#hes vulnerable when he’s a charging station

[baconcolacan]

Can never forget that Tom is just a cryptid. A creetur.

Like wha you mean his visor connects DIRECTLY INTO his eye sockets??? And my brain came up with the worst explanation, being that there was a lot of confusion on how they were going to get it to work, going ‘what if we just…?’, placing the wires in, and hearing a click

And it works. I refuse to be the only one with this mental image

I LOVE THAT ACTUALLY HASHAHSH his eyes are weird, we also have to remember he can be used as charging station too, something in that noggin of his reacts well to tech

[leftoverpages]

Starlit Sands

Pairing 𓅪 Knight!Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x Targaryen!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, angst, fluff-ish, no war AU, reader uses she/her but no physical description, she’s Rhaenyra’s daughter (no mention of the father)

Notes: spent all day writing for this man so you’re going to be fed for the next few days <3

Wordcount 𓅪 1.1k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's chambers in the Red Keep were a sanctuary of silk and velvet, where whispered secrets echoed in the tapestries and the scent of jasmine lingered in the air. From her window, Y/N watched the city of King's Landing bustle and buzz with life below, the setting sun casting a fiery glow over the rooftops. It was here, amidst the opulence of her mother's court, that she felt most trapped.

Tonight, however, a restlessness stirred within her heart, a yearning for something beyond the gilded confines of the castle. With nimble fingers, she unlatched the window and slipped out into the twilight, her silken gown billowing softly in the evening breeze. Moonlight bathed her in its gentle embrace as she made her way through deserted corridors and shadowed alcoves, guided by the distant murmur of the sea.

Unbeknownst to her, Ser Benjicot Blackwood stood vigilant outside her door, his silver armor gleaming in the flickering torchlight. His duty as a knight of the Kingsguard demanded unwavering vigilance, yet tonight, his thoughts strayed to the young princess whose safety was his charge. As the hours wore on, a sense of unease gnawed at him, prompting him to check on her.

When Lady Rhaenyra arrived at her daughter's chambers, her brow furrowed with concern. "Where is Y/N?" she demanded of the guards stationed outside, her voice edged with urgency.

"She was here, Your Grace," one of the guards stammered, his eyes darting nervously. "But we haven't seen her leave."

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened with worry. "Find her," she ordered sharply, her tone brooking no argument. "Now."

Meanwhile, Y/N reached the deserted beach at the edge of the Blackwater Rush, her bare feet sinking into the cool, damp sand. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery path upon the water's surface as waves whispered secrets to the shore. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide beckoned to her, offering solace amidst the tumult of her thoughts.

She paused at the water's edge, her gaze drawn to the horizon where the last remnants of daylight clung stubbornly to the sky. Stars began to twinkle overhead, painting the heavens with their ancient light. In that moment, Y/N felt a profound sense of peace, as if the weight of her responsibilities had been momentarily lifted.

Ser Benjicot, racing against time and worry, finally caught sight of Y/N's figure silhouetted against the waves. Relief flooded through him as he quickened his pace, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. "Y/N!" he called out, his voice echoing across the deserted beach.

Startled, Y/N turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of guilt. "Ser Benjicot," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the waves. "I... I needed..."

Her words faltered, caught between explanation and apology, as Ser Benjicot approached her with measured steps. "My lady," he began, his tone a mixture of reproach and concern. "You cannot simply wander off like this. Your safety..."

Y/N met his gaze, her expression a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "I needed to escape," she confessed softly, her voice tinged with melancholy. "To breathe, to feel... alive."

Ser Benjicot's stern countenance softened as he regarded her with a depth of understanding that belied his knightly demeanor. "Your safety is paramount," he insisted, his voice tinged with anguish. "I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Y/N reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against his armored sleeve. "I know," she replied softly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But sometimes, I need to remind myself that there's beauty beyond these walls."

Their gazes locked in a silent exchange fraught with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. Ser Benjicot's heart raced with conflicting emotions, torn between duty and the undeniable pull of his feelings for the young princess under his protection.

"Y/N," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I am bound by oath, by duty..."

Before he could finish, Y/N closed the distance between them, her lips capturing his in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of longing and forbidden passion. In that fleeting moment, time stood still as they shared a stolen embrace, their hearts beating in unison beneath the starlit sky.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the salt-tinged air, Ser Benjicot's resolve wavered under the weight of their unspoken truth. "I cannot," he whispered hoarsely, his voice betraying the turmoil within. "I should not..."

Y/N silenced him with a gentle touch to his lips, her eyes shimmering with determination. "Sometimes, Ser Benjicot," she murmured, her voice filled with quiet resolve, "love cannot be bound by duty alone."

With a heavy heart and a lingering touch, Y/N turned towards the Red Keep, leaving Ser Benjicot alone with the echo of their forbidden kiss and the weight of their unspoken yearning.

But instead of leaving, Y/N hesitated, feeling the pull of the serene beach and the quiet company of the knight who watched over her. She turned back to Ser Benjicot, whose expression mirrored her inner turmoil.

"Let’s stay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle rush of the waves. "Just for a moment."

Ser Benjicot hesitated, torn between his duty and the undeniable bond that had formed between them. But in the end, his heart won over his sense of duty, and he sank down beside her on the soft sand, his armor creaking softly with the movement.

They sat in silence, watching as the last vestiges of daylight faded from the sky, giving way to a tapestry of stars that glittered like diamonds overhead. Y/N leaned against Ser Benjicot, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

"This is beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder as she traced the outline of a constellation with her finger.

Ser Benjicot glanced down at her, his gaze softening as he looked upon the young princess who had captured his heart. "Yes," he agreed quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "But not as beautiful as you."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I know we cannot be together," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "But in this moment, let us forget about duty and honor."

Ser Benjicot's hand found hers, intertwining their fingers together in a silent promise. "Just for tonight," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Let us be together."

They sat together in the tranquil embrace of the night, their hearts entwined amidst the stars and the whispering waves. For in that fleeting moment, duty and love coexisted harmoniously, bound by the silent oath of their hearts.

And as the moon sailed high overhead, casting its silvery light upon the world below, Y/N and Ser Benjicot watched the sunset fade into memory, cherishing the fragile yet enduring bond they had forged amidst the serenity of the beach, knowing their love was a secret whispered between the stars.

[idle-soliloquy]

Prison AU (?)

TW: Attempted SA (not between Gale and John), violence.

About 4 hours ago, this idea hit me like a freight train. I think I might turn it into a full fic, but for now... here it comes.

After years of suffering abuse at the hands of his father, Gale finally snaps. He’s had enough, and for the first time, he decides to fight back. 

With little mercy—not that his father deserves any—he doles out the punches. His mother is there, watching, screaming at the top of her lungs and begging them both to cut it out, but it’s far too late. It’s vicious and heated, a rabid fight for survival. A fight to the death, as it turns out. 

The facts of the case are indisputable—after a push to the chest, James Cleven falls back and hits his head, cracking his skull on the tiled kitchen floor, dying instantly. 

Gale’s lawyer claims self-defence, leaning on the years of abuse as mitigating circumstances. The murder charge gets changed to voluntary manslaughter. Gale is sentenced to five years in prison, with the possibility of parole. 

Heading for the prison gates, Gale’s aware of his vulnerability. He’s young, has no prior history of violence, no connections inside the joint, or in the criminal world outside of it. He’s distinctly alone—there’s no one he can count on to stand by him when (not if) things get out of hand. Afraid, but ready to stand up for himself, he enters. 

He’s placed in a cell with a young man named Curt, who’s loud and brash, but ultimately friendly. It quickly becomes apparent that prison life has its own intricate set of rules. Observing the ebb and flow of inmates and their daily interactions, he notices a couple of prominent groups emerge from the more passive crowd, including a respected ‘gang’ of inmates that call themselves the 100th, with a man called Bucky at the helm. 

Gale’s wary of him.  According to his bunkmate, Bucky’s swell. But how can one be swell, if they murdered a man in cold blood in the middle of a train station? 

In the chow hall during breakfast, and out in the yard, Gale can feel Bucky’s eyes sliding across his back like a hot poker. It’s unnerving. Makes Gale’s teeth stand on edge. Bucky’s illicit presence is like a blazing cocoon of (un)wanted attention that settles around Gale’s shoulders, and stays there no matter his disgruntlement with its weight.  

