#but this is going to be a turning point and it's interesting to me that it happened so early

[itneverendshere]

Could you please write btchy!pogue where shes the one whos jealous this time and rafe savors the moment.

don't like the way she's looking - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x raf

the cut had a party tonight, like most summer nights.

the music was loud enough to shake the ground, beer kegs were getting drained faster than anyone could fill them, and people packed into the yard like sardines. 

it wasn’t fancy, but that was the point, pogue parties weren’t about appearances, you showed up, you drank, you made some bad decisions under the string lights, and you went home.

it wasn’t your favorite kind of night, but rafe had convinced you to come out, promising it’d just be a chill hangout. he lied.

instead of spending the night with you, he’s currently perched by his truck, surrounded by a rotating cast of pogues. you’re leaning against a beat-up picnic table, a half-warm beer in your hand, keeping one eye on rafe while he did his thing. 

by “his thing,” you mean selling weed to every pogue with a crumpled-up twenty and a dream.

to his credit, this is probably his best hustle yet.

rafe cameron, reformed asshole, and your probationary boyfriend, has somehow turned himself into the cut’s go-to dealer. it’s a whole thing, people like him now, which is fine. 

good for him, whatever, but some people like him a little too much. 

case in point? the girl currently throwing herself at him like a damn frisbee. you clocked her the second she strutted over. 

she wasn’t subtle about it, either—crop top hanging so low she might as well not have bothered, denim shorts so short they were illegal in some states. she’s leaning against his truck, like she’s in some fuck ass music video, her body language loud and clear. It’s the hand on his arm that does it for you. 

that, and her laugh. 

jesus, her laugh. high-pitched and fake, like a dying bird trying to flirt.

you’ve been rolling her eyes from the second she started talking, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

“you’re really good at this whole business thing, huh? bet you’re good at lots of things.”

you gag audibly from your spot, but of course, she doesn’t hear you. 

rafe, for his part, looks mildly amused but doesn’t say anything. still, you stay put, you’re not here to play babysitter. he’s not that stupid—he’ll shut her down. 

he better.

her next move is placing her hand on his arm. on. his. arm.

like she isn’t aware that his girlfriend is sitting fifteen feet away, the audacity. she’s batting her lashes and laughing at something he says like he’s the funniest guy alive, and you can see his shoulders stiffen, the slight step back he takes when she puts her hands on him.

“so, like,” she giggles, twirling a piece of hair around her finger, “what if i can’t, you know... pay in cash? ’m sure we could work something else out?”

rafe’s reaction is immediate, “i have a girlfriend.”

“oh,” her pout deepens. “that’s fine. she doesn’t have to know.”

at that, he laughs—an incredulous, slightly panicked laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “yeah, see, that’s not gonna work for me.”

she doesn’t take the hint. 

instead, she tilts her head, giving him what you’re sure she thinks it’s a seductive look. “c'mon, rafe. it’s just a little fun, bet she wouldn’t even care.”

you freeze mid-sip of your beer, brain short-circuiting.

you slam it down on the table so hard it splashes everywhere, your vision zeroing in on her like a predator spotting prey. you’re halfway across the yard before you realize you’re moving.

oh, you care, you care a lot.

rafe’s already holding his hands up like he’s trying to ward her off. “don’t know what you think is happening here, but it’s not. i’m not interested.”

“not interested in me?” she asks, like the idea is physically painful.

“correct,” you announce loudly, “he’s not interested. crazy, right?”

she squares her shoulders and glares at you. “who are you?”

“hi, i’m the girlfriend” you shoot back, “just wondering if you’re planning on embarrassing yourself any more tonight or if that’s it?”

rafe rubs the back of his neck, looking between amused and mildly terrified, “baby—”

“don’t ‘baby’ me, cameron,” you snap, shooting him a glare before turning your attention back to the girl. she’s still standing there, trying to figure out if she should fight or flight.

smart money would’ve been on flight, but apparently, she’s the stubborn type.

she smirks, seemingly not the least bit fazed by you. “pogues share.”

“how about i share this fist with your face? that sound good to you?”

she whips around, her fake-confident expression faltering “uh, excuse me?”

“you heard me,” you only stop a foot from her. your hands are on your hips, ready to pounce if she even thinks about mouthing off one more time. “can’t you take a fucking hint, or are you just dumb?”

“i didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” she rolls her eyes.

“everyone here knows he’s with me, you just thought you’d try it anyway, didn’t you?”

“it’s not that deep,” she shrugs, her voice going fake casual. “it’s just rafe. pogues share—what’s the big deal? you’re overreacting.”

rafe winces, stepping back as if to give you space to handle it. good, he knew better than to get in your way.

“you wanna find out how much more i can react? i’m feeling real generous tonight.”

her mouth opens to say something even dumber, but you’re already pouncing , not even thinking—your body just reacts.

“whoa, whoa, whoa!” rafe’s arms are suddenly around you, yanking you before you can do any real damage “okay, we’re going home.”

“i’ll punch you too,” you hiss, squirming in his grip. “let me hit her.”

he only holds you tighter against his chest when you try to kick out at her. “baby, come on.”

“this bitch said pogues share!’” you cram your neck to glare at her over rafe’s shoulder. “i just wanna share some sense with her.”

she’s already backing away, her hands up in surrender, “okay, whatever, no dick is worth dealing with a crazy bitch. ’m leaving!” she snaps, turning on her heel.

rafe’s grip lightens up slightly, thinking this is enough to calm you down, but unfortunately for him, you take it as a chance to get what you want. as soon as he lets you lose, you take one giant step forward and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her back just as she tries to escape.

"get your ass back here," you growl, tugging her head back.

“jesus christ,” rafe’s eyes widen and he’s there, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind once again, pulling you back. “baby, let her go!”

she lets out a surprised squeal, trying to pull away, but you’ve got a grip on her so tight she can’t. “what the hell is wrong with you?!” she screeches, hands desperately trying to pry your fingers from her hair.

“okay, you’ve made your point,” he chuckles despite the situation, “let go of her hair.”

you release her, but not without one last, satisfying shove to her back. she stumbles, glaring at you over her shoulder with her hand pressed to her scalp.

“keep your hands to yourself next time,” you warn with a sneer.

she glares at you, and opens her mouth like she’s about to start some more shit—but then she seems to think better of it. with a huff, she turns on her heel and stalks off, her footsteps retreating into the crowd.

rafe stands there, rubbing his neck nervously as he watches her go. “you’re gonna get arrested one day, y’know that, right?”

you look up at him, eyebrow raised, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “and you’re gonna get your balls ripped off and be single for the rest of your life. how’s that sound?”

his mouth falls open as he stares at you.

“what? i’m innocent! i didn’t do shit. you just went wwe smackdown on her. i was standing there, minding my business.”

“minding your business while she was all over you?” you challenge, “she was practically trying to crawl inside your skin.”

“told her i wasn’t interested!” he defends, throwing his hands up. “even used the line— i have a girlfriend! that’s...the ultimate force field!”

you snort, crossing your arms. “she walked right through it like it wasn’t even there.”

rafe sighs dramatically, stepping closer, his voice dropping, that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “gotta admit, that was kinda hot.”

you narrow your eyes at him, trying not to let his charm sway you. “hot?”

“yeah,” he grins, “watching you go full psycho really does something for me.”

you can feel your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “you’re such a fuckin’ loser.”

“am i wrong, though?” he teases, slipping his arms around you, his lips tickling your ear as he adds, “never felt more horny—or scared—in my life.”

you huff a laugh, shoving at his chest playfully, “stop trying to make me laugh, i’m mad at you.”

“you’re mad at me?” he leans in impossibly closer, pulling you flush against him.

“rafe—” you start, but he’s already tilting his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

“mm, y’know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “i like you mad. all fired up, it’s sexy.”

“don’t even,” you warn, hoping you sound firm, but it’s hard to when he’s trailing slow kisses down your neck, the press of his mouth sending shivers straight to your toes.

he doesn’t stop, of course. his kisses get sloppier, his lips parting so his tongue can flick against the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“can’t help it,” he groans in between his work, nipping at your skin. “my girl’s too fucking hot.”

your hands come up to push at his chest, but they end up curling into his shirt instead. “i’m so fucking serious. you can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“m’not sweet-talking,” he slurs, teeth grazing your skin, followed by the soothing heat of his tongue, and you gasp despite yourself. “just... appreciating you. can’t a guy admire his girlfriend after she defended his honor?” he bites down and then sucks at the spot until you’re squirming in his arms. “got me so gone for you, shit, it’s embarrassing.”

“good,” you mutter stubbornly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

he practically purrs at the contact, his lips dragging down to your collarbone. “you’ve ruined me, y’know that? can’t even look at another girl.”

you laugh, your grip tightening in his hair. “keep talking, cameron. see how far that gets you.”

he grins against your skin, his teeth scraping lightly before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. his hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and setting you on the edge of the picnic table.

“guess i’ll just have to show you instead.”

"rafe cameron," you start, intending to scold him, but your words stop in your throat as he steps between your legs.

“now you’re quiet,” he���s leaning in so close his nose brushes against yours. “where’d all that fire go, mm?”

your glare is half-hearted at best. “don’t push your luck, you’re still on probation, asshole.”

he hums thoughtfully, his hands sliding up your legs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “not luck, baby. skill.”

“you’re so fucking insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, slipping under the hem of his shirt to splay across his warm skin.

his abs tense under your touch, and you relish the reaction, how his breath hitches as you dig your nails in just a little.

“irresistible,” he counters, his voice rough. his lips hover over yours, daring you to close the gap, but he doesn’t make the first move.

he waits, his eyes locked on yours, the faintest flicker of a challenge in his pretty blue eyes. two can play that game, matter of fact, you know you’ll win.

you pull back, smirking as you trace your fingers over the waistband of his jeans, “that’s pushing it, don’t you think?”

he exhales a chuckle through his nose, his hands moving to your waist, tugging you closer. “you’re so fucking stubborn.”

“me?” you scoff, your fingers dipping beneath the fabric of his jeans, making his tighten, his smirk faltering enough to make you feel victorious.

“yeah,” he repeats, though his voice is strained now. “practically begging me to fuck you here.”

“please.” you tilt your head, your lips grazing his jaw, “you’re the one begging.”

rafe’s laugh is low and throaty, a sound that sends a thrill to your core. his control visibly slips as you trail your lips down the line of his jaw, peppering kisses that grow increasingly slower, more deliberate.

his sharp exhale and the way his grip on your hips drops for half a second tell you everything you need to know.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, his forehead dropping against your shoulder for a moment.

you grin, pleased with yourself, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

“don’t sound to surprised.”

he shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it, but he can’t seem to stop staring at you. “god, i hate you sometimes,” he breathes out, his lips quirking up into a smirk that betrays his words.

“funny,” you retort, fingers sliding back into his hair to tug lightly. “don’t believe you.”

his jaw tightens at the sensation, a groan slipping past his lips before he catches it.

 “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says again, but his mouth is already back on you, a bruising kiss that steals every smart-ass remark you had locked and loaded.

your mouths move together with instinct, and when his tongue flicks against your lower lip, you don’t hesitate, opening up for him. he groans low in his throat as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, curling against yours, slick and overwhelming in the best way.

it’s messy and unrestrained, the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy and drenched. 

rafe’s lips leave yours only for a second, his teeth tugging lightly at your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to let it drag between his teeth, his eyes locked on yours, all dark with something feral.

you don’t let him stay in control for long, your hands tighten in his hair, tugging him back to you, and this time it’s your tongue that takes over, sliding against his in a way that has him moaning like a bitch in heat into your mouth. he sucks on it lightly, the sensation only making your panties stick harder to you, and you press closer to him, your legs tightening around his waist, looking for some kind of friction.

when he pulls back, both of you gasping for air, his lips are swollen and glistening, his eyes glazed over with that unmistakable lust.

a string of spit still connects your mouths, and you watch, entranced, as he swipes his tongue across his lips, catching it before smirking at you.

“you kiss me like that again,” he murmurs, “’m not responsible for what happens next.”

