#don't hold me to that but also maybe do hold me to it because like cmon

[jetii]

Hello! I was wondering if I could 36 NSFW with Tech x fem!reader? Maybe where he said that nobody really gave him a challenge at the game, and readers ego is too high to back down from that offer even though she loses horribly. Established relationship perhaps? Also, I love your writing it’s amazing! You deserve all the love and followers

Hiii I'm so happy you requested this!!! I've been addicted to playing Kessel Sabacc in SW Outlaws for the past few weeks, and I was just waiting for the opportunity to work my knowledge into a fic. Literally wrote this as soon as I saw it in my inbox.

I consider this reader the same as the one from On Impulse if anyone cares!

Strategy

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader

Words: 5,069

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, smut, established relationship, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, light dom Tech, rough (but affectionate) sex

Prompt: 36. “I don’t know why you’re complaining, you’re the one that wanted to play strip Sabacc.”

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"Pure sabacc," you announce, throwing down your cards and leaning back in your chair. A relieved grin spreads across your face at Tech's expression. His mouth is a thin line and his eyes are squinted, but there's an exasperated glint in them.

"Yes, I know," he grumbles, dropping his own cards on the table. Tech isn't a sore loser, but he is a competitive one. And the fact that this is the second hand you've won in a row is definitely irking him.

You snatch up his discarded cards and start to shuffle. "What was that about me never winning a round?"

"It is an anomaly," Tech states emotionlessly.

"And you've done the calculations to prove it, haven't you?"

He doesn't answer.

"Well, maybe I'm just lucky tonight." You cross your arms, reveling in his annoyance. "You know, I was beginning to think you were cheating with all the times you've been winning."

Tech rolls his eyes, but you can tell he's fighting off a smirk.

"I wouldn't cheat. Besides, I don't need to. My superior memory allows me to calculate the chances of each outcome with ease, making me naturally skilled at the game. Whereas you," he continues, leaning across the table and resting his elbows on it, "must rely on luck, because your memory is abysmal. It's no surprise you've been losing so often."

"Hey!" you protest, tossing a card at him. It flutters through the air, but he catches it before it hits his goggles.

Tech leans forward, the card trapped between his index and middle finger. "I am merely pointing out the facts, darling."

You snatch the card from him and return it to the deck, refusing to meet his smug gaze. He's trying to distract you, and he knows it's working.

"You can't always rely on the facts," you say, dealing the cards out once again.

"I don't. I also use strategy. Which you should try, seeing as it would certainly help you win."

"Strategy?"

"Yes, like—"

"Like how you're trying to distract me by insulting my memory?"

Tech huffs a breathy laugh and tilts his chin down. "Is it working?"

"Absolutely not." You glance down at your cards, trying your best not to smirk at your hand. Another sylop. The deck is stacked in your favor this round, and you have a perfect chance of beating Tech.

"What do you say we make this more interesting?" you propose, watching Tech's head tilt in curiosity.

He places a chip down and draws a card before his eyes dart back to yours. "I'm listening."

"Strip sabacc."

Tech's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he almost drops the cards he's holding. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me," you tease, setting your cards down. "Whoever loses a round has to remove an item of clothing. If you lose all your clothes before I do, I win. If I lose mine first, you win. Deal?"

He takes a moment to contemplate the suggestion, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, and his eyes narrow, calculating the possibilities. When his lips curve into a smirk, you know he's made up his mind.

"Deal," he agrees, nodding once and adjusting his goggles. He lays down his cards face up—pair of ones. You frown at your own hand and drop them onto the table.

"Oh, come on! Again?"

Tech chuckles, leaning back in his seat. "I believe you're the one who suggested this game. Now, please, take off an item of clothing."

The cockiness in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Tech may be a terrible flirt, but his confidence in himself is incredibly sexy.

You slip your boots off and kick them under the table, then lean back in your chair and cross your arms. Tech's eyes are locked on you, a devious smile playing at his lips.

"Now who's distracted?" you taunt, winking at him.

"Hardly," he answers. But you can see the flush on his face and the way his chest is rising and falling just a little bit faster than usual. He's excited, and he's trying to hide it.

“You know, you’re wearing a lot more clothes than I am," you argue, leaning forward on the table and batting your eyelashes innocently. “You should take off an item, too, for fairness' sake."

"Fine." He pulls his boots off and drops them onto the floor. "Happy now?"

"Very."

Tech picks up the deck and shuffles the cards, the corners of his lips turning up.

"This was your plan, wasn't it?" he asks.

"My plan was to finally win a game of sabacc against you. And maybe see you with less clothes on, but that's an added bonus."

Tech chuckles and slides the cards toward you, his eyes burning into yours. "You are very devious. Now, deal the cards, darling."

You quickly learn that the stakes have made the game a lot more fun. Your heart races as the tension between the two of you rises, each of you sneaking glances at the other while pretending not to. And it doesn't take long for Tech to get the upper hand, much to your dismay.

"I told you," he teases, smirking at you over his cards, "my superior memory allows me to calculate the probability—"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't need to brag," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. You draw another card, cursing when it doesn't help you in the slightest.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, you’re the one that wanted to play strip Sabacc," he says. You look up at Tech to see he's staring at his own cards, but the slight smile playing on his lips tells you he's aware of your annoyance.

You can't argue with that. You're the one that proposed the idea, and you're the one that can’t seem to stop losing, so now you're the one sitting on the ship with no shoes, socks, or a shirt, leaving only your pants and undergarments. Meanwhile, Tech has only removed his gloves and belt.

He places his cards face-up on the table, revealing another pure sabacc.

"Dammit," you sigh, throwing your own cards onto the table. "Again."

"Strip," Tech commands, and there's a huskiness to his voice that wasn't there before. His eyes are dark and intense as they follow your every move, and his mouth is curved in a devilish smile.

"Are you enjoying this?" you ask, unbuttoning your pants and standing from the chair.

"Immensely," he admits, his eyes not straying from you.

Heat spreads throughout your body at the intensity of his gaze. He watches with bated breath as you push the fabric down your legs, revealing the soft skin of your thighs, and he licks his lips subconsciously. The pants pool around your feet, and you kick them under the table before returning to your seat.

"Now who's the distracted one?"

"Not distracted," Tech replies, his eyes meeting yours. "Appreciating."

His words are heavy and sultry, and you can't stop the flush that colors your cheeks.

"You can appreciate me better if you lose another round," you tell him, shuffling the cards once again.

Tech's eyes narrow. "I think I'd prefer to watch you lose a few more."

The cockiness in his voice goes straight to your core, and a heat pools in your abdomen. Tech doesn't break eye contact, his stare intense and challenging, and a thrill shoots through you at the thought of what he could be thinking.

"I guess we'll see," you tell him, smirking.

You deal the cards, and Tech immediately throws a chip down, drawing his next card. A satisfied smile curves his lips. He's not even trying to hide his glee at your frustration, and it's infuriating.

You throw a chip onto your pile, drawing a card and praying that the Force will be on your side this round. You peek at the numbers and symbols on the card, and the disappointment is instant. It's the worst possible combination—a six and one. And you're out of chips.

When Tech sets his cards down, he does so slowly, drawing out the moment and relishing in your scowl.

You sigh, dropping your useless cards, and Tech's eyes brighten at the sight.

"Well, would you look at that?" he says, his voice filled with fake innocence. "I believe that's five in a row for me."

"No shit, really?" you mutter, rolling your eyes. "I had no idea."

He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, his hands folded together and his chin resting on top. "Strip."

It's the way he says it, like a command. His voice is low and gravelly, and you feel yourself getting wetter at the tone. He's so sure of himself, so cocky, and it's driving you wild.

"Do I have to?" you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

Tech's eyes narrow in on you. "Yes."

You stand and unclasp your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders and slipping it off your arms. The cold air makes your nipples harden instantly, and his eyes widen when he sees them. He stares for a moment, taking in the view, and then his tongue darts out and licks his lips.

"I must admit, I'm finding this game more enjoyable than I originally thought," he says, his voice thick.

"Only because you're winning."

He hums in agreement and deals the next hand, a sly smirk playing on his lips. Throughout the round, Tech's eyes keep flicking back and forth between the cards and your chest, and you have to bite back a smile. He's trying so hard to concentrate, and his obvious struggle is adorable.

Tech's confidence fades as the round progresses, and by the time he sets his cards down, he isn't wearing his usual cocky smile. His mouth is pressed into a thin line and his eyebrows are knitted together when he shows you his hand.

"What's wrong, Tech?" you tease, leaning back in your seat. "Disappointed that you lost?"

"Of course not," he scoffs. "I've already calculated the possibilities and I know how this will end. I have no doubt that I will win."

"Then why are you pouting?"

"I am not pouting."

"Uh-huh. Well, whatever the reason, it's time for you to remove some clothes."

Tech sighs and slips off his goggles. His warm eyes meet yours, and you notice that they're slightly glazed over.

"There," he grumbles, pushing the goggles across the table toward you. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," you reply, a wide smile on your face.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in his appearance. It’s rare that you get to see him this way, and you savor the moment. Tech has always been handsome, but the way he looks right now, with his hair mussed and a blush coloring his cheeks, is absolutely enticing.

You pick up the deck and shuffle it, and the sound of the cards sliding together is the only noise in the room. Tech's eyes are fixed on your bare chest, and his throat bobs when he swallows.

"Like what you see?" you ask, raising a brow.

"Always."

Your cheeks flush, and you deal the cards. The anticipation is killing you, and the smugness that Tech was showing before is long gone. He seems eager to get the game over with, and the impatience in his demeanor is refreshing.

His eyes flick back and forth between the cards and the pile, and his face gives nothing away. You're desperate to know what his hand is, and it's taking every ounce of willpower not to peek.

He reaches across the table and throws a chip down, his brow furrowing. It's such a subtle change in his expression, and most people would miss it. But you know Tech well enough to understand his emotions, and right now he's frustrated.

Your heartbeat quickens as you draw a card. Another three to match the one already in your hand. Not great, but it's enough to win if Tech doesn't have a better sabacc.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask him, watching as his eyes move from his cards to yours and back again.

"Strategy," he mutters.

"What kind of strategy?"

"The type of strategy that will guarantee my victory,” he says. His eyes are determined and his jaw is clenched. He glances up from his cards to meet your gaze, and the fire in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.