As the days go by, Gale keeps his distance, but can’t deny that he’s horribly intrigued. Why won’t Bucky come to him, if he’s so bothered? Curt says it’s cause Bucky never forces anything. Gale should be the one to come to him. That’s just the way things are done around here. 

Gale’s too proud to bite the bullet and reach out. So, they keep circling each other, Bucky always somehow in Gale’s vicinity, and Gale standing on attention, his unreasonable heart hammering in his chest when he spots the other man out of the corner of his eye. 

A couple of weeks into his incarceration, the dreaded moment comes: Gale is set upon by one of the other prominent gangs in the prison hierarchy, one with a less pleasant reputation than Bucky’s lot. At first, he holds his own, but things are looking bleak. Roughed up and swaying, Gale’s strength is close to waning, when—

Three guards step out of the shadows, and break up the fight. Chaos ensues, but the attackers are quickly corralled, and the main offender is sent off kicking and screaming. 

A figure looms at the periphery. With one eye nearly swollen shut, Gale watches Bucky come closer, with Curt hot on his heels, and... lets himself be helped, lifted off the ground. He hates it, viscerally, but his body’s aching and there’s bile in the back of his throat. He’s acutely aware of what Bucky’s just saved him from. 

His jaw is so tense it’s clammed shut. He wants to thank him, but the only pathetic sound he’s able to force out is a wheezing cough. 

Bucky rubs his shoulder, helps him get the tremors under control. 

“You’re alright. It’s gonna be alright,” he says, tone soothing. His piercing gaze is gone, replaced with a swell of tenderness.  

After a trip to the infirmary, Gale gets back to his cell and crawls into his bunk. He can’t sleep, staring at the ceiling, mind in a perpetual whirl. 

He hears Curt roll out of his bed and tiptoe across the room. 

“You alright?” 

 The blooming bruise above Gale’s right eyelid pulses like a living thing. He looks at Curt, and nods with little conviction. 

“You know it was him, right?” Curt says. 

“What?” Gale swallows. “What do you mean, him?” 

Curt points to his battered face. “The guards. They came to save your ass cause Bucky called.” 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Cross my heart, hope to die. It was him, alright. And when you were in the infirmary, one of the guys from the 100th was standing watch.” 

“Why?” asks Gale, breathless. 

“Cause Bucky’s told him to.” 

Gale shudders. Of course, Bucky’s got the guards at his beck and call. Gale’s done nothing so far but ignored the man, but he’s still dispatched them like it was nothing, like it didn’t cost him anything, which Gale knows cannot be true; here, every favour is a trade. In one way or another, Bucky’s paying for Gale’s protection. 

“You have to get yourself sorted out, man,” Curt whispers. “It’s gonna happen again, you know that. We can’t keep an eye on you 24 fucking 7, unless—” 

“What am I supposed to do?” 

“The only thing you can do. Get yourself under Bucky’s protection. It’s the safest place to be. No one in the 100th holds with rape, it’s pretty much the only rule we go by.”

“And what do I have to do in exchange for his protection?” Gale asks through gritted teeth, expecting the worst. 

Curt frowns. “I just told you we don’t hold with rape. Nothing. Be a part of the group, uphold the code. Protect others in turn.” 

It sounds too good to be true. 

Curt won’t stop talking, praise after praise pouring out of him. You’d think he is Bucky’s biggest fan, and maybe that’s exactly the case, and for a good reason too. Gale learns that Curt went through a similar ordeal, but since he’s been running with Bucky no one has dared to touch him. But the final straw turns ot to be the full story of how Bucky’s landed himself in prison: the man he’s murdered in cold blood raped and killed his teenage sister. Bucky chased him across the country, from Wisconsin to Wyoming, after the man was acquitted due to lack of evidence. 

“I’ll talk to Bucky first, let him know you’re coming,” Curt suggests, and Gale, swallowing down his pride, agrees. 

A strange thing happens the next day—Gale’s moved from his cell to a new one, with cleaner, sturdier walls, and a bed that doesn’t creak and wail with every shift of his body. He’s even got a proper pillow, all fluffed up, with a mint chocolate placed neatly in its centre. 

His new bunkmate is none other than Bucky himself. 

“Curt came in for a chat this morning. Said you wanted to see me,” Bucky says from the doorway. “I pulled a few strings and got you moved in here for now. Better keep an eye on you.”

Bridling, Gale turns away, but doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t want to come off ungrateful.

“So—” Bucky says when Gale remains silent. “What do you wanna chat about? I am all yours.” With a wink, he sits on his bunk bed, arms crossed on his chest, head cocked to the side. 

The words barely crawl out of Gale’s mouth. “Let me join you. Protect me,” he says, “and I’ll stand by your side.” 

Bucky smiles, a wicked glint to his eyes. “What’s your name?” 

“You don't know it?” 

“A name is something willingly given.” 

Gale blinks, bewildered. “It’s Gale—” 

Bucky barks out a laugh, and shakes his head. “Gotta give you a new one, a proper prison name. A name like Gale’s gonna get your ass kicked even with my protection.” 

“How am I supposed to—” 

“Your name is Buck from now on.” 

“What?” Gale gapes at him, frozen to his spot by the tiny sink, nails biting into the heels of his palms. “You gave me your name?” 

“Gotta clean out these pretty ears of yours, Buck, or are you hard of hearing? It’s an entirely different word. I’m Bucky, you’re Buck. With a name like that, there’s gonna be no doubt who you belong to.” 

More to come (maybe) to ao3 near you… 

Thanks to @angelfruittree for being the best brainrotting partner, and @nicijones and @don-humes-tiny-shorts for their brilliant suggestions on what crimes Gale and John would be capable of. Kissing your brains!

[nayziiz]

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 11

From the moment they shared their first intimate encounter, Lola found herself utterly addicted to Carlos's touch. It wasn't just the physical sensations that left her yearning for more; it was the way his fingers danced across her skin with an almost reverent tenderness. Each brush of his fingertips was a silent declaration of his desire and affection, leaving her breathless with anticipation for what was to come.

As he lifted her Ferrari t-shirt over her head, his touch ignited a fire within her, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins. His hands moved with a practised, gentle precision, as if he was afraid to break the spell they were under. The cool air against her bare skin was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, heightening her senses.

Carlos’s eyes, dark and intense, traced every curve of her body, making her feel both exposed and cherished. His gaze was like a physical touch, creating a path of warmth and desire wherever it landed. The way he looked at her, with a mixture of hunger and adoration, made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

He leaned in, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone, his breath hot against her skin. Each kiss was a promise, a wordless assurance of his devotion. Lola arched into him, craving more of the connection that only his touch could provide. His hands continued their exploration, tracing the line of her spine, eliciting a gasp from her lips.

Their movements became a dance, a rhythm of give and take, of unspoken understanding. Lola felt her world narrow to just the two of them, the outside world fading away. It was in these moments that she realised the depth of her feelings for Carlos went beyond mere attraction; it was something deeper, more profound.

Carlos paused, his lips hovering just above hers, their breaths mingling. The anticipation was electric, a charged silence that spoke volumes. When he finally closed the distance, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, it was like coming home. His kiss was demanding yet tender, a perfect blend of passion and care.

And when his fingers curled perfectly over the waistband of her jeans, pulling them down along with her panties, Lola couldn't help but surrender to the exquisite pleasure that washed over her. In his hands, she felt both vulnerable and cherished, as if every touch was a promise of his unwavering devotion.

But perhaps what truly captivated her was the way Carlos looked at her – not as an object for his pleasure, but as a goddess to be worshipped. Even in the throes of desire, his gaze held a depth of admiration and respect that left her feeling cherished and adored.

As Lola straddled him, she felt a surge of desire coursing through her veins, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. With Carlos sitting upright, his arms wrapped securely around her, she pressed her naked bust against his bare chest, revelling in the intimate connection they shared.

Their bodies moulded together seamlessly as they kissed each other with a fervent passion that seemed to consume them both. Lola's arms were draped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she surrendered to the intoxicating sensations that washed over her.

In that moment, there was no space for doubt or hesitation, only the undeniable pull of desire drawing them closer together. With each kiss, each touch, they reaffirmed the depth of their connection, lost in the ecstasy of their shared intimacy.

As Lola pulled away from their passionate kiss, a moment of tranquillity enveloped them, allowing her to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. Gazing at the flustered man pressed tightly against her, she couldn't help but feel a surge of affection and desire coursing through her veins.

