#grinds my gears in a way but that's my problem i guess

[redwayfarers]

re the tags of my last reblog that i didn't wanna clog with my own blorbo thoughts, i desperately wish nika wasn't built like a ken doll in game... like sure, he's strong and has muscles but also has a soft belly and isn't all that ripped! he is wide and stocky and soft but also god forbid he punches or kicks you!

i have long since accepted that i'll never see my blorbos on screen the way i see them in my head but sometimes i wish the pixels would reflect the vision! it's genuinely weird to me to see him in some tits out/open front stuff and not see the stocky guy i see in my head... it's nothing a commission can't solve but i'm allowed to be annoying about my wol

[himbohimhoe]

Holding out hope that the writing in veilguard will get more bearable but rook saying to lucanis that it's "not nice that Spite hurt him" and he "shouldn't accept that it’s fine bc it wouldn't be ok if a person did that" like. That is a demon. Built off a single emotion called SPITE. Rook I am finding it really hard to believe that u have lived in thedas for more than 30 seconds.

[solelifauna]

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

-

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

[taintedcigs]

— cowboy hat rule.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising, kinda degrading but not really, a lil argument, dom!steve, rivals to fcking, swearing, good old bj for our good boy stevie! reader has a nickname 'sunshine' bc i didn't wanna do y/n sorry:(

summary: helping out mr. harrington in his ranch was supposed to be fun, but steve harrington was an asshole. an absolute pain in your ass that teased you, and you gave him the same energy back, always. so when you unknowingly wear his cowboy hat, he decides to teach you what exactly the cowboy hat rule is. (wc: 5k+)

author's note: this is just horny babbling. i have no idea how cowboy lore works so if im wrong pls just close ur eyes i tried to research but i couldnt find shit just pls i just want cowboy steve dick. and ofc no proof-reading bc im lazy as hell. no dividers ugly aesthetic bc of tumblrs f ass not showing my shit in tags SIGH.

also PLSSS LIKE + REBLOG + COMMENT TO SUPPORT ME MWAH ILY

When you told Mr. Harrington you’d be more than happy to help around his Ranch during the summer, you didn’t expect Steve to become a problem, but you were wrong, so fucking wrong. 

A cocky cowboy who’s way too into partying and into his looks and his fluffy hair than you could ever imagine. That’s exactly how you’d describe Steve Harrington. Even though you so badly wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to disregard the rumors and the reputation that came with him. But, he made it so goddamn hard. 

All he fucking did was tease you, complain. Order you around and act like you didn’t know how to do shit. And, you didn’t, but he was supposed to be your guidance, teach you. But all he did was grumble and give you that goddamned smirk. 

Yet, you couldn’t fully hate him, there was a side of him he rarely showed you, one that cared, one that offered you rides—it was more of a mumble each night but you accepted nonetheless, one that ended up at your side whenever an asswipe bothered you at the bar, one that offered you a hand on your back when you were crying, he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t speak, just stood there, letting you spill out your guts. The two of you never spoke about these incidents, ever, because he acted like they didn’t exist, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being nice to you. 

You were so fascinated by him, even though you’d never admit it out loud. He was charismatic, outright funny, and had a heart of gold that you only peered one layer of. 

And fuck it, he was fine, annoyingly good-looking that he was a distraction to be around when you were supposed to be working, him with those sturdy denim jeans that cupped his ass perfectly, wide-brimmed cowboy hat with a creased crown, put perfectly on his head. Even though you’d much rather see his pretty hair falling on his face, run your hands through his smooth layers.

Usually, when it got as hot as it did today, he’d even take off that stupid shirt, feast your eyes with his glimmering chest, all hairy and glistening with sweat, broad shoulders as he ordered everyone around made you gulp. Like he is doing with you, right fucking now. 

“Sunshine, get back to work.” Heat travels to your cheeks quickly, and that stupid nickname rolls off his lips so bitterly, the one he always called you just because you were all nice and smiley—even when he was being an asshole to you, something that grinded his gears, you guessed it was a foreign concept to him, being nice. 

You were quick to shake off the hold he had on you, getting back on your feet as you stood your ground. “I am working! Just needed a second to breathe!” The lies rolled off your lips so simply that you wondered if he caught you staring. When he turned around to leave, you guessed he hadn’t. 

“Asshole.” The insult leaves you before you can register how close Steve still was to you. 

Turning head-spinningly fast. “What did ya say?” He spits, making you gulp physically. 

He looks out of the world stunning when he’s mad, maybe it’s a toxic trait of yours but, fuck, the way his chocolate hues turn unrecognizable, that slight quirk of his brows, and the way his muscles flex in pure anger made you rub your thighs together. 

Jesus Christ. He is getting into your head, and you hate that you think of him this way when he is so mean. 

“Nothing! I’m just saying it’s really hot out today,” you hum, the sun rays hitting your face not making it easier on the heat that flame your cheeks. 

He gives you a snort, all mocking once he takes a step closer, making you feel hotter if that is possible. “Well that’s what happens in the summer, darlin’”

Hand on the wall he tilts his head slightly, all with sass that has you rolling your eyes. “Or did you expect the weather to give Miss Sunshine some sorta special treatment?”

You roll your eyes, an act you always did that makes Steve’s jaw clench. “Oh, come on Steve! It’s really, really, hot, and the sun is all on my face!”

“Boo-hoo, princess,” he mocks, tipping his hat, almost as if to tease you further.

You scoff, getting closer to him. “Easy for you to just stand around in that big hat!” With a narrowed gaze, you cross your arms against your chest, like a brat, another trait that annoyed Steve even further.

Then, you beam again, and Steve knows no matter how much you hate it, Sunshine is absolutely the nickname you deserve, eyes glistening with happiness that it annoyingly even brings a glint to his pretty amber hues. His gaze unintentionally droops down to tour lips, so plushy and soft looking when it curls into that pretty smile that Steve wants to kiss you all over. 

“Oh! Do you mind if I?” You ask all giggly, pointing toward his wide-brimmed hat, hand teasingly standing above his head. 

He scoffs as if you had just asked him the most insulting question ever. “Not a chance,” he spits, now he crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyeing you with a dark glint in his eyes, one you couldn’t decide was full of annoyance or just pure desire. 

“Mhmmm… okay,” you hum, feigning innocence for a second, before snatching it off his head with another hearty giggle.

Oh, what he would do to hear that on a loop, admire the way your lips stretched into the prettiest grin, brows quirked.

“Sunshine!” He chides, much rougher than he intends to, but you don’t pay attention to him when you place the hat carefully on your head, smoothing your hair.

You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes that have him melting, everytime, without fail. “Admit it, looks better on me.” You shrug, expecting him to agree.

Instead, he just offers you a deep sigh of breath, eyes almost widening when he realises what you just did. “Do you even—”

He huffs, hiding the obvious pink shade thats starting to color his cheeks, you really had no idea the hold you had on him, did you? “God, you city girls have no idea about anything, huh?”

Your brows furrow. “What?” 

“Cowboy hat rule?” He asks with a tilt of his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

A teasing smile curves on your plushy lips as you push for more information. “What’s that?”

“Just give me the hat back,” he insists, attempting to mask the warmth that crept into his tone.

With a shake of your head, your defiance only grows, a glint of mischief dancing in your gaze. “Not until you tell me the rules.” 

“Sunshine,” he warns, voice so grumbly that heat travels all over your body quicker than the sun burning you. 

“Steve?” You hum with a flirty gaze, so teasing that Steve wants to fuck you right then and there, until he teaches you proper manners, until he shows you not to be a total fucking brat and not to roll your eyes at him, until he shows you that you’re his. 

But, of course, he settles on a low grumble of, “You’re annoying.”

“You used to be more creative with the insults, Harrington.” Another teasing remark, and Steve rolls his tongue inside of his mouth. 

With a smirk, he takes another step toward you, when your back hit the walls of the barn, only then you realise, he has you cornered. “You wanna know the cowboy hat rule, princess?” He asks all smugly.

Gaze meaner than he is, chest almost pressed against yours, voice so low that all you can do is slightly nod. 

Your breath gets hitched in your throat when his face is mere inches away from yours, hot breath fanning against your cheeks, skin heating on the impact, that brattiness you wear as a mask quick to slip off when he’s all demanding. “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” His tone is almost a growl, pupils blown wide, making you gulp, physically.

“What?” You blink, unsure of what he’s actually asking. Excitement jumping around in your tummy. 

“You heard me. Wanna take me for a ride, Sunshine?” He is so goddamn close that you are sure he can hear the annoying tumble your heart does at the weight of what his words hold. 

It makes you pause, gaze sticking on his, sometimes slipping away to his soft lips, almost to signal him of something, but all you can do is try to hide the embarrassment that burns your cheeks. 

“Didn’t think so,” he scoffs, backing away just slightly. 

His cowboy hat is too big on your head, tipping low over your eyes, possibly hiding your nervousness as you mutter, “What if I do?”

With a smooth motion, he flips it off from your head, holding it with his palm, away from you. “Get back to work, Sunshine.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I, those horses ain’t gonna straddle their strap themselves, off. to. work,” he hisses, turning to leave.

You huff, heat still burning off your cheeks, more embarrassed than annoyed, yet you still don’t have it in yourself to let it go, you can’t let him have this. Win this.

Quick to snatch the hat back, “So the hat rule is, wear the cowboy hat, ride the cowboy, huh?” You mumble behind him, your voice failing you, yet you appear to be giggly, and Steve heaves a deep sigh of breath, before fully turning to you.

He halts a bit when he sees you once again, in his hat, tipped low, that stupidly addicting smirk gracing your slightly-open lips, hand on your hips, and all he wants to do is fuck you till you lose that attitude of yours. 

“Stop,” he warns, taking a step closer to you but with a shake of your head you back away, and he sighs, loud and annoyed. 

“Gimme that, sunshine!”

“Nuh-uh.” All teasing and bratty, and grating on Steve’s last nerve. You know this, yet you wanna keep pushing him, further and further, until he snaps, until he can’t take it anymore. You have no reason to do this, you’re supposed to hate him, think of him as an annoying asshole.

But the two of you are finally tethering on that line, the line between purely teasing each other out of spite, to teasing each other out of flirting, you know that, and you don’t wanna take a step back. “Prove it.”

You are all up in his face, and all he can do his roll his eyes, cheeks beetle red, frustration worn on his face. “Knock it off.”

You tut gently, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Not until you—” Your words are interrupted quickly when he snatches up the hat from your head in annoyance, making you gasp when he discarded it easily.

“Get back to work!” His voice raises, and it makes you take a deep breath.

Shit, did you fuck this up?

“What?” You question, entire body feeling dizzy. He takes a step closer.

“You heard me.”

Another step closer, his breaths come out in short gasps, frustration taking over him. “Get back to fuckin’ work, before I can’t stop myself.”

He is close. Too fucking close, and you can’t help the way your gaze droops down to his soft lips, slightly parted open, downturned from frustration. God, you realize how hot he is when he is angry, once again. “F—from what?”

He hesitates, before licking his lips. This is it. He wants, no, he desperately needs you. Needs to put you to your place. Teach you what happens to bratty girls like you. Show you what exactly the stupid rule is. “From fucking you in this goddamn barn.”

You release the breath you’ve been holding back, feeling small, so small under his gaze. Mouth hanging open, and all you want is him to pin you against the wall, have you screaming out his name. “From making sure I show you how the goddamn cowboy hat rule works.”

Your back is plastered against the wall, his hands are by your side, you are caged beneath him, chest rising in anticipation. “Is that what you want, honey, think you can handle all of that?” He’s so smug, and you don’t know what overtakes you when he’s all in control like this, you wanna obey him, make him happy, proud, so you bite back on your insults.

His smirk is dangerously alluring, and you’re under his spell. 

“Please,” you beg, heat finds your cheeks again, you hate the hold he has on you.

He barks out a chuckle, so mean, yet as equally hot. “Please, what? Speak up,” he spits, rolling his tongue inside of the roof of his mouth, lips wearing a smirk.

“Ruin me,” your voice is small, meek, yet it makes him groan. 

You’re such a good girl for him, and he wants nothing more than to ruin you. Fully. Completely. Ruin you for every other man. 

His head ducks down to your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss before leaning into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Goddamit darlin’, you gonna be the death of me, huh?”

You don’t—you can’t answer, you’re speechless, rubbing your thighs together desperately, seeking some friction, a touch, anything. 

He levels with you again, dangerous gaze on your lips, fingertips brushing against your cheeks teasingly “You know what I always wanted to do, sunshine?” He coarses lowly. 

“W—what?” You ask with a gulp, lips twitching with need. 

He gives you another grin, that asshole. The pad of his thumb slowly caressing your lips now, making you shiver with hunger. “Always wanted to put you to your place, you and that damn smart mouth, always runnin’ it for no good reason. I’d give you a good reason for those pretty lips, huh? Use it the way I wanna use it, fill it the way I wanna feel it,” he grunts like he said the most normal thing, yet you’re already squirming, wanting to open your lips, take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them, show him how much of a good girl you can be for him.

He has you on such a hold already, and you can’t complain. For someone who seemed to be annoyed—hell, even hated him a few minutes ago, you feel crazy, batshit insane, all you want is him.  

His fingertips play with your lips all teasingly, pupils blown wide, the other hand caresses your hair so possessively that you melt into his touch. “You gonna be good for me sweet thing?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. “Y—yes, sir.”

Sir. 

Godfuckingdammit. You don’t know the hold you have on him, do you?

He bites back on the moan that rumbles in his throat, instead settling on a, “Good girl.” Your puppy dog eyes glint at the praise, and he makes a mental note of it. . 

“Get on your knees f’me, darlin’,” he grumbles, and you’re quick to obey, not minding the uncomfortable feeling of the wooden floors scraping your knees, or the fact that anyone might’ve walked in, the door was locked, and there was probably no one around yet Mr. Harrington might’ve returned to the ranch at any moment. But he made you feel safe, somehow. 

You look up at him with those doe-eyes again, making him suck in a breath before he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them off his hips, boxers so tight around his hard cock that he grunts involuntarily.  

