#he keeps delivering new levels of pathetic

[purrvaire]

look at him with his big brown sad eyes being sad and pathetic like whatever you say babygirl im not gonna say no to those eyes

[in-my-loki-feels]

💕 President Loki + Don

Welp, once again I went a little overboard. 😅 But this one is a sick fic, a Halloween fic, and an ask prompt fill all in one so it's okay if it's a little long, right? Inspired by your drawing of sick, blanket burrito Loki. ❤️

ETA: Look at this blanket burrito President Loki!! Thank you for immortalizing him in his pathetic misery. 🤣💚

💕 kissing somewhere other than lips

Pride goeth before the fall and Don was looking at a prime example of it. The huddle of blankets on the couch shook with another series of coughs, followed by a not-very-productive sounding sniffle.

“No better, huh?” Don said, standing beside the couch. The medicine had been a shot in the dark, given he knew nothing about Loki’s physiology. 

A face appeared within the swath of blankets, eyes narrowed and nose red. The glower Loki leveled at him could have peeled paint from the wall. He opened his mouth—probably to deliver some scathing reply—but another coughing fit hit him. It had barely let up when Loki suddenly sat up, flinging off the blankets. 

“Enough!” he snapped. “How can a mere human ailment affect me so? This is absurd!” His fury was somewhat dampened by his consonants being so congested.

He swayed and Don caught his shoulder to keep him upright. 

“I don't know what to tell you, babe. Even the Martians fell to plain ol’ bacteria.” 

“What? And don't call me that,” Loki added mulishly. He normally let the endearment slide but being sick apparently brought out his petulance. 

“Not an H.G. Wells fan?” Don teased. He took his hand away once he was sure Loki wouldn't fall over and picked up the couch pillows that had been shoved to the floor. “It really does help to sleep propped up.”

“It wasn't comfortable,” Loki muttered and sniffled again. He started to pull the blankets back around him. 

Don plucked a couple tissues from the box on the coffee table and reached for Loki's nose. Loki jerked back. 

“I am not a child!” A hand emerged from the blanket cocoon to snatch the tissues. He blew his nose noisily.

No, but you're acting like one. Don kept that thought to himself. It was a true sign of how out of it Loki must be feeling when he didn't notice. Loki usually read Don like an open book, picking up every cheeky comment he thought but didn’t voice. 

“Have you never been sick before? Not even as a child?” Don knew Loki considered himself all-powerful, but he could be hurt—even almost mortally injured—so illness had to be a thing back on Asgard. 

Loki had slumped against the couch arm with his eyes closed, breathing shallowly. He was quiet long enough that Don thought he’d fallen asleep. Then he sighed. 

“As a child, yes. Occasionally.” He opened his eyes but seemed to be looking through the floor instead of at it. “My mother cared for me until I was better.” 

Don could see Frigga playing nursemaid well, as kind and gentle as she had been. 

“Well, good news: I have lots of experience with this. The kids are constantly bringing home some new form of crud.”

Loki’s gaze darted to Don, a flash of alarm in his eyes before he masked it. Don wondered if, in the future, Loki was going to vanish whenever one of the boys got sick. 

“Why don’t I make you some soup, and…” He trailed off, looking up at the ceiling as he heard raised voices from upstairs. There were two loud slams as the argument continued. 

“You said you were gonna be Zeus!” 

“And you said you’d be Iron Man!” 

The squabbling grew louder as the boys came down the stairs. Don hurried to meet them by the door. 

Both boys were dressed in full body costumes printed to look like a three-piece suit, complete with a red and blue “vote” pin. It wasn’t very realistic, but what could you expect from a mass-produced “Mr. President” costume. Both were also wearing a plastic set of horns with elastic bands that went around their heads to keep the horns in place. The black stood out against the boys’ blond hair. 

“He copied me!” Sean said, shoving his brother with his shoulder. 

“Nuh-uh! It was my idea first!” Kevin replied, pushing back. 

“Come on, don’t fight,” Don said, and lowered his voice. “You know Loki isn’t feeling well.” 

They both sent guilty looks towards the living room. Loki was hidden behind the couch’s back, but he had been there since they went upstairs to change. 

“Can we show him our costumes?” Sean asked. Kevin added puppy eyes to the request. 

“Only if you stop fighting about it,” Don said. The boys shared annoyed glances and then sighed. 

“Fine,” Kevin muttered. 

Don ushered them around the couch to find Loki had disappeared into the huddle of blankets again. Hopefully he hadn’t fallen asleep. 

“Hey Loki, the boys wanna show off their Halloween costumes if you’re feeling up for it,” he coaxed. 

The pile of blankets wriggled a little and then parted so Loki could peer out. He blinked and then his scowl deepened. 

“Atrocious,” he croaked. 

Don felt a half-second of regret, mixed with worry about how his sons would react, and then his heart stopped when green light enveloped both boys. It was gone in the next instant, but Don’s heart almost shot out of his chest before he saw the boys were still there. He knew Loki had come to care for them, but he was more crabby than ever with this cold and history had shown how quickly Loki lashed out when in a bad mood. Don could tell their outfits had changed and moved around them to get a better look.

The one-piece costumes were gone, transformed into identical full three-piece suits, complete with bright green vests and matching ties. The toy crowns now looked exactly like Loki’s, solid and gleaming gold, mysteriously staying in place without any band around the back of the head. 

Sean and Kevin looked at each other, realized what had happened, and let out identical shouts of joy that made Don wince. 

“Thank you, Loki!” Kevin said, almost a screech. 

Don caught them both by the shoulder before they could tackle Loki with hugs. 

“You can thank him tomorrow when he’s feeling better, okay?” He steered his sons towards the front door. “Now, you’ve got your bags?” They both held up their Halloween-themed shopping bags. “Good. Go straight to Devon’s house and don’t give his mom any trouble tonight, got it? Or I’ll confiscate all the candy when you get home.” He fixed them both with stern looks.

“Yes, Dad,” Sean said, rolling his eyes. “I still don’t see why we can’t go on our own.” 

“Because your dad is an old fart who worries,” Don said, and was relieved when they giggled at the remark. Next year, Sean would be old enough to probably push back more, but he was grateful they were behaving now. “Have fun! Tell Ms. Anderson I said hi.” 

He watched from the doorway until they were halfway down the street. It looked like they might have started squabbling again, but once they started collecting candy, it’d be fine. Don almost wished he was the chaperone this year, to see people’s reactions when they opened their doors and found twin mini President Lokis on their front step.

He started to close the door and spotted the bowl of candy waiting for the trick-or-treaters to arrive. He always gave out candy, whether the boys were with him or not, and he’d bought plenty in preparation this year. There was another sneeze from the living room, followed by a string of irritable cursing. 

Don flicked the porch light on, then stepped out to leave the bowl on the chair by the door. It was even odds whether the first kids to arrive would dump the whole thing into their bags, but he had a more pressing issue to deal with. 

He shut the door and went back into the living room. Loki’s face was still visible, his eyes closed as he leaned back against the couch’s arm. 

“Is that all I am now? A mere caricature?” Loki muttered. “It barely even looked like me.” 

“Kids’ costumes are like that,” Don said. “Do you want that soup now?” 

“No,” Loki said, turning his head away and sniffling. He really did look miserable. After a moment, he heaved a big sigh that almost turned into another coughing fit. “Fine.” 

Don smiled, then leaned down to press a kiss to Loki’s forehead. Loki opened his eyes, his expression turning pleading as he tilted his chin up. Now Don was the one to sigh, but he dutifully pressed a kiss to Loki’s lips. If this cold was going to get him, he supposed it would’ve kicked in by now. 

Loki’s red cheeks and nose hadn’t changed, but he looked slightly mollified by the kiss. 

“I’ll come back with some soup and ginger ale, okay?” 

“Ale?” Loki said, frowning. Any further questions were stalled by him turning his head to cough into the blankets. Don brushed some of his hair out of his face and resisted the urge to call him adorable. It’d only make Loki more cranky. 

“You’ll see. Hang tight until I come back.” 

Loki nodded, closing his eyes once again. Don half-expected him to be asleep when he came back, but that wasn’t a problem. The soup could be reheated and he’d drink the ginger ale himself. 

As he headed into the kitchen, he thought again about Sean and Kevin’s costumes. Now that they’d had upgrades, courtesy of Loki, there was no way they’d go back to the cheap store-bought kind, or even something homemade. But would Loki help out if it wasn’t about improving his own image?  Guess we’ll find out next year, Don thought, and smiled to himself as he heated up the soup.

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

An Unexpected Entrance

BTAA Scarecrow x gn! Reader (NSFW)

(1,426 words)

Summary: You find the Scarecrow in a compromising position and decide to have some fun with him.

Warnings/Tags: 18+, masturbation, dom! reader, sub! scarecrow, blackmail, fear play, pain play (kinda)

Notes: lmao sorry I was gone for so long, I just started a new semester at college and I’ve been trying to adjust. anyway, I finally got around to listening to BTAA over christmas break and it was SO GOOD and I am down so incredibly bad for scarecrow so uh, here’s this. enjoy the fic

-

You could see the pale sky beginning to darken outside. Finishing up organizing the documents, your final task of the day was to deliver the files to your boss’ office upstairs. It was getting late and there was nobody else in the warehouse but you.

Not a single soul.

So when you heard a faint voice coming from within the walls, it was enough to make you shit your pants.

In this warehouse, the feeling of fear was inevitable to anyone who entered it. From low level grunts, to helpless test subjects, and to those who were just trying to get by such as yourself, fear was the one vulnerability that nobody could hide. The more one defied their fears and faced them, the less likely they were to get the axe (literally, in some cases). Although your boss, the Scarecrow, loved to see the courage, nothing pleased him more than the wailing and panic of the frightened.

Keeping your mantras of courage in mind, you pressed onward up the stairs- determined to deliver the documents, and to finally go home for the weekend. It seemed that the further you proceeded, the voice only became clearer. You could make out hushed grunts followed by the sound of your name. Trying to tune out the eerie moans and reach you destination as quickly as you could, you practically all but crash through the door of your boss’ office, where you were greeted to the source of the noise.

“Sorry to disturb you so late, but I have the-” Your words trailed off as you looked up from your papers. In front of you was Dr. Jonathan Crane, completely red in the face, leaning over his desk in an awkward position. He seemed to be trying (and failing) to mask his surprise at your unexpected entrance. He was definitely hiding something, and with the implications of what you just heard, your cheeks began to redden.

“Dr. Crane,” you murmur. Looking him up and down, Jonathan’s expression of feigned collectedness begins to falter as you toss the files on the side drawer and make your way in front of his desk, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Were you just…”

“I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” He says slowly, in a pathetic attempt at gaslighting. Detecting the slightest quiver in his voice, your inquisitive expression forms into a knowing smirk, realizing that for the first time since you’ve taken this job, you now have leverage over Gotham’s mastermind of fear.

“There’s no need for mind games, Doctor.” You chuckle darkly. Crossing the threshold of his desk, you briefly glance down and notice the unmistakable tent in his pants, proving your assumptions to be correct. Spurred on by his obvious excitement at your presence, you continue to toy with him. “There’s no shame in wanting to feel good you know.”

You could feel him tense up after placing your hand softly on his shoulder. “However, I do suggest maybe locking the door next time.” Your hands slowly trail up and down him arms. “I don’t think you realize how lucky you are that it was me who caught you and not someone like, I don’t know, Oswald Cobblepot?” You could hear his breath hitch.

Working around the warehouse, you often heard things that you probably shouldn’t have been hearing. You heard things that if repeated out loud, could land you in the Scarecrow’s clutches, with fear toxin running through your bloodstream or a kill collar around your neck.

“How did you..?” Crane grits out.

“I wonder what he would think after he saw what I saw.” You continue to probe. Having the Scarecrow in such a vulnerable position not only increased your adrenaline and growing arousal, but also allowed you to get away with the words you knew could get you into some deep shit. “I wonder how that would affect your deal with him on the conflict regarding Harvey Dent.”

“Oh please,” he groaned, “So, you know about one of my higher-profile patients? Big whoop.”

“It’s not about who your patient is, but rather what kind of experiments you’ve been conducting on him.” While placing a strong kiss on his cheek, you whisper in his ear. “Let’s just say, I know that it’s not your usual brand of medicine.”

Before he could protest, Jonathan let out a low whine when he felt your mouth on his neck. Your hands began to twist down his chest, beginning to unbutton his shirt. You could feel him shiver at the sensation of your hands grazing over his chest as each button became undone.

“You know, I checked,” You whisper, pressing soft kisses down his neck. “On the paper work, there was an unnamed compound along with your usual shipment.” With deft hands, Dr. Crane’s shirt was completely open, leaving your hands to wander across his chest. “The compound came from an ACE Chemicals facility which, rumor has it, experiments on pharmaceuticals- typically used by psychiatrists such as yourself, with that of the Joker’s laughing gas.” Harshly gripping at his chest for emphasis, Crane winced; your blackmail seeming to increase his arousal. “…Care to explain?”

For the first time since you entered his office, Jonathan looked back where his eyes met yours. He looked intense, and dangerous- almost like a warning, but God, also so desperate. Refusing to speak, you knew that he was trying to defy you at your game. Luckily, you don’t often like to play fair.

“Ok fine,” you sigh, with artificial defeat. “You don’t have to tell me about that, instead, let’s talk about what you were doing before I came in.” You soothe your hands up to his shoulders, delicately tracing down to his collarbones. “I want to hear you say it.”

For some reason, that seemed to shake him more than your discovery of whatever shady dealings he had going on. Jonathan seemed hesitant, debating if he should tell the truth or not. When he took too long to answer, you grew impatient. He let out a loud whimper when you sharply nipped at his neck, biting just shy of drawing any blood.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” You chuckle. Your hand makes its way up to Jonathan’s throat and wraps around him firmly. Not hard enough to choke him out, but enough to show that you mean business. “C’mon doc, you usually have so much to say! No need to get all shy on me now, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

“I was jerking off.” He confesses almost immediately. Christ, he was pathetic and you fucking loved it.

“There we go!” You laugh. “Now, was that so hard?”

Jonathan shakes his head. You can see him burning with shame and trepidation at your next move. You now begin to understand why the Scarecrow is so obsessed with fear, as you drink up Jonathan’s nerves like if it were that ice cold water bottle on your nightstand after waking up from a nap with a dry throat- Excruciatingly satisfying.

You rake your nails along the back of his neck, fingernails biting gently into his skin. “Look at me, Jonathan.” You order him.

He gives a low whine as he complies, turning around and gazing at your lips. Taking his chin in between your fingers, you tilt his head to bring your lips to his in a tender kiss.

Letting his guard down, Crane practically melts, giving you the perfect opening to slip in your tongue. As the kiss grew more heated, you grip Jonathan tighter; holding him in place for when you finally decide to nip at his lips.

When he yelps in surprise, you seize the opportune time to flip him back around to face over his desk, and unbuckle his belt.

“You are going to finish what you started, understand?”

Crane nods his head.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” he whimpers.

“Good.” In a shared effort, Jonathan’s pants fall to the ground as you see him reach for his aching cock.

“…And as you fuck yourself, you are going to tell me what you were thinking about and what you want me to do to you, got it?”

“Oh God, Yes.” He groans, feeling your mouth leave marks on his sensitive neck.

“I want you to say my name, as you begin to lose yourself; just like before.”

Hearing a compliant moan erupt from his throat, Jonathan’s hand begins to jerk himself off at a steady pace, already eager to listen to you.

“…And remember, don’t let my being here stop you.”

[thegreymoon]

I am really not the target demographic for Red, White and Royal Blue and honestly, the entire premise sounds dumb af from where I'm sitting, but all the gifs that crossed my dash looked hilarious and that main actor is beyond gorgeous, so I am going to give it a shot tonight. My expectations are so low, that unless this movie gets a shovel and starts digging, there is no chance it cannot exceed them. I am so ready to eat my words, just give me some pretty people, mindless fluff and basic comedy and I will be happy, I swear!