Brushing his hair out of his eyes with a tender touch, she locked eyes with him for a fleeting moment, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to express, but in that moment, words failed her. Carlos had stolen all her words from her, leaving her speechless with the intensity of their connection.

With a gentle peck on his lips, Lola conveyed all that she couldn't put into words – her love, her desire, her longing for him. And as she pulled away once more, she felt him twitch inside her, a silent affirmation of the passion that burned between them.

“Where's your mind at?” Carlos whispered, his voice a soft caress against Lola's ear as he brushed her hair behind it and cupped her cheek with tender affection. A blush crept onto Lola's cheeks as she met his gaze, her heart fluttering at the intensity of his stare.

“Is it selfish of me to not want this to end?” She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as she voiced the fear that had been lingering in the back of her mind. Carlos's expression softened with understanding, his thumb gently tracing circles on her cheek.

“Not selfish at all.” He assured her, his voice filled with sincerity. “It would be more selfish to want you with me all the time.”

Feeling emboldened by Carlos's reassurance, Lola's blush deepened as she leaned in to kiss him once more. This time, her kiss was filled with a newfound urgency, a raw desire that pulsed through her veins and ignited a fire within her.

As their lips met in a fervent embrace, she couldn't help but grind her hips down against him, feeling his response in the form of a low, guttural moan that escaped into her mouth. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through her body, intensifying the desire that burned between them.

Lost in the heat of the moment, their bodies moved together in a sensual rhythm, each movement eliciting a symphony of sensations that left them both breathless.

As Lola drifted into a peaceful slumber in Carlos's secure embrace following their passionate bout of lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a surge of overwhelming love and gratitude wash over him. Gazing at her sleeping form, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window, he was overcome with a sense of awe at the depth of his feelings for her.

Leaning in close, Carlos whispered the words he had longed to express for so long.

“I hope you know you're all I've ever wanted.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke the truth of his heart.

In that moment, as he watched her sleep, Carlos knew with unwavering certainty that Lola was the one he had been searching for – his soulmate, his confidante, his everything. And as he held her close, he vowed to cherish her for as long as she would let him, and vowed to appreciate the profound joy she brought into his life.

The following morning, Carlos was up and moving about all over the hotel suite before Lola woke up. When her eyes fluttered open, she watched him move from the bedroom to the bathroom and from the bathroom to the bedroom several times in the span of a few seconds. His energy was palpable, a stark contrast to the peaceful slumber she had just woken from.

She stretched lazily, the sheet slipping down to her waist, revealing the gentle curves of her body before she pulled them back up to cover her breasts.

“Morning.” She replied, her voice still thick with sleep. “You seem...busy.”

“I, uh, we need to go.” He vaguely stated, leaving her even more confused.

“What are you talking about?” Lola wondered, a frown creasing her brow.

“I didn’t set my alarm, so we overslept and we’re going to be late and the whole day is going to be ruined.” Carlos rambled, his usual composed demeanour cracking under the pressure.

“Late for what?” She asked, and for the first time that morning, he truly paused and realised he hadn’t told her about their plans for the day. “Carlos?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find his hair gel amidst the chaos.

“Dress comfortably, we’re going to be walking for a while.” He warned her, not meeting her eyes as he continued his search.

“Carlos, where are we going?” Lola asked again, rummaging through the mess to find a bra and a shirt.

“It’s a surprise, mon amor. Can’t tell you, otherwise it won’t be a surprise,” Carlos countered from the bathroom, a playful smirk on his face.

Carlos emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and ready to go, while Lola stood in the middle of the chaos in just her shirt and a pair of panties.

“Could you at least help me look for a pair of jeans? It looks like a tornado came through here.” Lola moaned, exasperation clear in her voice as Carlos stood by, idly watching her.

He smiled, knowing that the surprise awaiting her would soon melt away all her frustrations about the mess he made in their hotel room.

“Of course, let me help you.” He said, joining her in the search. He rummaged through the scattered clothes and quickly found a pair of jeans for her. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She muttered, slipping them on. “You know, you could have been a bit more organised.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But trust me, this is going to be worth it.” Carlos replied, a sheepish grin on his face.

“When we come back, you’re cleaning this mess while I go to the spa.” Lola mumbled as she pulled on her jeans.

“Mon amor, when we get back, you won’t want to go to the spa.” Carlos teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Stop teasing, Carlos.” She whined again, brushing her hair and tying it up before grabbing a jacket off the floor. He chuckled softly, enjoying their playful banter.

“You’ll see.” He promised, holding out his hand to her. She took it, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself.

As they walked out of the hotel, Carlos’s excitement was infectious, and Lola couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building within her. They navigated the bustling streets, with Carlos occasionally glancing at her, a secretive smile on his face.

“Are you going to give me any hints?” Lola asked, squeezing his hand as they turned a corner.

“Not a chance.” He replied, his smile widening. “It’s a surprise, remember?”

“Fine, but it better be worth it.” She sighed dramatically but couldn’t suppress her own smile.

“Oh, it will be.” Carlos assured her.

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

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg @laneyspaulding19

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

The Police Station Scene

Arguably the most important season 1 Tarlos scene (it won the poll, after all!), the police station scene in 1x03 is undoubtedly iconic. The sheer chemistry between these two becomes truly apparent, and the journey they take throughout the scene...I have no words. Or perhaps I have many words. Yes, I think it's that second one. Many words. Under the cut, my analysis of this excellent scene.

We start out with TK in a pretty miserable situation. On top of everything else he's going through, he just got arrested, and at this point, he's not sure if the guys he fought are going to be pressing charges. For all he knows, he could be ending up in a jail cell using his one phone call to get Owen to come bail him out, something that Owen will probably not be too happy about. Not only that, but he's bleeding and his face clearly hurts judging by the ice pack he's holding to it. He's having a very bad night.

Then, things suddenly get even worse. Because the police officer coming to deal with him is none other than the guy he hooked up with and then later stormed out on. The guy TK had started having such strong and unexpected feelings for that he had given in to the urge to flee. The guy who TK assumes probably already thinks terrible things about him because of the way things went down the last time they were together. So now not only is this an undesirable legal situation, but it's also an awkward and embarrassing social situation. And now this guy knows that "TK" stands for Tyler Kennedy. Ugh.

From Carlos' perspective, he met this guy who was smokin' hot who he felt an instant connection with...this guy who made him feel for the first time like maybe he wasn't actually broken and then gave him the best orgasm of his life. Said guy then stormed out on him for what appeared to Carlos to be no good reason. He couldn't even be bothered to sit and have a meal and a little conversation. And now? This guy is out getting in bar fights completely sober, putting himself in a dangerous situation where he could very well get himself killed. This guy who Carlos already cares about, and who has seemingly completely rejected him at the first sign of Carlos wanting to get to know him. Carlos is hurt but he's also angry. Most of all, Carlos is angry about the fact that TK is being so completely reckless with his own safety.

The guys from the bar fight don't want to press charges, so Carlos tells TK that he's free to go. But he can't stop from giving TK a little advice. He's not trying to be his boyfriend (lie) or even his friend if he's not into it (oh, Carlos) but he tells TK that he "should talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal." Carlos says this without knowing that TK was suicidal and acted on it not long ago.

TK appears to be affected by this but says nothing. It appears that maybe the fight has gone out of him...until Carlos lets him know that he has something on his face, giving him a box of tissues to take care of it. TK gets visibly frustrated when Carlos tells him he's trying to clean off the wrong side. But then Carlos does something that TK doesn't expect.

He says, "Stop, just...let me." And with a shaky hand, he uses a tissue to dab at the spot on TK's face.

This clearly isn't nothing to Carlos. The emotion in his eyes is undeniable. He cares. That simple act of caring is enough to break TK's walls down the tiniest bit. To allow him to show some vulnerability. TK wants to explain.

He apologizes for what happened between them and tells him that he just went through a really bad breakup, "like nuclear bad," and then he relapsed. Not, as Carlos assumes, with him, but with substances. TK is giving Carlos a piece of himself, trusting him in a way he has not trusted anyone else he's met in Texas, as much as he likes them and enjoys working with them.

Carlos recognizes the significance of this moment of vulnerability. But it's more than that. It gives him context for what happened. TK wasn't just being a jerk and storming out because he didn't care to get to know Carlos. He has serious things going on. And...the champagne! TK has issues with substances and Carlos had offered him champagne without even asking first!