Your eyes go wide the second his erection springs free, almost hitting the tip of your nose, red, angry and leaking with pre-cum, he lets out a chuckle at your expression before grabbing the base of his cock. 

Same eyes, looking up at him all hungrily, Steve feels the way blood rushes quickly to his cock, making him harder if that's even possible, with a groan he runs the leaking tip across your lips. “Open up.”

Your hand replaces his quickly, and he runs his fingers through several strands of your hair, teaching you how exactly he wants you. 

You open your mouth wide, just like he likes it, tongue giving his slit kitten licks, moaning at the taste of his salty pre-cum, wrapping your plushy lips around his thick head, and sucking the life out of him, determined, and feigning innocence with the soft gaze you held. 

Head thrown back, heavy boots planted on the harsh ground, he lets out a low groan, stroking your hair all softly. “Look at you s’pretty like this for me.”

His hand wraps tighter around your hair, pushing you onto him, making sure you gag a little and that only spurs you on, making you whine around his cock, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?” He chuckles all meanly. 

“God, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to shut up that bratty mouth like this?” He asks with grunts leaving his open mouth, hand working harshly around your head, mouth feeling like heaven the more you bob around his thick length, struggling to take all of him. 

“Those pretty lips are—mmpf, shit—better stuffed with my cock than being a spoiled lil’ city girl runnin’ her mouth, ain’t that right, baby?” You nod meekly, angelic eyes seeking for his validation before you flatten your tongue around the sensitive part of his tip, struggling to take all of him in your mouth. Earning guttural moans, eyes squeezed shut as he feels your soft lips wrapped around him again.

“Fuck, sweet thing.” You can feel his filthy grunts straight in your core, all low and lewd that you almost moan around him again, he puts one hand on the wall, helping himself to better move in and out of your throat. 

He knows if you keep this up, he’ll cum right and there, and fuck, he needs that. But he needs to be inside of you more. 

You keep up your stroking, now adjusting yourself properly to start licking and sucking on his balls. “Sunshine, you need to s—stop,” the words barely leave his lips, he so doesn’t want you to stop. But, he needs to cum inside of you. 

Yet, you don’t listen to him as your movement speeds up, determined to feel his load warming your throat, make him proud, and your mouth bobs harder around his length, making him growl at you harshly. “Sunshine,” he warns, pulling you by your hair. 

You’re quick to take a deep breath of air once he pulls you off, looking up at him with the perfect innocent eyes, your lips wearing the prettiest pout. “Was that not good for you, Stevie?” 

Stevie. That nickname makes his head spin faster, all he wants to do is fuck you against those stupid rustic walls, have you screaming out for him, the whole ranch filled with your filthy noises, no one was around anyway.

“You kiddin’, sweetheart?” He gives you a chuckle, wrapping his hands around your jaw, pulling you off the floor. 

“You were fuckin’ amazing,” he hums, leaning down to kiss you, tasing the salty semen on your tongue. 

His hands are quick to travel along to your waist, fingertips finding their way onto your panties rather quickly, earning a gasp out of you. “Need to be in here first, honey.”

You nod, so quickly that you can feel him grinning into the kiss, his hands are everywhere, yours are more or less the same, quick to get rid of his top, to feel his toned chest in your soft hands, your top is sprawled right next to his, revealing your pink and gold bra at him, breasts peeking out just enough to have him groan, big hands quick to get rid of them. 

He has you caged against the amber walls, back hitting the rough material, making you hiss. Your skin heats at the impact, it’s filthy, lewd, and so public, but none of you even care enough to break the kiss. He settles between your thighs, his pants drooped to his ankles, hands rubbing across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The sight of you so easily submitting to him, makes his cock grow harder than he thought was possible, looking so ethereal that Steve forgets all about everything else. “Sunshine,” he breathes, hands fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster, legs slightly open for him, and he almost feels possessive over you, it’s entirely stupid, but he looks so fucking alluring with those dark chestnut eyes, layered hair a mess, and cock weeping entirely with the thought of you. 

His thumb runs over the seam of your pussy, just a glimpse of how his fingers are going to ruin you, and you pulse and clench against him already. Wet. Drenched. And all ready to take him. “You’re soaked,” he groans.

Leaning further into your ear, “is that all for me, honey?” he rasps, desperate, needing your confirmation. 

Heat grows in your cheeks faster than a scorching day in July, and he grins, again, all cocky and proud. “Yes,” you admit meekly, and Steve’s quick to kiss your worries away. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growls, swirling your wetness up and around your slit, almost toying with you, having you desperately mewl for him. 

He can’t put his finger on it, what it is that draws him this much into you, but he’s hooked, so goddamn obsessed that he feels like an idiot, for being this much of an asshole, for acting like a grade school boy who’s pulling the pigtails of his crush. Like a stupid cliche. 

“Stevie.” That nickname, again. Godfuckingdammit, Steve thinks. You have him so wrapped around your finger, it’s like a prayer, and he’s sure you’re not aware of it. And it drives him even crazier. “Please.”

“Talk to me.” His voice is low, lips now nipping at your neck, suckling, giving you all the marks you need. 

“I need you,” you hum, eyes squeezed shut, desperate. His finger discard your panties and slide easily inside of you, your back is fully dipped into the well-worn walls with how good he feels, his thick fingers making their way in and out of your soppy cunt, whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend. 

“Ruin me, Steve, fully, completely.” You don’t know how those words leave past your lush lips, but your thighs ache with need, cunt throbbing for him and him only. 

His eyes widen quickly, pure hunger quick to fill his veins, mouth hanging open, curses leaving his lips at how forward you are being. “Show me the cowboy hat rule, sir.” 

Steve all but groans, mouth harshly on yours again, chests pressed together and you can feel how hard he truly is, rock stiff, and aching to be inside of you. The sheer size of how he feels against your thighs almost makes your eyes bulge again. 

His fingers stop moving in and out of you, before you can whine, he spins you around so fast that you gasp loudly, hands immediately plastered on the wall, pleasure and excitement fills your tummy, but the fact that he’s seeing you all vulnerable like this is embarrassing enough that you try to close your legs. 

He’s quick to stop you with a grin, rough hands landing on the back of your thighs, spreading them open while tutting you. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get all shy now, princess. Spread them open f’me.” You spread them a little, cunt throbbing with how close his fingers are. 

He groans again once he fully gets a view of you like this, face down, ass up, your pussy slicked with your juices, at his mercy. “‘M gonna ruin you, honey, don’t you worry.” A dark chuckle barks out from his chest, sending chills down your spine, almost making you whine. 

Fuck. 

His hands are rough when he has you by your waist, bruising almost. Lining his cock in front of your slick core, he swipes the head of his reddened tip inside of you with one forceful thrust. Your plushy lips open slightly, stealing your breath away as you try to adjust to his size.

Shit, shit, shit, he feels even better than you fucking expected.

His cock splits you open, filling every goddamn inch of you. You don’t know how many times you thought this, but, shit, he’s as big as the gossip in this small town says he is. 

His thrusts are slow, grunts so loud and heavenly that it spurs you on more and more. His weight on you, the bruising hold. You feel him everywhere. On your back, hips, and fucking inside of you.

“F-fucking, fuck!” he growls, leaving nibbles all over your shoulder and back, even with the fact that this was Steve, and he was rough and filthy, it was wildly intimate, so wildly intimate that you could feel your heart pounding inside of your chest. 

“How are you this fuckin’ tight, s-sweetheart?” One of his hands travel up to your neck, roughly holding you down, hips slamming into you with such force that you cry out.

He watches the way his girthy cock disappears in and out of you, wetting himself with your juices, filling every inch of you. “Doin’ s’good for me, princess.” His praises are heavenly, making your chest swell with pride.

He moves inside of your soppy cunt with short thrusts. Completely bottomed out, thrusting against the same sensitive spot every time as his balls, heavy with cum grind against your clit, with each movement, making you cry out his name, babbles leaving your mouth. “Yeah, you like this don’t ya? Want me to ruin this slutty pussy, huh? Ruin it for every other men?”

You nod all dumbly, yet, it isn’t enough for him. He wants to hear you, have you scream it out. “Say it, sweet thing, fuckin’ say it,” he groans, coarse voice making tingles appear everywhere on your skin. 

“I-I love it, Stevie, want you to ruin me for everyone else, mmpf,” you moan all fucked out, eyes rolled all the way back to your head, hips desperately grinding against him for some more friction. 

He picks up his pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon.“F-fuck doll, won’t last if you keep runnin’ that dirty mouth.” 

But his words just encourage you to keep going, gasps coming out in short breaths as you manage to drive him crazier. “All yours, sir, all yours.” 

He grunts at that, one of his arms snaking around and under your hips to find a better angle, lifting you up so that he can fuck his cock deeper into you, make you feel how fucking big he really is. “That’s right, baby, it’s all fuckin’ mine.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, entire body burning with it. The slick sounds of his hips driving into you, your moans, his low groans are all that fill the room. So fucking filthy, and you can feel yourself clenching around him. 

It’s all too much; his hands everywhere, the lewd noises he makes, how deep his girthy cock is bottomed out inside of you, making you feel every ridge. It’s fucking perfect, and you desperately need to cum. 

And of fucking course, Steve can feel your pussy gripping him, so tight that he knows he’s gonna cum right after you do. “Gonna cum f’me, huh? Such a good girl,” he praises, again, knowing the effect it has on you and all you can do is gasp and weakly nod. 

One of his thumbs quickly finds your clit, making your pussy throb around him in pure ecstasy, all the overstimulation enough to have you crying like a bitch in heat. “Give it to me, angel,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your skin.   

His movements pick up, padded thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the other hand landing on your nipples, twisting them while pumping into you, it’s all too much that it makes you sob and beg for him. 

“Cream my cock, let me ruin you completely, darlin’” It’s all the confirmation you need as your orgasm builds and washes through you, body exploding with pleasure, spreading through your skin as you scream out his name. 

Your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, and he fucking knows, he won’t last, not in the slightest. “S-shit, sweet thing, gonna make me cum with all those filthy noises.” 

“Want that, honey, hmm? Wanna be filled with my cum? Show everybody in this town who owns ya? Owns this tight lil’ cunt?” He feels it, that pure hunger for you over taking him, coarse voice, dark eyes, like a man possessed. His fingers dig further into your skin as he desperately chases his orgasm, enjoying the sloppy sounds your pussy makes as he drives into you.

“P-please, Stevie, n-need your cum,” you weakly hum. And it fucking breaks him. Hips losing all rhythm when he spills his warm load into you, twitching inside of you once he pumps you full of his cum. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sunshine,” he breathes, collapsing on your back, both of you trying to come down from the high. He slips free of you slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs, making him grin proudly. 

“S-steve,” you weakly murmur, collapsing in his arms. He holds you down, slight kisses left on your back, delicate in a way you have never seen him before. Yet, the two of you don’t mention it, “let me take you home,” he mutters, a gentle hold on you that makes you feel warm.

“N-no.”

“No?” Intrigued, his breath gets caught in his throat, the look you give him is so sultry that the blood rushes to his cock in an instant again. Fucking fuck, what have you done to him.

“We still haven’t followed the rules,” you purr sweetly, causing him to raise his brows in excitement, tempting him further and further. 

“The rule was wear the hat, ride the cowboy, wasn’t it?” You question with a slight grin, eyes lulled, still fucked out. 

Your fingertips gently grazed against his chest, hairy and slicked with sweat, his sudden dominance fading when you were so quick to switch from begging to cum underneath him to gaining that flirty, giddy personality again. Already leaving him a mess. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, watching you hungrily, his cock already weeping again. 

“Then, sit down and lemme take care of you, cowboy,” you ordered again, shuddering breaths leaving him in an instant.   

Now you were going to ruin him.

Fully.

Completely.

And Steve couldn’t be more infatuated. You were truly his demise.   

[cybercl0ne]

6-1 // army x f!reader

Summary: you get trapped in an elevator with 6 hot masked men, what could go wrong?

Tw: gangbang, double penetration, pure porn, 18+, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, no jimmy, creampies (possible impreg?), squirting, degradation, Cum. Everywhere. Multiple orgasm.

You were running late. Like really late and you knew rushing up 10 flights of stairs was not happening. You decided to call for the elevator instead, guessing that your boss would cut you some slack depending on your excuse.

As you elevator ringed, the rusty, grinding wires weary hilt in front of you, opening the door to welcome you only to see 6 masked men standing, staring blankly at you, waiting for you to get on. You feel flushed at how weirdly attractive these men looked, their gear making them look buffed and their faces covered by black mask, only keeping their majestic eyes available.

They hold the elevator for you, steeping on you squirm in a small circle around them, they give you space like you were foreign to them. “Thanks guys.” You nervously laugh, going immediately silent as you feel their eyes soften, a glint of unknown lust festering as well. “No problem little lady.” One says seductively, eyeing you, keeping contact as you stand in awe at how his voice rumbled through you. You nod, and hold your head down, trying to make the high tension settle down. All hell breaks loose when the elevator suddenly stops and you drop your smartphone, bending down to reach it, unintentionally giving a show to the men around you. Your skirt hiking up just barely before your ass, showing a corner of your colorful panties. One of them whistle another fall into line with sounds of amusement, one in front of you, you caught readjusting his clear hard on.

“My god, what a nice view..~” one calls out, the others joining in a laugh. Your body felt warm, your lower body growing in heat as these hot men surround you, ready to pounce.

“we’re you just waiting for us to jump on you little lamb?” Another questions. One wraps their hand around your waist, feeling your hips up and down, staring into your eyes for approval. As soon as you give your small nod and whimper the men ravenge you.

“You dirty little slut, getting on an elevator, waiting for someone like us to come along to destroy your little body.” They spit out, gripping your ass, one groping at your tits, pooling them out of your bra. You squeal as you feel your cunt getting more needy, your panties getting sticky with your slick. One of them proceed you rip your professional tights, another man going in for a kiss, staring their deep brown eyes into yours, kneeding your clothed clit as the others worked to get the rest of your articles of clothing out of the way, whipping their own cocks out. “grab my cock you little bitch!” A blue eyes one demands, his heavy British accent making you moan. “Look at her. She’s enjoying getting manhandled! Get my cock in her mouth, see if she’s smiling then?” He slaps your face, slapping his cock on your face. You poke your tongue out, focused on the pre that sticks to your cheek as he slaps it deeper onto your skin, groaning, rubbing it up and down your lips, teasing you.