***

TWO FUCKING HOURS?

You guys, I'm going to be honest here, I don't think I have it in me to sit through this 😭😭

***

LOL, only a younger brother 🤣🤣 They did not have the guts to go all in and make him the heir to the throne.

Also, lol @ "Prince of England's hearts" but even more so at "whom all the world adores" 🤣🤣 I cannot. I am absolutely not the target demographic for this and I don't think I have it in me to just go along with this, fictional British royal family or not. Who speaks like this? Who even believes it?

Anyway. Abolish the monarchy, Guillotine them all. Long live the glorious revolution!

***

LMFAO 🤣🤣

Well, at least he looks equally disgusted.

If we can't off the royal family, how about we just off this news announcer? Because I am getting so much second-hand embarrassment.

***

LMAO, OK, he gets ONE point 🤣🤣

OK, fine, two points, because he is stupid beautiful and the reason I sat down to watch this in the first place 😤

***

Yassss, girlfriend has great taste!

I'm two minutes in and so far, she's my favourite. I would totally watch a two-hour movie of her touring London and giving commentary on the yumminess of various guys she encounters.

***

LMAO, is he going to get hammered and smash the obscene 75-thousand-pound cake? 🤣🤣

Because why else would they mention that price point and also show the cake in all its humongous 8-tier glory 🤣🤣

Here for the diplomatic incident, ngl, I would totally read the shit out of that in the tabloids the next day 🤣🤣

***

NOOOOO, THE CAKE IS RIGHT BEHIND THEM!

THEY WILL TOTALLY TOPPLE THAT CAKE!

***

Okay, I am laughing 🤣🤣

***

SCREAMING 🤣🤣

I saw it coming from a mile away, but goddamn, it DELIVERED! 🤣🤣

***

I can't stop laughing 🤣🤣

Watching this was such a good decision 🤣🤣

***

LOL, if this was a real-life event, I would spend a week gleefully reblogging it on Tumblr, no lie 🤣🤣

Also, it is a 9-TIER CAKE, not 8 🤣🤣 The more, the messier!

***

LMFAO 🤣🤣

Also, OMG! Uma Thurman! 😍 It's been a hundred years since I watched her in anything!

***

"Sunshine of my heart" 🤣🤣

This movie is hilarious 🤣🤣

***

Wait, Sarah Shahi??

I loved her in Life! I also watched Fairly Legal for her and thought she was stunning in The L Word! I'm forever bitter we never got to see that Nancy Drew adaptation with her in the main role 😕

***

The thing that is the most difficult for me to suspend my disbelief for is the idea that these two overly privileged young men involved in their countries' respective politics are actually nice people.

I keep chanting to myself, "You are not here for realism! You are not here for realism! YOU ARE NOT HERE FOR REALISM!"

To varying levels of success 😕

***

Romantic comedies are so not my genre. And I am so not here for ex-boyfriends or whatever this guy is.

I need Alex and Henry to get back together ASAP and start smashing cakes again because I'm starting to get bored.

***

These are gutter-level jokes.

Seriously, they couldn't get more creative?

***

They have the most basic taste in literature ever. It doesn't even feel authentic, more like what a nineteen-year-old girl thinks good taste in literature should look like.

***

I feel like I am extremely uncharitable towards this movie (the cake thing was funny tho) but it is very hard to take their bland flirting, pedestrian romance and pathetic humour seriously when you're coming into this from 2ha 😕 The standards that have been set are on another planet compared to what we are being given here.

***

Please 😭

And smash another cake, otherwise I don't know how I'm going to make it through another hour-and-a-half of this 😭😭

***

The things I will watch for pretty people 😭

He truly is stupid beautiful and makes this thing infinitely more watchable every time he's on screen.

***

I'm with Henry on this one, this party is like something straight out of my worst nightmares and crushing on the tall, hot guy seems like the only tolerable thing in this whole hellscape.

***

Aww, baby, he is not having a good time.

He wants to kiss him for New Year's too!

***

LOL.

Well. That escalated 🤣🤣

***

NOOOOO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST STARING AFTER HIM?

RUN AFTER HIM AND TELL HIM IT'S OK AND THAT YOU SHOULD CONTINUE SOMEWHERE BEHIND CLOSED DOORS!!

***

And some women! 👀

She's my favourite character in this thing, lol, followed closely by Sarah Shahi and Uma Thurman. And then Prince Henry 😅

***

This guy stands no chance to the level that it's embarrassing he still keeps trying.

I almost feel sorry for him, but I kinda have the feeling that he's going to be the one to out Alex and Henry, so my sympathy is very shallow. Just know when you've lost, my man, and MOVE ON.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Australiens (2014)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

Australiens walks into the room like it’s about to be your new step daddy but it couldn’t be more wrong. The creativity started and stopped with its title. The rest is all downhill. I can forgive the horrible special effects but the jokes are horrendous and the characters worse.

17 years after a close encounter with a flying saucer, Andi Gibson (Rita Artmann), her brother Elliot (Doug Hatch), and her bandmates Cam (Tamara McLaughlin), Keith (Lawrence Silver), and John (Joe Bauer) spot an alien ship. It’s a full-blown invasion focussed squarely on Australia. Convinced she’s the key to ending the conflict, Andi leads them on a mission to save the world.

I’ll get the special effects out of the way. At best, the aliens’ ship look passable. When they start firing beams and knocking over buildings, it isn’t convincing but you give this low-budget venture a pass. Then, you get to see who pilots those ships and any good faith you might’ve had vanishes. The creatures look so awful you expect them to start giving you directions to some run-down tourist trap or the college multimedia course. Still, you might dock Australiens some points but admit the movie is worth checking out if the writing was worth a damn, which it isn’t.

It takes about 2 minutes for Australiens to make a joke about Uranus. The first time, I'll give it a pass (partially because a child makes the joke) but a similar comedic affront comes around every 20 minutes or so. That’s the level of writing we’re talking about. It’s like the movie is telling you it’s going to be garbage right away with horrible performances and a wig so unconvincing you’re not sure if it’s purposely crap. You’ve run out of fingers to count down things the movie does wrong when it suddenly flashes forward to introduce us to the story's REAL protagonists. At least we're making our way towards the end credits. That's something, right?

Each of our heroes is either an annoying stereotype or irritating for another reason. Andi is obsessed with spacemen, which is understandable considering she saw one as a kid and is witnessing an invasion. Keep that in mind when I say she takes things too far. Even her bandmates are fed up with her talks of little green men. They’ve got bigger things to worry about because they collectively have less musical talent than a carrot. If your protagonist isn’t going to be competent or intelligent, they better be charismatic. Failing this, they better be funny. If not, you get someone like Andi.

The rest of our main characters fare no better. Elliot is one of these cartoon nerds that doesn’t exist in real life. You can predict every single one of his lines from the moment we see him puffing on his ashthma inhaler as a kid. I had given up on the film long before he started talking about a strange lump on his testicles. I hoped it wouldn’t get any worse, but it does. This Tasmania-obsessed script lasts a gargantuan hour and fifty-one minutes. In bad comedy time, that roughly translates to a thousand Earth years.

Once in a while, the movie will manage to catch you off-guard with an amusing gag. Does it redeem it in any way? No. The attempts at humor are so lazy it’s the kind of thing you’d see high schoolers come up with. Seeing it delivered by “professionals” fills you with a level of embarrassment that threatens to be fatal. I know you’re not supposed to take what happens in this story too seriously but there isn’t even any attempt to make the plot make sense and at several points it looks like it’s about to try and tie things together to make multi-layered gags… and then Australiens just gives up. You'll be in agony until its post-credit scene.

Australiens is the kind of movie that’s too pathetic to have a Wikipedia page. No one could enjoy it enough to take the time and effort necessary to write a synopsis worthy of the site. Everyone who hates it (so, everyone who wasn’t involved in its production) will be glad to put as much distance between them and this black hole of humour as humanly possible. (January 22, 2021)

[faesdreaming]

Addiction- Yandere Mafia Boss Sukuna x Reader

an: I do not condone this behaviour, this is purely fiction. Do not interact if you do not like it, or can’t stomach it.

tw: dark themes, yandere, mafia au, violence, possessive behaviour, toxic relationships, kidnapping, branding, captivity

Sukuna is a selfish man. He’s a self-absorbed, egotistical bastard. The devil himself, a wretch of a man who is ruthless in everything he does. His cruel touch has cursed the lives of many; killings and tortures all done in his name, by his order. Sukuna does as pleases, indulging in his greed. Yet he still yearns for more. He possesses a desire that will never be sated. There had been kindness within him, once. A different time; when the world had not exposed its evil to him. That warmth was extinguished with his mother’s dying breath, and there lay no hope of reviving it. Until he met you.

A puny thing really, compared to the low-levelled goon of his that was currently harassing you. Such a classless act being committed outside one his preferred establishments, it was irritating. He didn’t intend to save you; more so punish the lackey for his annoyance. You were a pathetic, pitiful, cornered creature, not worth any attention. Then, out of nowhere, you kicked him straight in the nuts. Sukuna was simultaneously surprised, impressed, and amused. Before the goon could actually harm you, Sukuna stepped in and knocked him out. You were shaking from shock and terror. However, when you looked up at him, there was no fear eyes, only gratitude. Perhaps that was the reason he played a gentle saviour. A reward, he decided, for the entertainment you provided. Escorting you to your car and watching you drive off in the old rusted thing should have been the end of the whole affair, but it wasn’t. You lingered in the back of Sukuna’s mind for days. You plagued his thoughts, haunting him. His interest evolved into a nagging curiosity, and regardless of how he tried to resist it, the urge to know more about you won out; and down the rabbit hole he fell.

It began with the discovery of your name. It was all Sukuna needed to know, the name of the person he’d saved, the name of the person who tormented his mind. Yet it was not enough. He had to know more. He uncovered every bit of your being, leaving nothing unknown; your address, your number, your favourite foods and activities, your deepest secrets, all known to Sukuna. The more he knew, the more the obsession grew. You were perfection incarnate. Something, someone, truly divine that had graced the world with their presence. He desired to possess that divinity, to possess you. You didn’t deserve him, not at all. Sukuna was a depraved being, unworthy of even being near you. Alas, fate was cruel, and Sukuna even crueler. He had to have you, and would do anything in pursuit of you. You lived in the seediest part of time, he reasoned, in a shabby apartment that you could barely afford. You needed him to keep you safe and protected, you needed to be saved. He had his most trusted men tail you while he prepared the most luxurious room for you; you deserved only the best after all. It took time, yet Sukuna pieced together a flawless plan. Soon you would be with him, where you belonged. And how he couldn’t wait for that day to come.

As time marched on slowly, Sukuna became increasingly impatient; the anticipation of your arrival into his arms was overwhelming. Once the day arrived he became more agitated than usual. He had yearned for this day, for you, and soon he would have you. Sukuna was halfway through a meeting when his phone buzzed. The moment he glanced down and the read the message he’d received, Sukuna swiftly exited the meet room, ignoring the shock of his underlings. You had been safely delivered to his estate, your new home. Sukuna sped home in his car, anticipation building up and threatening to boil over. When he finally arrived Sukuna rushed through the door, up the grand staircase, and navigated through the extensive maze of corridors to your designated room. Taking a baited breath, he carefully opened the door and set his eyes upon you.

There you lie, his darling, his beloved, the only thing that could ever invoke such weakness from him— and you were here, lying right in front of him. You were peacefully dozing off. Sukuna stayed by your side for who knows how long, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest. Then, your eyes twitched, fluttering open. You awoke disgruntled, initial confusion turning into panic at the realization that you weren’t in your apartment. Sukuna watched you for a moment, before deciding to grab your attention.

“So you’ve finally awaken, hm?” He hummed, watching as you slowly turn towards him. Your expression was akin to a frightened doe. Slowly, the gears turned in your head and you gaped in recognition, “You! Did you do this to me?!”

“As in returning you to where you belong? Yes, I did.” He replied neutrally.

“What the hell are you talking about,” you snarled. “Quite,” he ordered, dropping his neutral tone for a more menacing one. “You’re mine, I saved you didn’t I? You should repay the favour.” “Let me go!” You cry, struggling with all your might. “Please,” you beg as you finally break, beginning to sob. “Enough, there’s no need for that. As long as you behave, you’ll be rewarded.”

With that, Sukuna stalked out the room. He knew it would take time for you to adjust, after all anyone would react poorly to such sudden change. All Sukuna could do was wait, and he’d done so before. He wanted to own you not only in body, but in mind and soul as well. He yearned for a normal relationship with you— well, as normal as a relationship with him can be. So, he remained patient, albeit with much difficulty. Sukuna loves you so much and he knows, he knows, he must be understanding of your feelings, yet he cannot impede his desire for you, for your warmth and kindness, for everything and anything but the fear you display. He wants for you to not cower when you see him. He wants for you to tremble nervously. He wants you to not look at him with the terror and hatred that others do. Sukuna wants— no he needs you to love him as he loves you, to devote yourself to him as he’s done for you. And he will do anything to attain that, even it requires him to wait forever.

Then again, perhaps that patient leniency is what lead to this situation in the first place, Sukuna muses to himself. You kneel in front of tears pooling at your eyes, false apologies spilling out of your lips. His indulgence of you had lead to your attempt to leave him, to abandon him just as everyone else had. Perhaps you weren’t an angel then, rather you were a demon; a sultry temptress sent to corrupt him further, to ensnare him in your web of lies and devour him whole. Well, you’d succeeded. He’d gone soft for you, for his precious, sweet thing. But now you’d revealed your true nature. You did not need his protecting, no you needed him to correct you. He would purify you, lead you into the light, into his light. Yes, he was your saviour and this was all done for you, for your betterment. Sukuna feels a twisted pleasure blossoming in his heart, your “corrections” would begin now.

“Please Sukuna, please. I’m sorry, I really am so sorry,” you plead, sniffling and hiccuping slightly, “I won’t do it again, I swear!”

Sukuna looks down at you, smiling unnervingly. Gently, he kneels, reaching down to wipe the tears from your right eye, and coos down at you, “Don’t worry, my love. I won’t hurt you. How could I? I love you more than life itself. I cherish you more than anything in this world.” You nod tentatively, lulled by his low and kind tone and sweet words. “But, you’ve been thoroughly ungrateful. Behaving so poorly, and now this. I don’t blame you, of course. It’s my fault after all. I failed to teach you properly, so now I must rectify this mistake. This will merely be a small lesson my love, done for your sake, not mine.”

With that, Sukuna stood up. He towers above you, like a god, your god. You stopped crying, the tears sticking to your face, making your cheeks ans eyes red, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You look adorable like this, thought Sukuna, still smiling. His smile grew almost sadistic as he gestured towards his men. You furrowed your brows in confusion, most liking wondering what he meant by “lesson.” Your eyes dart around the room, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then, you spot it; a branding iron. You shriek, attempting to run but a few muscular guards hold you down. You thrash around wildly, begging and screaming. A scene truly oscar worthy in Sukuna’s opinion, though it didn’t invoke any pity from the guards. Finally, you turn to him.

“Sukuna don’t! Please, I beg of you! I’ll behave, I promise. I’ve learned my lesson I swear! I only need you, I only love you!” You screech, pleadingly. Sukuna hums, unaffected by your display. He rips off the section of your shirt covering your lower back. He traces some letters onto the bare skin. Reaching out his arm to receive the branding iron, he tuts, “Ah, but darling, how could you have learned a lesson that I am yet too teach? You must not lie, although we shall save that lesson for another time. Today’s lesson is on who you belong too: me.”