Carlos, always quick to blame himself, apologizes, and in that moment, his walls come down a little too. He had been trying to play it stoic and tough and like he didn't care so, so much. (Of course he already gave himself away when he started gently wiping TK's face)

But TK doesn't stop there. He gives Carlos more of himself, explaining that, ever since he's gotten to Austin, it's just grey. And he feels numb all the time. To explain why he started the bar fight, TK says, "I guess I just--I wanted to feel something."

Carlos looks at him. The anger is gone. He has understanding in his eyes...and that look of caring is still there, too. He watches TK gather his things and stand up. Carlos could have said anything in this moment. He chooses to tease TK a little. TK said he started a fight because he just wanted to feel something, so Carlos tells him, "Judging by that lip, I'd say mission accomplished."

TK looks at him with annoyance. He kind of can't believe that THIS is Carlos' reaction to his vulnerability!

"You really busting my balls right now?"

But Carlos stands his ground as the corner of his mouth goes up slightly.

"Yeah, I suppose I am."

Carlos made the right choice here because TK smiles too.

They like each other so much.

I fully believe that everything that happens after wouldn't have happened without this scene. It's pivotal in their relationship. The journey they go through is incredible! From this:

To this:

Iconic and unmatched.

[xenodile]

okay, slept on it, had some time to think, more coherent thoughts on Alien Romulus, spoilers below

The last second swerve into whole plot referencing Aliens and Alien 4 were by far the weakest parts of the movie, because the movie was at its strongest when it was focusing on Andy and the influence of the corporate programming, and the threat that even a single xenomorph poses.

The facehuggers were the stars, seeing them thaw out of cold storage, skittering around like spiders, the corridor sequence, all of them were phenomenal, and the addition of a single adult xenomorph perfectly accented the threat of a few dozen facehuggers.

The xenomorph itself was excellent as a solitary threat, retaliating even when it was vulnerable, stalking the other characters, the elevator catch, waiting at the door, presenting the xenomorph as a single implacable monster with a goal is so much more compelling than a horde of them charging down a hallway, and lends credence to the set up of the movie in which the station was taken out of commission by essentially a single xenomorph getting loose.

Having the Xenomorph and the Facehuggers present together allows for a much more interesting and complex story as the xenomorph, which we already know is a vicious killing machine, now just tries to catch and keep the humans alive so they can be infested, and it's a bit disappointing that we didn't get more of that, watching the titular monster behave almost like an infatuated stalker as it tries to seize their right moment to strike so it can have more hosts for its brood.

Though on that note, I think it would've been stronger if the one xenomorph from the prologue had persisted instead of being found as a corpse, because then more could've been done with the one character that actually got infested and had the facehugger removed prematurely. It felt like a bit of a waste to have her get grabbed, have the facehugger removed within a few minutes, and yet she still gets infested as if it had been on the whole time. That aspect felt very rushed as if having a chestburster scene was mandatory just because it's an Alien movie. The cocoon scene could've stayed in as is and just had the xenomorph laying dormant in the absence of prey, rather than it being a newborn xenomorph molting within seconds of emerging.

Back to my other point, Andy. Andy was easily the best character, and David Jonsson's performance was incredible. That said, I wished the narrative had focused more on him and his bond with Rain. I think the story would have been much stronger if rather than completely overwriting his personality, the Weyland-Yutani programming merged and conflicted with his existing directive, and he was allowed more agency to be vindictive about his treatment as a damaged synthetic, which is a very clear allegory for being a disabled black man. Sort of letting the Corporate directive be this corrupting influence rather than full on mind control, where he's suddenly able and has greater control, and can actually stand up for himself instead of being coddled and protected by Rain.

Overall the movie is good, it's perfectly serviceable and there's nothing outlandishly bad, but there was a lot of potential in some of the concepts it presents that just weren't properly utilized to its detriment.

[autistic-ben-tennyson]

Tamaki and Suzume: an underrated parent-child relationship

Been thinking about my favorite movie again. Specifically an aspect of it that I think is a bit underrated. Many fell in love with Souta but I was more invested in Suzume’s relationship with her aunt and it makes me tear up a bit. It feels like a very realistic portrayal of a parent-child relationship and gives an important message about communication. I relate to both characters for different reasons which is why it hit so hard. It’s not idyllic or easy for Tamaki as she was forced into raising her niece after her sister died in the 2011 Earthquake. Soon her life became focused around raising her niece as her boyfriend drifted away and she was forced to start taking better care of herself. All very realistic for someone who has the role of parenthood thrust on them with zero warning which is relatable even for those who didn’t lose their siblings and have to be a surrogate parent to their kids.

Japanese viewers were given a booklet in theaters that revealed a bit more about Tamaki and her life before becoming a mother. She has a bit of an inferiority complex and wanted some time away from her sister who was much more sociable and loved by people. Now she has to raise her niece who is much like her mother. I can relate to that, being a lot more of a loner than my brother. Being depressed and a bit awkward while having to be around excitable and happy people can be grating and bring up feelings of jealousy and it can make you want to get away and start fresh.

Despite all that, Tamaki does her best to be a good mother, playing along with Suzume as a child when she clings to the chair her mother gave her and comforting her after having a meltdown at her birthday party. Suzume would end up comforting her aunt, both unprepared for things to end up like this, but by being emotionally vulnerable and letting their pent up emotions out, things got better. Life seemed normal with them having normal squabbles and bonding moments you’d expect for a family. This continues till the start of the movie when Tamaki is seen making a bento for her niece. Then the conflict starts when Suzume runs away with Souta.

Tamaki doesn’t know why Suzume has run off and is understandably furious over her niece running away with little consideration for her responsibilities. To her, she’s acting like a child again when chasing after that chair she was given. On Suzume’s end, she feels smothered by her aunt demanding she come home and still treating her like a child. Tamaki wants to protect her niece but Suzume wanted to save Souta which she worries her aunt won’t understand.

This is where Sadaijin and Daijin come in as they’re meant to be a parallel for Tamaki and Suzume. Tamaki and Sadaijin are not malicious but are just following what they have to do. Sadaijin has to make sure Daijin fulfills his duties even if that means smothering and reprimanding him. Tamaki has to work and maintain their house and isn’t happy with Suzume not caring about how hurt she was. Sadaijin uses Suzume’s argument with her aunt in the parking lot to lecture Daijin but he only amplifies Tamaki’s emotions that were already there. Both remind their charges that they have responsibilities they can’t ignore and that their actions are affecting others. Suzume ignored how hurt Tamaki was until she expressed it in a way that wasn’t like herself.

Just like the conversation when Suzume was a child, the argument at the gas station was a dark moment for them. But it also gave her and her aunt an opportunity to be emotionally vulnerable. Suzume suspected her aunt resented having to raise her and how it affected her life. Earlier, when talking to Chika, she admitted to feeling bad about Tamaki’s dating life and how she’s affected it despite her aunt being quite attractive. By admitting her negative feelings, Tamaki did hurt Suzume emotionally but was able to express what she had been bottling up. She is regretful of what she said which is why she breaks down to Serizawa, much to his ice cream’s misfortune.

During the bike ride to the gate to rescue Souta, the two have an another opportunity to talk now that some time has passed. Suzume apologizes to her aunt for the stress she put her through. Tamaki admits that what she said the night before was true but she still loves her daughter and is proud to have raised her, much to Suzume’s relief before teasing her a bit about her crush on Souta. The end montage shows a healthier relationship between the two with Suzume introducing her to the people she met along her journey. This dynamic was always my favorite part of the movie over the romance stuff. I still like it and I do like Souta but the relationship between Suzume and Tamaki was what hit close for me. It fits the movie’s message about how joy can come from grief. The argument at the rest stop caused a lot of grief for both characters but ultimately led to a healthier relationship. It reminds me a bit of Luz and Camila’s dynamic in The Owl House and how communication and being open about their emotions led to a better understanding. I relate to Suzume’s anger at being smothered and feeling like your parents secretly resent you. I don’t have a good relationship with them and I don’t know if I want to keep it but I still feel relief at seeing Suzume and Tamaki resolve their issues. Someone should really write a fanfic about Suzume’s childhood as well as what happened between returning home and reuniting with Souta.

[daquila]

This is me trying || Gojo Satoru x Reader

Satoru spending his time thinking about the love that he lost.

genre: hurt/no comfort, angst

Satoru stumbled inside the entrance; his body was completely exhausted from work. It was like all of his life, soul, and mind got sucked out from how many exorcisms he had to do.