"Show me your cards," he demands.

You do as he asks, laying the two twos face-up on the table. The look he gives you is nothing short of prideful, and your heart drops.

"You've got to be kidding me," you groan.

Tech reveals his own cards—a sylop and a one. You let out an exasperated huff, and he chuckles.

"Well," he starts, placing his cards on the table and leaning back in his chair. His gaze travels over your body, and his smirk widens. "Go on."

Your cheeks heat up under his scrutinizing stare, and a part of you wants to rebel and refuse to comply. But Tech looks so damn good right now, his eyes filled with mischief, and the excitement coursing through you is too much.

"You're having too much fun," you say, your voice low.

"I'd have more fun if you'd hurry up and finish this little game of ours," Tech retorts.

 You're about to give him a smart retort, but then you notice the way he shifts in his seat. It's subtle, and you doubt he even realizes it, but it's there. The tightening of his thighs, the slight twitch of his hands. He's just as turned on as you are.

And you decide to play into it.

"I'm in no rush." You stand, slowly, and let your hands travel down the expanse of your chest, cupping your breasts and running your thumbs over your nipples.

Tech's breath catches, and his eyes are dark as they watch your every move. You can see his fingers twitching, aching to touch you, but he's refraining. You run a hand down your stomach, over the hem of your panties, and he licks his lips again.

Then, without warning, you turn away from him, exposing your backside. Tech makes a sound of protest, but his objection quickly dies down when he sees you hook your thumbs into the waistband and slide your underwear down. You bend forward to push them down your legs, and you can hear the sharp intake of breath from Tech.

The moment you turn around, a mischievous glint in your eye, you're met with a new expression on Tech's face.

He looks hungry.

His pupils are blown wide and his lips are parted, and you can tell it's taking all his strength not to jump across the table and take you right then and there.

"Well?" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him. "What are you waiting for?"

He doesn't waste a second. With one swift motion, he tosses the cards aside, his eyes never leaving yours, and stands. Then, he's on the other side of the table and grabbing your waist, pulling you towards him until your chest is pressed against his.

"I win," he announces, his hands roaming over your body.

"Then take your prize."

He pulls you into a searing kiss, his lips pressing insistently against yours. His hands travel the expanse of your skin, squeezing and caressing. One settles at the base of your neck while the other moves lower, down the curve of your back and to your ass. He grabs it, hard, and pulls your hips towards his, pressing his already-hard erection into you. You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it up, his tongue delving deeper and dancing with yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer and pressing your bare chest against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, and his arousal is evident as he rocks his hips into yours, his hand squeezing and kneading your flesh.

When the two of you break away for air, his mouth moves lower, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking the sensitive skin at your pulse point. You tilt your head back, allowing him more access, and he takes full advantage. His tongue laves over the area, teeth nipping at the skin, and a breathy moan escapes your lips.

Tech's lips travel lower, across your collarbone and down your chest, stopping at the valley between your breasts. His breath fans over your skin, and his tongue darts out, licking a stripe along the underside of one breast. His fingers move up, brushing over the bud of your nipple, and you let out a whimper at the sensation.

He looks up at you, a satisfied smile playing at his lips, before bending and taking the other nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it, his lips sucking the sensitive flesh, and his hand pinches the other one. The feeling sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and your hands find their way into his hair, tangling themselves in the strands.

You gasp as his teeth gently graze over the hardened peak, and your knees nearly buckle beneath you. His other hand comes up and holds your hip, steadying you, and his mouth moves to the other side.

"Tech..." you breathe, your head falling back and your eyes fluttering shut. He's barely touched you, and already, you're a panting mess.

Tech's lips travel further down, past your navel and to your thighs. He drops to his knees in front of you, his hands trailing along the curves of your hips, and his lips press kisses into your skin.

"I've been wanting to taste you all day," he says, his voice a low rumble.

"You should've told me earlier," you breathe, looking down at him through hooded eyes. "We could've skipped the sabacc." 

"This was far more entertaining." He presses a kiss to your mound, and you shudder. His eyes are dark with lust, and the sight of him on his knees before you makes your core clench with anticipation.

Tech kisses your thigh, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. Your hands tighten in his hair, tugging and guiding him to where you need him most. He chuckles, and the warm breath fans over your sensitive flesh. 

His fingers dance across your skin, teasing the crease of your thighs, before one presses against your heat. A moan escapes your lips, and he presses harder, dragging his finger through your folds.

"You're already so wet," he murmurs, his eyes watching the way his finger moves. "Were you thinking about this while we were playing? About what would happen if you lost?"

"Yes," you answer truthfully, and the admission has him groaning.

He rubs circles into your clit, his touch sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body. Your legs begin to shake, and you place a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. He glances up at you, the corner of his mouth turning up in a devilish smirk, and he presses a finger against your entrance. You whimper at the contact, and Tech lets out a quiet moan, the sight of you falling apart before him clearly affecting him.

"Tech, please," you beg, rocking your hips into his hand.

"Patience, darling," he coos.

He pushes the digit into you, slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch, and then curls it upwards. You gasp, your hand gripping his shoulder tighter, and he begins to pump his finger in and out of you. His arm nudges your thigh, spreading your legs wider, and he leans in and presses his mouth to your clit. He licks a broad stripe up the sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue swirling around it, and you cry out in pleasure.

His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady, while the other continues its slow movements, pushing in and out of you. You feel the tension coiling inside of you, and you know it won't take long for him to push you over the edge. His tongue is skilled and insistent, and he knows you better than anyone.

Tech's eyes are locked on yours, watching every reaction, and you can see the pure delight written on his face. He loves knowing he's the one doing this to you, making you fall apart.

"Tech... I'm..." You can't finish the sentence. The tension is building inside you, threatening to snap at any moment, and your breathing is labored. Tech adds a second finger, pumping faster and curling them against the spongy spot within you. You whimper, your grip on his shoulder tightening, and he knows you're close.

"Come for me," he says, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. His palm slaps against your clit, his fingers curling deeper, and the coil inside you snaps.

"Fuck!" you gasp, your legs shaking as the orgasm crashes through you. Tech's arm wraps around your thigh, keeping you upright as your knees buckle. He continues pumping his fingers, drawing out the pleasure, his tongue flicking and swirling around your clit.

When the sensations become too much, you place a hand on his forehead and push him away, your body going slack. Tech pulls his fingers from you and places a gentle kiss on your inner thigh before standing, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice husky.

"Mhmm," you hum, a blissful smile tugging at your lips.

Tech's hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. He takes a step forward, guiding you backwards, and the backs of your legs hit the bunk.

"Tech, please," you beg, breaking the kiss and staring into his eyes. They're black with desire, and he's already reaching down, fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

He pushes them down his legs, kicking them away, and his cock springs free, already leaking. Your hand reaches for him, stroking him from base to tip, and he groans, his hips bucking into your touch.

You continue the slow movements, dragging your hand along his length and rubbing your thumb over the tip. Tech's breathing is heavy, and his head falls to your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"Stop," he mutters, grabbing your wrist and halting the movement. "I want to last more than five seconds."

You chuckle and press a kiss to his jaw. "Well, let's go, then."

His eyes meet yours, and he nods. Then, in a swift motion, he spins you around and pushes you forward, bending you over the side of the bed.

He presses his body against yours, his cock grinding against your ass, and a soft moan escapes your lips. He's close, his breathing hot and heavy against your neck, and his hands are gripping your hips, pulling you towards him.

You feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance, and a shiver runs down your spine. You lean forward, resting your arms on the mattress and tilting your ass higher, and Tech lets out a deep moan at the sight.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers as one hand slides along the curve of your back.

“Hurry up," you urge, wiggling your hips against him.

His hand moves down your hip, across your ass, taking a moment to squeeze the flesh, and lower to the back of your thigh. His fingers dance along the skin, sending shivers down your spine, before coming to a stop at the back of your knee. He lifts it, propping it on the edge of the bunk, spreading your legs wider, and then his cock is lining up with your entrance.

He pushes in, slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. You whimper as he fills you, and his hand comes up, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back.

Tech pauses when he's fully sheathed inside you, his hips flush with yours, and his hand comes around to rest on your lower stomach. The light pressure on the spot is just enough to have you squirming, and you push back into him, silently begging for more.

"Please, Tech," you whimper, and he huffs a laugh.

"Begging already?" he teases, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear. "I haven't even started yet."

He pulls out of you, and the drag of his cock has you whining, already missing the sensation. He pushes back in, slow and deep, and you let out a shaky breath.

"Fuck, Tech," you pant, and he groans, his nose brushing against the nape of your neck.

His pace is slow and methodical, and you can't help but admire the restraint he's showing. Usually, he's a mess by this point, but now, his fingers are digging into your hips, holding you steady, and his breathing is slow and controlled.

You turn your head, pressing your cheek against the sheets, and glance up at him. His eyes are shut tight, and his brow is furrowed in concentration. You're not sure what's gotten into him, but he seems determined not to lose control.

"Harder, Tech," you urge, pushing your hips back to meet his. He grunts and snaps his hips, the slap of skin on skin filling the room. You let out a moan, and Tech's pace quickens, his thrusts growing more forceful.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, trying to find purchase as he pounds into you. It's intoxicating, the feeling of his cock filling you, stretching you. And the sounds coming from his lips—the soft grunts and moans—are driving you wild. He's always quiet during sex, but the sounds he's making now are anything but.

Tech's grip on your hip tightens, and his hand on your stomach presses harder, holding you in place as his hips move faster. His thrusts are sharp and deep, and he hits that sweet spot inside you, sending tingling waves of pleasure through your body.

"Yes," you cry out, and you push back against him, meeting each thrust. "More, Tech."

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his voice strained.

"You won't."

He lets out a strangled moan and slams his hips into yours, the movement nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. He continues his relentless pace, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip, and your head falls forward, resting against the sheets.

Your legs are shaking, and the tension inside you is threatening to snap at any moment. You can feel the fire burning in your abdomen, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, and the way Tech is panting against your neck isn't helping.

"That's it," he growls, his voice low and husky. "You're close, aren't you?"

"Yes," you breathe.

"I can feel you tightening around me." He groans, his pace never faltering. "You're going to come for me."