Carefully, Sukuna lined the branding iron up perfectly. And then he brought it down on you. You let out a blood-curdling scream, howling and writhing in pain as your skin sizzled delightfully. Sukuna held it place for a good few seconds before removing it. Grinning, he read and reread the “property of Sukuna” that had been burned into your skin. Proof of his ownership over you that was permanently imprinted into your skin. You continued to wriggle and sob from the searing pain. This, Sukuna thought in full confidence, was a lesson that neither of you would forget. Sighing contently, he rang a bell, summoning your personal servants, or babysitters.

“Allow the brand to fully set in. Do not cause additional pain, but do not relieve the current pain they’re feeling either. Disobey and you will be severely punished, understood?” He ordered, darkly. The maids nodded and carefully carried you out the room. Sukuna turned around, glaring sharply, “Well then, out! All of you!”

His men scrambled out of the room, unwilling to fave their boss’s wrath should they disobey. Alone, Sukuna poured himself a whiskey and relished in the pleasure he received from your “lesson.” He needed to own you, to have you. To be the only one who could love you, who could hurt you; it would be him and him alone. It was not love he felt, it was an addiction, to you. An addiction that he must feed, Sukuna mused as he thought about more “lesson” plans. After all, he had promised to teach you about the wrongs of lying.

[spell-cleaver]

WHUMPTOBER No. 5 EVERY WHUMPEE'S NEEDS Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

Read it on AO3 or on FFN instead!

Luke’s bloodstained bandages and sheets would torment him for a long time to come. Vader watched him lie in the new, clean medical bed on the Executor, watching the thin tube feed liquid into his arm. Though his lenses tinted everything red, that somehow seemed even redder. The blood pumping from his arm into his son’s, dark and lifegiving, his best chance of survival after that vengeful trooper had decided to slit his throat rather than deliver him to the Empire alive as required. Luke had been as pale when Vader finally saw him as he had been on Bespin, when he’d violently rejected him and his life as the son of a Sith Lord in one fell fall.

He had denied the truth then. He could not deny it now. The blood they shared was what was keeping him alive.

Vader glanced at Luke’s neck, bandaged and plastered with bacta. He was tied down to the hospital bed so that he didn’t move his head and neck while unconscious and tear open the carefully stitched wound again, but the fresh bandages only highlighted his pallor. Blood was starting to seep through again.

Vader felt a phantom pain in his own neck, sharp and intense. He had not been close enough to feel Luke’s pain when the act happened, but his mere imagining was agonising.

A flicker of consciousness—of memory. Vader saw rushes of grey metal walls, an endless shaft. Terrified friends. The emotionless face of a medical droid that nonetheless seemed to smile at him.

Luke’s eyes opened. His lips formed dry, sandpaper words. “What—”

“Do not move,” Vader said.

Luke immediately bucked in the bed, struggling. A thin line of blood dribbled down his neck; the tube bunched and stilled, the steady motion of blood building up.

The images flashing through Vader’s mind stopped, enough that he was clear-headed to repeat: “I said, do not move.”

“Like hell,” Luke snarled. “Where am I? What am I doing here? Why—” He bucked his head again. “Why can’t I—”

Vader reached out to tweak the bunched tube. It straightened out and continued its inexorable pump. He was beginning to feel woozy, Luke’s panic flooding into him. “You are injured. You must not move, or you will worsen it.”

“Let me go. Let me see my friends—”

“Be still,” Vader ordered, reaching out in the Force to do—something. Shake the boy? That wouldn’t help the situation. But he just needed Luke to stop moving.

Luke stopped moving. The line of his neck thrummed with tension; he glared at Vader. “What did you do?”

Vader sat back. “Nothing.”

“What is this?”

“You lost a great deal of blood. I donated some to you to improve your situation. The medic should come forthwith to decide whether or not you are ready.”

“You…” Luke stared at him. “…donated blood to save my life?”

“We are father and son. The likelihood of a match was high, and I was available.”

“Why would you do that?”

“We are father and son.”

Luke gaped at him. What was that supposed to mean? “That’s not the impression I got from you on Bespin.”

“Bespin was a test.”

“One that I failed?”

“You did admirably.” Offence shot through Vader. “The fight you put up—”

“Was pathetic.”

“Was excellent for the level of training you have received. I expected you to be captured within moments. You were not.”

Luke hesitated, uncertain. “It was terrible.”

“It was not.”

“It wasn’t?” Something eased in his chest. He wanted to believe that. “It wasn’t.”

“No.” Vader jerked his head up. “The medic is here.”

The medic was only there for ten minutes at most, detaching the tube from Vader’s arm and running tests on Luke. Vader ignored much of the bustle to focus on his son, while Luke stood feeling like a prize bantha as he was poked, prodded, and examined, albeit with the intense care afforded to a very high-ranking prisoner. The medic was very careful, and there was only a slight ache in his arm, his neck as she peeled the bacta patch back away. Vader felt the urge to, then watched Luke, run his fingers along the ridged scab there, imagining the sensation: rough skin under calloused fingertips, the slight, involuntary catch of breath without a respirator that came from being face to face with what had almost stopped him breathing altogether.

Luke watched his arm as well, his prosthetic hand, frowning. It moved seemingly sluggishly.

“Is your hand well?” Vader clipped out. The medic tensed, immediately looking to the hand in her administrations. “Show it to me.”

Luke fisted it and lowered it to his side with difficulty. It was moving oddly, almost outside of his will, but he wasn’t about to tell Vader that. “It’s fine,” he clipped out. “No thanks to you.”

“Show it to me.”

Luke showed it to him, grimacing and thunderous with reluctance. Vader ignored him, reaching for it. “If Rebel technology is subpar, the Empire can provide—”

“Do not touch my hand again.”

Vader’s arms drew back almost of their own volition. He stayed back as well. “Leave,” he ordered the medic. She left, and he continued, “I will not hurt you. The loss of your hand was necessary to de-escalate the fight.”

“Necessary?”

“You would not have backed down.” Luke caught the pride in Vader’s voice, and Vader caught Luke’s discomfort over it.

“You wiped the floor with me. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t have found another way to de-escalate the situation, or at least told me the truth before permanently maiming me. This”—Luke popped open the control panel of his wrist and wiggled his fingers—“is your fault. Did you just want to make me like you?”

Vader froze at that, staring at Luke’s wrist. The sort of injury he’d doled out had seemed rote at the time. But the permanence of those wires in Luke’s flesh—

Luke scoffed at the lack of response, lowering his wrist. He ignored the stab of disappointment that shot through him. “Do you want to make me you? Still? Is that what this—turning me to the dark side—is all about?”

“The dark side is the only way you will survive. It is the only way I have survived.”

A pang ran through Luke; he flitted his gaze up and down Vader’s body. “It made you survive… like this?”

“A Jedi injured me. The Sith saved me.”

“Couldn’t the Jedi have saved you?”

“No. It is not strong enough. The dark side is.”

Is the dark side stronger?

Quicker. Easier. More seductive.

Luke swallowed. He couldn’t really argue with that; he could feel the truth of it too keenly. “Might doesn’t make right. Just because it’s more powerful—”

“It would protect you better.”

“The only thing I need protecting from is the Empire you serve. And you.” Vader wanted to wither at the look Luke gave him, again. “You cut off my hand, and you’re not even sorry about it?”

“I am sorry about it,” Vader said, the emotions blooming violent and agonising in his chest. “Luke. I apologise. I should not have hurt you.”

Luke leaned back, surprised, and creased his brow. “…alright,” he said, eyeing Vader. He could sense his genuine consternation, his conviction that it had been wrong, but it hadn’t been there a moment before. “My point still stands.”

“You do not need protection against me. I will protect you.”

“I believe you.” Luke softened his voice, like a wildcat sheathing its claws in a swift, smooth move. His belief was new, but it was strong. “But the Empire is still evil.”

“The Empire has brought order to the galaxy.”

“If you can find order in the ashes.”

“There are no ashes.”

“Do you know what you and your troopers did to my aunt and uncle?”

Vader faltered, chest clenching, though his suit was certainly intact. “I do.”

“That wasn’t fair.”

“It was not.”

“I’ve seen that happen across the Empire. Everywhere.”

“If we ruled, we—”

“It cannot be reformed!” Luke shouted, clenching his fists. Vader clenched his fists as well. Luke’s passion was loud in his head, vibrating through him like when he’d listen to Padmé’s speeches on the front lines of the Clone Wars, and increase the volume until he could feel her words in his bones. “If you’re so intent on me working with you—”

“Then we will simply have to—”

“—it’ll be as we take it down.”

“—destroy it.”

Luke stopped. Stared at him.

“You want to do that?” he asked.

“I want to be with you,” Vader replied. Luke’s pull was magnetic. He needed to be next to his son, Padmé’s son, and he was sure that it did not matter how. “But you will need to protect yourself.”

“I can protect myself.”

“I found you with your neck gaping open.”

Luke closed his eyes at the barrage of terror and grief that washed over him. “I can…” he began, but his conviction fled him halfway through. His father’s fear edged into him instead; he was right. Of course, he was right. “I can be helped. You can help me.”

“I train you to protect yourself.” He put his hand on Luke’s shoulder, willing him not to flinch away. He didn’t flinch away. His shoulder was unmoving under his hand and will. “With the dark side.”

“Not the dark side.” Luke shook his head, though he still didn’t buck his hand off his shoulder. “I won’t train with the dark side—”

“It is the only way.”

Luke paused, letting the words whir through his mind. The Force was wrapped around them, packaging them as truth. “It’s the only way?”

“It is,” Vader intoned, infusing his words with certainty.

Luke nodded. “Then I will,” he said. “I promise. If you promise to—”

“I will fight by your side wherever you decide to fight,” Vader announced. He climbed out of the chair he was seated in beside the medbay bed and knelt next to Luke, removing his hand from his shoulder to clasp his hands. “I will—”

“No!” Luke stood up, pushing Vader back. “Don’t kneel to me.” It reminded him of nothing more than Jabba’s vassals kneeling to him in all the stories, of slaves forced to genuflect.

It was a perfectly good way of expressing his undying devotion to the boy whose will he would execute, and Vader did not understand Luke’s objection.

“Stand up,” Luke ordered. “Stop doing that.”

“Climb back into bed. You need rest.”

“I said—”

“You need—”

They both touched the Force at the same time and blinked.

Vader stared at himself kneeling, the light of the medbay shockingly white and redless, his body light and airy save for the heavy sack that was his right hand. Luke wanted to gasp from pain as he stared up at himself, the joints where metal met flesh burning in this position, the feedback in the mask dizzying him.

The Force, and the midichlorians that flowed through both their veins, joining them together in flesh and spirit, hummed.

They blinked again. Luke stared down at Vader and forced him to stand. It was just a thought, but Vader stood. And it only took a thought from Vader before Luke was pushed back against the bed, his eyes closed, and sleepiness started to sink into him.

“This is strange,” they murmured as one, confusion and apprehension flowing between them. But they both smiled an identical smile. It was strange, but not bad.

Being bound to a father, a son, whom they were never meant to be separated from, was never bad. The same blood that ran through their veins had bound them; now, it bound them tighter than before.

Vader sat next to Luke and, though he did not sleep, dove into unconsciousness alongside him. They dreamt the same dream, of two Sith toppling the Galactic Empire for the Rebellion with copious amount of blood, their hopes, dreams, goals as tightly entwined as their thoughts already were.

[doctorofmagic]

My thoughts on What If... Doctor Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands?

The very title of the episode sends a shiver down my spine. And this is where we’re going to start.

~ long post under the cut ~

A year ago, I wrote this post as an attemp to dive into one of the most important traits in Doctor Strange’s personality: love. Stephen is a being made of love, made to love, no matter which interpretation you have when you watch Infinity War. If you don’t read comic books, you’ll understand the moment you meet Donna. You’ll begin to understand how her death reshaped his entire subjectivity out of fear of failing, being powerless and unable to control everything around him (especially death), thus the arrogant and yet a disaster of a man we all know.

Where do I even start? Stephen loved her sister deeply and felt responsible for her death. And then, slowly, he also lost his parents and his brother. He fell in love with Clea but he also pushed her away. He loved Zelma platonically and lied to her, which was enough for them to break their bond. He felt attracted to Kanna but screwed things up, even though they remain friends. He was forced to kill the Ancient One, the only father figure he had ever since his father died. And lastly, the only person who would never leave his side... also left. Yes, even Wong. Stephen has SO much love to give but he’s also afraid because he’s cursed. He truly believes his love in poison. And would you look at that? What If really delivered a story where this is actually true.

What If Doctor Strange Lost His Heart Instead of His Hands?

The level of understanding when it comes to the character is... inconceivable. What could possibly reshape Stephen into following a dark path but love? The very premise of the whole episode. This is so much more than a love letter. This is literally too much, in all senses.

Fine, let’s begin.

What if the best of intentions has very strange consequences?

No. You used the word “strange” for the pun but this is not the word. Nah-ah. I’d go with ATROCIOUS, for starters. Things are gonna escalate so quickly, my friends.

Seriously, tho? Christine is SO SO SO SO beautiful, they’re so cute together. I have this feeling that MCU!Stephen was quite toxic because of his arrogance and this is why they didn’t work out. But WhatIf!Stephen???????? He’s always praising her, teasing her in a healthy way, respecting her and listening to her. HE TRULY LOVES HER, I’M GONNA CRY ALL OVER AGAIN, PLEASE, NOT THE CRÈME BRÛLÉE, PLEASE

I’m going to leave this shot here because we need to go back to it later. Hold that thought.

And bonus points to “Yeah, well, I would call that quite remarkable.” / “Well, I would say the same about you.”

GODS. THE PAIN. STOP THE PAIN.

So in this reality, Stephen didn’t caused the car accident because he was checking his phone while driving. Also it was not the reckless attempt to pass the truck. Well, maybe it was the consequence of this act? The fact is, the car behind them loses control, which makes them crash. Does it matter? We’ll learn later that no, it doesn’t.

And yep... Christine dies. Have you noticed the shattered heart? Ah, the pain only gets better and better.

Again, Stephen blames himself. More than anything, this is so important because Stephen is all about guilt. We still need to meet Donna so we can add yet another layer of guilt. But the feeling exists. This is what corrupts Stephen’s heart and soul in all his iterations. This is what makes him the character I love so much. I love this SO. MUCH. In addition, his stubbornness to accept his condition. Man won’t take a no. This, this is Doctor Strange in character. Stop complaining about NWH Stephen, it’s pathetic.

Okay, “grief-stricken”, Stephen found the Mystic Arts and became a sorcerer. That’s when he learned about the Time Stone, the Eye of Agamotto and Dormammu. Nothing changes, he saves the universe. But time does not heal his deepest wound.

I love Wong so much. Every time Wong does something, the world is healed. Really. We’re going back to him as well but for now I’ll just leave this shot.

BUT STEPHEN, DOING SOMETHING RECKLESS? HE’D NEVAH

Aaaaaaaannnnnnd then he did.

He goes back in time. It’s been two years since he lost Christine. I think he reacted pretty nicely, despite the circumstances. Now let’s go back to that shot I said I was saving for later.

Stephen is so light-hearted here. Also, during the first time he lost Christine, he had no idea what “The Price is Right” was. He knows now, which means he probably tried to learn more about the show because of her, because of grief. HAHAHA MORE PAIN

AND THEN HE

AND THEN SHE DIES AGAIN

AND THEN HE KEEPS GOING BACK IN TIME

AND SHE KEEPS DYING

AND THE MUSIC

AND HIS VOICE

AND HE TRIES TO CHANGE FATE BUT IT CAN’T BE AVERTED

HE EVEN TRIES TO STAY AWAY FROM HER LIFE BUT SHE DIES ALL THE SAME, WHY

AND EVERY TIME THEY CRASH, HE FEELS THE PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL PAIN AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, WHY

I’M-- *ugly sobbing noises*

Apparently, not.

And this scene when he simply... closes his eyes before she dies again...?

This is where this episode had me in endless tears. It got me the four times I watched it. I’m dead serious.