[ultraericthered]

#i got to screen Wish before it released during a school trip and let me tell you something #even though we noticed the glaring problems with that movie immediately #i also noticed something i dont think many others did at that time #there was so much talent and potential being held back. if you read closely you can pick up on a cry for help from the creatives behind it #i want to elaborate but i think if you know. you know #and if you don't.. this post does a good job of shining a light on a small part of that cry for you #despite its many issues i think i still liked Wish. Not because i think it was a good movie but bc i think it could have been a great one had circumstances been different. #my heart goes out to those who put their souls and everything they had into that movie and others in similar situations #some of the creators had given a small talk before the screening and to me they seemed very emotional about it #i think what many people forget is that nobody can see a project's flaws better than the people who worked on it #but what they also see and you can't is everything more it was meant to be #please remember that the core of many issues in any project is that the people with the talent often do not have power to call the shots

Yes, all of that. And I find it ironic that the gifed scene is the one that got people saying "Hey, King Magnifico's not really much of a villain, he's got a good point! He's just upholding his part of a social contract with his citizenry and doing what he, as king, needs to do to protect their wishes but also protect Rosas by ruling out granting any wishes that might backfire and have dangerous repercussions for the kingdom and the lives of the people! Asha's just an ignorant spoiled brat for demanding anything more of him! Magnifico Did Nothing Wrong!" So when you take that position on what you're being shown by the story and not scratching the surface to look at what Magnifico is doing in-universe by not giving back the wishes he knows he will not grant and knows the people who gave them to him cannot remember and what the out-of-universe subtext of this is, you're siding with the Disney Corporate Executive Overlords. You're siding with Bob Iger's "they're not being realistic with their expectations" argument. You're siding with Chapek and Iger's practices done under excuses like "It doesn't fit the Disney brand", "mass appeal stories over personal ones", "people don't want to go and pay to see movies with girly princess titles", etc. You're siding with their practices of dumping content straight to streaming (or onto Disney+ not too long after they've hit theaters or TV) even when that actually limits profits that the actual creative teams can make from their own work, of tampering with the artists visions and how the finished product turns out and then punishing those artists if it doesn't turn out well, and of ignoring ideas for original creations in favor of contiunally milking their popular (and profitable) existing IPs. You're siding with people who make up an entire entity that say loudly to the faces of all those who put in the work, the skills, the talent, the passion and dedication to create art and content they feel people deserve to enjoy, in the forms they deserve to enjoy them "I decide what everyone deserves!"

Capitalism errodes into a force for human evil when the people at the top prove susceptible to three things in excess beyond mere greed and self-interest: unchecked power, irresponsibility, and indecency. King Magnifico is allegorical for that evil, with a bit of a communist dictator angle to him too since that's the end point of those exact same excesses and extremes for socialism. He's a major problematic fave for all kinds of reasons, but anyone who wants to tell me he's a good guy can kindly GTFO.

Wish (2023) dir. Fawn Veerasunthorn, Chris Buck

hey do you think the overworked creatives about to go on strike are trying to tell us something

article sources under the cut

Mattson, Kelcie. "How Disney Almost Killed 'Nimona.'" Collider, January 2 2024.

Earl, William. "Shelving Batgirl Was the Right Decision, Says New DC Studios Head Peter Safran: 'It Would Have Hurt DC.'" Variety, January 31 2023

Couch, Aaron. "Warner Bros. Reverses Course on 'Coyote vs. Acme' After Filmmakers Rebel." The Hollywood Reporter, November 13 2023.

Ridgely, Charlie. "Scoob! Sequel Director Revealed Film Was 'Very Close' to Completion Before HBO Max Cancellation." comicbook.com, August 2 2022.

Clark, Travis. "Staffers at the animation studio Blue Sky say it's 'heartbreaking' that Disney canceled its final movie, 'Nimona.'" Business Insider, February 18, 2021.

Harrison, Mark. "Why was the Batgirl movie cancelled?" Yahoo! Entertainment, January 31 2024.

Amidi, Amid. "Warner Bros. Shelves Fully-Completed 'Coyote Vs. Acme' For Tax Write-Off." Cartoon Brew, November 9 2023.

Lee, Alex. "Why Netflix keeps cancelling your favourite shows after two seasons." Wired UK, September 28 2020.

Tyrrell, Gary. "We All Knew It Was Coming." fleen.com, February 10 2021.

"Warner Bros. Reverses Course on ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ After Filmmakers Rebel." see: 3.

Bergeson, Samantha. "Warner Bros. Will Let 'Coyote Vs. Acme' Filmmakers Shop Movie to Other Distributors." IndieWire, November 13 2023.

Strapagiel, Lauren. "Disney's First Feature Animated Movie With Queer Leads May Never Be Released." BuzzfeedNews, February 24 2021.

"We All Knew It Was Coming." see: 9

@/scottderrickson. "I think it’s absolute bullshit that a studio can and does shelve the creative work of hundreds of people for a fucking tax break." Twitter, 10 Nov. 2023, 4:52 p.m..

[narnian-neverlander]

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje láska, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláček, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděl. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

[tricksters-captain]

Declan O'Hara imagine - I'm not doing this.

A/N: I thought about this one shot weeks ago... finally writing it. Probably been done already by someone else but who isn't obsessed with rivals atm. I also haven't written in years.

Summary: Declan is fighting against himself and everything he believes in when you come into the picture.

Warnings: Age Gap, fem!reader, NSFW content 18+, strong language, bit of a slow burn.

"Taggie, honestly, I don't know why you'd ever willingly add Brussel sprouts to anything." You chuckled as you both crept through the door to the kitchen.

"They're good for you!" Taggie tried to defend her culinary choices for her Sunday lunch.

"If they're good for you then I always want to be bad."

"Who's being bad?" A thick Irish accent filled the room as Taggie's dad sauntered in, a mug of coffee in one hand with his other burrowed deeply into his trouser pocket.

"Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N) was just objecting to my sprouts."

"Oh yeah, I agree, terrible things. Even the dog won't eat 'em" Declan brought his mug to his lips, smirking through the thick moustache that hid his upper lip.

You felt your insides alight at his dark, playful expression as he teased Taggie.

That was the first time you knew you were a bad friend. A bad friend who wanted your new friend's father to lift you onto the kitchen table and bury his head between your thighs.

The thought made your cheeks burn red as you laughed at Declan's remark and Taggie's complaints against him.

The man left the kitchen when his eyes flitted back to you, sending you a nod and a 'lovely to meet you, (Y/N). '

You couldn't help but replay the way he said your name in your head over and over and over again until you were desperate for his voice to sing it again.

The next time you saw Declan O'Hara was at the O'Hara New Years Eve party.

"You better not spend the whole time in here. I'd actually like you to put a dress on and come out to dance at some point tonight." You pleaded with Taggie as she clasped your necklace for you.

"I'll try but I can't make any promises. Anyway, you're out there to be my eyes and ears. You need to tell me if anyone complains about the food, okay?"

"Yes, Taggie. But no one will because you are amazing and your food is amazing and you are so right for not letting me help you cook or serve after I burnt the soup last time." You faced her as she continued to prep the ingredients she would need for the feast she had planned.

"You are a great friend but you are a terrible cook." Taggie agreed. You felt a lump in your throat at the words. Were you a great friend for literally fantasising over her father after almost every time you had an interaction with him? "Now please go next door and make sure that all the tables have the right cutlery for me?"

"Anything for you, Agatha!" You headed to do as you were told. Looking down to smooth out your dress when you felt yourself collide with something solid.

"I'm so sorry!" You looked up to see Declan turning, laughing softly at your clumsiness.

"It's okay, love." Declan's own eyes fell down your body, his lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you all dressed up. He knew you were an attractive girl but you were Taggie's age and one of her only friends in the surrounding neighbours beside Lizzie. "You look beautiful."

The sincerity in his voice caused a chill to roll up your spine.

"Thanks. You look very handsome too, Mr. O'Hara." You didn't know why you felt so shy around him. You were so used to owning your space and holding your confidence when you fancied someone.

"That's very kind, (Y/N). And it's Declan. I don't want to tell you again." Declan send you a wink as he started to pass you. "Hey, and no snogging my son at midnight. You're way too good for him."

Your heart squeezed at the taunt. Patrick was a gorgeous boy and he had tried to flirt with you when he met you but you were far too interested in Declan for Patrick to make any dent in your crush.

"He's not my type anyway." You managed to find your tongue to quip back an answer.

"Good girl."

Good Girl.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself replying something entirely inappropriate in response.

As the night went on, you felt your heart drop more and more. Declan was obsessed with his wife. His wife was obsessed with anyone else.

You were desperate to try and make more conversation with the man but almost everyone was grabbing his attention to discuss some work matter or other.

As the countdown began, you gut wrenchingly watched as Maud and Declan kiss. You put on a smile and exchanged celebrations with those around you. Giving Lizzie a kiss on the cheek as her husband blanked her as he usually did.

"Happy New Year, chicken." Lizzie pressed on a faux smile as you did.

"Happy New Year, Lizzie."

"A little advice for your new years resolution if I may?" Lizzie whispered as she drew you closer.

"You may want to get better at hiding your admiration for Taggie's father. I know nothing hurts more than something you can't have." Lizzie's words took you back, you felt your cheeks burning red and your smile drop.

"Oh, Lizzie, I'm mortified! Please don't tell Taggie." You begged.

"Not a peep." Lizzie motioned locking her lips with a key before grabbing your hands to singing sway along with the room.

The night went on and Lizzie tried to encourage you to join in festivities. You drank more and more, being forced away whenever you tried to help Taggie wash up, and you soon found yourself needing some quiet time.

You let yourself into Declan's office, leaning against the desk, fingers gripping the underside to give you some stability when the room started to ever so slightly spin.

You closed your eyes. Inhaling a shaky breath when you heard the door creek open.

"I thought someone unwanted had decided to sneak through my things." Declan's melodic accent forced your eyes open.

"I'm wanted, am I?" You smirked slightly, through the sickness as your eyelids closed again.

Declan didn't respond. Instead he just studied you from across the room. His hands in his pockets, his stance leaning back just ever so slightly.

"You struggling there?" Declan was amused at your state.

You tried to push yourself off the desk but instead felt yourself stumble forward.

Declan's amusement quickly turned into concern as he stepped forward to catch you.

"Steady on." Declan had managed to stop you from hitting the floor, your face pressed against his chest, his strong arms engulfing you as he pulled you up towards him.

"I'm so sorry..." You mumbled as you leant away to look up at him.

His features were so strong up close. You could smell the whisky on his breath as your eyes lingered on his lips.

"Maybe we should get you some water and put you to bed."

Declan's words drew your eyes to his own. His chest seemed to go tight as he starred down into your glassy (Y/E/C) eyes.

"You can take me to bed any time you want, Mr O'Hara." Your words slurred together with your weak attempt of drunkenly flirting.

"It's Declan."

"Okay, Declan..."

That was the first time Declan had heard you say his name. Something inside him knew he wanted to hear you say it again but he fought against the thought, pulling away from you as you gained your stance.

"Let's hope you don't remember this in the morning, ay?" Declan tried to make light, convincing himself the electric feeling he had was nothing.

"Why? I finally got my chance in your arms. My dream come true."

"Yeah, you really won't want to remember this in the morning. Come on..." Declan opened the door, waiting for you to follow suite. The noise of the party echoed around you; you had almost forgot it was still going on outside.

"Have you ever thought about me?" You had no idea where this liquid confidence had stirred from.

There was a pause before he answered.

"No." He was lying. He knew he was lying. He watched the disappoint subtly encase your eyes as you pursed your lips into a thin smile.

"If I was dreaming, you would've said yes. Goodnight, Mr O'Hara."

"Goodnight, (Y/n)."

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As the weeks went on, rivals became friends. Friends became rivals. You grew closer to the O'Hara family and the moment from NYE had simply been forgotten. Or so you thought...

The dread that had filled your gut that New Years Day after you remembered the incident brewed inside of you for weeks. You had successfully avoided Declan, only seeing him in group scenarios and meetings for Venturer.

"(Y/N), I left some of my flyers on the table in the living room if you want to use them." Taggie climbed into her car, shouting over at you as she rushed off. You both had been going door to door for Venturer in different areas to cover more ground but you had run out of flyers to hand out.

"Thanks, Tag!" You rushed inside, running through the house that still held a cool air inside despite the early summer warmth outside.

"Careful!" You heard a voice proclaim as your bodies hit.

Within the blink of an eye, you had hit the floor with a body on top of you.

"Are you alright?" Declan groaned as you winced underneath his weight. The hard floor sent a wave of pain through your back but you had managed to not hit your head.

"Ow." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Did you hit your head?" Declan propped himself up on his arms, examining your face with a furrowed brow of worry.

"No." Was all you managed to say.

"I thought we had left bumping into each other for last year." Declan recalled on when you knocked into him last New Years Eve before the party had started.

"Clearly I'm not very good at keeping to New Year's resolutions."

Declan chuckled, pushing himself up before offering his hand.

You felt the warmth of his body leave you and the coldness of the floor pierce your bones.

You took his hand; hauling yourself to your feet.