“I’m gonna taste this sweet cunt, I just know it’s wet and ready for me~” a slim yet buff man replied, stroking his own cock as he rips your panties straight off, his gloved finger glazing your tight hole, his warm and slimy tongue taking its place. “Put your fucking hand on my cock, bitch!” One yells in another heavy accent, his cock way to big to fit in your hand, you attempt to grasp onto his cock, sliding your hand back and forth, your eyes rolling back as you choke down another man’s cock, his hairs prickling your nose as he stuffs himself deep. You clench around nothing as your pussy gets demolished. Feeling yourself on the edge of squirting, you scream out your moan through getting your throat pounded while fisting 2 other men’s cocks.

“Oh the little girls getting close!” The man attending to your cunt stops, and announces. Erupting a slap and a laugh from everyone. Slaps to your ass, face and pussy. You squirm as your climax was so close, them teasing you by slapping around your poor aching pussy. “Awe, baby girl wants to cum? Do you wanna cum baby?” One man says, pampering your face with kisses, his stubble tickling your face. Unable to speak with your cock stuffed mouth you nod.

“Use your fucking words baby.. what do you want? Tell daddy so he can give it to you…” he whines, using his now ungloved fingers to rub up and down your slit, his thumb grazing your clit.

The man pops his cock out of your mouth, shifting to your tits, as 3 other men use your hands and thighs. “p-please.. p-please let me cum!” You yelp, begging with teary half lidded eyes. As you beg you stick out your tongue for a man that jerks his cock over your face, his eyes squinting, telling you he’s close. He moans and finally shoots his hot cum out all over your face, it splurting on your open tongue and one of your eyes. The rest of the men join in, cumming on different parts of your body. One man slapping his cock on your ass, cumming alongside it. Another letting it out on your hands. The man that was in charge of your pussy starts up, tonging you until you feel that white peak, clenching around his slithering tongue, his ball-shaped piercing hitting your clit just right. “C-cumming!” You yell, shaking intensely as you squirt all over the bottom man’s face. The biggest man, lifts you up between your orgasm, making your squirt spray everywhere, drenching the boys as the big man lines himself up with your small, tight pussy, his cock twitching as it meshes in your juices, tapping lightly on your cunt.

“That’s a good girl, letting it rain like a fountain baby!” The man says, kissing your agape mouth. You feel like you’ve been fucked dumb even though you know that these men have just started their satisfaction. You looked down, seeing the big man’s cock, you immediately started to realize that he was the biggest for a reason. His cock twitched at the attention. The men laughed.

“To big for you princess?”

“Gotta make sure to stuff you nice and good honey…”

“I can’t wait to get a taste of that.” all around the men were commenting. Some with sweet replies, others with want and need, they all wanted a piece of you, rubbing their cocks in unison as the big man inches you down on his fat dick.

“N-no! I-it won’t fit!~” you screech, feeling your cunt being slip apart by the big man. “So…damn…tight…” the big man whispers in your ear, moaning heavily. “gonna stuff you so full of my seed that your stomach will grow.” He chuckles deeply, while bottoming out, stuffing you all the way down that you can’t even make a noise at first, only broken moans as your tits bounced from the recoil.

“She’s loving it! Look at her face, she can’t even process how fucked dumb she’s getting!” One points out, stroking his cock harder. “Careful, we don’t want her to break too easily~” another one joins in, groaning at the show he was getting. You felt your insides being rearranged, putting your hand to your stomach, you feel the bulge that dives in and out ever time the man harshly pumps his cock in and out of you. You heave and huff through it, bending your head back to kiss his groaning lips. As you make out with the man with his mask halfway up you feel his rhythm only growing more sloppy and harder, your tits flopping around uncontrollably as he pounds you.

“don’t take all the fun, let me enjoy that sweet cunt!” One interjects, closing into your face, smirking. The big man that was currently demolishing your insides laughs and suddenly stops, popping his cock out of your pussy. You whimper at the sudden empty feeling of his warm twitching cock not blanketing your cunt.

“Don’t worry sweet girl, you’ll be double stuffed in a minute.” You squirm at the tone and way he said it, looking in your eyes, kissing your lips deeply as he adjust himself to your pussy, the big man aiming at your ass, still holding you up.

“Sure you can take it little lamb?” A background man adds, coming up to you, using your bent thighs to stroke his cock. Another one tags along to your other thigh, some staying back, enjoying their front row seats to the show.

Both of the men that stood at your holes entered in at the same time causing you to yell out, tightening and clenching as he tore through your ass while the other guy played through your cunt, fighting his way to your cirvix.

“S-so tight! God damn, you’re gonna break my cock off princess!” He adds, pumping his long hard dick inside you, the big guy rutting deeper inside you. You felt your holes getting violated, being stretched and feeling the searing pain and pressure from them, your stomach showing a faint bulge once again. Juices started to pour out of you, your moans filling the air as they grunted, pounding your holes at an unholy pace.

“p-please n-no… I-I’m gonna break! I-I can’t take it.. w-wanna cum!” You huffed out, feeling yourself getting lost. The rest of the men grunted and moaned, some mixed laughs as they felt themselves getting close to. “don’t worry baby I-I’m close to!” The man pounding your asshole shouts, nibbling on your neck as the one destroying your weeping, leaking pussy grunts in approval, heading toward the same climax. As you feel yourself being overstimulated, drawing to close to cumming they both cum at the same time, both your ass and cunt getting pumped full of hot milky cum. You felt yourself tipping over the edge but as soon as he popped out of you another man entered you, finishing inside you as well.

“We all gotta take turns cumming in that pretty cunt~” one man says, exiting your warm, clenching pussy as another enters in, thumping inside you, unloading his hot seed. You felt your stomach about to burst as you also felt your cunt driving over the edge, your legs going limp as your eyes rolled back.

as the last man came inside you, you reached your climax, squirting a ton, pushing some of the fresh hot cum out with it. The men kissed all over your fucked out body, whispering sweet words into your ear, breast, thighs, and neck. You giggled, mind fucked and still squirting, coming down from the long high as the elevator finally opened. “That was fun, I hope we can do it again sometime~” the big man said, climbing out of the elevator with the rest of his friends who already readjusted themselves while you laid, displayed and completely fucked out on the elevator floor.

[theminecraftbee]

Before they'd started, this time, Scott had confidently asserted: "You know, if this time we're going to be drawing wild cards, I'll learn to count them. If it's going to be a game, may as well learn to give myself a guarantee, right?"

He'd said it like it was obvious. Easy. If he just practiced enough, he'd win every time. Skizz sometimes thinks that's how Scott thinks of the world, or maybe how Grian does, or Martyn. If he just tries this time, he'll win, a certainty that's only stopped by the fact he isn't trying the same way he might have in the past. Skizz thinks about that sometimes. He doesn't say anything, because he's not a rude asshole, but he thinks about it.

Skizz thinks about what it says about a man, to be so certain he could simply be the last one to survive if he wanted to, then to--not.

Skizz thinks about what it says about a man, to assert he's going to learn to count cards for the sake of a prize that he doesn't seem to actually want.

It's none of Skizz's business, really, and as he said, he's not a rude asshole. He's here to have a good time, or if not a good time a time, or if not that, to at least help his friends have some kind of time. He's not bothered, not really, by hearing Martyn or Scott make plans to circumvent or play into the game as to best win. He'll care if they get all stabby-backstabby but he's not teamed with them so it doesn't matter anyway. He is teamed with Grian? But Grian's way of "counting cards" never really involves that much backstabbing, just a lot of emotional avoidance, so.

Anyway, he tries to forget about it right up until Mumbo, nervously, says: "You know, maybe I should, er. Learn to count wild cards. Metaphorically, I mean. Just so that no one--"

"That's not how it works," Skizz finally says.

"Well that's a bit rude," Mumbo says.

"Sorry, sorry," Skizz says. "People just keep making references and that's not how that works! It doesn't even guarantee you win even if we were playing blackjack!"

"Really?" Mumbo asks.

"Yeah, it's like... you learn how many cards are in the deck, and you wait until the deck is mostly high cards, and you bet and stuff. Or, well, it's more complicated than that, but you don't know what cards are coming next for sure even if you do count. You just, uh, have a bit of an advantage over the house? Like, a 1-2%? And it adds up over time but you still lose. A lot."

"Oh," Mumbo says.

"I don't know," Skizz says. "I just... I know how this stuff works and it just really grinds my gears the way they talk about it sometimes. There's still a lot of random chance, you know! You can't guarantee things! It's still random! And the house could change the rules on you any moment and then counting wouldn't be worth it at all anymore!"

"Huh," Mumbo says. He's quiet for only a moment. "You know, I think we've lost track of the metaphor a bit here? I mostly meant to try to steal the cards from Grian while he wasn't looking. So we can, er, figure out the wild card before anyone else."

"Oh," Skizz says. "Well that's just cheating!"

Mumbo squints at him. "And counting cards isn't?"

"No!" Skizz says.

"Alright, if you say so," Mumbo says. "I mean, I guess our advantage is that we know that. Seems awfully silly now, the way people were talking about it before."

"Yeah, well, love the guys, love them, but I thought that anyway. Without the metaphor," Skizz says, and he thinks of the empty look in Scott's eyes as he said it. It's not that he wouldn't be an advantage player if he could be, Skizz thinks. It's not that he wouldn't try to beat the house. It's just...

Well. It's just something that isn't Skizz's problem right now, really. He just wants better than that for Mumbo. For him. For Grian too, once he comes back. There are better ways to have fun in a casino than to sit and wait for the count to be high, after all.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

the way we fight

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and joel love taking your frustrations out on each other—in more ways than one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, drug use, canon-typical violence, slight spoilers for minor tlou 2 cutscene, jackson era, enemies to lovers, undefined age gap, sloooow buildup, smut, grinding, rough oral (male & female receiving)

word count: 6.7k

a/n: no idea how this got so long, but here we are! generally my fics are based on song lyrics, so this one goes out to my girl ari and social house. this honestly took a while to wrap my brain around and idk how the end got so filthy but alas, i really hope y'all enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

It’s always an argument with him. He’s just so stubborn. Actually, Joel Miller might be the most stubborn man you’ve ever met. There’s never any room for disagreement or discussion with him—it’s his way or the highway. Half the time, you don’t even know what you’re fighting about, hurling callous, empty words at each other as if they don’t hurt. Immensely.

Maybe you really do genuinely hate each other. Or maybe it’s just for the fun of it.

It’s been like this for as long as you’ve known him, which, in hindsight, hasn’t even been that long. Probably a year? Year and a half? In all that time, you’ve never managed to crack his tough exterior and, as far as you know, no one else has, either.

The only things anyone knows for sure are that he’s Tommy Miller’s older brother and he’s got a daughter named Ellie. He hasn’t made a lot of friends here and it’s not hard to see why. He’s mean in a surly old man kind of way and rarely has anything nice to say to anyone—if he says anything at all.

Yet, somehow you still find yourself spending the majority of your time with him. It’s not something you do by choice. It’s a forced proximity thing.

You can’t tell if Tommy schedules you for patrols together because you’re the only one who hasn’t kicked up a stink about it or if he just thinks it’s funny to watch you both squirm. Most of the town thinks it’s hilarious, so you can only guess it’s the latter.

During your first few outings together, Joel wouldn’t talk to you unless it was absolutely necessary, and, even then, all you’d get was a grunt or some grumbled instructions. The silence got old pretty quickly. It wasn’t until you made your first mistake out in the field that he finally started communicating. Maybe a little louder than you’d hoped.

Now, Joel will pick a fight anywhere, usually over the dumbest shit. But his bark is worse than his bite—most of the time, at least.

On his worst days, his anger is explosive and it seems like he takes it out exclusively on you. It’s honestly a little ridiculous that you haven’t just asked Tommy to take you off his patrols already, but there’s a part of you that’ll never admit you actually kind of like your dynamic.

Not a lot happens in Jackson—it’s well-protected and even the community drama gets a little stale. Joel might be a dick, but he keeps things interesting, keeps you on your toes.

And it’s hard to ignore the fire in his eyes that makes you think he likes it just as much as you do.

It’s fucking freezing out and you haven’t even left for patrol yet before Joel’s muttering something condescending under his breath. Surprise, surprise—he’s in a bad mood and about to make it your problem. You throw him an unimpressed look over your shoulder, the best you can muster this early in the morning, and continue to saddle your horse.

“You wanna say that a little louder, Miller?”

He looks tired and annoyed and, god, you haven’t been awake nearly long enough for this shit. Today’s going to be trying enough as it is. You were assigned one of the longer routes and the clouds are already dark with the promise of rain or worse.

There are a few other patrol groups nearby gearing up to leave and their preparations suddenly slow, eyes darting between the two of you as if they can sense the impending argument. You barely notice their loitering, the small crowd inching forward to not-so-subtly eavesdrop.

“No, really, I’d love to hear to hear what you have to say,” you taunt him, hands settling on your hips. “Y’know, it’s really not like you to keep things to yourself. You sure you’re feeling alright today, old man?”

“Feelin’ just fine, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth, rolling his eyes. “Just hurry your ass up so we can get this over and done with. I’m not tryin’ to spend any more time with ya than I have to.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Sweetheart? That’s a new one. It sounded sarcastic as hell and a little patronizing but, still, that’s not something Joel’s ever called you before. Useless and annoying, sure, but never sweetheart.

Your stomach swoops, but you force yourself to ignore it; that’s not even remotely something you want to analyze today.

“Uh, yeah…whatever,” you eye him strangely, and he abruptly looks away, shifting his focus back to checking his saddlebags. It’s like he’s purposefully avoiding your gaze, and it’s weird. He’s acting so fucking weird today.

Sparing him one last glance, you throw a leg over your horse and start toward the gate at a slow trot. You don’t bother waiting for him to catch up.