Okay, so, next the Ancient One appears to Stephen, explaining that Christine’s death is an Absolute Point in time. It cannot be changed. Stephen needs the accident to become the Sorcerer Supreme and defeat Dormammu.

And this is where Stephen starts his journey into darkness. “Nothing is impossible, you taught me that. I only require more power.” Disobeying the Ancient One, Stephen then travels in time, seeking the Library of Cagliostro. Now, if you’re not aware of that, Cagliostro was a sorcerer who studied time in comics, and later became Sise-Neg (there’s a recent post on this because of the new Defenders run). It’s funny to think that Sise-Neg also destroyed the world when he became a god, however he grew past his pettiness and remade reality. Stephen did not possess such power, as we’re about to see.

PS: “Stop torturing yourself, Stephen.” Naur but he should use this line like a mantra. Especially comics!Stephen.

Not gonna lie, tho. This place reminds me of the Temple of the Vishanti from T&T (of course I was going to insert T&T somewhere, it’s me).

And of course they’d go for a pun with his name haha. I don’t know how to feel about this, tho. I feel like the episode is too heavy and dark for comedy. But it is what it is.

Okay but why some books are in cages??????????? And wow, it seems Cagliostro also gathered knowledge about several fields of magic.

And then Stephen learns that, in order to break an Absolute Point, he needs to absorb more power. This is when I went “oh-oh, here we go”.

And for real, is this Shuma-Gorath? Why are they keeping his name a secret? Is this the same creature from the first episode with Captain Carter, right? RIGHT? It has to be Shuma-Gorath.

Of course he tries to be polite and ends up all hurt haha. O’Bengh warns him about love but he will not listen. “Love can break more than your heart. It can shatter your mind.”/ “Is she worth the pain?”. Please, this is Stephen. He eats pain for breakfast.

Also, also, let’s take a break. We’re finally going to get monsterf0cker tentacle-lover Stephen Strange. It will cost us everything but here we goooooooooooo (yes, I went frame by frame for your more obscure fanservice needs)

Gods, I love this sequence so much it hurts. Okay, here we go.

Shmebulock???????????

AND HE STOLE THE CAPE??????????? AND DREW THE LINE ON BUGS??????

The grasp this man is holding on me right now...

Some of you will understand. I’m with you.

And here are the grostesque ones. These are hard to take SS but I had to.

Animation, sound effects, OST? CHEF’S KISS TO ALL

And lastly... the tentacles. Yeah, if you’re new... this is a thing.

Fanservice. Fanservice everywhere. (low-key the reason I also waited to write this review, I wanted to enjoy this part so badly but I was too sad for that lmao)

Okay so. O’Bengh is suddenly OLD and DYING, until we realize that Stephen spent CENTURIES absorbing mystic beings. CENTURIES. WTF STEPHEN. He had nothing in mind but the goal to save Christine. And people wonder why he went insane???? I’m sorry, O’Bengh, but I can’t take you serious when you still call Stephen Sorcerer Armani. Oh, and also because you watched him absorb beings for centuries in silence lmao. But I guess I have to because you said that Stephen is split in two since the Ancient One cast a spell on him, splitting the timelines and making them exist in the same reality before he could travel back in time. I know, it’s complex. Anything for the plot.

And now good!Stephen has an evil!twin who wants to absorb him back in order to become whole and break the Absolute Point. Cool.

I said I wanted to talk more about Wong because I think people are not talking about him enough. Wong is so important in this episode. He’s the one who’s trying to heal Stephen after Christine. He’s Stephen’s anchor.

Also, THEY FINALLY USED A SPELL WITH THE NAME OF THE VISHANTI. HOORAAAAY

So, for the sake of our understanding, I’m addressing the characters as evil and good!Stephen. Let’s go. Evil!Stephen summons good!Stephen and gods, he still holds such a strong grasp on me... unbelievable. THE DEEPER VOICE BENEDICT USES???? PLEASE, DIDN’T WE HAVE ENOUGH?

Imagine his strength to hold so many beings inside him, fighting to control him. BRO, THIS IS TOO TOO MUCH

Fine, I’ll not post SS about the fight because I’d be here all night long but I WILL say this: NOT CLOAKIE!!!!! NAAAAAAAAAAUR

Also if you ask me if I recognize any of the spells? Maaaaybe the Flames of Faltine, the not-so-crimson Bands of Cyttorak and a little trick Magik does with her portals. That’s how far I go.

I’ll not comment on the “seducing yourself to stay in the trap”. I will not. I’ll just say that the first person Stephen thought of when “Christine” was talking about the crème brûlée was Wong. That’s it.

And finally evil!Stephen absorbs good!Stephen and releases... UNLIMITED POWER (I love when the stone goes red as if it was bleeding aaaaaaa)

I can fix him...

This scene here? Poetic cinema. (I love his wings so much)

And when Stephen says her name and the other monsters’ voices echo “Christine”, AAAAAACKKKK

AND OF COURSE CHRISTINE WOULD FREAK OUT, BRO. LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE BECOME BECAUSE OF YOUR TWISTED LOVE. I’M NOT DOING FINE.

Oh, but it’s too late anyways because Stephen broke reality haha. This scene is interesting because Stephen is the only one who sensed and/or talked to the Watcher until now. I read an interview that the Watcher kinda showed up but it’s also about Stephen’s keen senses. Bit of both, let’s say. Still, man, 616-Watcher is not that cold. 616-Watcher would watch this and say “how about I intervene anyway?”. WhatIf!Watcher is brutal.

The way Christine looks at Stephen one last time also KILLS ME, DESTROYS ME, BREAK ME INTO A MILLION PIECES.

And this is where my soul left my body.

This is how they end the episode. This is how you leave me speechless and with teary eyes. This is how you give me a whole existential crisis.

This... this was brutal to watch. Really.

What can I say after this? I’m used to reading painful things when it comes to Stephen. Aaron’s and Cates’ runs are heartbreaking on so many levels. Hickman’s New Avengers is not easier. Coincidentally, What If? Magik Became Sorcerer Supreme and The End. And now Death of Doctor Strange. And yet, after everything I’ve been through, I’d never expect to watch something so brilliant, so tragic, so heartbreaking and unexpected in the MCU. Never. This is top tier content and this is my favorite character with SO MANY LAYERS and SO MUCH UNDERSTANDING. I can’t put into words how meaningful this whole episode is to me, or how deep it touched my heart and soul.

I’ve been struggling to find the proper words since then, I still can’t. All I can add is, I cried for the 4th time now. This is too, too much, even for Stephen stans. Even for the ones who are used to pain, regardless of which media you’re into: comic books, live actions or animated movies. This is literally more than I can take and yet I’m so, so grateful. The voice acting, gods, how did Benedict manage to create a better Stephen than the one he’s literally playing in real life???????????? HOW

This episode really took the max potential Stephen had to offer as a character, added tons and tons of layers based on his grief, depression, arrogance and need to control everything and created a tragic masterpiece. In 7 years of being a Doctor Strange fan, I've never read or watch something that could go this deep into the character. The closest I can think of is Mr. Misery and the metaphor of Stephen's depression. This is a whole new level of respect and understanding. This is more than a love letter. This is peak maestry. It’s perfect, it’s heartbreaking, it’s... gods, I can’t.

Sorry for dragging you until this far. Before I wrap up this review, I just wanted to remind you all that Stephen will appear again, he will smile again, he will be surrounded by people again. So this is not the end. It was painful but be brave. We still have a few more steps to take.

[dodo-begone]

Scrambled Eggs

Pairing: yan!Ranboo x reader, Yan!Tommy x reader, Yan! tubbo x reader, Yan!Purpled x reader

Request: I raise you: Hnfnnnnnnnnnn more Yandere minors but this time you're with the eggpire already (not on purpose but you get the idea)

Word count: 3k

Warning: yandere, the egg, obsession, cult (egg), kidnapping, cursing

A/n: this is all platonic. Nothing romantic. also oop this went a lot longer than i thought it would- I got really into it. Also uploaded this and didn't proof read it. I know there's at least one mistake in there- sorry in advance.

Ranboo

When this poor lad finds out you’re currently in the Egg’s clutches, he was shocked. Oh my gosh, didn’t you love him? Did you actually love him? If you really loved him, you wouldn’t have let the Egg gain control of you. That’s how “the power of love” works. Right?

He’ll go to you, begging and doing his absolute best to reason with you. In all honesty, trying to reason with you was as productive as asking Santa Clause for that new ferrari model-

But that didn’t stop him. He was too far to properly think things through. Now why don’t you come home with him? It’s not safe for you. This “Egg” doesn’t actually care for you. He cares for you though- You end up chasing him off, saying that you were happier with the Egg than anytime you were with him. Oh how the Egg has brainwashed you. It’s so bad for you, can’t you see? He’ll go through the cycle of attempting to save you a few times before it becomes too much for him.

Eventually he just goes to Phil, ranting about how you were controlled by the Egg now and he was scared for your safety. Oh god Phil what can he do to save you? Phil please help him, give him some guidance- anything! And after Phil? Well, he’d pray to any deity that’d listen. Only asking them to save you from your current plight. You weren’t safe and he loved you so much, he can’t lose you too.

Phil tires of this cycle very quickly. It’s pathetic how much Ranboo is upset by your situation. But he’s your friend and he cares for you so much; you’re a constant in his life. How can he not love you? So he’ll just give in during one of Ranboo’s pleading stages, saying that he’ll help Ranboo rescue you- which makes Ranboo very pleased. If it was this easy to end this toxic cycle, he would’ve done it ages ago.

They plan your rescue for weeks, almost a few months. Everything had to be absolutely perfect; any flaw that could allow the Egg to repossess you needed to be resolved. As time passed, Ranboo grew more anxious. He kept visiting you during the planning process, just to keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.

When the plan was finally put into motion, his anxiety grew more. What if there was something that they miss? Something they didn’t account for? Phil had to remind Ranboo, multiple times, that you needed him. And he was here to save you. Ranboo couldn’t afford the time to hesitate, he had to take action. Plus if something went wrong, they always had Techno to fall back on. This got Ranboo back in the mindset, ready to save you again.

Something that was unavoidable was physical conflict. A fight started between the eggpire and the rescuers. It was rather rough and unfortunate that you got involved. You were fighting against them, rather fiercely as well. Leaving you mostly unharmed was nearly impossible when you were so determined to have their heads. But they managed. And they succeeded; they defeated/subdued the eggpire, you came out with only a few scratches and they got you away from the egg. All in a day’s work.

Once they got you “home” (specifically Phil’s house since it was far from the Egg and provided the most on-site protection), they started the recovery process. They had to restrain you to the bed, tying you up so no harm could come to you or them. Another unfortunate thing, but a necessity.

You were feral, thrashing around and snarling. Demanding that they release you. You had to get back to the Egg, the Egg needed you and you needed it. Though time passes with no change and you eventually tire, finally being subdued from exhaustion. Ranboo volunteers to keep an eye on you once you’re deemed “stable” (as in “not trying to actively leave”).

Phil is Reluctant to leave you in Ranboo’s care, but he was tired. The day had been long and rather draining. But Ranboo seemed so eager to help you, stay with you. So he, although reluctant to do so, leaves you in the care of Ranboo. They agreed to work in shifts before he left.

As he leaves, he gives you two a final look. Ranboo moves his chair closer to you, learning in and starts to talk to you. Honestly, Phil could care less about what conversation you two were having. He was only there to rescue you. There weren’t any ties between you two besides Ranboo, a common connection. All that mattered was you getting cured, out of the Egg’s clutches.

Tommy

This boy? When he’s told the Egg has you in its possession, he vehemently denies it. There’s absolutely no way it could’ve gotten you. I mean do they realize who they’re talking about? They’re talking about you- one of the strongest people on the smp!

Though a small part of him doubts that. Whispers that yes, you’re strong. But not strong enough to protect you from a danger like the Egg.

There’s absolutely no possibility that you were taken by the Egg. I mean come on, as mentioned above, you’re hella strong. You fought in so many wars and never fell for any of Dream’s lies. The last one is mostly why he believes the Egg doesn’t have you. If you can defy Dream’s manipulation, then the Egg should be no different. Right?

And so many people didn’t like him, so this had to be a joke. It was laughable, unbelievable. They thought they could get him so easily? Oh how wrong they were. Here, he can easily prove them wrong. Prove that it’s a prank. Mostly needs to prove it to himself though.

So when he walks around the smp, he keeps an eye out for you. He does it everywhere and eventually wanders to areas less frequented by him. That’s the level of “delusional” he’s at; you’re just hiding somewhere, far from him. This is a mean prank you’re pulling and very effective if the wanted product was a panicked Tommy.

Finally throws in the towel when he can’t find you anywhere after a week. He asked everyone on the smp for your location and got one of two answers; they either haven’t seen you or they saw you in the Badlands, near the Egg’s domain.

Now he wasn’t scared to go into the Badlands to look for you. Oh absolutely not! He was, in fact, absolutely terrified of the Egg. His reasoning for not going there boiled down to “the Egg doesn’t like him and wants him dead” and “there’s no way the egg got them”.

Enough time passes and he finally starts to accept the idea that the Egg may actually have you. When the thought pops up to look for you in the Badlands, he doesn’t question or fight it like before. Now accepting it with open arms, he heads to the Badlands. His worst fear will be laid to rest. You won’t be there.

Oh how wrong he was. When he gets closer to the Egg’s lair, he finally catches sight of you. It’d been weeks since he last saw you, and was ecstatic when he found you. A closer, more in depth look decimated any joy he had.

You were definitely a part of the eggpire with the signature red iris that obscured your natural eye color from the light. And it was also obvious that it was working you to death. Your body looked so much weaker than it ever had, besides grave injuries. Absolutely drained of all, fucking demented, lifeless were just a few things to describe your current state. It was so hard to look at. He knew he had to save you because the Egg was slowly killing you.

He executed the best plan he could conjure up in that little pea-brain of his; he’d “kidnap” you. A very simple plan, in all actuality. When the other eggpire members were away from you, he’d lure you away with just his presence. The Egg absolutely despised him, he was well aware of that. That’s why you were most likely chasing him, but he liked to believe you were coming with him willingly. Breaking from the Egg’s control.

Okay so he hadn’t planned on where he’d take you- BUT he did know you had to be taken far, far away. Far from the smp and especially the Egg. He’ll stop when he believes you’re too far from the Egg’s influence. A place you can finally rest and break free from the Egg. After that? Well it was obvious; he’d do everything in his fucking power to ensure that the Egg could never get ahold of, control or bother you again.

Tying you to the bedpost should be sufficient for now, right? Oh don’t worry about the long chain on it. It’s long enough for you to get into the bathroom and get business done. He’s a really considerate guy, huh? It’s only there to prevent you from running back to the Egg, he swears.

And look! You’re slowly becoming yourself again. It’s happening slowly, but Tommy can see the progress that’s already being made. And that makes him overjoyed.

Tubbo

The news of your disappearance couldn’t have come at a worse time. He had been told about one of the nukes being stolen and then the news that you were kidnapped right under his nose? Absolutely worse. All he felt was absolute rage and despair. First the nuke and now you? How could this get worse!

Finding out how you were taken can, apparently. Jack recounted how he last saw you with Bad. But it wasn’t like “oh they’re just chillin like homies”. No, it was about how Bad was carrying you to… somewhere. It was unclear where they went. Rather unfortunate how Jack had to deliver the news of two horrendous incidents at the same time.

Tubbo wanted to scold Jack for not stopping Bad, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. Well it was but wasn’t all at the same time. Telling Jack how he fucked up severely wouldn’t help the situation, and neither would yelling or any other destructive form of anger. Keeping his cool was his best option to solve the current crises.

He gets to work on solving both issues asap. Jack volunteers to find the missing nuke which left Tubbo to find you. Jack taking up the nuke issue was a blessing; he’d rather have Jack find the nuke than risk your safety.

