#fantastic racism tw

[grimbunnies]

Nova: "Sims refuse to open their ears and face the music. They refuse to listen to us when we tell them our experiences."

Ashley: She just never shuts up... What does she expect to happen by annoying everyone?

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 4 - The Shadow of Death

Happy birthday to meeeee!

This piece is canon. I finally let Kamaria loose as a whumper for once!

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Masterlist

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Contains: whumpee turned whumper, lady whumper, mild gore, blood, murder, stabbing, past genocide, referenced fire, trauma, fantastic racism

.

.

Kamaria moves like the shadow that people call her - though they don’t know her, only what she leaves behind. Most think she’s a man, because they can’t imagine a woman doing what she does. Others swear she must be a ghost, since no one has ever actually seen her. 

The truth is, plenty have seen her. They just haven’t lived to tell about it. 

Tonight, her heart pounds a bit harder than usual as she makes her way through the compound. This mission, as far as her father and Ethorcon are concerned, is just yet another removal of a leader in Kedosa’s army to help their next attack be more successful. It’s nothing special. 

But for her, tonight is personal. She knows this particular unit. She knows what their leader did.

The two guards pacing close by the Colonel’s tent fall dead quietly, one with a slit throat and one with a knife protruding from his chest. She needs privacy for what’s coming next. Retrieving the knife and wiping off blood on her skirt, she strides toward the large tent and throws open the flap.

He’s asleep, as most are at this hour. Kamaria walks closer, boots silent on the hard-packed dirt, until she’s staring down at the unsuspecting monster. So smug, even in his sleep. Uncaring of the hundreds of lives he’s completely destroyed.

Well, two can play the game of monster.

She wakes him with a stab to the arm. Normally she doesn’t mess around - one stab in the heart or slice through the throat and she’s done. It’s just a job, just something she has to do to survive and to work towards her revenge. But this time she takes a mild pleasure in watching him flail awake with a yelp and find himself looking into the eyes of The Shadow of Death. 

It’s fitting, she supposes, that her eyes are all that can be seen when she dons her hood and mask for a mission. The green eyes of her father. The one feature of hers that can be definitively tied to the man who trained her for violence. 

The Colonel breaks from his surprised stupor and reaches with his free arm for the gun propped on the other side of his bed. Kamaria whips a second knife out from her hip and drives it down into that arm, pulling a strangled cry from him.

Weakling.

“You murdered my people,” she murmurs, leaning down closer to him, her weight on the two knives still embedded in his arms. 

“Wh-...what?” he gasps, eyes wide. “What, what people? What are you talking about?”

She twists the knife in her right hand and he cries out again. “The Vaya of the forest. You led the raid on their village, back when you were still a Major.” She still doesn’t know who raided her own village, but she’s known this man’s name for three years and she’s been waiting for this day ever since. “You burned their houses and fields. You slaughtered them in their own homes. You killed women, children…” 

She’s starting to get caught up in her own memories, in flashes of fire and desperate screams. Days after she’d seen her own village destroyed in the same way, she and Arran and Madhis had been hiding in the forest and had smelled the smoke and heard the screaming from a distance. At first she thought she was having another nightmare. It turned out she was witnessing someone else’s.

“You helped to destroy an entire race, a peaceful race, and for what? Because your king demanded a tiny piece of land for himself?” She twists the knife again, eyes flashing. 

He chokes out a laugh, raising his head off the bed a little, attempting to get brave. “You’re saying you’re one of those uncivilized creatures?”

Gritting her teeth, she yanks one knife out, allowing blood to begin flowing freely, and places the tip at his throat, instead. “Whatever it was for, whatever you thought you were going to get out of it…you were wrong. You don’t get to live to see the end of the war.”

“It’s an honor to die serving my king.”

“Dying on the battlefield, perhaps. Dying in bed, not even dressed properly, writhing pitifully under the hands of a Vaya woman? Not so honorable.”

As soon as she moves the knife from his throat he tries to make a grab for her, but she doesn’t give him the chance. The blade slips back into his flesh, this time just underneath his ribs. He screams, and she waits until he’s done to pull it back out. To his credit, he does attempt once again to lunge for her despite the injuries, but she just slices at his hand and plunges the knife into his thigh. 

“I am going to make sure you die, but I am also going to make sure you have plenty of time to think about what you’ve done while you die.” She had so many other things she wanted to do to him, to make him hurt. She wants to set his tent on fire, give him a taste of his own medicine. She wants to set this whole compound on fire. But that would result in punishment for herself, and her stupid brain would paralyze her if she was near a fire of that magnitude, anyway. 

She could still make him hurt more, though. But to be honest, now that she’s here, she finds she doesn’t really have the stomach for it. Killing is one thing. She was desensitized to that a long time ago, when she was still a teenager. But torture? She’s on the receiving end of it far too much to find pleasure in doling it out. Her goal now is exactly what she said - make sure he takes some time to bleed out, but can’t be saved if someone finds him before he succumbs. 

Removing both knives with a jerk, she thinks of the screams echoing through the trees, of the orange glow that lit the night sky, and stabs him one more time, in the stomach. Then she calmly wipes both blades onto his sheet and replaces them in their holsters. 

He’s either in too much pain or already losing too much blood to even look at her, much less make any more snide comments. She stares down at him for a long moment.

“Goodbye, Colonel. Polind na terreva ti suptor si na pletaja qe ti syo.”

The Shadow of Death turns and walks out of the tent. 

Later, when she sleeps, she dreams of fire.

.

.

Vaya interpretation - "May the Earth see you as the blight that you are." It's a Vaya curse that essentially means, "I hope you don't rest in peace."

[invisible-pink-toast]

“The woman dies.

She dies to provide a plot twist. She dies to develop the narrative. She dies for cathartic effect. She dies because no one could think of what else to do with her. Dies because there weren’t any better story ideas around. Dies because her death was the very best idea that anyone could come up with.

‘I’ve got it! Let’s kill her off!’

‘Yes! Her death will solve everything!’

‘Okay! Let’s hit the pub!’

And so, the woman dies. The woman dies so the man can be sad about it. The woman dies so the man can suffer. She dies to give him a destiny. Dies so he can fall to the dark side. Dies so he can lament her death. As he stands there, brimming with grief, brimming with life, the woman lies there in silence. The woman dies for him. We watch it happen. We read about it happening. We come to know it well.”

- The Woman Dies by Aoko Matsuda (translated by Polly Barton)

[spacemonkeysalsa]

"it's so weird that Astarion's racism isn't confronted in any meaningful way"

I genuinely can't tell what's bait and I don't think I am the problem, everyone else is. But I am not going to engage with people on twitter about this game any more, because it's usually just bait.

But it also could be someone who never played act three or only played act three one way, because Astarion's racism against the Gur is addressed as a bit if an arc within the story. Only as subtext and only if you don't ascend him, and keep Gandrel and Ulma alive. But it's something. There's also the interesting mechanical change of him going from disapproving of saving gnomes in act one, to approving of saving gnomes twice in act three.

And, yeah, that's subtle.

