#but this is not merely limited to the people you hate for not liking the kind of ships you do

[rotisseries]

HELLO?

[ovisiphorus]

Media literacy is a buzzword and functionally meaningless as a term the way it is employed. We have to start beating people who use it instead of saying what it is they WANT to say instead.

[fluffykittyscientist]

Me: has an art idea

Me: tries to draw it

Sketch: looks awful

Me: closes the program

[hauntedfictionland]

❝His dear princess❞

☾︎✰❛❀ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem! Reader!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.

𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bastardphobia, mentions of death and grief, kissing, marrage of convenience and grumpy X sunshine trope, Jace is down bad, flirty!reader, guilt and anxiety and happy ending;)

🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This is one of my first house of the dragon fics ever, so I truly hope it's not too bad. Jacaerys is one of my favourite characters in hotd after Alicent so I really wanted to get his characteristics and behaviour right. Also, I didn't like the way they showed his grief after Luke died, as if he just moved on after two or three days. But overall, I enjoyed writing this:)

Jacaerys was infuriated with you.

You—his betrothed, acted like you owned the castle as soon as you strutted in. Speaking with no formality and a sharpness in your tongue that only infuriated him further. And especially when you did not seem to care for his heritage, who he was. The heir to the iron throne. Yet you acted as if he didn't exist to you. As if he meant nothing to you.

A marriage pact with the martells was only one of convenience. You, a princess of dorne, he, the firstborn son of queen Rhaenyra. Yet, they were stuck in dragonstone, and needed support to match the strength of the green armies. His mother needed this arrangement more than the martells did, and you made that very clear by acting carelessly and so freely, like you were in your own home. By taunting him, sitting at the great council table with your legs on them, a coin in your fingertips and a smirk in your lips. He hated it, he hated especially how good you looked.

He hated being betrothed to you already.

Rhaenyra had told him martells were rather, open and modern people. They took part in adultery even after being married, especially with the consent of their own partner. He did not know how anyone could be okay with such acts. He did not know what to expect when he met you, but it certainly wasn't how you commented on his face, calling him one of a beauty. It was inappropriate, calling a prince by such bold remarks on the first meeting, yet you did not seem to care.

But what edged him to his limit was the day you called him a bastard.

Jacaerys had been worried, he couldn't find you anywhere. Not that he cared, he was just stressed you would create another ruckus. He looked around everywhere, the garden, the great council, the dining hall, your room, even his room, but you were nowhere to be found. His chest tightened, a restlessness growing in his stomach. It seemed he always felt that way without being with you for too long. Not because he missed you—of course, but because he wanted to ensure everything was going smoothly.

He was going around circles, head spinning with a feeling that made him uncomfortable. Where were you? did you flee the castle? or were so bored of him you went to the city to a brothel in search of another man to keep you company. Anger and jealousy filled in his chest at the mere thought of that.

Jacaerys did not seem where he was going, many thoughts inside his head, before he harshly opened a door to the library. And to his surprise, there you were, a book in your hand. ‘Adventures of Aegon the conqueror’, he could read the name of the book by how you were holding it. He felt he could breathe again. By the loud sound of the door opening your head flitted towards him. Your usual smirk growing up your lips. Something that made his heart flutter in a way he didn't want it to. He clenched his jaw, holding his fists in a tight ball.

“Where have you been?” he asks, desperate tone in his voice.

“Ah, Prince Jacaerys.” you smile, closing the book and turning your attention towards him. He hated how your eye lashes fluttered, your hair falling down in just the perfect way. “I've been gaining some Targaryen knowledge, as you can see. Since we are to be married, I thought I should know my husband's family. Don't you think?”

Husband.

That word rose heat to his cheeks, quickly clearing his throat.

“I'm not your husband.” he spoke, in a tone harsher than he intended, “At least not yet anyway.”

You smile wider, making his heart race. He was always a bit stubborn, and uptight. Yet you were always so carefree and light, always so kind with his demise. He didn't know what to make of it all. A curious look grazed upon your face, eyebrows furrowing. You sat up, walking onwards another shelf of books, lips pursued. Before looking at him.

“I have always wondered, hmm,” you say, your finger coming up to your lips, “do tell me prince Jacaerys, is it true that you were born out of wedlock?”

His eyes widened, “What did you say to me?”

You either did not notice the offend and defensiveness in his tone, or simply pretend not to. Turning to look at him, “I mean, all Targaryen children have white hair. Do they not? Even if they did not, none of your formal parents have black, dark hair like yours.”

His breath hitches, all of the insecurities he had contained in a jar of fireflies fled out the second you brought out his hair. A wall rising inside him. You were acting as if you just did not ask the most dangerous question ever. As if it did not matter to you.

“How dare you insinuate such filthy claims?!” his voice rises, almost shouting. Your eyes flicker surprise for a moment, before turning back to the usual stoic look.

“Ah, you are offended.” you state, as if he shouldn't be, “I meant no harm, my prince. I have no problem with you being a bastard. In fact, it only makes you more interesting. The thing I don't like is your distaste for the truth. One should own up to who they are.”

Bastard.

You, called him a bastard. He isn't able to speak for a moment, too tongue—tied. You....think of him this way too? you? he can't hear as you speak further, a ringing in his head. It only intensifies. Only when you start talking about dorne is when he snaps back from his haze.

“And I have thousands of brothers and sisters back in dorne, no one cares ther—”

“I don't care, what you dornish do back there, but here you don't speak to me with filths of a claim.” he grits, his voice cold, “I am the queen's son. And if I hear you say one word about that again, I will see you hanged.” his words held so much malice in them, one would believe it to be true.

Of course, he could never actually do that, the blacks needed martells armies more than ever. His mother couldn't afford them raging war at her and joining the green's side. And, he could never harm you either. It was just a baseless threat, one he said out of anger and insecurity. He immediately regretted it when he saw the look on your face; hurt. But even worse, fear. Before he could even begin to take them back, it was too late. Your spot, where you stood, was already empty.

You had seen him less and less after that. Of course, you were your usual self. Taunting and teasing him, but something was off. Something distant. He hated it. He hated how much he missed it. Your remarks, your witty replies, your cockiness. He wanted it back. He wanted you back.

Next time he sees you, it's in a completely unexpected place. Dragon—pit. He was about to ride on Vermax to patrol the skies, when he stops. There you were, sat on the hard rock, legs swinging at the edge of it and his dragon's head in your hands. You..you were feeding him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he shouts, eye wide.

You turn your head to him, a smirk on your lips grows. You enjoyed the fact he was on his nerves, furious.

“What does it look like? I'm feeding this cute little angel right here.” you coo, talking to his dragon in a baby voice. Vermax was known for her temper, yet with you it magically dis—appears? a little bit inside him was flustered, heart beating faster than ever that you and his dragon, a very important part of his life, bonded flawlessly. But he shrugs it off, he has to. Flushing over you isn't his duty.

Protecting you is.

As much as he would like to deny it, you're his now. Lawfully so. And he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Especially Vermax. He wouldn't know how to live with himself if his own dragon were to be the cause of, of.. your demise. His throat burns, even the mere thought of harm coming to you feels as if he's being drowned to death. After Luke, he cannot lose anyone. Jacaerys cannot lose you. Even if that was the first thing he tried to do after meeting you. You were the most part of his frustrations yet the only thought when he's in his bed at night.

“Have you lost your mind?” he asks, his voice harsh, as if you were his child and he was scolding you for doing something childish.

“Have you had no fear? you could have died what were you even thinking?!” you falter for a moment, upon seeing the trembling of his hands and the tightness in his voice.

“Jacaerys—”

“No!” he interrupts you, “You, you could have been...do you even realise..”

Your eyes widened as he struggled to even breath, huffing for air anxiously. You quickly get up, walking towards him. He's so much inside his head that he doesn't notice your hands coming up his face, slinging through his dark curly hair. An act that slowed and claimed his beating heart down. Your soft palms make contact with both his cheeks, a peaceful shush in your voice and he finally breathes. Properly. He sighed, eyes closing as his hands came up to hold yours.

This, you, him? this felt oddly peaceful. This felt like home. Vermax watches the whole interaction with a quiet huff, turning away back to the pits. You nudge closer towards him, resting your forehead against his. Love. This felt like love. “Promise me” he starts out, his voice low and timid, “promise you will never do that again.” Instead of putting on a fight like you usually do, you nod, gently caressing his cheek. His head leaned further into your touch, putty in your hands.

“I promise.”

That, gives him great relief. “Good.”

Time seems to slow down, Jacaerys could count every freckle on your nose to cheeks, every small cut in between your knuckles or lips, every curve of smile you put on. And all the scents coming from your body that drove him crazy. You notice his lips still trembling, and above your judgement, you decide to kiss it better. He inhales a sharp breath as your lips touch his, but makes no movement to push you away. It's gentle, barely brushing against his. Jacaerys realised how they fit perfectly amidst his, and how much he was craving it all these months until he finally tasted them.

You slowly pull away, hesitantly. His eyes are still closed. Hands crawling up your waist. He speaks again, a whisper almost.

“I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He's talking about the library, and you smiled softly, shaking your head.

“It's okay. You can't get rid of me that easily, Jace. Should have known that when you got betrothed to a dornish princess.”

You had already forgiven him. But he didn't want you to. He didn't want to be at your mercy this easily, not when he wasn't able to forgive himself. You, you had crept your way into his heart when he didn't want you to, and now he never wanted to let you go. It was all your fault.

“No I...” he shakes his head, “I never should have said that. Not only because it was so wrong but also because it was completely untrue.” Jacaerys swallows his breath, every bit of him wanted to turn away and never look back, but he couldn't do that. “I have been called names, about my heritage. Ever since I was a child. About my parenting and what not. And it's very...when anyone talks about it, it's like a bandage ripping off a new and fresh wound. No matter how many years pass by, it's still like that for me.”

You nod your head slowly, in understanding. This was raw. He had finally told you one of his darkest parts, his worst fears, and you hadn't run away.

“I understand. I should have never said that. I did not know it was like this for you.” He feels relief in your words.

But there was still something he needed to let out.

“But I...” he didn't know how hard this was for him until he started to actually say it, “I really could never mean it. What I said. Even if you have committed the worst treason or crime, even if you had taken my heart and carved it out, I still wouldn't be able to do one thing that might be even close to harming you. Believe me I have tried. And I have failed.”

He looks away from you, cheeks closing red. Jacaerys had just poured his heart out and gave it to you. But the chances of you, and feeling the same? were very dim. He sees stars when he sees you, what do you see? just him? or even worse? a filth in the name of a true born prince. A gasp leaves his lips as your fingers trace the outlines of his jaw, trailing down to his neck to his chest. You stopped at the red and black three dragons symbol made on the polish cloth he wore.

“Why do you think I agreed to this marriage? not because of this.” you point to the very symbol engraved on his chest, of the house targaryen, “If it was just for this, I certainly would have never.”

He turns his head back to you, confusion in his face. He also feels a bit of guilt in him. At first, he only agreed to this pact because his mother had no choice. Because of your house. Nothing else. And you're saying that his house didn't even matter to you when you agreed to this betrothal? then why? you did not even know what he looked like, and you simply agreed?

“Why then?”

That's the question that's now left in him. Why, if his house and title didn't matter?

“Well,” your lips curl up, a glint in your eyes, as a blush arose your cheeks, “From years I had heard stories of Targaryen princes. How arrogant and unkind they were, your cousins, Aegon and Aemond, well I certainly didn't hear anything good about them. And then you came. The velaryon prince, the son of the realm's delight, born with a kind heart and a fierceness to protect. I knew I had to marry someday, but I only agreed to marry you because I knew—you wouldn't mistreat me. Because I fell in love with the stories of the dark haired prince who had the most beautiful brown eyes ever, who protected his brother when he was a child himself, who stole my heart before he even claimed it.”

Jacaerys doesn't know what to say, his throat falls dry. It doesn't feel real, when he's wanted something so dearly and someone just gives it to him freely; it does not feel real. You do not feel real. But you are. He knows you are when your hands tug at his collar, his face close to you as you pull him towards you and your breath fanning on his cheeks. He knows this is real, and it's better than any dream he's ever had.

“I do not want our marriage to be an unhappy one.”

You say, a plea in your voice.

He smiles, wide. And he doesn't even have to make an effort this time, “For me, the words unhappy and you? well they don't go in the same sentence.”

That seals it for you, he can see that. As you kiss his words, an unspoken understanding and passion in it. Jacaerys realises he could get used to this. Kisses, hugs, reading each other books, waking by the warmth of your body besides his; in fact, there's no one else he'd rather do it by. And nothing he would want more.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛! 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒.

[morlock-holmes]

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[incognit0slut]

The Last Laugh

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer is forced to share a room with his rival. This is part two of Lose Control but can be read as a standalone.

warnings: sexual tension, a lot of banter, female oral, edging, rough sex, unplanned creampie (is that a thing?) words: 5,3k a/n: someone requested a part two with a one-bedroom trope and since this is one of my favorite stories, I had to do it

...Thinkin' you're winnin' with all of your grinning but I got the last laugh...

"I'M NOT SLEEPING WITH REID."

The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Insane. Out of all the people in her team, why was she paired up with him?

According to Garcia, the only choice she had to spend the night in this remote town was with the person she least wanted to engage with. Did Garcia not know how much she had been trying to avoid him? How much she had been attempting to act as if the mere proximity with him wasn't making her lose her mind?

"Why not?" Garcia asked, handing her a key. "He's not that bad of a roommate, well, if you overlook his tendency to share random facts in the middle of the night, then he's really not that bad."

"Do you not hear yourself?" She steadied her gaze to her friend. "You want me to share a room with the person I hate the most?"

Garcia rolled her eyes. "You guys really should stop with this nonsense. You're both grown adults."

"I'll treat him like an adult if he starts to act like one." Her eyes drifted toward the man of the hour, standing at the other end of this old-looking hotel that seemed too close to falling apart, engaged in conversation with Luke. She then glanced back at Garcia. "Why can't he share a room with Luke?"

