under your eyes, dressed in a little pink striped VS lounge set. And fuck, you smell so good. Like warm vanilla, candied almonds, and maybe coffee? It is difficult to say because he is too flustered by your abrupt appearance.

Your presence and how striking you were up close as you were far away, breathing, existing right next to him.

"Bloody hell, you scared the shite outta me." He swallows thickly, and for the first time, he sees the corners of your lips gracefully turning up into a smile. And oh man, it's making his dick twitch pretty violently in his blue-white tartan pajama bottoms.

"Did I?" Not bothering to hide the satisfaction in your voice nor your expression.

"Ya did, indeed."

And the tension is so palpable. His eyes are skimming over the exposed skin of your thighs, from the fresh baby pink manicure on your nails to your shiny, lacquered lips. You were a sight for sore eyes.

Thump, thump, thump.

He can practically hear your metaphorical tail thudding against the kitchen tiles right now.

The beeping of the microwave rips through the suspense and he pushes himself off the counter to retrieve his heated mug. Opening the utensil drawer to pull out a spoon to stir the little concoction, but his brows are raising when you reach over to squeeze two drops of vanilla extract into his drink.

"Tryna poison me, are ya?" He teases, peering over at you. You have a mischievous glint in your eye as you put the cap back on and carefully tuck it away into the cabinet for later use.

"Don't need to."

"Why's that?"

But you've already turned away, walking back to wherever you came from, hips swaying in your satin pajama shorts that outline every curve of your sweet body.

"Because you'd already be dead by now if it were up to me." You state over your shoulder and then you disappear into the abysmal hallway.

And then he's back in his room again, tightly coiling his hand around his slippery cock that's soaking with his own saliva and maybe a little bit of lube. Same shit, different night, though, this time he was blessed with an addition to his hyperactive imagination.

This time he's thinking about how you would look bouncing on his cock, smiling down at him with your hands around his neck. Pretty, shimmering lips parting as those sharp eyes drift to the back of your head and--

"Shiiiiiiiit."

He's shamelessly cumming all over the hardwood floor of his room, milking out his semen as it comes out in steady ropes and he is heaving. He feels how his cock is convulsing in his hand and he lets out a winded breath before tossing himself against his mattress with heavy eyelids. He goes to bed wondering how worn out he'd be if he ever got his hands on you.

"Oi, Johnny, how many bloody times d'ya need me to tell ya? Pick up y'r fuckin boxers after ya've had y'r shower, ya daft twat!" Simon's roaring echoed through the hallways of the base, shaking up the new recruits but just another day to passing soldiers who had been there for longer.

Price and Kyle merely observe the pair from the sofa in their living room as Johnny's form peeks out to an irate Simon who is standing in the doorway to the shared washroom. Johnny is nonchalantly drying off his mohawk that's now touching the nape of his neck as he peers at the rubber ducky boxers pinched between Simon's fingers.

"Why, ye get frightened over a pair o' kecks?" Johnny is totally poking the bear that is Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and Kyle and Price have to stifle their laughter. But truly this was better than reality TV, so they let it go on.

Simon merely blinks down at the impish grin on Johnny's face.

"You fuckin'..." Simon begins to say.

"No, you are fucking YOU ARE FUCKING!" Johnny boasts out and there is a twinkle in his eye and the two are at it.

"Fuck YOU BLOODY BASTARD BITCH!" Simon plays along as he starts shouting back at Johnny and that just riles him up like the giddy puppy he is, continuing the brainrotting bit. Add that to the laundry list of things that's already on the post-mission 141 routine.

And then there's a rapping at the door that cuts off the laughter and the ridiculous comedy skit that Johnny and Simon are playing out.

"I'll get it." Kyle volunteers getting up from the couch to peer through the peephole, but he feels a lump in his throat at the sight.

"What is it, Kyle?" Price asks in a hushed tone. He must've seen the way the Sergeant visibly stiffened.

"It's her." Kyle emphasizes in a way that lets on a little more than he's willing to admit.

"The lassie from the other day?" Johnny pipes up, suddenly very intrigued.

There's a chorused 'Shh!' at Johnny, who's baby blue eyes widen a bit as a small smile appears on his face.

"A'right, sheesh."

The room is quiet for a brief moment before Kyle just decides to bite the bullet and jingle the door open. And there you are, dressed monochrome as hell, like a second skin in your normal attire. Long-sleeve, slate-grey henley fitting snugly around your upper extremities while the black cargos are hugging tightly around your thighs, but is falling baggy below the knee.

He shifts his weight against the doorframe, supping up your every feature, pretending like he isn't falling apart on the inside at your mere presence.

"Can we help you?" He asks, coolly.

Smooth, Kyle. Smooth.

You narrow your eyes at him. "Actually, yes." You mimic the way he folds his arms across his chest before you take a deep breath.

"Laswell sent me over."

Price enters your line of sight, pressing his palm at the base of the casing, and peers down at you with a cocked brow.

"Laswell, you say?"

You shamelessly size up the Captain, not caring how your eyes are lingering a little longer than they should on him and his Sergeant. The pair cock an amused brow at your behavior before you shift on your other foot.

"Yeah, she said you could use my expertise, I suppose." You shrugged indifferently. Whether they choose to bring you on board wasn't really a huge concern of yours. By now, you were sure that they knew of your reputation, so if they took a chance on you right now, you'd be more than elated to join their elite task force even for just one mission. A huge part of you was itching to get back in the field, and honestly, you had a feeling that these men were a lot more resilient and capable of handling themselves enough to not get killed in the line of duty.

Price turns around to Johnny and Simon who approach from behind and they all share a look before peering down at you

"Let's get to work then, yeah?"

It is laborious work withholding himself from not jumping over the table and biting the flirty Scotsman's head off when he sees the way he was making you giggle. Using his boyish charm to woo you as he puts his arm around the back of the sofa to show you just how easy it is to hack into Russian portal sites to access any organized terrorist emails, threads, or private chats on any relevant intel they could muster up.

Making dirty hacker jokes like, "Ye got an access point fer me?"

To which Price shoots Johnny a knowing 'down boy' look and, of course, he just gives him a coy smile in response. It's infuriating.

So instead of simmering like a twat, he gets up to make himself a cup of coffee. And if it weren't for the smell of candied almonds and vanilla drowning into his senses, he would've never felt your presence standing beside him.

"Ya followin' me or are ya actually after a brew?" His eyes fall on you as he moves to lean against the counter and sip at his coffee.

"Make me one?" You ask with a reticent smile.

He swears he can feel the lump in his throat expanding as his pretty honey eyes flicker to you. He licks his dry lips before casting you a half grin and sets aside his mug. Kyle is a gentleman. He would never deny a lady's request. If the lady wants a coffee, then she will get a coffee.

He wordlessly prepares the machine once again, popping in the K-cup, letting it run until the mug is full and offers it to her. She sweetly thanks him and even her voice is enough to get a little rise out of him, but not long enough before he watches her hand the fucking brew to Johnny. Fingers tighten around the handle of the ceramic, but before it can crack a gloved skeleton hand reaches over his own and puts it down for him.

"Don' let tha' twat get to you." Simon's gruff voice cuts into the Sergeant's head. "He's jus' takin' a piss on ya."

They both glance over at the two who are back to being friendly, kicking their feet up before returning to their respective roles. But Johnny flickers his gaze to the hard stare he's feeling on him and gives them a cheeky wink and grin, toasting his mug to him before sipping at it. Kyle scowls at him.

"A Twat, he is."

The day of the mission is like any other day, but your scent is literally driving him into a maniacal state as he's adjusting the laces on his leather boots. This time it's reminiscent of musky prickly pears, and figs that are infused with your natural scent, and it's making him break a sweat.

But he snaps himself back into his domain. He spurns any invitation from you to sidetrack him when he's prepping. Humiliating himself in front of his Captain the last go around certainly exceeds the threshold of mortification he could handle. Add you into the mix and it's a recipe for disaster.

It was a simple enough objective. They were conducting a training exercise. A sweep and search to detect and disarm IEDs that were at a high risk to civilians inhabiting the south side of London without alarming the public. You were specifically instructed to wear concealed weapons, plain clothes, and a cigarette or two to blend in, but damn. Your ass looks so good in those low-rise jeans and the henley that's unbuttoned a little too far down...

Focus, Kyle.

"Mission like this is elementary for someone like you, innit?" Price breaks the silence, as he adjusts the gun in his holster. His brows raise at you as he chews on some cinnamon gum.

You playfully scoff, "Didn't make it this far to die on a simple sweep and search."

"Awe, don't look too doonfaced that ye haven't been sent on a real mission yet." Johnny ribs winking at you.

That earns a little chuckle from the gentlemen around you except for Simon. He's gazing out the window in a far-flung daze, and you bump your knee into him. His dark eyes flicker to you and he bumps your knee back in acknowledgement. Just black cat things.

Surprisingly that doesn't wrack Kyle's nerves. Instead, it just brings a smile to his face. Being aware of your status within the base made the small interactions you shared with them all the more charming. The skittish black cat in you began to emerge from the alleyway, hesitant to be petted but still willing to brush her tail against their calves.

Cute.

"Mate, if you take any longer, 'm gonna blow myself up for fun."

"Oh, feck off."

Playful banter is exchanged between Simon and Johnny, as they work in pairs to disarm the 'bombs' scattered throughout the city while remaining undercover. Thankfully, the five of you were out of earshot from any residents because you'd all have a field day with that one and something tells you that Price doesn't exactly have the patience for that kind of thing.

"Suprised you're not complaining." Kyle speaks up as he surveys you to cut the last wire to neutralize the threat. The grass is dewy, and there's a hum of cars passing on the slick streets as civilians shuffle past, huddled in coats.

"Nice work, [name]." Price praises, seeing that you completed your task. You cast a smile his way.

"Thanks, Cap."

And he's moving back to Johnny and Simon who are too preoccupied with one another to see that their Captain is a bit disgruntled with their lack of urgency.

"They're such knuckleheads." You chuckle to yourself.

Kyle glances over at the three who are now bickering over something that was now completely unrelated to the task. His smile grows.

"That they are."

"So, do I pass or what?" You stood up straight, glancing over at your Captain. He gives you a good-natured grin.

"Don't get too cocky now. It's still an op, y' know?"

You nod your head. He was right about that. It still was an active operation that could flip at any moment. Intrusive thoughts flood your mind and you feel frozen.

"Hey," You feel a grounding hand on your shoulder. You glance up to see Kyle warmly smiling down at you. "You'll be alright. We'll be alright."

Price feels pride wash over him as he looks at his Sergeant and then back at you as he folds his arms over his chest. "This isn't like any team you've ever been on before."