But it's a piece of the game.

It's subtle compared to what can happen with Lae'zel, or Shadowheart, if you make certain choices. But it's more than what you get for Wyll and Karlach.

I was actually really disappointed that Flo never showed up in act three, and that Karlach's attitude towards cambions (many of whom probably had about as much a choice in their involvement with Zariel as she did) just gets dropped. Same with Wyll and his animosity towards the goblins, like why didn't we meet a goblin hanging out in Baldur's Gate, who's a huge fan of the Blade of Frontiers? Why didn't we meet any fans of the Blade? Why wasn't stop the presses about Wyll, or why couldn't the story we publish be Blade of Frontiers fanfiction?

And Gale is human and from Waterdeep, which in FR means he's the equivalent of like a wealthy white one percenter.

Like I do think the game could have done more with fantasy racism. There were opportunities not taken. But Astarion's storyline at least addressed it and called it racism. Which I kinda think might be the reason that some people treat him as "the racist" in the group, because the writers used the word, so it's harder to miss.

[madmanwonder]

“What do you want machine.”

Penny Polendina flinched at the harsh emphasis of machine from the leader of Atlas Brotherhood of Steel who was looking at her with cold blue eyes full of disdain and disgust toward her.

“G-General Ironwood wants me t-to give you the latest report on the latest in and activities of the Super Mutants and the White Fangs in the northwest region of Solitas.” The humanoid female robot said to the large and broad-shouldered man.

“Hnn.” He grunted as he took the report from the machine with arctic coldness as he look at the report in the data pad speed-reading the data sheet. “He’s a man of his words than most of the Atlas military personnel.”

“What do you mean—”Penny mouthed was snapped immediately when Arthur looked at her with a hard, deep glare in his cold blue eyes.

“None of your concern.” He said in a sharp voice. “If you got nothing else to say. Get out.” He ordered as he turned his back on Penny already dismissing her from sight and mind.

Penny meekly nodded as she walked away from the imposing man feeling hurt by the bigotry from the man.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

And this is just a bonus one I thought of but Grace and 24 Capitalism 👁️👁️

Story is also posted on ao3!

(tw capitalism, mentions of colonialism, mentions of racism/speciesism, trauma, mentions of cigarettes/alcohol, addiction, grief, past canonical character death, identity issues, implied dehumanization, hallucinations, unreality)

It's not as if they have a problem with expense. Fuck no, of course not. They can find the cash for their fucking war machines, their stupid goddamn spaceships, their love children born on a planet where they'll never be able to breathe the air. The cash for their guns and explosives, for their dozers rolling over the ground, for pressed suits and cheery propaganda vids and everything single one of the politicians in their pockets.

And oh, they've got the money for her as well, Grace knows all about it, a special set of funds to keep their little labcoat safely in line. The killing ground school, the botany book with a Na'vi face on the cover cause it's all just wildlife, doc, remember that, the cigarettes to keep her strung out and numb, the alcohol when that's not enough.

Never enough, not for them, sure as shit not for her. Her hands shake, she's fiddling, muttering, things slipping through her hands. Focus, Augustine, fucking focus. She's only got so many cigarettes, the 3D printers only work so well (as well as they're supposed to, heh). If Max is hiding them again she's going to fucking--

Cash. Right. Money, profit, power. Expense. They'll make a body, grow it in a tank like a promise, but if shit goes down, a bloody murder on a planet she can barely remember, happening six years and a million lightyears and last week ago--well, they can't take the fucking loss, oh no, they're going to stuff in some random jackass marine, pulled off one conveyor belt and shoved onto another.

Like it's that simple. Like it's all just meat, isn't it, they all are, deep blue company logos hanging heavy over her skin, sinking into her bones until she feels it even when she's physically out of the link. Jake Sully shrugging into his brother's skin and grinning at her, Jake Sully with Quaritch's brand stamped onto his soul, Jake fucking Sully coming out of the Soul Drive upload room with jagged, defiant eyes.

There are some things that cannot be bought, Mo'at says, her hand wrapped around Grace's throat. Not enough to choke, not enough to hurt, just enough to make the point, to prove that tonight, Grace was not worth the suffocation. I had thought you learned this, if nothing else.

In a way, the rejection had been a relief. No need to try and twist everything into a knot trying to justify the application into a knot, no excuse to get shot in the head months down the line for trying to grow a rogue body on company resources. None of Sylwanin's DNA, so no watching her grow in the tank that would be Sully's, no waiting to see whatever would be left if you hooked an empty Avatar into the Tree of Souls, if you'd get something like a return or nothing, nothing, nothing...

No breath. No life. No meat, or at least not enough of it to go around, not enough bodies to go around. Just cold, hard cash and an ache in the pit of her stomach as she scratches meaninglessly, thoughtlessly, because where the hell are her cigarettes. Where the hell are her--

A hand on her shoulder and she yelps, something undoubtedly expensive slipping through her fingers and clattering to the floor.

"Jesus, Marine," she snaps, because it's Sully, of course it's Sully, standing there with a stupid look on his face and hair slipping out of his braid. Grace shoves him off with a huff. "Personal space, remember?"

She turns back to her work, eyes narrowed. A stack of bundles...shells? Grace frowns. When had she been collecting shells?

"I don't suppose you know what happened to my cigarettes," she mutters, glancing up at Sully. He's still standing there, stiller than she's ever seen him, wearing an expression she can't quite read.

"Marine?" Grace waves her hand in front of his face, but he doesn't respond. "You read me?"

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything there's another voice, young, feminine. "Kiri?"

Grace turns her head, frowning. There's a Reef Na'vi girl walking towards them, wearing Metkayina garb–Metkayina? When had the Metkayina been visiting the Omatikaya?

"Kiri?" the girl asks, looking worried--looking at Grace. She takes a step forward and Grace automatically takes a step back, feeling something skid under her foot (sand, not soil, where's the soil, where's the ground) and she falls with a curse, Sully yelping as he lunges to catch her.

"Easy," he says, but his hands are shaking. "Easy. Fuck. Okay." She can feel his pulse pounding, she can feel his panic gathering, she can feel the world moving and shuddering around her, she can feel everything, and she knows that--she knows--

"Reya, go get my mom and dad," Sully says, his voice taut, and there's the slap of feet against sand as the Metkayina girl runs. The slap of feet, and the thudding of waves, the howling of wind in the trees. Blood grubbing as Sylwanin heaves for air, as Tom Sully chokes out, as Neteyam--

--Neteyam--

Not enough bodies to go around. Not enough bodies, too expensive to look back, too much.

"Kiri." Sully's got his hands on her face, cool against her skin. Five fingers, strong and callused, resting lightly around the corners of her eyes. "You gotta breathe, Kir."

She can't. She's choking, she's choking on her first cigarette, she's choking on her own blood, she's choking on every lie she's ever swallowed with eyes sewn shut. She's choking on Sully's hand wrapped around her throat like a bad dream, like a memory.

"I've got you," he whispers, pulling her close. "You're not leaving us, Kir."

