#does this make sense i hope it does i thought this up at work this morning lol
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brewing-mischief · 1 hour ago
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I never had an army before. I wind through them taking in their stiff position, their hard worked muscles, their artful wepons. The dirt in their brow from travel, the trust they held in eachother , the knowledge of loss hidden behind stern eyes.
None of them have taken notice of me , their mortal senses cannot see me, as I am small God with limited presence. I flick on of the hairs of one and it tustles gently as if blown by the wind. The man's face does not change. Well disciplined.
I make my way back to the front where the man I had saved months ago is still kneeling at my humble alter.
His thoughts are running with prayer, and though he says nothing, I can hear his words.
"I am sorry dear Goddess for the theft I've committed, I am sorry for the dishonor I've made on your home. I have brought here an army to fight in your name which I hope will make up for my mistake. I have brought my best though I am sure they lack. I hope they will be pleasing to you. I an sorry dear goddess for the theft I've committed, I am sorry for the dishonor I've-"
Hes repeating himself tirelessly and unnecessarily. If I were a larger god perhaps then I would've the type to rein down destruction. A king would execute the peasant that steals bread from him but a Baker who has seen the man huddle for warmth outside his store would likely turn the other way when the starving thing finally swipes a loaf.
And such was the thing with us. I had lived amoung humanity, my power was hardly one that could affect countries like famine or war or love. When the man had crawled to my alter, bloodied and tired and hungry I had no words of protest when he began to feast on my offerings.
And now he was here, with an army of such stature, people would assume they would be pledging to the god of the captial.
But they were pledging to me.
A wicked grin breaks, I accept.
I feel their strength build into my bones, I feel the weight of my power change. As if I had gone from holding a wooden sword to a metal one. My grip on it tightens, encouraged by the comfortable way it listens to me , obeying in the same uniformed way of the presented army.
I allow my form to emerge, taking in their suprise,horror and awe as energy. It was a feeling of power I had never dreamed Id be given.
"Hello"
"Your-Your ladyship...! I -we-"
"I know who you are. I am Seradipiousness the goddess of lucky timing and coincidences. Be at peace small one for your offering is accepted and your care was freely given."
" We-Thank you your ladyship." A single gesture has the entire army bowing. To me.
"What would you have us do? We fight only in your name."
Another surge of devotion lifts me up. I am a humble god. One of ------. I have done my very best to at peace with my position unseen by my peers and quietly worshiped by few.
But now,
Now the doors I've long kept lock are open. My power is doubling, nah tripling with the influence this one devotee is placing at my feet. I know my selfish nature is climbing up my back. I can feel the way my teeth are sharpening as my smile continues to grow. Theres only one thing left on my mind now.
"I want more"
You’re a minor goddess who saved a mortal on the brink of death. A few months later, he came back with an army to pledge allegiance to you.
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sasheemo · 3 days ago
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Friday Thoughts
Chapter 4
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Chapter Summary: Sunday morning at Agatha’s house starts innocently enough… until it doesn’t. Turns out, the kitchen has more to offer than just coffee.
Chapter Tags: Power Dynamics, Ethics Are for Mortals, Soft Moments Amidst the Heat, Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex, Mommy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Kitchen Sesbian Lex 
Word Count: 9k
A/N: It’s 5 AM here, and I have no one to blame for my lack of sleep but Agatha Harkness and this absolute filth I've been pouring my soul into for the past four days. I had plans to be a functioning adult tomorrow since I am the designated xmas chef in my family, but instead, I stayed up crafting kitchen sesbian lex for you gorgeous, unhinged humans in my phone. Priorities, am I right?
And remember when I said Chapter 3 was the longest thing I’d ever written? Yeah, well… that record didn't last long. Behold 9k words of depravity only mommy!Agatha could inspire. So, I hope you’re ready to spend your xmas in the sin bin with me.
Happy reading, my fellow degenerates 💜
Chapter Index
Read on AO3
The next morning, you awaken gradually, muffled sounds drifting up from downstairs, gently drawing you back to wakefulness.
You immediately recognize Agatha’s voice, rich, melodic, carrying that unmistakable tone that shifts effortlessly between alluring and intimidating. Nicholas’s laughter echoes in the background, joined by another voice you don’t recognize. 
They’re talking, but the words are indistinct, a steady murmur. Then you hear the sound of the front door closing, and silence falls.
Groaning softly, you let consciousness settle, the faint throb of a headache a subtle reminder of the wine from the night before. 
Bit by bit, the blurry details of last night start to piece themselves together: you and Agatha almost kissing, her voice soft as she asked you to stay, and the haunting sound of her pleasure echoing in your mind as you retreated to the guest room to lose yourself in your own.
The memory makes heat rise to your cheeks, but you push it aside, shaking your head as if to clear it.
Deciding not to dwell on it, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand. You’re still wearing the oversized t-shirt Agatha gave you to sleep in, its hem brushing against your thighs as you pad barefoot across the room and into the hallway to head downstairs.
The house is silent, so quiet that you assume Agatha and Nicholas must have gone out. The thought of being alone eases some of your tension, though it leaves you feeling a bit… off. 
You make your way into the kitchen, still half-asleep and craving coffee, but the moment you step through the doorway your breath catches in your throat.
Agatha is sitting at the table, two stacked empty plates and a half-filled mug of coffee in front of her. She looks completely at ease, a quiet aura of domestic bliss enveloping her, and the sight almost knocks you off balance. 
She’s not wearing her usual tailored work outfits or the expensive accessories you’ve come to associate with her presence. Instead, she’s dressed in a dark grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants—comfortable, simple, but somehow still effortlessly refined. 
Her hair cascades in loose, wild waves over her shoulders and down her back, and her face is bare, untouched by the usual hint of makeup. The simplicity does nothing to diminish her allure—if anything, it magnifies it, leaving you unable to look away.
Agatha senses your presence instantly.
Her head turns, and her gaze finds yours, steady and piercing. With an almost languid motion, she brings her mug to her lips and takes a slow sip, never once breaking the connection between your eyes.
You’re suddenly acutely aware that her t-shirt is the only thing you’re wearing, the soft fabric skimming over bare skin and leaving far too much of you exposed.
You shift awkwardly, feeling her gaze linger before she finally speaks.
“Good morning, hon.” she says with that ever-present undertone of playfulness.
“Good morning.” you groan back, your own voice still thick and raspy from sleep, betraying the weight of the night before.
The silence stretches, taut and charged, its heaviness almost laughable this early in the day. You clear your throat, forcing out the first question that drifts into your thoughts.
“Where’s Nicky?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, the movement unconsciously mirroring your curiosity.
“Rio picked him up this morning. They had a trip planned for today.” Agatha replies casually, her tone breezy, almost dismissive as she takes another sip of her coffee.
Her words click in your mind, and you realize the voice you heard earlier must have been hers, Rio’s. It feels odd to know that Nicholas and Rio were here just moments ago, yet now the house is empty except for you and Agatha. 
“Did you sleep well?” her question seems innocuous, but it lands like a jarring interruption, scattering your thoughts before you can fully process them.
“Yes.” you answer, forcing yourself to sound steady. “The bed was really comfortable. Honestly, I think I slept better than I do at home.”
“The guest bed is nice, but it’s not the most comfortable one in the house.” she quips, the curve of her lips dancing on the edge of saccharine charm and predatory intent, her eyes alight with unmistakable mischief.
The meaning behind her words is impossible to miss. It lands with striking clarity, and for an instant, you falter. 
Then, slowly, you arch a brow, pairing it with a half-smile that practically screams, I can’t cope with your teasing first thing in the morning. 
“I really, really, need coffee right now.” you mutter, turning toward the counter to prepare some, your heart still racing from her comment.  
The hum of the coffee machine fills the room as you busy yourself. As you reach for a mug in one of the top cabinets, you glance over your shoulder. 
“Do you want some more cof—” the words catch in your throat. Agatha’s eyes aren’t on your face. They’re fixed, unmistakably, on your ass.
She doesn’t look away quickly enough, and for a split second, you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe even the faintest hint of embarrassment. 
You blink, then a grin spreads across your lips as you seize the moment, not thinking too much about the words slipping from your lips.
“Something on your mind, Agatha?” you tease, your tone dripping with feigned innocence.
Agatha leans back slightly in her chair, recovering quickly. A slow, unapologetic smile curves her lips as she meets your gaze. 
“Maybe.” she replies nonchalantly, though there’s a fiery spark in her eyes that betrays her.
The tension thickens, and your heart pounds in your chest as a satisfied smirk spreads across your lips, impossible to suppress.
The coffee machine beeps, signaling that your morning fuel is ready, the sound slicing through the air like a blade. 
With your mug now filled, you turn and lean against the counter, your grip on the handle a little too tight.
The room feels quiet, too quiet, and you try to ignore how aware you are of her—how the air feels heavier with her in it. Then, her voice weaves itself into the stillness.
“I wanted to say…” she begins, her tone dropping lower, carrying a careful edge as if she’s testing the waters. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night, hon.”
Your stomach twists, a pang of disappointment spreading through your chest. You manage a soft laugh, hoping it sounds casual. 
“No, of course not.” you say, waving it off. “I figured… I mean, I knew it was just the wine.”
“The wine?” Agatha asks, her brows knitting together as confusion flickers across her face. 
Her reaction is subtle but unmistakable, and you realize instantly that your answer wasn’t what she expected, or wanted, to hear.
“Yeah. You know, it… loosened things up a little.” you nod quickly, looking away as you bring the mug to your lips. 
When you glance back, her expression has changed—sharper, more focused. Her eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of her gaze makes you seriously consider crawling into the dishwasher for cover.
“It wasn’t the wine.” she scoffs, her voice firmer now, frustrated almost, cutting cleanly through the space between you. There’s no room for misinterpretation, no hesitation in her tone.
The air shifts as she pushes her chair back with a deliberate slowness, rising to her feet with an elegance that feels almost dangerous. 
How is it possible for someone’s movements alone to change the entire atmosphere of a room? The look on her face—annoyed, almost angry—isn’t one you see often, but it’s impossible to misread. It’s the expression of someone who’s extremely close to reaching the limit of their patience, and the tension radiating from her seems to charge the very air between you.
“Tell me, is it Nicholas?” she asks abruptly, her tone laced with mock curiosity and dripping with provocation, her lips curling into a wicked, knowing smirk. “Is that what’s holding you back? The fact that I’m his mother? Or is it the fact that you work for me? Does that little moral compass of yours make this feel wrong, unethical?”
Your heart stutters, her questions catching you completely off guard, every coherent thought scattering like leaves in the wind.