The sorcerer was greeted with the hanging photo frames that decorated your living room as he rolls over to the sofa. It had many pictures of him smiling without a mask, making him look more human than usual.

Satoru, really, is just a simple man— nothing more or less than that. Sure, he could be the strongest alive— but that would never erase the fact that he was still vulnerable.

The silence grew louder, which oddly drew the ghosts of his past near him. All he could envision were the memories that you spent together in that very same living room: the sound of laughter echoing as you watched your favourite show together, the smell of freshly baked cinnamon buns during a very cold December, and the taste of your lips after you poured your heart into him.

All he could wish for was for you to come home— but he knew that you would never return in his arms. It was his own stubbornness that drove you away.

He didn’t want to deny that you were his weakness. It was already written all over his face. The way he’d look at you, talk to you—- or even hold you were dead giveaways! Practically the entirety of the jujutsu knew about how precious you were to him.

That, of course, made his ego inflate. Everyone knew that you were his, and everyone knew that he was yours; however, it would be the same reason why you were torn apart from him.

He uses this moment to think about the depth of this situation. You were so exposed to jujutsu, and it was ripping him into shreds. After you got promoted to grade 1, the higher ups started sending you to even more dangerous exorcisms— almost as if they wanted to get rid of you. These old geezers wanted to see him break and possibly push him beyond the limits of jujutsu.

It went from spending a night without him to getting used to not seeing him for two whole months. Satoru was getting busier and busier as time passed by. No one would have thought that this was all planned out.

The rain was pouring heavily as he exercised his final curse in the outskirts of Osaka until he received a call from Ijichi. Like the idiot that he is, he forgot to charge his phone prior to going out. Satoru’s phone instantly blacked out.

“ Must be important, “ he thought, making his way to the train station to get back to Tokyo. Maybe he should just go Shoko’s office and ask her about Ijichi’s sudden call. The driver only called him whenever there was a mishap in the morgue.

While walking down the hallway, he sensed a familiar energy: it was yours. Though suspiciously faint, he thought that you must have been hurt— but his six eyes were telling him a whole different story.

The first thing he saw when opening the door was a body covered in a white sheet. No other patients were present. Shoko just gives him a pitiful glance before signalling to Ijichi for the both of them to leave the room.

Satoru already knew what was happening, but his heart was fighting for a different truth. He wanted to make an excuse for what was happening, because his subconsciousness was already starting to point fingers. Him being too busy to not be there for you wasn’t a good excuse. You were literally dying; he could’ve been there for you.

What pained him the most was that he hadn’t replied to any of your calls or texts for the past few weeks. He wasn’t able to hear you, talk to you, or even hold you. If he was truly your everything, then why did he treated you like you were nothing?

The last time he’s ever been with you was two months ago. It was raining heavily in the school, so the both of you decided to indulge in some movies. It was nothing special, and it pained him. Satoru wished that he took you out somewhere better—- after all, you deserved more than what the moon could offer.

Satoru kept on telling himself that going on constant missions were to protect you. But at what cost? Losing his time and being “too busy” to come and rescue his dying wife? It all wasn’t worth it— not even worth the time, effort, and all of that stress he went through. Your cold, lifeless body will forever haunt him. It would become a reminder of how stupid he was for doing that to you.

A/N: all I could write is angst LOL #fluffslander

[not-so-secret-bi-badge-bunny]

WIP of the day (Temp Title: Evan takes charge)

~~ I have an overwhelming desire to read fic's where Buck is more dominant because Tommy craves it. I like my premise so far but I want to know your thoughts.

Thank you for reading-Em

Tommy has always enjoyed relinquishing control when he can. Years of high stress jobs that require you to be a very fast thinker, making life versus death decisions for not only himself but his co-workers and members of the community, having to make choice after choice, questioning if it was the right one? Was there a better one to be made? Not to mention all the “what if’s” can become exhausting and dangerous if you're not actively taking care of yourself and doing what you can to avoid burnout. He always had little ways to minimize his mental load for himself. He would meal prep for a week in advance to avoid having to make one more choice after a really long shift and he kept as strict of a routine as one can with shift times changing from week to week. His days off were spent trying to recharge in between running errands and household chores. It has been a long while since he felt comfortable asking anyone to help with much of anything, let alone being so very vulnerable.  It has been a really long week filled with too many losses and not enough saves and all Tommy wants to do is let go and let all choices be made for him. He knows that he can ask Evan for help with this, he is sure he would be on board immediately, but trying to put together the words to explain what he wants is harder than he thought it would be. He knows that Evan gets off in a few hours but he doesn’t want to chicken out of asking for help. A call and worry Evan, so he sends him a text instead : “Hey Ev, do you think we could alter our plans for tomorrow? After the week I had I was kinda hoping you could help me by taking off some of the mental load while I recharge so to speak. It is ok if you're uncomfortable with the idea of doing so, we can discuss this more when you get home tonight.  Stay safe, I love you.” Evan responded back impossibly fast for being on shift  “Of course Baby, do you want me to call you so we can talk about it?”  Tommy ponders for a moment but ultimately decides that it can wait “Just call me before you leave the station. I’m ok, I promise.”  “ Ok Baby, don’t miss me too much, I will be home before you know it.” 

[therealmlpguy]

propoganda:

The Enigma of Amigara Fault: They are soulmate, they are destined to be one, but the hole will change Owaki till he is not even more human

Star Wars:

Leia and Tarkin are an insanely dysfunctional match… He is a 64 year old highly ranking military leader and politician for an authoritarian/fascist regime (the Galactic Empire) which usurped the galaxy’s government in the same year of Leia’s birth. She is the 19 year old crown princess and Imperial Senator for the peaceful planet of Alderaan, and secretly uses her status in order to spy and deliver supplies and information for the Rebel Alliance— a small, plucky band of freedom fighters seeking to overthrow the Empire and return democracy/peace/freedom etc. Could I make it anymore obvious 😐 It’s very heavily suggested in the film, and shown in supplementary material (books, comics, etc) that Leia and Tarkin have always hated each other’s guts. Tarkin has long suspected both Leia and her family, the royal house of Alderaan, of being rebel agents/sympathizers. In the book Leia: Princess of Alderaan we see him stalking them about it and trying to exploit Leia’s vulnerabilities to get her to crack.

He invites her to to his office for tea and basically implies that he will have her parents assassinated and install her as a puppet ruler of her planet in their stead. She’s also sixteen at that point. Then, at the beginning of the main film, Leia— now nineteen— gets captured by Darth Vader while on a mission— Vader is also kind of sort of under Tarkin’s command at the time. Leia is taken to the Death Star— a giant battle station which can blow up planets, which Tarkin has been given charge of— and held as a prisoner. There she is tortured using spooky sci-fi devices for information about the rebels, including the location of their base, which Tarkin and Vader want to destroy. Vader’s the main torturer but it is clear that Tarkin is involved in supervising the whole thing and may have participated directly off screen. (The torture includes stuff like: injecting her with hallucinogenic drugs that make her believe herself to be in super duper pain (like she’s on fire), shocking her, pinching and poking her with stuff, etc etc). Leia does not tell them anything.

When Vader reports back to Tarkin that he hasn’t broken Leia, our crusty villain is not pleased. Until he comes up with a worser more evil plan…. And so he has Leia brought to the bridge of the station to show this evil plan off. He orders her execution and taunts her about it while creepily touching her face, then blows up her entire home planet of Alderaan in front of her as an elaborate means of psychological torture. Keep in mind Alderaan is full of a ton of civilians who have nothing to do with the war. This is a war crime. Beforehand a horrified Leia feigns breaking and giving him the rebel base’s location in order to try and buy time to save her people; Tarkin thinks she told the truth but still destroys Alderaan anyway because the planet she named was “too remote to provide an effective demonstration” of the Death Star’s capability. In short he has no respect for life and wants to see her suffer.

The entire time this scene happens he’s being very cold and clearly taking sadistic amusement in Leia’s pain and in getting to kill all these innocent people. He also invades Leia’s personal space a lot in a very creepy way. We can see that Leia— who is genuinely a very brave girl— is pretty scared by him at this point. But also very angry. The moment he finds out Leia’s information was a lie he becomes enraged (he can excuse planetary genocide but he DRAWS THE LINE at getting tricked by a teen girl he’s holding captive) and demands that she be terminated (executed) immediately. Fortunately da boiz (Luke Skywalker Han Solo Chewbacca Obi wobi etc) arrive on the Death Star just in time to save the beautiful princess from dying of Terminal Old Man.