Kir. Kiri. Little atokirina. Little miracle, little secret, little liar, little ghost…

Over his shoulder she can see Tom Sully and Sylwanin (only it's not them, she knows this, she knows this just enough to wish she didn't) running her way. They're shadows, running, looking for the blood stolen from their veins; they're shadows, running, come to make sure she pays every single of her debts.

[afolderfullofstories]

Whumptober 2023: Day 24

Aric marched home, weariness in his bones. He was finally home after months on the road, completing another mission for the Order. He was torn between his duty to his family name and duty towards the Order. He knew one day he would have to choose. He was the heir to his father’s title, the only heir. But fighting for the Order has given him purpose and a way to quell the burning anger in his chest.

The house was quiet. The servants greeted him before running off to complete their tasks. He headed to his father’s study. He gave a small bow, “Father, I have returned.”

Lord Alexander looked up at him and Aric could only note how aged his father looked from the last time Aric had seen him. “Welcome home, son.” There’s resignation in his features, but his father doesn’t say anything.

“Where’s the half-breed? Or is she too uncultured to greet me?”

There’s pain in his father’s eyes at his words. “She isn’t here.”

“She shouldn’t be going around the city alone, it’s improper.”

Alexander sighed heavily, “She isn’t in Amphail.”

At this Aric finally paused, “I thought she was with you. Where else could she be?”

Alexander stared at his son for a moment, before holding up a letter before him, “She’s left.”

Aric furrowed his brow as he picked up the letter:

Father, forgive me. I cannot stay here any longer. I feel like a bird trapped in a cage. No. I feel like a bird whose tongue has been severed, whose wings have been broken and whose cruel owner keeps coming back to throw rocks. I’m sorry I can’t be the perfect noble daughter you need me to be. I just can’t live like this. Forgive me. Elyndria Domine.

And Aric sees how the Domine name was crossed out from the half-breed’s letter, like she was rejecting her name. And fury raged within him, “This is what happens when you spoil that brat.” Aric turned around and headed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To bring back that brat before she muddies our noble name.”

“Aric, stop.”

And it’s only respect for his father that kept him from marching out that door. “I will bring her back.”

Alexander just said firmly, “If this is what she wants, if this makes her happy, then I will not stop her.”

Aric scoffed, “Happy? She’s a spoiled child. She should be here carrying out her duties. It is not proper for her to be gallivanting off and ruining our family name.”

“And is it proper to have the Son of the House of Domine fighting as a Paladin for the Order of the Gauntlet?”

Aric fell silent at this. He had no answer for his father.

“l never stopped you. You needed an outlet for your grief and I let you. I have heard about the missions your Order sends you on but I have said nothing. I have never tried to control your life. Your sister needs to find her own purpose as well.”

“Purpose? If that half-breed got what she wanted, she would be singing in taverns like some common harlot.”

Alexander was silent at that.

“She is, isn’t she? You wouldn’t have just let her go. You would have sent people to watch her.”

“She’s happy.”

Aric let out a bitter laugh, “Happy? She doesn’t get to be happy. Not after everything she’s done.”

Alexander sighed, “Tell me then, Aric. What has she done?”

“Everything! Everything that’s gone wrong with our family is because of her. Our family is torn apart because of her.”

“How?” Alexander’s voice was soft but there was an air of impatience and frustration in his tone. This was not the first time they’ve had this conversation. And his father would take the half-breed’s side over and over again.

“You know how.”

“No, Aric, I don’t. I have always believed one day you would let go of all this anger and resentment inside you. I thought being a Paladin would be good for you.”

Aric growled, “You have always taken her side! You have always spoiled her! She’s the reason Julian is dead!”

“How?”

And Aric hated his father’s question, the same question every single time. ‘How?’ There was no ‘how’. The half-breed ruined his life, ever since she came into his life. “By being born!”

Alexander’s shoulder slumped, disappointed. “Just take a bath and rest, Aric. You’ve just had a long trip.”

Aric didn’t understand. He was being dismissed like he was the one at fault? That brat was the one that ran away and he was the one who was wrong? “Fine. I’ll go find your favoured child and bring her back to you and make you happy.”

Alexander sighed, “Leave her be, Aric. I’ve gone to Waterdeep to bring her home. But before I could speak to her,” Alexander sighed, “I’ve never seen her smile like that. Not since Lirelia passed.”

“Lirelia,” Aric spat. “All you care about is that Elvish whore and her half-breed child.”

Alexander stood, there was no anger in his features, just a imposing figure of nobility, “Do not speak about my wife that way.”

Aric just let out a bitter laugh, “Your wife?”

“I loved your mother very much, Aric. And it broke my heart when she passed. I grieved her for years. But I deserved to have a chance to fall in love again. If you want to resent me for that, then resent me. But do not blame Lirelia or your sister for that.”

“She is no sister of mine.”

“Aric!”

“She is no sister of mine. But I will bring her home.”

“So she can be another prisoner for you to torture?” His father’s voice was cold. It was clear his father blamed him for Elyndria leaving. She was spoiled. This had nothing to do with him. She-

‘Whose cruel owner keeps coming back to throw rocks.’

Aric felt cold as he realized those words referred to him. It wasn’t his sister being dramatic in the letter. She meant him. Aric didn’t understand why his chest twisted. If that half-breed wanted to leave, that was her choice. The way he acted had nothing to do with that. It didn’t matter what she thought.

Elyndria thought he was cruel?

Aric shook off the bitter taste the realization left him. He didn’t care about the half-breed. “Fine. I’ve had a long day. I will turn in early tonight, father.” He just wanted to rest.   

[im-me-he-says]

(Okay I wasnt going to post this but im actually pissed off.)

((TW INFERTILITY))

Dear Bridgerton fans who are unreasonably angry at Michael being Micheala in the new season,

You still have the book.

Let me bring up points that I've seen in arguments online:

1- "But her story is about infertility! Putting her with a woman changes everything!"

Queer women struggle with infertility too, in fact it can be very difficult for lesbians who wish to start families of their own as not everyone is able to adopt or find a sperm donor, and even if a sperm donor is found THEY CAN STILL HAVE INFERTILITY ISSUES.

Let me list off romance books that deal with cishet women and their infertility issues below-

Untamed Rose, Scandalous Mistress by Bronwyn Scott

The Devil in Disguise by Lisa Kleypas

The Friend Zone by Abby Jimenez

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt

What's Left of Me by Kristen Granata

Lord and Lady Spy by Shana Galen (this one is regency too)

A Secret Sorrow by Karen Van Der Zees

And many more if you google I just dont have all day.

(Extra point, in many of these books the women do not stay infertile and have a miracle baby...not only do many cishet women never get their miracle baby but lesbian couples literally cannot concieve)

And now let me list of books that deal with Lesbian women and their fertility issues-

.....

OH WAIT I COULDNT FIND A SINGLE ONE!!

This leads me to my next point.

2- Bridgerton is a love letter to minorities in romance.

As someone who is south asian myself, I have seen how western beauty standards and racism has treated women in our culture, literally go online and search up "which race would you not date" its disgusting.