You can’t answer because, truthfully, you don’t know. Maybe it’s all of those things, or maybe it’s none. Perhaps you’ve clung to the excuse of ethics as a way to convince yourself you’re not selfish, to believe you’re a good person, whatever that means. But does that even matter when, for months, you’ve been lying in bed at night, your fingers between your thighs, her name a whisper on your lips, and the dark corners of your mind drowning in visions of her?
You honestly never thought Agatha would ever look at you like this, like she wants you, like she’s already decided you’re hers. And now, faced with the reality of it, you’re completely unprepared. You’d convinced yourself she was an indulgence, a fantasy to steal yourself away from reality at night. But now that she’s here, so real and so close, you have no idea what to do, no idea how to reconcile the fantasy with the reality.
And worse, you can’t find a single excuse for what might happen next. If ethics were just a convenient mask for your own fears, if it’s obvious now that she wants you as much as you’ve always wanted her… then what’s left to hide behind?
Her smirk deepens at your wordless floundering, her eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of unspoken triumph. She steps closer, the heat of her presence enveloping you, the air between you crackling with intensity.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d never do anything to hurt Nicky. He’s my priority, always. But don’t confuse that with restraint.” her tone drops, low and velvety, her words wrapping around you like a silk ribbon pulling tight.
You know that she is right, about all of it. Agatha Harkness isn’t the kind of woman who lets anything—ethics, doubts, or even the love she has for her son—stand between her and what she wants. You know she’d never risk Nicholas’ well-being, but you also know that nothing gets in her way. Not morality, not caution, and certainly not you.
You blink once, twice, your grip on the mug tightening to the point you’re genuinely surprised it hasn’t cracked yet.
The room seems to shrink, the walls pressing closer as she takes one step forward, then another, each movement unhurried yet charged with intent.
Your pulse thunders in your ears, each beat echoing louder as she closes the distance. She doesn’t stop until she’s standing inches away, so close that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin, mingling with the inebriating scent of her perfume.
Slowly, she reaches out and takes the mug from your hands, her fingers grazing yours as she sets it down on the counter, the touch lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling.
Her gaze drops, settling on the oversized t-shirt that hangs loosely over your frame. Her lips curve into one of those knowing smiles of hers, the kind that always makes you feel like she can see straight through you.
“This looks good on you, hon.” she murmurs, each word curling through the air like a caress. Her eyes drift back up, locking onto yours, and the intensity in her gaze knocks the breath from your lungs.
“I like seeing you in something of mine.” she adds, each syllable dripping with meaning.
You can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is stand there, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as the tension between you hums like a live wire. 
For a moment, time seems to pause. Then, without warning, a flood of memories crashes over you, unbidden and vivid, rushing through your mind like a reel on fast-forward.
You see it all in an instant, the whole past 4 months: the first time you stepped into this house and were struck by Agatha’s presence, how you immediately felt her gravitational pull. The way her voice always seemed to carry an edge of authority that made your pulse quicken and your thighs clench. The fleeting glances, the teasing comments, the nights you spent lying awake replaying the moments you could swear were more than just polite and casual conversation. Her scent lingering on the sofa after she left for one of her Friday night outings. The way her laughter filled the kitchen, rich and melodic, when Nicholas shared one of his funny anecdotes.
And then, last night. Her face mere inches from yours, close enough to see every intricate shade of blue in her eyes. The way her voice dipped when she asked you to stay. The sound of her, breathless and undone, breaking the silence of the night.
Your grip on reality snaps. 
Fuck it.
You are done. So. Fucking. Done. With this game, with her teasing, with the endless tug-of-war between your self-doubt and the ache that consumes you every time she’s near.
Your voice is low but steady as you finally speak, your lips curving into a sly smile.
“You know…” you pause, letting the tension hang between you, your eyes locking onto hers with bold intent. “I can think of a few other things of yours I’d rather have on me.”
It takes a heartbeat for your words to sink in, but when they do, the shift in her is instantaneous.
Her pupils dilate, the faintest twitch of her lips betraying her composure. She takes one final step forward, and the space between you vanishes entirely. 
Your breath hitches as she leans in, the warmth of her body enveloping you, the faint brush of her exhale against your cheek.
It feels just like last night, on the couch. But this time, there’s no wine to blur the edges, no excuses to hide behind.
“Agatha…” you whisper, her name barely more than a breath, but it’s enough for her eyes to flicker with something raw, something unrestrained.
“Do you have any idea…” she murmurs, her voice a husky rasp “how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve wanted you?”
Her words slam into you like a shockwave, your knees threatening to buckle as a rush of heat coils low in your abdomen. You take in the raw hunger on her face, the barely restrained need, and with it, the last fragile threads of your restraint finally snap.
Your voice trembles, dripping with desire, as it escapes your lips.
“Then fucking take me already.”
Yours words hang in the air for the briefest second before she closes the distance, her movements charged with unbridled need.
She grabs you like she’s starving. One hand clamps firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against her, while the other slides up to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair. 
The heat of her palm burns through the fabric of her t-shirt, branding itself onto your skin as her mouth crashes against yours.
The kiss starts slow, teasing, her lips achingly soft as they claim yours, drawing you in until nothing else exists. 
Without thinking, you let your tongue flick against her lower lip. And then, the dam breaks.
Your small, tentative act unleashes something feral and untamed in her. She deepens the kiss, her lips pressing harder, more demanding as her tongue curls and twists with yours, exploring, tasting, claiming with a hunger that leaves you dizzy and reeling. Each stroke feels purposeful, like she’s determined to make you forget how to breathe, how to think. 
Completely lost in the sensation, you cling to her, your fingers curling into the fabric of her sweatshirt as she presses closer. The edge of the counter bites into your back, but it’s a distant ache, overshadowed by the heat of her body against yours.
The moan that just slipped from your lips is still echoing in the air when you feel Agatha’s hands slide down, firm and purposeful, gripping your thighs just beneath your ass.
You catch on quickly, instinctively bracing on the counter for leverage. It happens seamlessly, her hands guiding you upward as you hoist yourself up with your arms.
In the process, for the briefest, agonizing moment, her lips leave yours, and it feels like a punishment. But the second you’re seated, she’s back, her mouth claiming yours with even more intensity than before. 
Her body slots perfectly between your thighs, her hips pressing insistently against yours as the kiss turns hotter, rougher.
You pull back just enough to gasp for air, your eyes half-lidded and dazed as you look at her.
“I need to see you.” you whisper, your voice breathless and thick with desperation as your fingers tug lightly  at the hem of her sweatshirt. “I want to see you.”
“Oh, you want to see me?” she coos, her tone low and laced with amusement as her breath ghosts over your cheek. “Then ask nicely, sweetheart.”
“Please, mo-” the word catches in your throat, half-formed, and your entire body stiffens at the realization of what you were about to say.
Shit, really?! That fast?! you think, half-mortified, half in awe of just how quickly you were folding for her. You’ve barely even started, and here you are, ready to hand over your dignity on a silver platter.
But Agatha’s eyes darken, her eyebrows arching in feigned surprise, while her lips curl into the most depraved smirk you’ve ever seen.
“Go on, baby. Say it.” she murmurs, a velvet invitation laced with command. “I know you want to.”
The air crackles with anticipation, every nerve in your body screaming at you to let go.
You try to hold back, clinging to the last shred of composure you have left, but it’s futile. The way she looks at you, the way her touch sends fire racing through your veins, makes it impossible to resist.
“Please, mommy.” you whisper, the words trembling but filled with raw, unfiltered need. “Please, let me see you.”
Sinfulness flares up in her eyes, and the grin that spreads across her lips is equal parts dangerous and thrilling.
“That’s my good girl.” she praises, her voice dripping with satisfaction as her hands move to the hem of her sweatshirt.
When Agatha’s hands leave your body, you can’t stop the whine that slips from your lips. It’s needy and pathetic, but you’re already too far gone to care.
“Oh, sweetheart…” she mocks as she tilts her head. “You really are that desperate, aren’t you?”
Her words make your cheeks burn, and you bite your lip hard, swallowing back another whine. But the look on her face, so smug and in control, has you clenching your thighs around the edge of the counter.
Your gaze is locked on her hands as they slowly, tantalizingly lift the fabric. Her eyes never leave yours as she teases you with every inch of skin revealed, and when the sweatshirt comes off entirely, you feel your breath catch in your throat.
She’s bare beneath it. Completely bare.
Your mouth goes dry, and then the exact opposite—you feel your tongue press against the roof of your mouth as you practically salivate at the sight of her.
“Look at you.” she purrs, a wicked grin spreading across her lips as she tosses the sweatshirt aside. Her hands slide to her hips, her fingers brushing over her skin as if to emphasize the curves you can’t stop staring at. “You’re such a fucking mess for me.”
Your teeth sink harder into your lip, your eyes shamelessly roaming her chest. You’re utterly entranced—the fullness of her breasts, the way her nipples harden in the cool air, her confidence radiating off her in waves. Everything about her leaves you utterly speechless.
She notices, of course she does, and her grin sharpens, cruel and knowing.
“This little shirt of mine… it’s cute on you. But wouldn’t it look better crumpled on the floor?” she coos as her fingers hook under the hem of your t-shirt, lifting the fabric just enough to expose a sliver of your stomach.
“Tell me, sweetheart…” she drawls, her tone dripping with mockery as she leans in closer, her breath brushing the shell of your ear. “Do you want mommy to strip you down? Hmm? Want me to see every inch of that needy little body of yours?”
Your body reacts before your brain can catch up. You nod quickly, far too eagerly, your thighs pressing against her hips as your breath comes in short, uneven bursts.
She smirks at your silent response, her nails dragging upward, grazing the underside of your breasts.
“You’re gonna have to use your words, baby.” she whispers, her tone dark and commanding. “Tell me how bad you want it.”
Your voice seems nowhere to be found, the weight of her touch and her voice combined too much to bear. But, when her nails scrape higher, barely brushing your nipples, words spill out in a rushed, broken plea.
“Take it off, mommy, please.” you whimper, your voice shaky and drenched in desperation. “I need you, I need you touch me.”
Her laugh is low, and entirely self-satisfied. 
“That’s better.” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “Such a good girl, begging so pretty for me.”
In one fluid motion, she yanks the t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes rake over your bare skin, the hunger in her gaze making your thighs tremble.
“You’re perfect, baby.” she breathes, her voice rough and uneven, her restraint barely in check.
Agatha doesn’t hesitate. Her lips descend on your breasts with a ferocity that makes your entire body jolt. Her tongue flicks over a sensitive peak, and you can’t stop the cry that rips from your throat as your head falls back against the cabinet with a soft thud.
“Fuck!” you gasp, your body arching into her mouth as her teeth graze you, the sharp sting sending a delicious pulse straight between your legs.