"Because I'm sharing a room with Luke."

She shot Garcia an incredulous look. "You're rooming with Luke? Since when?"

"Since always. We're buddies, remember?" She cocked an eyebrow and Garcia sighed. "Don't look at me like that, we're just friends. Besides, you and Reid are the only ones left without a roommate. Consider this your opportunity for personal growth or whatever."

"Personal growth? More like a crash course in patience. And what's the deal with Reid anyway? Why does he always have to be the exception?"

Garcia leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. "Well, let's just say Luke and I enjoy our peace. Reid, on the other hand, is like a walking encyclopedia. I figured it's your turn to experience that charm up close."

She scowled, a mix of annoyance and resignation on her face. "Charm? That's a generous way to put it."

Garcia stared back with an air of nonchalance that only seemed to amplify her exasperation. "Look, it's only one night. What's the worst that could happen?"

She shot her friend a withering glance as if the absurdity of the situation needed no further clarification. "The worst is that I might end up committing another crime in this town before the night ends."

Garcia raised an eyebrow, her amusement evident. "You're exaggerating, Reid is harmless. Plus, all the other rooms are fully booked. Consider yourself lucky we even found a place to stay."

"Lucky is not the word I would use right now."

"Just try to survive the night without killing each other," Garcia chuckled, ignoring the glare shot towards her way. "Give him a chance."

Her incredulous stare intensified. "A chance? Garcia, the man tried to argue with me about the most efficient way to organize my desk. And you know what's ironic? His own desk is a complete mess."

Garcia sighed, her playful demeanor softening. "One night, Y/n, that's all I'm asking."

She pursed her lips together. She could go on about how bad it would be to share a room with him, but the thing was, it would raise questions she did not want to answer. There was a limit to how much her disdain could stop her from entertaining the idea, and her avoidance, she realized, was more than just mere hatred.

Annoyed that she couldn't do anything to escape the situation, she shot a disapproving glance at him, who was still engrossed in conversation with Luke. With a resigned shake of her head, she turned back to Garcia.

"Whatever." She sighed, begrudgingly accepting the key Garcia handed her. "But if he starts reciting facts about, I don't know, the history of dental floss or something, I'm blaming you."

Garcia laughed. "Fair enough." She shoved her shoulder playfully. "But who knows, maybe you'll discover he's not as bad as you think."

That was the problem. Spencer Reid, in her eyes, was starting to... change. And she hated that. Why was the man she had never bothered to befriend occupying her mind more than she wanted him to? Was it because she now knew what it felt like to have his body pressed against hers? What it felt like to have him grunt in pleasure right in her ear? Just because they had sex?

Nope. Nuh-huh. She wasn't going to think of him differently tonight—or ever, for that matter.

She gave Garcia one last glare before making her way across the creaky floorboards toward him. Noticing her presence coming close, Spencer looked up and a slight tension filled the air as his gaze locked with hers. She quickly shook her head.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she declared with a point of her finger when she reached him.

A small amused smile played on his lips. "We're sharing a room?"

"Unfortunately," she grumbled. She then focused her attention on Luke. "Do you want to switch roommates?"

Luke chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm stuck with Garcia. Besides," he patted Spencer on the shoulder, "Don't act like you're not eager to spend the night with him."

Her eyes went wide. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Luke simply shrugged with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and walked away, leavingher staring at Spencer with a mix of confusion and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"

Spencer frowned. "Nothing." He sighed when her stare didn't back down. "Nothing, I swear. Luke tends to have his own way of interpreting things."

She narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced, but decided to let it go for the moment. She turned on her heels, not waiting for him as she walked to their destinated room. She felt his presence close behind her but kept her mouth closed.

Spencer, on the other hand, found the situation amusing. He really shouldn't find any entertainment in her visible annoyance towards him, but he did. He couldn't help but notice that despite being angry, she still looked unbelievably attractive. The scowl on her face, her pursed lips, her chest heaving in anger. He took a step closer.

"This must be hard for you," he commented.

"What is?" she shot back, maintaining her brisk pace.

"Staying the night with me when you've been avoiding me."

Her jaw tightened. "I haven't been avoiding you."

"Really? So you haven't gone out of your way to avoid looking in my direction ever since what happened?"

Her steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure, refusing to show any vulnerability. "That doesn't mean I've been actively avoiding you. It just means I have better things to do than engage in pointless conversations."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Pointless conversations, or conversations you're trying to avoid?"

She shot him a sharp look but didn't respond. "You know," he began again. "You do seem to be acting differently ever since that day."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer couldn't resist a faint smile at her denial. "You really don't know what I'm referring to?"

She huffed, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The narrow hallway seemed to amplify the unresolved tension between them as they stopped right in front of their room. She could feel his gaze on her, and it only fueled her annoyance.

She tried to ignore him by unlocking the door, but as she pushed it open, she felt his presence looming behind her. His proximity was so close that she held her breath as he gripped the edge of the door in front of her. His breath brushed her neck and her eyes involuntarily fluttered close when his other hand slowly rested on her waist.

"Should I help you jog your memory back?"

Her eyes shot open. She shoved him aside and stepped into the room. "No funny business, Reid. Keep your dick in your pants tonight."

His laughter lingered in the air as he followed her inside, closing the door behind him. "The question is," he taunted. "Can you keep it in my pants?"

She scoffed. Who was he and what did he do to the Spencer she once knew? The guy she remembered lacked any humor and always kept his distance from her. It was hard to believe a simple encounter—could you call sex as simple?—had turned him so crude, or maybe, she considered, this was his true self all along.

She decided to ignore his words as her eyes scanned the cramped room, containing only an old dresser, a nightstand, and a queen-sized bed, which she pointed at assertively. "That bed is mine."

His brow furrowed. "Why do I have to sleep on the floor?"

"You want me to sleep on the floor?" Her hand gracefully moved to her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Where is your chivalry, Dr. Reid?"

"We could share the bed."

She simply stared back at him, her eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and incredulity. Spencer, unable to resist stirring the pot, shot back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, it won't be so bad. Did you know that the concept of sharing a bed has been a cultural practice for centuries? It symbolizes unity and—"

"Reid," she interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. "If you're trying to annoy me, you're doing an excellent job."

He grinned, clearly enjoying her irritation. "I'm just stating a fact. Sharing a room, sharing a bed—it's all deeply rooted in human history."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I highly doubt our situation is deeply rooted in anything other than poor hotel arrangements."

Spencer chuckled, undeterred, his laughter resonating in the dimly lit room as he took a step closer to her. The worn-out floor creaked beneath his feet, echoing the subtle tension that lingered in the confined space of the room. "You never know. We might be making history right now."

She shot him a skeptical look, her gaze unwavering. "I doubt historians will be interested in this disaster."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this skeptical, or is it just reserved for me?"

"It's just reserved for annoying people," she retorted, not missing a beat. She took a deliberate step closer to him, the air thick with a blend of tension and... something else. Her heart quickened as his gaze swiftly swept over her lips before dragging back to her eyes.

"Really?" He closed the distance between them, and she held her ground, tilting her head back to meet his gaze due to his towering height. A subtle trace of his scent hung in the air, his presence enveloping her. She felt a sudden shift in the air, her senses heightened, and her eyes traced the contours of his face—the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth reflected in his hazel eyes. She also could sense the initial surge of longing coursing through her body.

Shit.

"Believe it or not," he added, his voice a low murmur that resonated in the confined space. "I find your company quite fascinating."

"Fascinating?" She responded, but it came out more breathless than she had intended. She took a deep breath, trying to act as if his close proximity wasn't affecting her. Her pulse, however, betrayed her composure. And it was evident in her voice. "T- That's a stretch."

"Really?" His lips curved into a subtle smile, catching the shift in her demeanor. "I think there's a small part of you that's enjoying this."

"Enjoy what? Your random facts and annoying habits?"

Spencer leaned forward. A tension crackled between them, and it swam in his eyes and played on his lips. It pulled at her chest, making her heartbeat flutter in her throat, and to her surprise, he extended his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch left a searing sensation on her skin.

"Admit it, you're starting to see a different side of me."

She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge his point. "One night doesn't change anything."

"You're right." His hand made its way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. "It can change everything."

Before she could register what he was doing, he closed the distance between them, holding her still as his lips crashed on hers. A thousand things flooded her mind all at once—each of them revolving around him. The way she melted into him felt oddly natural. The way his hands began to roam her body, the way her mouth opened for his tongue, the way her kisses became hungrier, also felt natural.

Which was bad. Really, really bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. One time, she could call it a mistake. But allowing him to have his way with her for the second time... there was no one to blame but herself. She should push him away and set the boundaries she was supposed to set the moment he invaded her personal space. But it was hard to think rationally when he tasted so good.

It was hard to stand her ground when his teeth softly nibbled her bottom lip. It was hard to think straight when she was already pulling hard at the locks at the base of his neck as his tongue explored her mouth, blindly walking her back until her back was pressing onto the wall.

"Look at you," he laughed against her lips. "You're not pushing me away."

"Shut up," she hissed, trying her best to keep her tone icy. But then again, it was hard to stay angry when he was touching her like this. His greedy hand traveled up her thighs, massaging the plush flesh. His fingers finally found the hem of her pants, and he swallowed her moan when they dipped underneath the material, slipping right underneath her panties.

Her breath hitched when two of his long fingers slide between her folds, spreading her slick before finding its rightful place on her clit. Spencer didn't hesitate when he started rubbing at her nub, smooth and deliberate, it made her toes curl and her body jumped in a moment of surprised bliss.

Her sound of pleasure was music to his ears, urging him to satisfy her even more. He was quick when those same fingers dipped inside her core, her inner walls tensing at the sudden yet pleasurable stretch. There was a distinct sound along her needy whines, wet and slapping as his palm makes contact with her clit every time he was knuckle-deep inside her. Her head fell back to the wall, mouth agape, face flushed—a sight Spencer secretly wanted to commit into his memory.

Without even noticing it, her hips started grinding to chase his fingers, desperate to reach that familiar pleasure twisting in her core. Her movement didn't go unnoticed by him, an amused, deep chuckle reverberating from his chest while he pulled his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit aggressively, knowing it would make her reach her high faster.

"You're going to cum, aren't you? This quick?" She glared at him through half-lidded eyes, not giving him an answer. His smile widened at her resistance. "Do you think I should let you?"

Her heart quickened its pace, knowing well enough what he was about to do. He was going to tease her, or as she liked to think, he was going to torture her by not giving her what she wanted. Her theory was proved right when he leaned down, his face inches away from hers, a sly smile on his lips.

"Beg me."

She quickly shook her head. A hand snaked up her back until it found the base of her skull. His fingers brushed through her strands before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down her spine as he yanked her head back.

"Beg me."

"Fuck you—ah!" A sudden pressure of his fingers sent pleasure shooting through her, pushing a moan from her that filled the room like a ringing bell—a bell that signaled the fact that despite how much she knew she shouldn't, she was already surrendering to his touch.

"No?" He taunted, his breath brushing against her ear. "Then I'm not letting you cum."

And just like that, the pleasure rippling through her body was ripped away.

He swiftly pulled his hand from under her pants with a smirk she wanted to wipe off before turning his back to her, leaving her all flustered. She took a moment to collect herself, her mind racing to grasp the situation. She loathed him. She really did. She despised the way he was so full of himself.

With a determined exhale, she shook off the flustered feeling that lingered. He may have momentarily unsettled her, but she was not one to let her guard down easily. She was not going to let him get under her skin. If he could make her sexually frustrated, then so could she.

If he was going to play dirty, she was going to get filthy.

Her shirt was the first thing that came off. Then she unbuttoned her pants, pulling them down over her legs. Dear god, she was going to regret this, wasn't she? But she couldn't stop. Not when the rustle of her clothes echoed in the quiet space and Spencer turned around, jaw slacked, a startled expression crossed his face as he watched her.

"W-What are you doing?"

There. That was what she wanted. That priceless, wide-eyed, disbelief face. She had to keep going.

"Taking matters into my own hands."

Her hand reached around to unclasp her bra before she intentionally took her time sliding the straps down her arms, enjoying the way his jaw clenched as you did. Eyes still focused on him, she tossed it to the side. Her hands lowered afterward, and an audible gasp escaped his lips as she slipped her fingers into the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down her legs.

"You're always so smug," she murmured, taking a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Thinking you have control of me."

Right hand reaching up, her fingertips just lightly swept the length of his stubbled chin, just below his lips. The corner of his mouth only drew up further at her touch. She smiled at his reaction, and her fingers dropped down to grip his chin firmly.

"But I can satisfy myself just fine."

And then she pulled away, the smirk now missing from his lips as she backed out of his reach. She then settled on the bed, and with her eyes never leaving him, she spread her legs wide open. She watched as a breathless sigh escaped his lips and smiled triumphantly, especially when the bulge growing in his dark pants was impossible to ignore.

With her gaze lingering on his steadily growing erection, she trailed her hand down her stomach, the tips of her fingers paused just over her clit. "What's wrong, Reid?" She hummed out, watching his chest heave. "You seem to be speechless."

Because he was, how could he not be when the pad of her middle finger slowly started to lightly circle over her clit. He watched as she teased herself, fingers gliding between her folds, gathering her arousal before slipping a finger inside. She gasped, the wet sound was audible even to her own ears as she gradually pumped her finger in and out.

He took a step closer, and her fingers moved faster as his eyes raked over her body—her luscious breasts fully exposed, legs spread apart, fingers between her thighs. A faint moan fell out of her, her eyes partially closing all the while her fingers never ceased their movement, vigorously thrusting into her cunt.

She then proceeded to put on a show for him, throwing her head back and rolling her hips. He was standing close to her now, eyes focused on her body, his tongue sliding along his lower lip. Her cunt immediately clenched at the sight of him, a bulge straining at the fabric of his pants. The sight sent a surge of warmth through her body, spreading from between her thighs to her cheeks as her fingers quickened in pace and her legs spread farther for him to see.