I grew up only seeing white women be the desirable one in romances as did many others, you know what changed this for me?

Kate Sharma.

The international audience for Bridgerton especially with brown women of South Asian descent grew TREMENDOUSLY. We had a woman like us portrayed positively and seen as desirable, you guys genuinely do not understand how many brown women watch this show because of season 2.

If we had Kate, WHY should Lesbians struggling with infertility and Black Lesbians not have Francesca and Micheala.

3- "It should have been Eloise and Cressida!"

Why? Because Eloise is a loud mouthed feminist and Cressida is a mean blonde and they shared an understanding? Because theyre both white?

While I do want Eloise to be queer as well just think about that for a moment, while lesbian representation is scarce these days it is even scarcer for Lesbians who do not fit the norm...the mostly white, neurotypical, skinny, cis norm.

Genuinely think about how many times ypu have seen these tropes in wlw fiction, like sit and think about it.

Such as Black lesbians for example, you all are aware they exist right?

I want to reccomend this video by a sunny book nook which talks about how lesbians in a VAST MAJORITY of lesbian romance novels arent really...allowed to be complex characters and it would be some FANTASTIC insight for some of yall

In conclusion, you are allowed to miss Michael, but don't you dare say this takes away from her story, as it ties into the very aim of the show.

Thank you for reading.

[read-chill-wine]

Welcome to reviews of...

✨️Books Liz Loves that you should buy if you are in the US before the orange one takes office✨️

Tw - banned books, spoilers, politics, racism, oppression, and many other potentially uncomfortable topics

Read Liz's original banned books post here

On today's discussion, a book that truly gives me chills just reading the title:

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou is one of the most well-known and to some controversial, members of the black rights movement and women's rights movement. Angelou, rest her soul, was known for her work with Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcom X during the Civil Rights Movement. She made over 80 appearances in lectures, was an actress, an American poet, and director. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings is one of her most prized to Liz autobiography works. I genuinely cry every time I read this book. Maya Angelou is also the most banned author on the banned books list.

The book is focused on a young Maya and is a coming of age story with a focus on overcoming adversity, racism, and trauma. The book begins with a 3 year Maya and her brother, forced to move to Arkansas with her grandmother. This book follows her journey as she is SA by her mother's boyfriend, as she hides her uncle from KKK raiders, as she is forced to change her name to Mary by a racism boss, as she slowly turns the narrative with herself. Maya shows a story of progression from victim to a strong self spoken young woman who is able to look prejudice in the face.

Just when readers believe they will find comfort towards the end of this book, Maya presents the next challenge she faces: motherhood as a black woman living in the US.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings is the first part of a seven book series in Angelou's autobiography, with each of the 7 books addressing different points in the author's controversial and courageous life.

This book has been unfire since it was published in 1969 with many claiming it cannot be an autobiography due to Angelou's writing styles and storytelling, and more importantly, because it shows the racial divide that has existed in the US since Christopher Columbus decided he evidently found a new world.

This book has been banned for being: anti-white, sexually explicit, for portraying acts of violence and racism, and for addressing issues involving censorship.

I easily would consider I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings in my reading top ten, and I think if you are interested in the birth of the Civil Right's Movement, interested in challenging your own comfort zone, and interested in seeing life from the perspective of a member of one of our most oppressed communities, this is a difficult but fantastic place to start. I highly recommend the copy with a forward from Oprah. Something about one of the most powerful women in history opening one of the most powerful books I've read makes my heart flutter, and I think it will make yours flutter, too.

[aftgficrec]

You’re so right, friend, it’s been far too long since we’ve recommended this fantastic fic!  Thanks for submitting it. - S

We Used To Be Friends by gluupor [Rated M, 104576 words, complete, 2020]

Neil's life is thrown into disarray when his best friend is murdered. As he starts his senior year of high school, he finds himself on the outside looking in, a social pariah whose former friends are only too willing to bully and ostracize him. Working for his father, a private investigator, leads him to evidence that his friend's murder may not be as straightforward as it seems. Neil throws himself into the investigation, hoping that solving the case might help him regain some of what he lost.

tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: non-consensual drug use, tw: involuntary outing, tw: classism, tw: racism, tw: bullying, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder

[auspicioustidings]

Does that mean that the Mace chapter is down permanently? If so, would you consider rewriting a chapter for him with different links?

So having read through messages this morning and slept on it this is my current plan.

I've went back and retouched chapters Mace appears in. I've removed reference to the piss kink entirely which also removed the instance of non-con by virtue of a non-negotiated kink. In the König step-dad chapter I have added wording at the end that makes it apparent Mace was the one who got Kate after the scene to help.

I am going to rework the cervix-bullying chapter with non-con removed, some changes to dialogue and again references to the piss kink removed and put it back up. I do not want to just remove him from the fic, I don't think that actually does any good.

Going forward I'm not going to stop writing black characters and I will continue work on making the reader character read as neutral as possible when present. What I probably will stop doing for the moment is writing black characters for darkfic (I'll still write flawed characters and smut and the like, I just won't lean too far into it).

To be very clear, that is not the fault of anyone who raised issues and I am still happy they did so. POC are constantly ignored and dismissed in fandom communities that are supposed to be inclusive and open to learning when they make mistakes. The knee jerk reaction a lot of people have to being called out is to seek validation that they aren't in the wrong rather than actually take the feedback on board. If anything, this is the fault of people who have so consistently been awful to the black community in fandom that they have rightfully lost patience with people mishandling black characters.

It's just in this instance, I don't feel comfortable that I can write darkfic with black characters as a white woman, particularly one in the UK who doesn't fully understand the nuances of racism in the USA which is were a lot of my readers are from. And honestly there are plenty of black authors writing fantastic work for black characters, so it's not any great loss for me to not write them in this specific genre (if you do want dark romance content with a black lead character there is a great book series called Brutal Winter by Quirah Casey, mind the TWs because it is like dark dark. Legendborn by Tracy Deonn is fantastic if you're not looking for dark romance, but if you don't like cliff hangers wait until March because the final book comes out then).

I appreciate everyone in my inbox, I have read all of your messages. I'm not going to answer any publicly unless they are from named accounts, asking to be answered publicly and reasonable which I'm sure everyone can understand why.

[grimbunnies]

Ashley: "I wanted to ask you if you'd be interested in pledging? We're looking for new members."

Courtney: "Oh, totally! What do I have to do?"

Ashley: "Nothing too crazy... but I do have a fun idea!"

Courtney: "Look! A UFO!"

Nova: "What's your problem?"

Courtney: "Come on! Can't you take a joke?"

[simplegenius042]

A very late WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @g0dspeeed @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and @cassietrn

Tagging @strangefable @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy @minilev @wrathfulrook @josephslittledeputy @nightbloodbix @derelictheretic @deputyash @deputy-morgan-malone @inafieldofdaisies @ec-10 @ladyoriza @vampireninjabunnies-blog @voidika @onehornedbeast @thewanderer-000 @softtidesworld @snake-in-the-garden @corvosattano @henbased @neverthesameneveranother @chazz-anova and @strafethesesinners

Here are three WIPs, each from Far Cry The Silver Chronicles, A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore and Life, Despair & Monsters. Read below the cut.