"You sure you're okay?" Declan insisted. His hand reached out to take grip of your waist, his thumb and finger burning against your skin that had been revealed by the edge of your venturer top riding up. His other finger waved past your eyes, checking for concussion.

"I'm fine. No more running in the house with blind corners." You took a step back from the man, straightening your shirt to try and control the lingering feeling of the mans hand on you.

"Now... are we okay?" Declan rephrased,

"What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), don't play stupid. You've avoided me for almost half a year now. You won't even walk around the house without Caitlin or Taggie next to you."

You didn't think that Declan would've noticed with how busy he was with work and his life. Why would he have cared where you were or what you were doing in the house?

"I'm still living down my behaviour at New Years." You reluctantly admitted.

"What, that? Everyone says stuff they shouldn't when they've had a few too many. Doesn't mean you have to never look me in the eye again."

"What I said was completely inappropriate."

"Yes, it was. You're the same age as my daughter and I'm a married man but I'll have to admit I'm a little flattered." Declan tried his best to ease your anxiety. "I don't exactly see myself a teenage heart throb."

"I'm not a teenager." You bit back, the harshness your voice surprising you both.

"There's not much difference. You're practically a child and should be going for someone your own age." Declan quit the joking tone he had been using, taken back by your defence.

"Don't call me a child. I'm not the same age as Caitlin. I am older than Taggie and I've been with men before so I'm not playing silly little girl games over here. This isn't some school girl crush on a handsome teacher. You're right my feelings for you are inappropriate because you're a married man and I'm friends with your daughter but not because of my age. I know who I am and what I feel." A fire lit up your chest as you finally had broken out of the timidness you hated.

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Declan took a step closer to you, his stare burning into you as he lowered his voice.

"You're the one who reads people. Tell me what you see in me." You matched him, standing so close to him you could feel his breath on your face as you gritted your teeth.

The air was thick. The silence of the house engulfing you both, your breath audible and quick. You thought you could almost hear your heart thudding against your chest.

Declan was the one to break away. Storming to his office with a hard slam of the door.

How did your conversation turn so heated?

That night Declan tossed and turned, his head filled with moments of you. He rolled over and gently woke up his wife with soft strokes on her shoulder blades.

"What?" Maud hummed, rolling her head over her shoulder to Declan.

"I'm awake." Declan pressed himself against his wife.

"I can feel that." Maud looked at him through a sleepy gaze.

"Let me touch you." His fingers glided over her skin until he reached the space between her legs. Maud moaned quietly as Declan began to part her folds with his finger.

"Declan..." Maud sighed as she pressed her backside into him, feeling his member hard against her.

Declan wasted no time in entering her. He closed his eyes as his dick pressed inside his wife. And all he could see through the darkness was your eyes looking up at his. The first time he had seen you in the kitchen. The bump in the hall, the incident in his study, every time he had caught you intensely listening to one of his speeches to the group, the crash against the floor. You underneath him. The tiny bit of skin his hand had managed to caress from the bottom of your shirt.

He had never thought of you before. Not with Maud, not with his own hand and imagination and he couldn't make sense of why that night he finished almost as fast as his inexperienced teenage self had once before.

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

It had been Declan's turn to avoid you from that day. He couldn't be too close to you without feeling his throat go dry, a sickening guilt and twisting conflict rising with it.

It was the evening you'd find out whether Venturer was a real contender against Corrinium.

The O'Hara house was filled with people eagerly waiting except one who had decided to leave the house for good.

The house erupted in cheers and celebrations as the phone call confirmed it for you all.

You watched through the window as Maud drove off, leaving Declan and Taggie behind.

"We did it!" Taggie squeezed you tightly before embracing her father and to your surprise, Declan had also pulled you into a tight hug. You had hoped no one picked up on the slight awkwardness that left the embrace when Declan moved onto join the others. You couldn't help but feel it.

The party went on and you tried to keep an eye on Declan without making it too obvious (like Rupert and Taggie had failed to).

When Rupert left Declan's side for another whiskey, (Taggie swiftly disappearing just after), Declan slipped away to his study. You followed.

"I'm sorry about Maud." You made your presence known as you watched him place his glass down on the desk, his back to you when he replied.

"Don't."

"Fine." You clenched your jaw, unsure of what to say next at the warning in his tone.

"What do you want from me?" Declan's voice had a hint of desperation. He turned to face you. You had seen this look before.

"I don't––"

"––No 'cause you followed me in here. You are everywhere I look. I can't even get a wink of sleep most nights without dreaming of two things. You or beating Tony fucking Baddingham. And I can't think of you because you're young enough to be my daughter and I'm a fucking hypocrite for telling Rupert to stay away from Taggie when I look at you in that dress and wonder what you would look like with it on this floor right now. I'm not doing it. I can't do this."

Declan's outburst kept your feet frozen in place. Had he really just admitted to wanting you as badly as you wanted him.

You felt your hand roll the zipper of your dress down your side, your body moved without force as you slipped the straps over your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Fuck..." Declan barely breathed out the word. His stare devouring every inch of your skin.

"I'm not doing this." Declan uttered again barely even audible as if only to himself before striding towards you. His fingers found your hips as he thrust you against the door.

His lips were on yours before your back found the solid wood behind you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up towards him, trying to bring your body as close to his own as possible. You needed every gap between you gone. You wanted to feel the heat of him even on this sticky summer evening.

"What am I doing?" Declan broke away and dropped to his knees, placing a firm hand on the middle of your stomach to hold you flush against the door.

There was a deep hunger in his eyes as he lifted one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, never breaking his gaze from your face to almost check if what he was doing was allowed.

You threw your head up, trying to find the air he had stolen from you, one hand finding a grip within his dark curls as your welcome reply.

"Please." You whispered.

Declan moved your panties to the side, a finger running over your folds, sending fire against your skin before he closed his mouth around you.

You let your eyes roll back as his tongue darted across your clit. Electricity filled your body with every moment of contact.

You felt his fingers circle lightly around your entrance. Your hand jumped from his thick curls to tightly grip the back of his own that pushed against your stomach. His grip on you felt as if it were all that was holding you up.

"You want me this badly?" Declan asked with a mixture of teasing and shock. The wetness of your heat coated the tip of his fingers and glistened on the dark hairs of his moustache.

"I've imagined this so many times." You admit honestly.

"I best live up to your expectations then." Declan inserted a finger inside of you, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips, which made Declan's cock twitch inside his boxer shorts. "Shhhh"

You placed your free hand over your mouth to which Declan smiled a toothy grin at you.

"Good girl" he purred.

Declan rose to his feet as he placed another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you in a painfully slow motion that only made you ache for more.

Declan turned the lock on his door with his other hand before pulling himself away from you completely.

You pouted at the lack of contact to which he tutted.

"So impatient." He uttered as he undid his belt, pulling it from its loops and then kicking his trousers down.

Your eyes fell on the large member pressed against his underwear. The tip seeping precum through the material in a dark stain.

"Go to my desk." Declan ordered.

You almost ran over, Declan caught you by the waist and lifted you up onto it. Spreading your legs with his knee.

"Are you sure you want this?" Declan stripped himself of his shirt, revealing his chest covered with dark thick hair that you reached out to touch. This didn't feel real.

"More than anything." The words were so quiet but Declan seemed to hear them as he freed himself from his underwear.

You reached behind and unclasped your bra.

"Jesus..." He took a handful of your breast, squeezing you firmly as he stroked his member.

"Declan, please." You couldn't wait any longer. The ache pained you.

Declan didn't need to be told twice.

He tore your underwear down your legs and pressed his tip slowly into you.

You bit down on your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise.

"Holy fuck..." Declan failed at being quiet. You were so tight against him he felt he could've finished inside of you within minutes.

You reached forward and hooked a grip behind his neck, encouraging him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me please." you pleaded, trying to move your own hips to create some friction.

Declan took the hint and began thrusting into you quickly. His fingers almost bruising your skin as he held you steady on the desk.

The rattle of the belongings on the desk seemed to echo around the room alongside the slapping of skin.

Declan lifted you up, still inside of you and gently placed you down on the floor.

He hovered above you, just like he had once before, watching your face twist in pleasure as he fucked you.

You squeezed his shoulders, your nails leaving an impression whilst he brought you closer to your climax. You pressed your hips up into his creating hot friction against your clitoris, making you throb inside.

"Declan..." You tried to let him know; still trying to whisper to stay quiet.

"Cum for me, princess." Declan smirked, his stare never faltering as he rode you through to your end. He could feel you tighten around him only encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

You bit down on your hand as your climax convulsed through you. Your body shaking in between Declan and the floor.

Declan moved you both effortlessly, lying on his back with you sat on top of him.

You leant ever so slightly forward, steadying yourself with your hand stretched out against his chest.

You smiled wickedly at him as you rolled your hips.

You felt exhausted by your own finish but knew you wanted to see the older man in the same state.

"That's a good girl." Declan held onto your hips, helping you pick up your pace.

His lips parted as he watched you ride him, sweat dripping down your skin mixing with his own as his dick twitched inside of you.

"Fuck (Y/n)." Declan cursed.

You shifted your hand to his neck, Declan almost laughed, flipping you again so that he was behind you. Both of you on your knees as he held you against his chest, his hand wrapped firmly around your neck with his opposite arm securely around your middle.

The sensation was almost unbearable as his thick member pumped in and out of you at such speed.

"You think you want to be a bad girl?" Declan hissed in your ear.

You could only shake your head.

"Bad girls get punished." Declan bit hard down on your shoulder and you fought to not cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine now." Declan's own proclamation brought himself to his own climax. He pulled out, spilling his seed over his own thighs to avoid finishing inside of you much to your own disappointment.

"I know you wanted that inside of you like the dirty girl you are." Declan teased you as he gave your throat one final soft squeeze.

You fell against him, both trying to catch your breath.

"Declan?" A voice and a knock came at the door.

"Shit..." The realisation of what had just happened and where it just happened hit Declan like a cricket bat to the face.

"I'll be out in a mo." Declan scrambled for his underwear and you did the same.

"Hurry up! I know that's where you're hiding the good stuff!" Bas' voice was more evident now and whilst he was definitely talking about the whiskey. The both of you couldn't help but laugh.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Cassandra (the last of these retrospective character threads), under a cut for length:

"This is the last of the (major) characters I wrote during my time on Dragon Age. I could go into others, and considered moving onto Stray Gods... but I feel like fewer would be interested, and I honestly can't keep up the pace. So let's make this the last, for now. So, yeah. Cassandra. We knew early on that Cassandra would come into DAI as a companion, along with Varric, that this was part of what DA2 set up for the sequel. Now, I'd written Cassandra's short scenes in DA2, yes, but I wasn't her writer for DAI. Initially, she was Jennifer Hepler's character. By mid-project, in fact, Cassandra was more or less fully written. Jennifer did a great job - solid character, solid quest. The sticking point, it turned out, was her romance. Now, to be fair, Jennifer told me straight up when we began that writing romance wasn't her forte, but she'd give it a go. The problem with the romance as she wrote it wasn't in its execution but more a clash between the character as Jennifer envisioned her and the requirements of her being a romance. See, I mentioned previously that a romance arc inherently limits the kinds of stories you can tell with a companion. Many responses I got can be summed up as "lol skill issue", but consider this: a companion romance isn't a fic you can just throw up on AO3. It's an investment of a lot of resources. If a companion has one, most of their resources need to be devoted to it - it's not "now let's ALSO add a romance"."

"That means it needs to take priority in who they are as a character and their arc. What's more, they need to be *appealing* to a big chunk of the player base - or at least someone we can imagine being broadly appealing, anyway. Thankfully, there are still many many stories this can accommodate. 😊 This, however, wasn't one of those. Was Cassandra a fascinating character? Absolutely. Her romance, though... Well, Jennifer DID warn me. She'd written Cassandra as a serious, self-righteous, pious woman who put the Inquisitor on a messianic pedestal. Romancing her meant changing her view of you. You did this by being... pushy. Jennifer didn't mean it to, I'm sure, but sometimes it came off as, at best, negging. At worst, a bit harassy. And Jennifer would have fixed it. This was a 1st draft, and the issues - while serious - were something a skilled writer like her could handle. No problem. Thing is, Jennifer left. You may not remember, but this was around the time a bunch of GamerGate dudes decided Jennifer was somehow responsible for ALL of BioWare's faults. Oh, the power she wielded! She, a writer, could even command the combat Bio made! The result was a LOT of ugly harassment. 😞 Is this why she left? You'd have to ask her, but it undoubtedly didn't help. The important thing is, she left - and there was nobody as senior nor as superhumanly fast as her to take over any unfinished work. This is where Patrick Weekes comes in: a solid, senior writer who could fill her shoes."