It's a demand, not a question. And you have no intention of disobeying him.

Tech's hand slides from your hip to your ass, squeezing the plump flesh. The possessiveness of the gesture has you keening, and you arch your back, presenting yourself to him. He growls at the sight, his hips slamming into yours.

"Stars, you're so fucking beautiful," he pants, his hand moving to your thigh and hiking your leg higher. The new angle allows him to slide deeper inside you, and you can feel the pressure building within you, the tears beginning to prick at your eyes.

"Tech, please," you beg, pushing your hips back to meet his.

"What do you need, darling?" he asks, his voice strained. "Tell me."

"Make me come, please," you whine, and his hips jerk forward.

His hand is quick, sliding between your legs and finding your clit. He presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow circles, and the tension snaps. Your body goes rigid, and your vision blurs as the orgasm rips through you. You cry out, Tech's name falling from your lips, and your knees buckle, the only thing keeping you upright is his firm grip on your hips.

You bury your face in the sheets, muffling the sound of your moans, and Tech keeps pumping into you, his thrusts rocking you forward and sending your orgasm even higher.

He fucks you through the high, his pace never faltering, each thrust punching another gasp from you. Your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white and jaw clenched, and the pleasure is so intense that tears begin to roll down your cheeks. His cock twitches inside you, and you clench around him, desperate to push him over the edge.

"Fuck," he hisses, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He's babbling now, his voice hoarse and broken, and you can tell he's close. "You're perfect, darling. You're— fuck, I love you, I love you, I love—"

His words are cut off by a deep groan, and his hips stutter. He slams into you one final time before he spills into you, hot and thick, and the feeling is enough to make you see stars. His hands are gripping your waist, bruising the flesh, and he pulls you into his lap as he turns and collapses onto the bed.

You both sit there, panting, his chest pressed against your back. His forehead is resting against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. The two of you are covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hands are roaming your body, tracing gentle patterns across your skin.

"That was..." Tech trails off, unable to form the words.

"Yeah," you agree, leaning back against him. You take in a shaky breath and sigh. "I love you too, by the way."

"I know." He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a gentle kiss against the sensitive skin. "I can't believe you suggested strip sabacc."

"And I can't believe you agreed."

"Well, I wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to see you naked," he chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy circles across your abdomen.

You laugh, and the sound is bright and clear. You shift in his lap, turning around and straddling his hips. His eyes are soft as he stares up at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Maybe we should play it more often then," you joke, leaning down and capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

"We will, if this is how you plan to reward me every time I win."

"Deal."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

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@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino @silly-starfish

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink (obligatory)

•vaginal fingering

•oral (f receiving)

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

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Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little boots practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side in on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small hugg as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[doloresbutitsdolly]

Losing My Innocence

TW: no established relationship, up to no good antics, pining for each other, adult time 🙏

He's driving around, with you as his little passenger princess. He glances to you occasionally, admiring those tinted cheeks and lips of yours. You pretend to not notice; pretending to be busy singing to the songs on the radio. But part of you wished he did more; wish he'd put his hand on your thigh, maybe even hold your hand.

He gets a call from you in the middle of the night, asking if you could meet up and do something to distract you from your stressful life. He's outside within 20 minutes, wearing that jacket he usually does when it's cold outside and leaning against his car. He takes a look at your clothes, undressing you with those eyes of his that you find yourself staring into.

"Where are we going?" you asked as you slumped into the car seat.

"I don't know. We'll see, angel."

You pull up to a convenience store, one with shitty lighting. He gets out and buys two bottles of soda and gives one to you. You guess this is where you're hanging out now. You sip your drink, chewing on the straw as you watch him text on his phone. Surprisingly, he asks what's got you so stressed out. You hesitate, fearing he might be asking a rhetorical question. But when he looks at you with those eyes, you slowly let yourself open up.

You're in the back seat, losing what's left of your innocence with him. He's rough, he is a tough guy after all. But you can't help but melt when he gently pulls you closer, getting you more comfortable to lie flat on the seats than have your head pressing against the car door. It's times like these where you forget how stressful life is and how good it is to just, feel. You hated how draining life had to be, all you wanted was this- No, all you ever wanted was him. Him and his bitchy attitude. Him and his "do I look like I give a fuck". Him. His hair, his body, his voice. You wanted him. The question was if he wanted you.

As you're fixing you're ruined makeup he drags a finger across your lips, purposely messing it up. You swat his hand away, before angrily putting on another layer of lipstick. He chuckles as he leans back, watching you again. You couldn't help but feel giddy, it's like he's your lover. Oh, how you wanted him to be your boyfriend. You were almost desperate. But even if the feelings were mutual, life is full of shit and the consequences would have you drowning in even more problems.

You're home, now. His fingers tap against the wheel. You don't move, wondering how you can still drag the time.

"Something the matter?" he asks

Shit, does he know what you're doing? You shake your head.

"Ya' want another round?" he asked, smirking. You smack him, mumbling about being busy tomorrow and not having time to limp around. He grabs your wrists, yanking you to his face. Lips inches apart, you could feel his hot breath.

"No kiss goodbye? A bit mean, especially from a sweetheart like you." he whispered.

You pressed your lips onto his, cupping his face and pulling him close. He doesn't hesitate, not even for a moment. He runs his fingers through your hair, before settling on your face. You pull away, breathless now.

"Goodnight, angel. Call me if you need anything."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Dolly's note: was listening to diet pepsi by Addison Rae and got inspired. Also because there's this person i really like but i shouldn't lmfao. Do yall relate to me or am i just cray cray?

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

when I want to write something self indulgent to give me all the angsty and cuddly hurt/comfort feels but I can't because I end up feeling guilty because I'm seeking after feels that I feel in an inappropriate place because my mom told me one time when I was 15 that I shouldn't search that out or it's probably sexual sin but it confuses me because ALL the feels happen that way for me even if it's entirely platonic and nonsexual and so I don't know if it's okay to want to write to that because apparently all pleasure of any sort, even over platonic stories, is sexual or comes with a possibly probably sexual feeling and I also am having a hard time figuring out what's genuine conviction from God and what's just my anxiety/OCD/perfectionism/fear of failure

[nqueso-emergency]

All the drama surrounding Buddie is homemade. Homemade by immature wannabes who know absolutely nothing about relationships. Even though Buck and Tommy are a couple now, not much will change in their friendship with Eddie, except that Buck will have less time than before. Maybe in RL there are friendships that break up because of something like this, but that's also because of the lack of understanding of the "friend" who was never a friend to me. If my so-called best friend can't be happy for me, then this friendship never had a foundation.

But that's not the case with Buck and Eddie. You can see from his time at Fight Club that Eddie could always get along without Buck. And even when he was with Tommy, he dropped Buck like a hot potato. But Buck was still good enough to take care of Chris. Eddie has his own ideas about friendship, but Buck never really holds that against him.

Except maybe when it came to Tommy. Buck felt that Eddie pushed him aside from the moment Eddie and Tommy took the chopper to Vegas. Why didn't Eddie ask Tommy about a third ticket when he was offered that possibility? Tommy didn't know how deep Eddie's and Buck's friendship ran. The rough shove during the basketball game was Buck's way of showing Eddie how it feels to be pushed aside.

Buck and Eddie's friendship will change, but it won't be destroyed. On the contrary, now that Chris is gone, Eddie has the opportunity for self-reflection. Something he desperately needs but has never had time for.

Those who don't want that but still want to see Eddie in a relationship with Buck don't like Eddie as an independent character but as Buck's appendage. For Buddie Stans, one cannot exist without the other, which is utter nonsense.

Let alone the idea of them being more than "just friends." Why is it impossible to have a profound friendship and not end up in bed with each other? Do these people really hate Eddie so much that they don't see him as an individual? One could think he is their plot device to fulfill their PWP fantasies.

Love this anon!

[just-a-ghost00]

Celeb series : channeled advice from your bias' higher self

Group 1

Cards : 2 of coins, 7 of swords, Strength, 3 of pentacles, Death, 9 of wands

Be mindful of the way you spend your time and energy. Of course, work is important but... are you getting any rest? Are you even eating properly? I don't want you to be sick and tired. I don't want you to be exhausted and forced to step away from what you love because of that. You have to be strategic. I know how much of a hard worker you can be. No one can take that away from you and I am proud of you for the efforts you put in your success, your studies, your job. I hope you are proud of yourself too. But remember that you are not alone. You don't have to handle all this pressure on your own. You can count on me too. You can come and rest on my shoulder. I will lend you a bit of my joy and energy if that gives you comfort, if that brightens your day. I would be happy if I could lighten up your load and make your life a little easier. Remember that you are human and you deserve to have fun, to spend time with the people you love and doing the things that make you happy. You were not born to grind yourself to death. You were born to live and laugh and love. Lmao that sounds so cheesy but that's the truth. Hang in there. I know you can do it. I know you have it in you to be the most beautiful and successful being the world has ever known. I believe in you. When you feel down or stressed, please don't mull it over all alone in your corner. Come to me and let's chat it out. Maybe I can help you. Okay? Love you.

Shufflemancy : Are you having any fun? by Elaine Stritch, Freak like me by Halestorm

Group 2

Cards : 8 of wands, page of pentacles, page of cups, Tower, knight of swords, 7 of swords

Don't hold back. Whatever you wanna say, say it. Whatever you wanna do, do it. Be you. Do you. Feel you. I know it, you know it. This life is too short to have any regrets or mourn it. So just live, shine bright, have fun. Learn as much as you can. Go as far as you can. Don't hold back for any of them hyenas who would be too happy to see you fail. Shake the world. Break the rules. There's no one like you. Speak your mind. Embody your truth. I see you. I feel you. I know what it's like. Don't share any of your tricks with them. They jealous. Let them choke on their venom. You got no time for their BS. Okay? You're a queen/king. You bow down to no one. The dumbest of them all is the one that never learns, never asks, never speaks up. But you know better, honey. I know you're going to nail it. I know you're a good one. I know you're gonna rock the world because you're a rockstar. Just don't stop, don't look back. Don't let anyone stop you. I'll cheer for you wherever you go, wherever you are, whatever you believe in. Don't be afraid of what you feel or what you want. Just embrace who you are. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You are perfect. I hope you see that. I am in awe at how gorgeous and smart you are. I'm your number one fan! Show me how it's done! Show me what you got.

