#but this one really captures the current state of the fandom

[midder-nachtvlinder]

Not to make it into a competition or anything but I am going more than slightly mad here.

[zhuzhee]

every now and then i watch a late august animatic to feel something

[geminiwritten]

hot dream ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep

notes: this is so bad, and it makes me so sad because i was so excited to write it, but work has been so blegh that i just feel like i failed??? i don’t know, it’s definitely not my best writing, but it’s something! hope y’all can still enjoy!

warnings: swearing, google-translated french, some very incorrect chemistry, and a tiny bit of smut (i’m working myself up to actually writing it, i promise!)

^ the sweater

word count: 4691

“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.

Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.

“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.

You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”

New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.

Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.

Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”

The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.

He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”

You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.

You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.

“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.

You nod, “Much.”

Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.

The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.

You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.

You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.

“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.

“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.

His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”

“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”

You frown sceptically, “Okay…”

MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.

“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”

MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”

Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.

“Where’s Butcher?”

“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”

MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.

“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.

“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”

He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”

“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.

Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.

“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”

They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.

“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.

He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.

“You’re awake,” he states.

You nod, “So are you.”

He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”

MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.

“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.

His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”

“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”

Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.

The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.

You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.

The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.

“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.

“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”

You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.

“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”

“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.

“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.

He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”

“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.

Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”

You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.

You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.

“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”

Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.

You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”

You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.

You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”

He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.

“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.

You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.

The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.

Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.

“Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”

You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.

“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.

“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.

They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.

“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”

Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”

“Yes!”

MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?

“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”

You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.

“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”

You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”

“You will probably be electrocuted.”

“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.

You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.

You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.

The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.

Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, “Ungh.”

You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”

Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.

“Nngh,” MM groans again.

“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.

MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”

“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.

Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”

Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”

The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.

“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”

MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.

Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”

“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”

“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”

The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.

“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.

He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.

“You need to take off your jumper, now.”

You frown, “What? Why?”

“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.

Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”

You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”

“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”

Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”

“Frenchie,” you repeat.

“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”

“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”

“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.

“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” you reply.

Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.

“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”

You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.

He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.

“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.

You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.

“Let’s go.”

MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.

“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.

You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”

“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”

You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.

“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.

“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.

It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.

Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”

“Right now?”

He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.

“Is this how it started in your dream?”

You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”

He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.

“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”

“You what?”

He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”

The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.

He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”

You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.

“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”

You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”

He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”

You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.

“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”

His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.

“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”

Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.

“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.

You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.

“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.

You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.

“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, ���how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”

The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.

“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”

You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.

“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”

He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”

He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”

END.

[renthony]

Lost in the Remaster: Star Trek, Vintage Special Effects, and the Charm of Old Media

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

Originally created by Gene Roddenberry, Star Trek is a franchise that spans decades. From the original series of 1966 to current shows such as Lower Decks, it stands as a titan of television and pop culture. The real world has undergone incredible change since Star Trek’s first appearance, yet nerds everywhere still find entertainment, inspiration, and hope in its classic episodes. Recently, along with my husband and best friend, I decided I wanted to attempt the gauntlet of watching the entire franchise from beginning to end, revisiting favorites and finally checking out the ones I missed. Media and fandom studies are my passion, after all, and Star Trek is a foundational part of modern American nerd culture.

Starting with the original series proved more difficult than expected. Living in a tiny apartment, we don’t have much space for DVDs, so Star Trek wasn’t in our existing collection. The local public library didn’t have copies, either, and putting in a purchase request doesn’t guarantee it will be made available. My family doesn’t have the funds to pay for every single streaming service on the market, and Star Trek isn’t available on any we do have access to. Piracy was starting to look like the only option, but even that fell flat when we couldn’t find a version with subtitles. Finally we dug it up officially and with subtitles, for free via PlutoTV, but there were still limitations: PlutoTV only streams season one, and season one is only available in the remastered edition that replaced the original special effects with new visuals.

It wasn’t ideal, but, hey, it was Star Trek.

Watching just one episode a week gave us enough time to scrape together savings to get what we really wanted for seasons two and three: the official BluRay release, which includes both remastered and original-release versions of each episode. The remasters are fine, but as a lover of media history and practical effects, I’m always disappointed to lose a chance to appreciate the originals. It doesn’t matter how good it might look, remasters are never as much fun to me as matte paintings, camera tricks, and whatever the prop department could pull off with ten dollars and some glue.

Finally having the BluRays in hand for season two only affirmed my love of vintage practical effects. Seeing the Enterprise in her original glory, before she was ever rendered in digital form, felt like opening a time capsule. I love time capsules. My favorite pieces of media are always those which capture a moment in time, showcasing the aesthetics, concerns, and culture of the time and place they were created. Star Trek: the Original Series is rooted in the late sixties, when mainstream culture in the United States was experiencing immense upheaval and social change. That context is written all over the show. The vintage effects add to it, grounding it in a very specific time and place. Updating the show’s effects takes away some of that 60s aesthetic, and while some may see it as making the show more timeless, I don’t care for it. To me, seeing what they could pull off before modern technology is half the fun of watching old shows. The ingenuity and creativity of propmakers, makeup artists, and set designers working on shoestring budgets is unparalleled.

To be clear, digital effects are also done by skilled professionals who deserve much more respect and many more labor protections. There are some truly stunning works created with digital tools. That said, I hate when digital effects are used to cover up the practical effects that came before. It feels disrespectful to the original artists, as if telling them their work wasn’t good enough; as if their work was just a placeholder until something better could come along and fix it. Practical effects aren’t a placeholder, they’re an art form in their own right, and that art form is one for which I have deep appreciation.

It frustrates me that the original, non-remastered episodes were such a pain for us to access, but I’m very glad to have added them to my personal media collection. No matter what future tweaks Star Trek’s rights holders might make, I can always pop in our personal copies to enjoy the Enterprise and her crew in all their vintage, “outdated” glory. If you’re also too young to remember the show’s original airing, and you have the opportunity to watch the unedited version, I highly suggest you do. Watching the version that aired in 1966 gives the show a charm that no amount of remastering can ever match.

_

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[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Is your chosen username anything to do with Ray Bradbury’s story by chance? If so, Mildly ironic given the current stete of fandom

It's not the primary reason for my URL (that would be the Simpsons), but yes, "A Sound of Thunder" and the butterfly effect are among the many reasons I love butterflies. I don't think it's ironic re the current state of fandom though, I've long noticed GRRM citing the butterfly effect to explain how a small adaptational difference can lead to great changes by the end, since 2011, and particularly since GOT S5 and S8. So it's not surprising GRRM cited it again re HOTD, it's one of his standards along with Scarlett O'Hara's kids. Heck, he cited both things in an interview (regarding the question of whether HOTD was "canon") only 2 years ago. By definition the butterfly effect is just a single wingbeat that eventually makes a hurricane, but for GRRM it's a drum he's never stopped beating.

So, regarding the butterfly effect in GOT... let's give some examples. One of the butterflies GRRM used to talk about was that in the show, Khal Drogo killed Mago (in the epsiode airing June 5, 2011) whereas in ADWD (released July 17, 2011), Dany is captured by the khalasar where Mago is a bloodrider, and GRRM has said he'll be a significant character in TWOW. How the show handled it... they basically replaced him with Khal Moro, and tbqh, due to GRRM's own flat characterization of the Dothraki, it's hard to tell if there will be any difference between one brutish thug threatening to rape Dany vs another brutish thug with a slightly different name. Maybe TWOW will surprise us there, but if so, I really will be surprised.

Another butterfly (mentioned in the Mago link above) was that in GOT, Marillion never went to the Eyrie, and instead went to KL and got detongued by Joffrey. Thus, Marillion never became Lysa's favorite, and his plot with Sansa in ASOS/AFFC never happened. So Petyr didn't have anyone to blame for Lysa's murder... and yet in the show, he really didn't need Marillion, he convinced the Lords of the Vale that Lysa committed suicide. However, this was done by Sansa revealing her true identity to them... which cut off the Alayne plotpoint altogether. And that leads to what GRRM might call the greater "toxic butterfly" of Jeyne Poole not being an actual character in the show (she appears for half a second at Winterfell and never again), and thus Sansa took her place in the Ramsay storyline. But to be frank, I don't believe Jeyne's absence had any real "butterfly effect" on the show... even if had she been an actual character and Sansa's companion that Littlefinger made into a prostitute at one of his brothels, D&D never would have brought her out again to play "Arya". David and Dan deleted the Alayne plotpoint and Sansa's AFFC/TWOW storyline, and instead sent Sansa north to be married and raped because that's what they wanted to do with her character, not because they "had to" because Jeyne wasn't there. (And if they ever told GRRM otherwise, they lied.)

And that's the truth about the "butterfly effect" straight up. GRRM seems to believe a story must flow logically to its conclusion and thus removing even a small element changes that conclusion. But the truth is that D&D could have done whatever they wanted, dead/nonexistent characters or otherwise. Aegon and JonCon not existing is not what made Dany a mad queen and burn KL, they chose to make her a mad queen because that's the story they wanted to write. The bizarre nonsense of the show Dorne storyline is not because they removed Arianne, but because they wanted to make Ellaria both vengeful and uncaring about her lover's family. Smalljon Umber surviving the Red Wedding is not why Osha and Rickon died, it's because they wanted to kill off Osha and Rickon and add another heartless Northern villain. Flow does not truly apply, this isn't an atmospheric system and it's not a real history. Nothing forced D&D into doing anything except budget/orders from above/other business issues. It's fiction, it's the story they constructed, they chose to construct it that way, because "Creatively it made sense to us, because we wanted it to happen."