“What’s our first checkpoint?” you call over your shoulder, but he’s somehow already right behind you, his horse falling in line with yours.

“You should already know that,” Joel sighs, brow furrowed in what you can only assume is irritation. Oh, here it comes—the inevitable lecture. He does this every single time you're on patrol, whether you’ve done something wrong or not. You must’ve really pissed him off if you’re hearing it this early.

Except—he’s not berating you. Instead, he pulls a map out of his backpack. “Alright, look,” he says, leaning in closer so you can see. “This is us right here, and—,” his index finger traces a route from Jackson, winding along a road that passes through a small neighborhood, and lands on your first stop, located a few side streets off a main road, “—we should end up here in about an hour if the weather holds up.”

Nodding, you look up at him. You hadn't realized how close his face had gotten to yours, and your lips part around an involuntary gasp. His eyes drop to your mouth for a second too long before he pulls away, folding up his map and tucking it back into his pack.

You try to convince yourself that you imagined it, that Joel Miller would never intentionally look at your lips like he wants to kiss you, but you can still feel his warm breath on your skin and it’s affecting you more than you want to admit.

This is…not at all like your normal dynamic and it’s throwing you off. Joel hasn’t raised his voice once today and, at most, he’s only made a few snide remarks that weren’t nearly as bad as they usually are.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you breathe out, creating a tiny puff of condensation in the air. “It doesn’t even feel like it's cold enough to snow, anyway. The worst we’ll probably get is some rain and we’ve ridden in way worse than that.”

All you get in response is a low grunt, and then he’s lifting the reins, leading his horse in the direction of your first checkpoint. You sigh. Guess you’re back to square one. You never thought you’d miss your spats, and can’t help but wonder what the hell happened to make him change his behavior so radically.

“Seriously, though, are you okay? You’re, like, really quiet today,” you prod, and his whole body tenses. He turns to you, expression angry, and it sends a shiver down your spine. There he is.

“Didn’t I already fuckin’ tell you I’m fine? What, you suddenly lose the ability to hear or somethin’?” He shakes his head in annoyance, and you’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore because you can’t suppress the grin that spreads across your face.

“This girl, I swear,” you hear him mutter as he trots away.

You don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the ride to the checkpoint. The crumbling attorney's office is basically the same as you remember from the last time you were here. It’s old, obviously, and musty, but it’s stocked with random provisions, like food and ammo, so patrol crews can replenish their supplies before heading out to their next destination.

There’s also a killer view of Jackson from one of the windows, and you get distracted looking out at the lights and mountains in the distance. It’s starting to flurry, so you drop your backpack on the floor and stick both hands out to catch some of the snowflakes in your palms. So much for rain.

“You dilly dallyin’ again? Just sign the logbook already so we can move the fuck on,” Joel’s voice startles you out of your reverie. Huffing, you turn away from the window, looking for the pen that’s supposed to be next to the notebook, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“You know what, asshole, you could’ve just as easily signed the damn thing yourself. You were there too, or are you getting forgetful in your old age?” you shoot back as you hunch down, getting on your hands and knees to search under the desk. You hear him scoff behind you.

You spot the pen towards the back, because of course it rolled that far, and bend down so you can reach out a little farther. Your fingers brush one end and then you’ve got it, sitting back up with your prize in hand. Looking over your shoulder, you just barely catch Joel’s eyes darting away from where you were a moment ago, basically puppy-posing on the floor. That’s…suspicious.

“The fuck? Were you just staring at my ass?” you ask incredulously. There’s no goddamn way. He snorts, arms crossed with an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“You wish, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly, and there it is again. That fucking word. So, he’s calling you pet names and staring at your ass now? There’s something seriously off about him today and you want to know what his deal is.

“You wanna tell me why you keep calling me that? You’ve been acting weird as fuck all day and it’s giving me whiplash,” you glower at him, taking a seat at the edge of the desk and forgetting all about the logbook. He shrugs.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he says simply, and you squint at him.

“Seriously, Joel? You've called me sweetheart twice today and now you’re checking me out,” you hop off the desk and walk over to where he’s leaning against the wall. “If I didn’t know any better…,” you glance down at his lips, moving closer, “I’d say you were flirting with me."

Well, that made him angry. "Fuck you,” he growls in your face, and his lips are soft where they accidentally graze your cupid's bow. He’s trembling now, fists clenched at his sides, and you think he’s about to push you away when he grabs you by the hips and shoves you against the wall. Your head lolls back and you laugh cruelly.

“Yeah, Joel,” you roll your hips into his and he grits his teeth, tightening his grip. “I think that’s exactly what you wanna do.”

But before you can go any further, there’s a crash just outside the door accompanied by a familiar sound that turns your blood to ice.

It’s unmistakable. The clicking, guttural and stuttered, is followed by a high-pitched shriek that echoes throughout the small space, and you both freeze. You look up at Joel, terrified, and he raises a finger to his lips, eyes telling you to be quiet or else.

There’s no way either of you can unholster your guns—and reload, in your case—without alerting it to your position. Joel reaches for the hunting knife strapped to his thigh, and you move to do the same, only to realize it isn't there.

Fuck, it has to be somewhere. Probably in one of the dozen random holsters you have attached to you right now.

Frantic, you pat at your sides and legs—anywhere it could be—as your panicked intakes of breath gradually increase in volume. A hand slaps over your mouth, and suddenly Joel is crushing your body against the wall, halting your movements.

"Quit," he whispers harshly, lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you nod quickly.

The creature abruptly changes course, jerking toward the open window, and that’s when you notice something familiar by its feet. It's—fuck, it's your backpack. And your knife is gleaming from where it sits, nestled in one of the side pockets.

Stupid, that was so stupid. If, by some miracle, this thing doesn't kill you, there’s no doubt Joel will once he realizes your mistake. His hand drops from your mouth and he glances back over his shoulder at the clicker, gripping his knife a little tighter.

He looks resolute, and it dawns on you that he’s about to make a move. It takes everything you’ve got not to grab onto his coat and pull him back to you as he slowly shifts away, but then something else stops him in his tracks.

Another screech rings out from the other side of the room, and now you know you’re fucked. There’s only one option left now. Either you run, or you get torn apart. He reaches down to take your hand in his, warring emotions of anger and fear in his eyes as he looks into yours, and squeezes; it’s now or never.

The path to the doorway you came through is somehow miraculously clear, and Joel takes off at a sprint, dragging you with him but, to his horror, you decide to do yet another stupid thing.

For reasons you can’t explain, you find yourself ripping your hand out of his, swerving to snatch your backpack from where it lies just a few feet from the clicker.

Joel is yelling, or at least you think he is, and you vaguely feel his blunt nails scratch the back of your hand as he reaches out to stop you, but he can’t. You’re moving on autopilot, can barely register your body moving at all, until your fingertips skim the strap of your pack and the clicker is shrieking in your face.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to one before, even dead, and it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. The world freezes for a moment and you freeze with it, unable to move or look away from the fungus erupting from its skull, teeth gnashing inches away from your throat.

And then you feel warmth—warm, strong arms wrap around your waist and tug harder and harder until you’re back out in the cold. Joel spots his horse a short distance away, likely spooked by the commotion, but you can’t see much farther than that. What was a gentle flurry less than a half hour ago has become a violent blizzard, and you’re both getting pelted by ice that burns as it scrapes across your skin.

There’s one horse—just Joel’s horse—but there’s no time to think about the fate of your own before his hands are on your hips, lifting you up and into the saddle, and he’s climbing on in front of you.

He urges his horse forward and you’re off without so much as a glance behind you, galloping away from danger and down a street that you realize you actually recognize.

“Joel,” you squeeze his waist and he ignores you. He’s shaking and it’s definitely not just from the cold. You can feel the anger radiating off of him in waves and it’s warranted. You fucked up big time. “Joel, turn right,” you say a little louder, and he’s still not listening. “Turn right! There’s a library up ahead, you have to turn now!”

He growls, and you think he’s purposely going to miss the turn until he’s yanking the reins to the right, nearly throwing you both off the horse.

“You better know what the fuck you’re doin’,” he all but shouts back, and you wrap your arms around his waist a little tighter.

“It’s safe!” you yell, struggling to speak loud enough for him to hear you over the wind. “Ellie’s been there before, loads of times, and she says it’s safe. “

And that’s all it takes to convince him.

The library’s completely boarded up and, with the wind howling against your backs, it takes more than a few hard tugs to yank enough of them off to get inside the lobby with Joel’s horse.

He hands you the reins before moving into the next room, crouching along the rows of aging books and knocked-over bookcases, and you peek in, watching him anxiously. Cracked bricks litter the ground, and he steps over a few as he crouches into place behind a broken book cart.

He picks one up and then shoots you a look, eyebrows lifting pointedly, and you realize he wants you to get back into the lobby, out of sight. You duck behind the wall, placing a soothing hand on his horse right as you hear the sound of the brick shattering against the ground, and wait. A few agonizing seconds pass before you hear him throw one more a little farther out, just to be sure.

When nothing startles or jumps out, Joel whistles and you know that’s your cue to come out from your hiding spot. Normally, that would piss you off immensely, him whistling for you like you’re a fucking animal, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

You’re exhausted now that the adrenaline’s wearing off, and the only thing you want to do is curl up into one of the torn-up chairs in the corner and pass out until morning. But that’s not what Joel has in mind.

“Y’think you’re off the hook for the shit you pulled earlier?”

You sigh, head tipping back and thumping against the bookcase behind you. “Do we have to do this right now? Joel, I’m tired and hungry, and fucking cold, and I really don’t have the energy.”

“Seriously? Sure looked like ya had the energy when you were runnin’ straight into that clicker’s mouth,” he scowls, reaching down to grab something next to the book cart and throwing it at your feet. “Thought ya might want this back since you apparently decided it was worth more than your life.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, eyebrows pinching together. Joel…he—

It's your backpack.

You were so sure it got left behind when he saved you from that clicker and yet, there it is. You lean over to pick it up, but Joel kicks it out of reach before you get the chance. He looks livid and now, you realize, you’re about to get that lecture you dodged earlier tenfold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? I'm not the one having an identity crisis! You’ve been nothing but distracting all damn day,” you scoff bitterly. “None of this would've happened if you hadn't had a complete personality makeover overnight.”

You can’t believe he…is he serious? There’s no way you’re taking the fall for this, not all of it. Yeah, you fucked up with the backpack, but Joel isn't entirely blameless, either. If you hadn’t been fighting again, you would’ve just signed the stupid logbook and moved on like you were supposed to.

"Yeah, alright, sweetheart. It's my fault you almost got us both killed. Maybe you’re forgettin’ I saved your goddamn life back there, somethin' I wouldn't have had to do if you hadn't gone and done something so fuckin’ stupid."

Sweetheart.

"Stop calling me that! I…fuck, Joel, I just don't get you. I get it—I know I fucked up, but…,” your voice cracks and you can feel your lower lip wobbling, but you can’t let yourself cry. That would only prove to Joel what he already knows—you’re weak. “I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want from me?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “You really wanna know what I want from ya?” He crowds your space, leaning in slightly. His head tilts like he's going to kiss you, and your breath hitches. “I want ya to get your shit together and stop makin’ unnecessary mistakes,” he says cruelly instead.

Your jaw drops.

"No, you know what? Fuck this,” you seethe. “When we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to never put me on your patrols again. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Think I give a shit about that? Go ahead, you’d be doin’ me a favor!” he yells at your back as you storm away, and you flip him off over your shoulder. Behind you, he sighs heavily, sounding as worn out and frustrated as you feel.

What a load of bullshit. You don't deserve to be treated like this. There's a stark difference between the inconsequential arguments you normally have and whatever the hell that was.

And the worst part? It hurts so much more than you expected it to. Leave it to you to get attached to the asshole whose personal mission it is to make you miserable. This whole thing was fun while it lasted, but you meant what you said. You and Joel, it’s over.

You exhale wetly, tears still threatening to fall as you leave him behind in what the yellowing signs tell you is the romance section. Well, isn’t that ironic.

You quickly realize navigating the library in the dark is more difficult than you anticipated, even with your flashlight. Not even ten steps away from where you started, you trip over something protruding from the ground and almost land flat on your face.

Joel comes running over as you let out a frustrated noise and push yourself up onto your knees. His knife is at the ready like he was expecting danger but, no, it’s just you humiliating yourself even further. He lets out a relieved sigh, holstering his knife, but then just stands there glaring down at you.

“I’m fine, by the way,” you wave a hand from the ground. He shakes his head, reaching down to help you up, and his hand feels so nice in yours—big, strong, and calloused.

You curse yourself for still thinking about him like that, like anything at all, but you can't help it. And when his hand drops yours, it feels distinctly cold and empty.

Shaking it off, you aim your flashlight at the offending spot on the floor. “What is that, anyway?” you ask Joel as he crouches down to brush away some of the dirt and debris.

“A handle,” he mumbles, pulling out his knife again and digging it into a crack in the floor, tracing around what looks like…a door?

“Is that a trapdoor?” You lean over his shoulder to get a better look. He looks back at you and nods, looking a little less angry and a lot more concerned. “Well, should we check it out?”

Instead of answering you, he wrenches the door open and shines his flashlight into the opening. There’s a ladder leading down and you can hear something rumbling below that sounds like a generator.

“Stay here,” he eyes you sternly as he begins his descent down the ladder.

“Uh, yeah, that’s not happening,” you scoff, following him. The ladder’s longer than you expected, and once your feet touch the ground, you reach out to run your hands along the wall, searching for a light switch.

A few moments later, your fingers come across something vaguely switch-like and you flip it, a warm glow filling the room, emanating from about a dozen heat lamps hanging from the ceiling. Your eyes adjust and—

“No fucking way.”

Joel is silent beside you, and you glance over, his expression just as stunned as yours is. You step closer. “Is that…?”

“Weed,” he breathes out.

You didn’t mean to get this high. Really, you didn’t. But you're in a fucking grow room hidden beneath a library in some tiny, backwater town, and you almost just died. So really, what reason was there not to?