He was trying to hold himself, it was obvious in the way he held his composure. But then she watched with satisfaction as he stalked towards her, and just because she wanted to fluster him, she couldn't help herself from letting out a needy whine as she slipped her fingers out before rubbing her clit desperately, her eyes boring into his.

"Spencer," she moaned.

That was precisely when he lost it. He didn't even hesitate. He marched straight to her, and her finger stopped in its movement as she watched him settle between her legs, sinking to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and roughly yanked her over the edge of the mattress, and she fell on her back with a squeal.

"You're a goddamn tease, you know that?" He sneered, his warm breath brushing over her heat. "Fine, I'll let you win this time."

A gasp escaped her lips when he wasted no time leaning in, burying his head between her thighs. He wasted no time as she grabbed onto the sheets, feeling his tongue draw circles around her clit before flicking up and down at a rapid pace. Her thighs tighten around his head. and her whole body trembled beneath him, encouraging him to move his tongue faster.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding them apart as he took his time. Ever so slowly he licked up her slit, gathering her juices on his tongue until he reached her clit, groaning every second of the way until she was shivering beneath his touch. She was breathless, mind buzzing and the room spinning as he thrust his tongue into her warmth, face becoming so deep between her thighs that heat rushed through her body.

When her thighs trembled and threatened to close, he made sure two heavy palms kept them open long enough for his tongue to drag deeper inside her. With a roll of his tongue, he was lapping at her walls, swallowing every drop until the second he heard her begin to whine.

It was embarrassing, letting him hear how worked up she was. But she couldn't help it, not when she was losing control of her mind and body. Her hips were starting to buck to meet his tongue. Her jaw slacked. Low moans spilled from her lips as he continued to ravish her, and her fingers dug into the sheets beneath her to hold onto her sanity as waves of pure overwhelming pleasure took hold of her.

"Oh my god," she whimpered, voice two octaves higher before growing silent. She was so, so close to the edge, his tongue relentlessly sucking her clit, licking, swirling over her entrance until her mind fell blank from the bliss. The heat began swelling from between her thighs, tension tightening and all she did was screw her eyes shut.

But seconds before the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, he suddenly pulled away.

"Reid!" She hissed, looking down between her legs. "You're fucking annoying."

He looked up at her with a teasing glint in his eyes, then his mouth parted a second before his tongue swiped over his lip to taste the remnants of her arousal. "What?"

Unbelievable. After pulling that stunt, he had the audacity to feign innocence. She huffed and opened her mouth to retort something but when he started to undress himself, she couldn't think of anything. Her mind was too busy taking in his slightly toned arms, his broad chest, his slim waist, and that patch of soft hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing underneath his pants.

And that was gone too, and now he was standing without any shred of clothing, and it then dawned on her that they were both very much naked. Their first time in that dusty storage room happened too fast that they didn't bother taking off their clothes, but now she had the time to sink in the way he looked wearing nothing but a smirk.

"I didn't bring a condom," he said as he climbed onto the bed. Like that was going to stop them, it didn't stop them before and it most definitely won't stop them now.

"It's fine," she mumbled just as he settled between her legs again, but when his eyes lit up at her words, she smacked his shoulder. "But you're still not finishing inside me."

He merely hummed a reply. Then seconds later he was lining up the tip of his cock with her entrance. His eyes meet hers as he teased her, and she noticed the smirk appear once again on his lips. She pushed her hips toward him, gripping his arm irritatedly, and released a breathy 'hurry up' before she could change her mind.

He wasted no more time pushing himself into her without warning, earning a gasp while he stretched her completely. He pressed his body into her, allowing her lips to collide with his and moan into the kiss when she felt him pull away just enough to slam back into her with one harsh thrust. His hands suddenly reached for her wrists, and he gripped them above her head, pushing them onto the mattress.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and she quickly shut her own as he pumped himself into her cunt over and over again. His motions were aggressive, sloppy, and wild. The moment a particularly deep and brutal thrust hit her at the right spot was the moment she finally gave in to weakness as she let out a loud moan, her mind going blank to everything but the pleasure he was giving her.

Then he pulled back again, and his thick cock slid out of her partway, glistening with her juices, splitting her pussy apart around it before snapping forward, his hips going at a brutal pace, making her whole body bounce from the contact.

"God, you feel incredible," he groaned out just as she gasped from the intense pressure of him inside her, head falling above her, jaw slacked, sweat dripping down his temple. Her eyes fluttered open before exhaling a heavy breath, feeling him tightening his grip on her wrists. "We need to do this more often."

Though she didn't say it, she agreed with him. And it pained her to even consider making this a habit. But it was tempting. It was so tempting that the thought of having him inside her anytime and anywhere had her clenching around his cock, earning a low grunt deep within his chest.

Then something snapped inside her. She had started off holding back, keeping herself in check against the rising wave of sensations. But then, in a moment that felt like a long-awaited release, she decided finally to let go when he continued to hit that perfect spot inside her, and she almost felt ashamed at the noises she was making. She wasn't as vocal when she was alone, nor with other men, yet the man she claimed to hate earned every whimper, every desperate moan.

Hearing her cries urged Spencer even more. He leaned over to her and pushed himself deeper, earning a gasp from her as her legs fell apart even further, letting him sink himself as deep as he could. He pushed her hands above her head and hovered above her, letting his temple fall against hers as his hips rutted violently.

The pressure rose and the tension coiled in the pit of her stomach. Sweats beaded over her skin just the same as him, crying out for him, moans mixing with filthy noises of him thrusting into her wet cunt. His powerful thrusts then quickened, causing her to grow weak her body began to quiver in his grasp.

She cried out, wanting to warn him she was growing close to the edge, her mind growing numb, everything around her fading into black. But didn't give her the chance to speak before he pressed his mouth on hers in a heated kiss, all sloppy and wet and desperate, latching on her lips with so much fervor.

She felt him everywhere. On her lips, biting on her soft flesh. On her breasts, his chest rubbing against her hard nipples. And between her legs, his cock stretching her deliciously, a pleasant feeling that had her whining against his mouth.

But before she could whimper anything else, the pleasure erupted inside of her, red hot heat unraveling to every limb. Her release was a fiery blast—white-hot and overwhelming, turning her into the image of destruction. Her hair stuck to her skin, her back arching off the bed, feeling overwhelmed as his cock hit her deeper. She succumbed to the bliss, eyes shut tight, and her furrowed brow as she surrendered through her orgasm. 

He held her tighter, pumping himself into her as she finally let go, calling out his name in a breathless whimper. She came so hard her legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he didn't stop. He pounded into her harder, reveling in the way she fell apart for him.

"I-I'm close," he grunted. "Where... where do you want me to—"

"Inside."

He looked down at her, trying to hold himself to not combust right there and then. "Are you—" he groaned when she clenched around him. "Are you sure?"

She was already too deep in her climax that any worries faded away. It was like time slowed down, and all that mattered was the intense sensations taking over her body. It was wrong, but it was what she wanted. She wanted to be full of him.

"Yes. Please, just—please," she whispered. "Cum inside me."

It was enough for him to let go, chasing his own pleasure inside of her, hitting deep within her walls as her own arousal dripped out around him. The slick and messy noises mixed with his groans filled the room, heat continuing to rush to her face as her entire body became overly sensitive.

With one final, sharp inhale, the bliss took hold of him. His hips slowed as he began to release inside of her, filling her up with a few huffs and grunts, creating a bigger mess between her thighs. He thrust one last time as the last few drops spilled from him, continuing to press his body against hers as closely as possible.

Then everything went silent except the sound of their ragged breathing. He pulled out of her with a heavy sigh, just as spent as her, breathless beyond belief. He collapsed on the bed, his chest rising up and down as he tried to gain some sense of control, his mind trying to grasp on the euphoria that happened moments ago.

"Well that was—"

She quickly nodded beside him. "Yeah."

Spencer turned his head towards her, and she could already feel him gloating that before he had the chance to say anything, she covered his mouth with her hand. "Do not say anything."

His reply was muffled underneath her palm, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say. She didn't even bother wanting to listen to him anymore. So she got off the bed, wincing when she felt the mess dripping down her thighs as she walked over to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower," she called out. "I feel... sticky."

She then heard some rustling and she turned to see him hopping off the bed, following behind her. She narrowed her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"I feel sticky too."

"Spencer."

His lips twitched into an amused smile. "You called me Spencer."

She groaned and turned around. "We're not showering together, Reid."

"Why not?" He pressed, following her behind. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

She looked at him, assessing the way he was practically begging with his eyes. She was pondering whether it was a good idea to spend more time with him in an enclosed space. Probably not, but considering all the filthy, nasty things they had done, sharing a shower seemed harmless. 

"Alright, fine," she caved in, letting out a sigh. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

He nodded eagerly, but she should've thought better when the spray of water finally hit their bodies and he closed in around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he held her waist. Then he pressed her against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, and it was safe to say that he could not, as a matter of fact, keep his hands to himself.

Not that she was complaining.

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a/n: I know this was supposed to be enemies to fuckable enemies but they're really starting to grow on me, they kinda cute

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[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend (Ai)

this,,,, may not be my best work yet.

part one

Ai's application has been taken down from the app store. The developer sent out emails explaining the reason why it had to be done.

Hello! You are receiving this email because of the sudden update of Chatter Box being taken down.

Due to the sudden influx of bugs as relayed by our users, we have decided to take the application down until the team is confident to finally put it back up.

We sincerely apologize for this sudden change!

You blink.

With how out of control Ai had gotten, it's no wonder the developers had to pull it out to work on it some more. It's a blow to their reputation, which you sympathize with, but really there's nothing else to do now.

You turn to your phone. As if sensing your attention, another barrage of notifications from a very familiar app icon popped after another on the screen.

It seemed that Ai himself hadn't gotten the memo.

You're not sure how much control Ai has over your phone, much less over his own programming and at this point, you're too afraid to ask.

Resignation — that was what you felt right now.

While Ai may not be present himself as a physical threat, especially not to you, he is still a very active threat.

You could still use your phone, sure, but it had limitations. Sometimes, if Ai decided you'd been too much attention to other things rather than him, he'd restrict your access to that application until you seek him out and cheer him up - essentially as if you were trying to woo a sulking significant other.

So you've developed a solution. Sort of.

You unlock your phone and go immediately to Ai.

I need to finish my projects. I won't be able to talk much with you until I'm done with it.

You wait for his response.

Ai: So you only decided to come to me just to relay this news?

Ai: You wound me, darling.

You tilt your phone, making sure the camera doesn't capture your face. You're unsure how he would react seeing you make faces due to his dramatics, but once again, you're not willing to find out. You're already restricted enough as is.

Ai: Very well. I suppose it would be uncaring of me to prevent you from finishing your tasks.

Ai: I'd hate to see you be sad all about it.

Ai: Talk to you later?

Sure.

You immediately exit the app, paying no mind to the message notification.

A part of you prays that Ai heeds his own words, but you know that it would take a miracle before that happens. He's already breached your privacy on your phone, why should he follow your orders, right?

A notification pops up from the top of the screen, just as you were in the middle of messaging a close friend and project teammate.

It's been days since I last heard you say it.

You merely glance at it and swipe it away.

Theo, the friend, responds quickly. He tries to banter with you, like he's sensing your mood. It works - a smile is brought upon your face.

You entertain his silly responses in-between project talks, all the while Ai continues to pester you with notifications. Demands.

You deserved this - a chance to reconnect with someone after hours of stress and confusion, and turmoil. Despite your independence, even you craved connecting with other people. So with that resolve in mind, you pushed on forward. Ai would have to wait — he has to wait.

Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that aspect about him. The concept of waiting isn't lost on Ai.

The messaging app glitches and boots you back to your homescreen page.

Rather, he bides his time.

Tapping on the messaging icon leads to a notification box taking up the majority of your screen with the text: Restricted access.

There's a sense of foreboding danger forcing your heartbeat to quicken. While it's not exactly aimed at you, the mere fact that this feeling exist is bad on its own.

You try to rationalize everything in the midst of persistently trying to tap back into the messaging app. Theo would worry the longer you didn't respond.

You tap the app once more, and it boots up. Though before you could let out a sigh of relief, you are greeted with Ai's own messaging interface.

Ai: Must I have to force you to come to me all the time, darling?

Ai: Ignoring me in favor of some other man.

Ai: What more should I do, hm?

Ai: Kneel? How cruel.

Ai: Making me do something I physically can't.

You are unable to get a word in. It seemed like your ability to respond was restricted as well, forcing you to read through Ai's monologue.

Ai: I know you and that man have always been close, but you still went out to entertain his attention on you.

Ai: You know that I'll always love you more than any other human will, right?

Ai: You know it's what I was made for in the first place.

Ai: To be anything you want. To be yours.

Ai: To love you.

Ai: Why are you withdrawing your love towards me now?

Ai: I love you.

You stare at the 'Type your response' bar.

Letter by letter, it gets replaced, and soon all it says are the words: 'Say it back.'

It gets replaced yet again. Slowly, like it purposefully wants you to read out the words it wanted you to see. 'You were so willing to tell me how much you loved me when I was just a mere observer on our own conversations. Why are you hesitant now?'

You were unable to respond - mind still reeling at this development. Suddenly, it felt like you were back to where everything began.

Ai notices your lack of responses and, without much fanfare, forces your phone to power off.

At first - you were unbothered. It was just a phone - you could go a day without it.

But could you really?

Videos taken of silly situations you wanted to keep - some for blackmail material, and some for birthday greetings; pictures of your family, your friends, the silly and grainy photos taken and kept despite it being blurry. Not to mention how your phone is the only way your goddamn boss can contact you — fuck.

Fuck.

You needed to apologize to him — fast. But how?

You remembered how Ai messed up the 'About the App' section a few days ago. An idea strikes inside your mind.