Now since he’s left to look for you, he needs a plan to locate you. His best option? Getting help from the other residents, of course! They were more than happy to assist Tubbo. All of them get told the same story; the recount that Jack told Tubbo of the last appearance you made.

It isn’t long into the search before results were made. Puffy came back with your location. Your situation was less than favorable. Adding you being in the Badlands and so close to where the Egg laid, it was all clear. It appeared that you were under the Egg’s thumb. After all, if a friend calls out to you, a normal person wouldn’t just ignore them. And Puffy said she wasn’t too far away from you when she yelled for you. So something was obviously wrong.

Tubbo decides to give the Badlands a little visit. To give his own input on the situation, if you’d call it that. In all honesty, it was just to see you and see if the tales were true. Sadly, they were.

The next best thing would be to plan an escape for you. So the first attempt is him just trying to get you to leave on your own accord. And that plan was unsuccessful, which was less than surprising. Then he tries to physically drag you back. A hilarious sight, but another plan that was doomed to fail from the beginning. As a last resort, for that visit, he pulls out the puppy dog eyes and alligator tears. You were unfazed by his tactics. There go his immediate plans of freeing you.

Eventually you tire of his behavior and chase him away. You spare him some last words before you part ways though. “I don’t need to leave the Egg. I’m perfectly fine, so just leave me alone”.

That really made him upset, but he wasn’t going to give up on you just like that. No, you were his best friend. Best friends don’t give up on each other so easily. They stick with each other and get the other out of a nasty situation. And this was one nasty situation you got pulled into.

When he gets back, he relays all of the discoveries to the others. It was undeniable, unanimous; you had to be rescued. As they all talked it over, a smile grew on Tubbo’s face. Tubbo’s change in mood was dismissed easily; he was just excited to get his friend back. They weren’t half wrong with that.

Tubbo was more happy that it’d be easier to contain you. He could easily get you where he wanted you and keep you there under the pretense of “keeping you there for your safety”. And all he’d have to do is volunteer to care for you…

Purpled

Surprisingly, he meets you through the Egg. Well, properly meet you. Originally, he joined for the money. Some of the eggpire members were rather wealthy and paid handsomely for his services.

So to elaborate on how he “knew” you. He first found you when you first appeared on the smp. Being toured around by Dream. So logically he goes up to greet the new member. You want to make good impressions on people as soon as you can.

You two only exchange names before Dream starts to shoo Purpled off. Dream gives the excuse that you were his friend. Not Purpled’s. His. He didn’t know you well and this was his server, so he’d obviously give the best tour of it. Plus you two were also catching up on things you two had done.

Dream’s behavior peeved you. He was being rather rude to this stranger and rather irresponsible. If he was trying to seem good, he was doing a poor job of conveying that.

You argued with Dream to allow this other person to come along with y’all. The argument doesn’t last long before Dream finally shoots it down and pulls you away for the rest of the tour.

Purpled was awed, felt so loved. You argued back at Dream of all people, and just for him. To defend him and let you come along with him. God you must be an angel in disguise, a true treasure. People as gracious as you are hard to come by nowadays.

After that, he does his best to become your friend. He does all the research on you that he can and watches your behaviors. Noting what you like and what you do throughout the day. Just the normal stuff, ya’know.

Without you knowing it, you had become such a precious thing to him. You’d become his best friend. Yes you two didn’t talk often at all, but you two were still friends. After all, he knew everything about you. Your favorite color, your favorite place to hang out, which genre of books you like, what muffin you get at Niki’s bakery, how you like your tea and coffee. Just the normal stuff a best friend would need to know.

Also collected things of yours. Things you came in contact with. If you left them, that meant you didn’t want them. And if you didn’t want them anymore, then they were free for the taking. This was all obvious stuff.

Another surprising thing; he became too busy with the egg to even notice your disappearance. With how much he was around you, he would’ve noticed you go missing within seconds. Yet he wasn’t around to keep you safe, now was he? No he wasn’t. He was away collecting some of the dumbest things for the egg.

He was rather annoyed when he was told of the soon-to-be new member of the eggpire. Great, another egg freak he’d have to deal with. Right now, he could really use a pick-me-up. Visiting you wouldn’t hurt- apparently it can because he was almost immediately put to work after being told the news.

After prepping for the initiation process, he was more than peeved. It’d been weeks since he last saw you. It was some of the worst weeks of his life. All he needed right now was you- oh boy.

Well he wishes were granted because there you were, being inducted into the egg cult. Man he should’ve been a bit more careful on what he wished for, but whatever. You were here now. Once it’s all over, he goes to properly greet you as an eggpire member and tours you around. So since you like the egg and he likes the egg, you wanna keep talking?

Will do everything in his power to keep you under the Egg’s control. If anybody comes in hopes of rescuing you, they’d have to deal with Purpled first. They’d usually never get past him, defeated by his hand and sent away.

It was in “your” best interest to stay with the egg. Really it was his, but you believed it too.

Those egg-cult freaks kept preaching about how the Egg would give people anything they asked or craved. Now that you were here, Purpled supposed it was true. After all, you were what he wanted after all. He is best friend by his side forever. What else could he ask for?

[insufferablelust]

Cockwarming Don Reid with his men in the next room

Warning : Cockwarming, mob boss! Spencer, Mean dom!spencer, mention of killing, degrading name calling, filthy.. so fucking filthy, exhibitionism, literally almost fucking in front of people, mention of sub space, d/s theme obviously, and yeah.. 18+ please.

MASTERLIST HERE.

“Princess, come here.” Spencer pat his lap with a burning gaze directed to the cute little thing sat ontop of his office couch like a queen. Work days usually means no playing around, for Y/N it’s one of those days where she’d usually spend at her apartment doing her tasks or paint something for the young don.

But on rare occasions such this, where all the workload of responsibilities upon responsibilities piled on his shoulder, he’d bring her in, he’d tell her to sit all pretty, and continue to study unless daddy calls and that’s exactly she has been doing for hours now, sketching the wooden figurine on his shelf with her legs up the table and her back rests against the couch. She looks prettier than usual he thought, not that his butterfly never look anything less than amazing but she just radiates that softness, that gentle and tender touch which he often depraved himself of— being in the mob especially as the leader, he has to be on the rough rugged edge all the time, he cannot be tender and soft but he can certainly have you as his own personal reminder that not all things in life is as bad as what he has seen.

Y/N, the darling butterfly happily obliged as she stood up after placing her sketchbook down the table and make her way to where he sits on the large chair— colored burgundy red. The soft knitted knee high socks that clad her feet anxiously drags her to the edge of his desk with her fingers fumbling on the hem of her flower dress, no matter where and when, or how and why— he always intimidates her in ways that seemed to flutter her insides with pure wanton yet desirable lust, all for him.

Encased in a black suit, he sat up straight as he holds her hips before placing her down atop his lap with her back against his front, his perfect little princess. “Dressed so prettily for daddy. Haven’t seen this one before pet, did you buy them just to impress me hm?” if it were any other man, talking to you like you owe them you would flip their asses off and beat them to pulp— but when he says it, demands it, caress your soul with it— you couldn’t refuse nor deny.. not that you would ever want to anyway because yes, yes you did buy them to impress him, to make him as weak as she is for him.

She nodded shyly with a small “yes daddy” before squirming gently ontop of his lap whilst Spencer caress her inner thigh— calloused rough fingers brushing up and down her god glowing skin, intensifying all the tension that builds inside of her. Her skin prickled with heat as he inches his sinful fingertips up up up creeping upon her clothed dripping wet cunt, causing her to mewl lowly in frustration, grinding her ass back against his growing crotch.

“Daddy has so many things today pet, so many fucking things to keep you happy, to buy dresses like this one.” He whispered onto your ear, his lips pressing against your temple with his curls gazes against your heating cheek as you nod and shut your eyes tight— feeling his knuckles graze right against your clothed aching swollen clit, making you buck up your hips as he laughs behind you, chest rumbling with triumph.

“Jesus petal, haven’t done anything and you’re soaking my pants already? are you always this needy? fucking hell.” He shook his head as he keep on laughing condescendingly, whilst you writhed and squirm on his lap, your face nudging against his neck. “Please d-daddy..” Oh how he loves your mewls, your sweet sweet moans just sent all the blood from his head rushing down toward his cock— making him all dizzy and dying to feel your clutching heat.

“Shh you want Morgan to hear you, is that it? want my men to hear your filthy moans, bunny?” His words sent tingles up your spine, through your bloodstream as his fingers skillfully tear your panties apart, with you gasping— eyes as glassy as ever and mind absolutely mush with tension and pleasure. “Daddy asked you a question.” He growled, before slapping your bare wet soaking cunt few times which you respond with loud cries and squirm on his lap.

“Sorry daddy! f— please i... oh mmh!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you feel his thumb grazing innocently to your little nub of pleasure numbing nerves, flicking his thumb up and down it focusing on the rhythm as he might as well play you like his favorite instrument. “All needy and you can’t even get a proper word out, such a mindless baby.” He scoffed before slapping right on your clit multiple times.

“Ah! Ah oh! daddy!” You screamed, having no care in the world if his men heard— you knew in the back of your mind that they heard and that alone sends a new surge of adrenaline throughout your body, leaving you pliant and in need for daddy— daddy’s cock, fingers, anything just anything. “Here’s what you’re going to do, pup. You’re going to keep daddy’s cock warm whilst i do my job, if you behave like a good little girl then i’ll let you cum, but if you decided to think with your cunt and move i swear to god i’ll edge you six fuckin ways to sunday, you hear me?” You felt him fumbling with his zipper as he took his cock out, with you whining— babbling ‘yes yes yes daddy’ against his skin, eyes all droopy and fucked with your neatly applied mascara drip down your cheeks.

“Up you go pet, slide daddy in.” You shakily stand, bunching the hem of your dress on your hips before you straddled his thigh and looks down to get ahold the base of his well endowed cock— pulsing with need and heat. “Fuck, go on.” He urged you as he grab ahold of your hips before you lined him up with your sopping wet entrance and sink down slowly— down his massive throbbing length that has you moaning, panting.

“You can do better than that slut”

Smack!

“N-no! daddy please help! please i— ungh you’re too big!” You shook your head as you tried and tried to take him, all of him but everytime you sink another inch— your body felt like it’s been penetrated into a whole new level as if it hadn’t this morning or the night before, “Fucking helpless baby, look at you, pathetic and needy.” He growled before thrusting up inside you at once, forcing his thick length to slip fully inside your pumping dripping heat causing you both to moan out.

“Oh! oh mmh daddy.. shit..” You felt him deep, deep deep inside you, the tip of him grazing against your spot oh so deliciously, whilst you pant and convulse against him, clutching his cock like a vice. “Perfect little cunt, such a perfect doll for me.”

—

You’re convinced that if god was real, at this moment god must hate you for existing, must hate you so much that the universe sent you this adonis of a man to torture and blur the line of sanity and lunacy for you, torment your pleasure in mockery and sarcasm of how he stayed calm with you perched on his godly lap, panting like a puppy in heat as his thick length penetrated your insides as if it belongs there— forcing every bit of your self control over the teetering edge. You’re loosing your mind, that you’re sure of.

It has been no longer than 30 minutes but your toes have curled and uncurled themselves for eternity, your walls grew slicker and slicker each time he ‘shift’ accidentally, as you mewl and bit the skin on his neck, by the last minute of the long 30– you were trembling in order to resist yourself not to move, for the last bit of your working mind still recognized how severe the punishment would be if you were to move, the don is not one to fuck around with— oops.

Just as he stretches his hand, the knock of the door sent you into a spiraling mess, looking up to Spencer with wide eyes— all glassy and doe as you shook your head, “Daddy, d-daddy n-no..” Shivers runs deep and thrumming lively on your bloodstream as you saw his devilish handsome smirk.

“Be good and quiet, pup.” He whispers

“N-no! no daddy please! i—“

“Come in.” The sound of his voice and door cracking open has you shutting your eyes as tight as you could, face buried on the crook of his neck as he grips onto your thigh. You took a peek at the tall standing figure on the middle of his office, recognizing so clearly that it’s in fact Hotch not only that Emily and Morgan were also present, fuck— you’re fucked as you clenched hard causing the don to hiss and slap your thigh.

“What did i tell you about behaving hm? are you going to behave or should i let them deliver your punishment for you little one?” He growled in your ear, making you let out a pitiful whimper, trying as best as you could to resist the need to look at your patrons and to stay still. “No please, i’ll behave.” you muttered meekly, panting at the raging burning release that has been coiling inside your body.

“No please what? you know better, minx.” He shook his head before grasping your neck with his palm as he take a look at your messy figure. “No daddy p-please..” you bat your eyelash at him as he went in to kiss your lips with a small ‘good girl’ before getting back to his business.

“What is it?” He muttered coldly, one hand on the whiskey glass that he took a sip off every once in awhile and the other secured tightly around your lower tummy— you knew what he’s doing, the game is clear, you knew he likes to feel how you can feel him inside of you, pressing against your sweet spot and your slick canal tried so hard not to clench at the thought.

“The shipment hasn’t arrived yet to midtown, it supposed to days ago but we just heard from Garcia that the Kingsley’s hadn’t even reached out to her in weeks.” Although confident, you could tell there’s a hint of fear and worrisome latched behind Hotch’s voice, one does not fuck with your dom, one does not absolutely delay the shipment of his drugs— no no those cannot do.

“Have you traced it back to them?” The voice that rumbled against your back was eerily calm and deeper, resisting every urge inside his body to lash out— you know that very well. His fingers tighten and tighten its hold onto the glass which you could clearly see his knuckles turning white, you just hope that the poor glass won’t break.

“Yes don, Walker and Alvez went to their base and it was empty, looks like they left in a hurry.” You could feel it before you even see it, heard it, the way his blood pumps just even faster before a lound cracking of the wood sent fear and adrenaline through everyone’s bloodstream, “I don’t fucking care how many, and who’re you going to kill, but i want that fucking shipment arrived to midtown by dawn or i’ll pluck their own eyes myself.” His voice somehow rise and fell deeper at the same time, rumbling deep inside his chest which send shivers on everyone’s spine as they nod with a small uniformed ‘yes don’ before heading out hurrily— no one questions him, no one dared to speak against him, even if they know they’ll have the bloods of people (though bad) on their hands by nightfall.

His threat lives like a venom that stuck on their throat as they pursued their mission— one don does not get his hand dirty let alone going round plucking some low life mob’s eyes— or the end result could be.. would be catastrophic. These Kingsleys have one hell of a problem heading their way.

and you.. you have one hell of a raging frustratingly mad Mob boss in your hand.

—

Y/N’s head couldn’t even process the whole thing before she screamed in absolute pain when he pulled out harshly and bent her over his desk, knocking his whiskey glass onto the floor, clattering with no care in a world. Your mind begs for you to soothe him, soothe his anger yet your cunt aches and throbs with the need to let him use you— take the anger out to you, and ruin you for eternity. You’re his, and you’re ready.

“Stay fucking still.” Spencer slapped your ass harshly, causing you to jump in the position, your legs curled up for a moment as he gripped your hair tightly and grasp your neck with his unoccupied hand, “You’re going to stay still and be a good cocksleeve for me, i’m going to use you like you’re my toy and i won’t stop unless you say your safeword, got it?” His breath fans over your heated skin as you shake and tremble, your mind fuzzy with needs and mush of pleasure— blurring your absolute senses and submitting yourself fully to the mercy of his hand— his cock.

“Use your words, dumb little slut.” He hissed, choking your neck even tighter, with much force and you cried out, “Yes! yes sir, use me, i.. i’m yours..” just as you muttered out, your walls involuntary clenching at the intrusion of his cock plunging deep deep deep inside of you in one go, making you scream out in absolute pleasure and pain.

Spencer might’ve seen red— but when he delves deep inside of your tight heat, he saw the absolute heaven on earth as he begins to thrust in and out of your cunt in a brutal space, knocking his desk toppers off, and making you mewls and screams.