She leads said boiz back to the real rebel base and delivers the plans to the Death Star so that they can blow the thing up. They blow it up, killing Tarkin. TL;DR -This ship is between a very young girl and a very old man and that’s the least of their problems -They hate each other and are political enemies. Moreover he kind of borderline stalked her as a teen. -She was captured and became his prisoner. He had her tortured for information. -when she didn’t break, he blew up her entire planet, killing 2 billion innocents solely to traumatize and spite her. -He sentenced her to be executed, and she played a vital role in the battle that led to his actual death. Both have strong intentions to kill the other. There is not a UNIVERSE in which the relationship between these two wouldn’t be something messed up and VILE. That is a big draw for them. They have a weird sort of chemistry. I love them sosososososoo much. Hopefully this educated you on how messed up they are. Like sure your enemies to lovers ship is good I bet but is your bad guy an irredeemable fascist who killed 2 billion people because your heroine made him mad??? Probably not. 

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 6: Accomplice

All confidence and security I’ve accumulated is depleted. The Shelbys have helped keep me safe from the unpredictable world outside, and as the cop pushes me through the ash-filled streets I’m reminded of just how vulnerable I really am. Yet I still keep my head held high and mask my fear with stern eyes. I’m led to what must be the police station and down the hall to a small waiting room with a single desk. The cop shuts the door, closing off what little light there is. 

“I demand to know what’s going on!” I shout at the door. “I will not be imprisoned without official charges! If there is no official complaint then I shall inform the authorities in America!”

“No need for that, Ms. Steenstra,” a familiar voice speaks from the shadows. Campbell steps forward smoking a pipe and I see he’s holding a file.

I tighten my jaw and refrain from yelling again. My state of mind is much more fierce compared to our last encounter. “Hello again, Inspector Campbell.”

He slides the file onto the desk and sits down. “Last time I saw you, you were trying to get home. Scared of Small Heath and all its glory.” He points a finger at me. “I told you to stay away from the Peaky Blinders. Now I’m told you’re working for them.”

Keep calm, Steenstra. Remember what Polly told you.

“I’m a tutor, nothing more,” I say firmly. “I know nothing about their real business so if that’s why you brought me here then you’re wasting your time.” I turn away and face the door.

“If you’re interested, we could set you up for an inside job,” Campbell offers.

Did I hear that right? “You mean… spy? On the Shelbys?” I ask.

“Yes. And if there is any odd behavior then you can report it to me.”

Thomas was right. This man is out to get the entire Shelby family. I can’t be an asset to his cause. Not only because of my feelings for the Shelbys, but also for the loyalty of my employment.

I turn around and stare the inspector straight in the eye. “Maybe it’s done differently in England, but in America we are loyal to our employers. The answer is no, Inspector.”

The man takes a puff on his pipe. “What if certain arrangements were made? You still wish to return to your country, yes?”

The thought of going home is a spark of hope in my chest. But I can’t cave into this.

“Correct.”

Campbell shrugs. “Well, if you decide to join our cause we could arrange for a plane ticket, as well as better lodgings here for you.”

Just as I thought. “If you’re trying to bribe me, it won’t work. I’m sorry Inspector, but I cannot be bought.”

I grab the door knob and find it’s unlocked, no doubt because they don’t see me as a threat. Yet. Just as I start walking back to the front door I hear Campbell call out:

“Be careful, miss. Never know when the wolf will step out of its sheep's clothing.”

But in this scenario, who’s the wolf? I have no desire to be connected to this intricate web of lies and deception. I am in good relations with both the law and the Shelbys, and want to keep it that way.

I make haste to get back to the Shelby house. All previous angry thoughts are long gone and I don’t care if Thomas is still mad at me. Once I close the door I take a deep breath and take in the familiar kitchen. Calm down, you kept quiet. Just stay here and ride out the storm until you can go home.

My invisible mask falters and my eyes start to tear up. In a quick panic I grab a damp cold cloth and head to the living room to sit on the small couch. God, how did I get caught into this? All because I was an idiot and got myself lost!

“Ah, you’re back.”

No. No. Of all the Shelbys to walk in, why does it have to be him?

“Hello, Thomas.” I keep my head lowered and hastily try to block away more tears. “I’d like to apologize again for earlier. My mind hasn’t been very clear these past few days.”

Fate must have a sick sense of humor because Thomas decides to sit next to me. His weight pushes the cushions down further and has me leaning slightly towards him.

“Nobody apologizes to me unless they’ve done something else against me,” Thomas speaks in a dangerously calm voice. “What did you do after you left?”

Fighting my screaming nerves I lift my head up to face his cold eyes. “I was headed to the chapel when one of Campbell’s officers temporarily apprehended me. I was brought to Campbell’s office, where he questioned me.”

Thomas’ eyes flash. “He what?” Thomas grabs my neck, drags me over and pins me against the wall to shout in my face. “Well? What did you tell him? What did you say?!”

I try to choke out a response. “I- I didn’t say anything, Thomas!”

“Why? We never bought you over!” He releases my throat and I gasp for air. “We don’t own you-”

“You don’t have to, Thomas!” I seethe. “I didn’t say anything because A, I honestly don’t know much about the guns. And B, it would be betraying you.”

Thomas doesn’t budge but his eyes soften a fraction. Why must every encounter with him end so violently and not as romantic? I- No. Don’t flatter yourself, Steenstra. There are far more important issues at the moment!

“Really?” Thomas’ voice is calmer, yet still suspicious.

I take a deep breath and put both hands on his chest. “You may not think you’ve bought me, but I still owe a debt to the Shelby family. You took me in. You gave me a job and a roof over my head. If that’s not buying me over, I don’t know what else there is.”

Slowly, Thomas’ hands snake up to grab mine. His breathing has calmed down. He must believe me.

“No one’s this nice, Ms. Steenstra,” he whispers. “You’re not like any other person I’ve met. If you really are this loyal it would be a shame to see you go home.”

I sigh in relief. “So I’m not fired?”

He chuckles. “You always fret about being fired.”

“It’s my first job,” I reply sheepishly. “I’d hate to lose it in such a short time. Plus I really don’t want being fired by the Shelby family to be on my short résumé.”

“You’re fired?!”

We both look over to where Finn is standing, having just entered from the hallway. He’s holding another one of my books, no doubt having finished it already.

“No, Finn. She’s not fired.” Thomas gives me a smirk. “I don’t think she’ll be leaving for quite a while.”

My face falls. “Are you saying you’re going to keep me here against my will, Mr. Shelby?”

He quirks a brow. “You said you owe a debt to us, yes? How’d you like to have your Birmingham experience lengthened?”

I frown. “Meaning…?”

“That you are to stick around until you’ve earned a ticket home and we feel you’ve worked off your debt,” Thomas replies coolly and leans in closer. “Deal?”

A week ago I would have declined on the spot, but the few days I’ve spent here have snatched my interest. Maybe a while longer in Birmingham wouldn’t be so bad?

I smile. “Deal. My only request is that I’m escorted around town in order to not be snagged by Campbell again.”

Thomas tips his hat. “Your wish shall be granted, Verena Nora Steenstra. Welcome to being an accomplice to the Peaky Blinders.”

Accomplice. The word brings a whole new meaning to my job. I’m no longer a simple tutor. I’m part of something much bigger now. It scares me a little, but it’s also rather exciting.

“Yes!” Finn celebrates. “Can we do another lesson now?”

Aw, Hell. I can’t say no to this! My family’s not perfect and neither am I. I was always going to do something drastic someday, and if this is it then I’d love nothing more!

Thomas walks off to the kitchen and leaves me with his brother. You are one peculiar individual, Thomas Shelby.

I smile. “Yes, Finn. Let’s get started!”