Shufflemancy : Zoom by Jessi, OMG by Usher ft will.i.am

Group 3

Cards : 3 of pentacles, 10 of swords, 9 of pentacles, ace of pentacles, queen of wands, 9 of wands

It's important that you take care of your health. Especially if your mind isn't in the best place right now. I know how hard it can be. But I also know how resilient you are. You are going to get everything you want and more. I have no doubt about that. You are so patient and kind, so hard working. You carry yourself with such grace and humility that it would be impossible for you to fail. I can't imagine a world where you don't shine. It would be impossible not to love you and admire you. I wish I could be of help to you but to be honest I feel like I have nothing to teach you cause you give me so much more than I could ever give you. I know so little about this world, about this life. But I hope that you can find a friend in me. A reliable shoulder to lean on when you feel down. I hope that your days are bright and that I can contribute to that. If I can give you just a little piece of advice, it would be to find a community where you feel safe and like you can be your true self, show your vulnerable sides without fearing rejection or retaliation. Go at your own pace. One step at a time, make your dreams come true. I will help you in any way I can. If it's by sharing your work or giving you words of affirmation, I will. If it needs me listening to you ranting for hours, I will gladly do that. There's only so much that I can do and say, but I hope that it's enough. Know that I am always by your side. You are so beautiful. Never give up. Please don't forget about me when you're successful. Because I am sure that one day you will surpass me and the greatest of them all. And if that happens, I wish I can be part of your world.

Shufflemancy : R U Mine? by Arctic Monkeys, I don't think I'm okay by Bazzi

[toxictigertonic]

HIII i absolutely adore your outlast trials headcanons, they're so silly and accurate .. if u don't mind, could you maybe do one of the prime assets going to the movie theater? that'd be so funny

Took a little break to give my brain more time to soak in the outlast bathtub, but I'm back with more silly.

COYLE

- He wouldn't take his sunglasses off for the movie I'm saying this right now. It could be a 3D movie and he'd just put the glasses over top of his own.

- Kinda guy to get a hotdog at the movies instead of just popcorn. Then he complains about the price to the underage cashier.

- He likes to watch cop and action movies, imagines himself being the protagonist through the whole movie. He wishes he was that cool.

- Leaves popcorn on the floor and his empty cup in the cup holder because "it's their job to clean it up".

- Would try to steal snacks that Gooseberry brought in. She was gonna share them anyway but if he's gonna be like that he can starve.

- Shushes anybody who even breathes too loud when the movie is going. He is Locked In and if you distract him he's going to kick your ass.

- Due to being this locked in, he will hold his piss for however long the movie is. He's not missing a second of this, he'll piss himself if he has to.

- Does not care what seat he actually bought, he's gonna sit where he likes and you're gonna deal with it. Dick.

- Would try to smoke a cigarette inside of the theater and have to be escorted out. Would not go quietly.

- Does not stay to see if there's anything after the credits, misses out every time. It's not that he doesn't know, he doesn't believe that there's actually anything to see.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- Brings a purse full of snacks with her. She is unwilling to spend 20 dollars on a little bit of candy. Still gets popcorn though, nobody can resist movie theater popcorn.

- Futterman wants to watch gorey horror movies while she wants to watch romcoms or just comedies in general.

- Futterman will complain through the whole movie if he's forced to watch a romcom. And he's loud about it too, the other movie goers would complain, but... that goose is scary.

- If he got his wish and they're watching a horror movie, he's cheering when characters die. Fuck the protagonists he's here for BLOOD.

- Futterman also complains about her snack choices. Candy? SUGAR? Think of the cavities, Phyllis!!

- She doesn't talk during movies but she is the one softly gasping whenever something like a plot twist happens.

- Futterman is face down in the popcorn bucket just munching away. He's gonna need a bath (read: get dunked in the sink) when they get home.

- Futterman would crack shitty jokes during quiet parts. Don't laugh it'll only encourage him to do it again.

- Phyllis is also a "hold it until the movie is over" kinda person but only because Futterman throws a fit if he misses out on parts. That's if they're watching a horror movie, if it's a romcom he's begging her to leave lol.

- Refills her popcorn before she leaves and brings it home with her.

FRANCO

- He actually can't eat popcorn bc the kernels get stuck in his teeth and it's uncomfortable :(

- Instead of eating popcorn, he's scarfing down candy. He strikes me as a gummy kind of guy.

- Gooseberry is actively rushing him past the snacks and candy bc he WILL try to buy 8 different kinds of candy and end up spending 60 dollars. He has the money but he does NOT need to experience a sugar rush halfway through a movie.

- He'd also go for horror movies, but also mafia/mob movies. Would shout at the screen about inaccuracies.

- Out of all of the assets, he's the one talking during the movie. He has a hard time sitting still and he's not completely paying attention and he wants Gooseberry to tell him what he missed. Coyle is shushing him the whole time.

- Despite being the one that keeps yapping, he'll kick the back of someone else's seat if he thinks they're talking too loud.

- Also leaves a mess of candy wrappers and spilled drinks, just like Coyle. He just doesn't care tbh.

- Gets up 9 separate times to use the bathroom, has to step in front of Coyle each time to get out of the row. They're gonna kill each other after the movie.

- If somebody else tries to step over his legs to get out of the row, he'd trip them. The menace.

- Gooseberry is clapping her hand over his eyes if there's any nudity and he is FIGHTING to move her hand away. Let him see!!

I would watch a movie with Phyllis and only Phyllis everyone else can wait in the car (sorry Franco)

[song-star-rini]

now playing… アイドル! (Idol)

genre: idol shenanigan / slight crack? (ft other characters!)

ad libs: RP blog au! (if you come from my rin blog you probably would get the context better)

notes: made this for fun for my frequents on the rin itoshi blog @underlash-owl ---mentions of a lot of people who come to the blog often ^^

if i missed anyone pls don’t get offended!! also i tried to get everyone’s pronouns and internet names + also i wrote this purely on impulse please don’t fight me

🌠 : @reapkusho @kuro-min @wabatle @rinitoshiplzdateme @rinitoshisgirl ☆

@tigreblvnc @starfire7 @ssstar @soleilonthesun @galaxynajma ☆

@someprettyname @bachi-the-bee ☆

(for any descriptions i used the picrews :3 lmk if i got anything wrong!)

group name : idolists

part 1 / 2 / 3

“you’re all fucking insufferable. you especially.” rin spats harshly, but despite his harsh words, he doesn’t move a muscle as the makeup artist dusts away at his cheeks.

rini who is sitting across from him, holds back a strained chuckle as they snap a picture of the male in front of them, leaning to their right to shows Najma the photo.

a sly grin stretches her lips as she looks between the screen and the soccer player.

“looking good”

“shut the fuck up najma”

rin let out a stiff breath when the door closed and the makeup artist had finally left, leaving the three of them alone.

“calm down dawg it’s not like you look bad,” rini shrugged, but that didn’t do much to soothe the younger itoshi brother.

“does it look like i give a shit? why did you even agree to this deal? i wasted so much free time practicing for a small ass concert.” rin complained.

he brings his hands to his face but retracts when he remembers that he just got his makeup done by the artist.

“you didn't lose any time for your boyfriend called soccer, so don't worry.” najma chirps, initiating an eyeroll from rin.

rini wasn’t wrong, rin didn’t look bad, he looked great, like an actual idol from somewhere. he didn’t look pro but he couldn’t be mistaken for a rookie either.

the male adorned the teal cargo pants with the white shirt and black varsity jacket perfectly. the white shirt had a small blue lock logo and the jacket had the PXG symbol on the back.

the outfit theme overall was bright accents of teal and blue with black being the overall back up.

silver rings looped around his fingers as piercings marked his ears, a single soccer ball silver chain dangled from his neck.

so uh..

why was he in here?

because his mod thought it’d be great to perform for some fans of his as an idol, he’d sing some songs, only three since he wasn’t a full time performer.

the playlist looks like: future perfect (pass the mic), drunk dazed, both the japanese version and some compromises in the choreography, and the last song is called 99 PERCENT. (including another song hooo)

yes, all songs mentioned are all sung by a group of 7, so of course, rin has some soccer friends to bring with him. so within this soccer idol group, we got shidou, bachira, reo, chigiri, isagi, and.. sae.

all were chosen by his mod, who might not see the light of day tomorrow, but that’s not what we’re here for.

the group let the rini decide what to call their temporary idol alias, and they chose ‘idolists’ a play on ‘egoists’ (don’t come after me if cringe)

the group had practice, all taking up roles, weak in singing? you’re a dancer. and vice versa. rini hadn’t slept properly in days to make sure this silly little promo event would do well.

maybe another cuss filled conversation passes, and its time for najma to leave and to let the group get together before the curtains rise.

the group meets in the back stage room, all dressed accordingly, can you guess who’s the center? rin.

“yippee!! did you see?! there’s so many people!” bachira squeals as he jumps up and down and around, he snuck a peak of the seats and saw a lot of fans chatter eagerly to see their faves on stage.

“it’s nothing compared to what i’ve seen.” reo comments nonchalantly, but bachira rolls his eyes.

“yeah.. but uh.. are you sure this is a good idea..?” isagi asks, but instead of rini, shidou answers for him.

“too late to think about that jackass.” he grins, a bit evil and a bit excited. and then he goes back to fawning over sae’s outfit, it wasn’t that extreme just a chest window that shidou couldn’t get his ass over.

isagi grits his teeth slightly and hisses out a “right.” then turns to the bright red head who they’re all waiting for. “come on chigiri..” but the long haired male doesn’t even spare a glance.

but the conversations muffle together for rin, nothing interesting being said, the only thing that the boy could pay any attention to is his brother.

but someone steps in and waves an obnoxious hand in his face.

“focus bro, lock in,” is all emi said, half serious, half joking. but it effectively made rin tear his eyes off of his 'family' member.