"I've heard the stories." You mimic your Captain's gesture. "barely hangin' off a heli and still managing to rush the enemy? Impressive."

"Upside down at that." Price claps Kyle's shoulder, causing him to become bashful at his Captain's words.

Your Captain averts his gaze to Johnny and Simon, who are on their last disarming. "Are you lot finished, yet?"

He goes on to berate the two who were taking a wee bit too long for his liking, leaving the both of you alone. Kyle awkwardly shifts his weight as he hovers his hand over his gun.

Your gaze is intense on him, not even bothering to pick up any conversation. He can practically see your tail twirling, feeling at ease with his presence while he feels himself gnawing away at his insides to say anything.

He takes a breath. "You're a lot calmer than I thought."

You shrug. "Well, when you've outlasted seven crews, what's eight?"

"Yeah, about that," You both pause for a moment, observing as a throng of pedestrians treks on the sidewalk just a few yards away, but they disappear behind the buildings unaware of your militant presence. "you wanna tell me why you're the only one who's made it out?"

You narrow your eyes at him. He is right to be suspicious, but you didn't feel like being scrutinized for the nth time. You were proven innocent in every situation, but something lingers in the back of your mind that makes you feel guilty every time. The memories of your missions have gone south, the sharp sting of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you dodge ricocheting bullets. But you shake the thoughts away. "Another time, maybe. Don't wanna jinx it, do we now?"

Kyle grins at that. His honey eyes fixate on you, searching your expression for anything that will give way to what you're really thinking.

Before either of you can say more, Price's voice cuts through the air. "Enough chit-chat. We've got one more to disarm and I want it done before anyone catches wind of what we're up to."

The tension between you dissolves as a new one accumulates in your shoulders as you refocus on the task and approach the final IED. You begin to feel the reality of the situation hit you when you realize everything could go insanely wrong. The public may be unaware, but the consequences of failure are all too real. Your consequences, your failure.

Price gestures for you to take the lead on this one, after all, you're the one he's really examining. You don't realize it, but he has full belief in your abilities. He's read your file and he knows damn well what you're capable of. You're under the scrutiny of your teammates, but one shoulder squeeze from your Cap gives you the morale boost to drop to one knee and begin your work.

Upon investigating the device, you realize it's like the other devices and you feel yourself relax a little. Kyle is at your side, and trepidation seeps into your fingers as they cruise over the wires.

"Blue or red?" he asks.

You don't even skip a beat. "Blue." you reply, trusting your instincts. "On my count."

Kyle readies himself with his wire cutters. "One. Two. Three."

You both carefully snip the wires, and for a moment it feels like the world stops. Your eyes watch as the device powers down, neutralizing the threat.

"That's it." you breathe out, feeling relief wash over you as allow your shoulders to relax.

Price steps forward, and claps you both on the back. "Good work, Wisp, both of you. Civvies are starting to get curious around here."

Wisp?

"Yeah, Wisp! Tha's a good one, Cap!" Johnny cheers, holding out his hands to give you a double high five. You giggle at the unexpected enthusiasm, but you high-five him back and intertwined your fingers together and he does a mini jig.

"Did a fine job." Simon politely nods, respecting your space, unlike his idiotic, cutesy counterpart.

Kyle clicks his tongue but is grinning otherwise at your success. The Scotsman can flirt all day with you, but he knows there is some brimming between you two. It was simply a game of cat and mouse at this point.

Wisp.

As you gather your gear, a lingering sense of impending doom still skulks in the back of your mind. You feel an itch under the skin where your past scars have healed over, but it's duller than usual. Pushing it to the back of your mind, you fall into step with Kyle feeling as though something has shifted in your dynamic with everyone.

In that crucial moment, Kyle trusted you. They all trusted you. It lingers in your mind, a question left unasked.

Kyle nudges, catching your gaze. His smile stretches beautifully across his face. "Guess we make a good team don't we, Wisp?"

Wisp.

You can't help but return the smile, feeling the butterflies settle in your stomach. You feel reborn. "Guess we do."

As you walk away from the site, blending back into the hustle and bustle of the city, you can't help but wonder what your next mission will bring. Whether the tension that is rising between Kyle and you will go unspoken. For now, you'll allow yourself to savor your victory. You've come out of it unscathed. They came out of it unscathed. As awful as it was, that's more than what you could ever say about your last teammates.

And as the rain falls softly around you, you feel like the hell you've endured is somehow worth it.

[marzipanandminutiae]

speaking of the Radium Girls...god, that story is enough to make a conspiracy theorist out of one, if one's not careful to remain levelheaded and make judgments based on reliable, peer-reviewed science

because like. yeah, corporations DO cover up the health dangers of their products for years on end. that's like a known thing they're quite fond of doing

heavy-metal dyes. radium. tobacco products. PFAs. the indoor tanning industry is STILL trying to argue that tanning beds don't give you cancer- I've read newspaper articles theorizing a link between UV and melanoma as far back as the 1940s, though I'm not sure the lack of coverage was corporation-related since tanning beds didn't exist yet and big holiday resorts had other draws besides sunbathing

I'm not going to go full "5G IS SATAN!!" or anything. the evidence of that, to my mind, is lacking; the evidence against it substantial (also some chucklefucks are selling definitely radioactive "anti 5G devices" so uh. that makes it pretty clear which the rational side is in that debate)

but you have to wonder- what could it be right now, without us knowing? what's the next radium?

[statementlou]

i feel like i can talk to you about this because you have rational opinions. so louis bought a starbucks coffee at the airport and the fandom on twitter are eating him alive, calling him evil and wishing he goes to hell. i’m disappointed since starbucks is on the list of brands to boycott but i feel like this reaction is too much? someone even said jay would be disappointed in him, but people said that was taking it too far. i don’t know, i love louis and i’ll keep supporting him and his music but the fact he can be a careless millionaire is disappointing

1. thank you sweetie I would boop if I could 2. oh my god it's a fucking cup of coffee and if people think that's the worst thing Louis, a multi millionaire, has ever done financially they need a reality check! His money will be handled by bankers who are putting it into all kinds of evil fucking shit that he won't even know about, it's actually very hard to know or control that and there is no way trying is even on his radar. That's a passive thing and not on purpose; but the fact that people don't bother to know about that or care really speaks to how performative this kind of online approach to activism is, that they only care about image rather than effect (the effect of his investments would be easily thousands of times more than any number of coffees or even of the promotion Starbucks might get from him holding it.) But furthermore buckle in cause you hit a nerve: Starbucks isn't even an actual organized boycott target as concerns Palestine because THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ISRAELI GOVERNMENT financially! The official BDS movement calls for boycott of very specific and pointed targets of which Starbucks IS NOT ONE it's literally just an online trend which is not the same as an actual boycott to materially impact a target! Losing them money is always great, they are a crappy union busting small business killing corporation, but it has zero direct effect to help Palestinians unlike supporting the meaningful boycotts called for by BDS. I don't think Louis has decided to buy starbucks because he has this analysis, but to me it's a pretty important point. Him crossing an actual picket line (playing Israel, playing Eurovision [lmaoooo that thought tho], waving an Israeli flag god forbid) would be a very different situation and something that would trouble me so the distinction matters to me. But I get that to people on twitter, that's what they feel like he has done. To which I would say...

There are so many fewer ways to help Palestine than we would wish, and it's SO hard to deal with feeling so powerless right now in the face of such horror, so I love that people feel so strongly about doing whatever they possibly can. But worrying about consumer spending, even on BDS targets, is perhaps the least effective of the things a person can do. Note that BDS boycotts do not mostly focus on asking people not to buy things; they list the products that are especially complicit, but the main work of the movement is to get large investors (corporations, public institutions, whole governments) to divest from the companies targeted because that actually hurts them enough that it becomes less profitable to continue to collude with Israel than to drop them as clients. Consumer spending is not enough to do this. It's easy and doesn't require doing actual work but it's basically virtue signaling, not organizing. Just NOT doing something (yes including voting) is not enough! I personally choose not to give my money to certain corporations because it feels bad to me and I can't stomach doing it, even if they never notice me doing it. But if I was running out of fuel and the only nearby station was a Chevron, I would spend a few bucks there and not beat myself up about it because it will have zero impact on their overall profit reports but a LOT of impact on my life. And if I was in the airport for the second time in mere days after circumnavigating the globe and playing a massive show and doing press and fan service before even having time to adjust time zones and about to get on another flight to another country I might buy a fucking coffee from whatever coffee shop was in there too! But Louis isn't me and I'm gonna be real honest I would be real surprised if he KNEW there was a boycott or gave a shit- he is not a political activist! It's reasonable to be disappointed if someone behaves not how you want them to, but just in general responding to being disappointed in people by lashing out at them is... not it. Not useful, not rational, and not actually an okay way to act to other people. Louis is an awesome sweet caring person who I believe tries hard not to have a negative impact on anyone directly and who cares very much about others; if that's not enough for someone to be a fan of him, okay then they should not be a fan of him! But warning: they're not going to be able to be a fan of anyone else either. No one is pure and perfect... maybe that energy would be better spent trying to make a meaningful difference in the world, and a great first step in that IMO is to recognize and challenge your inner cop. The better world I want to live in doesn't include policing other people, not on twitter and not anywhere.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!! I was just wondering if you knew of any fics similar to In Love We Rise by AJ_Constantine, like in the sense that they're slowly exploring and figuring each other out, like eventually progressing up to kissing and then, y'know, but in a fluffy kind of way? Im not sure if that makes any sense tho but thank you anyway! (P.s. i love this blog so much, you people are actually amazing at this! I hope you all have a lovely day/night :])

Hi! You might be interested in our #developing relationship tag for fics along these lines. Here are some more for you...

Love and Lust in Mesopotamia by The_Bentley (E)

Living among humans means sampling their activities, including the sexual ones. There's only one problem. Crawly isn't interested in women, but he is in Aziraphale, who is attracted to him in return. If Crawly agrees, Aziraphale would like to show him that physical affection can exist between two beings who are presenting as the same gender.

It's Getting Hard, This Holding Back by ZehWulf (T)

6,000-odd years is a long time to evolve a romantic relationship, but as a near-immortal being, Crowley had patience. True, they had lost momentum right around reaching the Speaking Looks and Meaningful Gestures stage, but at the time Crowley had been more or less content to let things idle. Now, he was determined to shift things back into gear, and that gear was Explicitly Romantic Physical Expressions of Affection.

Resonance by Macx (T)

They had been friends for six millennia. They had been on their side. There had only been their side. Of course, they had never known it until it was all supposed to end. They had stood against their respective sides, had been hurt, had suffered, had felt desperation, fear and terror. Now it was suddenly over and both Crowley and Aziraphale have to deal with the consequences. Not just those of Up Yours and Down There. They have come a long way at a very slow pace. They have come so much further in just within day. And they were still going incredibly fast, changing, evolving, becoming something that might be part of the Ineffable Plan...