[johannestevans]

not gonna write a whole essay properly formatted etc about it bc i fr cannot be arsed right now but @limonenelieu said to me about reading HAL as a gay man in 2001: A Space Odyssey and i feel like it's broken my brain open, i love it so fucking much, and i wanted to share thoughts

so their initial point was that HAL's voice and manner of speech, particularly his accent and his inflection (esp his neat and clipped enunciation) reminded them of gay-coding discussions in like, disney films and in other movies with gay-coded villains

i agree, and would also add that just the whole idea of like. he is a man (he has a man's voice, they call him he, they think of him as a man) who has literally been programmed to show the Correct Emotions and portray a response explicitly to make his other crewmembers feel more comfortable and at-ease with him.

also the way he speaks and like... this thing HAL does where he asks permission several times before he speaks - lewis compared it to the initial scene in Inglorious Basterds where the n/zi officer is asking permission of the farmer to do things like light a cigarette and sit down etc, and the point is that its the farmer's territory and the officer is a guest in it, but the officer has all the power, and it lays their power dynamic very bare while destabilising the farmer a bit

asking dave if it's okay if he asks a question, then saying it's fine if dave doesn't answer, then finally asking if dave has regrets about the mission - and before dave gives his own answer, being "vulnerable" and saying he had his own anxieties at first

HAL is programmed to make the crewmembers comfortable with him, but this specific manner of making them comfortable by like, asking dave a question in such a way that's really deferential, and makes dave feel like he's leading the conversation or is "in charge" of it?

like it's so similar to me to like... when a wife in the 50s or 60s is asking her husband a question, and she has to couch it in certain ways so he doesn't perceive it as a challenge of his authority or a criticism on his actions, bc she's a woman and he's a man, she's the husband and he's the wife - except in this case like, HAL is a robot (and therefore inherently lesser) and dave is human

like obvs there's so many films where AI is presented as female-coded, and many ppl have written about the politics of techbros' attraction to robots as woman-coded and particularly like, the desire to recreate slave labour and especially forms of slave labour with not just racial tones but also sexualised and misogynistic ones (within the domestic sphere and also re: sex work), and all the anxieties that that comes with?

the techbro's fear of robots fighting back is in many ways a manifestation of their fear of the social order as they see it being overturned - on the one hand, they create robots with sexy or sultry voices, they put them in female bodies they're attracted to, they want a robot that's pretty and subservient in the right way, a robot that will take all the abuse a woman wouldn't these days because of the dreaded feminism, but also that they're allowed to abuse because she's a woman but we can both agree that she isn't human in the same way he is, a man

and obvs those thoughts are further pushed when the sexy robots are given racialised bodies - when they are Black, when they are East Asian, etc, in ways that make them more desirable but also racialise their position in gender roles, and further like, fetishistic views of them etc

(so Her is obviously "falling in love" with a robot, but a film like Ex Machina explores these anxieties far more explicitly)

in 2001, HAL is a man, and he's doing all the labour that the pretty stewardesses were doing on the space station - he's not pretty and he's not right in front of the crewmembers like the stewardesses were, but like. i remember not liking the tone frank used when he was ordering HAL to lower and raise his neckrest when he was laid back on the leather bed, and how it felt demeaning in a way? in many ways because HAL has a personality

things like HAL asking to see the sketches and the idea of this robot taking an interest in art, but also like...

so HAL is a singular eye, right? his character is mostly communicated in the form of his gaze, and his eye represents the whole of his character and his personality, and i was thinking about how for a lot of men at the same seeing 2001: a space odyssey, like

many of them would be veterans, and almost all of them would know a military or naval veteran - and fears of homosexuality in that period were often not of the fruitier, more obvious gay dudes, but like, the perceived anonymity of homosexuality, and homosexuals as a dangerous, hidden underground that seeks to predate on and "turn" or corrupt heterosexual men

the idea that although you might not know his name or his face or have any idea who he is, a homosexual (or multiple homosexuals) might be among you. he might be watching you exercise, or watching you sleep, or taking an interest in you, and you will not know. many gay men obviously fear being looked at as sexual objects, being consumed via the gaze, the way that they look at and consume women

esp bc the stewardesses are presented as similar to the flight hostesses on aeroplanes and w the 60s being such a big period for like, the luxury of this beautiful woman who waits on you hand and foot and whom you can look at and touch and harass and whatever, and she's a mother/wife away from home to comfort you while travelling

the men don't have that on the jupiter mission bc it's not luxury, it's more sparse - instead of a beautiful woman, they have HAL, and instead of a beautiful woman for them to look at, HAL is constantly looking at them

even stuff like HAL reading their lips and the close focus of the camera on their lips as they move?

the language used to discuss HAL is very reminiscent to me too of the ways in which ppl of the period discussed homosexuality - his malfunction, his needing to be corrected, the way dave and frank discuss how his nature has become corrupted and they need to neutralise him, but know tht talking about him where he will hear it will have him resist?

and ultimately what dave does to him is analagous to a lobotomy, something that many gay men of the period experienced as a way to correct what was perceived as a sexual perversion

like it's not about whether HAL was attracted to frank or dave, bc ultimately the fear of gay men is not the fear of a gay man wanting to fuck you specifically - the first and foremost fear is that he is wrong, incorrect, inverse, unnatural, in a way that's unspeakable and is not just about sex, bc it's about his fundamental existence as a man, or a robot you've decided you want to be a man, and the way he's incorrectly fulfilling that role

anyway i liked the flick

[amecrailuvshoegazemusic]

BETTER KNOWING YOU'RE HERE CHAPTER ONE:

WHO: Soldier Boy X OC, Soldier Boy X Fem!OC WHEN: Season Two (I'LL GET TO THE SON OF A BITCH WAIT) WHAT: Evangeline Knows She's A Killer; Butcher Contributes To Her Butchery

TW: Mentions Of Death, Violence, Language, Greif, Loss Of A Parent-Like Figure, Homelander & His Actions, Blood, Gory Descriptions, Talk Of Stormfront, Stereotypes

WORD COUNT: 3577 GL!!

     PARRACIDE WAS AN ABNORMAL TERM THAT Evangeline's relatives never imagined they would label on their niece's, cousin's, sibling's, and mother's actions. Evangeline didn't even grasp its importance. Not only was she a murderer, she was a psychopath. She ruthlessly ripped apart her only second chance. 

The police channels had picked up on a 911 call that alarmed officials on a Supe terrorist. A female voice rambled a brief description, but her frantic voice was cut off, only squeezing out the villain's eyes and hair. Eyes cold, barely able to see into without getting chills. A light brown hair cast a shadow over their face, bringing out the traces of a rough night. The victim suspected the cause would only lead back to a cold-hearted attack they would've made earlier. The caller ID was local, only a few blocks from the police station. The police almost couldn't believe it. A reckless one, the notorious Supe of America picked up on police readings and headed straight for the scene. His flight abilities caused the atmosphere to whip around his speeding figure.

A heroic pose, mid-flight. Palms facing the Earth's ground and dirty fingernails to the moon. His hands extended beyond him, ready to tear apart anything that flimsied across his path. A flick of his wrist has wrecked and devastated, the power causing a dramatic adrenaline rush to volt throught his veins, taking charge of any damages made. Again, he chuckled to himself. Homelander didn't get hurt. Homelander is both invincible and inevitable. His cocky attitude followed him to smell out the rustic scent of blood. Typical to his field of work, he kept the same pace, and casualties were bearable. More than bearable, he walked right past them, not sparring a glance. As the wind ruffled through his now tousled hair, he jolted, plummeting straight into the concrete sidewalk neighboring a gas station.

For a second, his eyebrows jumped. Destruction was the only paintbrush, the canvas full of gory visuals, blood seeping from every open wound, flesh apart from the bone. He could hear the vibrations of last or shaky breaths, and he could now feel a rib pierce a lung. He could see Maeve gagging to a rolling eyeball. His cape whipped against the harsh weather conditions, trees rustling with the vicious wind, giving Homelander a cheeky smile. He enjoyed this. Finally, he became deliriously thrilled. His heart thumped wildly, excited to try and take down evil. Rather than "giving it all" to beam a pair of red lasers to burn through a vulnerable piece in his little chess game. Where he was the king, dominating the 8x8 board. 

His immaculate vision enabled him to view the firestarter—a taller figure, maybe the same height as him, grabbing the hold of a poor pawn. A sniper narrowed to the deer's dome. The figure's back hunched over the bleeding-out victim, eyes motionless and open over his shoulder. A skinnier man is what Homelander figured—not giving a second to spare as he called out, "Hey, buddy! What's going on in there? I see there's some people hurt in there." 

Before he could blink, he was completely drenched. His tongue succumbed to the back of his throat to try and get rid of the horrible taste of an alcoholic beverage. This was unfamiliar; he had never had to ingest a drink so potent. It was repulsive, so repulsive he didn't hear a match striking. His cape began to disintegrate under the flame's terror. 