“Fucking tight little cunt— mine huh? isn’t it fucking mine pup?” He slammed into you over and over again as his balls hit your clit in an antagonizing pleasure whilst you writhe below him, forcing your eyes to stay open with all the power in your body looses control. “Its— mmmh ngh fuck! it’s y-yours sir! yes yes yes!” Your moans filled the entire building but neither of you care as Spencer drove his cock home everytime he sinks inside your tight pussy.

“Being such a good whore, letting me use you as my personal fucktoy, just to let my anger out.” He laughs maniacally, pistoning his hips as you clench your walls tightly to elevate the pleasure for you both, causing the room to tremble as you moan and cries out loud, “ungh yes! yes yes your whore daddy— mmh fuck me!” You could feel all the drool drips down your lips as he fucked you stupid atop of his desk but neither of you care nor have the patience to even pay attention because in his mind— the messier the better.

“Won’t be able to walk for days, pet. Fucking cunt going to drool for me everytime you see all the marks i fucking left on you.” He growled, bringing his palm over your ass before giving it a smack over and over again as your body lunges forward trying to get away with how all the friction is causing you to went into over sensitivity. But being the mean dom that he is, Spencer laughs as he pulled you back towards him by your hips. “Where are you going, bunny?”

“Please p-please let me cum, sir... ah!” You arched your back perfectly when the tip of his finger move down down down to where your swollen sensitive clit was, rubbing quickly in a fast pace just to send you over the edge, testing you, daring the orgasm out of you. “Wanna cum petal? hm wanna make a mess on daddy’s cock?” He whispered, one hand continues to rub your clit as the other focuses on holding you against him whilst his hips drives up deep— so deep that the tip grazes against your cervix.

“mmhh ah uh uh uh!” Your eyes lolled back trying to find a cohorent sentence— anything you can say to him but no matter what you’re trying to say was rendered to sinful moans and cries instead as you were right on the brink, “You can do better than that, c’mon bunny, beg daddy to cum.” he stills for a second, pressing in deep as he slaps your cheeks not once but twice— bringing fresh tears flows from your eyes.

“I.. ungh please daddy please! let me cum! been so good for you, please— want you to fill me up too.. fill your baby up, daddy!” Your high pitched voice rang an alarm through the circuit of his lust and anger laced mind, you’re slipping into your space and you’re slipping fast with your eyes just glazes absolutely flying through the realm of pleasure sensitivity.

“Good girl butterfly, such a good fucking girl, wanna cum? c’mon cum..” He whispered, before thrusting his hips in and out slowly, feeling the bliss of your overly wet and tight cunt engulfing him— milking him to cum inside, “Cum for daddy, princess, that’s it.. ohh... that’s it baby, good girl.” You cried out silently as you cum hard around his cock, muscles clenching so tightly that you sent him to release himself inside of you, thick ropes of cum paints your inside as you both moan and tremble.

“My good girl, shh thats it— best cunt ever.. that’s it, so so good for me.” He whispered softly, backing down to where his chair was pushed aside, bringing you with him before sitting down. You groaned out a loud scratchy, “daddy..” As you feel his cock shifted deeper inside of you, your eyes closed as he holds you and calms you down.

“Shh shh princess, just stay here like this. such a good girl, gonna keep me warm while i wait for them aren’t you?”

Although your cunt practically ache and scream for you to not say yes, your love and lust filled mind fogged with utter desire— just nods whining an agreeable mumble— just for him.

This will be a long long day and even a longer night.

[honestsycrets]

Mistakes Were Made III: Double Trouble

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, past!freydis x ivar (not in this chapter)

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | he doesn't know when to shut up.

❛  tags | sperm donor fic, general argumentative banter between characters, new characters appear, "fat" talk, Ivar being a bit of an ass,

❛ sy’s notes | hi everyone! i've lost my tag list for some reason, so I've tagged a few people.

There are 621 sperm donors at his company.

Therefore, 621 choices to choose from. If Maoise thought he was spying, on what he loathes to think is you, there are still 620 other choices in the company. 254 have blue eyes like his. Besides, he doesn’t really know which company you went with. As you sat there, looking up at the waiter with eyes too kind for any other man, he reminded himself of that.

“What’re you looking at?” you’d snap.

He glances at you behind his rounded sunglasses, dark with the morning light. He’d chew on his lip, searching for the right answer to your unfortunate question. “Why is it that when other men talk to you, you act like an angel? When I do, you’re a bitch.”

“Such a gentleman,” you quip back. You sit a moment, and think because your eyes quiver as you look off to the distance. Then, biting your lip, you sigh. “It’s how I keep up with you.”

“Me?” he’d prod.

“You’re not exactly the kindest boss in town that I could choose from.”

Not the kindest, but he had the most well paid employees. He knows that much. It’s likely the only reason you’re here with the stress he puts you over. The level of his bullshit hadn’t rose above the benefits and pay he gave you.

“Then if I was like him,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest. He watches your eyes settle over his arms, the watch glimmering on his wrist, before continuing. “You’d talk that pretty to me?”

“I never said that.”

“Why not?” he prompts.

“Why are we talking about this? Aren’t you going to interview Hvitserk today? Shouldn’t we review that instead?”

“Why? So you can ask what shade of blue he uses in his watercolors?”

“Then you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”

Ivar doesn’t man to be an ass, but it comes rather quickly as the only cripple in the middle of a band of brothers. He bites his lip and folds his arms over one another.

“He’s bringing a girl.”

“I thought he was hopelessly and happily single. Another toy?”

He was. Or, could be, between his fuckbuddy moments. “No. She’s been his friend for years. She’s special.”

Hvitserk was truly fucked. You seem to catch on rather well to what he meant; the sort of best friend that was a soul mate. Fortunate for an idiot ass illustrator like his brother.

“A Playboy has a soulmate. And here I can’t even find a date.” You sigh, a rare admittance of frustration other than heels. “I have a career.I thought I was pretty, I— have i put on too much weight? Am I that ugly?”

“You’re far from it.” He wonders why you need that positive affirmation, but doesn’t question it, eyeing your lips for their next motion.

You smile. Then glide your hand over the slight bump that was your belly, small and swollen with the growing bud. Ivar slips off his sunglasses. Hvitserk’s interview was a non-issue, but watching your hand caress your belly, was. He detests how much he likes to watch you stroke your belly, as if the fullness of the child gave you comfort that you’d soon feel much less alone. Ivar hums.

“You like it.”

“Hm?” you’d ask.

“Being pregnant.”

You flush. The softest smile that spreads over your face when the waiter delivers your food. Then his-- some fruit on hard bread-- because for the life of him, he can’t have you throwing up on the job. A meatless breakfast it is.

“Shut up, Ivar.”

It’s cute when you’re embarrassed.

If Maoise is good for anything, its making other fat visitors comfortable.

The last interview of the day was his brother— and his best friend, a pathetically infatuated and insecure girl, who needs all the help she can get. She stares at you shuffling about in a tiny skirt and skinny heels as if she wanted to be you. Ivar wouldn’t blame her. It may be all in her head, but its an image of her body she can’t shake free. So he rocks the waters. Just a bit.

“You love fat women. You’re my brother. I know these things. Just the other day you were asking for my assistant’s number, weren’t you?”

Ivar knows how to piss Hvitserk off. The love of Hvitserk’s life looks up, Hvitserk’s heart stops, Ivar’s successful when Hvitserk tells him off. Then, of course, because no good deed goes unpunished, he hears your voice over his intercom.

Stop it.

He’d glance off to the side if you weren’t staring him dead in the face, the picture of irritation, or hurt. He does the one thing he knows will calm you, throwing up his hands in surrender, not to his dipshit, lovesick, horny brother-- but you. You’re steaming when the set is wrapped up, heels stomping rather than clicking.

It’s good that he’s in trouble. It reminds him of being a married man.

After the interview, he knows where you’ll be. Maoise and you will surely be spreading out the catering over a long conference table. He pushes into the room, and unlucky him, Maoise speeds out at that exact second. “Sorry Mr. Ragnarsson, I have to go-- um, um, see Mr. Hvitserk. I think his girlfriend might need me!”

It’s a bullshit lie if he’s heard one.

In truth, you slam plates with remarkable force onto the table. He sheds his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, hobbling on his crutch to help you. Or, that was, until you put your hand up before him.

“I don’t need help.”

He could think about a hundred things to say that would have been better than what comes out of his mouth. “You’re angry?”

You ignore him at first.

“What is it now?” he stops you. “Is it because I called her fat?”

You rear back your hand back, catching his cheek with your palm in a cold slap. His jaw clicks, meeting with the hardwood floor. The pain pulses, achy and raw, as you catch yourself strutting awkwardly away. Ankles throbbing, because he knows the thin heels hurt your feet, any man worth his weight would.

“I told you to stop.”

You slapped him.

The realization settles on his shoulders as you gather your things and walk out the doors. Ivar was known to be crass on his show. It normally wasn’t an issue.

“Um— Mr. Ragnarsson sir? Your brother and— and?” Maoise chirps, her fingers curled around the wooden door. Ivar rubs the rawness of his cheek, nodding affirmatively to Maoise. His skin is inflamed, but he rubs it off in some pathetic attempt to act like it was all okay.

“Let them come in.”

“And Ms…?”

“She’s pouting,” he sighs, “This pregnancy has her out of her mind.”

“It— it might be because you called her fat. On air. In front of your entire audience?”

It shouldn’t hit him like a double-decker bus on his trips to England, but it does. Full, not fat, was the word he was looking for. But even so, why were you so fearful of fat? Maoise was fat— and she was cute in her own eccentric way. As much as he hates to say it. He looks back at her. She’s whirling her hands around her glittery blue skirt, that nervous tic she does when she’s all alone with him.

“Let him know I can’t make it.”

He snatches his suit jacket and limps out the door, setting his large palm on her shoulder for just a second. She jumps up, giggling through her words because she’s Maoise.

“Yes, sir!”

It’s not hard to find you. He’s your boss, after all, and he has your address. He’s never been at your apartment. His fist hovers about the door, unsure whether to knock or call, but he decides if you’re upset, you’d be less likely to answer his calls. Everything is done for the day, after all, and he’s pretty sure you won’t accept an invitation to go eat after all he’s done.

He knocks, but it’s not you who answers the door. Standing there is a blonde-haired man, whose golden hair drapes over one of his eyes, tattoos plastered across his cheeks. Despite his appearance, he has a calming effect. Ivar’s not sure if that’s good or bad. He reminds himself that you lamented about not having a man. So, then, who was this?

“Halfdan, who is it?”

He recognizes the other voice at once.

“It’s Ivar. Ah, hello.”

He knows his name. Well, it should not be much of a surprise, he is a local celebrity. He steps aside without another word, and Ivar steps forward, his feet failing him a moment. The other man secures him upright— and though he wants to hide something nasty— he recognizes the man and connects it to the voice he’d just heard moments ago.

“You might as well be here, too.” He adjusts his crutch and offers him his hand. “It’s been a while, Harald.”

Harald grips his hand securely and shakes it. Then, whirling around grips Ivar’s shoulder in what he can only identify as an awkward bro-hug. He knows Ivar hates hugs. It’s just a way of moving him into the home. Everything is soft. White fabrics and pale brown detailing. It’s crisp, clean, and does not go with the two men who snatched him by the shoulders.

“You look surprised to see me, brother!”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Ivar tells Harald. “I don’t even like my own brothers.”

The front door claps shut. Ivar bites back the beginning of an agitated sigh, moving toward the kitchen where Halfdan had already jogged back to. He slips on a frilly white apron and finally looks as ridiculous as his haircut.

“I didn’t know you knew her.”

“We’ve known her our whole lives,” Halfdan interjects.

“How is that?” Ivar regrets asking. “Childhood friend?”

Harald finally releases him to go into your fridge. He snatches a beer for Ivar, taking his off the table, and pops it open. Ivar takes it without pause and clinks his beer against Haralds. Harald speaks gruffly. “She’s our sister.”

It’s not too late for him to spin around, make his way out, and never admit this again. Even if he did, he knew Harald. The man may like calm, what with his long brown braid, and steady strong hands. But he is a complete and utter trick-- you would know he was there. You’d know he pussied out like a bitch. And you would definitely know that he knew all about them and still bitched out.

He brings the beer to his lips. “Huh. You don’t say.”

“Surprised?” Harald asks.

“Nope,” he says, like a liar, because he’s lying. Halfdan can even tell-- making the smallest of noises as he cuts through what looks to be chicken and asparagus. If he was betting, Halfdan was the cook and Harald was the eater. The talker. All of the above. “I’m going ahead and guessing that you’re here for the baby.”

Harald stares.

“A baby?”

He’s fucked.

@lisinfleur @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @tephi101 @punkrocknpearls @flowers-in-your-hayr @more-incorrect-quotes @laketaj24

[cherryatiny]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲! 𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐑)

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝, 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐

𝐺𝐼𝐹𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠

❁ 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

„Please welcome the world-wide known cellist Ian Park, who will lead today's concert, please applause for him.“ loud sounds of hands clapping resonated in the spacious orchestra hall, when the man in question stood up with a cello in his hands.

Over the time you two were together, it became a tradition for you and your sugar daddy Hongjoong to go to a classical music concert at least once a month. Always get dressed up in new robes he bought for you and walk down the corridors of the historical theatre as the people around you were amazed by how beautiful and a powerful couple you two were.

As the first tones of the symphony came out, your ears felt like melting from the lovely music played by the greatest musicians of the present time. Hongjoong's hand was resting on the part of your thigh exposed by the high slit in your dress. Fingertips drawing figures on your skin and going higher under the velvety material of your dress and reaching the seamless thong you wore underneath. „Don't you dare go any higher.“

„Was that meant to the soprano lady, or me?“ chuckled Hongjoong lowly as his hand went higher, his fingers rubbing up and down the wet patch on your underwear. Instead of an answer, a quiet whimper left your mouth unwillingly. Thank god, you were in one of the balcony booths and covered by dark, too far from the prying eyes.

His hand skillfully pushed your panties to the side, exposing your slit to the fresh air, the sudden chilly feeling and Hongjoong's fervent touches, made goosebumps rise up on your upper thighs.

As soon as his thumb came in a contact with your reddened clit that was desperately in need of his touch, your body started squirming in the seat, his second hand keeping you down from moving too much by gripping your thighs.

Having decided that you seemed to be aroused more than enough by the delicate stimulation of your clitoris he gave you, Hongjoong slipped two of his fingers covered by rings, into your heat, coating them in your slick right away, which made it only easier for him to thrust them into you in an intense speed and hardness, never failing to brush directly against your sweet spot, making the knot tighten in your stomach as you were getting so close to staining the luxurious seats of the national theatre building.

„Fuck, you gonna let it out, princess? You look so classy, yet you're getting off on my fingers like some bitch in heat in the middle of an opera concert, how pathetic. Your cunt couldn't wait any longer? What were you thinking of, that made you wet so easily, even though we are in public, hm? Tell me, my dirty girl.“

❁ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚

„Seong- I mean, Mr. Park, I've organized the papers for you, here.“ you announced as you stepped into his spacious office, the glass-wall behind him allowing you to look at the panorama of the city, but even better sight than that was your sugar daddy Seonghwa focused on the papers in front of him.

The white shirt he had on, which covered the body you knew well, was slightly unbuttoned as Seonghwa ran his hands into his hair out of frustration. The level of stress in his body much more higher than it should be, as he tried to finish the paperwork for launching a sub-corporation of the company he ran.

When you first started working as his secretary, you two were mean to each other, always nitpicking on each other's words and arguing, but it all started when he got you the keys to your new apartment in the building he owned, or when you two fucked after the ball that was part of the business conference in Milan, and over the months you two got closer and closer to each other until he eventually became your sugar daddy.