The blizzard’s still going strong outside and, at the very least, it’s nice and warm down here. There's also the added bonus of something fun to do while you wait it out.

…Yeahhh, so you might’ve found a mason jar full of already rolled joints between some couch cushions, literally just sitting there for the taking. What were you supposed to do? Not smoke them?

But what surprises you even more than the pot itself is that Joel is smoking it, too.

It’s cute how he coughs after every drag, eyes watering as you pass a joint back and forth. The air is thick with smoke and a strange tension that neither of you can really describe, but you’re not fighting anymore. Not yet, at least.

The couch you're sitting on is cozy and less tattered than the chairs upstairs, so you settle there for the night, sitting closer than you ever willingly have before. Enough time has passed that you’re beginning to realize neither of you plans on moving, either. That you’re actually enjoying each other’s company.

The warmth of him seeps pleasantly through your clothes, and he feels so solid and real against you. Unconsciously, you melt into his side, your fuzzy brain chemicals urging you to feel more, more of him, and he tenses only for a moment before lifting an arm to rest behind you on the back of the couch.

It's strange how readily he's accepting your touch now. With each drag, you feel a little braver and press more of your body into his, draping your legs across his lap and nesting your head in the crook of his neck. He goes boneless when you mouth damply at the skin just below his jaw, his throat rumbling under your lips as he lets out a ragged breath.

You’ve both loosened up so much since earlier. It’s an easy, comfortable sort of peace you’ve found down here, even after the horrors you experienced earlier in the day. Part of you wishes it could always be like this with Joel but, then again, that just wouldn’t be you and Joel.

Your relationship thrives on the way you fight, almost like you can’t exist together without the promise of battle. So, when the high wears off and the world feels less lazy and more dire, you’ll both remember with sharp clarity that you hate each other. The memories will fade away and the war will continue. That’s just how it is.

It’s a little sad when you think about it, but for at least a little while longer, you’ll still have this version of you and Joel. You’ll enjoy the way he feels pressed up against your body; the way he feels pliant and suggestible under your lips.

And you’ll ask the question that’s been eating away at you all day because right now, you’re positive your lips can convince him to do anything.

“Tell me why you keep calling me sweetheart,” you murmur against his skin. He freezes, clearly not expecting you to bring it up again. You lift the blunt to his lips and encourage him to inhale to calm his nerves. The smoke plumes from his nose like a dragon as he exhales, and you're enraptured by the way it swirls through the air before dissipating. He braces a hand on your thigh before responding.

"Well, I…uh—," he mumbles, his cheeks turning a deep shade of burgundy, and you can’t resist reaching out to stroke the heated skin with your fingertips. He breathes shakily as he continues, "I—had a dream about ya last night, and…you, uh—you were…"

He cuts himself off, and your mind goes fuzzy for a moment as you let that little bit of information sink in. So, Joel was dreaming about you last night…and now, he’s treating you so much differently. Calling you pet names, eyeing you up, touching you. It all makes sense—but now you need him to tell you everything.

"What was I doing in your dream, Joel?"

He meets your gaze, looking flustered and a little ashamed, and it's a far cry from the man who was yelling at you not even an hour or two ago.

"You, uh," he clears his throat, still hesitating. You bite your bottom lip in anticipation, sucking it wetly into your mouth, and his eyes darken. He lifts a thumb to your mouth, tugging your lip down just slightly, and you can see the moment his apprehension disappears. "You were on your knees for me," he murmurs. "Doin' such a good job, too, workin' that pretty mouth of yours."

You inhale sharply and his thumb drops, but his eyes never leave your lips. Gingerly, you pluck the joint still burning between his fingers and take one last deep drag before flicking the rest to the side and crashing your lips onto his.

God, they feel exactly like you thought they would, soft and a little chapped from the cold, but so fucking eager against yours. You hold his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs along the roughness of his beard, and he groans as you exhale into his mouth, tasting the smoke on your tongue.

Sighing, you lean back slowly, heavy-lidded eyes roving over his face to take in his kiss-swollen lips and that beautiful burgundy flush. He's so pretty, and you can’t help but run your fingers through his thick, graying hair as he pants heavily below you.

You need to feel more of him, all of him, so you climb into his lap, straddling his hips and grinding down against where he's already straining in his pants. He grips you tighter in response, working you steadily across his hardening cock.

"Keep going,” you moan breathily. You're already so wet, and heat blooms in your belly every time your clit grazes the seam of his jeans. It's a foggy, hazy pleasure, what you feel when he speaks, and you're addicted to it. “Keep telling me about your dream—a-about my mouth…I wanna hear more.“

You feel rather than hear him growl low in his throat as he ducks his head down to your neck, sucking and biting bruises into your skin.

“Your mouth…so fuckin’ wet—s-soft and tight around my cock,” he sucks hard under your jaw, and you gasp. “Takin’ me all the way down, like I always knew you could.”

Your breath hitches, eyes rolling back. The thought of him dreaming about his cock down your throat makes your cunt pulse, and now you're positive you're soaking through his pants.

You bet he thinks about it when you're on patrol together, too—that when you're fighting like you've both got something to prove, he's thinking about shutting you up with his cock. Fucking your mouth to show you that what he says goes.

"M-more, Joel…ngh, fuck, I need more," you reach down to shove his shirt up so you can feel him, his stomach flexing and unflexing under your palms. He starts to buck into your clothed pussy faster, like he's fucking you through the fabric, and you whine pathetically as he tugs hard on your hair, yanking your head to the side.

"S’alright, n-needy girl, 'm gonna tell you exactly how I was fuckin' that sweet mouth of yours last night…h-how you were—," he groans raggedly in your ear, voice cracking, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat racing between your legs. "…c-chokin' and gaggin' around my cock while I was cummin' down your throat…"

He keeps giving you what you asked for, tells you all the filthy shit he wants to do to your mouth, and his hips start to stutter like he's bringing himself closer to orgasm with his own words. It would make a lot of sense—Joel's always loved the sound of his own voice, especially when it's directed at you.

But you can’t hear much of anything anymore aside from the sound of your own stuttered moaning, suddenly so, so close to hurtling over the edge with him. You’re sliding so easily over his cock now and you brace your hands on his shoulders as your thighs start to quake around his waist. He digs his fingers into the plush curve of your ass, pulling you down harder, but you squeeze his shoulders roughly to get his attention.

“Y-you—Joel, you can’t cum,” you whine into his neck, and he all but snarls in response. “No…no, no, no. Want you t-to fuck my mouth—you have to cum in my mouth—”

He abruptly yanks you off his lap, shoving you back onto the couch and wrenching your jeans and underwear down in two hard tugs.

You barely have time to let out a squeal before he buries his face in your cunt, honing in on your clit and sucking wetly. He flattens his tongue, circling once, twice, three times, and then you’re cumming with a loud exhale, gushing as you grind into his face.

Your pussy’s still pulsing, locking down around nothing, as you tug him off of you by his hair.

“Joel—jeans..o-off…now.” You help him push them down just enough to free his cock, and then your mouth is on him, sucking him down to the hilt.

His hips buck off the couch of their own accord and he groans pathetically as you gag around him. He’s petting your head and saying something raggedly above you, likely apologizing for hurting you, but it’s drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

Instead of pulling off to reassure him that you very much want him to keep gagging you, you guide his hands to bury themselves in your hair and squeeze his thigh, praying he gets the hint. His fingers tense against your scalp as he holds you in place and, yeah, he absolutely gets it.

Your head feels like it’s disconnecting from the rest of your body as he starts fucking into your mouth the way he was probably dreaming about last night. He’s just so fucking big, and you feel a weird sort of pride bloom in your chest at being able to take him like this.

Tears are streaming down your face from the effort and you’re drooling all over his lap but, fuck, if he wants to do this every time you patrol together, you’ll let him. You take back everything you said before—if Tommy ever takes you off Joel’s patrols, you’ll kill him.

His fingers start to tug harder, painfully at your hair and you can hear him moaning something above you, his words slurred and desperate.

“S-so fuckin’ good, sweetheart, you’re…ngh—fuckin’ perfect,” he grits through his teeth, breath hitching as you wrap your lips tighter around him, flattening your tongue along the underside of his length. “‘m gonna cum…fuck, fuck—need you t-to swallow it all, sweetheart… know you can do it…so goddamn good.”

Humming and swallowing around him, you reach up to cup his balls and he erupts, pumping thick cum into your mouth and down your throat. Deep groans are punched out of his chest with every spurt and you can feel his cock pulsing against your tongue.

There’s so much of it. You try your best to do what he asked, to be good and swallow everything, but it’s starting to leak out the corners of your mouth and down his cock. Slurping up as much as you can, you pull off with an audible pop and lick off the rest of the salty, white streaks remaining on his skin.

When your watery eyes finally meet his, he’s looking at you like maybe he really has been dreaming this whole time. He’s still a little dazed, from both the weed and the intense orgasm, and he reaches out to cradle your face in his hands almost as if to prove to himself that you’re real. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture that kind of makes your heart ache.

Your lips quirk up as you lean into his touch, aching to prolong the moment, and he leans forward to press a sweet kiss to them, mouth coaxing yours open to taste himself on your tongue. You whine softly as his tongue runs along your bottom lip, and then he pulls back, hauling you into his arms to lie back on the couch.

Those heat lamps feel unbearable now. You're both hot and sweating, chests heaving from exertion, but you still refuse to separate from each other. Your brain’s feeling a lot less foggy, so you’re probably coming down from your high, which means Joel is, too. The realization sends a pang of worry through your chest like you expect him to suddenly come to and push you away, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he pulls your back to his chest, positioning your bodies more comfortably before murmuring fondly in your ear, "You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. Maybe you’ll get to keep this after all—and without sacrificing everything that makes you and Joel, well…you and Joel. You twist around to shoot him an unimpressed look, but the burgeoning grin on your face betrays you.

“What, you’re just figuring that out? Took you long enough.”

He scoffs. “Listen, sweetheart—“ But you gasp, cutting him off before he can finish his sentence. No, way. How are you just putting two and two together now?

“Wait…oh my god, wait—is this why you keep calling me sweetheart? Because it's what you called me when I was blowing you in your sex dream?” You’re grinning so hard it hurts. How the fuck didn't you notice that earlier?

There was plenty of time to work it out when you were all but fucking on the couch for the past hour. But then…he didn’t actually start calling you sweetheart until he was cumming, and the realization makes your cunt throb. You file that information away for now, but make a mental note to come back to it later—hopefully back in Jackson with Joel.

…who’s still mumbling irritatedly into your shoulder. You tilt your head back to press your lips under his jaw, and you're quickly learning that kissing that particular spot turns him to jelly.

“You can keep calling me sweetheart,” you start, thinking over your next words carefully. “But I’ve got conditions.”

“Oh, she’s got demands now,” you can hear the dramatic eye roll in his voice. You suck a bruise into his skin to stop the back sass and it works spectacularly.

“Oh, shut up. It benefits you too, asshole,” you glare up at him before continuing. “I want your dick in my mouth every time we patrol from now on. And next time, you have to fuck me.”

His fingers dig into your sides, and you’re pretty sure you just felt his cock twitch against your ass.

“…Y-yeah, I, uh. I can do that,” he stutters, suddenly demure, and it dawns on you how much you like seeing all these different sides of Joel. He’s been mean and angry, shy and tender, and so fucking sexy all in the span of a single day. It's not something you ever would've expected from him.

You used to think he was just some grumpy old man and that his one personality trait was being an obnoxious jerk, but tonight you were proven very, very wrong.

You pull his arms tighter around you, let yourself get lost in the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and hum contently. You’ll have to thank Ellie and her weed-grower friend later.

“Y’know, I almost thought you were gonna say no more fighting,” he says after a few seconds of silence. You look up at him incredulously, and he chuckles.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that?”

thanks so much for reading! 🥰

[lazycats-stuff]

Hii, can I request dc x teen male reader? They’re partly part of the batfam, he’s Batman’s second youngest son. And he tags along with Batman to a mission with Superman and Wonder Woman, and guess what, they brought their kids too? I mean not like the already existing kids of them, like they’re original characters? Imagine them just not liking eachother at first but they just become best friends during the mission when they almost die and just laugh it off. They are literally just like Batman and Superman and Wonder Woman trio.

Yup yup, you sure can. I feel like the OG trio would freak out at the similarity. I think I kind of strayed off, but I kind off got hit with inspiration, so I hope you don't mind.

Summary: Kids of Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman don't like each other. After a near death experience, they become friends.

Warnings: explosions, cursing, tension between teammates, they like each other after near death experience, injuries, OG trio is worried, OC kids, except for Batman.

(Y/N) knew that missions with kids his age was going to be a normal thing. He knew it and there wasn't anything he could have done. But to go with Althea Prince and James Kent? There was no such thing that would make Bruce drag him on a mission with them.

The trio hated each other. (Y/N) didn't like how Althea thought that men were beneath her and James is too soft for (Y/N)'s liking. That boy is a personification of a golden retriever and his father was no better too.

Althea and (Y/N) had way more problems than (Y/N) and James had. While James was somewhat okay with the no kill rule, Althea found the rule ridiculous and thought that the evil should be eradicated. No matter what.

That grinded (Y/N)'s gears and it made him want to bash her face against any type of hard surface, but he couldn't. He would be grounded and she wasn't worth it. At all.

But this mission was a test for them. This was going to be their first solo mission without the supervision of their parents. It was just a covert one and intel collecting. Get in and get out.

And that's why they were siting in Justice League HQ, in a dull meeting room. Batman was presenting something that (Y/N) already knew. He has heard it before they left.

" Now, (V/N) will take the lead on this, since it's covert and intel gathering. I don't want to hear any arguments about this. " Batman said, knowing that the trio was going to argue about it.

But lets be honest, if there was anybody who knew how to be stealthy and quiet, it was (Y/N). Well, (V/N) in this case. (Y/N) forced himself to suppress a smile from blooming on his face.

Take that you two. He glanced at the two of them and Althea frowned a bit and James just rolled his eyes. Oh you two sacks of shit.