Now, regarding HOTD -- let me first provide a quote from GRRM from the "canon" interview I linked above:

George: And the more you read about history, the more inconsistencies you had. So I thought it would be fun to do that in Fire and Blood. And so when I’m relating what happened here, and I’m thinking about what can happen. Yeah, I… oh, this would be great. This would be really outrageous, it would be… and then, eh, it’s probably too outrageous. Here’s probably what… the more realistic version of it. And wait a minute, this version makes Fred the villain and Bill the hero. And this version makes Bill a villain and Fred the hero. And then at some point it hit me. Why don’t I give all versions? Cause history is uncertain. I’ll give all versions and it’ll be fun for me. I can put in all the really outlandish scurrilous things, the way Mushroom sees it, but I can also put in the things that are probably more…  Aziz: They’re sources, yeah.  George: And that worked fine for those who liked that thing, although some don’t. But if I was writing it as a novel, if I’d been writing this in the form of the books in A Song of Ice and Fire, like Winds of Winter, which I’m writing now. When I get to a chapter in The Winds of Winter and I know something’s gonna happen. How does it happen? What are the things? I think I could do it this way. I could do it that way. I have to make up up my mind. In Fire and Blood, I didn’t have to have to make up my mind, but Ryan and Miguel, when they’re adapting it, they largely had to make up their mind. 

So. In his (deleted) blog post, GRRM talks about the absence of Maelor being a butterfly, so that the Blood & Cheese scene didn't have Helaena choosing between two sons (only between a son and a daughter), and he thinks it's unlikely they'll have the Bitterbridge scene with the Kingsguard Rickard Thorne heroically trying to protect Maelor (who is torn to pieces by the crowd). GRRM said that this will affect Helaena once again, because Maelor's death is why she commits suicide in F&B and he says in the S3 outline Helaena does it for "no reason". Welp. First of all, it's kind of hilarious that the wiki immediately cited GRRM's blog post, because IDK if GRRM recalls that in F&B he gave multiple reasons for Helaena's suicide (several weeks after Maelor's death!) through the book's conceit of multiple historians:

because she learned she was pregnant after being gangraped in a brothel along with her mother per Mushroom's wild story of the "Brothel Queens" (though Gyldayn reasserts no part of Mushroom's story is credible)

because she watched two knights who had tried to rescue Corlys be hanged and this upset her, per Munkun (though Gyldayn thinks it's unlikely because she didn't know them)

because Mysaria told her that night that Maelor had died and how he died, per Septon Eustace (though Gyldayn says it's hard to understand what motive Mysaria would have had for doing so)

because she didn't actually commit suicide, she was pushed, because Rhaenyra ordered her murder (what the smallfolk believed, which per Mushroom was a rumor spread by Larys Strong, and note Gyldayn does not discredit him here)

So whatever reason they're choosing for Helaena's suicide in HOTD (I doubt it will remain "for no reason" between outline and script and broadcast), it may be hard to argue it's not textually based given the multiple choice options in the text. Plus, there's a possible reason in the book that is unmentioned by Gyldayn -- that only a short time before, Daemon had his murder-suicide battle with Aemond above the Gods Eye. Though it seems that the news of that battle didn't reach KL until a day after Helaena's suicide, book!Helaena was not a dreamer the way show!Helaena is. And the show has already drawn a connection between Helaena, Daemon, Aemond, the battle above the Gods Eye, and prophecies. So again, I very much doubt she will kill herself "for no reason" in the show. It may not be the same reason as in F&B, but there should be some reason.

But the fact that GRRM stated outright that the Maelor reason is the real one and therefore he's an important character who should not be butterflied away -- well, that blog post did what his book deliberately failed to do. GRRM wrote a book with so many multiple choice conflicting narratives, deliberately, because he didn't want to make up his mind, so in its adaptation the HOTD writing team chose to write a narrative that picks and chooses among them (and sometimes, yes, makes up new shit), because they did have to make up their mind (and not do a Rashomon framing device). And only now he's like "no that's wrong, there is a real true history there and I'm mad they're not doing it"? I'm sure it's frustrating to GRRM, but if it's a problem, it's been a problem since the very start!

I mean, I am deeply sympathetic to him being disappointed by an adaptation once again, especially if he thought being an executive producer would give him more power than GOT's co-executive producer status but again that was just an empty title with no power at all. And especially if he has been telling the HOTD writers truths the book didn't, only to be dismissed with something like "well you didn't say that in the book so we're doing it differently". And especially if he thought a particular scene was very fine writing and characterization, and is disappointed that the show is unlikely to broadcast it to a greater audience. Y'klnow... damn the NDAs, but someone really ought to get GRRM's opinion regarding Septon Meribald's broken men speech, frequently considered one of his best, and how they did something rather different in GOT... and lbr, the Rickard Thorne Bitterbridge scene was a nice bit of a knight actually keeping his vows for once, but it doesn't compare.

(Seriously, let's be real. We all know GRRM's real issue is with what GOT did to his legacy. HOTD is just the one he thinks he might be able to nip in the bud before they make so many changes... and if he can't, that's just the wound of GOT all over again.)

And I do agree that Helaena's suicide is important, however it happens. The KL riots being sparked by her suicide are also important. (Though I very much doubt they won't exist at all in any form -- again see that vision from S2E8 and the fact that it included a scene evidently from the Storming of the Dragonpit.) And Maelor is important as well for something GRRM didn't mention (perhaps he thought he couldn't get away with it, though evidently he couldn't get away with saying anything) -- the fact that his death is what causes Daeron's heel turn from a sweet kid to a war criminal, and thus the Sack of Bitterbridge and Lady Caswell's own suicide (imo far more emotionally moving than Thorne's stand against the crowd). But... those butterflies don't necessarily have to be "killed", as GRRM fears. Daeron (who at least we know exists in the show) can have a heel turn for a different reason. Bitterbridge can be sacked for a different reason.

If that's what they choose to do, because yes, Daeron doesn't have to have a heel turn at all, Bitterbridge doesn't need to be sacked at all, the entire southern campaign can be a different story, they can write anything they want, as faithful to F&B as they want or otherwise. But GRRM's greatest worry seems to be that a less-than-faithful adaptation won't be a "logical and convincing" story where all the points lead to a conclusion, and... I'm truly sorry to say, that does not necessarily follow. Whatever conclusion HOTD reaches will be the sum of whatever came before. If some parts aren't built up as well as they should be, lbr F&B's Dance has had the same critiques for years. And again, the multiple-historian conceit, as well as it being a history and not a POV narrative, has never helped this issue, because it lead to one of F&B's greatest faults -- that it is not consistent with itself. (Unrelated to the Dance: see Alysanne's attitude towards Baelon inheriting at the end of the Long Reign chapter, vs pages later in the Heirs of the Dragon chapter. "You will be a great king" vs "a cock is not essential"... these chapters were written years apart, and not edited together nearly as well as they should have been.) If GRRM has a different story in his head that is more consistent than was put on the page, again this may be too little too late for all the work already put into the show.

However... I have a very strong feeling that it's not "Maelor the missing" or even whatever's happening with Helaena and the riot, or Daeron and Bitterbridge, that's GRRM's real worry about "toxic butterflies". I think the subject he really wanted to talk about, and knew he absolutely could not (and yet perhaps hoped that post could pressure HBO about), is the absence of Nettles. Her absence would greatly change the relationship of Daemon and Rhaenyra, who we've seen HOTD has chosen to portray as an OTP, a toxic one perhaps, "always meant to burn together". But it was already portrayed as odd in F&B for Daemon to lose his head chasing after a teen girl (if IMO entirely consistent with his personality), but with HOTD's apparent Daemon/Rhaenyra plot... Well, see S2's process starting with him leaving her in ep2, to their reunion in ep8 convinced she's the queen chosen by the gods... is Nettles going to come in and blow that up? Make Daemon abandon Rhaenyra again? It could be told in a "logical and convincing" way, I still think it should be, but at this point it's hard to see how it would be. (And looking at GOT in comparison, Nettles does not have either the textual value nor the fanbase that Brienne has, and just look how they ended their toxic OTP of Jaime/Cersei, despite the books.)

But plot and relationships aside, Nettles is a character whose meaning reaches well beyond F&B, to affect ASOIAF itself. Her legacy regarding Targaryen exceptionalism, to the subject of who can really ride a dragon, her legacy regarding the Vale's Burned Men... all these are elements that may be extremely important in TWOW and ADOS. So if GRRM has been trying to convince Ryan that Nettles is the most important character that should not be eliminated, and yet has been shut down... well, no wonder he's been depressed about his own legacy.

And again, I'm sure it's the deeper wound of GOT's ending that's been truly paining GRRM regarding his legacy, that their ending that may be the only thing anyone ever sees. Perhaps he was hoping that HOTD could help correct the issue. That its foreshadowing would help readers understand the truth, what happens in TWOW and ADOS, the real ending. But... again I'm deeply sympathetic, and I'm sorry HOTD couldn't be that for him, but the truth is no other television show can be GRRM's legacy in that way. The only thing that can correct GOT is his own words. The only thing that truly matters is him finishing TWOW and ADOS... and it's been 13 years since ADWD, 5 years since GOT S8. I want to tell him, so much, fuck the butterflies-- as you've said so many times yourself, the show is not the books. Leave them be in their other universe and focus on your own, please. Please.

Because, again, let's be real. If GRRM does finish his grand epic and completes his legacy, his last word on the subject... if this makes HBDiscFlix want to do a GOT remake once they have an actual story to adapt "correctly" (which they still won't)... you know that when the final season of Game of Thrones Brotherhood comes out in 2050 and Tyrion rides a dragon despite having no Targaryen ancestry... all the clickbait sites and YouTok will have vidposts like "The Missing Character from House of the Dragon - What You Don't Know About This GOTB Development!" It won't matter what HBO did or didn't do with HOTD. It's just GRRM's own words in the end... if he has them.

[the-s1lly-corner]

One Shot Requests

That's right! One shots are now a possible option when requesting something! Like normal requests, you can see the status of if they're open or not in my bio! Hooray!

Below will be a short list of rules and what can and cant be written! Be sure to read through it thoroughly before requesting!

RULES

It's very similar to the standard rules for this blog! No spamming unless its otherwise said its allowed (it never hurts to ask!)

Given that these will be entire fics rather than hc posts, only one character is allowed per post (or at least, one main character asides the reader! Quick cameos are allowed and may be added on general depending on plot and if they're needed to expand the story)

^ I do plan on adding poly as an option but until I get my footing on one shots it's just monogamous pairings for now

You can find the list of current fandoms I write for in my pinned! If you're not sure, you can always check! I keep the list updated!