She doesn’t stop. Her tongue circles the hardened bud, before sucking hard enough to pull a strangled moan from your lips. The sound only seems to spur her on, her mouth devouring you with unrelenting hunger.
Her finger slides up your thigh, nails dragging across your skin, stopping at the edge of your panties, teasing, her thumb brushing over the damp fabric.
You’re completely lost in the moment, drowning in the heat of her mouth on your chest and the agonizing proximity of her fingers to where you crave her touch the most.
But as her lips move to your other nipple, sucking it into her mouth with equal fervor, one frustrating realization claws its way through the haze of your pleasure. 
She’s still wearing her sweatpants.
For some lame, inexplicable reason, the thought makes your blood boil, snapping you out of your trance just enough to notice the imbalance. She’s standing there, all smug dominance, fully in control while you’re bare and completely at her mercy.
It won’t do.
One of your hands finds her chest, cupping her breast with a boldness that earns a muffled groan against your skin. You squeeze, your thumb flicking over her nipple just as your other hand trails downward, nails scraping over the curve of her hip before hooking under the waistband of her sweatpants.
The sudden touch makes her pause. Her lips leave your chest abruptly and her head snaps up, narrowed eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, she looks almost… intrigued.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, a dangerous edge lacing her tone.
Your fingers tug lightly at the waistband, your lips curving into a smirk. 
“Catching up.” you murmur, your voice breathy but steady, even as your fingers push lower.
“Is that right? And here I thought you couldn’t wait for mommy to take what’s hers.” she purrs, her voice as cocky and controlled as ever. But the faint roll of her hips, the way her body leans just slightly into your touch, betrays the fire burning under her skin.
Your hand moves decisively, slipping lower and sliding beneath the fabric of her sweatpants and underwear in one seamless, fluid motion.
The second your fingers touch her folds, you both moan obscenely loudly.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me.” you whisper, reverent and breathless, as your fingers slide through her slick heat.
Her groan is low and guttural, her control slipping as both of her hands fly to your hips, gripping you tightly as her head dips closer to your ear.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” she growls, her breath hot and ragged against your skin. “But if you think you’re calling the shots, baby, think again.”
But you barely register Agatha’s words. You’re too lost in her—the way she feels against your fingers, wet and burning hot, the slight roll of her hips against your hand.
You realize that your own hips have started moving on the counter, mirroring her rhythm, your body subconsciously chasing the same friction.
The heat between you is unbearable, your body responding to every movement, every sound, every flicker of dominance she tries to hold onto. You can’t help but press your fingers deeper, teasing her entrance, dipping just enough to feel the way she clenches around you. 
But, of course, Agatha won’t give in and relinquish control that easily. One of her hands snaps to your wrist, her grip firm and unyielding, halting your movements in an instant.
“Mmh, looks like I’ve got a greedy little brat on my hands.” she purrs, her voice a silky threat. Her eyes gleam with intent as she removes your hand. “Let’s fix that.”
Before you can respond, her hands grip your hips firmly, dragging you forward off the counter in one fluid, confident motion.
You instinctively wrap your legs around her waist, your arms looping around her neck for balance. Your chest is pressed flush against hers as she effortlessly takes back control.
“W-what are-” you stammer, but your words are cut off as her lips find yours again, her mouth devouring yours with a ravenousness that leaves you lightheaded.
You immediately kiss her back with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in her hair, your teeth catching her bottom lip in a teasing nip. The combination earns you a raspy moan slipping from her throat, and your hips grind instinctively against hers.
You assume she’s taking you to the table to set you down, the same way you were perched on the counter. But when her stride slows, instead of placing you on the table, Agatha lowers you to the ground.
The second your feet touch the floor, her hands are on your waist, spinning you around with a forceful motion.
You gasp as your hips meet the edge of the table and a knee slots between your legs to part them. Your palms fly forward, bracing yourself on the cold wood as her presence looms behind you, her breath warm against your neck.
Her front presses against your back, and the fabric of her sweatpants brushes against the bare skin of your ass. The contrast—soft cotton against heated skin—is maddening, and you push back instinctively, grinding against her.
“Let’s get rid of these, shall we?”  she murmurs, her tone carrying the faint lilt of a question, though it’s clear no answer is required, no permission sought. Her fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, her intent already decided.
She pulls them down in one smooth motion, the fabric slipping over your thighs and pooling around your ankles. The cool air brushes against your wet core, but you barely have time to process the sensation before her hands are back on you, landing on your hips with a firm and possessive grip. 
One hand stays there, squeezing tightly, grounding you while the other slides lower. Her fingers graze your ass before dipping further between your thighs to brush against the wetness dripping down your legs.
Her touch is maddening—a tantalizing blend of featherlight and firm—as her fingers glide through your folds. The wet mess she finds draws a low groan from her throat, a sound that’s both satisfied and utterly depraved.
“God, you’re soaked.” she growls, her voice rough and thick with lust as her other hand tightens its grip on your hip, holding you firmly in place as you instinctively try to roll them.
Her fingers press against your entrance, circling, teasing, never giving you the satisfaction of what you need. Your knees threaten to give out as you cling to the table for support.
“Agatha—” you choke out, your voice trembling with desperation. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking her, but she pulls her fingers away just enough to leave you whining.
“That’s not how you address me, sweetheart.” she murmurs as her nails dig into your hip just enough to promise marks you’ll feel later.
You shake your head, your breath coming in short bursts as you try to find the words.
“Please.” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, mommy, I need—”
Before you can finish, two fingers plunge into you, your breath catching at the sudden fullness. 
Your body arches instinctively, your walls fluttering around her fingers as she sets an infuriatingly controlled rhythm. You can feel every drag of her fingertips against your inner walls, waves of pleasure crashing over you with each calculated stroke.
“Look at you.” she coos, her own tone ragged and breathy, but never losing its condescending edge. “Dripping down my table, clenching around me like you don’t ever want me to stop. Is that it, baby? You don’t want mommy to stop?”
“Fuck! Don’t stop!” you gasp, your voice barely recognizable, breaking on the words as your fingers dig into the edge of the table. “Please mommy, don’t stop!”
Your words are still hanging in the air when she slams a third finger into you, the stretch pulling a sharp cry from your lips.
She chuckles darkly, and even without seeing her face, you can picture it perfectly—that satisfied, smug grin of hers, curling across her lips, oozing with triumph.
Her fingers thrust harder now, deeper, each movement striking that perfect spot inside you with unerring precision, sending tremors through your thighs. The sheer pleasure sends your body folding forward, your elbows replacing your palms on the table as your head dips low.
You can hear it, the obscene sound of how wet you are as she sinks into you over and over again. The slick, rhythmic noises filling the space between her low groans and your soft mewls.
Her pace is merciless as her fingers drive you closer and closer to the brink, your body trembling under the unbearable pressure as it builds to a breaking point. Every nerve is alive, ablaze and hypersensitive, and you’re so close, so achingly close—the coil inside you feels stretched to its limit, ready to snap and drag you under completely.
And, apparently, Agatha feels it too.
Her fingers slide out of you slowly, and your walls clench around the sudden emptiness, making you whimper. But before you can beg, before you can even think, her hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack of her palm against your skin echoing through the room.
The sting is immediate—electric, and utterly unexpected—dragging a strangled gasp from your lips. The sheer force and suddenness make your elbows buckle, your upper body collapsing fully onto the table, palms splayed weakly on either side of your head.
“That’s for making me wait so damn long.” she snarls, her voice dripping with controlled anger as her fingers ghost over the burning outline of where her hand just landed. “For wasting my time when we both knew you were already mine.”
Her words send a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but before you can process it, another spank lands on your other cheek, just as sharp, just as precise.
You cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the table as the sting radiates through you, mixing pain with a sickeningly addictive pleasure.
“Say you’re sorry, baby.” she commands, her free hand sliding up your back to press between your shoulder blades, holding you firmly in place.
“I—I’m sorry, mommy!” you manage, your voice trembling as your nails dig into the wood beneath you.
“Louder.” she growls as her nails lightly scrape the tender flesh of your ass, making you hiss.
“I’m sorry, mommy!” you cry, your voice breaking on the words as your thighs clench together instinctively, desperate for any friction, any relief.
“Good girl.” she praises, her tone softening just a fraction. “Apology accepted.”
Her fingers plunge back into you with a roughness that makes your body instinctively try to arch off the table, but the hand forcefully planted between your shoulder blades keeps you pinned in place, pressing you down and keeping you bent over, completely at her mercy.
“Do you hear yourself, baby? How good you sound when I’m ruining you?” she groans, her tone husky and frayed as the wet, filthy sounds of her thrusts fill the air once more.
You don’t even try to answer, you can’t. You’re too far gone, blissed out beyond reason, your mind an empty haze, her fingers fucking every last coherent thought straight out of your head until all that’s left is her.
Agatha’s pace is so brutal and purposeful that it seems impossible it could increase, that her fervor could intensify. But then the pressure on your shoulder blades vanishes and her hand moves back to your hip. 
She grips you with bruising strength as she pulls you back onto her fingers, forcing you to take her deeper, faster, leaving you no room to escape the overwhelming sensation.
“You want to come, don’t you?” she scoffs, her breath hot against your neck as she leans in closer, her teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You want me to let you fall apart right here on this table?”
“Yes!” you gasp, your voice breaking as you cling to the edge of the table for dear life. “Yes, please, mommy—please let me come—I can’t—”
“Not until I say so.” she warns, cutting you off. “You’ll come when I tell you to, and not a second before.”
“Please!” you beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the need for release becoming too much to bear. “Please, mommy, I’ll be good—I’ll be so good, just please—fuck!” 
It’s clear that your pleading isn’t just affecting you—it’s unraveling her too, every word dragging her closer to giving in and granting you what you’re unashamedly begging for. The proof is in the sounds spilling from her lips, perfectly synchronized with each slide of her fingers into your dripping hole. Each thrust draws a deep hum, a choked groan, as if your submission alone is enough to push her to the edge. It’s intoxicating, the way her pleasure seems to mirror yours, feeding off your helplessness, as though dominating you is quickly becoming her favorite indulgence.
As her fingers curl insistently against that delicious spot inside you, her other hand leaves your hip, gliding between your thighs to find your clit.
There’s no room for teasing as her fingers press and circle it with merciless speed, each motion exquisitely calibrated to make you clench greedily around her fingers buried deep inside you. 
You bite down hard on your lip, the sharp sting an attempt to ground yourself, but it’s no use. The dual assault of her thrusts and the devastating rhythm against your clit is too much, too perfect, her control over your body absolute.
You’re barely holding on by a thread, fighting desperately to keep the orgasm at bay. 
Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on the edge of the table, searching for any semblance of stability while your hips twitch erratically. Your whole body is trembling, helplessly teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion, every muscle locking tight as the inevitable surges closer.
Agatha knows. She feels it—the way your walls flutter around her fingers, the way your thighs quake with each jolt of pleasure, the way your cries are pitched higher and higher. Her voice cuts through the haze, a final push into the abyss.
“Come for me, baby. Now.” she commands, and the finality in her voice does it.
The words hit you with thundering force, igniting every nerve in your body as the orgasm crashes through you—it’s blinding, a white-hot explosion that obliterates everything else, consuming you entirely.
You’re breathless, helpless as she continues to thrust into you, wringing every last drop of ecstasy, guiding you through the aftershocks as your body twitches with lingering tremors.
“Yes, just like that.” she murmurs, her voice soft and brimming with pride. “Such a good girl for me.”
The hand on your clit withdraws, only for her arm to slip between your body and the table, wrapping securely around your waist as she gently pulls you upright. 
A few seconds later, her other hand stills, and her fingers slip out of your core, leaving a hollow ache that draws a soft whine from your lips. But the tenderness in her touch as she turns you around and envelops you into her arms quiets your mind completely.
You collapse against her, your legs barely able to hold you up as you rest your head on her shoulder, her lips brushing your temple in a soothing kiss.
“You did so well, baby.” she praises, her voice like velvet wrapping around your senses as her hands trace slow, idle patterns along your back. “So fucking perfect for me.”
You nod weakly, too spent to speak, your body still trembling in her arms. The world feels distant and blurred, but the warmth of her embrace grounds you, pulling you back piece by piece. 
“You’re everything I imagined.” she murmurs, her voice carrying that playful edge you’ve come to crave. 
“And trust me, I imagined this—” her lips curl into a smirk that you can feel against your temple. “—a lot.”
Your head tilts back just enough to meet her gaze, and the glint in her eyes makes your stomach flip.
“Oh?” you ask, a hint of a laugh in your voice. “Care to elaborate?”
“I’ve pictured bending you over this table more times than I care to admit.” she says, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “And now that I finally have…”
Her words trail off, unfinished but loaded with meaning. 
Her eyes roam your face, taking in every detail as if she’s trying to commit you to memory. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and a new warmth stirs low in your belly, reigniting the fire you thought had been temporarily quenched.
“Well…” you murmur, your voice soft but full of intent “you’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing about this table.”
Her brow arches, the flicker of intrigue and surprise in her expression sparking a surge of confidence in you. Before she can respond, you move.
Your hands find her waist, gripping her firmly as you spin her around and guide her back toward the table. She lets you, her movements uncharacteristically yielding as she stumbles slightly, her smirk faltering into something curious, fascinated.
“Sweetheart, what are you—”
You don’t let her finish. Your lips crash into hers with all the passion you’ve been holding back. The kiss is deep, slow, a manifestation of everything you’ve been feeling—the pent-up longing, the intensity of what just happened, the desire that refuses to fade.
She responds immediately, her hands gripping your waist as the back of her thighs hits the edge of the table.
One of your hands slides up her side, your palm grazing the curve of her breast before cupping it fully. Your thumb circles her nipple, the taut peak hardening under your touch as she moans into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips and spurring you on.
Your lips trail away from hers, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, slowly working your way down.
Once you reach her chest you take your time there, lavishing her with attention. Your hands knead her breasts while your tongue teases one peak, flicking and swirling before closing your lips around it and sucking hard.
Agatha’s head falls back and her body arches into your touch, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat as her nails bite into your waist.
You switch sides, your mouth now focused on her other breast while your hand continues to play with the first, pinching and rolling her nipple between your fingers.
You can hear her uneven breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly as you worship her, but it’s not enough. 
Your hand trails lower, your fingers finding the waistband of her sweatpants. You glance up at her, and the impatience in her eyes makes your lips twitch into a smirk.
You hook your fingers into both her sweatpants and underwear, yanking them down in one swift, decisive motion. For a fleeting moment, the field seems leveled—Agatha now as bare as you, her body exposed to your gaze. It’s almost enough to fool you into thinking she’s relinquished some of her control.
But you know better. No missing layer will strip her of the commanding presence she effortlessly exudes. If anything, her confidence seems to grow sharper, like she knows exactly how her body affects you, how completely entranced you are by every inch of her now on display.
Agatha carelessly kicks the discarded fabric to the side and leans back against the table, hands gripping the edge with an ease that feels almost like a challenge—an unspoken dare for you to come forward.
The morning light streaming through the kitchen windows catches on her skin, as if the sun itself is conspiring to exalt her, highlighting every sharp line and soft curve of her body.
You scoff quietly at yourself, almost amused by the thought that you ever believed, even for a second, that you could resist her. As if morality, self-doubt, or even the frailest shred of common sense could have won against her. Against this.
Not that you wanted to resist—not really. And now, with her standing there like this, completely bare and unapologetically commanding, the only thing you can think about is how badly you want her, how you can’t wait a second longer to taste her.
You drop to your knees slowly, the cool floor biting into your skin but only serving to heighten your anticipation. Your hands glide down her thighs and her stance shifts, her legs parting instinctively to make room for you.
Agatha’s breath catches almost imperceptibly as she looks down at you, her expression a mix of dominance and barely restrained need.
From this angle, she looks even more imperious, and the thought that you’ve put her in this position, that you’ve brought her to this point, sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your own thighs.
“Oh, baby…” she purrs, her tone dark and laced with sin. “How many times have you thought about this, hmm? About getting on your knees for me like a good little girl. Every time you walked into my kitchen?”
Your cheeks burn at her words, but the heat only fuels your resolve. Instead of responding right away, you lean forward, your lips brushing her inner thigh. She’s dripping, and the glistening evidence of her arousal makes your mouth water and your lips curve into a smug grin. 
You look up at her from beneath your lashes, your breath ghosting over her slick heat. She tenses, a sharp inhale escaping her as you trail soft kisses upward, closer and closer to where she wants you most.
“You talk too much… mommy.” you murmur sultrily against her skin, the emphasis on that last word a bold, blatant act of defiance.
Then, without warning, you dive in, tasting her for the first time.
The first glide of your tongue through her folds draws a strangled moan from her lips, her body jerking involuntarily as her fingers tighten against the edge of the table.
The taste of her—rich, and utterly addictive—sends a rush of heat straight through you. It’s overwhelming in the best way, every nerve in your body coming alive as you bury your face between her legs, your tongue moving with purpose.
Her slickness coats your tongue with every stroke, and you can’t stop the soft whimper that escapes you at the sheer decadence of it. Her hips buck against your mouth, seeking more, and you eagerly give it to her, your tongue circling her clit before dipping into her entrance, savoring the way she clenches around you.
“Fuck.” Agatha hisses, her composure beginning to crack. “That’s it- deeper.”
You press your tongue further, sliding it in and out of her languidly, curling it just right and relishing the way her walls flutter in response. The husky sound that escapes her throat makes your thighs clamp instinctively, the rawness of it fueling your determination.
You feast on her, losing yourself in the act of pleasing her, in how her body arches slightly as if trying to take more of you, in the way her scent and taste consume you entirely.
As you bask in the illusion of control, one of her hands leaves the table, drifting to the back of your head. Her fingers weave into your hair, tightening their hold—not enough to hurt, but firmly enough to remind you exactly who’s in charge.
“Stay still now, baby.” she growls, her voice edged with impatience and laced with unyielding authority. “Let me take what I want.”
Her words make your core clench so hard it aches, slickness dripping shamelessly down your thighs as you eagerly offer your tongue, sticking it out for her to use as she pleases.
Her rhythm starts slow, her hips grinding lazily against your mouth, each movement steeped in self-satisfaction. The wet, decadent sounds of her arousal fill the room, blending with the throaty cries spilling from her lips, each one more unrestrained than the last.
You realize that despite every fantasy you’ve ever had, nothing could have prepared you for this. For her. 
You’ve dreamed about this for months—what she’d taste like, how she’d sound, how she’d react to your touch—but the reality is so much more intense, it’s almost too much to bear. Every flick of her hips, every whimper, every broken curse escaping her throat makes your head spin, your body aching with the need to please her. Her dominance is inebriating, her pleasure a reward you’d gladly chase forever, and all you can do is hold on as she uses you, as she takes what she wants, what she needs.
She starts grinding faster on your mouth, her pace growing relentless, chasing her release with increasing desperation.
“God, you feel so fucking good.” she groans, her voice hitching as your lips close around her clit to suck softly. “Always knew you’d be perfect on your knees.”
Her words set your cheeks ablaze, but the heat only emboldens you. Your fingers dig into the pale flesh of her thighs, steadying her as you redouble your efforts—your tongue circling her clit before flicking over it in quick, precise strokes.
“Right there- fuck, don’t stop.” she gasps, her head falling back as she cries out.
You can tell she is close and you obey without hesitation, your tongue pressing harder against her clit, driving her higher and higher.
You glance up at her through your lashes, and the sight—her head thrown back, lips parted in ecstasy, chest heaving, her entire body trembling with pleasure—almost makes you come on the spot.
This is all you’ve ever wanted. Her. Like this. Falling apart under your touch. And God, you’ll do whatever it takes to make her come undone completely.
Suddenly, her grip in your hair tightens, almost painfully, and she pulls you impossibly closer, her thighs tightening around your head. Her hips grind against your mouth with wild abandon, and you realize she’s taking over completely, using you to push herself over the edge.
“Fuck, yes- take it, baby.” she snarls, her voice cracking as she rides your face with frantic movements, her nails digging into your scalp with each snap of her hips.
The mix of sensations makes you moan loudly against her, and it’s the vibrations reverberating through her that ultimately tip her over the edge.
Her hips stutter and her release hits with devastating force, her body shuddering violently as her pants and groans grow into sharp cries. 
Her juices flood your mouth as she comes undone, and you don’t stop, your tongue working her through every wave of her orgasm, lapping up every last drop and savoring each second of her shaking, gasping form.
When her movements finally slow, her grip on your hair loosens, and she slumps back against the table, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath.
Her hand slides from the back of your head to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing gently over your flushed skin. The tender touch makes your eyes flutter closed, but the moment shifts as she smears her arousal deliberately across your lips, the gesture both possessive and searingly intimate.
When your eyes open and your gaze lifts to meet hers, the sight of her staring down at you leaves you breathless. Passion smolders in her darkened eyes, with a glimmer of admiration flickering in the depths of her blown-wide pupils, making it impossible to look away.
“Good girl.” she murmurs, her voice rough yet rich with praise. “You’ve outdone yourself, baby.”
Agatha’s hand glides down your arm, steadying you as she helps you stand. Once you’re upright, her fingers trail back up, brushing over your skin until they reach your jaw, gently tilting your face toward hers.