“there’s no time for soccer beef, just do what you practiced, or who knows.. beat him another way.”

whether it was intentional or not, what emi said had written its way into his head, and was slightly echoing as he steps up to the stage, everyone following behind him.

the curtain raises and the crowd erupts, the boys haven’t even moved a muscle. but anyone would practically explode if they saw their idol, right?

tbc.

ok so this is rlly an intro to the trilogy(?)

so uh ill tag everyone when the next part comes out, which actually has the performance :OOO

if you wanna be tagged just lmk :#

also my frequents have updated but i wont be adding them to this series

BONUS ART DRAWN BY MEEE

[clangenrising]

I’m gonna be honest; maybe it’s just me but it’s always been pretty easy 4 me 2 sympathize w/ Razor and Sardine- XP Part of it is cuz yknow… They’re just fictional characters and it takes a lot 4 me 2 h8 some1 dat dosent exist, but also idk how 2 explain it but I can so see why both of them turned out the way they did, idk how 2 describe it but when I look @ their environments and thought processes it just makes sense; I always saw them less so as irredeemable demons and more so as cats that probably have a cluster b personality they refuse 2 get treated resulting in them becoming horrible ppl :P

I'm actually going to push back on that pretty hard. Razor and Sardine do NOT have Cluster B Personality Disorders (antisocial personality disorder/sociopathy, borderline personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder, and narcissistic personality disorder).

As far as I'm aware, people with Cluster B Personality Disorders are actually more likely to be the victims of violence than perpetrators of it. While it is true that they are also more likely to be violent than people with other disorders, these disorders are highly stigmatized and it would be irresponsible of me to say that my two worst villains have them and that's why they are murderers and abusers and sadists. That does actual harm to people who have these disorders.

As well, these disorders are often linked to childhood trauma which neither Razor or Sardine have, but you guys wouldn't know about that because I haven't told you guys anything about their backstories which means that there are a lot of assumptions being made here. Razor and Sardine are hugely privileged and their malice comes from that privilege, and more importantly their entitlement.

They believe the world belongs to them because they're men and they're house cats. They face no consequences for their violence and so they get more violent. These are very mundane and banal reasons for evil and I explicitly wanted to create villains who were cruel for those kinds of banal reasons. They are irredeemable specifically because they refuse to be redeemed.

I feel like you want to have a woobified version of my characters in your head so you interpret them as being victims of their disorder when in the text they are first and foremost fascists. I don't mean to be harsh but this is such a harmful misreading of my text that I can't help but be a little upset by it. But also, please don't feel the need to apologize or grovel for upsetting me. I'd ask that instead you stop and think and do research on these disorders and consider what harmful assumptions you may be unknowingly holding onto.

[porkcutletbowl44]

Pls post deleted scenes 🙇🏽‍♀️

Hi anon! I'm sorry this took so long, but I wanted to accumulate as much deleted scenes as I could until I started running out of the intrusive ideas for now 🤣

A lot of these won't make sense, hence why they are deleted because I have deleted a lot of scenes because I change my mind a lot, most are just funny replies, my notes to read for later, and just... Feral in general lmao.

So, yes, deleted for a reason! (I will be adding to it if I come across more out of pocket shit)

(probably riddled with spelling and Grammar mistakes)

Far From Perfect Deleted Scenes

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

(Spoiler free! at least one of these scenes is NSFW)

-----

That comment strikes a nerve, and for a fraction of a second, Keegan's composure falters.

But he quickly regains his composure, and a flicker of irritation shows in his eyes. "Twat?" he repeats, his voice just as cool as before. "That's a new one. I prefer handsome devil, personally."

"More like arrogant prick." Simon replied with distain.

-----

He knew that Simon was a strong guy, and he had no doubt that he could hold his own in a fight. But he also knew that strength wasn't everything.

He glanced at Simon struggling with the barbell, silently amused. He chuckled to himself and leaned over to Hesh, who was watching the scene unfold with a smirk on his face.

"Y'know, for a big tough guy, he's got some pretty small dick vibes," Keegan quipped, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Hesh snickered, trying to muffle his laughs.

"Yeah, he's overcompensating for something," he said, his eyes fixed on Simon.

"Probably said micro penis."

-----

Soap only shook his head with a scoff, muttering out, "Bloody hell..." under his breath, before leaning over and smacking Simon upside the back of the head.

He grumbled out in irritation, "Get yerself together, ya prick."

-----

Fawn looks up from her coloring book, looking over at her cow.

"Dad...you're a heifer. Just like my cow."

-----

Simon huffs in annoyance, you swear you saw his eye twitch to hold back his anger.

"You think you can just excuse your actions? Moving on like nothing mattered between us?"

"I swear to GOD I'm gonna invest in a meat hook next to make the other side of your ribs to match."

-----

[this shit is ass delete immediately, uncontinue, swap for 3rd]

"Do you remember when we first met?"

It was a dumb question, he knows you do. You’ve told him countless times that you’ll never forget.

You shake your head, confused, "Simon, what is this about?-"

His large hands moved from your arms to your thighs, pushing them apart so he could step even closer to you.

His warm hands gently grip your soft flesh, his fingers squeezing your thighs gently.

"Just answer me," he pleaded.

He wanted to get closer, but he’ll hold himself back.

"Do you remember when we first met?" He repeated.

"Yes," you whisper.

A small, halfhearted laugh escaped from him, but it lacked any humor.

"What was your first thought o' me?"

He knew the answer to this, again, it’s a dumb question, but he wanted to hear it from you. He needed to.

"It was dark, all I saw was your mask and I thought you were gonna kill me..." You nervously smiled, trying to suppress it.

He almost smiled— but he didn’t, not just yet.

Not when he was standing between your legs, his fingers digging into your thighs.

"An' when you saw m'face?"

His head tilted down towards yours, making sure you had no choice but to look up at him with those pleading eyes of yours.

"I...." You trailed off, taking in a breath. "I don't know how to answer that."

His hands on your thighs squeezed gently, as if trying to keep you there. He was losing his patience, fast. He had to keep it together. He can’t get angry, it would wreck everything.

"Say it," He urges. "What did y'think when you saw m'face for the first time?"

"I thought... Maybe you weren't such a asshole after all. You trusted me,"

His thumb moves to start rubbing small circles on your inner thigh, his mind remembering how it’d move between your legs.

"Y'were the only one I trusted with a lot o' things," he said hoarsely, his eyes scanning your face.

His touch was making you shiver, he knew. But he wasn’t going to do anything irrational, especially when he knows you're still hurt, mad at him.

"The only one I trusted with m'heart," he continued. "The only one that I trusted with my life... Y'know that."

-----

"You just said y'would. You'd consider it."

He steps closer to you again, the distance between your bodies almost nonexistent thanks to his fat chest. "You'd consider going out with another guy, just like that?"

"Well, it's a good thing I'm free to do that if I want to, huh? Considering YOURE THE ONE WHO LEFT ME FOR A FUCKING BIMBO!"

-----

"I’ll go pack up her stuff if y'wanna go pump."

"Im gonna use the electric one finally, see how it works." You brush off

He didn’t respond to your statement, simply nodding his head in acknowledgement.

Though, he made a mental note to buy you a better electric breast pump. He’d been meaning to, for sometime, but just didn’t get around to it.

He gave you a light pat on the hip, signaling that he would head over to the nursery to start packing Fawn’s overnight stuff.

You sat Fawn on her play blanket, and fished around for the pump.

You opened the box and read the instructions.

In the other room, Simon headed into the nursery and began to gather up the items he’d need to pack into a small overnight bag: a couple of onesies, a change of clothes, nappies, powder, wipes. The usual supplies for a baby.

It didn’t take him long to get everything together. He sat down on the bed near the nursery and began pulling things out of the bag, double checking he had everything. Simon checked his watch and glanced towards the door, curious how long it was taking you to set up the breast pump.

Normally, it didn’t take long, just a few minutes of getting everything ready. It should’ve been done by now. But you were taking a long time, a noticeably longer time. His curiosity was starting to get the better of him.

He quietly walked to the door, silently slipping into the hallway and going to the living room.

Simon continued to slowly walk down the hallway, looking down when he heard you mumbling to yourself. He saw you sat on the couch, holding the breast pump in one hand and the instructions in the other.

He stopped in front of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, an amused look on his face.

"Everything alright, love?"

You huff silently, "It says to be placed with the opening at the top, but there's two openings..."

Simon stepped up to the couch, sitting down on the cushion next to you. He looked at the breast pump with you, seeing exactly what you were talking about.

"Y'don't say." He responded, unable to keep the smirk from playing at the corners of his lips.

"Maybe..." You capped the top one, and stuffed it down your shirt and held it in place.

You pressed the on button, and it started to work

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the sight of the pump resting against your chest. The way it sat, pushed against your chest, looked uncomfortable. He reached over to adjust it for you.

"It’s not uncomfortable?" Simon questioned, hand hovering in the air.

"No, it's just...cold." you shrug, letting him hold it in place.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought as you informed him that the pump was cold. Which made sense, considering it was sitting against your bare skin. He adjusted it slightly, trying to ensure it was secure.

"Right, right…" he responded, his voice a tad lower than usual.

Simon found his eyes drawn back to the sight of the breast pump, sitting against your chest.

"At least it's the right titty size."

You huff, deadpanning at him. By the time you were done, you were filling up the biggest mason jar you had with milk. Simon sat there, watching the jar you had the pump connected to fill up with an impressive amount of milk. He was… in awe, mildly shocked at the amount.

"Jesus… that’s a lot o' milk." He mumbled.

"Liquid gold," you smirk, circling the milk around the jar.

"Guess so," he hummed as he watched you circle the milk around the jar. His eyes were still fixated on your tits, particularly the area where the pump was sitting against.

He could feel his jeans growing tighter by the second, and quickly tried to find a distraction. He cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say. He knew that if he just sat there and stared at your breasts, he’d get distracted and things would escalate quickly.

"Y'know, this new pump works… efficiently." he commented, watching as you held the jar.

You nod along, holding up a finger for him to listen to the whirrr of the machine

He went quiet, listening intently to the sound the breast pump was making. He had to admit, the new one was faster, and much quieter than the one you were previously using.

Simon hummed in thought.

"Y'were right 'bout the new pump bein' better. Quiet too,"

-----

"No?" Simon repeated, his eyebrows raising in surprise at her reaction. "You don’t think they are nice?"

"No, because momma always says 'romance is dead', and 'men ain't shit', whatever that means..." She explained casually.

Simon sputters in shock and laughter, "Don't say bad words,"

"Sorry..."