Fics vary in length, really depends on how much steam I have

Fics will be posted here as well as on AO3, assuming the fic is SFW! AO3 link can be found in my pinned!

Obligatory I am an amateur who writes for fun so expect possible OOC and stuff LMAO

WHAT I WILL WRITE

Fluff, angst, platonic relationships, family relationships, and romance! Hooray! If there is ever anything I feel uncomfortable writing or feel I cannot do justice for, I will let you know ASAP!

Canon x reader! You're allowed to add descriptors for a reader! Gender, personality, style and so on! Just please note it will be harder to capture certain aspects in one shots than it will be for standard hc posts

Prompts and/or hc posts done in the past are allowed to be selected to be expanded upon in a fic!

If you're unsure if I write for a character from a fandom you can always ask! There are some fandoms that are very selective

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE

Darker topics may be touched up upon however I have limits. I will do my best to voice myself if something is too much

Standard no nos: no incest or rape ect ect ect

No NSFW of characters who are in source minors (more on nsfw fics later) (nsfw IS allowed, just not on this blog)

On screen abuse and/or self harm. It is allowed off screen/implied or as a characters history

HOW TO REQUEST

All requests must go to the inbox and only the inbox! Requests sent through comments/messages/reblogs will not be answered period.

State your character of choice and any (optional) descriptors for the reader (readers are GN by default by the by)

Optionally you can request a specific scenario! It can be one of your own making or one taken from my prompt and trope lists!

NSFW ELABORATED

COMMISSIONS VS REQUEST

As of 10/26/2024 I have created a NSFW blog. You may ask for it in PMs but note that if you do not have your age stated in your bio you will not be getting it until it is there. If you find it on your own while being a minor/ageless blog you will be blocked both here and there. I also ask that minors stay away from my ao3 as eventually it may be mixed sfw/nsfw. All sfw fics will be posted here too so there is no reason for you to visit my ao3

As of the time of writing this one shot commissions are unavailable, when they are this section will be expanded upon! Naturally a commission allows one to have more customization and such in a fic as opposed to having a vague reader and stuff

[ace-s-fav-dp-posts]

If you're sick of the current popular trope/story prompt in the Phandom or DPxDC fandom you just need to ignore it

I feel like the fans in the Phandom and DPxDC minifandom that's popped up, who are really grossed/creeped out by the genre of fic popular right now.

Where the set up is some variation of Outsider POV and the plot is based around the assumption that Vlad SAed Danny in order to create Dan and Danielle, are people who haven't been around that long.

Especially when they try to whine about none of it being based in canon. And how they don't like the shipping of Vlad and Danny (even though the people who write these kinds of fics are very obviously not shipping Vlad and Danny in them).

Because the Phandom has historically gone through phases much more gruesome and horrifying than that.

Especially when in this current micro-genre, all of the SA and grooming and other kinds of abuse are implied only, and within the fics themselves the assumed abuse never actually happened. As the plot is based on over heard or misinterpreted fragments of information that doesn't give the POV character the full picture of the situation that's actually going on.

There's the infamous vivisection fics, in which the child main character is brutally cut open and tortured by his own parents in the name of their biased views of science. Who in canon, both happily accept him no matter what every time a reveal is happens and never so much as rejects Danny emotionally.

Then there's the variation on the traditional vivisection fic in which Danny isn't emotionally rejected and stripped of his humanity by his own parents. But instead captured and stripped of his human rights by the government, either by his parents unknowing actions which they stay oblivious to. Or in spite of his parent's acceptance of him, and with them helpless to rescue or protect him from the government's torturous "research".

There's the already existing variation of grooming and SA fics, where Vlad grooms and or assaults Danny. Which have been popping up for years now, but in which all of this type of horrible abuse actually happens in the story, instead of it being an Outside POV misunderstanding what's happen like the current micro genre of fic.

There's the fics where the Fentons have just been abusive or just negligent parents Danny and Jazz's entire lives. And them hurting Danny, emotionally or physically, intentionally or accidentally, is just an extension of their already unacceptable parenting habits.

There's the edritch/body horror genre of fics where becoming half-ghost (or sometimes something else) involves at the very least the partial loss of Danny (or Vlad)'s humanity.

Hell there's one fic that's stuck with me for ages, that I read years ago, back in my teens, written from the POV of a Maddie who murdered Danny to prevent him from becoming Dan. Which is stated in that fic to be inevitable.

It's also heavily implied that Maddie had incestuous feelings for Danny the entire fic. And that she also possibly raped him in the midst of her extremely violent* vivisection murder of him. But that if she didn't rape him, at the very least, ripping him open to see his insides while he was awake and struggling got her off anyways.

So yeah, I don't know what other explanation there is to all these people who seem confused and freaked out by the various fics popping up where there's assumed SA/grooming, but actually nothing outside of canon actually happened to Danny, and the whole thing is just a misunderstanding.

Other than them being extremely new to Danny Phantom fics in general and therefore unaware of just how dark (and potentially triggering) they can be.

When there's been fics for years about SA and grooming, some of which is explicit, some of which is all implied and talked around and just as gut wrenching, and some of which is actually painted in that cringe forbidden love sort of way, for more than a literal decade now.

If you don't like it, if it makes you uncomfortable, you're just going to have to ignore or block those people, like everyone else in the Phandom who feels the way you do has done for more than a decade now.

Don't make comments to those authors that you don't like that trope, or that it makes you uncomfortable, or anything similar. Just ignore them or block them if it really bothers you that much. Because if you don't like their stuff, then rather obviously you are not their intended audience, so you need to ignore their posts and fics and keep scrolling if you're not going to block them.

*Also yes I must state it was a violent vivisection murder. Because it is clearly stated in the fic, that Vlad finds Maddie sitting outside on the porch covered in Danny's blood and viscera, and that the room she killed him in is in a similar state.

I wanna say the fic got deleted during the old Fanfiction.net purge of more adult content, even though all of the sexual abuse/incest parts of the fic where all implied and not explicit, along with the violent vivisectoin murder taking place off screen.

Though I could be wrong, and it's still out there somewhere, and possibly not exactly as I remember it. I read it more than 5 years ago now, so there's almost certainly some memory drift by this point.

[stagehunt]

AUTHOR PORTRAIT ...

get to know the author behind the blog! repost, don't reblog.

Basics

NAME:        vos AGE:         23 PRONOUNS:         they/them YEARS OF WRITING:          that  definitely  depends  on  what  you  classify  as  writing  but  i  discovered  rp  as  a  concept  in  2010  which  was  probably  just  a  bit  after  i  got  into  writing  little  short  stories  and  things  as  a  kid.  i  was  writing  them  by  hand  in  a  little  notepad  that  somebody  in  my  family  handed  over  to  a  school  teacher,  extremely  mortifying  ordeal  to  me  at  the  time  lmfao       

Reflection

WHY DID YOU PICK UP WRITING?           i’m  pretty  sure  i  first  started  by  writing  shitty  warrior  cats  fanfics  actually,   and  i  didn’t  know  that  fics  or  fandom  in  general  was  even  a  thing  at  the  time  so  u  could  say  i  was  destined  for  this  sort  of  brainrot   fgdjkh   little  nine  year  old  me  also  encountered  rp  for  the  first  time  by  searching  for  warrior  cats  flash  games   (i guess??  idk  what  i  actually  thought  i’d  find)   and  instead  wound  up  on  some  random  webpage  with  a  chatbox.  moved  on  from  there  to  writing  awful,  horrible   (but  very  fun)   naruto  oc’s  on  a  website  that  i  think  was  called  chatango  some  years  later,   dabbled  a  little  on  imvu,   and  started  writing  on  tumblr  around  2015  iirc

DO YOU HAVE ANY WRITING ROUTINES?          i  wouldn’t  say  so?  sometimes  i’ll  listen  to  like…  instrumental  interludes  from  certain  albums  or  smth  that  i  won’t  enjoy  too  much  because  i  find  music  very  distracting,   not  just  for  writing  but  in  general,   and  sitting  in  silence  is  a  weird  feeling  to  me  too.  when  it  comes  to  other  things  i  need  a  podcast  or  video  essay  or  something  similar  to  be  at  all  productive  but  it’s  hard  to  focus  on  writing  with  someone  yapping  in  your  ear.  i  used  to  save  writing  for  nights even  when  i  have  free  time  throughout  the  day,   because  i  tend  to  feel  bad  about  sitting  at  a  computer  screen  all  day,   but  with  my  activity  in  its  current  state  i  have  to  sit  down  and  get  it  out  the  moment  inspiration  and  energy  align  themselves  for  me.    

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE PART ABOUT WRITING?         sorry  to  steal  your  answer  but  i  def  have  to  agree  with  what  layla  said  re  the  community  aspect  of  rp  actually.  it’s  so  nice  to  be  able  to  just  click  with  someone  over  a  shared   (sometimes  niche)   interest  and  love  for  certain  medias/characters/dynamics/genres  etc.  the  feeling  of  finding  someone  who  shares  your  vision.  and  also  stemming  from  the  same  thing,   i’ve  always  felt  that  my  favorite  and  most  “solid”  muses  are  the  ones  that  i’ve  gotten  the  chance  to  develop  alongside  another  through  plotting.  love  shared  canon,  love  affiliated  oc’s,  love  group  verses.  allllll  that  good  stuff.  

THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOUR WRITING.         gonna  break  the  format  we’re  following  here  because  i  have  to  ramble  and  idk  how  to  break  all  this  into  three  titles,     so  obviously  being  succinct  isn’t  one  of  the  answers  here   kfdjghd

i  always  try  to  capture  a  different  flow  and  style   (???)   of  prose  depending  on  who  i’m  writing,   and  i’m  never  sure  if  that  really  comes  through  for  others  or  if  i  just  seem  inconsistent,   but  whenever  i  look  back  at  old  blogs  i  can  see  it  for  myself  and  that  at  least  keeps  me  content   :)   i  want  to  read  my  writing  back  and  feel  that  it  has  character  outside  of  just  the  spoken  dialogue.

i  like  to  spend  a  lot  of  time  with  a  piece  of  writing,   which  realistically  is  not  to  my  benefit  in  terms  of  activity,   but  i  do  just  really  enjoy  drafting  and  redrafting,   rearranging,   nitpicking  at  everything  until  it’s  as  close  to  being  what  i  want  to  be  as  i  can  get  it.  so  that’s  more  about  the  writing  process  than  the  writing  itself,   but  i  think  it’s  still  important  to  allow  myself  to  have  fun  with  it  fkjghd

pulling  a  blank  on  a  third  thing  bc  this  is  actually  a  really  difficult  question  but  i’ll  come  back  and  edit  it  later  if  something  pops  into  my  head  kfjgdh

A question for the next person

HAVE YOU MADE ANY STRONG  CONNECTIONS  /  FRIENDS DURING YOUR TIME WRITING?          for  sure.  one  of  my  dearest  friends  in  this  world  is  not  a  writer  but  someone  who  i  met  as  a  mutual  friend  of  my  first  rp  partner.  i’m  not  really  in  touch  with  that  person  who  introduced  us  anymore  but  i  simply  couldn’t  live  without  my  bestie  and  i  consider  writing  the  only  reason  we  really  met and she gets to kinda "beta" some of the things i do write   dfkgjhd   i’ve  also  traveled  to  the  states  a  couple  of  times  in  my  teens  to  meet  a  rp  buddy  who  i’ve  known  since  i  was  around   ,,   twelve  or  so  i  believe.  

wouldn’t  be  right  not  to  shout  out  @ohchosen  here  either  because  i  was  very  close  to  leaving  tumblr   (and  also  probably  rp)   for  good  when  we  became  friends,   and  writing/plotting  tmkz  together  has  been  one  of  the  best  experiences  i’ve  ever  had  on  this  website,   where  friends  and  mutuals  tend  to  come  and  go.  you  never  did.  you’re  probs  the  funniest  person  i’ve  ever  spoken  to,   craft  the  most  beautifully  written  responses  imaginable,   you  put  a  world  of  effort  into  developing  your  muses  and  you  let  me  derail  every  single  one  of  conversations  to  talk  about  music  instead   gfjhdg   sorry  i’m  so  mean  to  you.  ily  a  lot.

there’s  also  a  handful  of  mutuals  who  i  don’t  necessarily  talk  or  interact  with  very  much  anymore  but  have  been  around  for  years  at  this  point  and  i  have  fond  memories  with  too.  always  so  so  so  glad  to  see  you  pop  up  on  the  dash,  it  makes  me  smile  every  time  so  i’ll  use  this  as  an  opportunity  to  wave  at  you, you know who you are    <3

NEW QUESTION: where  do  you  draw  the  most  inspiration  from  when  writing?  music,   other  medias,   ur  fave  author,  a  dream  you  once  had  etc.

tagged by @oneireth tysm <3 tagging val take my love letter as ur tag, also hi @heliador @loetise @tiderider @yeonban @pearlcure @deathsmaidens @sungracd !!!!!

[kaizzz]

I don’t really see much Agent Kallus X reader on here, so I decided to write one >~< I’m planning for this to be divided into parts ( not really sure how many but we’ll see how it goes)

P.S English is not my native language, apologies for any errors T-T I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much I enjoy writing it <3

This is also my first fic on tumblr😆 If there’s any ideas you guys might want to be included on the next part, lemme know! >~< Again, have a good reading! <3

———-

Word Count: 712

Genre: Romance

Pairs: Agent Kallus x Reader

Fandom: Star Wars: Rebels

Sets between Season 2 and 3

——————

Getting stuck on the ice cold moon of genosis with Zeb have been an eye-opening for Agent Kallus to say the least. Although he refuses to acknowledged it. Deep down, he can feel it, the needs to feel alive, he misses it. Here with the Empire, everyone else feels so cold and emotionless, everyone seems to only care about getting the job done and following orders. For a second, he felt envious of zeb, how he have a crew, somehow a family that cares for him deeply.

His thoughts drifts back to you, y/n. It’s been awhile since you joined the Empire, you were a capable and strong-headed agent, never loses hope. When he had heard that there’s a newcomer agent joining his team, at first, he was distasteful. Sure, he did fail to capture the rebels and let them escape quite a number of times but that doesn’t mean that he’s not good at his job, perhaps at tracking the rebels but not so much on capture them.

When he first notice you was the aura you gave off; strong-headed,capable, serious, and very good at what you do. Slowly, as time goes by, he starts to admire you and your capabilities. You two strikes up a conversation every now and then but mostly were about the process of catching the rebels, nothing more.

With what started as just admiration, turns into something more. Kallus finds himself falling for you, caring for you more. Not that he dare to hope that you’d feel the same way. But this one time right after his encounter with zeb and after being rescued from the moon by the Empire, he ran into you on his way back to his quarter; trying his best to keep composure from his leg injury, he greets you and you smiled and greets him back, completely oblivious to his current state. Or so he thought. You stopped for a moment and ask Agent Kallus;

“ Agent Kallus, how’s your leg?”

Agent Kallus halt, you noticed, he thought to himself; before turning to face you.

“It’s alright, the pain is not that bad, I’ll be on my way”, Agent Kallus quickly replied. As he turned away from you and begin to go on his way when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait-”, he heard you said.

He turned back and give you a confused look, “ You’re leaping, come on, I’ll help you to your quarters”, you continued.

It took Agent Kallus a moment to processed what you’ve said before shooking his head and replied back, “That’s alright, I’m fine to go on my own”

You smiled and said,“ I insisted”, as you begins to take one of Agent Kallus arm and wrap them over your shoulders and begins to walk him back to his quarters.

Agent Kallus decided then that it no point resisting and allows you to help him walking back to his quarters.

———

As you reached his quarters and slowly setting him down on his bed, you smiled at him and said in a soft-toned, not the usual tone that he heard you speak; “ Get some rest and get well soon, Agent Kallus”

“Thank you�� he said looking down.

Before leaving his quarters, you heard him ask, “ Why are you doing this?”

You turned back and face him, “ This?”, you ask, confused on what he meant.

“This, helping me to my quarters or just asking if I’m alright and all, most people do, was just ignore, said a quick greeting and carry on with their duties, at least here in the Empire anyways”

You stared for a moment, processing what he had just said before letting out a laugh and said, “ Why? Because I care, silly.”

Before heading out the door, facing your back to him, you raise one arm and said, “ See you later, Agent”.

This is new, seeing you smile and hearing you laugh makes his heart feels heavy but happy at the same time. It’s such a pretty sight to see.

Staring at the closed door, something small starts to light up inside of him, hope, the feeling of someone finally care. Before his thoughts get ahead of him, he quickly buried that feeling and brush it off before laying down and rest.

——

Part 2: coming soon

——-

[viveela]

your art is ❤ I wanna squeeze them to death (affectionate) also do you read sp fanfiction? if so do you have recs? 🙈

Ah thank you sm!! I'm so glad people enjoy my fanarts, I honestly didn't think my whole shift to south park posting would go this well lol I'm very glad to be proven otherwise!!

As for sp fics ...this is gonna be a long post lol.

So I have been reading some, buuut I guess I'm kinda picky...I am kind of particular about fics in general honestly. If I love something I want to see it portrayed authentically, that goes for every fandom I've been in. I know aus are fun but I want to be able to mainly consume canon compliant content, rarely do I read anything else oops. Unfortunately I've found that to be kinda hard since aging them up and doing all sorts of aus is heavily the vast majority with the sp fandom so I don't really have too many fics I personally have to recommend; just a handful that stood out to me, but I will happily share some!! They're all style and creek tho as I haven't found any I like that aren't yet, but I hope to find some for other pairs or nonromantic ones soon.

Stan x Kyle: A Ballad of True Hearts It's ongoing but really good so far! I really enjoy it, I'm a huge sucker for the fantasy look from the show/game and when it comes to aus this is like the only one I really indulge in. I really like how they're characterized and the tense dynamic they have that reflects the one seen in the current state of the series. The underlying plot has me very intrigued too! Sign of Devotion Adorable canon feeling story where their fantasy world is rarely portrayed as in the show with them simply playing pretend (which is my fav way to see it done). I loved this one to pieces and idk I just really like the idea of some feelings arising between them from trying to stay in character!! To Be More Than My Daydream I really enjoyed this one because it really nailed down how comfortable the two boys have gotten with each other's presence. I enjoy the idea of Stan taking a while to realize how his feelings changed over time and the way awareness of this slowly comes to light. It's written so tenderly and sweet it's really cute, I love the way they are here. Say it and mean it (for both our sakes) Such an awesome fic covering the distance that has grown between the two and how they're both happier when close to one another. They are both wanting and missing what they once had before but so bad at communicating this to each other until now. It was just perfect, loved it. Tweek x Craig:

Signs Point to Yes Incredibly fun fic, super in character, felt like an actual episode. The call back to the fortune teller is great. It was just such an enjoyable fic that really captured their dynamic and the struggle to save a relationship they didn't even ask for but now want. Super cute!

A Stripe of Love This fic was made before there was that much info on Stripe I believe, but it is very cute and I enjoyed it a lot. I am also always a fan for people bringing in Tweek's unofficial/official parrot into the mix, even if briefly. Overall, it's just a really sweet read.

Baby steps

Really cute exploration of how the two would feel about the awkward transition from faking to actually putting real feelings into their actions and being a little more vocal about it. Tweek's nerves are captured really nicely too.

That's all of them, hopefully my tastes in fics overlap at least a little with yours and you gain a nice read out of this!

I also plan to write some fics myself so maybe keep an eye out for that...?

[acetechne]

Greetings, I'm obsessed with your blog, especially your IAmMathewian content. You have a really good artstyle and you capture the characters very well. Would you be open to making headcanons for various characters? No pressure, of course.

howdy! and thank you, I'm flattered :)

i have been part of iamp for fiiiiiiiifteeeeeeeen yeeeeeears (screech), I did art and voice acting for IAMP Back In The Day and I've at least gotten better at one of those; I also run @project-canada which was an attempted reboot I helped out with but now it's just kind of a general repository for fanworks so I try to check the tags once in a while so people can see others who still make stuff in the fandom.