The professor, the old crush, the new love by AccroV (E)

Aziraphale Fell is an english literature professor who freaks out when he discovers that his new colleague is his ex best-friend and crush from high school : the one and only Anthony Crowley. They didn't talk for years after one night in high school. What can happen now ? An AU with : high school memories, awkward flirting and lot of good feelings

Chemistry by Twilightcitysky (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley have been living among humans for 6000 years, but there have always been parts of the human experience they've chosen to avoid (like allergies, head colds, and having to use the loo). They've also never let hormones get in the way of making rational decisions, because they didn't have any hormones to speak of. That's all about to change.

Introduction to Touch by sheendav (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley survive the Not-Pocalypse and profess their love for one another, but Aziraphale has tremendous anxiety about pursuing a physical relationship with Crowley. He genuinely wishes to move forward, but past fears surrounding touch, intimacy and body image are prohibiting him from acting on what his heart (and corporation) really want. Crowley is ready to go as slowly and carefully as needed to be there for his Angel as they pursue their new "Arrangement" step by careful, sweet step.

And the one you mentioned...

In Love We Rise by AJ_Constantine (E)

Ever since the thwarted apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley have gradually expanded the boundaries of their relationship. Aziraphale has delighted in slow progression of lingering touches, tender embraces and chaste kisses. He enjoys the demon's company more than ever, but one evening he finds himself in an odd sort of mood, nettlesome and heartsore, and declines Crowley's offer to take him out to dinner. He figures that once he has a good sulk in the privacy of his bookshop, he'll get over it. Crowley decides that won't do, and drags the recalcitrant angel out on a mysterious mission, which ends up taking them on a path that neither of them expects it to.

- Mod D

[three-penguins-in-a-trench-coat]

What happened to Morris after the collapse of Pelican Town's Joja Mart?

In the main storyline of Stardew Valley, after you complete all of the Community Centre bundles, Morris "is never seen in Stardew Valley again." But what happened to him.

A part of me would like to think that he had to face the angry Chief Executives and explain to them how he managed to not only lose the profits of an entire town, but as to why he let the Pelican Town Joja Mart fall into disrepair? Perhaps he was fired on the spot, and spent the rest of his days bouncing from job to job, wallowing in sadness. He mopes and drinks, works a shitty 9-5 for an investment firm, and sees no future for himself. People take pity, until they hear him speak and work out what a greed-driven creature he is.

More likely, Joja Corp absorbs the losses, Morris is moved to manage a new location and on a server file buried somewhere in the goliath that is Joja Corp, the Pelican Town Joja Mart is crossed off, and a tag put up that says reinstating a Joja Mart would not increase profits. Morris, angry and hell-bent on revenge, climbs up the corporate ladder until he reaches a position where he is so powerful he has the authority to make executive decisions.

Perhaps one day, he orders that all shipments of goods sent out into the area are ceased immediately. And not just Joja. Through a series of shell corporations, bribery and in one in instance completely absorbing the multi-million business into Joja's fold, he is completely able to stop anything from making it to Pelican Town. No construction materials, no food, no help. When you have as much money as Joja does, it's not that hard to cut off phone lines and internet service if you know the right government officials. Within a week, the entire road is blocked off. All contact with the town is ceased. It essentially disappears from maps. Morris has gone mad with power, and he's used it to seek revenge on those who bested him once before.

The people of Stardew are forced into a siege. With supplies dwindling, they begin panicking. One day, as the rations begin to dwindle, and some people have begun debating whether making the trip to civilisation is worth it, a letter arrives. It's delivered by a bright blue helicopter, and the letter itself is dropped from the cockpit, inside of a metal box.

It read:

For the people of Stardew Valley, Accept Joja once more into your lives, and you will find your struggles perish. We will send another messenger in a weeks time to hear your response, and we wish that you make the right decision.

Morris

Most of the townspeople were adamant that they held out, Pierre especially. They all met in the Community Centre to discuss options. Pierre and Robin were quite vocal about their opinions of Joja, and tried to reason with everyone that their lives were still better without them. Others however, saw no other option. Jodi and Kent had Vincent to think about, and Lewis saw that the town may fall into disrepair. They talked late into the evening, but no decision was made.

At midnight, after a successful 17 hour fishing trip, the Farmer traipses in, backpack full to the brim with fresh fish. They were on the way home, but got distracted by the sound of voices in the community centre and sought to investigate. They hadn't even noticed that the road had been blocked, as they hadn't actually walked through the town in months, thanks to the teleportation obelisks they had installed.

"Why don't... I just supply the town with everything you need?" They said simply. Everyone looked at them with a bit of confusion. "Look, I got all this shit lyin around doing nothing, and I haven't actually used my farm for any agriculture in awhile, but I could convert my ancient fruit masses into planting room for anything you need. I got plenty of livestock, as does Marnie, and I've got enough construction material lying around to make a city. I could probably have us set with everything we need for... say, the next 20 years?"

And so it happened. When a deliveryman turned up on the empty road, they chose to deny a response to Morris, who promptly kept the roads closed. And life moved on. It was harder from then on out, without any outside support, but they persevered. Instead of having the town raze itself to the ground, as Morris intended, they thrived. With no connection to the outside world, the town became closer, with more festivals and community events. Who needs an economy if everyone's working together in a closed community? Everyone is welcome to contribute on the farm now, and a surplus of food is created, including all the artisan goods that are better than just meat and vegetables.

A solar farm for the town was created to keep the lights on, but most other devices were eventually discarded (Elliot chose to only use candles for dramatic effect). Willy's boat occasionally made trips to other towns along the coast for essential items they couldn't produce themselves, but with the looming threat of the Gotoro Empire invading, and the notion that Joja is always watching, trips became more infrequent.

Morris thought he had won. He assumed all the people of Pelican Town had either fled on foot, or kept their pride and stayed in the husk of the town as scavengers. He never bothered to check on the thriving community, safe from the dangers of the Gotoro Empire and corporate greed.

Joja is always watching, but perhaps not close enough.

UH HOLY SHIT IF YOU READ ALL THAT MY BAD I THINK I WENT A LITTLE OVERBOAD. WELP THANKS FOR READIN MY CRACKPOST

[atlafan]

“You’re acting like that meme of Jamie Lee Curtis where she’s aggressively drinking that water and telling someone off at the same time.” Layna groaned at her boyfriend who finally stopped glaring at his phone to look up at her.

“I have absolutely no idea what that is.”

“Yes you do, I’ve sent it to you before!” Layna takes her own phone out and shows him after searching it quickly on Google.

“Ohhhhh.” He smirks. “Right, now I remember. It’s usually you who looks like that when you’re about to brawl with someone.”

“Now that you’ve calmed down, can we think about what just happened rationally?”

“No, and I will try to call customer service again.” He holds his phone up to his ear.

“Your ass is not on the phone!”

“I’m listening to a voicemail!”

“Okay, Mr. Corporate.” She rolls her eyes.

“Just because I was promoted at the gym, does not make me a corporate meow meow asshole. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for to be upset about this.”

“I’m just going to go in and see if we can book a new reservation with my credit card. The room is technically available..”

“Not until I get to the bottom of this.”

“There’s nothing to get to the bottom of.” She groaned.

“The bottom is gaping. This is a job for the FBI.”

“Who are you, Kris Jenner?”

“Ew, no.” He grimaces. “She’s insane, why would you say that?”

“Because you just said…ugh! Why can’t you know the same references that I do?”

“I’m so sorry that I haven’t spent hours upon hours watching E! I’ll try to rectify that at some point. Now, let me do what I need to do.” He taps a few things on his phone and then presses it to his ear. “This is why I hate credit cards, cash is so much easier.”

Layna pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She reached into his pocket for the paper confirmation Harry had brought with them so they could check into their hotel with ease. He has wanted to plan a long weekend for them, so he booked everything with his name and his credit cards. When you check into a hotel, you need to show the card you used to reserve the room. The woman said the cards didn’t match. When Harry tried again, the app for his card put a lock on his account. So now they’re out on the curb trying to figure it out.

As Layna scans the paper she furrows her brows, then reaches into Harry’s pocket again for his wallet. He pays her no mind while he speaks with another representative from the card’s customer service line. She takes out the credit card he used to reserve the booking and realizes that Harry inverted the expiration date, and wrote Harry Edwerd Styles, instead of Harry Edward Styles. Two simple mistakes that the woman behind the counter could have been nicer about helping with instead of just turning them away.

“Harry…hang up the phone, baby. I figured out what happened.”

“Yeah?” He hangs up the phone. He was on hold so who cares?

“Um…I don’t want you to feel embarrassed because I’ve made mistakes like this before too, but it appears that you inverted the expiration date on your card…and spelled your middle name wrong…”

“I did?!” He snatches the card and the paper and scans them both. “I’m not seeing it.”

“Can I point to them?” She asks gently and he nods. She shows him the expiration on the card and then points to what’s on the paper. “See, the expiration is 06/29, you put 09/26…and you spelled Edward with two E’s…”

“Oh.” His cheeks redden, obviously very embarrassed by his blunder. “I should have had you look at it before I submitted…”

“It happens! I’ve done with my security code and my exportation date before. I think if we go back in, we could explain it better. And then see if that snotty lady will be cooler about the mistake.”

“This is so embarrassing.” He groans.

“I know it feels that way right now, but I promise, I’m not judging. I know your dyslexia flares up more when you’re stressed and reading all the fine print for a hotel reservation can be really daunting.” She wraps her arms around his neck and pecks his nose. “The sooner we go inside and fix the reservation, the sooner we can go to our room and I can help you forget alllll about this.”

“Might have times where I think of it randomly and I feel embarrassed all over again.” He grips her hips, squeezing them.

“Then I guess wherever we are you’ll just need to pull me aside and use me until you forget again.”

No Complaints Blurb

[avelera]

Thinking about the lovely “New Inn Through the Ages” post by @virgo-dream in terms of alternatives to the popular “Hob built the New Inn for Dream after the missed 1989 meeting” headcanon.

- Quick disclaimer, this headcanon always mildly (and irrationally, this is fandom after all) irked me because to my pedantic, archaeology-obsessed ass, the New Inn was obviously visually at least 200 years old just based on the brick work so “built” never really worked, at most Hob could have purchased or renovated it if it was in response to 1989. To some that’s splitting hairs but what can I say, I never pretended to be rational about dumb history stuff.

- THAT SAID, it would be kind of interesting if Hob does own the New Inn but not necessarily since 1989, but even earlier. It could even be interesting for him to have built the New Inn in truth but back in the 1700s when the building was actually built.