"It was great timing - not only did Cassandra need a writer, I'd slowly fallen more and more behind. It was clear by that point that I'd never be able to write Dorian AND Cole AND Solas as planned. They needed to pick up two. And I let them choose the ones who interested them, like all my writers. Patrick taking Solas was no surprise, and while I had Big Plans for Solas in the future I knew at least he'd be in good hands. I was reeeeaaaally hoping Patrick would then pick Cassandra... but they wanted Cole. My baby. Who I created in Asunder. I grumped, but Patrick clearly loved the character. They had ideas for Cole which... yeah yeah, sounded cool. Fiiine. 😅 Now I had to figure out what *I* was going to do with Cassandra. We couldn't move the romance to someone else, all the other female characters were well underway, and I didn't know the character well enough to fix her with tweaks. That meant a re-write. I didn't WANT to erase all that good work, but I needed to start from scratch. Yet how? A pious, self-righteous character was already a risk in terms of romantic appeal. There are only a small number of traits sorta considered universally unappealing but they're on that list. In this instance, Cassandra already being a known character helped. I came across a webcomic (by aimo, I think? AHH I wish I could find it now) that made a joke about Cassandra reading Varric's books. Off-hand, no basis for it, but funny. 😆 And I thought: YES. THAT'S IT. THAT'S WHAT I'M MISSING."

"I sat down and wrote the "fangirl" scene, just to test it out. Everyone loved it, and it served to change my image of who Cassandra was - a view of the inside, at the idealistic and awkward passion she felt, for so many things... AND the Maker. "Yes," I thought. "I could fall in love with this." Who knew Cassandra could be funny? Not anyone, coming out of DA2, yet here we were. It worked so well and her voice came so easily. Miranda Raison was game ofc, and amazing. Though Caroline did gripe that, if we ever met more Nevarrans THAT accent meant we'd have the Tali Problem all over again. 😅 Cassandra's romance is burned into my brain as the time when we THE most awkward conversation with the animators ever. See, that moment during the sex scene on the picnic blanket when she leans back and... there were suddenly these strategically-placed candles, juuuust covering the Sordid Bits. Thing is, they were so obviously placed just to do that. Plus, we'd already decided to do full nudity in DAI, hadn't we? WHY WERE THEY EVEN THERE? Turns out, the nudity thing was still pretty new to the team. They'd forgotten and put the candles there almost as a reflex. So prudish. So Canadian. 😂 I do find it kind of funny that, these days, what I mostly hear about Cassandra is from female fans upset at me because she wasn't a lesbian option. I mean, right? Who wouldn't want that? Technically not my decision, but I guess I WAS behind the companions having set preferences so... fair enough?"

"Some of them do take it to an entitled place, though, like Cassandra *should* have been a lesbian. Why? Because she looks like one, apparently, and that that's a bit of stereotyping which feels... odd? But it's not as if lesbian players are spoiled for choice left and right, so again: fair enough. It did lead to the best end credits VO perhaps ever, and overall I'm pretty happy with how Cassandra panned out. Things never end up like you expect, right? But such is game dev lyfe. 🥸🖖 Did you know Cassandra was THE most-romanced DAI character, by a good margin? Least, by a good margin? Dorian."

[source thread]

User: "Did you have any hand in her writing for Dawn of the Seeker?" David Gaider: "No, none. Nobody at BioWare had any hand in Dawn of the Seeker, outside of maybe Mike approving the script or direction? Only he could say for sure." [source]

User: "Was Miranda a specific casting choice by anyone on the team (similar to your picks for Merrill/Fenris/Solas), or was she simply a lucky find? I loved Miranda on the BBC series "Spooks", so I was very pleasantly surprised to learn she voiced one of my favourite DA characters" David Gaider: "I don’t remember how Miranda was cast. Auditioned, I expect, and she had a good “steely warrior voice” which is surprisingly uncommon among actresses. The accent she made up was all her, as well." [source]

User: "What's the Tali Problem?" David Gaider: "When Tali was the only Quarian, the actress doing a made-up accent was fine. Once there were others… do we get them all to mimic her? That’s a tall order!" [source]

User: "I'd say Solas is the most popular nowaday, but you need to be such a specific race/gender combo + most straight guys wouldn't go for him, i get hes not on top of the list, but I'd have expected Josephine over Cass." David Gaider: "You can’t go by how fans online talk about playing the game. There is almost zero correlation between the playstyles of the vocal hardcore and the masses." [source]

User: "I was a Dorianmancer. The cut content in Trespasser DLC was sad to read, it definitely felt short/abrupt for Dorianmancers. Anyway to share what was cut at all?" David Gaider: "I don’t know what was cut out of the conversation, as I never played it. I just heard about it after the fact." [source]

User: "Those end credits are truly incredible. Do you remember who wrote them? I'm guessing a combination of Mary Kirby & you?" David Gaider: "I wrote them, but I recall the entire team kind of took part in brainstorming the pieces of it." [source]

User: "I’m very curious- Do you know what direction you would have taken Cole and his story if you’d kept him?" David Gaider: "It's hypothetical at this point, but I suspect I would have been less willing to lose the serial killer aspect... or, at least, would have made that transition occur as part of his arc in DAI. Yet that's easy to say from this side of the divide. Who knows, really?" [source]

User: "With Cassandra you created one of the best characters in DA history." David Gaider: "Personally, my favorite response of hers is where she gets mocked for loving romance and she comes back with a retort about how it's a strength - how loving something and striving for the ideal takes courage. To me, that's central to her core." [source]

User: "inquiry: did you not write any of the Awakening characters?" David Gaider: "I wrote Anders, Justice, and Nathaniel in Awakening - but it was such a hurried project, my memories of it are pretty much a blur. "Yes, I worked on that" is almost all I can say about it, I'm afraid." [source]

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

important caveat: is the reason for which they changed their views and started doing better something that started them on the path to doing better, or is it something they only care about insofar as the specific thing that appealed to them is a factor, and once that's removed from the equation are they fine with continuing to do harm?

are they fine with fatshaming and misgendering people they don't like? do they treat being a knowledgeable, inclusive, generally decent ally--not just re: representation, but irl--as a novelty expansion pack for their blorbos, then lose interest when they move on to something else? do they do so for approval and to feel good about themselves, only to throw fits and backpedal when they realize that involves discomfort, work, or self-accountability? do they Learn About an Issue because their partner/close friend/etc falls into that group, only to go straight back to being a bigot after they break up (or whiplash harder into the bigotry out of spite, even)?

or do they take it as a wakeup call to be a better, more compassionate person? do they take the opportunity to make use of what they have, however it ended up in front of them? do they still use this kind of thing as a cue to examine whether there are other avenues of growth that they would do well to open themselves up to, instead of relying solely on that one?

i have an ex-friend who was deeply emotionally abusive, and whose abuse this dynamic featured prominently in. she gaslit me so thoroughly that it was frightening to read what i was saying in response to her--what i was accepting as truth--when i was looking back over things to unpack them after the fact. and as soon as i left her life, she swan dived straight into the queerphobia, racism,* radfem bullshit, and general nastiness she'd been just barely pretending to care about while she was friends with me.

and being friends with her saved me from what could easily have been a spiral into radfeminism, because she was aroace on the tail of ace discourse. it shook me right to my core when i realized one day that i'd hurt someone close to me, at a moment when she needed support, because of a radfem talking point i'd picked up. it turned my shit right around, and surprise surprise i continued to give a shit about being an ally to aspecs after we split ways and i realized how awful she was.

*(i am white, to clarify, but being a racist shithead was very much on her list of ~things you need to be patient with me about so i can become a better ally~ because i kept calling her on it lmao)

taking opportunities to grow regardless of what that gift horse's mouth looks like is so, so important, and it will take you far. just make sure you're actually growing instead of becoming a missing stair.

i do not care if someone learned compassion from a cartoon or a comic or an anime im just glad they're here with us now a better person fighting the good fight. should it have taken something so trivial? maybe not- but it's in the past! and this is the now! and if they're objectively better for it who cares

[ghouljams]

Aphrodite!reader bringing Hephaestus!Nikto little scraps of metal or full on weapons/armor pieces she liked the metal that it used or thought he would find interesting to forge with.

Aphrodite!Reader asking Nikto if he would ever tell her what he was doing with specific steps in his forging because she just wants to hear his voice

Nikto building a different seat for reader to rest in but still having her little stool available for when she wants to come closer. Not that he understands why.

Reader bringing a drink or pitcher of some cold beverage for Nikto and him also being confused again as to why she’s doing these things. Obviously she’s sharing because she would feel bad if she didn’t and not because she knows that said beverage is his favorite or one that he enjoys.

you’ve definitely won me over (expected) (once again) (as usual) with this au. i am appreciative.

Someone on one of my posts about them mentioned it was fitting for the "god of passion to marry the god of invention." And it made me remember that quote that's like "I loved her to the point of invention" and yeah, good stuff.

It's not like you don't have things to do. You are a god, after all, you have duties to attend to, people to bless and all that. You have battlefields to walk through, soldiers that swear on their love's life, that beg to see them one more time, that take the rage of loss and channel it into power. You have weddings and births, deaths and funerals, first steps, reunions, first and last loves to look over. You have artists to watch, to stare entranced as they paint their muse, their passion seeping into every brushstroke, every strike of their hammed.

You pluck iron shavings off the floor and hum to yourself as you go. You pull arrowheads from broken ribcages. First teeth fall into your hands. Hair from a pet gone too soon. Lace from a wedding dress, notes off pages of music, stone chunks, paint chips, love letters half finished. You collect it all and shuffle through it as you sit outside your husband's forge. You don't have your stool out here, so you content yourself with standing. You shift your weight onto your other foot when one starts to ache.

You think he would like the nails, the arrowhead, the iron shavings, things he can melt down. He has better metal you're sure, but you don't know what to give your husband when you hardly know him. Does he even like his work? Is the forge something he's relegated to and not something he's passionate about. You love Love, you're the god of it, you find passion exhilarating, inspiring, transmogrifying. Nikto must feel the same about his work.

It's well into the night by the time the forge door swings open, your husband running a scarred hand through matted hair, tugging his mask off to reveal a crisp line of soot across his nose and cheeks. The black mark is matched only by the cacophony of white lines that strike like lightning over his skin, pulling his lips into a snarl and puckering his cheek. He freezes when he sees you. His eye twitches.

There's a large part of you that feels silly offering up your treasures. There's a small part of you that stares wide eyed at your husband, at the spectacular carnage that cuts his handsome features, and wishes he didn't slip his mask back on. So you offer him your metals, your scraps of love with nowhere to go.

"This is trash," He tells you, his voice muffled and distorted by the cylinders on either side of his mask, as he hands you a jewel, "we don't want it."

He turns, with your offering, and shuts the door to the forge behind him again. You can hear the heavy *thunk* of the lock sliding back into place.

Your bed is cold.

[tealvenetianmask]

Visual Parallels: The Full Moon and Mastermind

It's mad scientist mode time ya'll.

The visual references to other episodes in Mastermind are wild. People have already beautifully pointed out how the duet sequence references Blitz's "Truth Seekers" hallucination and "Just Look My Way," and makes the two inner worlds mesh.

"The Full Moon" is also heavily referenced. I first noticed it in this shot of Stolas . . .

Which is repeated quite similarly a few times in the trial scene, and looks a lot like . . .

The camera angle (if there were a camera) is pretty much identical.

This made me realize that the whole sequence (the duet and Blitz getting pulled away afterward) has them positioned with Blitz facing Stolas and Stolas's back to Blitz, with a similar distance between them to what we see in "The Full Moon."

And as I rewatched both, I saw more and more.

An attempt by Blitz to touch Stolas, and Stolas not turning around, having already decided his course of action.

(Is anyone noticing a similar color palate yet?)

And a forced exit, based on a decision that Stolas makes:

So this very well might show that Stolas is holding a lot of the power in their relationship. But also, the similar elements in these scenes aren't identical- they simply rhyme.

There are some interesting differences with Blitz's physical expressions of desperation. Even though he's set away from Stolas against a bright red background when he's expressing himself in both.

In "The Full Moon," well . . .

He's guarded. His hands spend a lot of their time in fists. He's moving toward Stolas but not giving all of himself until it's too late.

But in "Mastermind . . .

It's like he's drawn by a magnet to Stolas while being forcibly pulled away. He's fighting the forces that would keep them apart, that would harm Stolas. He's fighting with everything he has. His hands are open the whole time he's fighting. The walls are gone.

Doors are also interesting in their contrast.

In "The Full Moon," we see Blitz bursting into the room like this:

In "Mastermind," the door behind Stolas serves as Blitz's exit point, but the camera angle, again, is very similar . . .