TW: Harsh and heavy cursing, mentioned/implied character and general death of NPCs (either it be a time loop or a cybernetic homicidal monster around nine or ten feet tall and very pissed off). Implied mentioned sexual content, mentions of abuse and fantastical racism (against ghouls, Jericho leave Gob alone!). Mentioned prostitution and fantasies of murder (illegal but understandable).

First WIP is for the time loop/"Groundhog Day" FC5 AU fic called You're Almost Like Family where the Seeds are stuck in a, well, time loop. And whenever Silva (or the Seeds themselves) die, well, the days are reset. Funniest part is, none of the Seeds know that they are all in a loop, just their individual selves. Snippet below:

[John] slammed the entrance to his chalet shut, causing the blonde figure sorting his papers in his lounge to jump. The documents slipped out of her hands as she stood up with a hand to a holster, only to calm down when she realized it was him.

Noticing that the reports laid scattered on the floor, Nadi gave him a stink eye, gesturing to the papers.

John would have been apologetic if he simply didn't have time for this. Ironic given the predicament he was stuck in.

Sooner or later, the Deputy is going to end up dead, and he'll be back at square one... again.

The thought reignited his frustration, but he reigned in enough to examine his number two.

Nadi was a loyal member of the project, more faithful than Jacob's hound, and while they did butt heads sometimes, he was grateful for her presence and for her strategic input. Admittedly, John knew that without her, the Deputy would have gotten to him sooner rather than later.

I would have preferred not to have to had died to appreciate it.

"Once you finish with those, come meet me upstairs in my bedroom. There's something I need to discuss with you," John ordered smoothly, making his way to the stairs.

He didn't notice the confusion etched on the blonde's face, for John was already making his way up the stairs to his room.

It's times like these I wish I could have a shot of tequila, he thought to himself, walking over to the open bedroom window and closing it shut, pulling the lock down.

Next, he grabbed a torch light and shined it at the closet. Hearing nothing, he walked towards it and opened the doors. Empty.

Finally, John turned off his torch, knelt down, and swiftly rolled it harshly under the bed. Hearing no grunts, he looked under.

She's not under there... good.

John exhaled a huff of air, and sat on the edge of his bed as he put his hands over his face.

It was exhausting. Though John knew by the end of today, or the next two if he was lucky, the Deputy would be killed by something or another and he would be back at square one, he really needed to figure out how to reach out to her, without being shot.

Going to her too early leaves her shooting first and questioning the morality of it never, and trying to go to her late only ends up with her being killed by whoever it is she seems to have evoked the wrath of. Not that he thinks she doesn't entirely deserve it.

He needed guidance, and from his last conversation with Joseph, his brother seemed content with sitting by and letting God do his work.

And he tried. To wait it out. To let God do His work. But if the sign that John seemed to be getting was that leaving the Deputy to her own accord only leads to her death, and back to the morning of Joseph's arrest.

And it wasn't like Jacob, or worse, Faith, were going to be helpful.

John had figured out quickly that his intervention was needed for the Deputy to even get through another day. And while the Father may not have understood what he told him, John deduced that this was a test from God.

A test against his sloth. A test towards his patience. A test meant to prove that John was worthy of entering Eden. And what better way than to save the life and soul of another? Especially one as sinful and wrathful as the Deputy?

Which is why he waits for the only other faithful member of the project, his trustworthy second-in-command.

A knock on the door shifted his thoughts to the matter at hand, and he made his way to the door.

Opening it, Nadi stood there, the blond looking at him with expecting brown eyes.

John pulled her inside, earning a yelp from the young woman, and closed the door behind her.

Here's a WIP for a collection of short fics from different character perspectives throughout my Fallout fic series A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. It is still under heavy editing, but I've got a good grasp on where to take it. Snippet below:

In the five of the twenty four hours she's been awake, Nova had expected more-or-less the same day as before.

Walking around and offering her body to anyone who came into the saloon had not been a life she pictured for herself as a little girl, but it was one that paid well.

Well, it would have been if Moriarty didn't continue to take a cut of her and Gob's pay any time a customer gave them a generous donation.

That and the amount of times Moriarty had utilized her services with no intention of paying her, but she supposed it was a better alternative to being kicked out of Megaton. Given Moriarty still had that power.

She drew in the smoke from her cigarette, and surveyed from her post as Gob gave another orange bottle of whiskey to Jericho, the ex-raider sneering at the ghoul, his disgust evident all over his face.

Thankfully he didn't make a scene, slamming the small bag of caps on the counter as he left through the door.

Gob stared at the bag, string noose tied tightly around the bag, not immediately grabbing it. Nova could take a guess that Gob was lamenting over the debts that he owed Moriarty. Debts both the prostitute and the ghoul bartender wordlessly knew their boss was unlikely to pay.

Gob snapped out of it though, giving a miserable sigh, and dragging the bag away from the counter for Moriarty to pocket later, turning his attention to the damn radio that never seemed to play at the right time.

It pained Nova to see Gob like this. He was a real sweetheart with shitty luck, and she knew that the only upsides in his life were the hope of one day paying off his debts, however unlikely that was, and the Gravity News Radio host screaming out "fighting the good fight", whatever that entailed.

She was also painfully well aware of his crush on her.

Though she never had minded his appearance to the point she'd hang out with him in public, given how much she knows the ghoul is actually a decent guy, she had her limits, which was rare given her current standing under Moriarty.

She hoped he could find some semblance of happiness, whether that be with a person or a life long after Moriarty was rotting in the ground. But it wouldn't be with her.

If things were different though...

Nova looked away from Gob, shaking the thought away. It didn't matter on the what ifs, right now she had a job to perform.

She could ponder a different time.

Just as Gob began to smack the radio, a risky action given Moriarty's repeated threats on treating his property harshly, the saloon door creaked open, and Nova spotted two teens enter. One male, the other female. Both wearing what appeared to be blue jumpsuits with the numbers "101" imprinted in yellow on their backs.

Nova eyed them both. The young man was of average build, short auburn hair cut neatly with a few strands springing out from the harshness of the wasteland most likely, and light brown eyes on the lookout for anyone and anything.

The young woman on the other hand had dark hair tied in a pony tail, was a little chubbier than her counterpart, and her hazel eyes were more focused, trying to narrow down a specific person.

They glanced back to the door, whispering amongst themselves, though not too quiet that she couldn't catch their words.

Amongst the harsh gravel Gob spat out at the poor radio, and the chatter amongst the patrons, Nova could decipher the words "here" "back outside" and "think she'll stay?" in hushed voices.

And finally Jennifer putting murder on her mind to the back burner as she remembers to drop, duck and cover my WIP of Sonya's Push. Snippet below:

Breathing heavily as she pushed her way through the audience as they gazed upon the newest arena fight between beasties, the bruises formed from her fight with Malvolio's bitch protesting against her movements.