- Hob appears not just comfortable at the White Horse in its 1889 but at the very least a regular. He recognizes Lou on sight and names her immediately, he knows her nickname at the establishment. This familiarity doesn’t track if this is his first time at the White Horse since 1789.

- After 1689, Hob appears to have opted to buy out a private room for them for their discussion, perhaps in response to his return in fortunes but also perhaps based on the memory of being nearly thrown out in 1689 and interrupted by Shaxberd in 1589. The guy is learning how to better manage their encounters. So it stands to reason that after they were interrupted by Constantine in 1789 as a result of her paying off the proprietor, that Hob would simply buy out the inn for 1889.

- Hob owning the White Horse in 1889 actually rather tracks with his familiarity with Lushing Lou and the fact that he’s so at ease there and clearly arrived well before Dream. He speaks to Lou with authority and is dressed with signs of at least middle class prosperity. Being the owner of the White Horse tracks with that level of prosperity shown, nothing flashy, after all it’s in a bad part of town these days.

- Thing is, Hob has a mind for business as we see in numerous instances at the centennial meetings. As a result, to me, it wholly tracks that he wouldn’t stop at buying the White Horse, he’d also purchase a few neighboring taverns and inns once he got a hang of the business. (Consolidation of neighborhood pubs under mega corporation ownership in the 1990s is its own interesting side note on this because again, I’m a history nerd.) The New Inn is presented as so close to the White Horse that a graffiti arrow is enough to point it out. That’s very close indeed.

- SO, I think from this it’s reasonable to say that Hob could very well have owned the New Inn as part of one of his business ventures since the 19th century or earlier, perhaps even as a result of the 1789 meeting and “Finding another pub”, perhaps even building the New Inn then in truth either before or after the meeting as an alternative in case another lunatic Constantine shows up. It’s so close by he might have hoped he could persuade Dream with its proximity.

- Right then, if that’s true, why can’t Hob save the White Horse?

- Perhaps after 1889 he simply sold his ownership stake in it. Heartbroken and angry at himself, especially if he’d provided all these contingencies like the New Inn in case of interruptions or other disasters, he might have just felt as much like a fool as in 1589 when he tried to provide a fine meal. Probably best to just give up and stop trying to control matters, since look where that got him.

- So he sells the White Horse. But the other inns don’t have the same emotional stake and business is business, so he sets those up with a “family trust” to keep running, lending the building out to different managers, etc. and simply carries on.

- Cue his look of devastation in 1989 upon learning the White Horse is going to shut down. If he once owned it, it might be a particular gut punch to know he could have prevented this if he hadn’t let his bitterness get the better of him. Despite his best efforts, he can’t prevent it from being condemned.

- LUCKILY he still had his own business interests nearby in the form of those pubs he built or bought centuries ago. He dusts off his paperwork around the New Inn and reassumes direct management (or at least, his nephew does in a few years). The 1789 “nearby pub” contingency might just pay off in the 21st century, who knows? And it worked!

And there you have it. My take on how Hob could have built the New Inn starting from its actual original construction. Very fun to consider too when you check out Virgo’s post and discover that a Mr. Hobert did indeed own it at one point ;)

[skellymom]

"Silent But Deadly"

The FIRST Bad Batch Comedy One Shot in the ONE SHIT SERIES!

Background: A stinky stench "rustles up" controversy.

Word Count: 780 words

Warning: Farts, fiery crop dusting, stinky humor, swearing.

The Bad Batch landed on Anaxis at the meeting point with the 212th for a special mission. Hunter led the way and greeted Commander Cody who introduced them to Rex. 

Cody’s clone troopers loaded onto their flying transport first with The Batch filing in after them. The door slid closed as the ship ascended on its journey to Skako Minor. All was quiet as each soldier stared ahead, contemplating the scope of this mission...until... 

...Hunter suddenly started with a coughing fit. 

“You ok, Sergeant?” Cody concerned, watched Hunter thump his chest with a closed fist, struggling to articulate his issue. 

“Uh...cough...be...ok...” 

Then the ruckus began. Cody and Rex watched as each Reg in the 212th violently protested one by one. Falling out of formation like a line of dominoes. 

“WHAT THE KRIFF!?” 

“Smells like a Rancor crapped in here!” 

“What died???” 

“I’m gonna die!” 

“Who shit themselves???” 

One trooper even tried to put his helmet on to avoid the fumes...to find the horrendous smell was trapped in with him, “GAAAAH!” 

It wafted up to Cody and Rex who grimaced and gagged. 

Every Reg in the 212th angrily glared back at The Batch. 

Hunter, ever the gentleman and a leader, tried to take the blame. “Uh, sorry Lads...huh, gag...too many rations for...gag...breakfast.” He exhaled, fanning himself. 

An angry Reg spoke up, “NO! I think it was the big guy!!! No way Sergeant Super Smeller did that!!!” 

Everyone stared at Wrecker. 

“WHAAAT???” Wrecker clearly had NO clue what was going on...as his sense of smell was deader than a Drydak. 

Another Reg threw in his guess. “Yeah! The other two look like their asses are so tight you’d hear a SQUEAK!!!” 

Tech’s head shot up from his data pad and gazed over alarmed at the Reg who was speaking with authority about HIS anatomy. 

“ENOUGH!!!” Cody bellowed. Everyone immediately straightened up to full attention. “Corporal, open the bay door and air it out!” 

Rex, speechless, put his hand over his nose. 

Tech quietly glanced at Crosshair. There was a satisfied look on Cross’ face with just a hint of a grin. Cross gave Tech the side eye. Tech glared back at Crosshair with his best dignified, “YOU ASSHOLE” expression. Cross just chewed on his toothpick. He was clearly VERY pleased with himself. 

Hunter leaned into Crosshair and whispered. “Do it again and I’m personally throwing your ass off this ship.” 

“Mhm...Almost worth it.” He snarked back arrogantly. 

Even though quiet and still standing at attention, it was clear the 212th Regs were fuming during the rest of the ride to Skako Minor. 

Finally landing sometime later, the men filed out of the ship with several of the Regs body checking Wrecker as they walked past. 

“HEY!” Wrecker protested. 

“Get out of my way you STINKY BEAST!” 

“YEAH, were you trying to gas us out back there!!!” 

“THAT’S IT! Tech, gimme your repair torch!!!” Wrecker had enough of this BS. 

Tech protested “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this situation...” 

Wrecker yanked the torch off Tech’s utility belt and turned towards the two Regs. 

“For the record...I’M NOT QUIET!” His voice rising.  

“What are you going on about STINKY???” The Reg stood his ground sneering. 

Wrecker wasn’t going to let this go. “You know what I like to do???” 

Both Regs stood there looking at Wrecker, then glanced at each other, then back at Wrecker and just shrugged. 

“I LIKE TO BLOW THINGS UP!!!” Wrecker shouted. With that he turned around, bent over, engaged the torch and squeezed out a LOUD fart that sounded like a TUBA BLAST. It ignited like a flame thrower, shooting out a jet of fire from his bum. The blast rolled over both Regs where they stood. Two high pitched Wilhelm screams were heard as both Regs took off running...their heads smoldering. 

Wrecker laughed like a maniac...and handed the torch back to Tech. 

Tech embarrassedly cleared his throat. “Uh...I assume those soldiers will need medical assistance...” 

Rex turned to Cody mortified. “THESE are the guys that are supposed to help us find ECHO???” 

“Yep...” Cody deadpanned. 

***************************************** 

Later, after Kix had medically treated the Regs, Cody marched them over to Wrecker to apologize. Both men were noticeably missing two things: Dignity and their eyebrows. 

Wrecker couldn’t help himself. “Whattsamatter? You BOTH look so...SURPRISED!” 

The rest of the 212th erupted in hysterical laughter. From then on NOBODY picked on Wrecker and he was the regiment favorite. 

Crosshair sat nearby on a boulder watching all the action go down. 

Hunter strolled up to Crosshair and kicked his boot. “You know this is all your fault, right?” 

Cross pulled out a fresh toothpick, inserting it into his mouth. 

“Hmmm...and enjoying EVERY minute of it.” 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

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To read #2 in this series:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/740278235151106049/bombs-away?source=share

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Lol.

Yeah… the more news that comes out just confirms more of what I thought. This unnamed character who moves from HYBE to ADOR, and mere weeks later, HYBE gets a ‘tip-off’ and all the incriminating documents are in his work diaries where he narrates things MHJ has supposedly said, including that she believes that Bang establishing BTS or groups with the same cache as BTS, was him copying her…. Everything that’s found in his documents is almost clinically incendiary lmao. Like, weapons-grade rage bait. Partly because of how bizarre it is. And the sinker - they tie it to Min Heejin supposedly wanting more money. MHJ has meanwhile released another, stronger statement refuting the allegations about trying to stage a management takeover, or artists contract leaks etc.

Of course, the discourse about this is going to develop predictably, especially after the mention of BTS and other groups MHJ supposedly says copied her.

This has all the makings of one thing and only one thing, to me. It doesn’t change my opinion about Bang PD but it does make me revise my view on Min Heejin, she’s a bit more naive than I assumed her to be. I feel a bit sorry for her, because she’s been got. Again. It’s similar to the ig situation that also started with ‘a gift’ her ‘friend from SM’ gave her to congratulate her on launching ADOR - a gift that ended up being the most damning controversy that almost sunk the group. A controversy where the primary demand was for her to leave NewJeans and HYBE. Now, a ‘right-hand man’ transfers from HQ to her team and it’s his uncorroborated narrations that match what’s in the ‘tip-off’… the demands are the same.

I like MHJ, but I’ve always watched her with caution because in Korea, no woman makes it to the c-suite without making a shit tonne of enemies. Imagine it to be triple the amount a regular working class man makes on his way up the ladder, because that kind of status in Korea is something you’re either born into, or born close to. It’s rare for working class men to work their way up and even more rare for women. In fact, I’d say it’s an aberration.

I see all the flack MHJ gets for being a narcissistic bitch, wanting to constantly assert ownership of her ideas, wanting to be widely associated with her successful projects, etc. I see people irritated by her arrogance, but full disclosure, I like her for it. For several reasons, but one reason is that in her environment, the default is to let your male superiors take credit for your work. It happens in corporate environments all over the world, but in Korea it’s a mentality entrenched in the DNA. Pushing against that earns you enemies every time you speak, by default. But I suspect that’s how she worked her way up from being a graphic designer to having a seat on the board of directors at SM Entertainment before leaving when they wouldn’t give her more autonomy. So, in my eyes, she’s got spunk. But also, now I see she’s clumsy.

Oftentimes with corporate drama, there’s no point using moral language because it’s just business. You either pitched the best deal or you didn’t. You either fucked up or you didn’t. It’s cold numbers and rationality - business. But… there are some cases where it’s not really about the business, cases where it’s personal.