I don't know what to make of this one, honestly, except that these moments seem to reverse each other. I think there COULD be symbolism here (barriers and who creates them), but I'm not sure there's enough evidence that it's intentional like the others.

Now for a few key things "Mastermind" has that "The Full Moon" needed. Our boys weren't ready yet, but now they are.

Obviously the duet . . . but did you notice that their movements synchronize too? They're not looking at each other, but literally and figuratively, they're in tune.

2. Eye contact. FUCKING EYE CONTACT. It's so brief you could miss it.

There's recognition there. They each see that the other feels the same way.

Even though Stolas never turns around, and still has A LOT to learn about Blitz, they meet at the core of the matter. "Harriet, don't get on that train. It's going to London, and I CANNOT BE WITHOUT YOU."

[sunnysidesevenup]

SSR - Arlo Wake - Applepom

Vignette - Not Here For You Guys (Part 1)

read fic under the cut!

“So that’s two.” Epel says, looking between the odd collection of NRC students before him. He sighs, “Where are we going to get a third person, though?”

“I find it a bit odd that you haven’t asked your fellow Pomefiore dorm members. Vil and Rook, I understand, but…” Jade tilts his head to the side, indicating one of the tables near them. Epel’s eyes follow his direction, but the minute he spots the person being pointed out, he grimaces.

“That’s not a good choice, either!” He protests, but Jade’s mouth simply curls into a smile.

“Hmm? He seems like a perfectly good candidate to me. Let me go get him.” Before the first year can stop him, the mer is already walking away to retrieve his target.

“I’m not familiar with that one.” Sebek says, scrutinizing the two second years who now seem to be having an argument of some sort. “He doesn’t seem like he’d be any good in an athletic competition.”

Epel groans. “His athletics isn’t the problem!”

“And what exactly is the problem with me?”

“Ack!” The first year startles, looking up to the two mer who have now appeared beside their table. Jade is smiling, but Arlo looks incredibly annoyed—not that that’s much different than usual. He narrows his eyes further as he takes in the group settled around the table.

Well, he’s here already, so it would be fine to at least ask, right?

“Umm, nothing! Actually, we were looking for another person. You see, there’s this sled race in Harveston, and—“

“Oh, that.” The mer interrupts, tilting his head. “I should have realized you were going to that too.”

“Yeah—“. Epel stops, “Wait, too?!”

“Oh my.” Jade’s eyes widen, “This is unexpected. You already know about this?”

“The race truly is that famous and rigorous, then?” Sebek asks excitedly.

Arlo glances at the Diasomnia first year, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, no. I don’t care about things like that.”

“And I suppose it would be wrong of me to hope that you were similarly interested in Mount Moln…” Jade sighs, shaking his head. “I can only dream.”

Arlo turns to the mer, a look of disgust on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Neither you or Floyd have any taste, of course…”

“Jade, I swear…”

“Wait, wait!” Epel holds up his hands, temporarily interrupting the two childhood friends. “Seriously, what’d ya’ mean ‘too’?!”

Arlo tilts his head, “I was invited to watch the race.” He says simply, as if it answers the question.

“Wh-?! By who?!” Epel suddenly gets a stricken look on his face. “Don’t tell me—“

Much to the Pomefiore student’s horror, his upperclassman’s cheeks flush a bit red, something that only happens with mention of one specific person. “It doesn’t really matter who it was, does it?” He spits back harshly.

“Oh?” Jade perks up, a smirk on his face. “My, I haven’t seen that reaction from you in a very long time. Who might we be talking about?”

Arlo shoots him a glare, “It’s none of your business, you fungi obsessed freak.”

“Your words do hurt, you know.” Jade says, entirely unfazed.

“No way, Neige invited you?” Epel blinks at the mer in shock. “And you’re going? To MY hometown? With HIM?”

Arlo stares back at him, unimpressed. “It’s only polite to accept an invitation when you’re invited.” He says, like a liar.

“Neige…?” Jade tilts his head. “…Neige LeBlanche? The actor?”

“No, the florist.” Arlo rolls his eyes, “Obviously the actor.”

“I was simply surprised, is all.” Jade grins widely at him. “Although, perhaps I shouldn’t be—that was your type, wasn’t it?”

Arlo’s eyes widen, and then his face flushes bright red even as it immediately contorts in anger. “Shut up! I don’t have a type! And even if I did, he’s not—! Ugh! You’re so annoying! This is why Floyd is the better twin. I wish he would’ve eaten you.” He viciously continues insulting his fellow mer, all while Jade grins on victoriously.

Epel just stares on in despair. “So… not only do we still need to find another person, but Arlo will be there? With Neige?” He mentally starts calculating the chances of Arlo telling on him to Vil. Maybe he’ll be too distracted…? Or—

“Jade, I swear to the Great Seven if you say a single word more about this I will make sure to rip off your tail fins and eat them in front of you.” Arlo finishes, threat hissed in a low tone with his finger pointed at the other boy’s chest. It’s rather comical, considering the height difference, if only Arlo didn’t seem serious about it.

“Wh-?!” Sebek splutters from off to the side, having mostly stayed out of it yet maintaining a disappointed look. “Eat them—?!”

Arlo turns his frightening glare onto him next, anger not sparing a single person no matter their involvement. Epel, unfortunately, is used to it.

He sighs, “Uh… so you’ll be going to Harveston tomorrow too, then…?” He asks hesitantly, conscious of making the older boy even angrier.

The mer crosses his arms. “Yes. I suppose we’ll be seeing each other in the morning, then.” He scoffs.

“Right…”

“I’m leaving now.” Arlo announces, and then throws another glare at Jade, who seems to be radiating smug happiness. “Don’t talk to me.” He hisses.

“See you tomorrow.” Jade calls at his retreating back. Arlo makes a rude gesture over his shoulder.

“I see what you were saying now.” Sebek comments. “We’re better off without him on the team.”

“Yeah…” Epel sighs, “We still need a third person, though…”

[plumpybread]

Asking because of the previous ask, are you not a fan of Ethan anymore? If so, why?

It's complicated, I suppose (rant where i talk abt ethan but then also my OCs in general)

I really do not like the first version of Ethan I made like 3 years ago. Obviously I like indulging in devilish ideas but I don't know, it ended up turning into something I didn't really end up liking too much.

Then I revisited and sort of rewrote his story a bit a while back when making the OC archive site (I'm aware the site is not available anymore for the people who asked, I took it down myself) and was much happier with it for a while.

Don't get me wrong, I like Ethan, I know he's the OC people seem to like the most, but it's still like a personal mental battle of like maybe it's too effed up? Even when I draw characters going through unwilling/accidental extreme weight gain, I make them either ambivalent or accepting of their situation, but for Ethan it's kind of like torture, and I can't bring myself to get like..aroused and excited to draw more of that *personally*.

Changing up his lore wouldn't really work either since his story is based on helplessness and stuff, and it'd be disingenuous to make him be happy with his situation, so I've just sort of subconsciously decided to leave him as is and treat his content as its self contained story more than nsfw art to goon to, if that makes sense. I don't know, maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, but just wanted to say what goes through my head.

I also don't really revisit Ethan for the same reason I don't tend to draw much of all the past OCs I've made, as I see each of them as a way to explore different facets of how weight gain can manifest and adapt into a character's life to create a story around it, and I feel like I've covered most of the ground around them already.

All of my OCs come from a sudden short prompt that pops up in my head, usually out of nowhere. I suddenly wanted to make a big-hearted southern farm guy who was super massive and I immediately ran to draw Rudy, for example.

I draw them a little reference, with my typical bullet points next to them with basic info to get an idea of what their dynamic is like, and a more lengthily written backstory or description if I'm feeling fancy under it, and then for the next week or two it's all art of them and answering questions about them... and then another idea pops up, and a new OC comes in.

It's not that I get tired of them, but I just simply do not know what to draw with them. Ethan is the biggest outlier in this case, since he is my fattest OC and half immobile, you just don't really know how else to bring something new that's not him laying on his bed at a slightly different angle.

I guess that's why I always do OC asks, I sort of need them to be able to know what to draw with them, since I struggle coming with things like that by myself, and you know I always like avoiding drawing a character in a void with no context.

The Genshin Obesity AU is my longest running like "project"?? thing just because there is an endless amount of content I can pull from since there's all these characters, places and possibilities I can write from. My OCs are obviously much more self-contained and moreso serve as individual experiments to explore different people and scenarios, so after the 10th drawing of them... I genuinely do not know what else I can add to them.

I hope that was a bit insightful. I know most of you guys love Ethan, and I love him too! But I don't know, I guess this is why I don't tend to have immobile/near immobile OCs, since the potential art ideas for them drop to just them sitting on a mattress or sitting on the floor and I'm just left confused on what to do with them.

Maybe Ethan in his college days is something you guys might be interested in? Or I don't know, I'm just writing this post as my thoughts enter my head.

Sorry for the rant, I sure do love typing, hope this clears up some questions people might've had

[secriden]

I thought I was done talking about Style in THK's episode 2, but jokes on me, no I'm not.

I keep thinking about Style and Bison's first interaction and how pure and sweet it was. In the middle of the mess that is this 4-way whirlwind of lies and deception, it felt like a refreshingly honest conversation between two people who are only accidentally lying to each other.

Style seems incredibly earnest when he tells Bison that Fadel is "down bad" for him. It doesn't feel like Style is 'wingmanning' Kant here; or if he is, it isn't meant to be malicious or to mislead Bison. It feels like someone being friendly with his bff's crush and hoping that they can get along because he thinks this one's going to stick around.

Similarly, when Bison tells Style to go for Fadel for real, it feels very honest and earnest. Setting aside whatever games Bison is playing with Kant, Bison seems to genuinely want someone for his big brother, and not just so he can date who he wants or as a distraction.

It's also interesting how Style's protest is that he can't see himself actually gaining feelings for Fadel because in a way there's nothing to recommend Fadel to Style at this point. As far as Style is concerned, Fadel is arrogant and condescending, rude and ungrateful (after all, he did replace a bunch of parts in Fadel's car for free), a stick in the mud about his brother dating, and can't seem to take a joke.

We see the polite, pleasant and reasonable Fadel, but Style doesn't.

Which is why I've been obsessing over Style's expressions immediately after the conversation with Bison. Bison's parting insight is "He's rough on the outside, and on the inside," and I think he accidentally piqued Style's curiosity with that line. Because why does Bison still want his brother to have a "real" relationship, then? What makes Fadel worth loving, despite (what Style thinks is) nothing to recommend him?

Ugh I wish I knew how to make gifs because Dunk goes through a whole sequence of expressions here that suggests a shift happens in the way he's thinking of Fadel. There's a pensive and thoughtful look and then almost like, "Oh what the hell, might as well see where this goes" kind of amusement at the end. And I think the reason he has this shift is because he's realised that Bison clearly loves his brother and that must mean that there's more to Fadel then his initial impression of the man.

It's interesting that his next attempt at messing with Fadel actually invites Fadel to play along with it. It's so much tamer and more private than the previous attempts because he isn't actively trying to humiliate Fadel this time. And it works?? Fadel engages in the roleplay, indulges Style's ridiculousness, actually chops faster (whilst the most hysterical series of minute expressions play over Fadel's face <3). Perhaps this was Style testing the waters: can Fadel engage with something playful and not take everything way too seriously? Huh, turns out, he can!

The next time Style shows up around Fadel, he's circled back to that playful over-the-top flirting that characterised the garage scene. This is the first time in this episode that Style is actually flirting. Every other time was just to frustrate/humiliate Fadel but notice how he's actively trying to look attractive to Fadel now? He's putting all his best (ahem) assets on display, and poor Fadel has no real protection against this. And, oh, Style is loving this! He's gleefully lapping up every single time Fadel fails to completely hide that he's affected by him.

This, though. THIS precisely is the point I think Style decides that he really does want Fadel for himself. There's so much playing out over Style's face: the determination to push things further, the delighted surprise to see Fadel so rattled, the razor sharp focus, and then desire. Style has finally broken through Fadel's "roughness" and he loves it.

If that uncle hadn't walked in, I'm convinced Fadel would have let Style do anything he wanted, and I think Style knew that.

It's the first time Style immediately chases after Fadel when he walks away from him, and he's absolutely delighted when Fadel all but chokes him against the lockers because that means he still has Fadel within reach.

The whole conversation about "love at first sight" is breathtaking because it feels like Style is discovering what's going to make Fadel crack as he says it and realising just how much he wants this. And no, I don't think he's in love with Fadel yet (not by a LONG shot), but I think he realises that he wants Fadel to fall in love with him. This is such a shift from what he expressed in the diner to Bison. In the diner, there was no hope, no chance for this.