The blonde looked back to the closed elevator door on the other side, paranoid that Malvolio's Beastie would burst through at any moment.

The speed of it had been abnormal, disappearing in a blink and being nothing more than a flicker of movement when it had slid down to the hall. The movement of its tail daggers swift and deadly, like her own claws. The red in its one eye, more robotic than flesh.

Why had Dicko approved such a thing? It barely counted as a beastie with the mass of metal it was made of! Jennifer huffed, and around the arena, looking pass the patrons in search of Dicko.

Her blue eyes spotted the Englishman on a lower circle, himself seated down on his VIP sofa that she once shared with him, disheveled but celebrating his escape with a glass of disgusting champagne, like the pig hadn't just left her to die to that one-eyed mech of a beast. As if the reason it was free in the first place wasn't because he allowed his creep of a "buddy" onto his premises, or the fact Sir Enigma might be a fucking alien in addition to a Darwinist with no care for the fact "handing control" did not mean "releasing the Beastie from its brainwashing bullshit".

She felt the razor claws pushing through her fingertips as she glared at the man from across the arena, anger and betrayal clouding her mind.

Those fantasies of killing him while in his bed resurfaced, and she oh so wanted to enact them now, with the sofa as an acceptable exception.

She wanted to get her claws through his throat before the Beastie could make its way down to the arena. She tried to move pass the cheering audience, making her way around to the other side to get to the stairs.

However much she tried though, a block of people just refused to move aside, and she was tempted to slice her way through if it weren't for the guards.

Ding!

...Or the faint noise of the elevator door that echoed throughout the arena, deaf to everyone but her.

Frozen in place as she looked back, trying to get a glimpse of the beast that would no doubt tear them apart.

She pushed people aside to get a solid look. Enough people disbanded to show the doors opening to reveal the empty box of the elevator.

Jennifer's face scrunched in confusion, mouth gaping open and shut, lips stinging as the cut on her upper lip made contact with her bottom one. She desperately searched for any sign of the beast, the monster made of steel, the relentless creature that stalked and hunted her not moments ago.

Upon still seeing nothing, she let out a mirthless laugh as she turned her back to the elevator, shaking her head as she focused her attention on Dicko once more, the man a ring below talking with one of his guards.

It was with this focus that she noticed a... shift on the stone barriers that kept the audience at bay.

Large spots on the stone cracked, small dusts of powder dropping down as an unseen pressure was placed on the stone. She saw more of this dust from the next ring up, and then the next, and the next.

Up and up and further up until it stopped at the final ring. Then dust slowly dropped down from the roof, unbeknownst to the audience too invested on the violence happening between the two wild beasties below them. Not that the fight between those Beasties were anything special unlike what she saw from her hunter mere hours ago.

Jennifer felt some familiarity with this, words exchanged to her by the madman who released the Apex from its prison, a far too fond explanation on how the creature could "rush so fast it would be merely a flicker to the human eye!"

"...Or match its environment to disappear right before you," Malvolio explained, grinning at her with all his teeth.

Jennifer's eyes widened as she barely registered the outline of the beast that had adjusted its steel to uncloak itself while hanging from dark and dank ceiling. Red optic looking down to the cheers in the rings and the Beasties fighting under it.

She saw the tail split in three, and immediately followed her gut by making distance from the open space of the barriers.

She had just dropped flat onto the floor to curl up and cover her head when the she heard the wind and patron's necks crack in one simultaneous whoosh.

[doctorofmagic]

TW: racism, antiziganism, whitewashing, uses of g slur, fatphobia, misgendering, ageism, toxic fandom, long post.

This post is a bit off topic but, as someone who has been following Marvel’s comic book industry for almost ten years now, I feel like it’s my duty to use my voice and not be quiet about the blatant shit show that is happening to a character that is also a member of the magic community and has been suffering a lot lately in the hands of people who have little to no regard towards her heritage.

It was just a rumor back then (and Donny Cates even denied it in the past) but it does seem that Feige is using the MCU to influence comic books in most recent runs, ESPECIALLY regarding certain characters.

Now, let’s be honest. This is not new. We all remember when the cast of the Fantastic Four reboot died in a explosion in the pages of Punisher #12, eight years ago. A clear retaliation at the movie and FOX’s terrible decisions. We all know that this is probably the reason why the first family book was cancelled as well. The group remained in the shadows and only Reed had a decent spotlight thanks to New Avengers v3 and Secret Wars, disappearing next along with Sue, the kids and the Future Foundation. They only returned fully with a new volume in 2018, and most fans’ dreams and hopes slowly died out with Dan Slott’s bad takes and writing (erasing Franklin’s X gene, putting three women to fight over a man, reversing Infamous Doom to his villain self and throwing away his character development just because he wanted Victor as a villain etc etc etc).

Very well. Still, the FF survived. No one reversed Galactus into a cosmic cloud. No one turned Victor into a metallic guy with electric powers who wanted to marry Sue (thank the Vishanti). And whatever happened in the reboot (which I didn’t watch) certainly wasn’t adapted into comics.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to gatekeep comic books. In fact, I’ve been committed to introducing them to my followers since day 1 on this hellsite. Unlike many fans, I didn’t grow up with them. Movies had a huge influence on me and I had a long journey. Movies and animated TV shows are part of the reason I dove into this universe, in the first place. Which is fine. I can take a bad adaption and move on.

What I can’t take is what they’re trying to do with Wanda, because it reeks of racism.

The whole point of this new Wanda volume is to give her the proper representation and atone for the years of colorism, a systematic problem that keeps happening in the industry. Just because she was portrayed as white in the past, it doesn’t mean she’s not a woc, especially when it’s said in canon that she has dark skin. There are plenty of roma people talking on this matter and how it’s meaningful to acknowledge that Wanda is brown, even when white roma people exist (1, 2, 3, 4).

The crew is in fact very committed to it, as stated by Steve Orlando here:

Now, what is happening to the new Scarlet Witch volume? Two things. The blatant whitewashing in variant covers and their need to push the MCU into 616!Wanda, first by introducing Darcy and now deaging Agatha.

Let’s be clear. There was a MASSIVE effort from the team to portray Wanda's heritage, which has been constantly dismissed by the lack of effort from the artists.

Here’s one example, from Jeehyung Lee, tracing what I think is a k-pop singer (but I don't really remember her name so correct me if I’m wrong). In any case, she was traced over a korean woman. This is not the first problem with this artist since he also made the same with Storm’s model in MFF by tracing Charlize Theron over Ororo.

In addition to anti-blackness, this is also an issue of interchangeable ethnicity, the same that happened to America Chavez, when she’s established as Puerto Rican, not Mexican, as the pin on her jacket suggests (and yes, her cast is also filled with anti-blackness. Nothing against Xochitl, but I touched this matter before when I wrote about DSIMOM. And yes, TAO’s MCU is also bad, very bad, very very very bad).