Her lips capture yours in a kiss that’s slow and indulgent, her tongue brushing against yours as she moans softly, tasting herself on you.
You let out a quiet whimper as her tongue flicks over your lower lip, savoring the evidence of her own release. 
The kiss deepens, and time seems to dissolve, the world narrowing to just the two of you, the warmth of her mouth, the press of her body, the way her hands skim possessively over your waist.
When you finally pull back, breathless and dazed, you let out a faint chuckle, shaking your head. 
“If we keep going like this, we’ll end up spending the entire Sunday fucking.” you joke, your tone light and playful despite the lingering breathlessness in your voice.
Agatha snorts, a short, genuine laugh spilling from her lips as she rests her forehead against yours. 
“Tempting as that sounds…” she murmurs, her eyes glinting with amusement “I was actually thinking about taking a shower, care to join me?”
You nod, your voice caught in your throat, as she takes your hand and leads you out of the kitchen. The gesture catches you off guard, and you can’t help but glance down at her fingers intertwined with yours—her grip firm yet tender, guiding you into this uncharted territory with quiet confidence.
You follow her up the stairs, your eyes drawn to the sway of her hips and the cascade of her wild hair tumbling down her bare back. Even in this quieter moment, her confidence radiates effortlessly, pulling your attention with every step.
You thought you were just going to take a simple shower. Adorable. Truly, the height of naivety.
The moment your back meets the cold tiles, Agatha’s hands are on you. One grips your thigh firmly before sliding down to hook under your knee, lifting it effortlessly and wrapping your leg around her waist. The hot water beats down, soaking you both, but all you can feel is the heat of her mouth tracing over your skin and the relentless thrust of her fingers inside you.
Her body presses yours firmly against the wall, her wet hair sticking to her face in chaotic strands that only make her look more feral, more untamed. You can’t even focus on the steam blurring your vision or the water rushing over you—just her teeth grazing your collarbone, her nails digging into your thigh, and the delicious stretch of her fingers curling just right. It’s messy, slippery, and you can’t stop the breathless laugh that escapes your lips between gasps of pleasure.
By the time you step out of the shower, your legs are unsteady, and your chest heaves with exhaustion. Agatha wraps a towel around you, her touch uncharacteristically caring as she gently pats you dry before tending to herself.
In her bedroom, she hands you another oversized shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. You dress in comfortable silence, but as the two of you change, a strange, heavy realization settles over you.
This changes everything.
Your gaze flits to Agatha as she adjusts the waistband of her pants, and an unexpected pang of uncertainty grips you—not about her, or even about everything that just happened, but about what it means for everything beyond this moment. For you, for her, and for Nicholas.
You’re not sure how to voice it, but the weight of it presses on your chest, and Agatha seems to notice. She steps closer, her brows furrowing slightly as she tilts her head, studying your expression.
“Hey…” she murmurs, her usual teasing edge replaced by something softer, almost disarming. “What’s rattling around in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?”
Her hand comes to rest lightly on your arm, and the way she looks at you—steady, calculating, yet undeniably understanding—makes your heart skip a beat. She’s not demanding, but offering, giving you room to decide whether to speak or retreat.
You’re not sure what to say, or even where to start, but the warmth of her hand on your arm tell you it’s okay. That whatever you need to say, she’ll listen.
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menofprogress · 21 hours ago
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I saw someone say that Viktor constantly reaching out to Jayce and trying to get him on his side after he initially left him and after Jayce fought, rejected and shot at him makes no sense but i disagree.
Imho jayce and viktor are incredibly, INSANELY codependent, they were each others closest contact for nearly a decade, saw each other every day, single mindedly worked towards the same goal, etc. Their lives immediately take a nosedive once theyre even slightly separated from each other (viktor nearly dies, jayce kills a kid, viktor atomises sky and then nearly kills himself, jayce lands in apocalypse land and viktor starts a cult). They instinctively always act like theyre still partners, even when theyre clearly supposed to be enemies because not being together feels unnatural to them.
Jayce doesnt act consciously when reviving viktor using the hexcore and YES viktor is hurt and distressed bc he was essentially turned into rio and he feels like he needs to leave, but then what? He probably finds out about jayces disappearance a few days later and is like "oh no, oh fuck, i know I left HIM, but i didnt want this" i mean he probably thought jayce was dead.
So for a few months he builds his commune and deliberately integrates sentimental things about his and jayces partnership (his 'home' looks like the hexgates, hes still wearing the blanket, for some reason theres a forge in the commune) which, imho, shows hes mourning and missing jayce in his own way. (A special personal hc of mine is that he grew out his hair out of grief). And in the pit we have jayce sobbing and crying bc he misses both mel and viktor so much.
So jayce reappears and viktors like "heeeyyyy bestie, oh my god, i missed u come visit me!!!" And jayce is rightfully confused like "didnt YOU break up with ME?" and viktor is like "nooo, hahaha, i was crazy back then, just forget about it, pls visit me?" And is only mildly concerned by jayce killing one of his followers (and then hes also mostly concerned about jayce, not salo lol)
Then jayce arrives and shoots him and its very painful bc viktor fully didnt expect jayce to hurt him! Hes so shocked 😭
Anyways after that Viktor "attacks" (more like "does a mating dance for") jayce in the council room and AGAIN asks him to join his emo band and is AGAIN shocked and hurt when jayce genuinely fights back and rejects him. Viktor is temporarily hurt and gives singed the ok to start the process.
And then as the fully transformed herald he STILL talks about how happy he is to see jayce and doesnt really put any effort into neutralising him. Like he could have just shot him hbxhnxgkhfj
All the while we have jayce talking big talk about stopping viktor, but when it comes down to it?? He doesnt manage to take him out and still talks to him. And then he sees Viktor in the astral realm and once there is a SLIVER of hope hes immediately like "oh thank god i can stop trying to kill him, this was never going to work"
All of this isnt contradictory to me. It means that both of them actually know that they should be on opposing sides now, they start acting according to the idea that the other one is now an enemy, they make plans accordingly, but when it comes down to it theyre reluctant to actually follow through bc that would mean a life without the other and thats worse than staying enemies forever.
Viktor kept reaching out, hoping to be partners again after MULTIPLE rejections and jayce couldnt bear to kill viktor or to let him die alone. Being apart from each other is quite literally the worst thing for either of them, so the instinct to reach out to each other will always take over.
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the-writerwoman · 1 day ago
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Happy holidays 🎅🏻🎄🎁☃️ I bring you the gift of angst!
Another 4am brainrot as my baby kept me up most of the night.
In this one, Logan and Wade fight against a mutant, not knowing that they can go through time and send people through time. Logan ends up getting sent back in time. To 2016, but he doesn’t know it until he tries to regroup at Sister Margaret’s and Weasel doesn’t know who he is. He waits for Wade anyway, but instead of the red leather clad weirdo he was used to, in walked the unblemished, full head of haired mercenary. Before he met Vanessa, before he got his cancer diagnosis. Logan was in trouble. Especially when Wade finds out that Logan is the very wolverine he’d admired as a kid, and he declares them soulmates and tries to chase after him and if Logan’s not careful, then the whole of Wade’s future could be changed.
This scene is after Wade finds out Logan is from the future, and what the consequences could be if the future was changed.
Hope you enjoy!
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The tension in the room was suffocating as Logan stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists. Wade’s chest felt tight as he waited for Logan to say something, anything, that could make sense of the situation.
“I don’t know,” Logan said finally, his voice raw. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. The timeline is delicate, Wade. If you decide not to go through with the program, or if you don’t fall in love with Vanessa when you’re supposed to, everything changes. Everything goes wrong.”
Wade frowned, stepping closer, his voice low. “What does that mean, Logan? Why does it all matter so much? I don’t even know a Vanessa.”
Logan hesitated, the pain in his eyes evident as he looked at Wade. “Because if you don’t become who you’re meant to be, you won’t be the man who saves me. You won’t pull me out of my universe when it matters most. And if that doesn’t happen…”
Logan’s voice cracked, and he looked away, his hands curling into fists. “Then I stay in my world.”
Wade tilted his head, his chest aching at the sight of Logan’s visible anguish. “What’s so bad about staying in your world?”
Logan let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. “If I stay in my world… I spend the rest of my life hated. Hunted. Spat on. I’ve worked on it. I know I’m not to blame, but in my world, the X-Men were attacked while I wasn’t there. I came back to find them all… gone.”
Wade’s heart sank, his breath catching as Logan’s voice broke.
“Jean, Scott… even the kids,” Logan continued, his voice trembling. “All of them. Dead. And I wasn’t there to stop it.”
Wade’s stomach twisted painfully as Logan paused, swallowing hard.
“I lost it,” Logan admitted, his voice thick with guilt. “The rage took over, and I… I killed people. People who didn’t deserve it. I let it consume me.” His shoulders shook slightly, and when he looked back at Wade, there were tears glistening in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter how much time passes. I’ll always be the man who let them die.”
Wade couldn’t take it anymore. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled Logan into a hug. Logan froze for a moment, his breath catching, before his arms wrapped tightly around Wade. He clung to him as if Wade were the only thing holding him together, his breaths shaky against Wade’s neck.
“It’s not your fault,” Wade murmured, his voice soft but firm. “None of it is your fault, Logan.”
Logan didn’t say anything, but the way his grip tightened spoke volumes. Wade held him closer, his own chest aching at the thought of this version of Logan, so broken, so weighed down by guilt and grief.
After a while, Wade gently pulled back, his hands resting on Logan’s shoulders. He tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Logan’s temple, a quiet, comforting gesture. Logan closed his eyes at the contact, his breathing still uneven.
Wade’s lips hovered for a moment before he shifted, catching Logan’s lips in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a question rather than a demand. Logan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t respond either, as if he were frozen in place.
When Wade pressed again, Logan responded tentatively, then with more certainty. His hands found Wade’s waist, grounding himself in the moment. For a fleeting moment, everything felt right.
But then Logan pulled back with a sharp breath, his eyes wide. “We can’t,” he said, his voice strained.
Wade blinked, his heart pounding. “Why not?”
Logan shook his head, though his hands didn’t leave Wade’s waist. “Because… if we do this, if I let this happen, it could ruin everything. The timeline, the future, it’s too risky.”
Wade’s jaw tightened, and he reached up to cup Logan’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Logan, listen to me. I’ll do it. Everything I’m supposed to. The program, the torture, hell, I’ll even fall in love with this Vanessa when the time comes, if that’s what it takes. But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I have you right here.”
Logan looked at him, his resolve visibly crumbling. “Wade…”
“Please,” Wade whispered, his voice trembling. “If this is all we get, if this is all we’re allowed, then let us have it. Just this once.”