The kisses catch Style by surprise too: you can see that he's just reacting, pushing to see where Fadel will finally draw the line. Because Fadel kisses back in the first kiss and actually fails to push Style away for quite some time in the 2nd kiss (the camera purposely lingers on the way Fadel's hands hover over Style's waist without shoving him back). The third kiss is the point Fadel finally starts fighting, and in the immidate aftermath you can see Style watching so carefully again. And Fadel nearly kisses him again, you see the way Fadel's eyes drop to Style's lips, the way they both freeze and linger in the moment for that one second. The way Style registers that moment and it leaves Style shaken himself.

It's so interesting that this is how we leave Style in this episode (we only see Fadel's fantasy version of Style after this point). I've got two possible interpretations for this line:

Style possibly catches on that Fadel is more dangerous than he seems. Maybe just from vibes, maybe from something in the way Fadel threatened him that kicks off some kind of fearful instinct. This could be what makes Style start questioning if Kant told him the full story and lead to whatever scene it is where Style demands answers in the episode 3 preview.

Alternatively, perhaps Fadel is starting to become real to Style in ways he wasn't before. Fadel was almost a caricature of a man, one which Style didn't like very much before, and that made it easier to fool around with him. But this? This almost tortured man who clearly wants Style but can't seem to give into that desire? Something is going on and Style isn't sure it's worth the game to either of them anymore. Because maybe Style recognises that he's more affected than he should be. And that has implications that Style was not ready for.

[muletia]

These obsessed Orian and Optimus fics have got me thinking about what if Megatron was just as obsessed with reader as Optimus, and they have a tug of war sort of battle between them where one side snatches you for their leader back and forth.

It has gotten to the point where you couldn’t even sleep in your own home anymore without some decepticon destroying your ceiling in order to take you away to their leader like a toy.

Megatron would definitely see reader as a tool to further his goals as well as leverage to use against Optimus. He laughed out loud when he heard about his nemesis having feelings for a puny human. If Megatron could punch his past self for daring to think so lowly of you, he would do it without a second thought. He is so much worse than Optimus because he doesn’t allow you to leave him sight even when you plead that you have to go to work.

Work? What work? You don’t need to work anymore now that you’re his queen. Don’t be ridiculous.

Oh, but Optimus… He. Is. Pissed. He would never rest until you were back in his servo safe and sound. He would quite literally crash out as soon as he found out Megatron took his beloved.

I love having two obsessed bots fight over me <3

YOU ARE SO BIG BRAINED OMG, these ideas are so tasty

okay, this scenario could unfold in several ways, but i see a huge comedic potential here. at first, of course, there's nothing funny about it at all, because being kidnapped by the leader of the decepticons himself to be used as a bargaining chip is far from humorous. but! let's say that despite the hopelessness of your situation, you dare to resist, to fight back, because you know that megatron doesn’t have the guts to hurt you. he knows you’re too important to optimus, and killing you gains him nothing. the problem is that by being defiant, you end up sealing your fate because megatron starts to take an interest in you. at first, he’s just fascinated by you, maybe even slightly amused. but this unimportant infatuation quickly turns into something more, something that terrifies megatron himself. it’s stronger than him, more powerful, more aggressive, and more relentless. suddenly, you’re no longer a bargaining chip—you’ve been promoted to a much worse position. you’ve become his partner, his second-in-command, his queen. someone who suddenly holds immense significance for him. and that is absolutely terrifying.

megatron doesn’t get to enjoy your company for long, though, because you’re quickly rescued by the autobots. optimus is, of course, ecstatic that the mission was a success and that you’re finally safe, but for a few days, you’ll have to kiss your social life and work goodbye, as optimus will insist on you being under constant supervision at the base. maybe during this time, the two of you grow closer despite the circumstances of your house arrest? and despite the paranoia wreaking havoc in optimus's processor, part of him is content with having you constantly in sight and that your relationship has warmed even more.

the same can’t be said for megatron, who is, to put it mildly, tweaking out. is he just supposed to let you go after he’s had a taste of you? after he’s grown to enjoy your company and having you always within reach? ha! he’s not letting go that easily. a few days after you return to your normal life, a random vehicon gets the order to bring you back to nemesis, straight into his master’s hands. megatron is satisfied—you, not so much—and optimus is losing his mind. this time, however, the rescue mission doesn’t go as smoothly. the leader of the decepticons personally keeps an eye on you, and you’re constantly watched by soundwave. but let’s say the autobots manage to rescue you again... until you’re kidnapped once more.

and here’s where the comedic aspect kicks in. at some point, your fear for your life shifts to irritation. by the tenth time you land in the servos of the great leader of the decepticons, whose most sinister plans apparently involve just keeping you here against your will and occasionally you patting him on the helm, it’s honestly just exhausting. the most troublesome part is the lack of autonomy—otherwise, you’re pretty much chilling as long as you don’t tease or provoke him. although, even that gets boring after a while. you just want to live a normal life... you never asked to be sandwiched between the boobs of two leaders who do nothing but bark at each other...

[allbecauseoftheboys2]

Samuel sipped his beer and watched Angel and his mother yell at eachother in Cantonese. Samuel could never be entirely sure if they were actually fighting or just having an animated conversation, and he could only pick out some basic words. Whatever was happening, this was more interesting than the football game in the other room. Angel set a bowl of brussel sprouts on the counter with a thud. He gaped at something his mother said, and turned red. More shouting and gesturing. Angel's mother pointed at Samuel. Angel pulled a pie out of the oven. An oven mitt was thrown onto the counter. Angel's father's car pulled into the driveway; he had been out golfing with Samuel's brother. Angel's mother tsked, threw up her hands, and went outside to greet them. Angel harrumphed and drank a deep sip of wine. "My goodness, what was that all about?" Samuel asked after he had a sip. "My mother wanted to know why I'm not married yet," Angel grumbled. "To a woman?" "No, to you. She's fine with the gay thing, oddly. I think it's cause my sister's married with kids." Samuel raised an eyebrow. "What did she say earlier to offend you so much?" Angel folded his arms. "I told her that we were thinking of getting married, but like, we weren't sure yet. I can't quite explain to her, we're a different kind of couple." He gestured upward to the delicate gold chain around his neck. "And you know what she said to me?" "Mm?" Angel put a hand on his chest. "She had the AUDACITY to say that there used to be a parade of boys in my life, but since meeting you I have stopped sleeping with so many guys and moved in with you, so clearly I want to marry you. Sam, my mom called me a slut." Samuel laughed. "Oh sweetheart." "And sure, I did whore myself out at Folsom, but I thought I was being subtle with how many guys I mentioned having overnight..." Samuel gestured with an open palm. "Well, I mean, your mom has a point. If I domesticated a slut, it's my responsibility to house and feed them." "Domesticated?" Angel screeched. Samuel doubled over with laughter. Angel drank more of his wine. "I'm not a feral creature. Domesticated, my ass. Well. I am here making Thanksgiving dinner aren't I?" "You are. And you are doing a great job." Samuel set his glass down and embraced Angel from behind. "I'm teasing you, but I liked that you were slutty. You always knew what you wanted from other men, and got it. It impressed me." Angel leaned back against him. "Impressed huh. Are you're impressed a slut knows how to throw a Thanksgiving meal together?" "You always did like to be stuffed." Angel groaned. "Oh my god Samuel." But he couldn't suppress a giggle. "I'm sorry, I had to." "It was funny," Angel admitted. Samuel kissed his cheek. "I am pleased you are my slut now though, and that you want to live in my house and have Thanksgiving with me. I am grateful for you in my life." "Really?" "Yes. And I rather like the idea of marrying you." "You do?" "Yes." "Man, don't do that. You'd have my mom for a mother in a law," Angel said. Samuel shrugged. "I'll just have to learn how to yell in Cantonese then." "Did you understand any of that conversation we were having?" "No. I've realized that most of my knowledge of Cantonese comes from what you use in the bedroom." Angel blushed. Samuel whispered the words for "more", "harder", and "faster" in his ear, and he felt Angel's entire body go hot against his. "Oh Samuel, you stop that!" Angel hissed. "Don't tease me, especially since you know aren't letting me jerk off-" His family members came back in from putting the golf clubs away in the garage. Samuel gave him a pat on the ass. "Come on love, let's get dinner on the table. You can give me a language lesson later." "You are infuriating." Angel pointed a serving spoon at him. "You're lucky I like you." "Yeah so why aren't you married?" Angel's father asked. There was a beat of silence, and then another explosion of Cantonese. Samuel refilled Angel's glass of wine. _________________ Captions are fictional.

Roasted brussel sprouts with bacon

[untilhiseyeheals]

Pretty Performer - Silco x fem!reader one shot

Warning: Smut. Shameless smut.

You opened the heavy wooden door to the bar and stepped cautiously into the warm, dimly lit room, already filled with people and bustling with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Taking in a deep breath you let it fall shut behind you, the sound of the heavy wood hitting the frame drowned out by the constant hum of voices and background music of the bar. You looked around, unsure if to just make yourself at home and prepare for your upcoming performance as this decision was justly taken from you by the grab of two nimble but strong hands that dragged you into the bar. “You came! I’m so excited! I had to beg beg beeeeeeg Silco to invite you to perform, you know, the bar doesn’t usually do live performances but I have been listening to your stuff alllll the time when I am tinkering and I just had to have you play here!”. Two long blue pigtails swung through the air as Jinx dragged you eagerly towards the little prepared stage in one corner of the room. A breath caught itself in your throat as you were well aware of what a dangerous environment you found yourself in, even with this situation being painted by a welcoming atmosphere, you couldn't help but feel a little on edge. “Thank you, Jinx. That really means a lot to me. I’m glad you like it. Hm… Is there any song in particular that you like? I can perform it for you, you know?” you managed a smile, thinking it's probably best to make as good an impression as possible with one of the most dangerous people around. She had already dragged you all the way over to the little makeshift stage as she whirled around to face you, eyes glowing with anticipation. “Animal Cannibal”, she exclaimed without a second thought and you smiled knowingly. Of course, one of the more, well, interesting songs. “Great choice. Will do!” you lifted your hand to your head and gave a joking salute as you turned to prepare the stage for your gig.

When the background music in the bar started to fade out and the lights dimmed, centring at the corner of the room you and Jinx found yourselves in, she jumped up onto the stage and grabbed the mic. “Hello and welcome everyone to The Last Drop’s first-ever live performance! No, we don’t care if you asked for this and we certainly won’t take any requests! Now lean back, lean forward, or to the side. Dance, stand, sit, drink, do whatever you want because you cannot stop what’s about to come! Give it up for (y/n)!” she shouted into the mic, twirling it around and pointing towards certain individuals that apparently had some sort of a reputation in the bar, as they gave a knowing smile and shrug before returning the attention to their glasses. She then jumped off the stage and joined the small crowd that assembled in front of the stage. Not much, by any means, but that only served to soothe your nerves that started to act up quite a bit. You couldn’t help but huff out a breath in disappointment as you let your eyes scan over the people in the crowd, not seeing him anywhere. Of course not! What were you thinking? It’s better he wasn’t here right now, the last thing you needed was the attention of arguably the most powerful and dangerous man of the Undercity on you. You took in a deep breath as the music started playing and decided to just go and get this over with.

So you started to sing. "I bite at the hand that feeds me. Slap at the face that eats me. Some kind of animal cannibal. Animal. Cannibal.” When the music started playing, the strain washed from your nerves and your muscles loosened from their tensed state. Your usual persona was swapped out to your on-stage persona, much more confident and slightly suggestive than your normal self. You can’t help it. You sang the song in a sultry voice, letting your hands roam your hips and down towards your legs as you scanned the room through half-lidded eyes. You didn’t catch him, too engulfed in your performance to notice the set of eyes that were glued to your form as you traced along the hem of your black dress. One eye blue and cold as the deep ocean, the other seemingly opposite a struggle of black and ember, like darkness fighting to engulf the flames of a smouldering fire. And he was watching you. Intently. Eyes never leaving you, he studied your movements, listening to your sultry song that you completely let yourself sink into. “How do I meet the strangest men? They always seem to find me.” How fitting. If only you knew that possibly the strangest man had become totally lost in your performance, in the way you seemed to ignore everything and everyone that existed in the world, becoming one with the song you performed and feeling the lyrics as if they were your own personal story.