" Now, (V/N), would you like to take over? " Batman asked, well, demanded. (V/N) nodded and stood up from his chair. Bruce moved over and (Y/N) stood in his place. It felt weird, but you know, it made him feel powerful.

" Right. Like my father said, this is a covert and intel gathering. Which means it's get in and get out quietly. This is a base on a remote island in the Pacific ocean. We have reasons to believe that that's where Vandal the Savage and Deathstroke may have stashed their weapons, however, that is not our primary cause. It's intel that it's kept there. We will probably encounter Deathstroke or Lady Shiva, since those two started working together. " (Y/N) said, pressing a few buttons on the screen keyboard.

" This is how it's supposed to look. It's a pretty classical look for a base, but the security system is very tight and nearly impossible to hack into. However, I saw a small portion of the system and I know that I can hack into it. Now, the problem would be Deathstroke. If you see him, call me through the comms. Don't try to fight him, because he will win. " (Y/N) said and he nearly wanted to smack Althea for rolling her eyes.

" And also, he has experience fighting meta humans, like Wonder Woman and Superman. " (Y/N) said, glancing at the said duo, who nodded in agreement.

" (V/N) is right, he is not to be underestimated. " Wonder Woman said.

Batman stayed quiet, watching as (Y/N) dealt with the two. (Y/N) was growing into a brave and a mature person. And his hero side was no different. He knew that the trio didn't like each other and that was just normal and in life you are going to work with shitheads, as Jason would so kindly put it. And you would have to know how to deal with them.

Again, it's just life.

And Bruce could tell that (Y/N) was dealing with them well. Sure, his way was sarcastic and sometimes it could get ugly, but it was funny and sometimes it was outright murder worthy.

But Bruce loved him none the less.

" We are going first thing tomorrow evening, believe it or not. And that would be it. " (V/N) said and the other two left the room with their parents. Bruce and (Y/N) stayed back and (Y/N) looked at his father.

" You did good. You stayed professional and I could tell you wanted to smack Althea, but you controlled yourself. "

(Y/N) smiled, happy to hear this from Bruce. It wasn't like he never praised his sons, quite the opposite, but when he did, you know that he meant it.

" Lets go back home. Your brothers would like to spend time with you before you go on the mission. " Bruce said and the father son duo left the room, moving to the Zeta tubes.

" I know, but I just want to sleep. I had a tiring day at school. " (Y/N) admitted as they started the teleporting. Once they got into the cave, they both took their cowls off.

(Y/N)'s hair was going in all of different directions and Bruce ruffled his hair even more with a quiet chuckle. (Y/N) whined, trying to push Bruce's hand away.

" You kids grow up so fast. " Bruce admitted to (Y/N) and gave him a quick hug.

" You say that every year. " (Y/N) retorted, chuckling. It was true though. He said it every year when they did good in something.

" Am I wrong though? I would suggest you go up now. Jason called me and told me that if you aren't up in about 20 minutes he will come to get you himself. And you have about 5 minutes to get up there or he will kidnap you. " Bruce warned and (Y/N) ran into the locker room.

Jason would absolutely make that threat a promise and (Y/N) didn't want to fight with any of them. Bruce shook his head fondly at his sons antics.

All of them are going to be with the death of him.

The young trio was in a plane, flying to their location. It was quiet and they had a few hours to kill before landing down at their designated location. (Y/N) put it on autopilot and leaned back. He adjusted his gauntlets on his hands.

It was slightly nerve wrecking for all of them. When on missions they had supervision, they had guidance and they could call the moment something went wrong.

This time is a bit different. Did they have guidance? Yes. Did they have supervision? No.

But the trio knew that their parents were watching. They weren't completely alone in the dark.

" And what do we do know? I'm bored. " James said, crossing his arms.

" And that doesn't sound like my problem. You know you don't have the stamina to fly so long and you can't be weak for this mission. " (Y/N) responded, rubbing his eyes. He heard a tsk and for a split second he thought that Damian was behind him. But no.

" You know Althea, I wouldn't tsk since you can't fly that long either. " (Y/N) snapped back.

" I thought you two are supposed to be strong. Men like to boast about their strength. " Althea said and (Y/N) turned his head to look at her.

" I still can't believe that you are Wonder Woman's daughter. She doesn't hate men and yet you are so far up your own ass that you can't see reality. Is that the result of Amazon upbringing? " (Y/N) asked, sarcasm slipping through into his voice.

There was silence before she huffed, turning her head away. James sighed, shaking his head. They are supposed to be a team and not sworn enemies.

" Well, this mission is going to go well. "James mumbled and (Y/N) closed his eyes, just ready to meditate and get himself mentally ready for the mission.

The landing was quiet and the trio embarked on the shore. They stopped in the bush and (Y/N) zoomed in the view he had. Thank God for built in binoculars within his cowl.

He saw 2 guarding the door.

" Give me a minute and I will disable the security system. I think we will have about 20 minutes to get in and get out. I will take out the 2 in the front and when we get in, we are separating. I know we don't like each other, but we put all of that aside. Now we are teammates. " (Y/N) said and the two nodded in agreement.

" Good. Comms are going to be on the entire time. And if you see Deathstroke, call me. " (Y/N) said, opening up the tiny computer on his gauntlet. He typed a few buttons and the system was officially down.

(Y/N) took a deep breath. It's time to go.

" Lets go. " (Y/N) said and ran towards the two, seemingly out of nowhere. They didn't have a chance with (Y/N). After taking their cards, he swiped it to open the door.

" Now we split. Wonder Girl, you are going left, there is an office there, see if you can find anything there. Superboy, you are going to the right. There are guard's room on the right so if you see some, knock 'em out. I will go straight for the hardware room. And if I find any weapons, I will destroy them. Comms ON. " (Y/N) said and the other two nodded.

And so they separated. Wonder Girl went left, (V/N) went straight ahead and Superboy went to the right. (Y/N) ran in the hall, passing by the grey walls.

There is a certain adrenaline rush you get on certain types of missions. If he is patrolling in the city, it's something normal and usual, almost like a routine. It was nice, but deep down he is an adrenaline addict and he is just looking for some extra adrenaline.

Missions alone with his dad or with others was a bit better in terms of adrenaline. The missions were always out of Gotham city and he was in place were he has never been before. And it always led to him doing some crazy shit that is guaranteed to give Bruce a lot of grey hairs.

But a mission alone, without the supervision of their parents? It brought out a new wave of adrenaline rush that he has never felt before. It made him feel free and way beyond light. When he started being a vigilante, there was this constant fear. But now, there was no fear.

It was just sheer bravery and intent to get his dad proud. Bruce was already proud, but it would mean everything to (Y/N) that he could prove himself. "

" Yes. I checked everything. And you said yes to my proposition. " Bruce said, looking at the two.

" Are you sure about this Batman? " Wonder Woman asked as they were sitting in the conference room, waiting for their children. None of them are able to sleep without their children in their own homes. Bruce more so then others.

" I know that he wouldn't send them straight into fire. Intel and covert, that much they can handle. " Superman said, clearly agreeing with Batman.

" I know and I know that they are more than capable of doing this mission, but I worry. She is my only daughter and I love her to death. (Y/N) and James are my nephews and I love those two death to. " She said, sighing quietly.

" But I worry about them working together. And also, weren't they supposed to report back? A few minutes ago? "

Everyone was silent before running to the second airplane they had. Yeah... Maybe it wasn't a good idea to let them go alone.

The mission kind of went south. Their cover was blown and now they had to fight their way through the guards. Thankfully, there was no Vandal Savage and his kids, but there was Deathstroke.

Turns out, there was no actual intel. This was meant to be a trap for Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman. Now that ticked (Y/N) off and he couldn't let it happen.

Absolutely not. Nobody threatens his family and just goes on with his business. And he had to settle a score after putting Nightwing out of action for months on end.

And even if he dies and this is the last thing he does, then so be it. Deathstroke didn't have any objections to (Y/N)'s plan. But the plan went tits up when (Y/N) got blown up to the next room. He hissed as he looked down to his stomach.

A shrapnel. A fucking shrapnel. He hissed as he took it out and took a syringe of something similar to the liquid from the Lazarus pit. He pressed the syringe into the wound, allowing the liquid to heal him.

It's a liquid only used in the emergency situations. (Y/N) lunged back at Deathstroke, taking advantage of the surprise. He managed to knock the bastard out. He was huffing at the dull pain, trying to block it out.

" Shit... " (Y/N) cursed, leaning down to rest his hands on his knees. It would all be fine if another bomb exploded, nearly knocking him out cold, but he was dancing on the edge.

He could hear a female and a male voice above him. He was blinking, trying to regain focus. He laughed as he saw their worried faces. They froze, looking at him worried.

" Why are you laughing? " Althea asked, worried beyond belief.

" Because you think a bomb can take me out. " (Y/N) said, laughing even more. When he calmed down, he took a deep breath and looked at the two.

" You two can help me up now. This was a trap for our parents instead. " (Y/N) said and James nodded.

" We know. Comms are always on. " James tried to joke as Althea and him pulled (Y/N) up.

" Our parents are going to kill us. " (Y/N) announced and the other two nodded.

" I don't know about you two, but I'm going to the plane, with or without you. " (Y/N) said and they agreed. The trio ran, just ready to get the hell out of here.

It was nice to see their parents, ready to fight for them. All 3 fussed about them, Bruce more than others. (Y/N) knew that they are going fight about rest when they come home. At one point, the trio started laughing out of nowhere and the OG trio looked worried. Some inwardly, some outwardly.

" What is going on? " Superman asked, looking around for some answers.

Nobody answered him.

After 2 months, they worked together again, but with their parents with them. It was a one completely 180 from their previous communication. The OG trio noticed a lot of similarities.

They were turning into their parents.

" Should we be worried? " Wonder Woman asked once, watching the footage from their last mission. It was just like them.

" I mean... Are we bad role models? " Superman asked out loud and Batman stayed quiet.

" No. But... You know, lets see where this goes. " Superman suggested. Bruce just pinched the bridge of his nose. May God help them.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Trey Clover - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Trey: It's pretty fascinating how all these anecdotes that I grew up with are displayed on all these paintings.

Trey: Just as I'd expect from an art museum that's reaching it's 100th year.

Trey: Oh hey, this painting… It has some card soldiers on it. Heh, I feel like I can understand these guys a little bit.

???: Oh, right, all you Heartslabyul guys do the same kind of thing, don't you?

Leona: What's even the point of painting the roses a different color? As someone who cares not an ounce about flowers, I don't get it at all.

Trey: Hey now, Leona, don't say that. It's not done for any specific reason, it's just one of the laws of our dorm.

Trey: Also, I don't really think the card soldiers changed the colors of the roses just for a change of scenery, though.

Trey: They say that the Queen they served loved red roses. They were probably just trying to please her, right?

Trey: But still… painting the roses, huh. I remember there was a bit of trouble with that when I first enrolled here.

Leona: Oho? What kind of trouble could the super pacifist Trey Clover possibly cause?

Trey: It wasn't any big deal. When we were first years, Cater and I were responsible for painting the roses, you see…

Trey: And we mistakenly painted some roses white when they were supposed to be red. That's really it.

Trey: Well, to be fair, the mistake wasn't really our fault, but the fault of our upperclassmen who told us the wrong thing.

Trey: But when the mistake was discovered and the Housewarden at the time asked who caused it… Those upperclassmen placed the blame squarely on our shoulders.

Trey: As punishment, Cater and I were made to leave the dorm for a whole day. That really grinded my gears.

Leona: You say that, but you got some stupid grin on your face. You don't look too angry about it.

Trey: Well, yeah… That'd be because Cater and I put together a plan to get them back.

Leona: So you two schemed something up, huh. You might look gentle and mild-mannered, but I guess there's a reason the Dark Mirror called you.

Trey: We didn't do anything that crazy. I just changed the flavor of those upperclassmen's cake to something a little more invigorating at the next dorm party.

Trey: See, it wasn't anything more than just a silly kid's prank, right? …Well, I had a bit of a hard time after that, though.

Trey: A HARD TIME CONCEALING MY LAUGHTER AS THOSE UPPERCLASSMEN CRIED ABOUT HOW SPICY IT WAS, THAT IS.

Leona: Hahah, how terrifying.

Leona: Well, Cater is one thing… But I see that even someone like you, who's stuck always pacifying that hot-headed Riddle, had an incident like that.

Trey: I mean, isn't that how all the new first years here are like? They're all mischief-makers and rambunctious.

Trey: Even our current first years are way too excitable and are always causing problems, so I sure wasn't an exception.

Trey: Eventually, they'll get used to this school and their dorm, get underclassmen of their own, and even find rivals in other dormitories…

Trey: And step by step, they'll mature into good card soldiers. At least, our Heartslabyul students will.

Trey: Just like we all did.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Trey: This painting is, let's see… a depiction of "the fairies gifting magic in celebration of the birth of a princess in a certain country."

Trey: The princess herself isn't drawn, but I'm sure she's in the bed that these ladies are peering into.

Trey: But is this actually the scene where they are gifting their presents…? It just looks to me like they're chattering away aimlessly…

Leona: Maybe it's just as you say? They look to me like a bunch of carefree types.

Trey: I'd refute that, but… Well, it's hard to know what actually is true in the stories passed down, I guess.

Trey: Speaking of birthday celebrations and fairies…

Trey: Have you ever heard of the saying that "fairies are born from the laughter of children," Leona?

Leona: Sounds like a tall tale for kids. Never heard of that in my country.

Trey: It's actually a pretty popular myth in the Queendom of Roses.

Trey: Back home, whenever a child is born, that family would bake cakes and gift them to everyone they knew.

Trey: The cupcakes made then are called "fairy cakes," as a nod to that tale.

Leona: Fairy cakes, huh. I can taste the sickly-sweet flavor on my tongue just from the name alone.

Trey: Hahaha… Shoulda known you of all people wouldn't say there was a bit of romanticism in that.

Trey: But that takes me back. I remember when my sister was born, I helped my parents bake a cake, too.

Trey: I was only 4 years old, and didn't really know how to make anything yet, but I did what I could to help.