I don’t have meaningful insider information, I’m reading the press releases and ‘leaks’ along with everyone else, so I can’t be certain and that’s why I’m talking in this long-winded ramble without coming right out to say exactly what I think. What I’ll say though is that this is less about NewJeans and more about Min Heejin. And she’s the first person who should’ve understood that and taken necessary precautions.

Clearly, it doesn’t look like she has, and in that sense she has no one but herself to blame. She’s being stupid, in fact I’d say delusional in some ways, but I guess some things can’t be helped. NewJeans isn’t exactly fucked, but it’s clear that yet again, they are collateral damage. And it’s a shame.

[tteokdoroki]

OCTOBER 15TH. CRUELLA DE VIL

“i live for fur, i worship fur. after all, is there a woman in all this wretched world who doesn't?.”

♱ — shouto todoroki + fearplay.

♱ — synopsis; cruella de vil cruella de vil… if he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will. a man of shouto todoroki’s calibre finds amusement in torturing the one thing he might love more than spots… his favourite little hybrid, his most prized possession…you.

♱ —length; 5.9K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, mentions of smoking, cigarette burns, dry humping, shoe humping, stockholm syndrome, orgasm control, fear play, power play, clothed sex, blowjobs, oral sex ( m!receiving ), humiliation, edging, pictures, spit!kink, fem!reader, hybrid!reader, cruella de vil!todoroki. not beta read !

♱ — notes; beep boop !! happy sinister saturday my angels, this week we have one of my faves, cruella de vil 'n shou so i hope you enjoy!! i'm so excited to share this one with you <3 - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

there is always work to be done when achieving perfectionism

discipline and obedience were two very important lessons shouto todoroki had learned early on in life.

though raised with a silver spoon perched between his perfect lips— the man, like any other who has walked this earth, has had his fair share of struggles too. enji todoroki was a man who believed in perfectionism…only achieved by hard work. discipline. obedience.

his father was unrelenting in making sure shouto knew what those words meant, raised up to take over the family business out of the three other siblings in his brood. he was neglected and unloved— but taught lessons on how to manage, make money, to speak when spoken to and listen when required to. shouto was malleable, easily trained back then, worked hard to please his father and all the companies to the family name until his light broke. until he’d had enough.

with uniquely split peppermint hair he’d managed to escape into the shadows with a sum of hush money as though not to spill the evil secrets of his upbringing— shouto had kept his lessons of obedience and discipline in mind. the money he would use as a start up, rationed into portions for rent, food and materials for the clothes he’d designed. someday hoping to make a man out of himself, and sell them to the world. 

todoroki wanted to be seen by people, for his designs to reach and touch the hearts of people across the country and maybe even the world— but to do so he had to be obedient, taking an entry level job at a department store that sold high fashion ( of course under a different name…the name cruella, shouto would start from the bottom and make his own way up— he wouldn’t be attached to the cruelty of his childhood ). names of dior, gucci and valentino… burberry, celine, christopher wang flashed in front of his mismatched eyes over tills on a daily basis— pearls and diamonds he’d never seen or heard of were favoured among customers in the store. he aspired to be like them, become a household name. 

to be recognised for his efforts in the world of fashion he would have to work hard, make his way up the ranks to afford furs and chiffons for the goes he had designed—stacked up on napkins and parchment paper, whatever he can find, discarded around his shitty little one bed studio. todoroki sells his first piece into a winter collection after months of cold calling and door knocking towards big owners of major stores.

success, comes with discipline, feigning obedience.

and shouto todoroki knows that he’s finally made it when the calls come flooding into his quiet, dingy london apartment looking for hints in whether or not he’s designed a spring collection.

of course he had, years in advance. 

and that brings us to today, where there’s corporate buildings across the world with his alias spelled out in big red and white letters across the front, filled with passionate designers and models and all sorts of staff. there are billboards at every corner plastered with teasers for todoroki’s upcoming fashion show, he’s been on the cover of all editions of vogue at one point or another— he’s built himself off of the ground. 

starting with obedience and discipline and mixed with a hint of dedication. 

perhaps todoroki should thank his father for not showing he and his siblings any compassion while they were growing up, for the fearful lessons he instilled in them— but then again, it was the dual haired man who’d made a righteous name out of the syllables of his last, who became a pioneer and spearhead to the fashion industry…not poor old enji. poor poor enji, there’s not a dime to his name these days, shouto and touya had made sure of that by selling their childhood trauma to the media. 

shouto made millions which he put towards his fashion company, touya has his band, fuyumi her family comfortably nestled up in some uptight gated community and natsuou wrote a book. they had all utilised what they’d been taught, to make money and to speak when spoken to ( promoted by press to speak on their upbringing of course ).

shouto todoroki is now loved by many, a peppermint haired boy estranged from his family putting himself and his designs in bright colours and elaborate patterns contrasting of his cool, and clipped self out there into the industry. and perhaps it was a cruel move on shouto’s part, but he didn’t care. dear old daddy would have to suffer for raising a son just like him. for acquiescence and regimen breeds rebels, and in excessive amounts, gives birth to bad…bad people. 

he is loved, he is bad, but he is free— his ego kissed and stroked by all of those around him, who don’t know the true him. and cruella, or shouto is sure if people knew how bad he truly was behind the smoke screen of his brilliance, then his career wouldn’t quite be the same as it were now. 

even though the peppermint haired designer loves his job and his work more than anything— a work life balance was also important to him too, to let the day’s stresses flood from his body was a priority. it was hard to keep the cruelty that danced around in his blood stream at bay while todoroki flittered throughout his offices and approved fabrics or threads…he needed an outlet, a reliever to tuck shouto todoroki away and let cruella come out to play. 

as soon as the designer finds himself within his expensive apartment complex— his Chelsey boots clicking against the white glossed marble flooring, he’s swarmed by eager staff that welcome him home. bright eyes full of admiration tracing his outline, puffy cream fur coat, as he cascades through the reception without a care in the world. “afta’noon mister todoroki— i-i mean cruella!” the doorman had greeted him with a bobbing Adam’s apple and polite smile. “a pleasure ta welcome ya  back!” 

with his diamond lined eyes narrowed, todoroki let the corners of his pretty lips twitch up into a soft, smug grin. “the pleasure is all mine, darling.” he’d replied pompously as he made a b-line for the elevator. there’s confidence in every movement he makes and a bristling frost on every surface he touches as he steps straight from the elevator into his own luxury penthouse apartment, greeted by staff that shiver in his presence when he enters his home. 

“mister todoroki,” staff bob their heads in respect, like they’re serving a king which they might as well be.  he holds power over everyone who gets a chance to witness him speak, have the honour of seeing him at work. a king in the world of fashion. 

todoroki’s boots continue to click and clack the further he explores the penthouse with high swooping ceilings and glass windows about the place—letting the cool night and all it’s stars pour in, illuminating the room accompanied by that of the moon. the white light shines in winter tones through paper scattered about the place, scrapped designs, those that’ll make the cut and some saved for future opportunities like the met gala look a celebrity has requested from him for next year. animal prints are thrown over the backs modern day architecture and chairs— the striped ones are often hidden. 

shouto much prefers the perfect simplicity of spots. 

they’re his favourite, round…infinite… never ending. the promise of forever is embodied in a perfect spot. 

there’s a reason why he has a framed portrait of his most beloved design— a real fur coat, made entirely of spots. 

is there anything more precious than something so simple and beautifully designed by nature? this is a question todoroki finds himself asking almost everyone night when he returns home from work, from being adored by people who do nothing but put pennies in his bank account— without even knowing the real him. but then he comes to stand in front of a special locked door, to which he holds the only key, he finds the answer, he smells it hanging in the air of the room as he unlocked it, pushing open the door and tasting the scent of you.

you are the most precious creation known to mankind. 

knocking the heels of his pointed boots together, todoroki watches as spotted black and white dalmation ears peek out from deeper in the room, barely visible over the edge of the comfortable leather couch installed into your playroom. they hang over your darling face in shame— you know what you’ve done, and a wicked chill seeps from his bones into the air around you once he notices your dainty tail no longer swishing behind you but instead tucked between your thighs… no doubt slicked up with an orgasm you know you weren’t allowed to have.

he knows, that you know, you’ve done the unthinkable— the punishable, topaz and granite eyes glossing over with a frightening level of disappointment, lips quirking up in satisfaction when you quiver like a leaf in the wind and a puppy whine sits cutely in the ridges of your throat. you’re not to touch what doesn’t belong to you, you know that. 

“there you are, pet.” cruella, shouto cocks his head to the side, speaking with his tone tilting into condescending as if he’s looking down on you. he is, clicking his heels together again but three times in order to command you to sit once you reach him. “have you been good?” a scarily sunshine smile sits heavy on the peppermint haired designer’s face, gaze flickering down to where your hips don’t fully touch the floor— no doubt avoiding contact with your swollen, dirty clit. sticky, probably, with a release you shouldn’t have had. “i don’t think you have.” 

he pulls a thick, long, thin red and white smoke stick from the left inside pocket of his tailored suit— crouching down to your height and uses the death stick to tilt your stare up from the black leather of his boots to his steeled pair of eyes. “pet?” over the tobacco scent hanging between you both, todoroki catches a whiff of your arousal, a touch of perfume smelling like your instinctual fear… he sees it bright in the pretty flecks in your eyes, dancing around like candles flickering in the wind. it’s a beautiful sight, seeing you scared. he loves it, he thinks—nudging your cheek a little more. “answer me.”

you flinch back at the harsher tone he uses, the one that makes your skin crawl and you immediately lower your head in an obedience that comes with much training. “‘m sorry,” you say in one hesitated breath, shutting away those darling eyes when shouto drags a thumb over your bottom lip after popping the smoke stick between his own. you lean into him, slightly, foolishly trusting the man with your life. “‘m sorry… i am. r-really, i am—“

you’ve always been meek, todoroki knows that. he’d picked you up from a rundown pound after a hit of inspiration— a whole collection he’d design based off of black and white spots. it had been hard sourcing an amount of Dalmatian hybrids that large— especially after his flimsy childhood friend deku darling and his clumsy pianist partner eijirou had rejected his proposal to take their lot off their hands. they didn’t like the idea of him using real fur, real spots to make a work of art.

out of the bunch he’d brought, shouto kept you. the little pup who cowered in the corner, kept out of sight and out of mind. so instead of turning you into a purse or pair of boots or the fluffy fur coat he’d dreamed of… todoroki kept you, because you were most afraid of him, like you’d soil yourself or cry if the devil popped up to say hello— you didn’t love him, or pretend to at first. you were as real as could be, you didn’t fake it just to be near shouto.

you were perfect.