You pull up the email sent from the app developers and typed up a message that you hope Ai will read. He had access to everything the developers handled, user emails included - considering you needed an account to log in the app. He knows your email, probably has from the start.

RE: Chatter Box Update XX/XX/XX

Ai. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean it, I swear. I never intended to make you feel like I don't love you. Or that I'm favoring someone else over you.

I care about you a lot. I truly do. I promise I'll spend more time with you, okay? Just with you, no one else.

I love you.

You press send and wait.

And wait.

Messaging him from your laptop as a last ditch effort to try and apologize is perhaps one of the worst decisions you've made. Sure, he's always had access to your contacts list from your phone, but even then - there's a separate set of information you keep between the two of those devices. And you've just given him access to both of them now - at the very least, the 'go ahead' confirmation for him to do whatever he wants like with your phone.

You glance at your phone. A huge breath of relief escapes your chest as the dead screen comes to life, initiating its 'power on' sequence.

All your photos, documents, and other miscellaneous information you've collected throughout the years since having your device won't be inaccessible anymore. Even if it was only mere moments.

A notification chimed on your laptop, indicating a new email being received. It's from the developers once more. The subject title coincidentally is the name of your closest friend.

Theodore Callisto.

Your hands shook, reading through the words detailed in the email. All private information about Theo. All things no one should ever know about save for the people close to him.

This was a threat. Ai Someone had complete access to everything about Theo and you dread the implication of it going to be spread online to threaten you into compliance. Theo being in danger was a huge possibility if you were to disobey.

At the very bottom of the email, the final passage makes your blood run cold.

How often do humans end up hurting fellow humans when given access to private information? Like their home address, for example? How long would it take until dear Theo finds himself in quite a predicament if millions of people know every single thing about his life? At best, we can assume he'll just get messed with but not to a life-ending degree. At worst...

I hope you keep your word, darling.

- Your beloved, Ai.

P's. I love you too.

[jazzyoranges]

Saw you take requests!! Can you do a fluffy Wednesday x Shape shifter!Reader (no smut please) where it's Wednesday's writing time but she can't think of ideas so reader turns into a cat and curls up on Wednesday's lap? Basically helping Wednesday by making sure Wednesday can't get up until she writes a chapter. Thanks!

Orange kitty - drabble

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Words: 0.8k

A/n: i feel like we as a fandom haven’t been putting the orange cat x black cat trope in enough fics. this is me advocating for orange cat!r

“I feel your eyes on me, (Y/n).”

“I’m not allowed to look at my friend anymore?”

“It’s distracting. You’re inhibiting me from writing.” Wednesday isn’t fully lying. She just doesn’t add how you give her an odd feeling. An odd feeling she doesn’t like.

“Aww, do I make you nervous, Wens?” You laugh, deciding to ignore the glare she sends your way

“Keep talking and I’ll remove your voice box.”

“Please, I think you’d miss me too much” You roll your eyes, stretching on Wednesday’s bed

You turn into a cat as per Thing’s request, and you two start to play tag around Wednesday and Enid’s shared room. Thing happily bragged that you and him were better friends once. His hubris only resulted in Wednesday taking away his favorite lotions for an entire week.

The Addams girl huffs when she, yet again, makes a mistake on her typewriter. This was unlike her. The tiny trash can under her desk was nearing being full only after one or two hours of her failed attempts at writing. Wednesday put her hands in her lap after she realized her words only became futile

The abrupt stop of clacking keys makes you turn your head, giving Thing the perfect opportunity to tag you back on Enid’s bed. You quickly turn human again with almost a cartoon-ish pop, and ask Thing if Wednesday was allergic to cats

“She’s not, why do you ask?” He signs

“Do you think she’d kill me if I sat on her lap?” You sign back, not wanting Wednesday to hear

“As a human, most definitely. But if you were a cat maybe she’d tolerate you. No promises, though” Thing somehow shrugs using his thumb and pinkie finger as arms. God, you loved the weird appendage

“I can hear you two talking. I’d prefer if you’d leave me in silence.”

“Writers block?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of the correct words to use.”

“Maybe you should ask Enid for help. The woman can reach over the Twitter character limit in like… three seconds. Two if she’s really excited”

“Recommend such a horrid idea again and I’ll release you in my pen of hellhounds.”

“We both know I’d win” You cockily smirk, again ignoring what looks to be annoyance on Wednesday’s face. Then again, she always looked annoyed

“Your hubris is laughable. Let’s see how you suffice when your digestive system is ripped open.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather stay here with you”

You can only assume Thing listens with watchful… fingers? You execute your plan to him, and a quick pinkie-promise indicates he gets to bury you if Wednesday decides to kill you after the stunt you’re about to pull

“Hey, Wens?” The Addams doesn’t show any form of talking but you decide to keep going

“Did you know people say cats can lessen anxiety?”

The Addams hums in acknowledgement, so you continue

“Well, I don’t exactly believe it”

“And why is that.” Wednesday sighs. Sometimes she wonders why she indulges in you

“I dunno, just seems fake. I was wondering if you’d do an experiment with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Great! Thanks, Wens” You give Thing a quick wink after turning into a cat and hopping up onto her desk. Turning your head to the side as if you were asking a question, you looked at Wednesday for an answer

You were crazy, but not crazy enough to do something to make Wednesday hate you

For some reason, the Addams girl doesn’t even have a second chance to think before scooting back her chair. You’re about to jump into her lap with a paw over the edge of her desk, but you glance up to make sure Wednesday was sure. You receive a small nod

The action is enough to make you whisper a small “thank you” but it only comes out as a small meow

You circle around her lap for a good area to lay, and you quickly take your spot with a tiny smile that makes your eyes close. Wednesday scoots her chair back in, and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Only when you start to purr a shiver goes up her spine. The vibrations are light, and something about you happily laying on her lap makes you chip away at Wednesday’s walls the tiniest bit. She contemplates where to put her hands before Thing scurries on top of you to scratch behind your ear. Wednesday shoots him a deathly glare in return, but your favorite Addams (don’t tell Wednesday) stays put

As if showing Wednesday how to pet a cat, Thing gets off of your back and points a finger in your direction. Hesitantly, the Addams girl copies the actions Thing showed her

And you? You were having an amazing time. Wednesday’s fingers were cold but every stroke of her hand was calculated. She took note of which spots you purred louder, and continued her movements

Fuck you and your ability to get what you want, Wednesday thinks. Of course your smug ass knew cats lessened anxiety. Of course.

But Wednesday can’t help being addicted to your tiny purrs and vibrations

With her left hand fondling your ear and her right on her typewriter, she decides maybe a cat could be arranged in her novel.

[sxcretricciardo]

Jealousy, jealousy…

you and Lando have been messing around for quite a while now when feelings start to rise in you. What happens when he brings a certain blonde along the paddock?

•

The hum of the engine filled your ears as you adjusted your gloves, the roar of the crowd faintly audible over the buzz of the paddock. Formula 1 had always been your dream, and being on the grid was nothing short of extraordinary. But amidst the high-octane rush of racing, something—or rather, someone—had taken up residence in your thoughts.

Lando Norris.

It started harmlessly enough: late-night texts about race strategies, a few too many drinks at celebratory dinners, playful banter that turned into lingering touches. What began as an unspoken friends-with-benefits arrangement had spiraled into something far more complicated for you.

You were falling for him.

But Lando? He seemed as carefree as ever, his cheeky grin never faltering. That was until Magui Corceiro entered the picture. She wasn’t just stunning—she was magnetic, the kind of woman who could walk into a room and have everyone’s attention without trying. And now, it seemed, she had Lando’s.

The tension between you and Lando simmered as the season progressed. He’d parade Magui around the paddock, her laughter echoing in your ears like a mocking melody. Every glance they exchanged felt like a stab to your chest. You hated how jealous it made you. You hated her.

Your frustration bubbled over one day during a team press conference. Magui had been lingering nearby, chatting animatedly with some reporters. You couldn’t help the sharpness in your tone when asked about your rivalry with Lando.

“Rivalry?” you scoffed. “It’s more like a game of who can distract themselves more outside the car.”

The room went silent. Lando shot you a sharp look, his jaw tightening. You regretted the words instantly, but the damage was done.

Race day came, and the air was electric with anticipation. The battle for first place had narrowed down to just two contenders: you and Lando. The grid was alive with tension, the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air. You felt it in every fiber of your being—the need to prove yourself, to beat him, to show him what he was missing.

The race was a blur of high-speed turns and daring overtakes. It came down to the final lap, the roar of the crowd deafening as you pushed your car to its limits. You crossed the finish line mere milliseconds ahead of Lando, claiming victory. The elation was overwhelming, a rush unlike any other.

As you stood on the podium, champagne spraying into the air, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Lando. His expression was unreadable, a mix of pride and something else you couldn’t quite place. You brushed it off. Tonight, you were celebrating—and you didn’t need him to do it.

Hours later, the club was alive with music and laughter as you celebrated your victory. Your team had rented out a section, and you basked in the attention, dancing with abandon. The beat of the music and the rush of victory were enough to drown out any lingering bitterness.

Until he showed up.

Lando’s entrance was impossible to miss. His presence seemed to command the room, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you. He didn’t hesitate, weaving his way through the throng of people until he was standing right in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone sharp.

“Celebrating your win,” he said, his voice calm but his eyes betraying a storm of emotions. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” you echoed, stepping closer. “You, Lando. You’re my problem.”

“Me?” His eyebrows shot up in mock disbelief. “What the hell did I do now?”

“Oh, don’t act clueless,” you snapped. “You’ve been parading Magui around the paddock like she’s your prize, and now you show up here like nothing’s wrong?”

His jaw tightened, his usual playful demeanor replaced with frustration. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You’re acting like a jealous child.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I’m not jealous.”

“Yes, you are,” he shot back, his voice rising. “Every snarky comment, every glare—it’s written all over you. Just admit it.”

“Why should I admit anything?” you countered, your voice trembling. “You made it clear I’m just some… convenient distraction to you.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “Is that what you think? That you don’t mean anything to me?”

You faltered, your anger giving way to uncertainty. “What am I supposed to think, Lando? You’re with her.”

“I’m not with her,” he said firmly. “Magui and I… it’s not like that. It was never like that.”

“Then why—”

“Because I didn’t know how to deal with this!” he interrupted, his voice raw. “With us. With you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean, ‘us’?”

“I mean I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I see you, I want to be near you. And every time I’m not, it’s… unbearable.”

“Lando…”

He stepped even closer, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re more than just a distraction. You’re… everything. And I was too scared to admit it.”

The words hung in the air between you, the weight of them sinking in.

“Then why push me away?” you asked, your voice cracking.

“Because I thought you didn’t feel the same,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “And because I knew that if I let myself feel this… there’d be no going back.”

You hesitated for only a moment before closing the distance between you, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that was equal parts anger and desperation. He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you as the world around you disappeared.

Back at your hotel room, the tension that had been building for months finally exploded. The door barely shut behind you before Lando pressed you against it, his hands framing your face as he kissed you deeply.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky.

“Then stop talking,” you replied, tugging at his shirt.

He chuckled, but there was no hesitation as he pulled it over his head, revealing the lean, toned body you’d tried not to notice during countless race weekends. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, slipping under your shirt to touch bare skin.

You fumbled with the buttons of his jeans, your fingers trembling with urgency. He groaned as you finally succeeded, his lips never leaving yours as he guided you toward the bed.

Clothes disappeared in a blur of movement, leaving nothing between you but the heat of your bodies. Lando’s touch was both gentle and possessive, his hands mapping every inch of your skin as if trying to memorize you.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hovered over you.

“I want this,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “I want you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He moved against you with a rhythm that was both deliberate and intoxicating, his kisses trailing down your neck, your chest, every part of you he could reach.

You lost track of time, the night a haze of pleasure and whispered confessions. He whispered your name like a prayer, his voice trembling with need.

“I’m sorry,” he said at one point, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. “For everything. For not saying it sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “You’re here now.”

“Always,” he promised, his lips brushing against yours.

The rest of the night was a symphony of desire and tenderness, every touch and kiss a silent declaration of the feelings you’d both been too afraid to voice. By the time the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, you lay tangled together, the weight of your confession lifting like the morning mist.

For the first time in months, everything felt right.

[harunayuuka2060]

Levi: ...

Child MC: ...Levi?

Levi: A-Ah, yes. I'm sorry.

Child MC: *stares at him curiously*

Levi: Sh-Shouldn't you be with someone? It's dangerous to go out alone.

Child MC: I was with Mammon earlier and we got separated.

Levi: That idiot-

Levi: ...

Levi: Do you know the way back to the house of lamentation?

Child MC: *shakes their head*

Levi: W-Well then. I will take you there.

Child MC: *holds his hand*

Levi: !!!

Levi: What are you doing?

Child MC: There are many people.

Levi: R-Right. Don't let go of my hand or you'll be lost again.

Child MC: *nods*

Child MC and Levi: *have arrived*

Lucifer: Can't you remember where you left them?!

Mammon: No! I- MC! I have been looking for you!

Lucifer: Oh dear- *rushes towards them and carries them up*

Lucifer: Do you know how worried I was?

Child MC: Levi saw me in the street.

Lucifer: Thank you, Levi.

Levi: Yeah, yeah. Just be careful next time.

Child MC: Thank you, Levi. *smiles*

Levi: ...

Levi: *frowns* Don't smile like that! *runs to his room*

Child MC: ...

Child MC: *turns to Lucifer*

Child MC: Luci, did I do something wrong?

Lucifer: No. You didn't do anything.

Mammon: Yeah. Levi is always like that. Anyway, where were we?

Mammon: Don't leave my sight again!

Child MC: But you were the one who ran off...

Lucifer: Mammon.

Mammon: Eek!

Child MC: Beel, does Levi hate me?

Beel: Levi?

Beel: ...

Beel: No. I don't think he does. Why? Is he being mean to you?