Logan closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. Wade didn’t give him time to argue. He leaned in again, capturing Logan’s lips in another kiss, more desperate this time. Logan groaned softly, his hands gripping Wade’s waist as he finally gave in.
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southernsolarpunk · 2 days ago
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Something embarrassing but important from when I was in middle school I just remembered was that we were taught abstinence-only sex education, and the teacher who taught us told us we could get pregnant from oral sex. She said sperm could travel through organ walls and get to the uterus from the stomach. Like she told us that, dead serious, and I believed it for y e a r s because an authority figure said it.
For a little extra info at the time I lived in the middle of fucking nowhere in a deeply red county in North Carolina. I remember that when people talk about how stupid southerners are and I just want people to know that that is by design. We are taught misinformation and most people don’t unlearn it because once the graduate high school (if they end up finishing, I know many people who didn’t) they’re immediately thrown into the job market, often working hard, physically demanding jobs that don’t allow much downtime. and most people don’t exactly enjoy using the little bit of free time they have for education. This is of course, because the American school system makes learning difficult and not enjoyable, so people end up with an aversion towards education due to the association with American schools.
I don’t know if this is a complete thought that makes sense but I hope it does.
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dearlot · 2 days ago
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spending christmas with the yellowjackets 💭
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— just random headcanons that include the crash, postcrash, and adult timelines. in no specific order. gn!reader.
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christmas in the cabin?!! they had soooo much more to worry about but like let's build a snowman guysss!!! let's cut down a tree and make wood ornaments and give gifts to each other!!! jackie asking you late at night if you think santa would come and deliver presents 😭 all waking up on whatever day you deem Christmas and having a celebration feast? :( lottie making tea for everyone, mari and you trying to make do with all the frozen berries and belts and acorns you've gathered, misty probably singing christmas songs by the fire, unwrapping presents with clothes as wrapping paper.....
the second winter you guys are so much more prepared and also so much more feral. christmas this time around would include a sacrifice for a nice dinner. shauna would disguise it as pulling cards for secret santa but you're actually about to surrender your life or die fighting. you've all got winter outfits too, and i think it'd be cute if everyone else besides lottie and nat wore these little reindeer headpieces during the feast because you guys are their followers. does that make sense? idk.
thinking about being taivan's controversially younger partner during christmas 😁 discounts in van's store (she needs the money ur not getting SHIT for free) and going with them to shop for decorations for the store too😖 gay christmas tree up in van's room...... watching christmas classics while drinking spiked eggnog and cuddling on the couch.... literally getting anything you want because you're their baby. waking up on christmas day, walking down to the kitchen for a quick drink of water first, and seeing tai and van wearing santa hats and kissing 😭
don't even get me started on being adult lottie's partner during christmas. i'll never shut up. i know that wellness center is decorated head to toe and i know she asked you to help her put everything up 😔 she'd give you some hot cocoa after all that hard work and a nice big kiss.
shauna (both adult and postcrash) is the fuckin' worst at hiding your presents, dawg. she probably shoves it in a closet somewhere and hopes you don't need anything from there 😭 of course you find it and immediately know what it is because i wonder what could this black, slightly boxy trash bag possibly be... probably really bad at wrapping too like most of your presents are just covered in tape LMFAO
oughh. spending christmas with post!crash lottie 😖 im ill. trying your best to save up some money to go visit her in swizterland but you just can't afford it :/ mailing polaroids of yourself with all the presents you wanted to send (some of them weren't allowed) and telling her they'll be waiting for her until she gets out :( Christmas with mute!Lottie too.... trying to spread some christmas spirit but its so hard when she's still so broken and won't talk :(( you do what you can though. taking her ice skating and getting a smile and laugh out of her was the highlight of the month.
nat would be so fucking good at gift giving i think....she's always so thoughtful with anything she does for a friend or her lover when making gifts for them because i feel like she'd prefer making rather than buying. little scrapbooks of meaningful places, mixtapes of songs that remind her of you, painting you something even!!!! or even something like getting you this book you really wanted but it comes with this HUGE handwritten note from her that's decorated with stickers and drawings of you and extra goodies she made on her own :(
christmas at lottie's compound with the others!!! you're lottie's closest acolyte and you've gotten closer with the girls as well. thinking about sitting in the circle with them in the sharing shack and they're comfortable enough with you to talk about the murders n shit in front of you 😭 but also going around and giving them gifts!! drinking wine with them and then dancing in the snow, throwing snowballs, and making snow angels >__< falling asleep after getting wasted and you're all kinda just in a pile laying on each other
jackie would buy so. much. mistletoe just to kiss you. you tell her she can just kiss you whenever but she's obsessed with christmas so it HAS to be under mistletoe. i think she'd go crazy during christmas too. you nearly had a heart attack when you came back from work to see a santa cutout peeking from behind a wall 😭 jackie as mrs. claus.....😖😖😖wearing the hat and (her reading) glasses while cooking with you, waking you up as mrs. claus on christmas morning and giving you an hour long present, like, ugh.....
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TO be honest. I don’t understand what it means when people say Merlin was Arthur’s bane. Mayhaps I misunderstand but. Arthur was a bit of an assassination magnet (not to mention all those magical creatures and bandits... so many bandits), and Merlin actively prevented Arthur's death for years, which would have occured without him anway in the very first episode. I can see why one might argue that Merlin was just delaying the inevitable, or that he didn't succeed in keeping Arthur safe until Arthur could enact the golden age, but certainly I don’t see how he could have been Arthur’s bane.
Also, it’s implied in the last episode that the golden age does occur, but under Guinevere. Which makes sense as she knew Merlin was the sorcerer and that she was pleased about it (and I recall it was confirmed in interviews), so I also don’t follow the twin train of thought that Merlin was his own bane or even Camelot’s. Camelot was already bane-d(?) under Uther. But partly because of Merlin's steady friendship, Arthur matured into a king who was kinder than his father. He also actively sought magic's aid on multiple occasions, so he knew magic had potential for good (like healing his queen) without Merlin needing to tell him about his magic.
I don't think it's fair to say Camelot's laws on magic remaining relatively static was because no one close to Arthur came out as having magic. There was still much risk in that, and for Merlin a lot at stake, not just his life. A law change was still possible (and almost seemed to be set up that way) without Arthur needing someone he was personally close to having to do the work to humanize it for him (in the sense that the episodes with the druids, the druid boy with Elyan, and the dolma seemed like they were pointing to a law change because Arthur sees the diversity of magic and those who have it).
At worst Merlin’s efforts didn’t change the status quo, but we do have things indicating that they did. And Merlin was not single-mindedly serving Arthur at the expense of everyone else. He saved Camelot as a whole multiple times. He was also very willing to stick out his neck for many others even during the height of his anxiety and agitation in season 5. (Also only being slightly silly when I say this, but he was also THE wingman for Arthur when he was getting with Gwen, so in a way Merlin’s help led to their courting being a success and thus contributed to her being in a great position to change the laws. so personally I give points to Merlin for that). Most of the decisions centering Arthur's safety seemed to stem from the fear that Albion would crumble before it began if Arthur were to die, so he tried his best to prevent that from happening in any way he knew. (Like, when Arthur is dying, Merlin asks "So I failed?" regarding the whole golden age thing, which I think is telling that the prophesy and his role in it was still VERY much at the forefront of Merlin's mind).
And this is a digression but I know people think Merlin should have done more for Camelot, or for folks with magic (like, as a revolutionary or something akin), which I understand but no one reached out to network with him really? It'd require resources, people (always confused why there weren't a whole bunch more folks offering Merlin material/intellectual/emotional support if they thought he should be the one to bring about the golden age. all he was told was that the forseen way it actually happens succesfully is through Arthur), time (I doubt it’d have been much of a ‘quicker’ way necessarily), and incredible planning + foresight if it's meant to be something that works out effectively + long-term. Okay I think I've digressed enough now. This is a whole seperate thought that I don't think I'm gonna do any justice here lol, and I'm already rambling, so I'll stop now :,)
But anyway, in terms of being his own or Arthur’s bane, we know Arthur will return, and we don’t know how Merlin spent his years. His magic can play with time and maybe he learns how to control that, or he could have entered a stasis like in various legends, etc etc etc. And I mean it is tragic on many levels, and it’s sad we didn’t see Arthur’s arc completed, and that Merlin sacrificed so much for a goal that didn't get much acknowledgment by the show at the end, but still. I don’t think Merlin was Arthur’s bane, or Camelot’s, or his own.
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cherbearsz · 1 year ago
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sonic movie 3 has the opportunity to do the coolest fucking thing ever if they adapt tails and eggman's sa2 story/conflict/foil thing by making it tails vs agent stone. you've got two sidekicks who derive(d) so much of their purpose and self-worth from a central figure in their lives, and with robotnik dead, stone is seeking to preserve his hero's legacy even in the midst of his grief. but stone sees tails, this annoyingly tech-savvy kid who constantly foils his schemes alongside sonic, the person stone holds responsible for killing robotnik - and stone sees painful reminders of how much he desired to be by robotnik's side. so his plan to enact revenge becomes twofold - crush sonic beneath his foot, and crumble the esteem and newfound family of a fox kit who has everything stone never got to have. it'd make the final tails stage in sa2 even more impactful because of those narrative additions, where similar to the agent, tails fights for his brother even though sonic is presumably gone - but with a heart of sky rather than a heart of stone.
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agalychnisspranneusroseus · 2 months ago
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Got any trans HCs for the amphibia trio? I love the many different interpretations I've seen from this fandom
I don't know about specific headcanons, I know I'm considering making Anne trans in RiAAU but I haven't decided yet.
In one hand: it would be interesting to think how she deals with her first periods because, well, amphibians don't have those, and Hop Pop assumes she's dying (she doesn't tell anyone else because she's so embarrassed). Not that he tells her that, but it really freaks him out. He thinks she has some sort of internal damage, and it's only after months of research that he finds out about some rare mammalian species, such as a few monkeys and rodents, that experience the same cycle Anne goes through. The whole point of this is that it makes Anne feel even more out-of-place. She doesn't remember her world or her parents, only that she came from "somewhere" (possibly another continent) full of people of her species, and she wonders if things would have been easier if she grew up with her biological family. I mean, surely this would be easier. It just serves as a reminder that she knows nothing about her species, not even its name, and she has no idea of how her biology works or what is good and bad for her or how long she'll live or what changes she'll go through.