There are a lot of headcanon type posts on my main blog @allbeendonebefore since I've been around for a long time. If I remember to tag them its usually under iamp headcanon on there. Again, grain of salt, etc. that not everything about IAMP aged well, there are things I've changed my mind about as I've grown as a person and travelled and listened, and there are things that I like to focus on that aren't everyone's cup of tea and that's fine.

going to ramble a little bit, so headcanons fall into one of the following:

1. based on lived experience (i have lived in 3 provinces and 1 territory and have family who have spent time in those places at different times; I have travelled to/through four more provinces on top of that). I am happy to contribute info to those places and explain my perspectives and biases with those because I'm One of the Idiots Who Lives There.

2. based on history (I am not a capital H Historian but my degrees come out of the history and classics department and I am currently doing local history as my Job, I was the person who made the rough timelines of characters' histories when the Project Canada reboot was active because I felt like the only person who had the stamina to do that for every character.

3. based on things that make me angry (or things that are funny!) on the news (some people find it hard to distinguish what is and isn't stereotypes/satire if they're not keeping up with me so the usual disclaimer that I Don't Make Characters Reflect My Actual Views All The Time and there's a difference between "this is how the character is in my mind" and "this is me using blorbo as shorthand for taking out my frustration at the State of Things because i live in a province where the governing party thinks starting Literal Actual Tire Fires is good policy." It's one of those things of "if you are unsure just ask" and I will explain, but I think its usually obvious when I am doing salty political comics vs "this is how I legitimately think the characters would interact", its just striking that balance gets hard sometimes.

4. stuff I hear from other people based on their own experiences or just like. reading and listening a lot.

oh and stuff that other people tell me and i go sure that tracks why not.

Yeah, I'm down to talk about whatever/more specific things whenever, I'm just also very particular about some things and I like it when headcanons are based on something a little bit tangible before I fold them into whatever the hell I'm doing at the time. I also tend to disappoint people because I tend not to approach things from the lens of shipping so... even if it appears its usually in a weird and Stupid way that is for max comedy and not max romance so there's that.

I do also do a lot of side stuff with my own city ocs on @battle-of-alberta because i like the granularity and nuance of municipal stuff to sort of poke holes in the whole flattening national/provincial stereotypes thing. yeah.

again i can talk about this stuff all day but uh i realize I tend to ramble incoherently so I'll cut myself off there. Thanks again, enjoy your exploration, drop me a line if you like etc etc. peace.

[shipposttt]

The Ship of the Day: SatoSugu

(SEASON 2 SPOILERS WILL BE INCLUDED SO PLEASE AVOID IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED)

Name: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto

Ship Name: SatoSugu (plus many others)

Original Content: Jujutsu Kaisen

Ship Info:

Moving on from the slash of Jim Kirk x Sprock, we tread into anime territory with a ship that destroyed the way fans viewed KFC… Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto.

Coming from one of the most highly recommended new generation of anime, Jujutsu Kaisen has smashed expectations and captured the hearts of fans from all over the world. But in capturing our hearts, a certain duo has also destroyed these hearts with the bittersweet ending the two shared.

Classmates. Best Friends. Enemies. And possible lovers for some fans, the two characters known as Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto bring about a certain melancholy wherever they go. Although I would love to have a full ten page, single spaced essay on every interaction involving the two, I’ll spare you the pain and summarise a few of the key interactions between the two that really cemented themselves into peoples hearts.

At the start they were best friends. Going to the same Jujutsu High School in Tokyo and aiming to become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Sadly, we never got to see this. As a series of events lead to Geto spiralling into depression and changing his idea of how they (Jujutsu Sorcerers) should protect and fight for the weak, he completely breaks Jujutsu Regulations when he murders an entire village of non-sorcerers which lead to a ‘execute on sight’ command for all Jujutsu Sorcerers if they ever saw Geto. This lead to what fans dub as the KFC ‘breakup scene’.

Gojo desperately tries to get explanations as to why his best friend would possibly do such a thing and begs him to reconsider, which fails. When Geto turns away, telling Gojo to kill him if he wants, Gojo finds himself unable to do so. He aims, but can’t fire. After all it would mean killing the person who knew him best. His best friend. He is left realising that he can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

When we next see the pairing (in chronological order) it’s during the Cursed Child Arc when Geto Attacks Jujutsu High but is defeated by Yuta Okkotsu (a current Jujutsu High student) and forced into an Alley situated in the academy. When Gojo finds him they exchange a brief conversation, with Gojo saying how he trusted him not to hurt his students and Geto joking that “he didn’t think he had any of that left”. In their (thought to be) final moments, Gojo says three words the audience can’t hear, to which Geto laughs and responds “at least hit me with some curses at my end”. These unsaid words lead the fandom into a war in deciding what was actually said, many interpreting it as ‘I love you’ and other with ‘we’ll meet again’. And with that, Satoru Gojo was forced to end his best friends life. But he could not bring himself to discard the body which takes us to our next scene.

In the most current animated arc ,the Shibuya Incident Arc, Gojo arrives in Shibuya and kills one of the main cursed spirits involved in the attack and also 1000 of people who had been mutated. When he suddenly noticed a Prison Realm Cube, he found himself distracted when his name was called by a familiar voice. Suguru Geto. Gojo does not believe when this imposter claims to be Geto stating how “all the information provided by my six eyes are telling me you’re Suguru Geto, but both my heart and my soul know otherwise”. After it’s revealed it was in fact an ‘ancient entity’ that possessed a cursed technique which allowed it to switch bodies, ‘Geto’ blamed Gojo for not discarding Geto’s body, as that’s how he possessed his body. As he sends Gojo to be sealed away with a ‘goodnight’, Gojo lastly tells Geto that “it’s time to get up”. Once this is said, we see ‘Geto’s’ arm suddenly reach and grip his windpipe, suggesting that Geto’s body was rejecting its new brain. After the ordeal, it’s revealed this is the first time a body has ever rejected the entity. Which fans said was due to the bond the two had, one arguing it was a platonic bond while others claimed it was a romantic bond. Sort of like a ‘true loves kiss’ scenario.

Type of Ship: Queer Read

Despite all the fanfics, theories that fans have came up with and the endless amount of angst edits that make us believe there was a possible romance between the two (big up the JJK edit community), in terms of what’s canon they are just best friends. Platonic soulmates I’d love to add. So that is why it is a Queer read, due to fans interpretations of what they read.

Some see them as an old married couple sort of ship due to the comedic arguments we saw mostly during their early years. Some ship them due to this idea that Geto is Gojo’s Achilles Heel and his fatal flaw as it was due to his sudden appearance in the Shibuya Incident Arc that lead to the most powerful sorcerer in the franchise to be captured (very angst of you). Opposites attract as well due to their constantly contrasting beliefs, and heir overall colour pallet and personalities. And I could go on and on.

But despite how fans might interpret these interactions, the author (Gege) has confirmed them to be best friends and has in an interview said that he could not picture any romance possibly happening (except with Miwa).

But they did prove one thing that I think we can all agree on: there can be two pretty best friends.

Admin 🦒

[nevadancitizen]

-> CALL OF DUTY MASTERLIST

✍︎ currently not accepting requests for this fandom...

-> GHOSTS

keegan p. russ

why does evil wear a face so familiar? masterlist (ft. turned fed! reader)

You and Logan were captured by the Federation on that godforsaken beach years ago. Under Rorke's guidance, you have grown to hate everyone you used to love -- including Keegan Russ, the man you once called yours. Rorke has finally cleared you and Logan for field work once you both repeatedly expressed clear contempt for America, along with all her citizens and soldiers. And, god willing, you will burn the crumbling ruins of the United States together, hand-in-hand.

-> MODERN WARFARE 2

link to my self-aware cod au masterlist! (belongs to puff0o0)

könig

the social weak link (ft. awkward! reader) 💘 ⛅️

rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

“debts to pay” series (ft. sniper! reader) 💘 🥀 (discontinued)

chapter one: “nasty majesty!”

sniping isn’t really something you wanted to do, but something you were forced into. luckily, you’re one of the best. unluckily, someone wants that position. that someone happens to be a 6′10 freak of a man.

chapter two: “sight for sore eyes”

Schaeffer is dead. you only want to celebrate, but multiple people come along to piss in your cereal – including one of the Vox Populi.

simon “ghost” riley

the social weak link (ft. awkward! reader) 💘 ⛅️

rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost’s asses.

retired transmasc ghost (ft. gn! reader)

a drabble about retired transmasc ghost and him discussing his top surgery plans with you.

hurting, longing, loving -- dancing to disco music (ft. amnesiac! reader) 💘🥀 

you wake up with no memory of simon. you can only hope to find him among your fractured memories and the scattered lights of a disco ball.

PERFECTLY PORTIONED (TO BUTTERFLY & RECTIFY YOU) (ft. victim! reader) 💘⚠️ DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT (trigger warnings on actual post)

ghost hungers. it’s the type of hunger where he knows his stomach is shrinking, borderline digesting itself just for a sliver of satiation. he wants rigor mortis, mold and mildew, and, above all, carnage. it’s a problem. but ghost can’t bring himself to care, because you’re under him, breathless and struggling on his makeshift butchering table.

john “soap” mactavish

you're out of touch – i've been outta time (ft. resurrected! reader)

you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

[happyandticklish]

I Would Give Up the World For Your Touch

Summary: Commission for @ticklishraspberries! I was stoked to write for these dorks; I’ve been italicizing DEH in my fandoms list for so long in the hopes that someone would request it for anything and that day has finally come~ Miguel doesn’t get his personality super explored in the book aside from what Connor tells us, so I kind of just went a direction with it, which I hope works for how you see him. I hope you enjoy!! 

Notes: Weed has a habit of making Connor honest and Miguel mischievous, a combination that’s bound to end poorly. 

He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way Connor had transformed from being a fully fledged human being into a world of senses. Everything was so much clearer that night. The smoke from his blunt trailed in the air above him forming strange spirals in his air that he traced idly with his finger when the mood took him. Cool, October winds snuggled under his jacket making him shudder in a manner that was almost worth it if it meant Miguel’s arm curling around his shoulder, drawing him into the comfortable warmth of another human body.

There was a part of him that yearned to point out that typically friends didn’t cuddle. Or stay up all night talking just to hear the other’s voice. Or kiss at a party and then pretend like nothing had happened the entire week after.