„Mhm, Y/N, come here baby.“ going over to where he was, you stood in front of him, his arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you down to sit on his lap. „I'm so stressed baby, but I can't leave work until I finish the paperwork, why don't you get on your pretty knees and support me while I'm working?“

„Yes, sir.“ Nodding your head with a sly smirk, you obeyed his request, knowing exactly what he meant, and slipped down from his lap, going under the high desk he worked at, you reached for his pants, your fingers swiftly unbuttoning and tugging them down. Reaching for his briefs, you could hear Seonghwa chuckle at how impatient you were.

Wrapping your hand around his girth, your other hand resting on his thigh, your wet lips neared his tip leaking of pre-cum. Giving the tip kitten licks and teasingly kissing along his shaft, you tried to rile him up as much as possible, but he didn't seem to be having much of it, his hand gripping on your ponytail rather harshly, tugging on it to make you look up.

„Princess, get to work and don't tease, or else I'll have to knock on your apartment door tonight with a collar and a leash. Actually... a whore like you would like that, right? Being a fuck toy for me to use. Look at you right now, on your knees in my office knowing that anyone could walk in right now. Now suck on it like it's a lollipop, my kitten.“

❁ 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨

When Yunho said, „Baby baby, your favourite brand launched their new collection today, why don't we go and see some of it“ you did not expect to spend the next few hours shopping for clothes with him. At first, he wanted to see the brand, then he decided he needs some clothes for the press conference of the drama he was starred as the main character in, and then it ended up with you supposedly needing new dresses, „Yunho I don't need any dress.“

Shutting you with 'quiet baby', his hand tugged you to the shop he had in mind. It was a shop that specialized in gowns and formal clothing for different balls and this type of stuff. „Yuyu, I don't need any dress, I'm not going to any ball, so why would I need them.“

But Yunho wasn't having it, already too engaged with picking dresses for you. Going through the different rich materials and colours, his eyes landed on a beautiful black gown, with exposed shoulders and a high slit on the left leg. „Go try them on baby.“

Rolling your eyes at his request, too tired to do anything, but still agreeing to try them on to make your sugar daddy happy, you took the dress from his hand. Closing the door of the changing booth, you got too bothered with undressing, that you didn't notice Yunho slip in. That was until his soft fingertips started brushing against your collar bones, slipping the bra straps off your body. „Yunho what are you doing he-“

The words got caught in your throat as Yunho pressed his fingers against your wet slit, pressing onto your covered clit hardly, earning a moan from you. „What am I doing here? I think that's pretty obvious, I've noticed how desperately my girl looked, so I deducted I should help her... but she has to be quiet.“

Tugging your panties to the side, he got hold of his already hard shaft, pumping it a few times and lubricating it with his pre-cum. Positioning himself at your entrance, he looked at your reflection in the mirror, smirking at the desperate look on your face.

Slipping his length into your heat, he started off with a steady and fast pace, hitting the sweet spot hardly. One of his hands holding you by your waist and the other one shutting you as it was pushed against your mouth. „I don't have that many hands baby, so please rub your clit for me.“

Knowing well as to not anger him by not obeying his instructions, your hand slipped in between your legs, fingers coming to direct contact with the reddened bundle of nerves, desperate for any external stimulation, as the tip of Yunho's cock stimulated it from inside. The work of your fingers on your wet pussy was bringing you closer and closer to your sweet high, which you knew was for sure going to be exquisite.

Letting out incoherent moans as Yunho's pace got faster, his cock twitching signalising that you weren't the only one nearing your high, as your walls clenched around him tightly. „Fuck, fuck, fuck-“ Your mouth wide agape from the unexpected pleasure delivered to you, resulting in your fluids squirting not only on Yunho's well-endowed dick, but also the mirror you were pressed against. „Alright, you got tissues? Cuz I don't think the shop assistants will like to clean it..“

❁ 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

It was Friday, which meant your regular dinner with your sugar daddy Yeosang at the luxurious restaurant you always went to. Dressed up in a comfortable, but pretty and seductive dress, you hopped into the back seat of the black car. Yeosang signalled to the chauffeur that he can get going to the restaurant.

Arriving at the hotel where the restaurant was situated, you went up by an elevator to the highest floor, which secured the impressive panorama. Being greeted by the usual waitress with a bottle of red wine in her hands, you excused yourself to use the restroom, while the cooks prepare food for you two.

Placing your purse down on the limestone sink, you took a look at your reflection in the mirror. Taking out the red lipstick you had with you, you reapplied it, since the previous layer got smudged.

Smudged thanks to Yeosang's hungry lips, because as soon as you sat down on the leather seat of his car, his hand immediately wrapped around your neck to bring you closer, his mouth fervently devouring yours.

Sighing you leaned against the counter, trying to get over the bemusing feeling in your lower parts, because how could he arouse you just with some kisses? Closing your eyes, you breathed out heavily, trying to calm yourself down so you can get back to him, without beseeching him to rail you right there, not noticing that the said man was present in the restroom, standing right behind you... That was until his hands laid themselves on your hips, catching you out of guard as you looked up in the mirror to see his boasting grin.

„What's wrong princess? Did my little actions in the car arouse you that much that you can't get back to me? Did you plan on getting yourself off to get rid of the heat in your panties? Did you think your little fingers could help you? I thought you were smarter than that, you should thank the deity that you have me. I'll free you of the arousal and wetness, all you have to do is beg.“

Weighing your options, you knew he was right..„Sir, please, rub my needy cunt, sir I'm all yours, so please help me release the knot in my stomach.“ Chuckling at the way you begged, knowing well how to do it after Yeosang taught you for months, his hands rolled your dress up to your waist, revealing your cotton panties.

Tugging them down to your knees, Yeosang leaned closer to you, looking at your reflection in the mirror, while whispering into your ear, „Relax, mister will rub your little cunt so well, so lean into his touch and be a good girl for him.“

❁ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐧

As you remember falling asleep in San's car, waking up in your sugar daddy's private jet was quite astounding. Lying on the soft cushions of the seat you were in, you let out a few whimpers as you stretched your sore body.

„Well, good morning baby. Did you get good sleep? I tried to move you to the jet as carefully as possible to not wake you up.“ Smiling at him, you murmured a few words of your thankfulness and how your sleep was.

Unclassping the seat belt, you stood up from your seat and approached San who was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. He placed the bundle of papers on the coffee table in front of him, straightening his arms up, to wrap around your waist and tug you down to his lap.

Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, your wrapped your arms around it tiredly. His hand wrapped around your waist and the second one laid on your thigh, keeping you close to him. You let out a few whimpers, wriggling in his lap, to satisfy the growing heat and rub your core against his muscular thighs. „Is there something wrong baby?“

„Can you help me out?“ you said with a quiet almost unhearable voice, a little pout forming on your lips. „Help you out with what, princess?“ you averted your gaze to the hem of your skirt, fingers playing with it. „I've had a naughty dream about you...“

San chuckled at the way your ears turned red at how embarrassed you were because of the request you had. His hand forgot its place on your knee as it moved up, way under your skirt. Tugging your panties to the side, he could feel just how much the wet dream aroused you. His fingers moved up and down your wet slit, purposely coating them with slick and moving them up to your clit.

Rubbing your clit, pressing on it and occasionally changing the intensity of his actions, you couldn't stop the gasps from spilling out from your mouth, you were so engaged by this, that you did not notice San unbuttoning his shorts in the meanwhile, freeing his hardened dick from the tight garments.

You noticed it only when the movement on your swollen bundle of nerves stopped, right before you neared the sweet release, an unsatisfied cry that was cut in your throat leaving your lips. „Shh, baby. Daddy got hard hearing those blissful moans leave your mouth, so it's only right we help each other out. But you can't forget that we aren't alone, so all you gotta do I hope that the pilot can't hear us...“

❁ 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢

High mountains covered in a white blanket of snow were illuminated by the fierce sun rays as they created a scene straight out of a painting. The sound of champagne glasses clicking was heard, as you and Mingi sat in the hot and bubbling water, located on a balcony of the luxurious mountain resort you were in. Only you, your sugar daddy and maybe a few deers out there, but still possibly visible to others, „Do you like it here, princess?“

Nodding at his questions enthusiastically, you sipped off the champagne as your body melted to the feeling of jacuzzi jets massaging your sore muscles, „Yes, it's amazing here, thank you Mingi, for taking me here, I don't even know how to repay you.“

„You don't have to repay me, anything princess, I'm just happy that you like my present, now come here.“ standing up from your 'seat' on the other side of the jacuzzi, goosebumps immediately rose up on your body as the winter breeze attacked your wet skin. Coming over to his seat, you sat back down rushedly as to not catch a cold, the hot water welcoming you, as you found your comfortable spot in Mingi's lap.

His large hands rested on your back, pulling you closer to his chest as they twiddled with the knot that kept the top part of your bikini together. „Mingi, I know we're alone, but you never know when someone's watching...“ you spoke nervously. „Don't think about it, relax into my touch, let the water massage your body.“ Untying the top of your swimwear, he let it fall to the water, the piece of cloth floating on the water surface.

His hands reached for your soft breasts, squeezing them softly as to your hurt you, twirling your hardening nipples between his fingers. Mingi leaned closer to your chest, his plump lips latching onto one of your breasts, sucking on it passionately. Your head was thrown back as you let out low moans, your hands going straight into his locks.

While his face was dipped into your chest, sucking on your soft mounds, your hands travelled down to where the hem of his swimsuit was. „It's only fair I repay you by taking care of you my prince, so now, you should be the one to relax to my touch.“

❁ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

„What are you reading?“ Averting your eyes from the flavescent pages of the book in your hands, you looked up at the man who stood in front of you. His skin sunbathed into a caramel tinted tone only added to how attractively his muscular body looked like, abs covered in beads of water as he just finished swimming in the sea, „50 shades of grey. A colleague of mine told me to read, it's kinda vanilla I have to say, nothing compared to what you do to me at nights.“

Smirking at your remark, he laid by your side on the soft cushions of the large beach couchette as soon as he finished drying his body. Keeping himself close to you, he threw a towel over your bodies, covering them completely, „Why are you covering us, Woo? Are you still cold from the water?“

„Let's just say I don't want other people to see that I got horny as fuck seeing my beautiful girl in her bikini and I just can't get my dick down, so try to act like nothing is happening as I stuff you full of my cock.“

Widening your eyes at how straightforward he was being to you in public, your cheeks got heated up as you could feel his fingers tugging your bikini bottoms down to your knees.

You looked around the beach, trying to act like nothing is happening just as he said, but when you locked eye contact with an older couple who were enjoying their time on the private beach and were looking at you awkwardly, you got even more embarrassed, so looking down into the mattress seemed like the best option. Wooyoung did the same with his swimsuit as he did with your, tugging it down to his knees, pulling out his leaking cock.

Without any more protraction, he sank his length into your wet hole. You had to bite on your lips to keep the moans from escaping past your lips. „Fuck, your cunt is taking me so well, you seem to like having a cock balls-deep in you, while we're in the public.“ His arms wrapped around your waist from behind as he pulled your back closer to his chest, his fingers playing with your nipples through the material of your swimsuit as he bottomed himself into you.

„Fuck, I don't think railing you once will be enough to satisfy our needs, should we go to the hotel room after this and recreate some of the book's chapters?“

❁ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨

Sitting bored in the studio, your fingers typing something into your phone, you side-eyed the clock on the wall frequently, as you waited for the end of your partner's song recording. Black headphones on his head as he let out angel-like sounds into the microphone. „Woow, Jongho, good job for today, I think we can finish this up for today.“

Jongho smiled at the producer who sat in his seat in front of the computer screen, coming back from the recording room to where you were. Standing up from your seat on the couch, you went to him, almost jumping at him out of happiness that this boring session was finally over.

„Jongho, can you please keep guard over the studio for about fifteen minutes? I have to go pick up something but I have no idea where I put my keys.“ Looking over to you, to ask whether it was okay, you nodded although you were not very happy about it, and with that Jongho agreed to watch the studio while the producer left.

„How did you like my recording today?“ mischievous smile on his face as he asked you that, knowing very well while he brought you here. „Did you bring me here today on purpose? Who would have thought that the sweet and awkwardly shy Choi Jongho, would record a song with such naughty lyrics? Hmm, tell me, who were you singing about? Who were you imagining fucking, while you were writing those lyrics?“ Taking small steps, you were slowly cornering him, up until he fell on the couch behind him.

Sitting down onto his thick thighs, the material of his jeans coming straight to contact with your core as the skirt you wore covered you two. Leaning closer to him, you attached your lips onto the skin on his neck, nibbling on it softly as to not leave any marks. „We have around ten minutes left, should I give you a preview of what is waiting for you tonight?“

Your cleavage was straight in front of his eyes as you straddled his lap, purposely pressing your breasts against his chest to accentuate it and catch his attention more. Subtly griding against the tent forming in his jeans, your hand caressing his temples innocently. You could feel him shifting underneath you, some incoherent babble stammering out of his lips at your actions. Your hands took hold of his wrists, placing them on your waist,

„Now, do you think you'll be able to cum and get rid of your boner in less than seven minutes, pretty boy?“

❁ tag list : @galaxteez @gyubaby @bobateastay @tinytinyblogs @ateezinmymind @chososchaos @voidednightmares

[shorkbrian]

Jerk

Oh Jesus y’all I can’t handle these thirsts they’re making em flustered as heck oh no.

oh frick but really doe Bakugou is soooo mean and he’s probably the type that’s into degrading and humiliating his partner, totally has dacryphilia and can’t get off unless you’re crying big, fat, salty tears. He honestly likes you, likes having you around and enjoys your additions in class discussion. But you’re just so easy to bully, he can’t help himself. He tells you it’s your fault, if you put up more of a fight he’d back off. If you didn’t just take his insults and jabs at your character lying down, he’d leave you alone. But he never would. nasty dude.

(College au lol)

TW - noncon, NSFW, handjob, crying, Bakugou is not nice but what's new.

Sometimes he’ll corner you on campus, knows you have evening classes and waits to haul you behind the building as soon as your class ends. Talking to you in a quiet, dangerous voice as he forces you back there, his hot hands gripping your arm (far too tightly), his erection brushing against your ass with each agonizing step.

“Hey (Y/N), you little bitch, did’ya miss me? No? Too bad.”

“You better shut your whore mouth, don’t want the entire campus knowing how much of slut you are. Saying “stop” isn’t going to make me do anything but fuck you harder, stupid bitch.”

“What’re you gonna do, tell someone? Who’s gonna believe a pathetic little extra like you, hmm? I’m their quarterback baby, they can’t afford to lose me. No, you’ll fucking do whatever I say.”

Once behind the building, pressed against the wall, he’ll slap your face, once, twice. Red paints your cheeks, and you’re already crying at the sting. Bakugou just grins, enjoying every second as he squishes your face in his hand, bringing his face close to yours. So close, you can feel each hot puff of air on his every exhale. So close, you can see the beauty of his ruby red eyes, darker maroon flecking the bright iris. Pity Bakugou was so mean.

A beat passed, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing each other’s air. Then he kissed you, mashing your lips together, squeezing your jaw until you opened your mouth, let him inside like you always did.

When he pulled away, you were gasping for air, hand coming up to wipe at the tears streaming down your face. Bakugou huffed, before planting both hands on your chest and pushing. You let out a distressed cry as you were shoved backwards, loosing your balance and falling down into the dirt. You’d probably have bruises later. Who were you kidding, you were with Bakugou. Of course you’d have bruises later.

The blonde crouched down, cocking his head to the side as he watched you, eery smile on his face. You didn’t like that look. You scrambled backwards, pushing at the dirt and scuffing your hands until your back hit a wall. Bakugou stayed where he was.

“You’re so fucking stupid, only thing you’re good at is being a shitty little toy for others to push around. You realize that? That’s all you are. Nothing. Worthless little pussy on legs.”