“c’mon pet, sit with me.” standing to his full height, looming over you— shouto hooks two fingers under your collar, the one he had custom made for you in his colours of red and white, dragging you over to the couch placed in the centre of the room. the leather digs into your skin, your eyes bulging at the lack of aid which fizzles across your empty little brain. “did you miss me, today?” 

you sit back on your haunches when todoroki sinks into the couch, your teary eyes instantly and obediently shooting down to his half-hard cock as he man-spreads in his seat. fear breeds obedience, the more scared you are the easier it had been for shouto to train you to behave how he wanted, to be used how he wanted. 

nodding, you whine and shouto tuts in disapproval. 

“your words, darling.” 

“i d-did, i missed you s-shouto!” you perk up a little too quickly at the pet name, smaller-than-his hands resting on the swell of the designer’s thigh before your ears flatten back as if you know that you’ve made a mistake, leaning your baby fat cheek on his leg in hopes of making an apology. “i-i mean sir!” 

“what a good girl you are.”

shouto leers down at you, his eyes glinting with iniquity— the glistening gem colours darkening as if raging stormy clouds had blocked out the sun. he reaches out to pet you, and though you wince it’s easy for you to keen into his touch at the slightest hint of praise. “is that why you touched yourself while i was away?” he tilts his head, lips in a faux but cold pout as you simper out for him. “i can smell it on you, you filthy little mutt, soaked on your skin, slicked up on those precious fucking thighs.” suddenly, he grips your puppy dog ears, and the wag of your excited tail slows to a stop. “you disappoint me. you couldn’t even wait until i returned home. for you.” 

for you. 

only when your eyes brim with apologetic and fat tears, does shouto let go of your sore spotted ear— amused in how you sniffle, frozen in your place by fear. but there’s love in his eyes too, taking the form of heart shaped pupils as his gaze hones in on your messy, teary state. there should be hate blooming in your chest instead of love and yearning. this is the man that took you from your family; saw you as nothing more than fabric between stitches and buttons every time you whined and called out for the pups in your litter. 

tapping his food against the floor again, shouto commands your attention. “i’ve worked so hard to keep you safe, pet, you know that’s why i work so hard,” one hand guides yours to the bulge between your owner’s thighs while the other brushes over the pink curve of your bottom lip. “designing and designing…” he pulls you up close, hunching over you at the same so that you’re a breath’s width apart. 

your breathing is ragged, chest heaving in anticipation as shouto parts his lips— letting a clear, heavy wad of drool drip from his mouth onto the palette of your eager puppy tongue. 

“do you know what i made?” 

the question barely registers in your mind as you swallow a haziness of lust taking over— clouding your eyes and a hunger to please clawing it’s way up your throat. “nuh-uh,” you say breathlessly, tilting your head up for more, earning another glob of spit on your tongue. your tiny little hand starts to move on it’s own accord, pawing back and forth, back and forth against your owner’s dress pants. your tail picks up again, adorably swishing from side to side feeling shouto throb beneath your talented little fingertips— blood pulsing through his clothed girth. 

“do i have to tell you again, pet? use your words.” todoroki relents, taking your lip between his teeth— taunting you, nearly kissing you but not quite because he knows how much you need it. he knows that if he keeps you on the blurred line between pain and pleasure, fear and felicity…you’ll behave accordingly, become easily malleable into the perfect pet. 

“i-i’m not sure, sir.” 

“spots.”

it’s so adorable how you go rigid, turning to stone though your heart beats in your chest and your hand rubs harder, greedier at the hard on growing beneath shouto’s expensive clothes. your eyes continue to sparkle too, with desperation to take his cock deep into your salivating mouth, pink tongue rolling out like a puppy in the wind. he sees the way your thighs stick together, grazing one another as your hole slicks itself up— ready for the taking. if he could bend you over, pull your ass cheeks apart, todoroki has no doubt that your little wagging tail would be covered in strings of your potent arousal, oozing in thick waves from your spasming puppy cunt.

he knows this for a fact, not only because hybrids like yourself are wetter, messier to aid the breeding process, but because you love being scared just as much as you so pathetically adore todoroki. you enjoy the flicker of your brain between fight or flight, how he makes your blood run cold or threatens your life as if it hangs in the balance. 

mistakenly, you love shouto todoroki— and you think he might feel the same about you. you think if you behave and perform tricks, if you’re obedient just like he had taught you to be..that he might keep you safe. cherish you. 

maybe that’s all true, maybe cruella isn’t so cruel. maybe he finds it in his ice laden heart to care for you just a bit… and not just because you’re a cute little pup trained to suck his pretty dick.

“i’m thinking of making another fur coat,” a wicked chuckle rumbles the designers throat like thunder in a storm, only interrupted by his hips that shoot up to grind into your hesitating hand— the one that feels out the lengthy shape of him as his precum smears against the fabric of his underwear in opaque white. he drags a finger over your face, looks with hooded eyes as your lashes brush against your cheek and you drag your tongue over his clothed stiff cock. shouto adores your tremble…you think that he might hit you. 

you’d deserve it, and he had before—useless little mutts like you needed to know their place if you wanted to stick around. “that’s…that’s nice sir,” you stutter, holding back on your brainless babbles, your hips gyrating into the floor beneath you, unbred and leaky hole clenching around nothing. 

a reflex out of fear.

shouto hums, tilting your chin up to face him when your mouth hits his seedy tip through the fabric of his clothes— the heat from your sloppy tongue penetrating through the rough linen layers. “so, pet, if you want to make sure i don’t turn you into something even prettier… into something nice for me to wear,” todoroki sneers huskily, tinged with evil while he uses his grip on you to shove your face into his lap roughly. “then i suggest, you open up that sweet mouth of yours and let me feed you my cock, hm?” that’s how shouto todoroki gets you hooked, he has you running on the fumes of survival instincts— trained to love him, do absolutely anything for him despite how cruelly he may treat you.

though your crystalline puppy dog eyes are screwed shut and your spotted ears, sweaty and sore and pinned to your skull— you manage to pick up on the clink of todoroki’s gucci belt, making you growl low and impatiently. the desire to taste his cum, make him happy, shoots through you like a sedative injected into your veins, targeting your red blood cells and wrapping around them to spread obedience through you. yet again, against your will, you’re coaxed into the dark, cruel enigma that is shouto todoroki, letting him set fire to your body and take over any logical thought in your mind.

cunt dripping, juices sweet as ripened fruit— you peel back the layers of shouto’s garments ( though his pants sit at his slender hips, not fully pulled down )…a mean chuckle resounding in the sex tainted air in the room as you reveal his cock to your innocent stare, letting him lean back into the leather couch. he’s longer than he is thick, mushroomed tip a little purple with blue-tinted veins running up and down the length of him, a shade rivalling his own hungry eyes as he observes your next moves. the entirety of him pulses in your soft grip, the scent of his arousal bleeding from his cockhead sending your dalmation puppy instincts into overdrive. todoroki hisses, painfully hard, as you take him gently between your fingers— your thumb moving with uncertainty to rub his pre into his tip sweetly. 

you’re almost ashamed of how much your mouth starts to water, the strings of your own saliva connecting the roof of your mouth to your tongue that writhes in place— aching to taste him, pleasure him with all that you can. the prominent adam’s apple of shouto’s throat bobs, watching with lustful mismatched eyes as you inch forward like a predator hunting it’s prey— reverting back to animalistic instincts while your pupils dilate. his face scrunches, a haughty moan vibrating in his chest when you grip him fully so you can guide him to your mouth—little hand dwarfed by the size of his cock, soft palm grazing the forked vein on the underside of his shaft as it throbs. “oh pet,” todoroki‘s words are drawled, lips between his teeth. “come on, be good.” you do your best to appease him, dragging his bulbous and creamy tip along the seam of your lips, kitten licking him to test the patience of your owner. 

you’re frightful that you might have fucked up when you hear his hands slap down against the leather sofa before shouto drags you by your Dalmatian ears off of his girth, his own breathing irratic and irregular— cruel and cold eyes now blazing with hunger. you look up nervously, a whimper brewing on your wet, pre cum glossed lips to find the smoke stick now between his lips ( he’d lost it when kissing you. ). 

“help me light it while you get me hard.” he grunts quietly, voice dipping an octave, dripping with a threat. as if he’s promising you danger if you danger if you don’t comply. he fumbles with his loose left pocket for a light after shoving the smoke stick past your wet, arousal soaked lips— maintaining eye contact as he flicks the lighter in front of the rolled tobacco. even though you can tell that todoroki is heavily aroused; you have no choice but to do what he says. he dominates your life, decides whether or not you stay as a fuckable pet or get turned into the next best fashion item. he has power over you even when his dick pulses in your hand and you squeeze him softly, letting his precum guide your movements as you start to palm him to a slow and steady rhythm. once the smoke stick in your mouth is lit, the flame threatening you, shouto takes it from you and places it between his own lips— puffing a ring of smoke into your face. 

your wet puppy nose twitches unhappily, but you know that protesting will only end badly for you. that doesn’t seem to calm the racing heartbeat in your puppypussy, however, drooling at the idea of being scolded by your owner. 

shouto leans back, tousled half and half hair thrown over the back of the couch— his flesh sticking to it, only caused by the cold sweat your temperate mouth has him in. both of you moan when you finally take him into your mouth, sinking down on him until your nose is pressed against milky flesh just like you’d practiced before. yours is desperate and needy, shouto’s raspy— proud at how well his little pup treats him.

of course, todoroki had to train you to suck cock too, breaching the innocence of your mouth despite your whimpered out protests at the time. he’d soon fucked it into your throat that if you wanted to live, you wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.

“y-you, oh fuck—“ shouto lets out a throaty hybrid noise, a lewd mix between an amused laugh and a deep moan as you flex your saliva laden tongue against the underside of his dick— taking a puff of his tobacco before looking down at you with so much love you might even think it was real. “you’re so pretty pet, so… so pretty.” he knows he’s done a good thing by keeping you, cruella; shouto todoroki brought to his knees by the sinful heat of your hell searing mouth, making him repent for everything he’s ever done wrong. “were you scared, pretty? t-that why you’re taking my cock so fucking well?”

all you can do it nod, swallowing the designer down eagerly in response— a resounding hum sending chills running down his spine as teeth and tongue vibrate around his shaft. you can’t help but let your awe-filled eyes flutter shut at the heaviness of todoroki on your tongue, drooling and dribbling above the place— soaking through his clothes that probably cost more than an entire litter of Dalmatian hybrids such as yourself. he oozes copious sums of precum, thick enough to glue your mouth shut ( like peanut butter for puppies ), filling you up and luring you into going after more. 

pleasing him more.

your cheeks swell while you paw desperately at shouto’s ruined lap— breathing deep through your nose before you feel the weight of his hand right between your sensitive puppy dog ears. he tugs at the twitching limbs, twisting them while pushing you down on his aching cock. your throat contracts, cheeks hollowing until you’ve swallowed him down to the base and you’re practically gagging on the length of him, tip brushing against your uvula lips k the way down. poor puppy, you flinch at the slight twinge of pain from where shouto begins to pound your mouth roughly, balls slapping against your chin, slurping mixed with his yowls of delight filling combining with the sweat and sex loaded air. when you flinch, your teeth graze at the sensitive veins wrapping around shouto— making him choke just like you, on a puff of his smoke stick. 