I just keep seeing this over and over again. You shouldn't be defending her whiteness. You *SHOULDN'T*. Unless you have a problem that Wanda is a brown romani woman. It’s imperative that people understand that representation matters and poc have been time and time whitewashed in this very same industry (Sunspot/Roberto da Costa is just one example and was also whitewashed in that terrible New Mutants adaptation).

The issue here is to push a problematic and harmful portrayal of Wanda on her comic book version. And it’s only happening to her due to the popularity of said character and artist.

More thant that, her stans ARE using Olsen’s Wanda to shield racism. Some of you are actually not even hiding it. The following is a list of racist comments and accounts. I’ll leave them under the cut in case people don’t want to see it.

Regarding the WV variant cover for Wanda #3 by David Nakamura:

And plain racism overall:

On a side note...

Just today I was harassed by this troll here. And no, I’m not hiding your @ because you went to MY post and felt compelled to misgender me, be fatphobic and also god knows why felt entitled to call Wanda ableist (????)

As I said, I didn’t grow up with comics. When I first met Wanda, I didn’t know she was neither Roma, Jewish or brown. And this itself is a problem because it should be clear, it should have been portrayed in the comics, it should have been common knowledge. All it takes is just to listen to people and understand the systematic racism and whitewashing in the comic book and cinema industries.

They ALWAYS double down on Wanda’s whiteness. No, darling, it’s not okay to stan two versions of the same character when time and time the marginalized one is a target of racism. When they weaponize every single attempt at calling out the harm that MCU has caused on her character to the point of even using reverse racism, ableism and many other blatant lies to slander 616!Wanda, when her MCU can do pretty much whatever she wishes because she’s white so that’s okay. And don’t even dare bring feminism here because you don’t care about woc. You only care about white women.

In any case, I just want to shed light on this matter because this effort of pushing MCU into comics isn’t happening to any other Marvel character, ESPECIALLY when the change is for the better. Wong is powerful, body-positive and having more than one-dimensional relationship in the MCU. Where’s the effort to do that in comics? Layla is literally the best part of Moon Knight. Where is she?

Why they want so bad to push a white woman on a book that is supposed to praise Wanda’s romani heritage? It’s obvious that they want to sell and some execs are siding with the portion of this toxic and racist fandom.

Comics are not perfect, we know that. But there has been a huge effort to support the marginalized voices in this industry. Marvel’s Voices, pride and heritage are all examples. Besides, they’ve always been political. Always.

What they’re doing to Wanda is evil and lazy. As an artist and colorist, it’s YOUR DUTY to search and at least be aware of what characters you’re trying to conceive. There’s no way variant artists didn’t see the main cover for issue #1 by Dauterman.

This is not just ignorance. It’s a statement. A statement that it’s okay to ignore a marginalized group and its attempt to give visibility to said group. And Orlando knew that when he said he didn’t have control over the rest of the creative team.

It’s fine if the MCU wants to push some elements like they did in the past. But this is not just any element. It’s harmful and I’ll not be quiet about it. 616!Wanda is getting more and more marginalized, whereas her whitewashed version is praised and loved. And now there’s an attempt at reconciling both as if it was okay. It’s not. MCU!Wanda doesn’t know racism. MCU!Wanda joined Hydra. MCU!Wanda has the privilege 616!Wanda could never afford for being a brown roma woman. And now the racist fandom wants to claim both in order to erase 616!Wanda’s heritage and history of fighting racism.

All I can ask is, if you’re buying this comic book, DO NOT SUPPORT the variant covers. Let them rot. We know the racists are not supporting the book anyways. They’ll just buy the variant cover and that’s it.

PS: I’m not Roma so feel free to correct me in any aspect. Just using my voice to boost awareness.

PS²: Olsen stans DNI or else will be blocked at sight. I’m done with every single of you.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Can I ask for some nsfw Riddler (one of the classic versions) with an s/o who hasn't gotten any from him in a while because he's been really busy on some project. And while he tries his best to make time for them, he hasn't had enough time for that particular thing.

S/o also has a thing for sex in workplaces, so they decide to give him an unexpected (but not unpleasant) visit.

"Business Meetings" 60's Riddler x Reader

Ok you said classic and my brain went to 60s Riddler. Who could be more classic than that on my list? Keep in mind anytime I write for 60s riddler, it is a utopian version of the 60s in which racism, homophobia, transphobia, sexism, ableism, etc is just non-existent. If the show/movie could get away with half the wacky shit it did, I think we can have leeway with historical prejudices.

Anyways, I just went for it. I share the trait of verbosity with the Riddlers at times, unfortunately.

TW: NSFW, Exhibitionism (kinda), light bondage play

You were dating the Riddler, aka Edward Nygma. This was certainly not something you had planned for yourself in your life but here you were. He was handsome, he was charming- Funny and sweet- Yes, a complete and utter dramatic dork, but you loved all that about him.

It didn't hurt that the sex was fantastic. You had discovered rather quickly in your relationship that riddles weren't the only thing he held deep desire for, nor gave a vast depth of attention to. Even when he had long finished himself, he always made sure you were taken care of. He never shamed you for any of your desires. In fact, the purring praise he loved showering on you while you got off gave the opposite impression.

Yet as he plotted and preened for his next grandiose criminal outfit against the Batman, you found yourself... lacking, in a sense. In most ways nothing had changed. He still made time to care for you and support your daily ambitions. Edward was busy but he wasn't leaving you completely in the dust. Except... well. You found yourself missing the physical intimacy he wasn't able to give you in these times.

There was this thought in your mind- it had occurred before but you never gave much credence to it. Sex in the workplace was rather risky. Especially given some of the workplaces and people Edward worked with. As you went without sex, however, the thought kept creeping up into the corners of your mind. Maybe... Perhaps...

The worst that could happen was him telling you it was a bad time.

He always let you know where his current hideout was, in case of emergency. You had a spare key. Dressing in the academia style that you knew drove him crazy, you let yourself in to see him hunched over his desk with plans. His coat was hung up on a nearby rack.

Your voice reached him just as your hands curved over his shoulders to his chest, "Hello, Mr. Nygma." A small chuckle vibrated in his chest at your touch. He was fast to take your hands to lay kisses on them both.

He then turned his head to look at you, "Hello, my pretty." His eyes widened as the full view of you reached him. Those same eyes looked at you up and down before slowly tracing your legs as his body turned around in the chair.

A hum, "And to what do I owe such a vision before me? Tell me, why did the boyfriend ask his partner for a map?"

With a small laugh, you played along, "Hm... I think I know. But you should tell me anyways." You'd heard this one before. From him. That didn't make it less charming every time he said it.

"Because he got lost in their eyes." A gleeful giggle escaped from him just as that dreamy look on his face met yours, "Ah. But you didn't answer the first question. Did I forget a holiday of some sort?"

You leaned against a nearby wall as he started to get up from his chair, "I missed you." That made him pause. A sympathetic look.

Then his face curled into a grin, "Another riddle for my sweet! What did the giraffe ask the... handsome male giraffe?"

The laugh that escaped you let him know how cheesy that was. Yet, you couldn't help leaning in closer to flirt, "Wanna neck with me?"