That's what you were. A performer. So you opened your eyes, straightened up and let a dark, dangerous gaze skim through the first row of people looking back up at you as you sang the next words. “Who knows how some people turn to strange ones. Is it up to me to make them into dead ones?” a sickly grin spreading over your features as the last words left your tongue, hands raised to your neck, drawing a slow line once across as your tongue skims your teeth and licks over your sharp canines. You were looking dangerous, psychopathic, insane, for only as long as it fit the part of the song you were singing. A perfect performer. It was only between this verse and the upcoming last chorus you let your eyes wander further out, scanning the entirety of the room, eyes having become used to the glare of the lights that were turned onto you as your gaze fell on the man standing at the outer corner of the bar right next to the stairs up to the second story where the offices were located. You moved your head back from the microphone so as not to let the entire audience hear the sharp breath that you took in as you noticed his eyes locked attentively onto you, expression unreadable. He always had a certain look of anger, fury, and general disdain on him that made your skin tingle. As you studied his features a bit longer you noticed that this look was not the only thing you could see in his eyes. They were darker than usual, pupil dilated and fixed upon you, the grip on his glass unnecessarily strong as his knuckles turned white with the pressure he put on the poor object. He seemed like a predator stalking his prey and a set of strong goosebumps washed over your body as you realized with full force that in this scenario, you were the prey. It was a dangerous look that normally would have you avert your gaze and cower into the corner with the sheer force it seemed to emit. But not when you were on stage.

You drew in a final, long breath before it was time to finish the last chorus of the song, stepping closer to the microphone again, your eyes never leaving his. If anything, this drilling gaze of his only spurred you on in your performance. “I bite at the hand that feeds me.” you lift one of your hands from the microphone and bring it up to your mouth, slowly dragging it across your lower lip, opening your mouth and biting down hard as you show your teeth at the bite, letting your fingers slowly graze down your chin, dragging some saliva down your neck. “Slap at the face that eats me” Quickly you lift that hand and bring it swiftly down at your cheek, emitting a beautiful slap that reverberates through the room in the microphone. “Some kind of animal cannibal” Your hands continue their way around your neck and down to your collarbone, head leaned slightly to the side, eyes half-open again. “Animal? Cannibal.” You continue your sinful performance until the last note of the backing track has rung out through the room. Only then do you fully open your eyes and stand up straight again, looking over to the spot at the end of the bar. Empty. You huff in frustration and … disappointment? as you take a step back from the microphone and give the audience a dramatic bow.

Jinx was jumping up and down in excitement, dragging you off the stage the second you stopped your bowing and the light in the bar returned to its normal state, background music resuming more quietly. “That was AMAZING! It was EVEN BETTER than hearing it on my big boom boxes over and over again and that’s honestly saying something!”. You found it hard to keep up with her rambling, smiling courtly and nodding along so as not to infuriate the girl you just made so happy with your performance. Although you wished you had made someone else that happy. Your eyes scan through the bar, desperately looking for the enchanting set of eyes that so drilled through you just minutes ago. You couldn’t find him. Defeated you made your way over to the bar and plopped down on one of the barstools, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. Only it’s not a drink that hit the wood of the counter in front of you, but a similar little envelope to the one that fluttered into your room only days ago. You felt your heart stumble in your chest as your shaking hands picked up the paper, nails slicing through the envelope and trembling fingers unfolded the paper inside of it. You read faster than your eyes can manage, stumbling over the words on the page that turned out to be very few, and very direct. Upstairs. Second door to the right. Now. – S. In any other state, you would have chuckled over the way he signed the note as if it wasn’t painfully obvious who it was from. You knew better than to go into that office, what if was a trap? You dared to lay your eyes on him, lost in your performance, you were … lewd, desperate, horny. While your mind was still listing off the unholy effects his mere gaze had on your poor body, your legs already hit the ground and you made your way up the stairs before you could even realize what you had done, your hands knocked against the wood of the office door. “Come in”. A low, rumbling voice beckoned you inside. You took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping inside the office.

You weren’t prepared for what you would find inside. Your eyes instinctively went to his big desk that stood in front of a beautiful big stained glass window, letting in the faint glow of street lights from outside that tinted the room into a hazy shade of green. However, you were surprised to find the chair in front of the desk to be empty. Confused you furrowed your brows as that dangerous voice made itself heard again. “That was quite the performance you put on there. I can see why Jinx took a liking to your… music.” You traced the origin of the voice to the opposite side of the room and your breath hitched as your eyes fell upon the slim figure of Silco sitting on a low plush chaise lounge, legs spread, cigar in hand and those damned eyes locked straight onto you. You felt like you walked straight into the cave of a bear, deep into the mountains, stupid little bunny hopping straight forward into its demise. You couldn’t help the deep blush that spread across your features at the small compliment. If it was a compliment at all, with him anything sounded like a threat. Just as you opened your mouth to thank him, he cut you off with a simple demand. “Come here.”, his voice was low, eyes never leaving you as you made your way over to where he was sitting, unsure where to start or stop or what to do.

Your mind was hazy, his damn smug grin as you got closer and closer drowning out every strand of thought your brain tried to form. It was to no avail. As you came to a halt in front of the lounge, he sat up and leaned forward to a little couch table with an ashtray and two glasses of liquor, pressing the cigar into the tray and taking up one of the glasses, not bothering to offer you the other as he let himself fall back onto the backrest. His eyes studied you intently, you could feel his gaze wander up and down your form and how the little black dress accentuated each and every one of your curves before it ended, making way for equally black stockings, held up by garters in the shape of a heart. Like a perfect little black dress is supposed to, it showed almost a little too much cleavage to be comfortable, eyes drawn to the necklaces around your neck that almost beckoned the gaze towards your chest. You forced yourself to take deep, steady breaths but your body failed you as he took a swig of his drink and set it back onto the table, hinting with a jerk of his head to come sit next to him. You obliged wordlessly.

That’s when you realised you hadn’t even spoken a single word since you entered his office, the air thick with tension which you hoped was sexual nature and he wasn’t going to end your life right here. Hell, not before making it worth it. He seemed to have picked up on your dilemma, offering you a smug grin as he finally broke the agonising silence. “What happened? Swallowed your tongue?”, his eyes skimmed over your face, taking in the effect that his voice had on you, “Pity. Your performance almost made you seem interesting.” Bastard, you thought before you took up all the courage that was left in you, riding the high that was left from your performance and the reminder of how his eyes practically ate you up. In one quick, swift motion you turned towards him, throwing one leg over his and placing yourself over him, knees to the left and right of his, straddling his lap. That earned you a low, dangerous chuckle, as his eyes started at your necklaces dangling in front of him, skimmed over your chest, you swore they lingered there for a quick second, before coming to rest once again on your face. Heterochome eyes locked with yours, and there it was again, this undiscernible look that only hinted at the fire festering behind those eyes. He kept a cool and collected front, always, if he wasn’t seething in anger and exploding like a volcano he was just quiet and very laid back. That was a front. Dangerous one. You, however, were determined to weasel your way through the cracks that you saw forming in his foundation and he let you.

You carefully lifted your hands from your sides and skimmed the collar of his vest, toying with his tie and carefully loosening it a bit. A low rumble came from his chest as his arm was quick to catch yours and pin them down in your lap, holding your hands by their wrists with only one hand and a very, very strong grip. “Tsk tsk tsk…” he scolded as he used the leverage he had over you to push yourself off him to the side, never letting go of your wrists. “Seems like my eyes didn’t deceive me then. You’re a feisty one. I can appreciate that.” Well, it was fun while it lasted, you thought as he pushed you off him and took that as a sign that this night was not going to go your way. “What I cannot appreciate, however,” he continued, voice low and scolding as he used his second hand to fully undo the tie you so carelessly loosened before and bring it over to your wrists. “is someone acting so incredibly unduly in front of all of Zaun.” With that, he quickly wrapped the string of the undone tie around your wrists and tied them together in a strong knot, not being gentle and making sure it was tight. “Looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson on how to behave.” he finished, letting go of your tied arms and letting them drop into your lap again.

“Lean back.”, he ordered and you were in no position to disobey, leaning back on the plush velvet of the lounge, resting your back against the backrest. With a small, approving nod he slid off the lounge from beside you and stood up, bending down towards you. He seemed to be taking in the sight of you, breathing already shallow and ragged from anticipation, anxiously biting your lip, hands tied together by his tie, looking up at him with big eyes that gave no hint of opposition. Just how he liked it. “There. I had a feeling you’d be a quick learner.” he cooed as his bent-down form started to come closer to you until his head was right next to yours, breath warm and tickling your ear. “So pretty and willing, all tied up and submissive it’s almost a shame having to ruin you.” he whispered in your ear, voice low and gravelly, lips just barely grazing your ear. You couldn’t stop the desperate whine that left your mouth, which made his eyes flick towards yours as he slowly leaned back away from you. “Patience.” was all he said, as his long fingers found the soft flesh of your thighs, tracing a line up and down and along the heart-shaped garters. You sucked in a breath, skin tingling at the touch you waited so long for. His hands made their way, slow, oh so painfully slow, up your thighs under your dress, skimming the band of your cotton panties that had a little lace rim on top which his fingers quickly found. You could tell he thoroughly enjoyed feeling up every inch of you, making you wait forever and ever, each touch feeling so painfully slow that you wished you could just grab his hand and drag it directly to your aching clit. He was revelling in your desperation, eyes closely on yours as he observed each subtle change of your facial features as his hands roamed your body. Then he pulled back his hand from under your dress, making you wince at the sudden loss of contact. He smirked a devilish little smirk as he straightened up and sat back down next to you, picking up the glass with liquor as he watched your slumped-down form, already so messy and dishevelled from this little touch. “Stand up.” he ordered, placing the glass at his lips and taking a swig. You rolled your eyes. What was this supposed to be? Did he order you up here only to make you stand up and sit down and turn around like a little puppy? You weren’t having it. With one swift motion, you stood back up on your feet and made a step towards the door of the office.

Suddenly you could feel yourself getting yanked back hard and crashing into his tall frame. He was just sitting there with a glass in his goddamn hand, how did he manage to pull you back so fast? You could only hear a dangerous, low chuckle as you turned your head to look directly into his eyes. Now they really seemed like they were set ablaze. “Thank you, pet. I thought you weren’t gonna put up a fight at all.” his voice was barely a snarl, a sickly grin spreading over his face. Sick bastard. He didn’t want you to silently obey him, he picked you out because you seemed like you had a fire within you, so different from all the mindless idiots he was left to deal with every day. And finally, he got a glimpse of it. Before you knew it, he had lifted your tied hands above his head so that they came back down around his neck, which left you straining with no way to move, your bodies almost pinned together. That’s when his smug grin was instantly washed from his face as you closed the difference and started planting sinful kisses along his jawline, trailing them up towards his ear and down his neck. Your tongue slipped through, you licked your way along his neck, kissing, sucking, tired of this game he wanted to play. You could feel his head snap back as his own arms snaked around your waist and found your ass, cupping your cheeks with his hands and giving them a squeeze. That elicited a husky moan from you, spilling from your lips between the sounds of sucking and kissing the skin of his neck. He maneuvered you back towards the lounge and when you could feel it against the back of your shins he stopped, releasing your ass from his grasp to free your tied hands from behind his neck. Taking a step back which meant you had to stop your assault on his neck, he smirked as he undid the knot around your wrists, tie discarded to the floor in one swift motion. That, however, didn’t mean he allowed you any more control than he wanted to. “Strip.” he ordered, and you were only too happy to oblige.

Your hands found the straps of your dress and slid them down your shoulders, leaving it to pool on the floor. He once again started looking you up and down, although your undergarments were nothing too special since you favoured comfort over looks and, well, you didn’t count on anyone seeing those today. He took a step towards you, piercing gaze never leaving you, as his arms came around your back to unclasp your bra, fingers pushing it off your shoulders to join your dress on the floor. “Magnificent,” he murmured, as he took another step to close the distance between your bodies and started returning the favour of kissing your neck, hands finding your breasts and cupping them. You let out a soft moan, to which he responded with his fingers finding your hardened nipples, flicking and toying with them as his mouth slowly made its way down your neck to your collarbone. Again, he seemed to find special pleasure in making the process painfully slow, dragging out the moment as long as he possibly could, before the warmth of his mouth finally found one of your nipples. His tongue swirled in circles around the hardened bud of your nipple, teeth grazing it ever so gently before he decided he was gentle enough and took it between his teeth. “F-Fuck…” you moaned, hands darting forward to find his perfectly slicked back hair, burying your fingers between its strands, dragging your nails over his scalp. This led to him letting out a grunt against your nipple, sending a jolt through your body that settled right in that ever-tightening coil in your core.