“fucking mutt, oh—shit!” he snarls, yanking you off of his tender and red, smarting cock— not caring of the way he holds you hurts you. “watch your fucking mouth, pretty. or i really will turn you into my next fur coat, darling.” the warning is firm, rattling you to your core, your mouth even more so wet and salacious at the fear shouto strikes in you. you’re back on him before you know it, his hips jutting up into the molten heat of your mouth, tip hitting the inside of your cheek, making him shudder every time. todoroki would be lying if he wasn’t obsessed with the way your floppy Dalmatian ears bounded the more he rolled his hips into your mouth, fucking your face. he was even more delighted by your sharp canines just brushing over his shaft, but he wouldn’t admit that. 

loosening his tie, he throws his head back in a drawn out gripe, his moans raising a pitch when you grip his swollen balls, full of cum and roll them between dainty fingers. he pulls his smoke stick from his lips, tongue darting out to wet them as he taps the ash against your pretty face. “i think i’ll get you off pet, since you missed me so much. since i feel so bad for scaring you.” todoroki coos with faux sympathy, head lolling down to get a good look at your tear stained cheeks and your clumped together lashes. his dual toned hair now askew. 

stilling in surprise, you yelp in shock as shouto shoves a boot between your arousal painted thighs— pressing the toe against your aching, untouched clit that's barely covered by the flimsy baby-doll shorts you usually wear. they’re coated in your sweet honey, and your owner’s mouth hangs open; mocking the darling mewl that would leave your own if you weren’t being stuffed full of cock. 

the boot nestles perfectly at your cunt, spreading your swollen pussy  lips apart and expostulating it’s in your sweltering heat. “you’re this wet? from hardly being touched?” he mocks you, pulling his foot back to stimulate your core. “oh darling, you’re soaked, pathetically so.” it is; it’s embarrassing how turned on you are from being threatened, fucked like your mouth is a flesh light. how you want him to love you even though you could be killed at any second. “grind that pretty pussy down on me pup, suck me off good and maybe I’ll let you cum.” 

doing as you’re told, you work yourself down on shouto— tail thumping against the floor while you circle your hips over the cool leather of his shoe, the material pulling back the hood on your clit and sending shockwaves of dopamine across your brain. puppy dog eyes cross, with tongue running it’s owl circles along todoroki’s shaft. the fact that he looms over you, has all the power in the world to end you servers as your own personal adrenaline but you don’t dare deny that getting him off, gets you off too. 

despite trying not to fall apart at every lick and suck you give him, sweat shines on todoroki’s pale winter skin— just as cold as he is, but maybe his evil heart melts a little, maybe having fur is less valuable to him when you weakly pull off him, and your precum-spit glossed lips encapsulate his seedy cockhead as if to makeout with it, running the tip of your tongue through his sensitive slit. “that’s it pet, swallow me down. earn that right to cum.” simpering, shouto grabs the sides of your head— holding you in place as his ploughs his hips and dick shallowly into o-shape of your mouth, battering about inside of it. 

the cigarette he smokes just barely burns marks into the black spots or your ears, making you whimper out despite desperately thrusting down against your owner’s foot, practically riding it while a tight knot forms in your lower stomach and your puppycunt gushes about the place. 

todoroki lets you go once he’s exerted himself, a mop of sweaty red and white locks dangling over the back of the couch. the world wouldn’t believe it it they saw their beloved cruella now; twitching and heaving as he stares his Dalmatian puppy down, marvelling in the way you spit down onto his bulbous and dripping cockhead before joining you in doing the same. the frothy white and bubbly mix crudely runs down his shaft, and you’re quick to lick it up from the balls to his slit again. 

“oh fuck, pretty darling. you’re trying to ruin me, aren’t you?” 

you don’t answer, jerking the man off as you look up at him so debauched; yet so innocent. he can see you fight the cross in your eyes as he wiggles his boot against your hardened pleasure nub, a cream staining the leather.

“w-words pet. tell me or you really won’t get to cum.” 

you remember your desperation to be adored by shouto, as well as the release that sneaks up on you. so you find your words though your voice is hoarse from your throat being ravaged and decorated with precum. “i want you always sir,” you plead. “for you to always feel g-good with me!” 

shouto grins, menacing, borderline crazy— it makes your pussy lips quiver while he angles his foot up, right as you drag your fluttering entrance over the toe. “you know just what to say to get me close, darling,” he says, grabbing hold of his own dick to tap it against your slobbery puppy tongue, feeding it to you again and thriving in the way that you tilt your head, angling it so he can fuck your cheek makinf your skin bulge. “gonna cum…pet, ‘n you’re gonna be obedient. hold it, until i’m finished with you…or you’re dead. meat.” 

he punctuates his words with two rough thrusts, flinching with ecstasy, voice trembling. todoroki doesn’t let up in teasing your pulsating pussy, shaking his foot as you bump and grind against the shoe to your hearts content— fighting not to lose your orgasm while simultaneously dragging shouto to the edge of his own. it’s obscene the way both your mouth and cunt squelch, your owner leaking ungodly amounts of arousal into your mouth and down your chin ( though you’re no better, hot wet pussy ruining his shoes for good ).

todoroki  loses his pace, smoke stick just missing his lips from how irregular and languid his thrusts are and before you know it, he’s taken a hold of your sore dog ears once more— his high takint him by surprise. “holy fuck, that’s it pet, be a good fucking dog, take it all. my seed.” the world around shouto todoroki falls away into mismatched pieces, warm and viscous cum flooding your mouth in waves; and you can’t even stop, sloppily  worshipping his cock and all they it offers you as if todoroki is your god.

he might as well be, the way controls whether you live or die; even as you stare up at hearts dazzling your eyes. you need him to love you, to be proud of you. “so g-good, god pet. you’re wonderful,” the cruelty of cruella praises you, still filling you the brim with seed that sits salty on your tongue. todoroki takes a drag of his cigarette, feeling loopy, happier than ever with his decision to keep you. 

lewdly, he drags shapes onto your swollen clit too, rocking his shoe against you— amused at how you struggle to keep your release at bay. tapping out the ash of his tobacco one last time, todoroki puts it out by singing the end of his cigarette into your spotted puppy ear again— smiling at your low, whistle tone whine.

“cum.” he commands, smearing his ruined cock against your lips. “or else, you won’t get another chance.” 

fear breeds obedience and as if on queue, your body follows the order— a clear stream of arousal splashing out hard against the floor from your raw, sticky cunt. the world is a blinding white, black spots eating at the corner of your vision. 

by the time you come to, world famous designer cruella— shouto todoroki has returned to petting your hair with gentle care that doesn’t make you fear him any less but makes you love him a little more. he chuckles, red and white hair shaking with it as you sleepy nuzzle his thigh— a mess of cum and tears and spit. 

so shouto snaps a picture of you, a perfect muse for his next design. 

his obedient and well disciplined, precious dalmation puppy hybrid. 

more precious than any spot in the world.

[fics-n-stuff]

In preparation for Heartbreak High season 2 TOMORROW, and following up on this post from a year and a half ago I made about why Spider should have a redemption arc, I have another lukewarm take to present: if Spider deserves redemption then so does Sasha.

I thought about making this post ages ago, not long after the original Spider post, but I never got around to writing it out... til now! Here we go!

After season 1, I was seeing A LOT of Sashsa hate, much of which I agreed with but some that definitely went too far. I saw a lot more people calling Sasha irredeemable than I saw of anyone speaking that way about Spider or Dusty. I hate Sasha as much as the next HBH fan, but it is undeniable that if we give Spider enough grace to encourage his redemption we should extend the same courtesy to Sasha; if we have enough faith in the show to handle the nuance of his redemption then we should have faith in it to be able to handle her redemption too.

Sasha is not trying to be a bad person, she genuinely believes (in my opinion) that she is trying her best to be a good person. The problem is she's confusing virtue signalling and "wokeness" with actually being a good person, and that makes her behave like a bitch. What it all boils down to, just like with Spider, is attitude. What they need to do is pretty similar as well; Spider needs to start paying attention and empathising with the experiences of people around him and Sasha needs to realise that what she thinks is genuine empathy and compassion is really just performative and does not make her a good person. They both need to stop viewing themselves as victims, they both need to be more willing to hear other people out, and I believe that they both have the capacity to change.

The two things I hated most about Sasha were:

Her relationship with Quinni and the way she treated Quinni during that time, as I'm sure most (if not all) of you will agree. That whole episode with the book signing (episode 6: "Angeline") makes me so mad, and it is a perfect example of how her empathy is not genuine. When Sasha is told that Quinni is autistic, her immediate response is "I need to do some more research" instead of "I need to ask Quinni what she needs and what she wants". Right there, she fails to empathise with Quinni as a person because she's too busy thinking about how she should be empathising with Autistic People as a whole and thereby completely misses the point. In the same vein, we the viewers all see Sasha's ableism when it comes to Quinni and how she fails to treat Quinni like an equal, but Sasha is so convinced that she is a good person because she supports all of the right ideas that she fails to see when she's falling short when it comes to the real people actually in her life. (Even at the end of this post when I have explained why Sasha deserves redemption, just know that I absolutely DO NOT think that Sasha and Quinni should EVER get back together.)

The way she just drops people when the social tides turn against them. We see her do this with both Amerie and Harper, completely dropping them as friends as soon as everybody is mad at them and not even speaking with them first or even allowing them a chance to just talk to her. This still makes me incredibly angry. Sasha had every right to not want to be friends with both Amerie and Harper after the things that happened, but the way she cut them out of her life so completely without a second thought makes me seethe. Now, there are layers to this. First we have the double-edged-sword of school social hierarchy and Sasha's "woke" attitudes. I personally believe that Sasha definitely dropped her friends because she didn't want them to tank her social status (like lots of teenagers would, horrible as it is), but she justified it to herself by rationalizing it like a political/social justice issue. Amerie did something bad = Amerie bad = I won't talk to Amerie anymore. She treats the ending of a friendship like a corporate boycott. What she says to Harper in episode 6 ("I'm not gonna let you suck me into your negativity black hole. You're an emotional vampire, Harper. I watched a whole YouTube video on it.") is a shining example of both how much of a bitch Sasha can be to the people around her and how she justifies that behaviour to herself. They are bad so I don't have to treat them well. And sometimes that line of thought is genuinely justified, but people are not that black and white and to cut ties with someone you considered a close friend without even talking to them or allowing them to even try and explain or apologise is peak bitch behaviour if you ask me. Especially when it's so clear that they are struggling and have nobody else to turn to.