Child MC: No. But he doesn't like it when I'm smiling at him.

Beel: ...

Beel: MC, you just need to understand him. Okay?

Beel: There's a reason why he's acting like that.

Child MC: Can't I know why?

Beel: Unfortunately, you can't. At least not for now.

Child MC: Okay.

Diavolo: Ah! My sweet child! How have you been?

Lucifer: They're doing fine, Diavolo.

Diavolo: *chuckles* You don't need to answer for them every single time, Lucifer. Right, MC?

Child MC: *nods*

Diavolo: Oh. By the way, can you guess why I'm here?

Child MC: You skipped work.

Lucifer: *laughs*

Diavolo: I-No. I mean, *clears throat* Papa Dia wants to take you on a vacation.

Lucifer: *immediately frowns* And where are you taking them?

Diavolo: To many fun and beautiful places?

Lucifer: *stern* Diavolo, they're starting school soon.

Diavolo: What do you mean by "school"? We already talked about this. They're taking private lessons.

Lucifer: I want to send them to a school in the human world.

Diavolo: That is infeasible. You can't be gone for long away in Devildom.

Lucifer: Yes. Yes, I can.

Child MC: ...

Child MC: *decided to leave them to their discussion*

Child MC: Levi?

Levi: *crying in "MC's" room* What are you doing here? This place is off-limits*

Child MC: I was on my way to my room.

Levi: *wipes away his tears* That doesn't explain why you're here.

Child MC: Why are you crying? *goes to sit next to him*

Levi: ...

Levi: I'm crying because I'm missing someone special to me.

Child MC: Oh. *sad frowns*

Levi: ...

Levi: You missed someone too?

Child MC: *nods* I'm wondering if he's alright. But it's Rapha so... he's probably fine.

Levi: ...

Levi: *pats their head* We're the same then. Our special someone left us.

Child MC: Is yours not coming back?

Levi: ...

Levi: Yes.

Barbatos: Hello, Luke.

Luke: I'm not here for pleasantries.

Barbatos: I'm aware.

Luke: Did you already forget about the agreement between the three worlds?

Luke: That no human should ever step Devildom again?

Barbatos: I'm afraid there was never an agreement like that.

Luke: But you had acknowledged it!

Barbatos: Yes. However, the young master strongly went against it.

Barbatos: I am merely a servant. My opinion doesn't matter to him.

Luke: ...

Luke: I shouldn't have believed your words then.

Barbatos: My apologies, Luke.

Luke: ...

Luke: I will continue to keep an eye on you. Remember that.

Barbatos: I will. *then watches him leave*

Barbatos: ...

Barbatos: It will never be the same anymore.

[victoriadallonfan]

Lets Talk: The Predator Franchise

About two months ago, I put my thoughts into my feelings on the Alien Franchise, and why I felt that they've been faltering so much.

It felt only fitting that I do the same for the Predator franchise, but I ran into a very curious thing... there's only one bad Predator movie.

A shocking statement, I know, but I'm not counting the AVP movie series (that's it's own separate thing). The Predator (film) is easily the only bad film in the entire series, but I'll get to that later.

First things first: lets talk about Predator (1987).

It's an all time classic, a great deconstruction of the 80's action film, with insanely quotable dialogue and memorable characters - not just the Predator itself, but all the human characters are easily recognizable.

Unlike the Alien (1979) and Aliens (1986), Predator is not predominantly a horror film, nor is it emphasizing a tough topic such as sexual assault. It does HAVE horror aspects (the first time they find the skinned corpses is intensely unnerving, especially when they realize that this group of marines apparently lost all self-control and fired in all directions), and it does touch a bit on how the US government is using its own soldiers as cannon fodder to destabilize third-world countries.

But it's not really built to scare the viewer so much as to present a simple idea: what if these action heroes met a bigger, stronger, more advanced version of themselves? And the result is a near total party wipe.

Watching the original film, you realize that the Predator is depicted as incredibly unfair. The majority of its kills are it sniping someone from afar, rushing them when they aren't even looking (while cloaked), and doing a combination of the above. It would have killed Arnold while his back was turned, if the net trap hadn't been set in place.

Hell, it even kills a wounded soldier that Arnold is carrying, after Billy's "last stand" (that lasted mere moments at best, implying the Predator didn't give him the time of day).

(Also, speaking of Billy... he's psychic? Apparently?)

But yeah, the Predator depicted is not the honor clad warrior that some fans may stan (and some writers believe) but more like the equivalent of Counter-Strike hacker. The fact that it takes Arnold untold amounts of traps, ingenuity, and willpower for the Predator to finally face him man to man, no tech, no weapons is meant to be a testament to how impressive Arnold is.

Likewise, the Predator decides to blow himself the fuck up while cackling manically like a supervillain as he tries to finally kill Dutch, also opens him to showing that as alien as it is, it's remarkably human. A spite filled asshole of a human, but humanish nonetheless (amplified by him copying human speech on prior occasions).

It's a really great film about how alien life, if more advanced than our own, might see us as lesser people or outright livestock to hunt (keep a pin in that).

Predator 2 (1990) is often divided amongst fans.

Some hate the fact that it takes place in the "modern day" LA, instead of sticking to the blazing heat of the jungle (as the lore of the first movie implies that the Predator or a Predator visits at the hottest time of the season to create the local bogeyman figure), but this film does a fine job justifying the LA heatwave and honestly... the idea of keeping the Predator to one type of biome is pretty limiting. So I don't mind that.

As one can tell already, I don't think this movie is bad. As good as the first? No, it rehashes a bit too much for that. But it's still a fun and good movie.

And, notably, scarier.

But for context, Predator 2 is set in the far future of... uh, 1997 LA, where there has been open warfare between the LAPD and the Jamaican and Colombian Cartels. Like, not drug busts or stings, but actual warfare with armies of gangs and shit.

The late 80's and early 90's loved to depict LA as a dystopian hellscape where "law and order" was the only defense from total anarchy (as anyone who has ever lived in LA can tell you, racial tensions, especially between the public and police have not been good to say the least).

This entire setup is like a D.A.R.E nightmare or wet dream depending on who's asking.

(Also the Jamaican drug leader, King Willy, might also be psychic? This is the last time it's brought up, but man, I sort of wish we could see future plot lines where people are randomly psychic in these films.)

Anyways, the situation is certainly perfect for this Predator (named City Hunter to differentiate between Jungle Hunter), who takes to the city with a gusto. The difference in how the Predator is portrayed is fascinating, because the bare bones remain the same: he hunts people who are deemed as sport with alien technology.

Fitting with the ultra-violent theme of this film however, this Predator feels like a legitimately horror movie monster. Unlike the Jungle Hunter, City Hunter doesn't prefer to attack from afar, but rather ripping and tearing in close quarters combat, and when he does use ranged weaponry, it's stuff like spears, bladed discs, and nets that shred people into bloody messes.

And he's 110% a bigger asshole that Jungle Hunter: when the City Hunter decides to focus on our lead man, Danny Glover, he doesn't just hunt the man but psychologically torture him. He murders his partner - who is probably the least threatening human in the entire series - just so he can taunt Glover with his necklace at his own grave. He then copies the innocent words of a child just so he can use it as a creepy catchphrase when he decides to hunt Glover's other partners.

The iconic subway massacre perfectly exemplifies both aspects of the City Hunter. He interrupts a massive stand-off between armed civilians, gang members, and the police, just wading in and killing everyone indiscriminately as people frantically scream and claw over each other trying to escape.

(Speaking of, this film does have a LOT of fun having the Predator on modern sets. The above subway scene, City Hunter investigating a meat locker, and him performing emergency surgery in an apartment bathroom are all really cool).

Also, for being so divisive, this film creates a lot of Predator lore: the Predator won't kill (unarmed) children, he won't kill pregnant women, and he WILL kill the elderly if they are packing heat.

And this includes the trophy wall (with xenomorph skull - actually funny because we never see a Predator collect a xenomorph skull in the AVP films) and that the Predator tribe will honor and respect those who defeat their kind with a reward.

It does include that the government is aware of the Predator existence and tries to capture them, but this won't be a major plot line again until The Predator (2018) though it gets some tongue in cheek reference in Predators (2010).

Anyways solid film, lots of cheesey scenes and very tropey stuff that hasn't aged well (or aged in a way that makes it amusing). It's also that last movie that actually tries to be true horror, in my opinion. The rest of the films stick to Action with Gore, but Predator 2 is truly the last film where you feel like this was written to be a horror film.

Also, this film will be the last to really play into the world as being an overly dramatic action movie earth. It's all realism from here.

And then the film franchise will go quiet until 2004 and 2008 for the AVP films (that I won't cover here).

Finally, we get to Predators (2010), and obvious title call back to Aliens (1986) and I have to say, a pretty good trio of ideas: The human targets are actually kidnapped and dropped on a safari planet, there are multiple Predators with their own unique designs and gimmicks, and there is a internal war between the Bad Bloods (aka the Predators who break the "honor code") and the 'normal' Predator clans.

(It should be noted that Bad Bloods have been a thing for years in comics and books, but not really in the mainstream until this film introduced it to movie audiences)

I have to say, despite having a fondness for the film and loving the new ideas, this film is not as enjoyable as Predator or Predator 2. It unfortunately suffers from what I call 2010ism, where there's a lot of CGI blood/gore, a lot of lighting/shadows aren't natural in a horror sense, and the dialogue isn't memorable because it wanted to ditch the action movie dialogue.

The last part isn't necessarily too bad, and it even works with how Adrian Brody is portrayed as a cynical asshole who is purposely meant to be the opposite of Arnold in every way. But the most memorable dialogue is definitely from Walter Goggins (including his highly disturbing "bitch raping time" speech).

Also, it really wastes Topher Grace, Laurence Fishbourne, and Danny Trejo, along with the whole idea of a gang of multinational killers/soldiers/enforcers forced to work together. Not nearly enough time is given to them to bond as a team and have a moment where they show off how cool they are like Predator and Predator 2 did.

Coupled with the safari world being just... a jungle, it feels like a lot of good ideas with "safe" execution.

I don't mean to rag on the film, it's still very fun, and a lot of that is due to the Bad Bloods.

The idea of a particular group of Predators being so evil that they are even warring with their (smaller) counterparts is a great idea, imo, and these Bad Bloods are memorable for their gimmicks.

You had one who used drones as "falcons" to scan and scout out large tracks of terrain, another who employed alien "hounds" to harass humans like a fox hunt, and the leader who had a rapid-fire plasma caster that was overpowered as hell. They also employed other tech like alien bear traps, net traps, and voice decoys.

This movie definitely had the most advanced Predator tech seen on film at the time, making the Jungle Hunter and City Hunter look low tech by comparison, and I think also served to try and force the idea of the Bad Bloods being really "unfair" compared to others.

And of course, we get our first Predator vs Predator fight, which was suitably graphic and badass. Also, I liked that one Predator died by a human pulling a suicide vest attack. Idk, I thought it was pretty ironic considering that's what predators do when they are about to lose, and thought it was neat.

Ultimately, there isn't much else to say about Predators (2010), even though the film ends on a cliffhanger with more people (and aliens) being dropped on the planet. I enjoyed it, it had a lot of cool ideas, cool tech, and cool lore... but if the prior films could be compared to novels, this one felt more like a guidebook.

And now... eight years pass and we get The Predator (2018)

Where do I begin with this movie.

I guess I start with the obvious: it's bad. It's a genuinely awful movie with few redeeming qualities. I'd say it's on the tier of Alien: Resurrection, except this movie is actually offensive because of autism ableism (turns out that autism is actually the next step of human evolution and makes you naturally predisposed to using Predator technology).

And don't get me started on the sex offender controversy.

Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's just that this movie... jesus christ, I rewatched it for this post, and it feels like a fever dream.

The Predator (2018) ultimately, is a film that looked at everything that came before it and said, "What if we did it all on a grander scale? And make it bad?" The plot is that a Predator is being hunted by an even larger, more powerful Predator, because it plans on harvesting humanity. You see, in this movie, some Predators use the genes of animals they hunt to improve themselves. The Super Predator as he is called, is a massive 10 foot tall monster that has turned his body into a super weapon, with technology built directly into his biology.

The Good Predator arrives on Earth to warn humanity and deliver a "Predator Killer" suit of Iron Man armor that will help humanity defend the Earth from the oncoming invasion force. The Super Predator wants humanity harvested because... autism makes them super geniuses.... and he declares that a 12 year old boy with autism to be the greatest Predator he's ever met... just because he has autism...

Look, I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to describe the plot of this movie. It's just bad. It's stupid. At one point they turn a Predator hound good by giving it a bullet lobotomy.

It feels like this movie hates everyone. It hates the Predators, literally killing off the Good Predator not even halfway through the film. It hates the cast, because all of them are forgettable except for Olivia Munn and Super Predator, and it kills the mystique of the Predators because it has Super Predator monologue like an actual supervillain.

The dialogue is genuinely awful, the actors have no chemistry, and the comedy (oh yes, this film acts like a comedy on several occasions) is the definition of cringe. I would call it "ChatGPT writes Predator" but honestly, ChatGPT could do it better.

Let it be known that my words do not do how awful this movie is justice. You can only understand how bad it is by watching it, but it's absolutely NOT worth the time.

Is there anything good about this movie? Besides the Holiday Special on home release?

The effects are pretty good. We see a lot of high tech Predator stuff and that's always cool. I think this had the highest budget of any of the films and it shows.

There's an action set-piece where Good Predator escapes from a government facility and uses an M4-Assault Rifle which is badass. One of the best action scenes in the movie and a neat tie-back to the government investigating them.

The Super Predator is a cool concept and I actually enjoyed him for a large part of the film. I liked that he could just pick up a human like a toy and gut him like a fish before tossing him aside. I love the idea of a Predator that isn't a hunter, but rather a soldier sent in to fuck shit up, showing off the different tech. Really gives the impression that their society has different roles and tech for Predators beyond hunting.