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BUT, on the other hand: Trans Anne. Let's start with the obvious: amphibians don't have penises or vaginas and they reproduce externally, meaning they like... release eggs and sperm in the water and they mix without the involvement of either parent, meaning no one knows what the cultural significance of a "penis" or a "vagina" tends to be in most human cultures. As a literaly 3yo, Anne probably didn't have an extensive understanding of s.ex and gender, and it wasn't like the clothes she showed up with told Hop Pop much. She just knew that, as time went on, she found herself relating more and more to the female frogs of Wartwood, and she almost subconsciously began to refer to herself as a girl. There wasn't any big coming out moment, more like a point in which, after months of ambiguity (this kid kept using different pronouns for herself) she just settled on some good ol' she/her and began picking somewhat girly clothes when Hop Pop took her to the market.
It's not like the concept of trans people doesn't exist in Amphibia, it's just that Anne didn't realize that was her situation until, at least, meeting Marcy, and noticing the differences between them. It's not like either of them had ever seen another human from up close, so they didn't know what to expect anyway. Anne's only encounters with Sasha beforehand had consisted on magical girl swordfighting in the sky and whatnot. Certainly not enough to discuss their unique biology, which is something Marcy is very excited to discuss, since she's never met anyone with her same "condition" before, and she wants to know everything, so she uses her as her little rat lab whenever she has the chance. Even then, since she also lacks all knowledge of human s.exual dimorphism and its cultural implications, she doesn't associate anything about either of their bodies to any specific gender that could possibly be asigned to anyone based on biological feautures. Since Sasha remembers the most from Earth, she's probably the only one who could maybe possibly remeber her mom or the kindergarden teacher saying something about "the difference between boys and girls", but by the point she's in speaking terms with Anne, and by the time she realizes their bodies are different, she doesn't really care.
That's not to say Anne doesn't experience dysphoria or that she never undergoes any kind of physical transition. It was probably around the time her voice started to change during puberty that she realized her case may be kinda unique: neither Marcy nor Sasha's voices have changed that much, she can tell even though she only sees Marcy in person like once every 3 years and all the words she exchanges with Sasha consist of death threats and insults. Plus, there's a clear difference between """male""" and """female""" voiced in frogs too. She doesn't want to sound like a man! She doesn't want to be anything like a man! Men are gross! Sorry Sprig, Hop Pop, but it's true. Men are icky icky yuck yuck and Anne is a girly girl. She doesn't want to turn into Stumpy! Or Buff Loggle! Oh, no, is that her future? She commits the triple mistake of 1) sending a letter to Marcy that same day, 2) knocking on Maddies' door promising her firstborn if she can save her from turning into Stumpy, and 3) she becomes obsessed researching mammalian biology in the archives. Bad decision. Bad bad. She's discovering things to feel dysphoric about she never even knew existed! Did you know mammalian mothers feed their offsprings with "milk" that comes from their "mammary glands"? Did Sasha and Marcy have those? She hates herself a little for checking out Marcy next time she sees her and she realizes that, indeed, in the past years she's grown a pair of those that Anne does NOT have. She notes that both she and Sasha are pretty much hairless. She used to think hair was a normal mammalian trait! That weasel that tries to eat the frogs every winter sure is covered in it!
Maddie shows up to her door with a bunch of new spells to try out, happy to have a willing subject. Most embarrassingly, Marcy starts doing her own research as soon as she gets Anne's letter and sends her all her discoveries, and now Anne feels mortified because Marcy knows about all the bad bad very bad changes she's going through (Marcy, for her part, is just fascinated by the nature of their "condition").
It takes a bit, but after a few very frenzied weeks, Anne comes to understad what's going on: her species had certain level of sexual dimorphism and she just happened to have been born with the supposed "sex" usually associated with "men" as a social category. When Hop Pop finds out, he burst into laughter. Oh, it was THAT all along! Anne made it sound so complicated, but it was just the same things he went through when he was younger, just the other way around ("Say what now Hop Pop?")! A few curses here and there and she won't have to worry about these so called "mammary glands" and "hair" anymore, though in the meantime, as Maddie perfects a human-friendly curse, she gets turned into all sort of different creatures. By the time it's done, she just wants to feel like... herself.
It's true that there are some things about her body that make her feel weird, like they don't quite fit in, but there are others she only worries about because she compared herself to Sasha and Marcy, which wasn't fair to anyone involved. Did she really want to fundamentally change parts of her body because of insecurities she developed last week over a book about lemurs? Then, a second set of fears come in: what will happen when she goes back to her place of origin? Because she does want to find her birth family. Will they recognize her, if they're looking for a boy? Will they think she's lying if she claims to be their daughter? If she changes only a few things but doesn't "go all the way", will people there think she's a freak? Will she ever be able to fit in with those of her species?
Does she really care so much about what other people think? She just wants to be herself. Some of the changes she's been going through are making her feel less like herself and more like she's being turned into a tax collector from Toad Tower. Those things have to go - her voice, for example. And she wants a more femenine silhouette (she may or may not show Maddie photos of young Mrs. Croaker as a reference). She wants a softer face. She's seeing her face changing in the mirror and she doesn't like it. She wants it to stay round and soft, not to grow hard and sharp or big and rough. She's not so sure she wants those "mammary glands". It's not like she ever thought about having kids, and the whole "breastfeeding" thing just seems gross, but after her research, and finding out she could have kids with, I don't know, maybe Marcy one day (a thought that makes her blush), she thinks it may be a good idea. She'll consider it. Maybe later. Her genitalia... well, she's used to what she has now. It already took her like 10 years to fully figure out what it was and how it worked and starting over with a whole new set just feels like too much work (also, the babies, the potential babies with Marcy). Frogs and toads have neither "penises" or "vaginas" so there's not a lot of information, and based on books about lemurs and her own empirical experience, comparing herself to other mammalian species isn't too useful. She'll leave it the way it is. She'll see if there's anything else she wants to change later, or if she wants to go back on something.
Marcy is surprised next time Anne visits Newtopia. In her letters, she described this strange transformation in excruciating detail, but seeing her in person now, holding her face in her hands, all she sees is the same Anne she's always loved.
A few more ideas:
HEADCANON: in Amphibia, two people of the same "s.ex" can reproduce through magic, which means there has to be a concious effort and intent. The external fertilization process there's no such thing as a pregnancy, and there's no such thing as s.ex. All reproduction is intentional, which means there's no need for abortion either. There are processes to destroy fertilized eggs and embryos, but they look completely different from human abortions.
Amphibians may perform acts resembling s.ex for pleasure or fun but they look different from human s.ex and have no relation to reproduction.
Andrias is the only person in Amphibia who knows enough about humans to know how they reproduce (a process he finds repulsive). He never tells Marcy, of course, though once she becomes queen, she finds his secret library and his hidden tomes on "alien biology", some of which talk about humans. He's also the only one who knows humans can have children on accident, and that Anne is the only human in Amphibia who could cause something like that to happen (he reads all of Marcy's correspondence). He knows his daughter is very close to this weird farm girl penpal of hers, and even though she's still a child, he worries for her future and the future of the crown. This new discovery could land the crown in the hands of a dynasty of aliens if he's not careful. Is it weird that he spends so much time worrying about his 12yo daughter getting pregnant from another 12yo? Yes, yes it is, but he already controls every aspect of her life, it's not like he's going to stop at her sexuality, future, real, or imaginary.
Man now that I wrote it all down, I think this option is more compelling than the first. Maybe I WILL go with this one.
#amphibia#raised in amphibia au#anne boonchuy#marcanne#trans anne boonchuy#my posts#btw i'm very cis so i want to apologize if I said anything weird. since anne here grew up in a world so different from us#i imagine the ''trans experience'' as one of the only humans in frog world must be very different from the irl ''trans experience''#so I kept it mostly personal and thinking about what would make sense in her situation#for example. we know she finds boys pretty gross and likes more girly things#so the idea of ''turning into a boy'' as she hits puberty must make her feel gross#but i'm worried that describing how i imagine the perspective of this specific characters in her very specific situation#will come across as me saying ''oh being amab is gross and disgusting and icky'' which is NOT what I want to imply#do i think this anne may feel that way about herself considering she's never met another trans person in her life (except for this Hop Pop#but it's been so long since his transition he kinda forgot about it and doesn't bring it up)#?? yes. i think her first impulse would be to feel like that#because it comes from a place of ''This Does NOT reflect me. in fact it reflects everything I hate''#aaaah i hope i'm not messing up here. i'm open to criticism btw if anyone thinks this doesn't work i'd love to hear corrections#also re: the reproduction and period talk. i hope no one is too grossed out by that. i just thought it'd make sense#like it'd make sense for andrias to worry about that#also i just find the idea funny like. amphibians don't f.uck. copulation is for gross mammals. which means they probably find mammalian#reproductive organs particularly disgusting#which probably makes the girls feel... bad 😭
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bacchuschucklefuck · 5 months ago
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the never stop blowing up vhs is where cute twinks go to get harmed
#not art#nsbu spoilers#kirk blade.... johnny manhattan..... maybe tenuously cosmo chase#also genuinely I Love that vic ethanol is showing himself to be bit of a dick#and kingskin conversely First Actual Communication With The Player is like. idk I just work here#(I am vibrating in my seat abt liv bloodlust. shes experiencing a bit of emotional consequence. hope she powers thru it and#becomes even worse)#I also love that g13 and jack manhattan are both like. gone#I know in adventuring party they're charting it to shape up as like. usha also slowly losing herself to the work like g13 did#and them becoming one entity entirely in the sense that their selves stop mattering in the face of their hacker capacity#(also called the Forum Moderator Dilemma)#but I also like to think that g13 handed it back to usha cleanly in the second episode with that one interaction#and is now fully unplugged from everything. left the movie. man is Sleeping#we all agree that paula ate jack manhattan tho I think it's fine to assume that#and! the way russell has been like. fully going whole hog full tilt into helping other people and moving the plot along#while Suggesting That Doing Self Reflection And Learning Lessons From This World Might Help to Other People#like I love that. 1/lieutenant syndrome but also 2/extremely transfem coded#like past the ''ohh I have realisationd I'm coming to'' stage. far past. man is bored with thinking abt genders#not new realisation to him! had that thought two decades ago. not motivated enough by anything to change anything#I think I just love the scenario of like magical mystical journey in a fantasy world clearly designed to make you contemplate ur gender#and ur like oh no what? we did that years ago. whats up#deeply interested tho. open up russell we wanna see whats up with u#dang is perfect no note 10/10 more important than anything else he is genre aware and savvy and that truly is all he needs here#the ''let's make it fun'' scene he does with liv is SO good I love him. Im so scared the vhs will snatch him away. hes too genre perfect
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keeps-ache · 2 months ago