-----

[black jack or crazy eights]

Hesh looks up from his cards with a pout.

"I'm not a sore loser, I just don't like cheaters," he retorts, his words laced with teasing humor.

"You're just a filthy cheater."

"Womp womp, L, ratio, get absolutely shit on—"

-------

[trashed for the better note]

Simon is home from his long day at HQ, locking the deadbolt behind him with a call of your name.

"In here, Si! I can't really walk fast..." you called out.

"'M comin'!" Simon shouted back, his voice a bit rougher than usual.

Simon eyes the kettle already cooling down from its boil, smiling appreciatively.

"Damn, look at ya... lil rascal getting ready to pop, huh?"

You smiled softly, leaning on the counter.

"Yeah, ready to pop my bladder. Been laying on it all day," you rubbed the back of your neck.

"I swear, you didn't have to piss so much before getting pregnant." Simon replied, turning the kettle off the eye.

"Then again, y'know how it is..." He shrugged. "Nothin' but a big ol' baby to the back of your bladder." he said, taking a couple of steps towards you, his hand reaching out to support your back.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his masked cheek.

"I'm ready for this thing to get outta me... I miss having sushi." You whined pitifully.

"Jus' a couple more weeks." he replied, resting his hand on your swollen stomach.

Simon looked down at you, his fingers tracing a small circle.

"Sushi an' wine. Thas what ya missin' the most, eh?" he asked.

"I can deal without wine, but I'd kill for a snow crab roll." You replied with a playful seriousness.

Simon scoffed, though it held no genuine disdain as he laughed. "Yeah, thas you just 'bout. Kill for food, sleep, an' me. What else?" he teased.

He drums his fingers on your belly, "Jus' hold on, yeah? 'M sure we can get you some sushi after things settle down."

"yeah." You smiled up at him, moving out of the way for him.

Simon chuckled, starting to go about the task of making tea.

"Not to mention the little one will be out n' 'bout before we know it." he said, looking down at you.

"An' then we'll have to deal with that. We're gonna have t'get used to bein' tired all the damn time... or just ya, really."

You glared at him slightly, dipping your pretzels in peanut butter.

"'M just sayin', 'm already used to bein' tired." Simon said with a small, smug smile, leaning against the counter.

"An' you'll be the one that's gonna have t'get up in the middle o' the night... feed him an' all that. So 'm gonna have me a lil sleepin' buddy." Simon joked, chuckling again... before realizing what he was saying.

"That uh, that sounded better in my head."

"'him'?" You looked at him confused.

"He... He... It... It's..." Simon replied, his voice growing frustrated as he tried to explain himself. "Whatever it is."

Simon paused for a few seconds, taking a deep breath to try to gather his thoughts

"I mean... I'd be fine no matter what it is." he offered, "I just.. just want it t'be healthy, Y'know?"

"yeah, I know. You think it's a boy?" You asked curiously, munching away.

"I mean..." Simon muttered, his tone growing serious, "I hope it's a boy... I, just,"

Simon sighed, "Just wanna be able to do the things with 'em. Take him out an' about. Teach 'im the things that I think a Dad should teach 'is son."

Simon paused again, letting out a small sigh.

"Sorry... I-I," Simon's voice had gone quiet.

what are you complaining about? It should be enough to have a healthy and happy child... right?

Your eyes softened.

"I get it...you wanna be the dad you didn't have."

"Exactly." Simon muttered, "I don't wanna be... well, I don't wanna be him."

"God, this kid is gonna be glued to your side." You giggle.

"I hope he is." Simon muttered, chuckling softly as he realized how he sounded.

"But... I want 'em to not be afraid to speak up and tell me 'bout stuff. I want 'em to not be afraid to let me know how they're feeling. I want 'em to come to me when they're sad or excited or hurt. I never *got* all that.. and.. well.. I want to give him the childhood I never had, you know?"

"you're already a great dad." You murmured affectionately.

Simon scoffed, though it held no genuine malice as he let out a small, soft chuckle. "Nah... haven't been a Dad yet. Just a... an expectin' father who's gonna soon be a Dad."

He paused a moment, looking down at your stomach, his hand shifting to rub it.

"The baby's still cookin' in there... we still got a ways to go before we start doin' the Dad stuff."

"well...you practically raised your brother. I think you have most of the skills already," you murmured carefully.

Simon stiffened slightly, his fingers tightening a little on your stomach for a moment, before settling once again.

"Right... well... he wasn't my son. He was my brother."

Simon sighed as he continued to massage your stomach.

"It's different." he said shortly, the topic of his brother something that Simon had always been sensitive about, even if he rarely spoke of it.

"it is different, but its still the same necessities, y'know? Feeding, bathing, bedtime..." You trailed off.

"I suppose..." Simon grumbled, his tone quiet, and his grip on your stomach now loosened, his hand now resting gently.

"I just want to be a better father than mine was... better than his. I wanna make sure this kid gets raised proper, y'know?"

"Just wanna be the father that a kid deserves. Not the alcoholic, narcissistic prick that I got." Simon grumbled softly, his words holding no malice, just the facts of his own miserable childhood.

"you're gonna be such a a good father..." You sighed out tenderly, cupping his cheek.

"I sure as hell 'ope so." Simon muttered, nodding as he looked at your hands on his cheek.

"I couldn't bare for our kid to experience even half the trauma that I did. Can't let 'em go through that, y'know?"

"you will." You assured. "You're not your father's son anymore." You shook your head. "You are your own person, top of the Riley family tree."

"Hmm.." Simon muttered softly, nodding as he took a deep breath.

"I know, but I can't help but... I just get scared." he admitted, looking up at you and meeting your eyes.

"Just the idea of havin' to take care 'o somethin'... someone other'n myself... it's a big responsibility." he breathed in again and let out a shuddering sigh, looking back to your swollen stomach.

"we are in this together, okay?" You murmured, trying to wash away his worries.

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

[nori-the-cat]

RIIZE member’s thoughts and feelings on their anniversary, being 6 vs 7, and Seunghan // Tarot Reading (Requested)

Remember, tarot readings should be taken with a grain of salt!

The 6 RIIZE member's thoughts on their anniversary:

Cards drawn: 2 of cups rx, queen of swords, judgement, 3 of pentacles, king of pentacles rx, and wheel of fortune

I pulled 6 cards for each member. The energy from them is complex and not as honest as you can see on the RIIZE official account. But, more or less, those anniversary messages are somewhat similar to their thoughts and feelings. Shotaro has been having a difficult time understanding his members. He thinks there is some tension between them like there is this lingering awkwardness. Eunseok is using his rationality to understand the situation and being pragmatic about it. Sungchan is happy that RIIZE reached 1 year in their career. He couldn't believe it. He wants to move forward and is ready to take on any challenges that will come his way. Wonbin seems to be relying on 3 members of the group. He seems to be close to 3 particular members. These members give him a sense of hope and purpose, that with them he can achieve anything. To him, sticking to these members will bring some kind of financial success. And these members seem to be the ones who are aligned with his goals. Sohee has reached his limit. He feels stuck and hopes that the situation will get better. Anton feels excited and anxious. He knows his job as an idol is not easy and that success is temporary. So, he's trying to make use of the situation.

I did Seunghan's reading separately because he's on a hiatus and the energy from him is a lot complex. I've also done a reading on his current energy so you guys can check that out.

Anyway, Seunghan feels frustrated and he's coping with the situation in an unhealthy way (temperance rx). This card appeared in the previous reading I did about him and it appears again in this reading, which means he's really coping with the situation in an unhealthy way and possibly doing things like drinking too much. Another interesting thing is that he feels that he's being lied to, taken advantage of, and betrayed (7 of Swords rx). He thinks the group staying as 7 is an illusion. It's possible that SM is making it seem like the group will be back as 7, but Seunghan was never informed about it or was/is a part of that plan. He's like "They're using me! They're using my name for clout! For marketing! They're lying". He's really frustrated, and sad, and doesn't know how to feel about his members.

He could possibly be relying on someone for security and stability. This someone might be a female figure (Queen of Pentacles). But I don't know what's the relationship between them.

Current group dynamic?

Cards drawn: 5 of pentacles reverse, the empress, king of wands, knight of cups, 8 of cups reverse, and the tower

There is a leader. They already have or have someone leading the group. However, this is happening behind the scenes. Whoever this member is, he's nurturing and creative. He seems to be leading the group a lot lately. Let's see who this person is...

Individually, the members feel different types of emotions when it comes to the group dynamic. I'm not sure if the pay is equal but there are certain members that feels like he's not paid as much as the other members. Or is the situation that is making the group not earn as much? Maybe both? I'm not sure. This is making him feel like he has to hold onto his money and be wise about it. This member is Shotaro.

Eunseok and Sungchan are taking on the parent role in the group. Eunseok is the empress and Sungchan is the king of wands. With the King of Wands, it looks like Sungchan is the current leader of the group. He seems to be the one talking to SM about his creative ideas and his plan for RIIZE. However, Sungchan can sometimes be too controlling. Meanwhile, Eunseok seems to be the person that the younger members rely on and he provides them with emotional support. Wonbin (knight of cups), Sohee (8 of cups rx), and Anton (the tower). They're having a hard time. Emotionally, they're thinking a lot about their own future in the group and the group's future. They're thinking a lot about SM's decision which is making them stay awake at night.

Nonetheless, they're getting along just fine. With a few favouritism and jealousy here and there. By this I mean, that some members feel like they get along with certain members while some still take time to open up and be honest.

How do they feel about Seunghan?

I use my pendulum to see if the members want to continue as 6 or go back as 7. I use tarot cards to see how the members are feeling about him.

Shotaro - 7 of swords rx

He thinks Seunghan has lied to him and betrayed the group. He has no trust in him and their relationship is not good right now. But in his heart, he kinda wants to go back as 7.

Eunseok - Queen of Wands rx

He's mad at Seunghan. This card is also a feminine card and possibly related to a woman. There is something about Seunghan that he knows and is making him feel...lowkey resentful towards him and this might be about a woman.... He may have also found out something about him recently...Their relationship is not good right now too...He thinks it's better that the group moves on and stays as 6.