There was a part of him that wanted to say a lot of things, and yet he didn’t. Possibly because he was a coward. Possibly because he couldn’t handle bringing them to that level of intimacy yet. Possibly it was all those reasons and a million more all tied neatly together with the threat of Miguel’s rejection.

Possibly it had to do with the smile on Miguel’s face whenever he looked at Connor, and the way Connor would do just about anything to keep that smile from disappearing.

“You’re happy,” Miguel guessed, raising an eyebrow as he brought him shooting back to the present. “Snuggly.”

“I’m fucking cold,” Connor mumbled in response, the answer not sounding even remotely convincing as he squirmed impatiently to get closer to him. He knew he was being clingy, but it was hard not to be in this state. He wasn’t sure whether or not this kind of thing was allowed, whether or not they were at the ‘cuddle stage’ of whatever the fuck they were at this point, but Miguel hadn’t shoved him off yet and it felt too nice to stop now. “We should go inside or something. Watch a movie and make hot coco, some stupid teenage shit like that.”

Miguel chuckled and even that sound was smooth and languid in Connor’s addled brain. He wished he could capture the sound to replay on repeat during the nights when everything was harder and reality was more difficult to hold onto to—something to tether him. “Maybe I could convince my mom that I wasn’t high, but you look like you’re on another planet right now. I vote we stay here a bit longer and wait till you mellow out. Besides, what’s better teenage behavior than sneaking out to look at constellations and get high instead of doing the homework you are most definitely putting off right now?”

“Constellations are overrated," Connor grumbled. "I hear heat’s what’s in right now—really making a comeback now that that whole summer thing’s over with. Besides, it’s hardly sneaking out if we’re in your parent’s driveway.”

His words were slow and sleepy, a reflection of his current state. Miguel was distractedly tracing his arm, and each cycle forced Connor’s eyelids to drift gradually shut. If it wasn’t so cold, he might have been asleep right now, but as it was it was impossible to fully relax when any moment an icy gust could come to startle him right back awake.

And Miguel. Miguel, who kept nudging him each time he started to drift off, pointing to a new set of stars that Connor couldn’t care less about.

“And that one’s Gemini. Stands for—”

“The twins, yeah, yeah, we get it.” Connor took another drag, delighting in the smoky exhale it caused. “Anyone who’s taken even a year of astrology knows that, you’re not as impressive as you think you are.”

A sharp glance in his direction. “Really?”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “Yes, really.”

“Because last I heard, you haven’t shown up to class in the last, what was it—since freshmen year? So, when you take that under consideration, I really don’t see where you would have found the time to even take an astrology class—”

“Oh, fuck off—”

There was a shove, followed by an answering shove and a tumble of laughter that descended into several lazy hits. It was clumsy and haphazard and it was clear it was more an excuse to touch the other than anything else. Connor was still holding the blunt and laughing while he tried to ward him off with one hand, and Miguel was getting handsier and more creative, poking and pinching at his arms while Connor hissed out in protest.

A well-placed poke to the side had Connor yelping out an admittance of defeat, but Miguel barely noticed until Connor was giggling and scrambling under him, whacking his shoulder weakly.

“Get off you dick, that shit fucking tickles—!”

There was a pause in the scuffle, not long enough to provide Connor relief, but enough to be noticeable as Miguel processed the sentence. “You’re ticklish?”

In a sober state of mind, Connor could have deflected the statement. He could have shoved Miguel off, made up some bullshit lie, created enough distance between them to make sure Miguel couldn’t try anything. Instead, he continued to struggle weakly to get Miguel off and muttered out a ‘No’ so unconvincing that it was hardly even a protest.

High Connor was a menace to Actual Connor, and later, he decided, he was going to have to have some very serious words with the former about his decision-making processes.

Connor yelped as Miguel’s intentions flipped in an instant, hands rapidly devouring every inch of torso they could grab, slipping under his shirt to get at his bare skin. The silly giggles from before quickly became desperate and panicked as Connor did his level best to curl up without burning either himself or Miguel with the still lit blunt.

Miguel hardly seemed to care, so delighted was he in this new discovery. “You’re ticklish. That’s—do you know how amazing that is? How can someone as eternally grumpy and cynical as you possibly be ticklish? All this time I’ve been listening to your smart-ass comments on every little decision of mine, when apparently all it takes is a little poke and you’re in stitches.”

“I’m n-nahat fuhuhucking tihihi—ehe, tihihicklish! Shihit!”

It was hardly a substantial refute, but it was hard to form sentences when all his thoughts were devoted to Miguel’s hands which were touching skin now, touching him, and he couldn’t even enjoy it because every minuscule touch was so damn tickly. He could feel each poke acutely, their effects doubling and tripling up until it felt like there had to be far more than only two hands tickling him.

All of this would have been difficult enough to deal with on its own, but he was running into a much bigger problem.

Logically, Connor knew laughter was a completely normal reaction to tickling. He’d experienced it as a kid and even engaged in it a bit himself before things had grown so uncomfortable and disjointed with him and Zoe. He knew that the utterly embarrassing and stupidly helpless giggles practically ripping out of his mouth were natural and nothing to be ashamed of. He knew he should be able to relax into it and allow the oddly pleasant sensations to wash over him until it felt like his own skin was in on the action.

And yet.

Even as his thoughts were consumed by the distracting fingers drifting towards his hips, he couldn’t help but focus on everything else around the theoretically cute scene. He was overly aware of the scrunch of his neck against his chin, the way his eyes practically disappeared into his head when he squeezed them shut, the blotchy red color overtaking his face, and the sweat almost certainly accumulating under his hoodie from all the squirming. And the laughter. Squeaky, high-pitched, babbling laughter like he was five years old all over again.

If there had been any part of Miguel that had wanted to try that kiss again, surely it had shriveled up and died by now.

Connor scrambled for Miguel’s hands, insistent on ending this to save himself even a tad bit of dignity but the latter was relentless. He seemed to have a talent for finding each spot that made Connor want to crawl out of his own skin, which forced Connor to jerk his hands back in quick protection. Miguel’s hands were buried under his arms—which Connor was sure were sweaty and gross by now—and now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had washed this particular hoodie, but it tickled far too much for him to even try to communicate any kind of apology for it.

“Wow, Murphy.” Miguel whistled softly, more impressed than mocking. “I think this is the most expressive I’ve seen you since… well, since ever, to be honest. You’re making me feel ticklish just looking at you, jesus christ. I would feel bad, but honestly you look far too cute like this for me to regret it.”

The word ‘cute’ reverberated in Connor’s head like a drum echo, a constant beat of confusion as he fell into another fit of cackles when Miguel experimentally dug his thumbs in. Admittedly, he didn’t have many other friends aside from Miguel but he was pretty sure they didn’t call each ‘cute’ if they wanted to stay just that—friends.

They didn’t kiss each other either, but Miguel had been drunk, and so had Connor if he was being honest; he wasn’t sure if Miguel even remembered anything from that night. And now he was high and Connor couldn’t help a pang of annoyance that these ‘moments’ never happened when either of them were sober so that Connor could at least get a clear read on them.

He wanted to grab Miguel and interrogate him, pin him down and demand an explanation for the behavior, but the weed was making his movements slow and it was hard to do anything but giggle like an idiot under current circumstances. So instead, he resorted to the only method he could think of in his hazy state—he decided to fight fire with fire.

A flinch. Tiny, but there, when Connor reached out and grazed over Miguel’s ribs. It was a haphazard swipe, born out of desperation and impulse, but it was enough to slow down Miguel’s movements enough that Connor could seize the upper hand. Another swipe, followed by another, and another, and then a poke and a pinch, and suddenly Miguel was stumbling back into the cluster of discarded backpacks behind them.

The switch to defense meant that his hands were too occupied protecting his own torso to tickle Connor’s, and Connor tried to ignore the phantom sensations still ghosting over his sides. At the very least, the mortifying wheezing was done with; he tried not to focus too much on the odd yearning prickling at his skin and demanding more.

Besides, the smile slowly forming on Miguel’s face was well worth his attention.

“Connor,” Miguel said calmly, a placating gesture that Connor refused to fall for. “Trust me, you don’t want to do this.”

Connor tossed one leg over Miguel’s waist, straddling him effectively. “Oh really? And why’s that? Can’t take what you dish out?”

Miguel shifted nervously under him, arms up to try to fight off a potential attack. His eyes were laser focused on Connor’s hands, his body jumping a little every time they moved, and Connor bit back a small smile at that. “I’ll get you back you know. If what I just saw is any indication, tickling appears to be your kryptonite and I’m not afraid to use that information when necessary.”

A thrill coursed its way down Connor’s back at the threat of a continuation of that night. He swallowed, straightening up a little as he forced a confident smirk onto his features. “Maybe. But if you’re going to do it anyway, I might as well have my fun now.”

Miguel’s eyes widened, and he didn’t have a chance to protest the point before Connor struck.

To his credit, Miguel’s self-control was far stronger than Connor’s. He tensed as his hands scribbled over the thin material of his shirt, his own quickly rising to his face to cover his growing blush and grin. His stomach trembled with the effort of holding in his laughter, twitching whenever a spider of fingers ran over a particularly sensitive spot.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” Connor asked, the tease softer than he would have liked it as he admired the flustered boy beneath him. “Ticklish?”

“H-Hardly,” Miguel managed, the ‘H’ sound fluttering a tad as a laugh nearly slipped through. “This is nothIHing!”

“Nothing, eh?”

Connor climbed gently up his sides, each step jerking Miguel’s knees up another inch—a reaction that did not go unnoticed by Connor. He pressed gently into the divots in-between his ribs and Miguel hissed out a soft intake of breath, his grin curling wider.

“S-Stop.”

“Stop what? You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Stop—stop teasing. Just do it if you’re gonna do it.”

“Just stop me if you’re gonna stop me, then,” Connor parroted calmly. He wiggled his fingers gently over his bottom ribs, startling a huffed giggle out of Miguel. “You should be careful, you know. Some people might get the impression that you like getting tickled if you keep this up.”

A hypocritical argument, but Miguel didn’t need to know that.