The walls of the hideout echoed with his high pitched cackling as he grabbed you by the waist to swing you about, "How did I get so LUCKY? A beauteous brain and wit sharp as a tack! You really are my perfect match, aren't you?"

Before you could respond, however, you found the answer to the riddle apt. His lips found your neck and got to work. His hands aided yours in shakily undressing your top half. As his tongue found your collarbone, you mentally praised yourself on this grand idea. A vibratory moan left his throat as your hands moved into his hair to give a light tug.

The desperate way he was unbuttoning his vest told you how much he needed this, too. Now it was your turn to cover his face and neck with kisses. He was undoing his tie and groaning at your loving affection.

"Poor thing. Poor, poor dear." He teased, "To think I left you in such a state."

The palm of your hand lay flat over his front, moving down until it sat over the bulge of his cock. He hisses as you squeezed and was quick to grab your wrist.

He tsked at the movement, "Now, now. Think of how I've been without your touch. If we rush things, it'll be over far too quickly." You couldn't help but concede with a nod. It was too tempting to get right to the good part. What you really wanted.

The silken material of his tie came to rest over your wrists. He kissed you on the lips as his fingers deftly tied your hands together. There was something thrilling about the fact he didn't even have to look. While you could never let it get out, tying and binding was something that your paramour was not only fantastic at, but he deeply enjoyed it. Yet with you it was always gentle. You could break out if you really wanted to.

But you both know you didn't.

The train of thought was reinforced as his kissing moved to your jaw and you could feel his fingers lacing under the tie to ensure it wasn't too tight. Then he pulled so your body pressed closer to his. Both of you laughed as you leaned forward to lay kisses on him. The texture of his gloves reached your abdomen as he began to pull off your lower half of clothing.

You took the opportunity to lace your bound hands over his head to rest on his shoulders. With the two of you pressing your bodies together, he kissed you eagerly and hard on the lips, all while pressing you to walk backwards. He guided you to a nearby desk where he scooped you up on top of the surface. If you opened your eyes, you'd see those baby blues staring back with a dopey, loving gaze.

"Cherub, how I've missed this." He moved to kiss your shoulders and neck and your hands grasped at the back of his shirt, "Everything about you... Such a perfect specimen..." His kisses went to your arm, his eyes wound tight. You found yourself pulling him closer, your legs around his waist.

It just made him grin, "Trying to tell me something? Use your words, why don't you?"

"Please, Edward." You quietly asked.

As he unzipped his pants, he teased, "Have you no shame? What if someone found us like this? Oh... Someone could walk in right now."

Both of you looked to the door in a dramatic pause. He took the opportunity to kiss your cheek as you looked away, causing you to laugh. You couldn't lie, the idea of it... Of course you didn't really want anyone to see this. But the thought made you quiver. The moan you gave him feeling his cock at your entrance was confirmation of that.

As he kissed you, you could hear the sound of a drawer opening. You looked to see him grabbing a tube of- Oh, is that-

"You have that here?" You asked, motioning your head to the container of lube.

A sheepish look washed over his face, "I thought it could be a possibility, at some point. Why not be prepared, my pretty?"

With that, he coated his cock and pressed it further against you until the tip pressed inside. He sighed against your neck as he gave shallow thrusts. You could tell he was trying to pace himself, but you couldn't help the whine that came out. The response of the riddler was to press deeper which made both of you shudder. It was apparent it had been just a touch too long.

"Sweetest thing- to be..." He murmured, "What is... Why are men like chocolate bars?"

You couldn't help but laugh out a moan, "I don't kn- Oh fuck, please don't stop."

The pace increased as Nygma found his rhythm, a shaky laugh leaving his throat. His lips close to your ear, he purred, "Because they're sweet, smooth and head directly for the... hips." A harsher thrust up. The barking laughter that turned to moans filled the room.

You grasped at his face to kiss him, your orgasm close. Weeks without the intimacy between you wound tight in the core of your stomach. Your hand couldn't compare. Given his uncharacteristic silence, you supposed he felt the same. His fingers were pressing tight into the curve of your thighs and ass as he ebbed and flowed with you.

One last kiss and you were coming undone on his cock. You could feel his face beaming against yours as you softly cried out his name and came down from your high. Just before you could get too sensitive, he finished shortly afterwards. His groans pulsated sloppily into your mouth as he did. The warmth of his cum inside you, then dripping out. Something about it all made you suspect he was trying very hard not to finish before you did. A gentleman.

His hands supported your lower back as you pulled your hands back in front of you. Once you were stable sitting up, he untied your wrists.

He kissed both of them, "Worth the trip?"

"Eddie, you're always worth the trip." You sighed breathlessly, "....Are they really going to come back soon?" Suddenly, you felt very naked in his hideout. So so very naked and full of cum.

"Hm?" He looked puzzled for a moment before clicking his tongue, "Ah- No. They won't be back for hours. I just said that to get you excited. Did you like it?"

A nervous nod, "Yeah... Just not..."

"I understand." He kissed you softly, "I'm not so willing to share this vision of you, either. But- I'm sure we could get away with a lot if you wanted. You'd be amazed what you can sneak past people's eyes when they don't want to see it."

The blush on your face definitely portrayed your thoughts on that. He assisted you to sit up and gather your clothes. His eyes moved again over your body as you dressed, a soft look in his eyes. Unless you were mistaken, you'd think he was melting all over again. Before he could get too lost in the thought he was straightening out his tie as best as he could before pulling it back over his neck.

Fully dressed, you came over to tie it for him, "Satisfactory, Mr. Nygma?"

A wink, "Please, my pretty, just call me The Riddler."

You had a feeling it wouldn't be nearly the same wait from this time to the next.

[lactoseintolerentswag]

TW discussed injury and blood

First off this is in no way a complaint. My lifeblood is recovery rottmnt fics. I Eat that shit up it's the best. I just wish there were more with visceral recovery or initial reactions to injury. And I don't just mean mental-health wise.

It's very in character for our most picked on characters Leo and Donnie to act nonchalant in the face of serious injury, both trying to keep the group panicking for different reasons. Even at the end of the movie they couldn't go too into depth of what the turtles' injuries would look like, bc well this is aimed at kids.

But just speaking from brief experience (we got hospital near death experience swag), getting seriously injured or harmed Will majorly Freak You Out. Especially for kids!!!! That stuffs gonna hurt and getting hurt that bad draws out visceral, loud, squirming, and hard to deal with reactions!!!

A movie that does demonstrate this kind of reaction Super Well is Reservoir Dogs (which is a Fantastic movie in general, although Tarantinos work has seriously dated and has deep roots of misogyny and racism despite the new and invigorating ideas he introduced into cinematography I'm on a tangent I'll stop). Anyway I added the clip here for anyone interested.

Warnings it has a lot of screaming, cursing, and blood because poor Mr. Orange is trying to deal with a gunshot wound in his stomach as Mr. White is driving them away.

Anyway this is just stuff I'd Like to see. And probably stuff. I'm going to make bc I know myself too well ASDFGHJKL

Again not complaining just sharing my thoughts :>