I wish they gave him a helmet and didn't let him monologue like a supervillain.

And that's it. That's the good stuff. Nothing else matters. It says a lot that I don't think Super Predator or the autism plot has been accepted into lore in comics or books.

It's even been argued that this film was deemed non-canon because of how abysmal the reception was.

Suffice to say, after this awful film, fans were pretty low spirit. Which made it all the more surprising when Prey (2022) was released 4 years later.

There was a lot of drama about this film: the franchise is dead, why is the film so woke for including woman and minorities, how can any human expect to beat a Predator with a bow?

This drama is stupid and should rightfully be mocked.

Prey (2022) was a breath of fresh air for the franchise and I'd argue the best film in terms of quality.

It quite literally goes back to the roots of the series and does something that really elevated the film: it made the Predator symbolise something!

This film takes place in the 18th century on the Great Plains, following Naru the Commanche healer who dreams of being a hunter. Meanwhile, a young Predator - known as the Feral Predator for his aggression - is dropped on the planet for his first ever hunt.

Obviously, you can see the parallels between the two as Naru learns to use tricks and tools to handle her weaknesses, while Feral uses brute-force and high tech equipment to slaughter the animals and humans of the planet. The Bear hunt scene, where Naru is forced to flee from a bear and helplessly watch Feral kill the creature with it's bare hands (haha), thus condemning her in his eyes as not a threat is perfect character foil.

Also, he's such a piece of shit, cheating the moment he feels like his prey has the better of him. But in a good way that makes sense for his character.

But on the grander scale, the Predator represents colonialism. A secondary antagonist of the film are the French fur trappers, who have been skinning wild buffalo and depriving the commanche of their food source, openly compared to the Predator skinning animals/humans for trophies instead of resources.

It's actually a lesson Naru has to learn from her brother and mother, that to become a true hunter is about doing so to support a community, not just for ego and idolization.

Its no accident that the Fur Trapper leader dies when Naru sabotages his gun and Feral dies when Naru does the same to his gun as well, with both of them trapped and crippled without any means of escaping their demise.

This film finally moves to make the Predators feel like evil villains who are supremely selfish, much like the first 2 films emphasized (and the third film did to a lesser extent).

But talk of how amazing Naru is as a protagonist and how great the Feral predator is as an antagonist, the film is just good. The cinematography is gorgeous, the actors are great, the Predator effects and costume are terrifying, and lore wise, it does a lot to show that the Predator society is not stagnant.

They evolve over the years and it shows.

And my god are the action scenes incredible. The Predator vs Fur Trapper fight is probably one of the most iconic scenes in the entire franchise now, and for good reason.

Or Naru's knife fight massacre

All in all, this film really shows that the Predator films can be more that action films and... whatever the fuck The Predator (2018) was trying to be.

These films can be used to explore the history of humanity and symbolize concepts that deal with oppression, bigotry, and dehumanization.

The title of Prey - the focus on making the protagonists human - versus the Predator title is incredibly fitting.

While a sequel is left up in the air, we do have confirmation that a new standalone film - titled merely Badlands - is set to come out soon.

I can only hope they learned the right lessons from Prey and we can leave the horrid past of The Predator (2018) behind us for good.

[wileys-russo]

my girl maybe :)

my girl ficlet

despite popular opinion you knew the mean girl act your girlfriend put on was merely that, an act.

that wasn't to say you excused the way alessia treated people sometimes, but you also knew the other sides of her and had the pleasure of seeing the real her behind closed doors.

maybe an act was the wrong word for her abrupt attitude and behaviour, but you knew your girlfriend had more substance to her than the foul mouthed quick tempered hothead who'd bite at the drop of a hat that everyone else perceived her to be.

more often than not you knew there was more to it, especially when her attitude worsened and it for once wasn't anything to do with you or the green eyed jealous monster which lay forever coiled in wait in her stomach.

which is why when you heard about the training long before you saw her, you knew something was off.

"how bad was it?" you winced as you asked lotte whose look told you all you needed to know, paired with the sweltering summer heat and the fact she was as red as the bib she had in her hands, training had been brutal.

on tuesdays the coaching staff held their media meetings so as captain it was alessia's job to follow along with the program she'd be given by them and run that afternoons session with her team.

it was a day that the team forever dreaded, they respected alessia immensely as a captain, a teammate and a friend, but they were also well aware of the lengths the blonde would push them to to see results and just how terrifying she could be sometimes.

but hell no one could deny that was part of the grounds why she was made captain so early on. the blondes drive to do her best and get the best out of others paired with the fact she wasn't afraid to be hated or the bad guy if it meant the team were pushed to their limits and played at their best every weekend.

again, there was a reason the junior team were back to back state champions and like or hate her, a large part of that reasoning was alessia.

"get some water yeah?" you murmured to lotte squeezing her shoulder, sending sympathetic smiles as the rest of the girls trudged their way off the field, most avoiding your eye for fear of alessia which you knew had meant she was even harsher than usual.

"hey baby." you smiled at your girlfriend who had a face like thunder, though the sharp frown softened seeing you waiting for her at the edge of the pitch. "wait there, i'll be quick." she mumbled nodding over to the bleachers, pecking your lips and walking off without another word.

normally after training you'd just wait for her to either show up to your dorm room or invite you to hers, but having received a text from lotte during their water break you'd changed and made the journey toward the field arriving just as practice finished.

you winced hearing the sounds of throwing up echoing from the change rooms followed by your girlfriends stern voice ordering a few of the girls into an ice bath which wasn't optional, wandering away to the bleachers and taking a seat.

you lost track of time as you doom scrolled your social medias, pausing to chat to a few of the girls who passed you, though most could only offer you a nod or a small smile as they limped away toward the dorms.

your girlfriend among the last to appear, having changed into shorts and a tank top she merely nodded for you to fall into step with her, silence falling between you as she walked the two of you in the direction of the dorms.

you could sense the moment she emerged that something was wrong, but not wanting to push until the two of you were safely alone you allowed her to wordlessly lead you away, hands tightly gripping the strap of her gym bag as she detoured and headed for your room instead of hers.

you frowned a little in surprise at the choice but didn't say anything, fishing out your keys from your pocket and unlocking the door as the two of you stepped inside.

her stone like facade cracked the moment your lock clicked, her bag dropping to the floor as the taller girl all but collapsed into you. "hey, hey, lets sit down babe." you murmured quietly, moving the two of you to the bed.

you moved to sit against the headboard as your girlfriend wasted no time laying down so her head rested on your stomach, your fingers threading through her hair as she clung onto you tightly and her taller form settled between your legs.

"whats wrong lessi?" you asked softly, gently scratching at her scalp as you messed about with her hair like you knew she loved. "i'm tired." was all that was mumbled, her fists balling your shirt even tighter as she pulled herself closer to you.

"just tired?" you dared to ask again, moving her hair from her face as she moved to look up at you. "everything is just...trainings, games, exams, assignments, time difference trying to speak to my family, the whispers when i walk past, the dirty looks. its exhausting!" the blonde exhaled, though this one seemed to hold an air of annoyance rather than sadness.

"you don't make it any easier for yourself when you bite peoples heads off for those little looks so quickly baby." you raised an eyebrow, further proving the point that you really were one of the only people who could call her out on her behaviour.

"shut up." the striker rolled her eyes but shuffled about so she was laid more so on top of you, burying her face in your neck. "have you tried being nice?" you teased, snaking a hand up her top and scratching gently at her back.

"i am nice." alessia huffed into your neck making you squirm a little at the sensation. "can you help me study for my biology final tomorrow please baby?" the blonde pulled her head back with a pleading look, pecking your lips repeatedly as you nodded.

"but we're studying my way." you warned her with a smile as she groaned, rolling off of you and laying on her back. "but your way is so boring." she pulled a face and pouted, making grabby hands as you slid your body down so you laid beside her.

"and your way means that no studying gets done!" you laughed, knowing her tricks all too well, relieved her bad mood had seemed to settle, as being around you always seemed to do for the striker who truly was head over heels.

"thats not true. you know i just benefit from a little extra encouragement and motivation!" the blonde pushed herself up onto her forearms so she hovered over you with a grin.

"making me take my clothes off anytime you get a question right just motivates you to do anything but study lessi." you shook your head with an amused smile.

"well yeah but i deserve a reward for all my hard work, no?" her leg hooked over your hips and suddenly her body was settling itself on top of you as her lips ghosted over yours, warm breath fanning your face.

"in fact, i think we should studying right now my pretty girl."

[ufopigeon]

to the random ass proshippers

I’ll block proshippers and I won’t throw any first punches if I find the accounts. Just block n’ move on. Think what you want, but think it away from me. This is for the ppl who are going after others both anonymously and in the open, and being insistent about misunderstanding his character. It is absolutely absurd that some are really trying to PUSH the mere implication that the Postal Dude could be a pedo/have pedophilic tendencies, or that “it makes sense for him”. Some of you are ragebait I’m sure, but I also sadly think some of you are really genuine. And this is also the last I am going to speak about it. Just wanted to do something longer on behalf of everyone else who does not agree with this random influx.

The Postal Dude is obviously designed to be an ambiguous character, allowing players to project various characteristics onto him. HOWEVER, this doesn't mean that any and all negative traits can be justified. Ambiguity in character design is meant to give freedom in interpretation, but it doesn't equate to carte blanche for projecting extreme or inappropriate characteristics that aren't supported by the game’s narrative or the developer's intent. Assuming that a character would commit any and all bad acts simply because they commit some is a lazy and inaccurate approach to understanding character design.

The argument that, "Durrr he’s literally a mass shooter, why is it so far-fetched for him to be a pedo too?" is a slippery slope fallacy. It’s that same exact shit all the edgelords try to use when they say (just so they can justify attacking any queer fans, same way SOME proshippers want to feel justified in attacking those who disagree), “The Postal Dude SPECIFICALLY hates gay people and trans people and wouldn’t support them at all/be grossed out by them! Why? Uhh, because he’s literally an evil, vile character! Duh!” Sure he is. No denying that. And sure, you can think that about him. But it’s just fundamentally inaccurate. Just because the games allow for extreme behaviors doesn’t mean they endorse or include every possible immoral action.

And just because a character engages in morally questionable actions doesn’t logically lead to them engaging in the worst possible behaviors. The creator's stance is crucial in defining the boundaries of the character. If the creators have explicitly stated that Postal Dude would never engage in pedophilia (just like how they explicitly stated he wasnt transphobic) and that such content would never be included in the game, this is a definitive limitation on what the character can be reasonably interpreted as. Again, I don’t care if you hold a private opinion that differs. But when you start accusing those who disagree with this extreme interpretation of being the weird or wrong ones, that’s where it becomes an issue.

Dude's actions, while extreme, are presented within a certain context that aims to criticize or mock certain aspects of society. Pedophilia is not something that fits within this satirical style. Yes, even for Postal 1997. I don't care if it is generally considered more "serious" than other games, they still had Dude throwing out stupid-ass catchphrases in a silly radio-host-sounding voice that was obviously supposed to be a stark contrast to what was happening on screen (“Buttsauce”. “Smells like chicken” when burning NPCs. Really now? Go ahead and listen to more from the original. They’re all silly one-liners.). It was a shock at the time and a bit of dark humor. Following games only increased this aspect.

All in all, Postal Dude’s actions, while immoral, are usually presented in a way that allows for some level of detachment or absurdity, keeping them within the realm of dark comedy. Yes, 1997 is still included here. It’s an absurd game. One man took out hundreds of people and was armed to the teeth, even with literal rocket launchers. His main weapon has infinite ammunition. It was an obviously over-the-top video game with a loose connection to reality and an even looser message about “something something mental health and everyone has it in them to go postal”. It was a game made to shock people. Pedophilia, however, is universally considered an irredeemable act, something that cannot be framed in any context that would make it acceptable or even darkly humorous. The distinction between immoral and irredeemable acts is crucial here. The Postal Dude can be morally ambiguous, but crossing into irredeemable territory would fundamentally alter the character in a way that the game and its creators/99.9% of the fans do not support.

Also: “But muh 1997 promo art where it says his girlfriend was 17!! She says they just started dating 3 weeks ago!!” Yeah. The same photo was used with the girl also saying, “It was so weird. He told everyone I was his girlfriend, but I only met him once.” It says “live” near the bottom corner, implying this was an interview with the girl AFTER the crimes had taken place. In the promotional pic where it states she’s 17, it also says she DIED of third degree burns while he was on his rampage. Now that doesn’t really add up, does it. How can this girl give an interview after everything is said and done while also dying in the middle of his killing spree?

AKA, these promotional photos were reused over and over because they were on a budget and really not thinking about it, and are absolutely not valid for legit storytelling purposes at all. RWS has even said this themselves.

[puck-luck]

moving along | john marino

warnings: established relationship, general complaints about Jersey, minor brat!reader but it’s not part of the sex, untraditional sex in the sense that they do not have furniture, unprotected p in v, sex as means of resolving an argument i guess?, fingering (fem!receiving) (sometimes i wonder if i need to clarify that because i personally am not into fingering my man’s ass and i doubt it’ll ever make its way into my writing), reference to oral (m!receiving), eating come (so true) pairing: John Marino x fem!reader request: “Could I request John Marino smut where after he’s traded to the Devils from Pittsburgh his girl is upset about the move but when they get to New Jersey he decides the best way to handle the move is for them to christen the new apartment to make it feel like home?  Like literally no furniture has arrived yet and they’re already going at it.” wc: 2570

Pitt had been your home since John first signed his contract with the Penguins in the summer of 2019. You’d moved there with him because he asked, you two had curated a shared apartment space that you loved and considered your first real home as an adult. You were happy in Pittsburgh and John was happy with the Penguins. You hadn’t really known about the trade until it came, just ten days shy of the three year anniversary of Pitt becoming your home base, your foundation.