“W-Well,” Miguel admitted, his tone cockier than it should have been while on the verge of an embarrassing burst of laughter. “It’s not so bad w-when it’s, aha, yohou.”

Crimson shot to the tips of Connor’s ears and he hunched his shoulders up defensively. “Right. Well. I have a feeling you're gonna regret admitting to that.”

Miguel's eyes widened, but he hardly had any time to protest before Connor struck for real this time.

Laughter rang out through the abandoned street as Connor’s fingers began to vibrate at alarming speeds over the other boy’s ribs, causing him to break the stoic act at last and squirm to his heart’s content. Connor knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for very long without Miguel’s mom noticing all the noise, so he made the most of it, his fingers painting over Miguel's body like a brush to a canvas as he hungrily devoured his reactions.

Yet all the while, he couldn’t get those seven, simple words out of his head, meaning nothing and everything all at the same time.

It’s not so bad when it’s you.

[kindlythevoid]

For the ask game, 8?

Oh, goodness!

8. Fic that is near and dear to your heart?

All of them? Most of them? Anything I spent an appreciable amount of time on, spanning from half an hour to a few years? I feel like I may have answered this already, and I'm 90% sure that I answered (if I answered it at all) with Love the Bright Sword, my long, time travelling Merlin Fix-it fic that I've been working on for a few years and is currently part of a series.

So, that was my last answer (realized I didn't explain what it was? When the whole point of this game is that I explain everything?? How silly of me!).

My current answer? It'd have to be The Painter. I must have wrote it a few years back, but I'm almost certain it was my first drabble. Or, well, first one-shot that I didn't want to be turned into a full story or series or what-have-you. It's old, and maybe not the most well-written story I've done, but I truly think it's captured my style. A little descriptive, a little vague, some funny, some serious. IDK, but I re-read it and I read it in my voice (or at least I hope I did, ha ha!). I wrote it back when I was watching a lot more Bob Ross videos, and I must have been playing Assassin's Creed at the time. Truth be told, Connor isn't my favorite Assassin, but he gets crap in the fandom, and I can totally relate to his introverted ways that I love him to bits. I really tried to be respectful (which is probably why it's so vague, ha ha!) and only use what was explicitly stated in canon (I definitely got at least one name from the DLC and I'm pretty sure I copied and pasted his full name from the wiki page). As it stands, I'm really proud of it. It ended up being my first fic on Ao3, too! While it certainly doesn't have the most hits or kudos or what-have-you, I am proud to say that it has the best kudos-to-hits ratio!!

Thanks for asking!! :D

Kindly,

The Void

[movedhornyblog2]

experiments

to fill out my blog, i decided to post one of my suuuuuuper old tickle fics - it includes the old design of my sona, lizzie, so take everything with a grain of salt cos she looks and acts way different now lmaooo

i'm lowkey kinda embarrassed abt this fic cos i wrote it a couple years ago and reading my old writing makes me cringe but its content so buckle up baby here we go

fandom: original characters characters: lizzie (sona)((old design)), detached scientist voice coming from a speaker summary: lizzie wakes up in a locked room that appears to be inside of a science facility, strapped to a chair for the entertainment of the researchers who captured her - kinky shenanigans ensue 3677 words warnings: cnc, kidnapping, tickling, forced orgasms, denial, */f

enjoy!!

“Subject 001 appears to be incredibly sensitive all over her upper body,” 

a sharp, monotonous voice cuts through the silence of the dim and chilly room, the sudden sound momentarily snapping Lizzie out of her amorous daze and causing her to jump slightly in her spot, although the metal cuffs binding her wrists to the chair she sat in didn’t really allow her to move much at all.

“... Especially around her breasts, which - when touched - produce wildly different reactions than the rest of her does.”

The loudspeaker that carried the voice around the room then died off with a loud click, leaving the imp alone once again with nothing but the sounds of her panting and giggly moans filling her cell. The brunette was currently strapped quite tightly by her arms to a metal chair in the middle of an empty dungeonesque type room, clad in nothing but a thin - and quite wet - pair of patterned pastel pink panties, her glasses discarded somewhere near her on the cold concrete tile floor. Somewhere near those would be the scraps of her matching bra, which was hastily torn to shreds before her… “testing” even actually began.

On the floor beside her were two metal hatches, both slid open enough to make room for the array of small mechanical hands that had snaked their way around the girl’s mostly naked body, their fingers eagerly searching for any sensitive spots they could find - and unfortunately for the brunette, they had eventually settled right at her exposed breasts after she had endured quite a bit of gentle tickling and lingering, teasy touches everywhere else from them. Two of those dastardly hands had taken to pinching and rolling her nipples in between their thumbs and forefingers, occasionally skittering over the normally covered skin between her chest or intricately swirling around the outer edges of her sensitive spots, slowly coming closer and closer before gently scratching right at the tips of those erect mounds - all of which sent Lizzie into a fit of whimpers and moans, her eyes tightly squeezed shut while her body trembled with pleasure and stifled giggles. Every stroke, every soft caress made her melt more and more into the chair, her bottom lip becoming red and sore from how hard she was biting it to try and keep herself from dissolving into loud and embarrassing pleasured noises. 

The imp had no idea how long she had been in this position, and it was starting to worry her quite a lot. Every passing second felt like several hours - and honest to god, she had no idea how she even got here in the first place. In her sleepy, almost drugged-like state upon first waking up in the room, she was barely able to make out the dark silhouettes of two taller figures looming above her, their fuzzy and far-off sounding voices flowing in through one ear and out the other - the only things she was able to pick up on were “inhuman”, “possibly dangerous”, “weaknesses” and “experiments” before blacking back out, waking up bound and naked however long after that. The only thing that mattered to her now was finding a way out of this place - and not allowing herself to be embarrassed any more than she already had been there.

Pulling her back out of her thoughts, a third hand sneakily twisted itself around the back of the chair and slowly approached Lizzie’s side, waiting for the perfect moment before lunging forwards and grabbing a handful of pudge, it’s fingers skittering and massaging into her skin and making her shriek in surprise, all of the bottled up moans and quiet little cackles steadily flowing out of her mouth almost immediately after that. Paired with the two tools currently playing mercilessly with her breasts, the heat and the lustful aching between her legs caused by those fingers was becoming increasingly hard to handle - every touch sent a jolt of electricity down her spine and right into her special spot, making her gasp loudly and arch her back, her fingers curling tightly into fists. If she had to endure another second of this tickly torture, she would burst at the seams, so she did the only thing she could think of doing in that moment - she squeezed her knees together, wincing slightly at how sensitive and wet she already was down there, but relishing in the reality of just exactly how good doing that felt to her.

It was then that the loudspeaker squealed back to life.

��Subject 001, you were told to keep your legs wide open, is this incorrect?”

“M-my nahahame— my nahahame ihihis L-Lihihihizzie!” The girl responds quickly through choked laughter, her voice dry and hoarse from how much she had already laughed and shrieked throughout this session, “ahahahand—!”

“Is this incorrect, 001?”

“Hnnnnhhhh— n-nohoho, buhuhut-!”

“And you were told that there would be consequences for doing exactly that, correct?”

“Ffffffuuuuhuhuhuuuuhghh—!! I dohohohon’t cahahahare! Mmhh..! Let mehehe gohoho, you creheheeeheheeps!! Or I’ll- Ihihi’ll—!”

Before the girl could finish her sentence and throw whatever empty threat that had popped into her mind out into the open or make any more snarky remarks, a harsh, ear-splitting beep rang throughout the room, making her choke on her words and immediately flinch back into her seat. The poor girl had no time to even attempt to gather her bearings or look around to try and find the source of the new and alarming sound, as several more of those robotic hands shot out from the open trapdoors, an array of different tools clasped tightly in between their devilish fingers. Some wielded threateningly fluffy feathers, others teasingly twirled around makeup or paint brushes dangerously close to Lizzie’s arched sides, and the rest flaunted little combs or big, chunky hair brushes that already sent powerful chills down her back just by the look of how horribly they would tickle. However, the things that really caught her attention were the two large, metal claws that slowly twisted out from the floor and now ominously loomed above her, each one opening and closing their jaws softly and almost mockingly at her, a quiet clicking noise sounding out every time they opened and shut again.

It didn’t take long for her to react; her breath quickened, her eyes as wide as plates as she struggled with a sudden burst of adrenaline against her restraints, legs kicking out hard enough to break something and with reckless abandon while her head shook wildly from side to side.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh fuck fuck FUCK— No no nonononono, no!! Don’t—!! Hahhh— M-Make them go back!! Make them go away, don’t let them any closer!! P-Please—!”

“Now, now, little lab rat… Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be. It’s for the sake of scientific research, after all - and if you can’t follow simple orders…”

The voice replied calmly, yet sharply -  there was a hint of a smirk in their otherwise emotionless tone, which only made the girl’s chill’s ten times worse. Her eyes remained locked on the claws the entire time, her protests and any frightened noises becoming trapped in her throat every time they so much as wiggled slightly in the air - she had no clue what they were meant to do, her mind simultaneously blanking and coming up with the craziest of thoughts the longer they hovered, filling the imp with the strongest sense of dread she’d felt in a long time.

Luckily - or rather unluckily - for her, the teasing only lasted a few moments more. Like a snake lashing out towards its prey, the claws lunged forwards and tightly snapped shut around her ankles, earning a rather girly and high pitched shriek of terror from Lizzie, who’s eyes immediately squeezed closed as her body flattened itself protectively against the back of the chair. It only took a second or two for her to realize that nothing objectively bad or scary had happened to her - although she almost wished that it had, as the sudden feeling of her legs being lifted and slowly, tauntingly spread apart made her eyes fly back open, the girl gasping a little as she tried desperately to fight back, to pull her legs as close to her as possible - but to no avail.

“... They’ll just have to be enforced a little more firmly, wouldn’t you agree? The more you cooperate with us the faster this process will go,” with her legs now being completely spread out in front of her, there was no shielding herself from the pesky hand that inched its way closer to her crotch, sticking out its index finger and slowly dragging it in a circle around her lips through the fabric of her panties, which easily got the brunette to dissolve into quiet little gasps and stifled moans, “although I’m almost certain that you’d like this testing to go on for longer than you’d care to admit, judging by how soaked you are already. Speaking of, this pathetic piece of cloth won’t be needed anymore. It only gets in the way of driving you closer and closer to the edge.”