Trey: We set out the finished cake on a table in our yard, and ate it with family and our neighbors…

Trey: That cake we ate then under the blue sky tasted even better than any other cake I'd ever had.

Trey: And on top of that, all the adults were praising me, saying how "amazing" and "well done" my cake was…

Leona: Can't think there'd be any adult who'd tell a 4-year-old that the cake they made was terrible, though.

Trey: Yeah, absolutely. In fact, when I went back and looked at the pictures of the cake I made back then, it was actually pretty terrible.

Trey: But I took those compliments to heart.

Trey: Because yeah, after that day, I would join them in the kitchen to help bake cakes.

Trey: But truthfully, I would make a mess of the flour just trying to make one layer of the sponge for the cakes, or snag a taste of a few of the cut fruits here and there...

Trey: I'm sure I was a huge bother for my parents, who were trying to work.

Leona: How adorable. You got all excited just from a little flattery. Sounds completely different than the way you are now.

Trey: Please, kids are all like that. Especially me, I was the type that would even climb trees just from the slightest dare.

Trey: I'm really not any different now, either. I'm completely different from you, Leona. I'm just a plain and simple guy.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Leona: Seems like this is a painting of when the Sorcerer of the Sands got a hold of the magic lamp.

Trey: So, this is the legendary magic lamp, hm. It's a lot smaller than I was expecting… It looks like a teapot made for only one person.

Leona: You know… That kind of response really only shows how shallow your thoughts are. Is that all that comes to mind when you look at a painting showing a scene from that very famous tale?

Leona: This was the lamp that he went through so much and finally got his hands on. Even someone like him, who embodied the spirit of deliberation, might be drowning in absolute elation in this very moment―

Leona: …Or whatever. Anyway, you should read more from this painting than just the size of the lamp, is all.

Trey: Ahaha… I'm just no good at interpreting the actual story behind the art, just from looking at the painting.

Trey: But, based on what you just said, it makes it sound like even someone as great as him, who's left his mark on history, has a human side, huh.

Leona: Even the greats were just people… Although from I remember, he wasn't a human in the end, but a genie.

Trey: That's right, he became a genie in order to overcome the limitation and weakness of a human body. He certainly dreamed big.

Trey: Overcoming weaknesses, huh… If only I could have done that, just as the Sorcerer of the Sands did.

Leona: Huh? Why're you just gazing off into the distance all a sudden?

Trey: Oh, I was just thinking back to how I've recently been running myself ragged trying to overcome this one food I dislike.

Leona: If you don't like it, then just don't eat it. Is it really anything to really overcome?

Trey: Of course it is. Like see, you know how all of the sandwiches and meat dishes in the cafeteria come already covered in that one condiment?

Trey: …I'm talking about mustard. It's tedious for both me and the chef when I have to ask each time for them to remove it, you know?

Trey: Sure, there's a lot of different ways to hide the taste, but I feel it's rude to the chef to change the flavor of something they so painstakingly made.

Trey: That's why I tried so many different ways to overcome my dislike of it, hoping that it would solve everything.

Trey: Every time I made my own dinner in my dorm, I'd add mustard to every dish…

Trey: For about one week or so, I made sure to eat at least one dish each day with mustard in it.

Trey: IN THE END, I EVEN TRIED PUTTING IT IN THE CAKE.

Leona: Well, you sure created a strange, new cake there. So, was it even edible?

Trey: I didn't eat it, so I don't know. My dormmates stopped me, so I wasn't able to actually add it to the cake.

Trey: And so, when they stopped me there, I finally came to a realization.

Trey: If I still can't eat it after all this effort, I should just give up. It isn't something that's going to have a huge impact on my life, after all.

Leona: Hah, took you a while.

Trey: Hahaha… I thought so too.

Trey: Seems like I'm the type where once I start something, I get a little wrapped up in it… This incident really got me reflecting on that habit.

Trey: But hey, thanks to all of that, I can at least eat mustard if it's just there for a bit of flavoring.

Leona: Well, good for you, then. All that continuous mustard eating turned out to be not completely pointless.

Leona: Anyway… All that talk made me thirsty. I'm takin' a break from all this. Bye.

Trey: Okay, see you. …Never thought I'd see the day that Leona would even hold a conversation with me like this. I wonder if it'll rain candy tomorrow or something.

Trey: Alright, next I think I'll go check out one of the paintings of the Great Seven I haven't seen yet… Ooh wait, this one―

Trey: Whenever I see this painting, I always think of "that guy." He's got the same kind of hard-to-read expression on his face.

Trey: I remember back in the day where I'd play along with his pranks and we'd cause a little bit of mischief for people who asked us for directions on the street.

Trey: "Which way ought you go from here? Well, that depends a good deal on where you want to get to!" ―And the like.  

Requested by Anonymous.

[quasitsqueeries]

The Emperor wasn't 12 feet tall

I see this meme a lot in my Instagram feed and it really grinds my gears:

Not because it seems to be trying to shame a fictional antagonist for being "wrong" (although that really doesn't help), but because whoever made it seems to have missed that depictions of the Emperor as superhuman are meant to be Imperial Propaganda.

Now, I realise I'm going to be fighting an uphill battle here because there seem to be people working for Games Workshop and producing their media who also missed that memo, and for a while now the studio has started producing actual depictions of the Emperor, and some of those depections show him as 12 feet tall and immortal. This might be controversial but I think what this shows is that Games Workshop don't understand Games Workshop's source material.

Here's a picture of the Emperor from the original Rogue Trader rulebook.

Even this is obviously meant to be a propaganda image, but here he looks like just a regular guy in armour, he's about the same size as the people around him. Not a superhuman, just a guy with an excess of hubris.

There's this literary construct called the unreliable narrator. When I studied literature we were given this short story to read called Bartleby the Scrivener. It's told from the point of view of an employer about a clerk who was apparently really difficult to manage. The subtext is that the narrator is trying to manipulate the reader to make themself look good.

For a long time, that's what Warhammer 40,000 did, the Imperium was made out to be an unreliable narrator. Stories about the Imperium's "glorious past" were told through the haze of ten thousand years of unending war, by an ecclesiastical class with a vested interest in keeping Imperial citizens committed to feeding the war machine. To the Imperium, the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy serve the function of myths, more than history. I've gone on before about how important heroic figures like Siegfried and Perseus and Prometheus were to the Nazis. The Imperium, being a fictional state that draws on the aesthetics and ideology of Fascism, uses the figures of the Emperor and Primarchs the same way.

Basically what I'm saying is that when Imperial sources state that these people were twelve feet tall and immortal and could, um, turn a giant ork into a lightbulb on a whim, it's not because they had these powers, but because they've been ascribed these powers by their priesthood, who have total control over the flow of information in this setting.

And I get that this is hard, because most people don't get taught this stuff, and often people are probably looking for escapism from their fiction and why would the book I'm reading lie to me? But I think it really makes the setting more interesting if you look at it this way.

Also, I realise that since 2006 there have been books around that describe the Emperor, and they do show him as superhuman, and I think those depictions are based on the writers misunderstanding the material they're working from. I guess Tolkien wrote the existence of The Hobbit into Middle Earth as the Red Book of Westmarch so I can tell myself that the Horus Heresy novels are meant to be in-universe Imperial propaganda.

ADDENDUM: I need to add this because I've been reading about Perpetuals, which is apparently what the Emperor is since the Horus Heresy series was published. Apparently these individuals are human mutants that are both immortal and invincible. I remember Mechanicum heavily implying that the Emperor and St. George are the same person. Here's the problem with that. There are two themes that I think are really important in Warhammer 40,000. One is the Emperor's hubris, the idea was that he was playing god, genetically engineering monstrosities in the form of the primarchs. In the Greek tragic mould, it's this hubris that leads to his downfall. This kind of loses its sting if he's just trying to recreate what what he already is.

The other theme is the Imperium's superstition. This one is really the core of 40K. The Imperium has taken the corpse of a man who tried to rule the galaxy, told themselves he's not dead, plugged the corpse into a machine that "regenerates" him, and founded an intolerant, violent and expansionist religion around this husk. This theme changes significantly if the Emperor actually was as powerful as the Ecclesiarchy makes him out to be, and actually isn't dead, and has somehow been regenerating for the last 10,000 years. There's a question here about what would make an entity worthy of worship, or being called a god, and I probably shouldn't get into it but this is my blog so I'm going to. It seems like there's an assumption among some writers that if something can be rationally explained then it's not a god, because gods ipso facto don't exist. They've incorporated nonexistence into their definition of gods. This is where you get the idea that the Chaos gods aren't gods, because the setting explains their existince "rationally" with its internal logic (nevermind that there's nothing rational about the warp). If there were gods in a rational sense, then our model of the universe would have to change to accomodate them. I think the upshot of this is basically that if what the Horus Heresy novels claim about the Emperor is true, then the Ecclesiarchy are right and he is a god within the logic of the setting. That doesn't justify the genocide and expansionism, but maybe it does justify the worship, and that's something that I think takes away from the setting.

[texas-gothic]

So, let's talk about Jet. Both the episode and the character. I think I've discovered here the core philosophical flaw that's really going to haunt the rest of the Last Air Bender's runtime and exponentially expand in Legend of Korra.

Before we really get into this, I will acknowledge a boldness to Avatar: The Last Air Bender. This came out in 2005. So, Bush has just been solidly re-elected, the imperial invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan are in full swing, and the American propaganda aparatus is firing on all cylinders to ensure public support for all of this. That a story about fighting colonialism and imperialism would even come out of a major studio (Viacom) at that time is nothing short of a miracle. It was a very brave story to tell at the time.

That being said, we still have a problem. Despite this story's core conceit of anti-colonialism, it remains a fact that, like most Western creatives, the creators of Avatar are Liberals. And while from a distance they might obviously be able to agree that imperialism is terrible, it very much hinders their ability to engage with liberation movements. A problem that we see for the first time in Jet.

Watching the episode, and seeing the way this story deals with this character, I can't help but be reminded of every time I've gotten into a conversation about Palastine and been brick walled by "But what about Hamas!?" Because that's exactly what the Freedom Fighters are meant to stand in for. They are the liberation movement that goes too far. Hamas, the IRA, the Mau Maus, etc. Righteous goals but just too much violence and inconvenience for Western Liberal sensibilities. Scratch a Katara and an Ozai bleeds, apparently.

Maybe Jet just had to be a sacrificial lamb to get the whole project off the ground. Like I said, the American propaganda aparatus was Hell bent on promoting not one but two imperialist wars at the same time, and maybe a "Well, don't fight colonialism too hard" is what was required to keep the green light on. But considering how quickly the Legend of Korra descends into bare faced anticommunism in its first season, I'm not really inclined to believe this was just a solid they were doing for the network.

And I guess the thing that really grinds my gears about this is that Jet is never forgiven for this. In a story where a genocidal warlord like Iroh can find redemption, the angry 16 year-old boy who lost everything to colonial atrocity can not. He is doomed and eventually condemned to death by this offense against the Liberal worldview of his creators. Executed for being unpalatable.

[legallyacceptibleurl]

this shit infuriates me to no end

this isn’t a callout and there isn’t anything wrong with this post in and of itself, let me gripe

ID: screenshot of a post reblogged by @jewish-kulindadromeus

@sinothetimes: “while l'm on a roll of no longer giving a shit, I also think it's stupid to pretend that the rise in antisemitism, while terrifying, is a bigger issue than the active genocide being perpetrated in Gaza. like, the hate and the potential for things to get worse in the future is incredibly horrible. the fact that most like well over 100,000 gazans have been murdered in the last year is inherently worse because those people are dying right now. this is not saying stop talking about antisemitism but that is me saying if you use leftist antisemitism as an excuse to turn your back on the ACTIVE GENOCIDE youre kind of a shitstain.

End ID

what really grinds my gears is when someone like a-dinosaur-a-day/jewish-kulindadromeus/zygodactylus has the gall to act like eir’s not part of the problem.

EDIT I FORGOT TO ADD A CUT

ID: a set of screenshots showing @jewish-kulindadromeus reblogging from @shofarsogood, @starlightomatic, @notyourgoodjew, @tributary, @jewishlivesmatter, @yidpunk. End ID

(eventually i will have posts about all those blogs, but these take a long time to make because of the image descriptions but i will not skimp on accessibility. but if you know these blogs you know)

it’s good to have issues with how people use talking about antisemitism as a reason to ignore the genocide, but clearly ey doesn’t care too much about people doing that type of shit. a post here and there about how ey doesn’t believe in violence and reblogging a couple gazan donation posts doesn’t cancel out the much much more frequent posts reblogged from people who would like everyone to stop talking about the genocide pretty please

like it rings so fucking hollow when a few days later ey goes and reblogs this (on eir other blog)

ID: a screenshot of a post that @zygodactylus reblogged from @jewish-rock

@anshelsgendercrisis:

an image of the meme of two spider-men pointing at each other. one of them has the text “ppl who use "zio" as a slur for jews” and the other one has “ppl who use "pali" as a slur for palestinians”. the text of the post says “get it bc ur both extremist assholes who are making things worse.”

@transmascpetewentz: “radical antizionists (handshake emoji) kahanists

literally their entire ideology other than whose side they happen to be on”

End ID.

again it’s not the post itself (stupid as it fucking is), it’s the poster or rather who ey reblogged it from. this is @jewish-rock on the same day that @jewish-kulindadromeus/zygodactylus reblogged a posts which ends with “if you use leftist antisemitism as an excuse to turn your back on the ACTIVE GENOCIDE youre kind of a shitstain.”

ID: two screenshots of a post reblogged by @jewish-rock

@jewish-mccoi: “Can we talk about how fucked up it is that Jews and Israelis have no safe spaces online? And if we dare complain, we're told we're whining and other groups have it worse.

And no one seems to either notice or care. The pro Palestine movement is infested with antisemitism. Leftist spaces are infested with antisemitism. It's impossible to engage with the pro Palestinian movement because to do so, they demand you denounce Israel's existence and make you be their token Jew. Like no? The fuck gives you the audacity?