Sungchan - 5 of pentacles rx

He feels that Seunghan's actions have caused them financial hardship. At the same time, he's low-key sick of being 6. Seunghan's absence has hurt the group's finances and career prospects. He just wanna get on with his work and move on. Despite his anger, he also wants the group to go back as 7.

Wonbin - 2 of cups rx

If he would and could, he chooses not to think about him. He's unhappy. Similar to Eunseok, there is anger and resentment in his heart. He also wants the group to go back to being 7 again.

Sohee - 3 of cups rx

He feels betrayed. He's disappointed in him too. And lately, he's been thinking about his connection with him as a member. He has a lot of thoughts about Seunghan and the group as 7. At the moment, Sohee wants the group to remain as 6.

Anton - 7 of wands rx

He's like. "None of my business". He's too overwhelmed to even think about the group as 7 or even Seunghan. He wants the group to stay like it is right now, as 6.

Overall, the cards tell me a range of negative emotions towards Seunghan. The members may be feeling betrayed, angry, resentful, or hurt by his actions. However, it's important to note that these are potential interpretations based on the cards drawn, and the actual emotions of the members may be more complex or nuanced.

[beauty-and-passion]

Did you see Thomas Sanders' YouTube community post about his plans for videos, including Sanders Sides?

... well, it looks like something happened in the SaSi fandom. Jeez, I cannot leave for a couple months to celebrate the Gravity Falls renaissance, that Mr. Sanders decides to pull up some stunts while I wasn't looking :P

Maybe he hoped I wouldn't notice. That I was gone. Well, unfortunately for him, I am always around - and if I lose something, there are always nice people ready to give me a heads-up. So here I am again, ready to give my unrequested two cents about the latest updates.

A lot of things happened since dear anon wrote me this ask, so I will not talk about one single post (also because I have no idea what post the anon was referring to :P) but I will briefly talk about the latest info taken straight from the ts_criticism tag, which is always the most updated place regarding SaSi.

No, Mr. Sanders' updates do not count, considering they're non-existent.

_____________

Season 2 finale: to watch or not to watch?

There was a survey going on in the criticism tag regarding the season 2 finale and whether people would watch it on YouTube, another platform, or just ignore it.

Now we can tell ourselves all the stories we want, but at the end of the day, we know everyone will watch it - no matter if on Thomas' YouTube page or somewhere else.

And even though we already know it will never be worth the years of waiting, I am sure everyone will still give it a chance. The view count will be high.

But if that's true for part one, who knows what will happen for all other parts? What if part 1 is not worth the wait? Will people still be willing to give a try to the other parts? Will they be willing to wait who knows how long for them?

_____________

The hilariously bad Brei Grace situation

Is it so surprising, that Thomas lost another person working for him? It's basically a constant, considering people keep being laid off, disappearing or not getting paid enough. By now, you would think this man learned something from the past but hey, it looks like I overestimated his intelligence.

What I find incredibly funny about this situation is not that Brei herself had to tell the truth to the public because Thomas, as always, refuses to be honest about anything. It's about this specific part of his post regarding Roleslaying with Roman:

Oh my god, this is so bad it's hilarious.

So Thomas laid his last writer off, but apparently he wasn't clever enough to find a proper replacement before doing it and he openly admitted in a post, to his fans (including his investors) that he has no writer to replace Brei and will have to keep following/begging her to get more of the script, because there's no one else who can develop the story in her place.

Do I really have to explain why everything about this is so stupid? Do I? Okay, then:

Thomas was apparently very quick at firing Brei, but not quick enough in finding another writer before doing it. That's not how any competent person works: when I left my last job, my boss asked me to stay for a couple more days, just enough to get a replacement. But hey, I suppose "finding a replacement" and "not leaving a vacant position" were too complex, too difficult thoughts for Mr. Sanders.

Mr. Sanders showed his investors he's so disorganized and impulsive, he fired someone with no backup plan and, as a result, had to put the series on hold. One of the series people are paying him to produce. If I were still paying him, I would stop immediately after this: if you're this unprofessional, you don't deserve money.

After laying Brei off, Thomas still wants to reach her for details regarding the story. The same story he fired her from. If he was so desperate for more of her work, he should've found a way to keep her around, not laid her off, then waste more time trying to find a way to get more of her.

If I were Brei, I would ignore Thomas forever and refuse to write even one more word regarding Roleslaying. But I'm a cold, heartless person, so I don't count. Still hope Brei will have some self-respect and refuse to share her work for free just because he's begging.

Or, at least, I hope she will ask for pre-payments first.

Thomas thought it was a great idea to show how unprofessional and disorganized he is via Twitter post. And refused to say the whole truth too. And no one was in the room to tell him: "Hey, what if you get a replacement first, so at least you won't have to admit you are dropping a series because you have no writer left?".

That's so stupid it doesn't even make me mad. It simply goes all the way around and becomes pure genius.

It also (involuntarily?) reconfirms a thought I had long ago, when Joan left. When I watched the goodbye video, I expected Thomas and/or Joan to tell us: "Hey, Joan is leaving, but here is the person who will replace them!".

But nope, no introduction of a new writer, no update post. Literally nothing. Joan left and no one came in. Only vague mentions of other people and names, but mostly Thomas confirming he was the main SaSi writer.

Thomas. Who is not a writer - let alone a competent one.

That's so stupid it's hilarious.

So, since now Thomas got rid of his last writer, what will he do? Learn how to become one? Considering his lack of progress in general, I suppose not.

So what? Will he hire another one of his friends? Will he think he can do anything and write RwR himself? Or will he keep trying on SaSi, a series that is so difficult to handle and with so many stakes, that even a competent writer would have problems with?

The incompetence has just reached a new level and I can't wait to see how deeper we can go.

_____________

The spoilers for the next SaSi episode

Thanks to @t-slanders, who appeared out of nowhere and decided to feed us something more than the absolute nothing Thomas gave us for years, we know what the next SaSi episode will be about.

And look, it's a plot in which:

The main topic of discussion is Thomas and Nico's relationship

Roman is ready to push things further

Janus and Virgil are not

Virgil is hiding he's on Janus' side

Wow. Wow. That's what Thomas came up with, this is what he's working on for 4+ years and hasn't finished writing yet.

Now, I'm not saying he should've created another plot: that's the only possible plot he could've developed. The only one that made sense, considering how WTIT ended and what was hinted during the 5 year anniversary special.

Why am I so sure of that? Because those are the exact same plot points for the season 2 finale - part 1 I came up with: in my version, Thomas was questioning if he was ready to have a relationship with Nico, Roman wanted to push things further, Janus wanted Thomas to be more cautious, Virgil was siding with Janus but refused to admit it.

Sure, some elements are different of course, but the plot points are the same. The biggest difference is that it took me a few months to develop them into a plot, not 4+ years.

And since those are the plot points, I already know how they will develop too. And not because I'm a genius but, again, they can only go in one direction: Thomas will eventually agree with Janus, it will become obvious Virgil is siding with him, Roman will feel betrayed and his arc will start in the next parts. It's already all written here, it can only go this way. The time travel idea is an "embellishment", but the plot can only go one way.

However, that doesn't mean the season finale will be automatically bad. A lot of stories I can predict end up being great anyway. So no, I won't judge it for its predictability. I will judge it for the production time and the characters' personalities.

And speaking of personalities...

_____________

The tweet video

I watched it at 2x speed, because didn't want to waste too much time on it.

It was... okay. Just okay. The characters' personalities are just okay. Everything is just okay.

Sigh. I'm tired of everything being "just okay".

And no, I cannot shake the feeling that Thomas pulled out this video in 0.2 seconds, only because he had a sponsorship to do.

One last thing I want to tell now, so consider it a warning: if the next episode and/or eventual season finale part 1 are "just okay", I will consider it negatively. From a canonical episode, I expect more than to feel "meh" while watching it.

_____________

And now?

We do the same thing we do every night, my dears: we wait forever for Mr. Sanders to finally decide to update us, to work on SaSi, or to do some stupid shit worthy of a discussion.

Of course, that doesn't mean we should burn him at the stake or cancel SaSi: we are all adults here, so we will simply highlight the shit Thomas does, because if you do stupid shit, you deserve to be criticized. That's not a personal attack, that's just being objective. I hope, one day, he will learn that too.

And maybe, who knows? He will also learn from his mistakes, hire someone competent, pay them properly and not lay them off without finding a replacement first.

Or, maybe, he will just find the perfect excuse to drop SaSi/put the finale on hold forever, so he will be finally free from the burden he clearly feels. When that day comes, I wish him to find a series he will be truly passionate enough, to keep it on until the end.

And sure, of course I will be around when the supposed next episode will supposedly come out: one part of me hopes it will be good, while the other part loves shooting a fish in a barrel. So... well, at least I will be satisfied either way ;P

[lemotmo]

I'm not sure how you feel about getting these anymore but I thought this was hilarious so wanted to share for you at least to read even if you don't want to post. 😊

Q. I really was trying to hold onto the belief that the show wasn't going to make Eddie gay but it's really hard to see what other storyline is possible given those latest Ryan interviews. I would love to say gay or not the show would just keep Buck and Eddie as platonic best friends but there is zero chance of the show not pairing them together. They really did just use my man as filler until they were ready to tell the Eddie story. That's so gross.

A. Well, anon that's the point of a plot device. Their only reason for being is to move a larger story forward. By definition their filler characters. They have no individual significance or purpose. Their purpose is the story they're being used in. I've been telling you this for months now. Many of us have. He was never going to be anything more than a plot device. The show wasn't subtle about it either. It's been pretty much a connect the dots picture of plot device usage. Go back and watch his scenes in season 7 with this new found realization and I promise it will not be hard to see. And I agree, especially with the context the latest Ryan interviews gave, there's really not any other story it could be. He also confirmed they're not turning him into the new Bobby, and he's not siding with Gerard. So it was nice of him to debunk the latest round of ridiculous takes during the interview. If I could offer you a suggestion though I would encourage you to give the story a chance. If you pay attention to Eddie, and not your fandom people telling you to hate him, you will like him. After all there's a reason you all tried to hijack his entire backstory and history for Tommy. Let yourself enjoy the character those things actually belong too. Let yourself enjoy the actual story.