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and i Don't need to be detailed or very realistic with my worldbuilding! because L. ron hubbard existed at some point and
#just me hi#a post that does actually have a slight chance of putting me in some small danger Lmfshvhjgh#i have a minor interest in. the ology of science (m not gonna tag it Lmao) and i like to rotate my smaller interests almost on a#monthly schedule so hfbsh#/anyway reeeeed n i get into some debates about what makes 'sense' in my worldbuilding and what doesn't#which is mostly very helpful and making the stuff up in the moment is a greater part of how i function hfbshv#but it Does also put my brain onto overthinking the whole thing like. what specific type of element do generators run off of i NEED to#know [<- this is simply not true]#and like i Could sink a lot of time into figuring out how exactly different towns + cities economies function but am i the one to do all#that? i should hope not!! i'm just the 'has too many thoughts' guy. we need a different guy for the money stuff pfshvh#and it doesn't reaaaaaaaaally matter. in my heart anyway#//anywhoodle doo it's gonna be 1 soon and i am still working on a background to this piece#i have/had a vague idea of a city but i could not figure out how to translate it into an actual static image so i'm substituting. and i am#Displeased about it !! it is not turning out very well bfhsv :'3#i Really Really wanna learn to do backgrounds well. sighs wistfully#somewhere.. beyond the sea... she's (well-made backgrounds) there waitin for me (to practice)..... my lover stands on gol-#Oh bedtime alarm number 3 just went off khfsvjfsd#iiii should.. uumm...#OH wait wait wait we can pause on the drawing for a second i think i'm chilled out enough to start writing again Loll :D#yippee!! woohoo!!!#rule though. bedtime at 2. i can Not stay up til 3 writing like i usually do that's just ridiculous#//anyway yea goodnight happy halloween y feliz dia de los muertos n toodles ^w^
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arolesbianism · 3 months ago
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I wanna take a crack at making some fake screenshot graphics for my Sif Odile duo loopers au but I do not feel confident enough in my ability to mimic isat's art style and I also have a crippling fear of drawing backgrounds
#rat rambles#stars posting#I wanna make a thing for odile's parallel scene to the bathroom scene were sif forgets odile's name#but it takes place in the traps room by the wood carving tools which isn't the worst room to have to draw ig but I still dont want to#I could just take the lazy route and just sketch the scene so I can get it out of my head and I probably will#but at the same time I also should draw more stuff with backgrounds even if it makes me want to throw up and cry#but yeah the scene is basically just odile having a derealization moment while thinking abt the wooden odile carving sif made for her#just her looking at it and feeling nothing and trying to look ahead at siffrin expecting to be reminded of what it's supposed to make her#feel and just being met with the same emptyness in her chest as she can barely even recognize the person in front of her until they look#back at her and their expression shifts into a extremely concerned one#does that make sense? idk if Im explaining it well but I hope it makes sense#but yeah smth smth them becoming less real to eachother overtime much to the horror of both#also unrelated but I need to start rotating loop in this au in my head more theres so much to work with here#I have some vague ideas and thoughts but I have been too odile brained to properly elaborate on those in my head#Im honestly just glad Ive finally made an au that I can actually get invested in fleshing out#I havent rly found a good headspace to rly play around with the main cast but this is actually giving me smth to chew on#usually most thoughts I have abt isat just lead to me thinking abt my ocs lol#regardless Im having fun with this au and I hope that I can bring myself to commit to it#also Ive been trying to think of a decent name for this au and Im half tempted to call it from the top or smth but I feel like Im tempted#to call like every story I make that so Im on the fense abt it#especially since thats what Ive been planning on calling the prologue for spiraling upwards#not that I cant just do both but I wanna see if I can think of any alternatives
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theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 9 months ago
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I’m really starting to feel like Gregor Samsa now
#exjw#going pomo#my mom knows I’m gay and also “opposed” but my dad doesn’t yet so I’m hiding in my room#So naturally I don’t feel well; but I’m going to work anyway because I don’t feel as bad there as I do here#Now all I need is for my dad to throw something at me (I don’t think he would but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did)#I think my mom is hoping that maybe when I start ADHD meds I’ll “come to my senses”#because she asked if I thought my ADHD had anything to do with my decisions#And she went on and on yesterday reading stuff she researched about these specific meds#Like… no? If anything the ADHD meds will make me pack up faster because then I won’t be as inhibited to gtfo#She oddly doesn’t seem as angry/sad as I thought she would; so maybe she hasn’t fully accepted it yet#I start meds tomorrow btw so we’ll see what happens. Hell of a time to be messing with my brain chemistry sjdjdjdjdndndn#This will either make things way better or way worse. We’ll see#I’m just afraid that they’ll make my already VERY high anxiety worse because they are stimulants#the anxiety wasn’t high before but it is now that I’m obligated to tell my dad knowing how much he hates gays#I don’t want to suddenly pass out projectile vomit or shit myself; because that’s what high anxiety does to me#I’ve almost passed out twice because of nerves in the past year in reaction to this situation#one such incident occurring just three days ago… while projectile vomiting
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slimeciclecock · 9 months ago
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Forgive me for the person I'll become when Missa releases all his new music <- delusional
#been on a missa kick lately which I've never really shared#been getting reeeeally into some of his music and lowkey getting a crush on him 😳🥰#and like. who cares if its been a month or smth. im still very obsessed with that stream he did where he showed off music he was working on#like his voice is insanely good and im going crazy like. to this day i still dont know if he plans to release all that or if that was just-#-scrapped music. with how excited he was when showing music i dont think its scrapped? but idk#dont wanna get my hopes up but. gah#also im just gonna come right out and say it. missa sinfonia is fucking hot as hell#he's so insanely hot and attractive and the music makes him hotter and he's so funny and grhgrgjfrh#ive been a little bit a lot obsessed lately. oh my god how are you so damn attractive#ive kinda told myself that if i ever get a partner the first thing i would do is show him missa and make them fall for him like i did#he's like. handsome like a guy from my culture. does that make sense#missa sinfonia has malay guy swag#i think i can say that here yeah. ive spoken my mother tongue language here#sorry im reaching he just reminds me of someone irl. but also. missa is hot asf i need someone to shake hands with me#frickin. schoolgirl crush on a funny mexican youtuber#ive watched more missa videos than i thought i would and its embarrassing how giddy i would get watching like#i am in my 20s but i am resting my chin on my hand like 🥰#brother I've fallen someone pull me back up i cant do this today
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chazz-is-a-zelda-fan · 1 year ago
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can’t post this on insta considering a good chunk of my irls follow me there and they wouldn’t get this but i’ve been doing a lot better this week about keeping up with myself, i think
#the thing that i’ve mostly seen myself get better at is brushing my teeth and i know that’s so basic everyone starts by working on that#but its actually really difficult for me to keep up with esp considering that i have self sabotaging my health for years#like for the majority of my life i did not think i would make it to 16. i thought i would be 6 feet under and buried before i got here#i didn’t want people to know me because 1. then they couldn’t hurt me by forgetting me and 2.#they wouldn’t have anyone to mourn and i could fade away like i’d always wanted to#so i never cared about myself since i thought “well my time is up before i’m 16 it’s not like anything matters to me”#and while i hate to say it it gave me a sense of freedom under the roof i was stuck under#Religious Trauma does not fuck around let me tell you that#and so that “nothing i do matters” mentality became a major part of me and i regret it so much#i ruined so many relationships that could’ve helped me hold on to the little hope i had#i almost ruined my entire relationship with my sister because of that and i… i hope she knows how sorry i am.#i hope she knows just how hard her big brother is trying to be better.#i don’t know what to do now that i’m 16. it’s scary. i don’t know anything. i graduate next year.#but whatever i do… i can try. i can try to move on from the self sabotage and the recklessness and maybe#just maybe#i can be a big brother she can be proud of.#midnight mech
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outeremissary · 2 years ago
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3, 14, 19 for Balthazar/Tristian for the OTP ask game :)
3. Do they wear each other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)
Not much, really. In a practical sense, it would be difficult. Balthazar’s a bit smaller and a lot more slight than Tristian, so Tristian borrowing clothes wouldn’t exactly be comfortable. And Balthazar has some terribly awkward wings by the time the two of them are together- his clothes have to be tailored to him to accommodate the wings, and it’s difficult to wear clothes that haven’t been altered. Although it doesn’t stop him from occasionally stealing Tristian’s cloak or robe just in the spirit of mischief (and slowing down the process of getting dressed).
Not clothing per se, but Balthazar enjoys using his own brooches to fasten Tristian’s cloak whenever he helps Tristian get dressed- something to serve as a subtle touch of connection even when they’re apart. Tristian always waits until they’re apart to check what he’s been given. It’s a pleasant ritual to discover it, and it’s a point of comfort to reach for over the course of the day. He always returns Balthazar’s things very carefully at the end of the day.
14. How do their personalities complement each other? How do they clash?
The ways they clash are probably more obvious. Tristian is earnest to a fault and a person with very strong moral principles that he lives by (theoretically), while Balthazar is an ambitious person who often gets what he wants through deceit and trickery. There's a lot of natural tension between them- for a long time after meeting they really didn't like each other at all. Balthazar was quick to write Tristian off as dull and uptight, while Tristian rankled at the callous disregard Balthazar had for others. Tristian is also someone who clings a lot to an ideal of celestial virtue that Balthazar has spent most of his life trying to get away from. Even though the initial hostility faded there's still always some degree of friction. It can seem that Balthazar is too careless or too cold, or that Tristian demands too much without compromise. Always some arguments in there.
As for complementing... really, some of the clashes can be ways they cover each other's weaknesses at times. Neither cold pragmatism nor strong optimism can solve every problem- there's a sort of balance there, in a way. Or at the least a way to keep Balthazar's Machiavellian tendencies in check. And also I guess I'd like to think that their positive traits can influence one another as well- Tristian being a bit more flexible and better able to see nuance in a situation, and Balthazar becoming more open and trusting. Maybe this doesn't really count as a "complementary" thing but also like... the ability to be very earnest with one another. Balthazar is someone who doesn't let his guard down easily, but over time he begins to trust Tristian to understand his experiences without condescending to him about them. While Tristian isn't as obviously closed off as Balthazar is, he still doesn't put himself out there easily and feels a lot of shame confronting things about himself. Balthazar doesn't judge Tristian for any of his choices. He has a lot of empathy for the situation that makes beginning to sort through it easier. (And Balthazar does sincerely love Tristian's flaws, even if Tristian doesn't)
19. How do they feel about PDA?
Not at all self-conscious, that’s for sure. There aren’t a lot of big, dramatic gestures, but certainly there are plenty of small, intimate ones: entwining fingers, leaning into one another, gently brushing hair away from the face, a soft kiss pressed to the hand… It’s about the reassurance of knowing the other is present. It’s also the case that Balthazar is a bit clingy (something that surprises him) and Tristian is somewhat touch starved so…
It's embarrassing to watch, really.
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