I'm tired of walking on eggshells around leftists for fear of being called a colonizer or a genocide apologist because guess what??? It doesn't fucking matter what I say, you're gonna do it anyway, because I'm an evil Jew!

I could talk till I'm blue in the face about cease fires or how Hamas is purposefully putting civilians in harms way, but the second I do, people are like "oh you mean Israel. Israel is the problem." Actually, you fucking black and white thinker, ISRAEL IS NOT ALWAYS THE PROBLEM. Israel has done fucked up things. So has every fucking country on earth. But the news is dominated by "Israel is awful" and "wipe Israel off the map." Why do you think that is.

IT'S ANTISEMITISM. It's just that simple. Really fucking is.

And because the movement keeps flooding Jewish tags on tumblr with antisemitism, I am gonna tag this so the "river to the sea" people ACTUALLY ADVOCATING GENOCIDE can have their safe spaces (Jew free spaces) interrupted. I'm tired of taking the high road.

You all would rather side with terrorists than Jews. That's how bad the leftist problem with antisemitism is. Terrorists who admit to using rape and murder and torture ON CIVILIANS as tactics. That's how much you fucking hate us.

Well, tough fucking luck. We're here and we're not going anywhere. Am yisrael chai, fuckers.”

End ID.

at most mildly perturbed by people using leftist antisemitism as an excuse to turn their back on an active genocide, not enough to unfollow them though

i find it so fucking spineless. be mutuals with & follow a shitload of zionists who have spent the last 11 months downplaying and trying to distract from the endless massacres in gaza, who try to discredit any and all efforts to help people who are fenced in & bombed. but claim moral righteousness by every now & then going “war is bad you guys, can’t we all be friends, i don’t support either side i support peace”, thinking that absolves you for supporting those people

[helianskies]

9 or 21, lietpru|pruliet?

man i hope i have done them and u some kind of justice—

Martyrdom

“God, you're in a sorry state.”

“Thanks for pointing it out,” Gilbert quips as he does his best to swallow down a cough that feels like it could dislodge a lung. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“No, really,” Tolys proceeds all the same, wandering only further into Gilbert’s room—notably, without his permission. Typical. “It stinks in here. For someone who’s usually a proud and tidy man, you might as well be living with animals—”

“Sometimes, I do.”

“—and it’s the middle of the day, why are your—? Here—”

Tolys walks right over to the window, and before Gilbert can stop him (or really even consider stopping him) he throws the curtains open and lets the sun in. Gilbert wants to scream and curse him back a thousand years into the past, but… he can’t muster the energy or will to, and simply chooses to defy the other, throwing himself back down into his bedsheets in the same way a child would.

Just because Toyls wants to invade his space, that doesn’t mean that Gilbert has to entertain him!

The mattress shifts and bounces with added weight behind him. Gilbert stares at the wall, but he knows that the other has now decided to make himself comfortable. It only grinds his gears more.

“Go away, Liet…”

“So formal, Preußen,” Tolys muses. “You really are in a bad mood.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Not sure I can be blamed for how you’re feeling. Or coping.”

“Maybe not,” Gilbert mutters, acerbic, “but you aren’t helping.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Tolys asks. “You want me to help you?”

Gilbert lacks a real answer. Saying that he wants any kind of help would mean defeat. A kicked canine, tail between his legs. But saying that he wants nothing, and potentially sending Tolys back on his way, will only leave him alone again. And for how long? Alone to wallow, to lie there, to drip away slowly into nothing…

It’s been days now. Days of silence. He has noticed passing footsteps—footsteps that have sometimes stopped, listened, waited, and then moved on—

“So, you want me to help,” Tolys remarks as he crosses one leg over the other, and Gilbert can feel those watchful, attentive eyes on him. They may as well have been fingers on his skin, warm, ticklish, teasing…

“Yeah,” Gilbert replies, letting his breath go. He feels himself sink deeper into pillows and blankets. “I need a favour…”

“Go on then,” the other says. “What is it?”

Gilbert breathes back in. His body flushes with shivers and aches. And he asks of the other, “Put me out of my misery.”

Part of him wonders if Tolys will laugh at his request, or maybe tell him to stop being so dramatic. Part of him wonders if he’d feel fingers after all—if something would possess the other and he would cure Gilbert of his ailment—an ailment that Gilbert himself couldn’t even describe. Part of him wonders if—

“No.”

Gilbert nearly chokes on his own saliva, hurrying to sit himself up before he ends up coughing up a lung after all. He whips his head around to stare at Tolys, who is now apparently much more interested in looking out of the window opposite the bed, and he feels shivers and aches of a different kind. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” Tolys repeats, too. He looks back at Gilbert and says quite plainly, “Not my misery, so not my problem.”

He’s stunned. 

“Well, fuck you, I guess,” he says, before, again, returning to his bed. 

Not the same way as before, though. It isn’t abrupt, and it isn’t like a tantrum. He just… lies back down, like a dog who has given up trying to get attention, his head settling back on a pillow as his eyes return to the wall. To his wall. To one of his walls, so grey, so cold. 

A soft snort of laughter comes from behind him. It’s wounding, for a moment. But then he feels the mattress move and wobble again, and the next thing he knows, there is an arm. An arm. A whole arm that has come to lie across his side. It doesn’t quite hold him, but it is there, and… that’s okay.

“You get five minutes,” Tolys tells him as his fingers find the other’s hair and gently sift through it. Gilbert closes his eyes. He lets him continue, and relaxes. “After that, you’re having a serious fucking shower, got it?”

“Sure. Got it.”

But if Gilbert could fall asleep in those five minutes, then… Well, the shower, the cleaning, the living—it could wait. It would wait. He’s got what he needs for now.

The dog always gets the bone in the end.

[ find the fic collection on ao3! ]

[splashink-games]

Getting to the end is not what's important.

Did I not do a good job?

I am absolutely astounded by SANABI by WONDER POTION.

trying to be as spoiler-free as I can.

Good lord.

I was not expecting such an emotional experience.

Even after I spoiled myself a bit because our daughter (I'm okay to call the child that right? collectively, yours, mine, and our main character's (who is also ours to share)) had some very gif-able moments for me to look up and save.

ugh.

Don't even get me started on how incredibly wholesome the intro sequence is! Or mostly any memory for that matter.

Let me move on...

I heard that this game is often compared to Katana ZERO. I haven't played Katana ZERO but I've watched a friend speedrun it, and I get it, though I can't compare the narratives. But that's not what's important.

SANABI is an incredibly well-told story with fast-pace gameplay. The storytelling succeeds because it gives the player information while keeping that same information from the main character, along with hints to a conclusion that we, as the player, can infer.

and that inference builds and builds, cracking the reality that our main character (MC for short) is experiencing in Mago City until it crumbles.

this is a story is about loss and acceptance.

Our journey with these two vastly different characters, Mari and MC is nothing short of exquisite.

it's hard to put into words without spoiling anything.

each character has a very strong goal. MC is out for revenge, while Mari's is pretty vague until the midpoint, but we can surmise it also as revenge. from the onset, Mari tells you that their goals currently align. and every plot point serves an obstacle in their progress (as it should in a game).

but with every obstacle, their determination and sense of reality is affected. the two grind each other's gears. but also get back to a moderate peace. well, until they can't.

mysteries are thrown around. answers can't, or won't, be given. things happen. the situation changes. Mari and the MC change.

and when the pair finally gets to their destination, it's nothing like they expected. Getting to the end is not what's important.

Mari has an amazing arc. you know what she's after part way through the game. and it becomes clearer how desperate she is. like, what a fascinating character Mari is for being able to act in the manner she does. for being faced with the situation at hand until she can no longer bear it.

MC has an equally fantastic arc. for being such a one-track minded character until he isn't. until he thinks for a moment about everything that's happening. but no answer are given.

it's hard to describe how deeply rooted in emotion these characters are. and I think the experience of them is worth it.

with all that being said, the gameplay was rad.

for me, SANABI puts into perspective how much you can do with a few buttons. for reference, I use a Nintendo Switch-style controller. you never use the B button or the bumpers. you start using Y and left trigger halfway through the game. and I never needed to use the right joystick, even though I could.

my biggest gripe, gameplay-wise, was the ground-less boss fight. I don't know if I'm just bad at the game (I am, though) or if I have a problem with having no ground to stand on. I think the biggest issue is the inability to save oneself at the bottom of the screen. it's a very air-centric fight, so I guess it gets a pass, but it's definitely not my favourite.

everything else was smooth as butter. the introduction of new mechanics was never out of the way. the main mechanics themselves (grappling, swinging, and hooking enemies) were great and ties itself well to the narrative.

even as I was speeding through the finally sequence of the game, I still enjoyed swinging along. in between narrative sequences.

SANABI is a wonderfully crafted game, focused on delivering a thoughtful story with smooth mechanics as its vehicle.

This game is definitely a must-play for anyone!

As always,

Enjoy gaming!

[myteavsricochet]

First of all I hope I'm not overstepping by doing this on your blog and for staying off anon because I'm frankly too old to be hiding behind the little gray icon dude I've been doing the fandom thing for close to 15 years (God I'm old).

As someone who came back to tumblr (hadn't opened tumblr in like 6 years) exclusively to keep an eye on the TZP tag because he's the first actor I have a genuine interest in years, not only because he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen but also because he's engaging and funny and charismatic and because I think he could really go places if he was allowed good roles, actors can be naturally talented but most actors really get their chops from working with good directors and actively learning on set from their peers.

(As a disclaimer, I love Nick he's great and I hope his career thrives.)

Which is why the fact that people who constantly compare his career to Nick's is incredibly belittling, as your anons pointed out Taylor isn't white and that cuts the roles he can auditioned for by like 80%, the fact of the matter is TZP is always going to have a hard time finding roles because to most casting directors casting a white man is going to be easier than having to make space for a POC.

I can only assume that most of the vitriol from Nick's (who is an absolutely lovely dude) fans comes from plain old jealousy, TZP is out here hustling, attending events, etc. While Nick is not, how this is somehow Taylor's fault in their eyes? I don't even want to guess. The truth of the matter is that Taylor has to do all those things because he runs the risk of fading, he needs the networking and the connections if he wants to continue his career which is a sad truth.

On the topic of fashion, I'm only a casual observer but my god is it hard in the fashion world. Making a foothold in an industry that is filled with old brands set in their ways and where nepotism is rampant, more so than Hollywood, is almost impossible so that fact that Taylor has is beyond impressive. A career in fashion could even be more lucrative for him than an acting career which is unpredictable, a lot of people forget fashion is not just the models and the designer but all the behind the scene people that run the fashion houses, so saying Taylor is just a fashion boy? Sure, but fashion would be an amazing career path to follow, specially because Taylor believes deeply in sustainable fashion, he could really make a difference working in a behind the scenes role.

Ngl I've been giggling about the anon saying that Taylor isn't filming anything right now because he said he had a movie coming up, as if saying that somehow makes Taylor a liar. Here's the thing about that no one is filming anything right now, award season just started, Hollywood is too busy making nice with each other to make movies or shows right now, half the battle of winning awards is kissing the ass of the voters, as someone who enjoys the fashion of award season the sheer amount of events for the next month or so is wild, the stars are going to be very busy looking pretty.

No point to this rant really, just as someone who chooses to lurk around here and other places, is really starting to grind on my gears that some of Nick's fans will put down Taylor for no really reason while I've never seen this behavior from a Taylor towards Nick.

Again you don't have to post this if you don't feel comfortable.

I'm posting this ask of yours because I feel genuinely that you don't want to put one of the boys down in any way and I absolutely agree with all the points 😊

Unfortunately this comparison has been going on since the movie came out and it seems like there can never be a fandom in the world without toxic elements that only cause problems for the other costar and other fans 🥴

I want to specify that obviously it's not everyone, there are a lot of people who support both of them OR they mainly support Nick but they show respect to Taylor as it should be even if they don't follow him beyond rwrb. But there are people who are terrified there is someone other than Nick out there who is appreciated and loved and continuing to tear Taylor down like that only shows how privileged they are for not seeing the reality and the struggle that poc have to do, and Taylor specifically in this moment, in that industry.

Nick doesn't even need this attitude, which he would never tolerate and doesn't bring him anything good but who knows if they'll ever understand.

By the way how sad and insensitive it is after seeing a movie like rwrb and the people who worked on it and seeing how much heart they put into it to keep saying that Nick is the only good one who works and will works and he is done and over rwrb and he doesn't need that movie when even Aneesh some days ago in her stories said she hasn't had any roles yet and is it so difficult for her to find a job?

And they use the white actor (with immense talent, who deserves everything, let's clarify that again) against people who don't know when they will find a new place for them? so horrible.

I agree with every point and I don't have much to add and thank you for writing to me without the gray icon 😊🙏🏻

[flyingpurplepeopleprogrammer]

"You're being hypnotised wrong" and other things that really grind my gears:

So this isn't news. Everyone has written this, but I want to write it, too: hypnosis is collaborative.

When you're playing with someone - hypnotised or hypnotising - you're working together, and if something didn't happen quite the way you wanted it to - well, that's something to work with your partner in figuring out.

Happy accidents happen, and unexpected hypnosis is often - at least for me and mine - fun hypnosis. But that's not universal or guaranteed. Fortunately, it's not usually too hard to tease out the hypnotic experience we want with a but of - you guessed it! - communication.

Are you a hypnotist and your subject responded to a suggestion completely differently to what you intended? Ask them about what they experienced. Try to explain what you had in mind and see if they would use different words to describe the same thing. Stuff like that.

Did your subject find this or that style of induction boring, difficult, or distracting? You can try a different approach, of course, but it can also be rewarding to explore what they found unhelpful and see if you can't adapt your technique to suit. Neither solution is inherently better than the other, and you can try whatever you and your partner think might be fun. Why not both?

But if you're trying to get hypnotised and your partner tells you that you're being hypnotised wrong or that you're bad at being hypnotised, yeet them.

If your partner gives you a suggestion and grumps at you for not understanding it or acting the way they expected you to, yeet them.

If you're told that the reason you aren't feeling the way you want to feel is because you aren't a good subject, - you guessed it! - yeet them.

Because seriously, the problem is not you.