His words stung, and you had to scrub at your eyes again, wiping away the fresh wave of tears. In doing so, you didn’t notice him stand up, stalk closer, until he was towering over your sitting form. When he “tch’ed” you jumped, looking up.

“Get the fuck up.”

You hesitated.

A hand grabbed your hair, Bakugou’s face twisting into a snarl.

“Now.”

You rose as quickly as possible, finding yourself face-to-face with your aggressor once again. Well, face-to-chest. Then you were flipped around, shoved against the wall of the building as hands began kneading at your chest.

“Mmm, shit baby, you’re always so damn soft.”

A gasp escaped you when he started pinching, grasp becoming firmer and more demanding until it hurt, the man pulling at your chest now. The hard, considerable bulge of his erection was humping against your ass slowly, as if Bakugou was savoring each little thrust of his hips.

“So easy. Bet you would bend over for anyone who asked, wouldn’t you? Slut. You’re just a little cockwhore, ain’t that right?”

He took a few steps back, pulling you with him until he could bend you at the waist, still grinding against you. But in this position, his cock was pressed against your clothed cunt, delivering delicious friction to your clit. You resisted the urge to wriggle your hips in order to chase that feeling. “Hey - “  A slap landed across your ass, and even through your jeans, you could feel it burn. “I asked you a question bitch. Answer me.”

You whimpered.

“Y-y-yes Bakugou..... I am.”

“You’re what? I didn’t quite hear that last part. ”

You could hear the sneer in his voice, wincing at the pressure as Bakugou groped at your chest.

“A-a cockwhore.”

“Fuck yeah you are, I can feel you getting wet down here.” He pulled away from your body, lending you relief for a half a second before he smacked your cunt, hard. “You’re so desperate!”

He was gleeful as he turned you around again, pushing you into the wall. He was always pushing. Pushing over your books the first time he met you, pushing your boundaries, pushing for you to come up to his dorm while his roommates are out, pushing your sanity.

You shuddered as the blond unzipped his jeans, groaning as the zipper pressed against his dick as he pulled it down.

Closing your eyes, you swallowed. You didn’t know what he was going to do next, didn’t want to see the manic look on his face as he decided which part of your body to get off on today.

You weren’t surprised when you felt his hands grab yours. He pushed himself flush against you, and you knew without looking that his cock was standing up proudly, bobbing against his stomach. If you breathed in too far, expanded your lungs, your could feel it twitch against your abdomen. You tried to take short breaths.

His hands guided yours to wrap around his dick, and the second you felt the hot flesh touch your hand, that’s when the waterworks really started. You were crying uncontrollably as Bakugou forced your hands around him, thrusting upwards shallowly, head dropping to your shoulder with a choked-off groan. He wasn’t squeezing your hands too tight, enjoying the soft, loose grip for now.

When the man grew impatient of this, he let go of one of your hands, reaching up at swipe at your face. He was trying to wet his hand with your tears.

‘C’mon (Y/N), keep crying.”

You were bawling, tears dripping off your chin, snot beginning to flow from your nose. Just like Bakugou liked it. He kept on wiping at your face, collecting the tears and snot and drool, before rubbing his hand on his cock. Then he’d make you jerk him, testing to see if it was wet enough for his comfort. The more time passed, the more tears fell.

It took a bit, but finally Bakugou was satisfied with the amount of wetness coating his cock. Grabbing your free hand again, he guided it back to his cock. When you struggled to rip our hands away, his grip just tightened, crushing your digits between his hands and his cock.

There was no preamble, no gentle beginning. Bakugou was thrusting like a mad-man, head once again on your shoulder. You could hear him moaning softly, above the slick sounds of the messy handjob. It was sickening. 

When his hips kicked up another notch, plump balls smacking into your wrists with each thrust, you knew he was close. It took just a few more frantic pumps of his hips before Bakugou was spilling over, hot cum dripping out, leaking onto your hands and dripping down to your shoes.

You tried to pull away again, letting out a desperate sob as Bakugou kept your hands anchored, his hips still moving, almost grinding himself up into your hands. His breath was stuttered, heavy and panting in your ear.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, oh that felt damn good.”

Finally he released your hands. 

Reigning back in your sobs, you looked at them, fingers dripping and palm wet and sticky with the mans cum. You hated him so much.

The sound of pants being zippered drew your attention, head snapping up to look at Bakugou. He was watching you intently, wiping his own hands against his jeans. A sigh of relief. Usually he tried to fuck you, or get you off. It looked like tonight he would be satisfied with just a handjob. You were going to go shower until your skin peeled off, then sleep for a day or two, classes be damned.

“Wipe it onto your slutty little cunt.”

...

“What?? B-b-bakugou you-”

“Wipe it onto your. cunt.”

He leveled you with a glare, hands crossing over his chest. You were frozen.

“Geez bitch, do I need to do it for you? Just fuckin’ wipe that shit onto your pussy, it’s not that hard.”

Trembling, you obeyed, wincing was you stuffed your hands past your jeans, past your underwear. You cringed when you felt how wet your slit was, how inflamed and puffy you felt down there from Bakugou’s teasing rutting earlier. Bakugou watched with a smirk as you pressed your hands against yourself, doing your best to wipe off his cum. 

When you finished, the man looped an arm around your waist, causing you to squeak in alarm. You recoiled from his touch, breathing hard, but he wouldn’t let go.

“What, you thought you were done? Thought a fuckin’ lame excuse for a handjob would satisfy me? God - “ He snickered loudly, beginning to pull you along, forced to walk beside him “ - You really are a stupid slut.”

You bit your lip, tears still wetting your lashes. It was uncomfortable to walk with the amount of wet in your underwear, the thought of Bakugou’s cum just sitting there making your stomach roll, tensing.

“Can’t wait ‘till we get back to my place; shitty roommates are gone for a few days, thank fuck. Can finally try edging you all night, use your body like a toy and shit like that. Fuck, I’m excited.”

You were going to throw up. 

[yourheartonfire]

When they found Superhero, he was gardening. Down on his knees in the dirt, in a stupid khaki hat to keep off the sun, hands deep in the rich black earth in front of the tidy little cottage.

"You're him," they said, outside the little white picket fence. 

Superhero stopped. Then he brushed the dirt off his hands, looked up with a friendly smile. "Well, I'm someone. What 'him' are you looking for?"

Somehow it was an answer, not a question. The hair was graying, the physique not quite so chiseled, but it was clearly Superhero. 

They pushed the gate open. The Superhero did not invite them in but neither did he make any move to stop them, watching patiently from his knees to see what they would do next. So they stepped in from the street and let the gate fall shut behind them. The Superhero smiled and rose.

"Not a lot of people track me down these days," he said, gesturing them towards the pair of chairs on the porch. "You don't look like a reporter. Something I can do for you?"

"Sort of," They waited until Superhero sat then took the other chair, digging their toes uneasily into the freshly painted white boards. 

"Can I get you something?" Superhero said, picking up his own bottle. "Water? A beer?"

"My mom died in the attack on the Civic Plaza," they blurted.

Superhero squeezed his eyes shut and open. He looked pained - but not surprised.

"I'm truly sorry to hear that," he said with practiced, professional empathy. Like cops or doctors who deliver bad news for a living, and then go home to eat dinner and  watch TV and laugh and sleep soundly. And garden.

They looked down at their lap, where their fists were clenched around the edges of their jacket. "No, you're not," they said under their breath.

Superhero went... alert. That was the only way to describe the sudden snap to attention, the slight tensing of muscles, powers or no powers. He said nothing but somehow he was listening harder.

"That was the twelfth major disaster caused by [Villain]," they said. Hot tears were spilling over and they couldn't stop them, couldn't stop the shake in their voice. "You fought him ten of those times before. Any one of those you could've just - just ended him!"

"Murdered him?" Superhero asked, face impartial.

"Yes! Fine! Murdered him!" they cried. "He killed hundreds of people and you could've stopped him for good any time you felt like it! And you didn't - for what? Your moral code? My mom died for your morals!"

Superhero let out a slow breath. "You have every right to be angry," they said quietly. "What happened to your mother was awful and unfair. I have some phone numbers inside. People who can help you, who helped me."

"Helped you?" they cried. "Helped you find peace with failing?"

"Yes," Superhero said simply, folding his hands across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "I saved a lot of people but there's many more, like your mother, that I didn't. I had to learn that I'm not, in fact, a god. I had to accept that I made the best choices I could, in the moment, but my powers don't include omniscience or omnipotence." He shot them a sharp sideways glance. "I'll bet your powers don't either."

They jolted. "How did you...?"

Superhero shrugged. "Like I said, not a lot of people seek me out these days. But you're not the first with that look. The power's just coming in, huh?" They bunched their hands in their pockets and didn't answer. Superhero nodded like that was what he expected. "The Hero Foundation has resources that can help you - medical help, housing help, crisis support-"

"I don't want your stupid foundation!" they screamed, leaping to their feet, hands blazing with unearthly fire. "I don't want a therapist or crisis support. I want you to be sorry you killed my mother!"

Superhero did not flinch. He did not stand. He did not even move, other than his eyes, locked on them like a missile tracking system.

"If that's what you want, kid, we can do that," Superhero said softly. "Why don't we head out back, go a few rounds where nobody will get hurt?"

"Oh, people are going to get hurt," they hissed. The flickering yellow and green aura spread up their arms to shoulders, head, torso. "I want you to know that. You're gonna be the first to die, but I'm going to make everyone hurt, just so they know how pathetic and useless you so-called heroes are!"

They expected a condescending sigh, a patronizing eye roll, a supercilious pat on the head and false sympathy. But Superhero did none of those things. He tilted his head the other way, then nodded gravely. Even through their rage, they felt an absurd surge of gratitude that at least Superhero took them seriously.

"There's a couple reasons I retired," Superhero said, hands tightening around the arms of the chair. "One is to help people like me avoid the mistakes I made when I was younger. I've forgiven myself but that doesn't mean I don't deeply regret making them. For your sake, not for mine, please believe me when I say you don't want to cross this line."

"No more talking," they hissed. "Time to die."

They reached inwards and pulled all the power they could muster, enough to level the house, most of the block. They stretched out their hands and screamed -

And Superhero raised a hand and snuffed their power like a birthday candle.

"Wha- What?" The yellow and green aurora was gone. So was the power. They reached for it desperately, found nothing within but a weak little flicker.

Superhero opened his fist, yellow and green pulsing in his palm.

"No," they breathed. "They said your powers were gone!"

"My powers are fading," Superhero corrected, focusing on the yellow and green flame until it condensed down into a perfect sphere, no bigger than a marble. "But I've got enough. As it happens, I agree with you about Villain. And what I should've done, right from the start." His gaze flicked back up, eyes marbled with unearthly fire. "If it's any consolation, think of all the mothers you'll never kill."

With a panicked gasp, they turned, they ran-

There was a sharp burst of energy, as focused and deadly as a laser blast. 

A couple neighbors noticed the flash of light across their ceiling, across their window, and forgot it just as fast, chalking the silent burst up to a weird reflection or the local kids playing with flashlights.

On his porch, the Superhero sighed deeply and let the power dissipate into nothing, never to be called again. He took a final swig from his bottle, then put it down, got up, and headed out to the shed for the paint brush and another bucket of white paint for the latest scorch mark across the porch.

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.67--Episodes 5-6

I have watched through S7E6; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—I don’t think they handled Tiana well at all. First of all, her personal code doesn’t hit the mark. Tiana is a dreamer, sure, but she’s also excruciatingly practical. She saved and scrimped her money in jars to get her restaurant, she didn’t bet her rent on it. And making her a sheltered princess-by-birth? Lousy move. Her essence is that she is an ordinary woman who works hard for what she’s got, almost too hard, because she wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Community is what’s important to her; dedication and effort, because those are the things she grew up with, not wealth and blindness and entitlement.

—Drisella’s dress at the auction was so pretty. I love cropped, long-sleeved jackets with long solid-colored dresses.

—That ain’t no food truck, that is a hauling-stuff truck. Can’t pull the wool over my eyes.

—I love Regina’s new warrior-Queen aesthetic in the Cinderella world. Which, by the by, needs to get itself a proper name. Calling it the Cinderella world all the time feels pathetic.

—Facilier turning a frog into a person is messed-up. But they were such cute frogs together! All hippity-hopping into the swamp, cute lil froggie voices. (Not the legs. Frogs’ legs are icky.)

—Speaking of Facilier, I love him. I hope he’s not a one-time character.

—He’s quite handsome. And those clothes—which, if you’re going to keep one single outfit from a movie, that’s the one—suit him to a T. And I just adore his voice; any guy who’s playing Facilier has got to have a good voice, and this fellow delivers.

—Those divining bones were an interesting alternative to cards. I mean, I miss the classic, because the cards in the original movie were one of the best visual stuffs, but it’s a cool idea.

—Henry beating up thieves with a plastic Tron lunchbox may be one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a while.

—Regina being gullible about Drisella just proves how good she is now. Only the hero ever falls for such an obvious manipulation.

—Also, Regina’s innate mother-ness is my favorite. Maybe she should consider adopting another kid.

—But that stuff Henry was saying about how ‘he never had a mom, but in his book he gave himself two’? That was terrible. Has Regina not suffered enough?

—When Regina got back her memories, her first idea should’ve been going to Rumple. If anyone else would be awake, she knows it’s him. And she’s gotta be salty about owing him a favor, too.

—Which is also not a good thing. He only collects on his favors when his badness level is high. But, I choose to believe that he’s still a good dude.

—Hook should not have gone into that creepy dark house by himself. That was just stupid. For all he knew, it was a trap. There could’ve been ten people waiting to stab him or something. Where are his brains at?

—That lady in the tower needs some explaining. There is a different between mystery and confusion, and she’s starting to fall into confusion enough that it legitimately agitates my braincells. It’s been six episodes, and I forget how many of them she’s been in, but the fact that I know nothing about her except she for some (unexplained) reason has magic—in a land without magic—is not good. I don’t know why she and Drisella seem to have some history. I don’t know what story she’s supposed to be from. I don’t know what it is Tremaine wants with her. She seems to have some precognition abilities? Or maybe just really good deductive reasoning skills? Leave a couple of elements as unknowns. I don’t have to know her histories with these respective ladies, why she has magic, if she has foresight, who she’s supposed to be, all at once—just give me A FRICKING ONE! —Seriously, this season has a lot of exposition that yields shockingly little knowledge. Now, I’m willing to admit that only having one season of this storyline makes me impatient to know more, because I don’t want it to be left with a lot of loose threads that will never be resolved, but for all their talking they’ve told me very little.

—So, Rumple’s gonna stick with these clothes? I guess it would be kinda weird for everyone else if he started wearing suits, and they’re not practical for a detective. And hey, he’s been alive for centuries, maybe he wants a chance of style. Not that I’m complaining, those clothes are choice.

—He needs to say dearie more. Although that would be the biggest possible red flag for anyone awake….

—Having one of the stepsisters be the badguy is a v good decision. It’s not the expected plot, and they’ve worked it out in a way that I actually didn’t know whether or not to believe Drisella (yk, until now) and I didn’t quite see it coming that she’s the one to cast the Dark Curse.

—SO I had a mega brain-melty moment when somebody, I think it was Lucy but don’t quote me on that, was talking about how cool it was that Henry wrote a fairytale book that had real stories in it. And I was like, “yeah, there are books with real stories. Biographies.” And then I was like, “wouldn’t it be cool if biographies were written the way Henry’s book is?” And then I realized why I like *good* historical fiction so much. It’s based on real people’s lives, and it has most of their real stories. But it’s written in a way that engages and entrances my imagination; it’s written like a fictional story and that somehow makes those people more real to me. And you know what? If I was now or ever planned to be famous, people seeing poetic story elements in my simple existence, years after I died, and spinning those elements into a mythos of their own, would be the highest honor I could ever imagine.

[iconic-ponytail]

there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.