Seemingly feeling this jolt, he let go of your nipple, guiding you to lay down on the lounge, joining you by crawling his way up, pushing your legs apart. You sucked in a breath in anticipation, as his hands found the waistband of your panties, dragging them painfully slowly down your legs and discarding them on the floor next to the lounge. He began kissing his way up the inside of your thighs, getting dangerously close to the wet mess he made of your cunt. Enjoying every second of this juicy anticipation, his mouth made its way all the way up to your upper thigh, directly next to your dripping cunt, nose skimming your folds for just a second, already enough to make you buck your hips involuntarily. He chuckled lowly against the soft flesh of your thigh. “My, my…” he trailed off and suddenly his head turned from the side of your inner thigh and the next thing you felt was his tongue licking slowly up your folds. You bucked your hips again, arms darting back to find his head again, getting a handful of his hair, destroying what was left of its slicked-back state. He ate you out like it was what he was destined to do, tongue swirling in circles around your clit, toying with the willing hole and slurping up all the delicious juices that you had for him. That’s when he felt like that wasn’t enough, and while his eyes flicked up to catch your reaction, two of his fingers joined his tongue. You threw your head back, muttering and moaning a string of words that loosely resembled his name as he slid his fingers into you. They met with no resistance as he pushed them in all the way, curling them up to hit that sweet, sweet spot that almost made you scream his name had you not turned your head and bit your lip. His mouth left your aching clit while his fingers kept relentlessly pumping into you, lifting his head to watch you squirm and hold back noises. “Come on, let me hear you.” he growled, as he once again curled his fingers right where you needed them and thrust them into you. “F-Fuck. Silco. Your fingers feel so good. I’m… I-... S… So close” you muttered against the side of the lounge, breath ragged and speaking made hard by the continuous assault of his fingers that felt like knocking all the air out of your lungs. That only seemed to spur him on more. “Good. Come on my hand for me.”, he ordered and slipped in a third finger, curling them once again, one last thrust sending you over the edge and bringing the knot in your stomach to explode. “Yes… S-Silco!”, you almost chanted his name like a prayer as the feeling of sweet release washed over you, making your vision blurry and your head fuzzy. His hands slowed down their movements, letting you ride it out as you bucked your hips lazily against his hand until he withdrew it.

You carefully opened your eyes and the knot in your stomach began to churn anew as you took in the sight before you. Silco had straightened up on the lounge, still between your thighs, vest slightly agape for a lack of tie, hair dishevelled with strands falling into his face. His face, gods, his face. It was flushed from the heat, his sweat mixing with your juices that coated his nose and mouth and that bastard was grinning as he took the fingers that were just inside you to his mouth, licking them clean of your remnants. You were determined to wipe the grin from his face once again as you tried to use your elbows to prop yourself up and get yourself into a halfway seated position resting on your palms. Well, you made it halfway from the elbow stance to the palms as your arms remembered they felt like jelly and gave up on you, leaving you plopping back onto the velvet cushions of the lounge with the back of your head. Silco watched this and chuckled. “Dear, don’t overestimate your strength. Give yourself a moment.” You didn’t want a moment. As you set to try your endeavours a second time, he suddenly bent back down over you, his arms resting on either side of your chest, face flush to yours. “I said, give it a moment,” he warned, voice low and dangerous again, a glint shimmering through his eyes. You shook your head and decided that if your arms could not support you to steady yourself, you might as well use them to pull him in.

Easier said than done, you lifted your arms and dropped them behind his neck, hands gripping the fabric of his vest on the shoulders. He let out another chuckle and shakes his head. “You won’t let go, hm?”, he cooed as he brought his face closer to yours. He hasn’t kissed you yet. You hadn’t dared to- this didn’t seem like a situation… You couldn’t finish your thought before his lips found yours, hungry, devouring you, tongue pushing its way into your mouth. He didn’t need to ask permission or wait, be gentle, or anything. And he knew. You moaned into the kiss as you felt his tongue twirling with yours, pushing hungrily into your mouth, determined to explore it in its entirety. Even though the kiss was drenched in desire and want, it almost felt a tinge gentle. You were sure you imagined that part. The knot in your stomach tightened at the feeling, itching to be released anew. “S-Silco… Please….”, was all you managed to pathetically wince out between kisses. He broke the kiss and leaned back a bit. There it was again, this grin. “What is it? Use your words, dear.” he spoke, voice dripping with sarcasm. You looked back up at him with the most longing and pathetic look you had in you and said “Please… Fuck me.”

That was all he needed, hands quick to unbutton his pants and sliding them down just enough to free the length of his hard cock that surely was similarly aching to be freed like the knot in your stomach. He was already dripping precum which made you a little proud of yourself, seeing that all this mess hadn’t just affected you. He was human after all. You didn't have a lot of time to revel in that thought though, as he quickly came back down towards you, tip of his cock hitting your aching clit. You winced and at this point, you didn’t care how you sounded anymore. “Please, please Silco”, all you could do was whimper his name in pleas to end your suffering and finally fuck you. He seemed to enjoy that most as he took his sweet time, dragging his tip through your folds, playing with your clit, lining himself up only to let it glide upwards between you again. You had enough. Determined you bucked your hips against him as he toyed with you once again, pulling him in just enough so his head was entering you.

He hissed, seemingly pissed off for just a second before the feeling of your cunt around him soothed all his anger and he couldn’t help but fully push himself inside you. You gasped, and let out an unholy animalistic noise as your hands tried to grasp onto the velvet of the lounge in support. That did it, the last part of resolve he had in him was crumbling at that unruly noise you just let out. He was relentless, quick-paced thrusts deep into you, losing himself in the way your walls clenched around him. Your hands, not finding any support with the lounge, latched onto his shoulders and dragged down his back, nails leaving marks in their wake. The noises he made were impossible to describe and even more impossible to endure. Your own were similarly unruly, you simply didn’t care anymore. There was no way you were withstanding this long, as you could feel your release inching closer and closer. He could feel it too, your walls clenching around him as he bottomed out into you, thrust after thrust, again and again. “S..Silco.. I’m.. I’m gonna..”, you tried your best to form any semblance of words as you felt yourself approaching the edge. One of his hands found your clit, fingers circling over it as he kept fucking you at a relentless pace. That did it and you felt yourself being thrown over the edge as the knot in your stomach exploded again making you clench uncontrollably around his cock. His breathing grew more ragged, thrusts sloppy and losing their rhythm as he fucked you through your high and chased his own. Just as he started to twitch he pulled out and spilt himself all over your stomach, panting heavily, letting out more of these groans and sounds that you would for sure hear in your head for days to come.

He remained hovering over you for a second, lazily stroking himself before getting up and grabbing a box of tissues off the nearby table. You thought he would take a few and toss you the box or something, but he cleaned himself up at the table, discarding the used tissues and heading back over to you with the rest. He sat down on the lounge in front of you, taking one tissue after the other, gently wiping his cum from your stomach and discarding the used tissues… well, into the general direction of the waste bin. You studied his face as he did so, usually furrowed brows relaxed and eyes steadily fixed on his task at hand. For how relentlessly he fucks, kills and acts otherwise he was being… gentle?

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

the fandom’s characterization of peri becoming a father to dev will always be interesting to me because where it did it even come from ???

I mean in operation birthday takeback, bro CLEARLY did not care. He honestly seemed so disinterested and didn’t even care when they went into his dad’s private office by accident. He didn’t seem care or smile for his godkid when he was happy. Even got a little mean when Hazel made a nice wish for him with the rocket boots (“Well that should keep him entertained for about 10 minutes” or smth like that)

Lost in Fairy World he didn’t really seem to care either??? he really only just wanted his wand and to ‘look good’ in front of his godkid and do things his way without his parents interfering. Sort of like how a babysitter wants to look good in front of the family of the kid they’re looking after if that makes sense.

The only time we ever seen him actually care about dev was in the finale when he said that. But even after fairy world got turned to normal he didn’t really seem sad about dev??? he was just smiling after, seemed genuine too and not a fake one. Maybe it’s just me, but if I was a fairy and lost my first godkid, who took over my home, I would be doing anything BUT smiling, even if we won in the end. Peri doesn’t seem like one to hide his emotions easily either (maybe I’m reading into his character wrong)

You could bring up best of luck, which I would say is a fair point, but I’m going to bring back the babysitter/job synonym. Wouldn’t you get jealous of the person that stole your position or place in a work environment after you got fired?? Especially if your rival/enemy took that position?? I PERSONALLY don’t think the jealousy comes from a place of care, but maybe that’s just me.

It could honestly just be the fandom’s way of coping since Dev doesn’t seem to have any good people in his life after the finale, but why Peri? I mean if you really want to make one of the fairies a father figure to dev, I’d say the anti fairies more over are his family but that’s IF we have to choose.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think all of the peri and dev being a father son duo is super cute and heartwarming!! I love seeing all of the art and fics of that because it really is sweet :3 but to me, it just doesn’t really make sense and seems more out of character for Peri if anything.

He seems to care more about following Da Rules in my opinion. And while I do think it’s important to follow rules, especially when it comes to a job, you shouldn’t rely on them. At a job, you shouldn’t be constantly looking over rules to make sure you’re following them, you might end up tripping over yourself. That’s what Peri ended up doing.

If I assign the duo as anything, it would be the tired babysitter who just wants to get paid and the kid he’s looking after. A dude working a 9-5 at his job he couldn’t really care less about (dev).

I mean (only from his words) he wanted to go into the family business. Not because he genuinely cares for kids, but because it’s what his family has done. He’s treating godparenting as work, not stepping into a kids family and genuinely looking after them.

I do wonder if he would act the same way if he had an easier godkid.

BUT!!!! that’s just my thoughts. I’m sorry if I got anything wrong and feel me to correct me if I did !! Also if you disagree with anything that I’m saying, tell me why in either the replies or reblogs !! I would love to hear other people’s perspectives or opinions.

That’s it 😨 thank you so much for coming to another yap session and I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are in the world <3

[seasprincess]

Hi Rosie! I love the chemistry post you did with Stiles

I would like to request Stiles sneaking into reader's room through the window because they were sick and didn't come to school. I feel like he may just buy/bring a bunch of medicine regardless if they'll help their sickness in hopes that one of them would work and takes care of reader and gives them his company.

And as always, if something doesn't interest you it's okay not to write it! I hope you have a nice day and a good Thanksgiving if you celebrate it <3

warnings: None just fluff!!

Stiles Stilinski cares more about his girlfriend than anyone else. Even himself. Shown by the way he’s currently climbing through his girlfriend’s window even though he could get sick from even being in the same room with her.

But of course Stiles will not take ‘I don’t want you getting ill’ as a warning and will just do what he wants. Nothing out of character there.

“Now, the lady in the pharmacy was not helpful with what I should get so I just picked up a shit tone.” Stiles finally gets his body through the window. It’s not the first time he’s come through this entrance. As much as your dad likes him, he sometimes doesn’t let him in. And seeing as you’re ill there is a high chance Stiles will be turned away to let you rest. But who’s ever said rest cures illness?

Well everyone. But not the point.

You roll over and slowly start to open your eyes as you see your dorky boy friend stood there. Plastic bag in hand, full of ‘goodies’.

Stiles makes his way over to you before placing a hand on your head. Feeling the heat radiating off it onto his hand.

“Missed you in school today.” His hand slowly starts to stroke your hair as he looks at you. As pretty as you are to him you’re not looking your best right now.

You look like shit to be quite frank, but in his eyes, you’re so gorgeous. Even with your messy hair and puffy eyes.

“I woke up like an hour ago.” You say as he look at him, rubbing your eyes as he places the bag of pills on your bed before placing a soft kiss to your head.

After a couple more strokes or your cheek he removes his hand to rustle through the bag and begin taking out the different pills.

“This one is for headaches. I think. There’s a brain on it so I guessed. Then this one is for stomach-”

Stiles continues to yap on about the different pills and the different effects. And as much as you like hearing him talk, your head is pounding, stomach churning and you feel so ill that him talking about it is very much not helping.

“Stiles baby.” You place your hand on his as he stops talking. Eyes turning to you with a look in his eyes. Love. “As much as I appreciate Doctor Stiles, the best thing that can help me is cuddling you and a movie or something.”

Stiles smiles and rubs the back of his head, realising he was going overboard on the collection of different pain reliefs and other health benefits.

But that’s when he pulls out something else from the bag. A bigger packet.

“Good thing I brought the best medicine.” He says as he holds the bag of chocolate up. A smile forming on your face as he lays down next to you and hands you them.

“Thank you.” You whisper quietly before he wraps his arm around you and kisses your head, ready to watch whatever you want to.

Because he’s a good boyfriend.

a/n: I love this little ask as i was recently ill lol and happy thanksgiving! i’m thankful for dylan obrien

tags- @inlovewithdob @allydiass @mayfieldss