Oh Nonny! I feel joyous and happy whenever I get another of these posts in my ask box. While I'm asking people to not ask Ali any questions through my blog, I'm still perfectly happy posting her asks here. 😋

Especially since, for most of us, this is the only way to read Ali's posts and we do love her posts very much. So don't hesitate to drop something in my ask box. The only things I don't post about are the direct posts about the BT fandom, but Ali has told me she isn't replying to those posts anymore anyway, so that eliminates that problem.

As for the ask itself...

Yeah, so many of us have been saying this since day one. Tommy was only ever there to help Buck out of that closet. He was never really meant to be anything more than that. Sure, the change of the storyline because of the early renewal, gave Tommy some more time on the show, but that's where it ends.

So yeah, going back to rewatch the previous seasons, knowing what you know now? It will change the way you see Eddie and Eddie and Buck's friendship and maybe you'll find some joy in them. Just let it happen.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

okay okay, it's a lil silly but hear me out konig + phantom of the opera au

man's got it all; need to cover his face, obsessive tendencies, and the need to be a secretive lil (big) weirdo *chef's kiss*

NO NO NO HOLD ON YOU'RE COOKIN. NOT SILLY AT ALL.

Now look here, I dunno if you know this, but I am a sucker for classic literature. One of my top three favourite books of all time is Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. That woman ate when she wrote that book and I will listen to nothing else. I also really want to write an essay about how Frankenstein is Mary Shelly discussing the inherent horror of motherhood in those times and how the lack of a mother figure shapes an individual. I think it's an extremely layered book, but I like to see the parenthood lens of the book.

Now now now, this is about Phantom of the Opera. I do know a bit about the original phantom, and I don't like to think König or reader dies in the end (just personally, I can't write a tragic ending. I really need a happy ending, not for the reader, but because I need a happy ending). So, let me introduce the idea that this is a version where the phantom wins.

This is one where the phantom was fucking right and actually, freak of nature as he is, maybe he had a point!!! Maybe, reader shouldn't be dating someone twice their age. Maybe, though König is a bit older for sure, he's actually not that old and a more appropriate age. Albeit, though now recovered, König still suffered a case of leprosy after being exposed during a war. He considers himself hideous, but maybe reader would be able to look past his sickness?

Now, is König appropriate as a lover? Probably not. He's obsessive, jealous, and a borderline stalker. He's determined to kill off the man who's trying to seduce her ('How dare you try and take my little songbird away from me!!!') and will do anything to keep reader to himself. However, he's also saving reader from a far worse fate with someone worse than him.

Reader is enchanted by Makarov of course, but König knows better and is determined to show her the light. He desperately wants to just talk to her and explain everything to her, but at this point he's committed to what he's doing and social anxiety makes him unable to just knock on her door and talk to her like a regular person.

Once again, like every incredible story in the English language, if you guys just talked everything would be fine but nobody knows how to be an adult.

Anyways, König loves reader dearly. Watching her perform makes his heart ache. His one saving grace is a beautiful voice he uses to enchant her. If his face is nothing but sickness, let him sing to his little songbird and help her connection to music. He'll do what he can to cling to any connections he has to her. He's desperate to hold her, and he'll do whatever he needs to to get to her.

IMPORTANT EDIT:

König with the phantom mask but he has too long red ribbons coming out the bottom of the eyes and the rest of his face is hidden under a dark hood. Consider it.

[cursedvibes]

comparing geto and maki's massacres as the same is crazy to me. geto slaughtered an entire village of defenseless people and justified it as protecting sorcerers from the suffering of those who create curses. maki killed the clan because they explicitly wanted to kill her, mai and even megumi, the new head by naobito's will. she was there to pick up cursed tools and they pushed her to violence after killing her sister. unserious comparison.

Yeah...I can see where they are coming from because Geto was also pushed to extremes and was defending Mimiko and Nanako from harm, but Maki and Mai were abused by the clan, their family, their whole life. They actively tried to kill them. The only one being shown as defenceless is Maki's mother, but she had made it very clear before that she wants to see her daughters dead (she didn't actually mean it, but it doesn't matter what she secretly felt when it doesn't show in her actions). She was no better than Ogi, except she wasn't the one holding the blade. I really can't blame Maki snapping after everything that happened, especially after Mai specifically asked her to burn it all down. Like yes, Ranta seemed like he was one of the nicer ones, but that doesn't change the fact that he was part of the squad responsible for the years of abuse the twins suffered. They already knew from Toji how badly this could backfire, but they still went ahead with not treating Maki any better because she's a woman and Toji didn't retaliate against the Clan, so I guess it couldn't have been that bad... You can argue over who deserved death more than others, but that was hardly a situation for rational thought. It is very unfair to expect Maki to be the bigger person and just walk away from being nearly killed and seeing Mai murdered by their own family.

I think a big difference to Geto is also that Maki didn't go on to indiscriminately murder outside the Zenin Clan. Geto killed his own parents after the village massacre, who as far as we know never did anything wrong except being born non-sorcerers. And he kept going like that for 10 more years. Maki didn't. Hell, she even learned to somewhat reconciliate with how her mother treated her and she doesn't go on a killing spree like that among regular sorcerers, much less civilians. There's a big difference.

Also, I don't get where so many people are taking from that she just shook off the massacre like it was no big deal. She had a whole arc dedicated to dealing with the aftermath and learning to accept her body, Mai and what has happened! Maybe if people didn't skip through the Culling Game arc they'd actually know this (not that I'm bitter or anything). Like, my problem is that we never get the kind of bonding we see between her and Noritoshi or even Daido with the people who are supposed to be her friends (Yuuta, Inumaki, Panda, Nobara etc.). She is clearly affected by what happened, but nobody even asks her how she's doing. The best we get is "Maki is scary now". I would've loved to get more insight into her current mentality along the lines of the Sakurajima colony, something on how she will move on from this, how she will live now without her family (except Megumi), but we got nothing. That's my issue, not what came before. I think Perfect Preparation and Sakurajima colony were great for her character. She isn't the most expressive, but you can still see how affected she is by everything and it is directly addressed how suppressing everything isn't good for her, but then we get nothing past that.

But yeah, apparently she's less redeemable to some than Geto. Because she's cold and people don't pay attention to the arcs that actually delve into her character.

[ssailormoonn]

❛ HE'S GOT A CRUSH ❜

Tokito Muichiro X Fem!Reader

WC; 700+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: FLUFF SO FLUFFY, this is so cute im sobbing, x fem reader, reader is a girl, you two are both 14, TEENAGE LOVE OMG,

*ੈ✩‧₊˚𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: Could we maybe get a cute and wholesome Muichiro x fem! Reader? He's 14 I believe, so nothing over the top, but just a cute little thing where he sees Ginko is actually being nice and prideful of reader, then when he asks about it, she replies "Caw! Bc y/n is just as strong as you are, so it makes sense why you have a crush on her!" Then Muichiro gets embarrassed while reader just accepts his feelings XD - @freddleafton12345-blog

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You were training. That's all you were doing. Muichiro was there with you, though he was being quite and stoic as usual, he was there. You could feel him today, just out of sight. It was a comforting presence in its own right.

You also noticed Ginko, his crow, perched on a branch not too far off. Her sharp, no judging eyes follow your every movement, and you could have sworn she was being. over-proud? It was almost like she was waiting for something.

Finishing your training session, you wiped the sweat from your forehead and sheathed your katana, turning to where you knew Muichiro was standing. He slowly emerged from behind a tree, his usual detached expression in place, though his eyes were focused on you.

"Hey, Muichiro!" you said happily, flashing him a soft, gentle smile.

He barely nodded, his eyes never once leaving yours, and said nothing right away.

You were the only one Muichiro can tolerate, he enjoys your presence, he like how happy you are because when he's around you his heart pounds and tingles. He likes the sensation.

Before either of them could say another word, Ginko flew down from her branch and landed beside Muichiro with a loud caw, puffing out her feathers proudly.

"Caw! {Name} is just as strong as you, Muichiro!" Ginko squawked.

Muichiro blinked in mild confusion, turning to his crow. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly, but it did sound like he was slightly confused.

You chuckled. "I think she's just complimenting me," you said, but the way Ginko had looked at both of you made you suspect she wasn't done yet.

And you were right.

Ginko's next words came out loud and clear. "Because {Name} is just as strong as you are! So of course you have a crush on her!"

We froze.

Muichiro immediately went bright red, a colour you never see him in. His usual expression crumpled, his eyes wide from surprise. He stared at Ginko then at you before back at Ginko, without a single word to say.

"I-I don't," he stuttered, protesting weakly.

You could see the panic rising on his features, and it really was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

Your cheeks flushed warmly too. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. "Oh, is that so?" you teased softly as you stepped a little closer to Muichiro.

"I don't. Ginko's just. I mean," he muttered, staring down at his feet.

He turned to you again, his eyes wide with surprise still. It was rare to see Muichiro this flustered, and such a sight took hold of your heart.

Ginko apparently was very satisfied with herself and gave another proud caw. "Yes! Muichiro has a crush on {Name}, just like I said! And I am always right!"

Muichiro's flustered state made you smile hoplessly because it was a sight you'veg never seen on him. Going easy on him, you took another step closer and laid a comforting hand on his arm. He looked up at you, still somewhat lost, his eyes searching your face for some sort of clue on how to respond.

"Muichiro," you said softly, kindly, "I think that's really sweet."

His face flushed even more and this time he didn't try to deny it. Instead, he just stared at you, softening into your gaze as he realized you weren't teasing him. In his eyes, you could tell how nervous he is, which made your heart beat so, so fast.

You smiled warmly as you took another step closer. "I accept your feelings," you said with a softly.

Muichiro blinked, plainly trying to wrap his brain around what you'd just said. For a moment, it seemed his mind had gone blank. But then, ultra-slowly, a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, so slight you'd have almost missed it if you weren't standing quite that near him.

"Thanks," he whispered, his voice inaudible, his eyes coy and wide, yet within them held a certain warmth that fluttered your chest.

Ginko was quite proud of what she had done. She said, "Look! See? I told you! Ginko is never wrong!"

You laughed again, the sound bright and carefree as you looked to Muichiro. Still beet-faced and embarrassed, but deep inside, his heart went racing from the situation, he didn't know how to act around you now that you knew, but he was certain things would grow further. And you were hoping for it to, as well.

Do not copy, steal, modify use for AI, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

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