With quite a bit of force, the hand that teased Lizzie’s sensitive spots now hooked it's fingers around the waistband of her panties, wasting no time in forcefully ripping them off of her, earning incredibly embarrassed whimpers from her as she helplessly watched the shreds of her beloved underwear and last line of defence flutter to the ground. Now that she was completely uncovered, the hand moved back, easily able to slip back between her legs and stroke up and down the slick area with the softest of movements, which already drove the poor imp up the wall.

“But of course, we won’t let you finish that easily.”

“Mmmhhh… You… Bihihitch…” 

The girl growls between breathless, airy moans and quiet giggles, as now another hand was added into the mixture - one that busied itself with carefully fluttering its fingers back and forth along her lower tummy, just barely making contact with her hips before making a sharp turn and starting the process again in the other direction. 

“Ah ah ah, there you go again, mouthing off to the hand that feeds you… will you ever learn, Lizzie? I think you need to be taught a lesson, one that’ll stick with you until the very end. Luckily for you, we have all the equipment required to do such a thing. Isn’t that just lovely?”

Furrowing her brows even further than they already were, Lizzie tilts her head back against the chair, biting her lip yet again to try and block the pleasurable feelings out and concentrate on what exactly the voice had just said to her.

“Wh-.. Whahahat do yohohou—..?”

“Good luck, and try not to break too soon, 001. We may wish to have some more fun with you later.”

And with that, the intercom shut off with a click, and the girl very quickly started to get a sense of what they meant with their sinister, almost playfully threatening words.

The unexpected feeling of the feathers beginning to stroke up and down her sides made Lizzie squeal and arch her back, a new wave of helpless giggles flooding out of her mouth. Up and down and up and down they went, the soft fibers covering every inch of sensitive skin they could reach, their tips just barely grazing over the spots underneath her arms before flicking back down, ending right above her hips before going back up and starting again. After a few rounds of that, a pair of makeup brushes were introduced to the squirming girl’s underarms - slowly they started circling the outer edges of her ticklish spots, getting closer and closer to the center with every passing stroke until they began wiggling over them at record-breaking speeds, sending the imp into much louder hysterics. Her fingers clenched into fists, her arms desperately trying to clamp closer to her sides as she whined, wiggling herself from side to side to try and rid herself of the unbearably soft tickly sensations - which only seemed to entice the robotics more.

Almost all at once, the rest of the hands sprung forwards, fighting for dominance over which sensations would get the girl to scream with laughter the loudest. Paintbrushes now swooped and glided over her tummy, missing not an inch of skin as Lizzie tried her hardest to suck it in, their bristles easily following her every move - it didn’t take long before they were joined by another pair of empty hands, which held her hips still and simultaneously squished and squeezed at the bit of chub pooling around there, every time causing her to shriek out a laugh. This seemingly made it easier for the paintbrushes to be as precise as possible, now allowing for one of them to teasingly trace along the edge of her bellybutton before dipping in and tickling the very bottom of it. The rest of her upper body was subjected to the same torture - her ribs were counted over and over again, fingers being stuffed between them through her pudge every time she moved even the slightest bit, which always effortlessly got her cackling without fail. This always got the attention of the other ticklers - in an almost battle like way, all the other hands would up their tickling any time Lizzie’s laughter went up an octave, leaving her screaming and snorting and thrashing around until they decided to slow things down once again, keeping her in an endless loop of near hysteria.

On the softer side of things, two makeup brushes flicked up and down both sides of her neck, keeping her head twitching every which way as she was unsure of which direction to move in to block out the tickles. Each time she moved her head left, the brush on the right side of her neck would scribble around like crazy until she moved back, and so on. Her ears were included in the torture, as well - big, fluffy feathers gently caressed the edges of them, moving up and teasingly circling around the pointed tip before swishing back down.

Her chest was under the attack of more stiff feathers, which were positioned vertically underneath her nipples and viciously tugged back and forth, almost as if they were sawing through the bark of a tree - this really got the girl moaning, her shoulders shaking with both laughter and pleasure while she sunk backwards, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, her chest heaving as she panted needingly.

“PLEEEEEHEHEHEASE!! I-I cahahan’t tahahake a-anymohohore..! Nnnghh— mahahake ihihit— mmmhh, stohohohop…!”

Unfortunately for her, it seemed as though her pleas for mercy either went unheard or were ignored completely, as the next thing she knew - she was watching anxiously as her legs were straightened out in front of her, the hands which wielded hairbrushes as well as empty ones approaching her very unprotected feet with visible hunger. Her toes curled and wiggled in anticipation, the mere sight of it all making her giggles rise in pitch already. The teasing was slow; a single finger placed against her heels, then slowly swiping up and down the entire length of her soles, right up underneath her toes and back down, which was already enough to keep her squealing - but oh no, it didn’t stop there. After testing the waters and warming the brunette up for what was to come, her toes were then held back, leaving her completely vulnerable to all the tickling she was about to endure. The hands then took the form of claws, eagerly raking themselves up and down her taut soles with vigor, paying close attention to her reactions as they scribbled along her arches and the highest part of her soles overall. Tears were now freely streaming down Lizzie’s face, her cheeks a very deep shade of red, a color which spread all down her neck and to the tips of her ears as she gasped and shrieked, her laughter breaking with loud moans or gasps for air every so often. This wasn’t even the worst of it though. As those fingers moved higher and higher up towards her toes to pinch and wiggle and dig in between them, they were replaced by the rough, horribly ticklish sensation of the brushes chasing them away and then pumping back and forth along the middle of her soles while the combs zigzagged and zipped all around her heels.

Now the poor girl was absolutely hysterical. Her laughter was nothing more than shrill screams and hiccups, silent and breathless as she slumped back, practically unmoving save for her periodic twitching and the rapid rising and falling of her chest. Thankfully this only lasted a few more moments before the tickling let up, nearly all of the hands retracting save for a few - some which gently traced soft patterns and shapes into her soles, others which swirled fluffy feather tips around her tummy and sides, two at her chest that played carefully with her nipples and a few others which slowly twisted their way between her legs with devious intentions - although Lizzie barely seemed to notice, too caught up in catching her breath and attempting to regain at least a tiny bit of her strength before anything else happened.

The slow, long lick of a feather against her outer lips proved that trying to ready herself for the torture to continue was useless, the feeling of it already making her moan out loud, giggles following close behind. Lick after lick, stroke after stroke sent the girl into immense ticklish bliss, her eyes gently squeezed shut as she rocked her hips closer to the feather, trying to get more pleasure out of this. Very clearly taking it as a sign, she was slowly spread apart, the imp biting down gleefully on her bottom lip as the feather’s tip came in contact with her aching bud, circling around it slower than ever. Once again the stroking started - up and down and up and down, Lizzie’s breathing began to quicken, her body shaking once more. Her head rolled back happily as the feather began to saw across her, ever so slowly increasing speed, that tight feeling starting to build up right in the bottom of her tummy. It was then that two small makeup brushes were introduced into the situation, both taking turns brushing up and down her lips and over any spots that the feather missed. The brunette was quickly approaching the edge, her toes starting to curl as her fingers clenched, her moans turning to gasps and becoming more frequent and higher-pitched, until… 

The hands stopped, going agonizingly slowly once again, making the girl’s eyes shoot open as she whined loudly and childishly, her body relaxing.

“W-Wait!! No, no, nonono— y-you cahahan’t…! You—! Ahhnnnghh—..”

Over and over, the imp was brought to the edge by the feather, every flick and stroke and kiss driving her further and further into madness. Each time she was denied the orgasm she so desperately needed, she’d whimper, slamming her body back against the chair as her panting gradually grew louder and more desperate, only to be forced back into her arched position by the hands starting their torture up all over again. Her mind was starting to go fuzzy - all she could think of now was release, of how badly she needed it or else she’d lose her mind completely. 

Somewhere in between being edged twenty or thirty times, the fingers dancing across her feet had been replaced with the brushes, which pressed down hard against her soles and slowly dragged around them, up and down and side to side and in whichever direction they could think of, immediately bringing the girl to a state of seriously aroused hysteria. Her palms slapped weakly against the armrests of the chair, more tears beginning to trickle down her seriously flushed cheeks - her laughter came out mostly as moans with embarrassing hiccups and squeals in between them as she was once again edged for what felt like the hundredth time that day. With a desperate cry, she throws her hips down towards the fluffy utensils, only to be denied and slump back down with a defeated pout… or at least what she could manage of one through her giggles.

This time, however, as the procedure began all over again, the feather and makeup brushes didn’t stop once she was back on the edge - instead, they sped up, all of their focus being directly on her most sensitive spot, which was hot and begging for release. All too quickly she was back to being an absolute mess, toes curling tightly, body shaking more than ever at the overwhelming amount of pleasure she was dealing with.

“Ohhh god, o-ohohoh ffffuuuuhuhuhuck, mmmhhhplehehehease, PLEASE!! F-FAHAHASTER!! Ihihi cahahan’t— I-I’m gohohonna-!”

Before she could even finish her sentence, she just about burst, hitting the orgasm she craved with a long drawn out whimper - she came, and she came hard, but that simply wasn’t enough for them. Instead of stopping after the last bit of her orgasm finished rocking her, they kept going, their speeds reaching levels that nearly broke the poor imp girl, her eyes squeezing shut and her teeth clenching as she came again - and then again, and again and again and again until she physically couldn’t anymore, her voice nearly completely gone by how loud she had been.

It was then that all the hands and the big metal claws pulled away, leaving her trembling and hiccuping form lying still against the chair, which slowly tilted back with a mechanical whirring until it stopped, clicking into place with a pop and allowing Lizzie to lay back, the cuffs around her wrists unlocking themselves so she could be comfortable. Eyes heavy and with the biggest, dopiest grin on her blushy and tear-stained face, the girl slowly drifted off with a pair of fingers stroking gently through her hair - and secretly wishing that she’d be in for a second round of experimenting just like this one tomorrow morning.