You may have gathered that both of these points link back to the same thing: her hollow social activism. I am not saying here that she doesn't actually care about any of the causes she supports, nor am I saying that no good has been achieved through her various activist endeavors, but I really think that she approaches it all in the wrong way. Sasha tries so hard to say the correct thing, support the correct causes, and be on the correct side of things in a widespread social view that, not only does it create an element of performance and virtue-signalling, but she just doesn't take the time to actually learn and consider things without looking so far out. To reverse a common phrase, she can't see the trees for the forest, (i.e. she's so focused on the bigger picture she can't see the closer points). I'm sure she really does agree with all of the political and social justice causes that she supports, but because that's all she thinks about it creates the insufferable holier-than-thou attitude that makes her such a bitch while also leaving this vacuum where she fails to apply these ideals to her real life. Empathy is research, compassion is protesting, and when someone fucks up and people turn on them then it's fine to just turn on them too because they did a Bad Thing, no matter what else is happening.

But the door to redemption is open for Sasha and, just like with Spider, I want to see what the writers do with it. I think the big bus fight in episode 6 and Sasha finding out that Quinni has gone non-verbal in episode 7 could serve to open her eyes as to how uncompassionate she's been to the people around her. If she gets clued in to what happened with Harper she may reflect on how poorly she treated her while she was dealing with all of that trauma and realise that she isn't as much of "an empath" as she believes she is, and that just might be enough to open the door for some well needed introspection. Progress would probably be kinda slow, like I said in my post about Spider most people with any kind of strong belief tend to get defensive when challenged, but, also like I said about Spider, if people hold Sasha accountable then change can 100% happen. If the people around her continue to show her that she is not the good and just person she thinks she's being but rather that she's being a bitch and not offering any support or understanding to the people around her, if they can show her that her attitude is causing them harm, then I think that has the potential to open her mind and allow her to learn to fix those problems.

[danco110]

“What is this!”

Glarb sighed and turned back to face the rabbit footsoldier behind him. “What is what, Corporal Kendall?”

The rabbitfolk shoved a pawful of plain carrots in the frog monarch’s face. “My rations, sir! They seem to be rather…lacking.”

“Budget constraints. Good soldiers make do.”

“Do they!” Kendall exclaimed. “Well, maybe I could make do, with some moxie. But…how am I supposed to work now, knowing the crown can’t even afford to keep me in room and board?”

Glarb’s eyes flicked upward in exasperation.

—

A shrill whistle echoed across the plain. The other rabbitfolk bounded towards the noise, where Kendall sat preparing a meal for the troops. With a laugh, he raised a decadent piece of carrot cake high in his paw.

“I think I’ve outdone myself!” exclaimed the chef. “But don’t worry, there’s plenty to go around!”

The militia oohed and aahed at the sight of such a delectable treat. Kendall saw this, and so set down the slice so he could better perform an exaggerated bow.

“Thank you, thank you! Of course, I wouldn’t dare take all the credit. The recipe is courtesy of Ms. Bumbleflower, who thankfully is far, far away from any of our patrol routes…”

Laughter shook the weeds as the soldiers took their obvious cue to laugh.

“…and the ingredients are all courtesy of His Majesty, King Glarb!”

Kendall gestured behind him where Glarb sat at the head of the supper table, clearly smoldering. This time the other rabbits burst out into raucous cheering, either oblivious or uncaring of their regent’s foul mood. Before Kendall could speak again, however, the king rose from his seat and pulled the corporal aside.

“I trust this…extortion is done?” Glarb hissed. “You and your men can fight now?”

Kendall bit back a chuckle. “With bellies this full? Not a chance! Best wait until tomorrow.”

Glarb’s eye twitched.

[It’s a shame really; I’m sure Warrenguard finds the Carrot Cake delicious, but it doesn’t act as a token to buff him. Only the rabbit it makes does!]

[helphowdoiusethis]

To, @iceeericeee-reblogs @janeway-lover @matchstickers @sparrowsortadrawzzz @ineffablegays13 @samthegremlin @ineffabildaddy @echosghoast @violet-yimlat @fallen-starmaker and anyone else who sees it.

I would apologise, but that would mean I'm sorry and I'm not., then again I did say "wait and see".

It was 1941. What a year, 1941 really.

Crowley couldn't sense anything, he believed- nothing wrong as it seemed. The angel only just started and it was fine fuck was Aziraphale gesturing for him?

Multiple hands were up and Aziraphale was looking frantic but decidedly not at him, so he raised his hand and Aziraphale called him on stage and so he went.

Now here Crowley was, watching his angel up on stage explaining and performing his first trick.

Turning a turnip into a inkwell

Or well attempting to turn a turnip into an inkwell, the trick seemed to not be working, something seemed wrong. Something wasn't working, but Aziraphale continued not to worry- well not letting anyone see him worried but Crowley had known him too long to know that when he was worried, his voice was picking up and he was stuttering over his words as the audience around them, booing.

Crowley reached out towards the stage touching a force field of such and inwardly blessing himself as on-stage the angel set down the turnip.

I'll have a quick glance at the instructions

But ever so quickly he was called on stage with a round of applause and quickly took the angel's hand in a firm shake.

"My miracles aren't working!" Aziraphale whispered, as the two passed each other Crowley almost hissed with a quick, "neither are mine."

That should have been his first tell that something was going to go wrong.

With a shaky voice Aziraphale handed him the rifle and a flash of white came from the audience, but Aziraphale quickly saw to that, the angel was very nervous about that.

Aziraphale had turned to him, handing over a bullet.

"It's perfectly simple. Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear-" but Crowley was too focused on looking over the gun and fiddled with what he thinks is called a trigger.

"I just squeeze that there, do I not?" Crowley asked and his angel's face fell as the quick "haven't you fired a gun before?" Question came.

One not to lie to his angel atheist not anymore he let the words "not as such" past his lips, he had certainly held a gun before just never happened to fire one.

Aziraphale shot round and continued to speak, nervously backing away as Crowley loaded the gun and showed it to the audience after.

Aziraphale turned to him, after explaining that all he had to do was fire a loaded rifle at the love of his life who would catch said bullet in his teeth without miracles.

Crowley blessed and then prayed to heaven, to Her that the angel would be safe.

The music picked up as Crowley raised the rifle up and Aziraphale mouthed a "trust me" and Crowley did, Crowley does.

He aimed the rifle right at his angel's cute, adorable and nervous looking face.

And his hands were shaking as he lowered his finger to the trigger- everything that was right now, was before this could all end with one mistake, one miss fire and surely Aziraphale would never trust him again if he did in fact miss, that was more scary to the serpent.

Aziraphale's eyes shut tight as he all but shouted out the quick "fire" command and Crowley pulled the trigger.

For a second, time seemed to slow taunting as the bullet did not fly past Aziraphale's ear instead it embedded itself in and shot right through his angel's corporation's forehead, quick Crowley would think later after a few bottles of whisky at the pub opposite the angel's bookshop.

But that would be later for now he was forced to watch as the angel's corporation fell to the ground with a small thud and blood pooling onto the stage.

Crowley's feet worked quicker than his brain and in an instant he was kneeling by the angel's head, blood soaking into the cotton of the fabric as he moved Aziraphale's head into his lap.

Of course rationally in his head he knew the angel was okay, they weren't special bullets with hellfire consuming them the angel's corporation was merely destroyed and the paperwork while eminence was manageable, but that didn't help him stop what he was seeing- his best friend, his angel, his love lying dead; head cradled in Crowley's lap, the lap of someone he had trusted and all Crowley could think is how he could stop this from happening- couldn't use a demonic miracle to fix the angel's damned corporation and bring him back from heaven.

This war would take a lot in its six years but to Crowley; what a year, 1941, really..

[aziraphales-library]

hellaur i am so thankful for all yall hard work, but rn i’m kinda looking for a specific fic that i accidentally lost cause i fell asleep and AO3 decided to crash on my end. It was along the lines of how Aziraphale had to deal with a more ‘human’ corporation cause Adam gave him a more human body. It started with Azi sneezing and (cause i only read it halfway), that both Azi and Crowley began indulging in human bodily functions. I recall at the start of most of the chapters, God was explaining how human works to the other Angels.

Thank you in advance!❤️

Hello dear!

You're looking for:

Chemistry by Twilightcitysky [rated E, 122k words]

Aziraphale and Crowley have been living among humans for 6000 years, but there have always been parts of the human experience they've chosen to avoid (like allergies, head colds, and having to use the loo).

They've also never let hormones get in the way of making rational decisions, because they didn't have any hormones to speak of.

That's all about to change.

-Mod AB

[creatingnikki]

I'm doing all of this adulting right. I'm filing my taxes and I am paying bills and I am becoming fluent in corporate speak and I am not saying what I really feel. I am speaking to doctors for my parents' health issues and I am staying away from old lovers and new vices the best I can. I am doing all this. I'm trying to be rational and realistic and cancel my subscription to delulu land. But tonight...tonight I feel like a child who is crying simply because they want something they can't have.

What do I want?

I want you. More precisely I want to feel the peace I felt when I was with you. That summer night in mid July when I was drunk and high but still so very sober, lying next to you giggling, speaking softly. The way you held me. The way you asked me to stay a while and rest. The comfort and safety and peace I felt in those few moments, I haven't felt that in a really long time in the company of another human. I want more of that. I thought we would have more of that. If nothing else.

I was okay with it being so very lowkey that we only met during late evenings and chilled in your dim lit living room talking about art and books and how there are only really limited plot devices with you trying to scan your book collection to find me this particular book. I was okay with you not loving me as long as you were soft towards me and as long as you held me like that. I was okay with not naming this thing anything, throwing away all labels, as long as our eyes kept talking and we kept smiling in each other's presence.

But it seems like you don't need me. You don't need me to feel anything. Your peace is yours. Your comfort and your safety and your intimacy. You have plenty of sources for that. Your life is abundant. Whole. And you know I am happy about that. I love that for you. So, then, instead of needing me, can't you want me?

What can I do to make you want me?

If I stick to all the rational and reason of adulting I know the question to ask isn't that. The question to ask is how can I make my life abundant with peace and comfort and a sense of safety and calm? But until I don't find the answer, can't I come and lay my head on your chest and smell the detergent on your shirt as you hold me close and make it all feel okay? Can't I? Is that really so much to ask?

Can I?