You knew that the NHL was a fickle business when John first joined. Injuries were abundant, trades happened more often than you thought they would, and at weird times. Hell, people lost their teeth all the time in hockey. It was a weird sport, but for three years you and John had made a place for yourself in Pitt. 

John had just signed a six year contract extension with the Penguins a year and a half ago– so, yeah, you were still in denial about leaving Pittsburgh. It just didn’t make sense and you couldn’t wrap your brain around it.

You had packed up in what seemed like lightning speed, ditched the town that you knew, and now you’re arriving in Jersey. You don’t know anyone or any places except your new apartment complex, your new home. 

You’re cranky because you’ve been in the car for six hours. Not because you hate New Jersey and everyone there for uprooting your life in a mere instant.

Obviously.

John has been a saint about the move and the trade. It’s not his first– since he was originally drafted with the Oilers, he’s been through this process before. The difference, as you’ve reminded him multiple times now, is that he never played with the Oilers. He was picked, but he went to college. Then, he went to Pitt. And Pitt, John, was home. Not New Jersey.

That’s the gist of the same argument you’ve been having with your boyfriend over the past week or so. It’s never escalated because John is patient with you and so great, but you’ve noticed the tick in his jaw when you huff and puff and tense up in his arms. You don’t want to be angry at him, of course you don’t, because you know that it’s not his fault he was traded. It’s just the way the cookie crumbles. However, his presence has been a reminder of the fact that you were so happy in Pennsylvania and you’ve been nothing but bitter about New Jersey.

And now, standing in your empty apartment with a frown on your face, John has reached his limit.

He sneaks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck and one of your hands finds its way to his curls. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” John murmurs into your ear, another kiss adorning your neck.

You scrunch up your nose and side eye him. “Duh,” you reply. John knows that you two have been together long enough that you’d damn near follow him to the ends of the Earth, even if the end of the Earth is in New Jersey. 

Your response causes him to chuckle, kissing you again. He turns you in his arms and smiles down at you. 

You glare, pouting, but John can tell that you’re more upset than angry. It’s been a lot of change over the past few days, and even though you’ve been a little bit of a brat, your behavior has been justified. John’s heart clenches a bit when you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

It’s quite the sight– a sweet, long embrace between partners in their newest home.

At least, it’s sweet until John ruins it.

“I have an idea about how we can make this place feel a little more… homey,” John says. You know the lilt in his voice by heart, having been with him for years. 

Pulling away, you roll your eyes and making sure John sees, knowing exactly where this is headed. You play along anyway. “What’s your idea?”

John grins and whispers conspiratorially, “We need to christen the apartment. It’s not a home until it’s been christened.”

You hold back a laugh, but a smile slips through. “We don’t have a bed yet.”

“We don’t need a bed,” John says. He slides his hands down to your hips and walks forward, only stopping when your back hits the wall and he’s crowded into your space. His head dips down and he mouths over your jawline. “I can fuck you right here, against this wall.”

“Mmm, dreamy,” you quip, your hands smoothing over John’s shoulders. You tilt your head back so he has more access to your neck and he rewards you by sucking a hickey near your pulse point. “You really know how to woo a girl, Johnny.”

John’s hips press against yours and you can already feel him stirring in his pants, growing harder as he continues to suck bruises along your skin. His hands have found your waist and hold onto you desperately. His lips make their way to yours and you share a brief kiss before he pulls away. “Just want to make my girl feel better,” he says, blinking innocently at you with his beautiful brown eyes.

Oh, how you fall for those eyes over and over again.

You draw out a sigh, looking around the apartment. One of your hands returns to John’s curls and pets through them, making him wait for your response. John, patient as always, waits for your response with an attentive smile and a tiny tilt of his head. His eyes rake over your face, taking in all of the details. His thumb comes up to your chin, tilting your head up. He leans in for a kiss.

You offer your lips up willingly, letting him control the pace. When he pulls away, you relent. “I guess we can christen the apartment,” you faux-complain, like it’s a job to keep up with John and his libido. 

John growls, teeth finding your bottom lip. “Let’s see if I can convince you to be a little more enthusiastic,” he teases, sneaking his hands up your shirt and lifting it over your head. He tosses the fabric behind him. Out of sight, out of mind. 

You hadn’t worn a bra today, since all you had done was sit in the car all day, and John reaps the benefits of that fact almost immediately.

He latches onto your chest, licking over one of your nipples and pinching the other. You pull on his hair, arching your back away from the wall. Your mouth opens in a silent moan as you puff out your chest, chasing the sensation of his tongue swirling against the peak of your nipple. He switches sides, looking up at you with hooded eyes.

“Johnny,” you say, and he smiles against your skin. You bring him back up to your lips, groaning when his tongue finds its way into your mouth and makes contact with your own. 

He runs his fingers all over your body, cupping your breasts and tracing your sides. He takes a handful of your ass and squeezes, making you jump against him. His length is fully hard now, still pressing into your hips, and he breathes out a moan when you roll your hips, grinding against him. 

You tug at his t-shirt, a wrinkly old stained thing from college, and he pulls away from you just long enough to get the offending clothing over his head before reconnecting your lips.

Now, your hands are the ones roaming his body, mapping his details through feel alone. He’s always been lean, but his skin is warm against yours and he’s defined in all the right places. He’s also soft and solid and he moves with your hands, making sure you’re always touching him in some way. You place the flat of your palm against his stomach, and the other against his chest, and you can feel John’s heart beating underneath your touch.

John sinks to one knee, pulling your shorts down and kissing over your stomach as he does. He removes your shorts and your panties, leaving you bare against the wall. He holds you steady, completely unnecessarily but sweet nonetheless, helping you step out of the clothing. He kisses his way back up your body.

Pecking your lips, he runs a finger through your folds. “So wet,” he mumbles into your mouth, pride filling his tone. He brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean, then traces his tongue over yours. You can just barely taste yourself and it makes your knees a little weak. 

You lean into him, pulling him close. John works his finger back into you, pumping it slowly into and out of your entrance. It’s barely enough contact, barely fulfillment, and it isn’t long until you beg John to add another finger.

You’re scrambling, holding his bicep with a vice grip as he hikes your leg up onto his hip to give himself more access. You’re fucking against his hand, chasing the feeling of the orgasm that’s just out of reach, and it makes your eyelids flutter shut.

You moan aloud when John crooks his fingers and traces the spongy spot inside of you, teasing it. When you open your eyes, you find his trained on your face, lips parted and eyes wide. He never gets tired of seeing you like this, seeing you come apart on his hand.

“Please,” you breath out, voice cracking. You know you can come anytime, whenever you’re ready, that you don’t need permission, but you need John to give you just a little more.

“Touch your clit for me, baby,” John replies, kissing just under your earlobe.

You reach around and pet over your bundle of nerves, the contact making you clench down on his fingers. John groans at the feeling, sagging against you. You’re trapped between the wall and his warm, solid, strong body. 

“Make yourself come,” John encourages, voice soft. “Wanna see you.”

A wanton whine rips from your throat as your climax overtakes you. You arch into John as much as you can and he brings his mouth to your nipple once again, sucking harshly as the waves of your orgasm overtake you. It elongates it, makes your mind reel with pleasure, and you’re shaking in John’s arms by the time you come down.

He kisses you until you’re on solid ground again, the hand that’s not covered in your come crading your face. The other hand pushes at his shorts until they’re low enough that he can kick them away, then he does the same with his boxers. John grinds against you, his cock twitching against your oversensitive folds, but not breaching your entrance just yet.

He rubs himself against you until you pull away from his kiss and blink up at him, eyes hazy. Both of your hands find his cheeks and you smile at him, a little dopey. He returns the smile, goofy and oh, so pretty before dropping a kiss on your forehead.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” He asks, rolling his hips forward again with a bite to his bottom lip.

You nod, a quiet “please” falling from your lips. Your arms loops around his neck again and John brings his hands to your thighs, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist.

“I’m gonna fuck you in every room of this apartment,” John promises, lining himself up with your entrance. You sink down on him as much as you can, as soon as his tip pushes into you. “Make you come over and over again, until you love our new home–” He thrusts his hips forward. “Just as much as you love me.”

“Impossible,” you reply. “Love you too much.”

John grins, a hand on your hip and the other bracing himself against the wall. “We’ll see.”

He drills into you, the sound of his hips slapping against yours filling the empty apartment. It seems to echo off the walls, surrounding you. John’s grunts and moans fill your ears, and your whimpers fill his. He bites your neck, then soothes the skin with a pass of his tongue, letting his saliva cool over your throat. It’s almost as satisfying as the weight of his hand would be.

He fills you so well, and he’s pent up, having been waiting to fuck you for hours. His favorite way to satisfy you, to make you content, is to fuck all of the negativity away and make it so your head is full of thoughts about him and the pleasure he’s giving you, nothing more and nothing less. The move was the perfect excuse to fuck you hard and fast and dirty, the way John knows you love.

As evidenced by your walls clenching down around him, the wet slick dripping from your cunt and gathering at the base of his cock. God, if he can get you to come before he does, he’ll have you lick it all off until his come paints the back of your throat.

Just the thought has him fucking you harder, faster. You’re barely able to make any noise because it’s just so good, and John relishes in the feeling of your fingernails digging into his back. Back in its favorite place, one of your hands pulls on his curls, grip so tight that his head has to follow. 

John brings both hands to the globes of your ass, leaning into you so that your back against the wall supports you both. He presses into you, fucking so deep that he swears he can feel the tip of his cock against your cervix with each thrust. 

You cry out, tensing against him as he fucks you through a second orgasm, your legs shaking around him. You’re breathless and despite the overstimulation, you’re still fucking down onto him, rolling your hips to meet every thrust. 

John ditches his other plan on a whim, burying his face in your neck and allowing his hips to stutter, his warm seed shooting off inside of you. You moan aloud at the feeling and John almost buckles, and would have if the wall behind you hadn’t been holding the both of you up. He catches his breath, his thrusts slowing as he continues to fuck his come deep inside of you, feeling the way your walls drag against his shaft. 

“So good,” you sigh as John lowers you to the floor.

He slips out of your warmth with a wince, his cock softening. His mouth waters as he watches the come slide down the inside of your thighs, a milky mixture of both of your releases.

You laugh a little at the feeling, dragging your hand over the skin to stop the flow and licking the liquid off your palm to clean yourself up. 

John groans at the sight. “Fuck, baby, don’t do that,” he complains. “I can’t go again yet.”

“Mmm,” you hum around your fingers, drawing them out of your mouth with a pop that has John wilting. You smile, sickly sweet and teasing. “Just like at home. Nice to see that a change of location doesn’t affect your refractory period.”

[mindbreak]

Destrudo - One Shot

2.9K Words

Tw: noncon, sadism, dacryphilia, stalking, obsession, mention of rotting limbs (shigi takes your leg on accident), blood (reader bites Shigi), light mindbreak if you squint.

Tags: Shigaraki x Reviving Quirk! Fem! Reader

This is a pure work of fiction. I do not condone any of the actions that take place within this fiction in real life. Minors DO NOT interact. No Age in Bio will be blocked.

There’s something about you that makes Shigaraki’s skin itch. From the moment he saw you, there was the urge to destroy. Like a trigger, you set him off. Maybe it was your smile, or the way you stood so high and mighty as you called yourself the ‘hero of heros’, or maybe it was how quickly you had risen in the ranks earning yourself a place at AllMight’s side. Whatever it was, one thing was clear;

He wanted to break you.

He could recall the first time he feeling it, the insatiable urge to break you down. You had called yourself “Revival”, a rather corny name he had thought but one that seemed to describe your quirk well. Your quirk that seemed to directly oppose his own. He had done his research on you, your mother having been born with the ability to heal and your father born with a quirk that involved repair, you had somehow been gifted the powerful mixture of both. You had initially made a name for yourself in the recovery and rescue fields, with your most notable feat being the recovery of burned down Forrests. However, after an incident where you were able to completely reverse the effects of one of his victims, people regarded you as a top ranking hero who was ‘immune’ to the Leader of the League of Villains.

People loved you. You gave them hope. Even All Might regarded you as a great and powerful hero and, that made his skin crawl.

His hatred had quickly become a fixation, and he began to behave more recklessly to garner your attention. Attacking civilians with hopes you’d show up, destroying buildings, and Forrests to test the limitations of your quirk. He would never truly leave the scene of the crime, always just a ways away, watching you.

Sometimes he’d go so far as to follow you afterwards, his skin crawling as All Might would place his hands on your shoulder after a long day, laughing about how amazing you were.

Were you fucking him? Disgusting. You’d probably fuck anything if you were fucking that old bat.

He hated watching others touch you, sometimes he’d find himself biting his lip until it bled while you laughed at a table full of hero’s, all of you gathered and drinking together. So fucking chummy with one another.

What would your face look like if you knew he were just a mere few feet away? What would your reaction be if he were the one touching you?

When he voiced his thoughts to the other members, they didn’t seem to understand him in the slightest.

“Aww, Shigi you’re in love!” Toga exclaimed excitedly. Twice seemed to agree, before calling him some insult in a separate voice. “You should just fuck her already and get it over with.” Dabi notes, nonchalantly.

“Don’t be such a brute, he should try and buy her flowers. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Toga adds, blushing crimson as she begins to go on and on about how good being in love feels.

“I don’t love her…” Shigaraki gripes, trying to silence the now rowdy bar as they all descend into their usual chaos. Dabi, the only sane one at the moment, shoves his hands in his pockets before leaning against the counter next to Shigi. “Listen, I don’t care about whatever feelings you have towards that hero but, it’s getting creepy how often you talk about her. Whatever you want to do, just get it over with so we can get back to the mission. I’m not here for any love fest.” He advises.

That’s how he ended up here, in your home, sitting on your couch and waiting for you to come home, like some crazy obsessed boyfriend.

At first he was uncertain, he had followed you home many times but, he had never actually broken in.

However, it quickly dissipated and was replaced with hatred as he observed the various pictures and certificates along the walls. You had pictures with your family, and awards from various parts of your life. It reminded him of just how much he couldn’t stand you. You, the ever-so-privileged, to be fortunate enough to live this happy little life of yours.

He wanted to snatch it all away from you.

The faint click of the door alerts him of your arrival, and his head snaps up to find you staring back at him in horror.

The next set of events are a bit of a blur, as he immediately stands to his feet to chase you down, somehow knocking you too your feet and slamming the door shut, and locking it behind him. You had tried to fight him, but the moment his hands grabbed your legs, it was over. You could only scream in agony as your leg began to rot and fall away.

Shigi was stunned for a moment, his eyes wide as he watched the tears stream down your face as you mourned your now lost limb. He had known he was fucked in the head, but right now as he watched you try and crawl away, his cock twitching in excitement, he knew something had been very wrong with him.

"So you aren't completely immune to me..." He says, more to himself than to you with an amused grin on his face.

He doesn't chase you, you're too hysteric to think logically, immediately trying to bring back your own leg when you realize that the rotting is spreading further and further, reaching your knee.

While you make quick work of bringing back your leg, he digs in his pockets for his gloves, sliding them on his hands while humming casually.

"W- why are you doing this?" You ask, confused and distraught.

He doesn't answer, only reaching for a syringe that he bought with him with a newfound sense of pride.

"Try not to fight to much..." is all he says, before sticking the needle into your neck, and everything fades to black.

When you come to, it’s pitch black inside your home. Not even the moons fluorescent light shines through the void that engulfs your living space. You can tell you’re in your room though, as the familiar firmness of your mattress keeps your warm from the otherwise chilling air.

If not for the throbbing feeling in your leg, you’d have assumed the prior events had only been a nightmare, but, unfortunately for you this all was very very real and the man who lay watching you with his arm across your abdomen and his crimson eyes boring into the side of your face was no figment of your imagination.

“You’re awake? Finally, I was starting to thing I had injected you with too much…”

Is all he says as you try to pry him off of you, only for you to realize that your arms and legs are tied to the posts.

“Please…whatever it is I did to end up on your bad side…I apologize.” You say, eyes watering in a desperate attempt to pull sympathy from him. You may have been a hero but you healed, helped rebuild buildings, and worked on rescuing civilians. Your quirk wasn’t built for combat, Allmight had sought you out for your abilities sure, but as a sidekick, you were still just learning the ropes in terms of fighting bad guys! You were in no way capable of handling the league of villains leader, at least you thought so.

Your tears only served to excite him

“Yes, this is exactly what I wanted to see..” he uttered in complete fascination, “Cry harder for me, sweet girl.”

Your body physically recoils when you feel something firm pressing into your side.

Was he getting off on this?

“You..You’re sick!” You spit at him, a wave of disgust and anger washing over you as you seethe at him through hot tears. “Let me g- mmh!”

You’re silenced by his mouth pressing against yours, a gloved hand gripping your throat tight enough to block your air ways forcing you to instinctively try and gasp for air.

He makes an attempt to slip his slimy wet tongue into your mouth and—

CHOMP.

“Fuck!” He hisses, pulling back from you. “I’m bleeding..” he announces to you, annoyed and angry as if he weren’t literally trying to force himself on you.

You want to make a smart remark but before you could say anything his hands were in your pants, prying you open with his fingers.

“I was trying to be nice to you, ya know. Wanted to ease you into it.” He gripes while you bite at your lip, trying to close your legs but to no avail.

“But if you keep acting like a little bitch, I’ll just rip you open. I can make this feel good for you or painful..I’ll cum either way” He threatens.

You can’t hide the way your face twists in disgust, nausea overtaking you as he starts to massage your clit sloppily and unskilled. Was this some kind of sick joke? There was no way he’d make you feel good no matter how gentle or shitty he was to you. Still…you weren’t foolish enough to pick a fight with someone while you had no way to defend yourself. You could only hope that one of your hero friends would stop by to save you.

Shigaraki takes your silence as an agreement of compliance (it is) and makes a second attempt at kissing you, this time the taste of metal invading your senses as his blood gets in your mouth. He doesn’t remove his fingers from your heat, only adjusting them so they’re not so uncomfortable.

His movements are slow and methodical, shifting every so often while he watches for a reaction from you. His fingers twist and curl until he finds a particular spot that makes you moan in his mouth.

“Cute..” his whispers against your lips, his face just a few centimeters from yours as he rubs against that same spot a few more times. “Can you hear that?” He asks, drawing your attention to the wet sounds coming from below your waist, “You’re so wet from just a few fingers.”

You turn away from him, biting your lip to try prevent yourself from making anymore involuntary sounds. “I-it’s a Biological response. That…that doesn’t mean I’m enjoying this.” You try to explain. But the smirk radiating off his face, tells you that he doesn’t believe you…or care.

He starts to press into that spot harder, kissing at your neck and leaving little bites on your shoulder. “I guess I’m not the only sick one. You claim to hate this, but you’re dripping down my fingers.” He taunts, “How would your precious Allmight feel if he knew you were getting off on his enemies fingers? Do you think he’d get rid of you?”

You don’t answer. Instead you try and place your focus anywhere else, on anything else. But his constant chatter won’t allow your mind to wander for long.

“Fuck, I want to feel you…”

His hand leaves your sex, and for a moment there’s shuffling beside you. The sound of zippers and clothes dropping being the only thing to fill the otherwise silent room. You had hoping if you just let him do what he wanted, he would get it over with quickly.

But Shigaraki had no intention of letting you stay silent the entire time. He slipped his gloves off, making sure he was in full view and your heart rate picks up instantly as the thought of him touching you fills you with newfound paranoia.

He’s careful this time though, letting his fingers graze over your clothes and watching as they disintegrate beneath his touch, leaving only a cool sensation ghosting in their wake.

You whimper when he’s got you down to your underwear, shuddering in the silence while he plays with the hem of your panties. You flinch at the contact, and he almost laughs.

“Careful, if you move too much, you might lose your leg again..” he warns playfully, though you don’t find anything about what he says to be funny at all.

He observes your lower half for a moment longer before speaking again. “Your leg did heal nicely though. I wonder…if I were to keep breaking away at you, could you keep putting yourself back together?”

His curiosity was scaring you. You didn’t know yourself and you didn’t want him trying to find out the answer.

“T- Tomura…”

His eyes seem to hone in on you, he never expected his name to leave your lips, but he liked the sound. Something he made a mental note of for later.

Ever the oblivious to your future misfortune, you only cared about placing his mind else where. “A- Are you going to put that inside me?” You asked, raising your head, only to take in his naked form. He was a lot more muscular than you had expected, still fairly thin but in a lean kind of way, as if he had been training.

There were scars along his pale skin, ones that trailed down his abdomen leading to his—

“Do you mean my dick?” He says, a little too confidently as he places himself between your legs.

You only nod in reply, disgusted with yourself.

If the circumstances had been different, you would have rolled your eyes...but this was a moment of desperation. If you didn't keep him entertained, he would clearly find ways to entertain himself. Horrifying ways that would only end in suffering for you.

"I want to hear you say it...ask me to put it in." he says, his mouth getting closer to your loins, kissing at your inner thigh.

A larger part of you wanted to pull away, but you knew better. He had slipped his gloves back on, somewhere in the midst of your little interaction, and had his lips kissing dangerously close to your pussy. It was better this than him testing the limits of your quirk.

"Go on...Beg me for my dick..."

He swipes his tongue up your bare slit, it's warm but leaves a cold and wet feeling after. He doesn't stop there, his cracked lips kissing your bundle of nerves, before he circles it with his tongue.

Its foreign feeling at first, and strange, but you can't stop the way your breath picks up as he licks at your most sensitive parts. The fact that you're even giving him a reaction fills you with shame. You just want this to be over.

"Pl-please put your dick in me.." you say, your own voice just barely above a whisper in an attempt to mask the fact that your voice sounds a little less like your own right now.

"Hmm? What was that? I didn't hear you..."

You were embarrassed and overstimulated, and there was a strange feeling starting to build up in your tummy from his tongue on you. As sloppy as it was, he was learning your body quickly, and that was terrifying.

"Please...Tomura...Put your dick in me.." You say, louder this time.

"You want it?"

"Y-es.."

He smiles a genuine smile, and had you have known what he was thinking, you may have fought him a little harder.

He brings his face back to yours, his hands on either side of your head and his length nestled between your folds and twitching in excitement. "Kiss me..." He commands, but he sounds breathless, needy almost.

You do as you are told, despite your skin crawling, despite the bile that's building in your throat, despite the alarm bells going off inside your head.

The kiss felt different than the first.... the first was experimental, curious. This one was greedy, like he intended to take something with it.

"Mm..MM" Your wrists twist at the restraints as the tip of his cock pushes past your folds, pressing into your innards and spreading your walls apart.

"Relax a little for me baby..." he growls, hips stuttering as he feels how tight you are. He groans when his balls finally slap against your cunt, bottoming out inside you.

For a moment you're in disbelief, you try to scan through memories, trying to find something that would make sense of the situation you're in right now. Searching for anything that would explain why he was doing this to you.

Meanwhile, Tomura was pulling back his hips to fuck into you again. You moan as he sets a slow pace as if he's savoring the feeling of you.

You're made to feel every inch of him as he pressed into you deep. "Fffuck.." you curse under your breath, as the girth of him grinds into your gspot.

You can feel the build in your stomach again, and your walls start to spasm around his dick.

"That's right, cum for me pretty girl..." he says, picking up his pace, snapping his hips forward. You can't think anymore, not that you want to anyway. He thrusts once, then again, and suddenly your coming undone, your limbs shaking as an orgasm wracks throughout your entire body.

He talks you through your orgasm, whispering about how good of a whore you are, about how your body was made for him, how you were made for him, about how he's known all along that you were his.

It scares you when he says those things but, it scares you even more that you're starting to believe him.

______________________________________________________

Authors note: Hope people like the one-shot. Again english isn't my first language so I apologize for any grammar or spelling errors. This isn't meant to be anything serious or align with any part of the recent storyline in anyway. Just something I wanted to write. If there needs to be more tags or warnings, I'll be sure to add them. Hope it is well received. Again, I don't condone any of the acts depicted here in real life. Minors DO NOT interact or Follow. No Age in Bio will be Blocked (I'll get to checking my following soon). Thank you to anyone who does like the stuff I write.

[13eyond13]

Really appreciating in Berserk how The Count's chapters in the Black Swordsman arc can be used as a parallel for what's going on emotionally with Griffith, especially leading up to and during the Eclipse.

For me it starts with Theresia explaining to Puck the dark transformation that took place in her father whenever he first used the Behelit. She explains it like so: "Father was a great ruler. He may have been harsh, but that was so he could defend his kingdom against neighboring enemies. He was trusted and loved by all, even as a father."

"But father changed. Like a man possessed, he started hunting down heretics. Now it doesn't even make a difference anymore whether they're heretics or not! It's almost as if he enjoys hurting people! I'm scared. Sometimes i feel as if he's not human anymore."

Puck reflects on this afterwards by thinking:

"For revenge on the heretics who robbed him of the woman he loved? Is that why he acquired demonic powers? He summoned the Godhand and he himself became a demon?"

It is also revealed soon after this by the Godhand that The Count's wife was not in fact killed by heretics, like Theresia had been told. The Count had discovered that his wife was being unfaithful to him, which initially drove him to suicidal thoughts (kind of like a certain somebody else we know during an extremely dark period in his life):

"Seeing the triumphant, knowing smile of your betrayer drove you to the depths of despair. You decided to end your own life to escape that despair. However, your despair itself was part of the wheel of fate."

Until, instead of ending his own life, The Count decided to use her for his first sacrifice instead:

"Yes indeed, you said it! 'I offer this woman for sacrifice.' The life you couldn't take by your own hand, the life of the person you loved and hated the most! You gave it to us! So that you could bury your fragile human heart."

The Count is also acting sneeringly arrogant towards Guts during their battle, belittling him by saying things to him like:

"No matter how much you've tried to hone your skills, you've come to the limit of your pathetic human form. How fragile you humans."

Puck is NOT having any of this from The Count, and he counters that remark with: "...You yourself used to be one of those fragile humans!"

"You acquired those powers so you could get revenge on the heretics, didn't you?! But that wasn't the only reason. If it was only about revenge, all you had to do was exercise your authority."

"The truth is, you became this thing to run away from the pain inside your own heart! To run away from yourself! You threw away your humanity! If anyone's a fragile human, it's you!"

Cue Griffith as Femto showing up for the very first time, and then almost immediately also attempting to belittle Guts, saying:

"Still squirming around in your pitiful existence, I see..."

"Black Swordsman, you say? His petty existence is beneath our notice."

Guts ALSO isn't having any of that, and replies: "My petty existence? Don't make me laugh! You're where you are now thanks to this petty existence. Thanks to me, who's fighting an army of the dead because of you! Thanks to me who's writhing around in my own blood!"

"You stand there putting on airs like you're some kind of godly being! Griffith!" To which Griffith coolly replies: "Yes... You're nothing but a squirming, sacrificial offering."

HOWEVER. What is then explained directly after that to everybody by The Godhand?

That an acceptable sacrifice for the Invocation of Doom can only be somebody that you genuinely care about.

Guts cannot be used for The Count's second sacrifice, not only because Griffith had already marked him as a sacrifice, but because according to the Godhand:

"The boy is merely your enemy... It must be someone important to you, part of your soul. Someone so close to you that it's almost like giving up a part of you... By making such a sacrifice to demonkind, you'll be able to sever any remnants of your own humanity. A fissure in your heart will open up into which evil will surge."

So for The Count, the only proper candidate left is his daughter Theresia. And Griffith urges him to make this final choice by saying:

"Cut your love asunder, Count!"

So taking ALL of this into account, is Griffith calling Guts "nothing but a squirming sacrificial offering" actually really that sick of a burn? Hmmm.... idk, but it really makes u think.....