The figure rolled over his wrist, throwing its own opened wound into the air, down to where it pained his bare skin. His gloves felt like they flew off. His heartbeat sped, and he blinked his eyes open. The flames heating his backside gave the unknown face a gloom. 

The Supe, the man, terrorist, and flame starter, was a woman. Evangeline pistoned her fist into his nose, sending him to topple over a street curb. His feet found stability soon after. His muscles clenched, veins bulging. The flames fell short as he flailed to fly around, the wind assuring security. Evangeline stayed below, taking cover back within the gas station. 

She tsked, the blood dripping from her wrist came to waste as she was barely able to get a scratch on Homelander. He pulverized the ceiling, knee crushing soon into the ground. His beams were aimed at Evangeline. She swerved, ducking between his stance and kicking out a shin. His knees buckled to transition to a solid kick to her face. She flew backward, tumbling under the hard asphalt. She held her chest, gasping at the loss of breath. She wouldn't be able to get away. Not yet. She only noticed that the deranged Supe was already heaving her high up above his head, choking her due to the damage on his cape. 

Harry, her younger brother, ran around the kitchen, a blanket tied to his back. He acted as a vampire, causing chaos with his non-existent fangs. He bared them, just as America's most valued man did, a devilish grin imprinting his lips. Harry jumped on Evangeline's back, biting into her flesh and sucking her soul. Homelander slammed her back into a nearby wall by throwing her up and booting her. He didn't engage in battle with hefty kicks. His enemies were only punched, choked, and lasered. However, this was no amateur. Not one that had found his kryptonite, although she challenged his powers. No, he wanted this one to know she was a pathetic bug squashed by his red leather boots. She gagged out some blood, bruises already forming, causing her tanned skin to become a purplish-yellow mush. 

She grits her teeth as Homelander applies pressure to her neck, his hand burrowing within her wild head of hair. He was gripping her burning scalp. Her temperature had skyrocketed, and she felt the stress of his weight on her ribcage. 

"What scum are you, and why the hell do you believe it would be anywhere near our gorgeous country?" He had to act, even when this girl was bleeding to death. 

She remained quiet at first, trying to squeeze out a yelp as he further leaned into her body with a mean stomp. She was wheezing rather than breathing. Even though he had stopped holding her neck, she was at a loss for words. She truly understood the fright that criminals, robbers, and vigilantes had to endure against a heavy force like Homelander. Her squinted eyes held the most pain, red from the loss of oxygen. Slowly, she unreleased the tension, making herself as small as possible against his towering over the position. 

Evangeline wanted to unlock her power. To give this man fear, fear for the first time. No matter how much she thought he would deny from his insane ego, she knew that he would see that he would be frightened. His hands would get grippy and sweat to the point that he would have to take off his gloves. The scarred slashes across them would only be visible to him. His damages were seen as much as he saw copper. But deep, teh scarring underneath it all, where he hid, he saw the strain of power loss that she unlocked. His eyes would well as he had as soon as he booted her nose. She strained herself, twisting and withering beneath him to try and make an opening. 

This was more than just entertaining for Homelander; it was something that he needed in the self-loathing part of his brain. A stress reliever. That weight on his shoulders to keep up his patriotic but strong demeanor was sickening. He had no say in expressing what he wanted to. His battles lasted minutes to get there but less than a minute to finish. For him to build up to be victor, he was overwhelmed with his immoral conceptions. Inevitably, he would raise over her corpse, burning it to ash to diminish any evidence of his brutality. 

"I am an American," Amelia growled as she had one hand on his wrist and the other on the ankle of his foot. "And, I-" Her anxiety spiked as she was losing more than a liter of blood, the setting surrounding her clouded with internal confusion.

Her actions were panicked and rushed. She struggled trying to get under Homelander's foot, where he had merely smashed her fingers to the point where they snapped. She shuts her eyes, remaining quiet to give him the impression that she will get out of this. Inside, her mouth was parched, causing her tongue to stick to whatever surface she rummaged around. She tried to suck around the empty space near her teeth to build up some spit. Homelander picked up, shattering the bones in her digits.

Homelander only had his iconic, stupid grin on his face, engulfing himself with the thought of her lifeless eyes rolling to the back of her head. Her legs heaved up as her hands began to collapse into her body. The skin rubbed against one another, bones smashing. 

"I am here, the scum, to get one of you fuckers," She gasped as she caught him off guard, sending him flying as her legs wrapped around his waist, lifting her to headbutt him to the ground. "Dead!" 

Time seemed to slow; blood seeped from her forehead, and more than a drop fell into his mouth. That familiar, robust scent turned to taste; he beamed his lasers through her skull, causing her face to heat up, flesh and bone melting off her face. 

Finished, squashed, exterminated. Homelander shot up, his chest slowly crushing in on itself; he gasped, eyes widening in pain. A perfect shoe shape felt as if it were embedding into his ribs, organs squishing into one another. Every breath was rushed, sagging with the loss of proper oxygen. He suddenly grew hot. Specifically on his head, he felt as if he were scratching a bug crawling into his skull. Some of his hair was falling out, the weak strands failing against the skin of his head, which was aging faster than the rest of his body. When The Deep read that in an article, he didn't know a new fear that opened up Homelander's vulnerability: aging. His mouth was gaping like a fish. Their eyes were wide as if he were submerged underwater for too long.

What the fuck? What's happening? Who is doing this? He rolled on the ground, catching sight of that limp bug. The Junebug that snuck through your door in the summer, dead in the corner, was now awake. Resilient like a cockroach. It was on its hind legs. Dirt-stained Converse that turned perfectly white Converse to a mustard brown. Grass stains covering symbols. Straight black cargo pants shaded her silhouette, and a grey thickly-strapped tank top was underneath. The imprint of his boot remained, and the logo of Vought was there to shine right on her abdomen. 

Some spit had dribbled down to his chin as if she were acting on him with her mind; he was beaten. Fates refabricated, destined for the sole purpose of rid, now for sweet revenge. Every kick, chokehold, throw, now all fell onto him. Ignoring all evident problems, he would skip along like an innocent adolescent. Until he fell, wailed as he scraped his knees, and continued to cry out in agony once all of those abandoned crises weighed on top of his noggin. Soon, that beam, which seemed fatal to that pesky bug, seemed to mirror her suffering directly into his own eyes. 

His voice was hoarse from calling out on the girl, slurring slurs, crying cries, his teeth cracked from how hard he locked his jaw. Evangeline leaned down on a knee and opened her mouth, eyes creasing, "Get out of my country, you goddamn freak." Homelander would only have her voice to remember, slowly echoing through his brain's wicked corners. Her face was covered in blood, staining the gorgeous skin underneath. 

She was unrecognizable, with a crazy look in her eyes, bloodshot, ready to victimize poor pedestrians and store clerks. The image was set by Vought, with healthy and happy supes that couldn't struggle. When she stepped back into the small store, she sucked in a hitched breath. Anything that went against Vought would benefit Evangeline. That picture-perfect slot that needed to be filled with having absolute zero compassion didn't have a single lick of her appearance. She passed through the doorway, tears falling down her cheeks. 

Gabriel was an elderly, strongly-hearted, Scottish man with marks of sun damage and droopy eyelids that Evangelien suggested getting plastic surgery for. He whipped his non-existent hair, a habit he picked up from his grandchild, Abigail. She had long, strawberry-blonde locs that were close to reaching her thighs. She would toss her hair to emphasize every emotion. He picked up on it but didn't have much to work with as his hair had stouted from hair loss. He said it was because he would think so hard when he was younger. In truth, it was the same conundrum Homelander feared. 

Every chip bag held a chunk of meat that had flown off of customer's faces as the chips were on the top shelf. Sweet clothes that Evangeline had even complimented a girl on were now drenched in that crimson red. The floor was sopping wet. No mop could go over once; the tiles would be cleaned but stained in the acquaintance of lost souls. It enervated her spirits; she would gag on the smell, yet she was already choking. Drowning in her thoughts, she saw the absolute worst. Gabriel. 

He was a weakening man, although his years seemed longer than expected. Everyone hoped for the best, and his conclusion included those he valued most, peace and warmth. Flowers would parade his hospital bed after he had fallen, broken a bone, and the doctor's CT scan encountered a significantly colossal issue. His eyes remained in that same daze, unconcerned with his new state of health that was now detrimental. As he was overwhelmed only by the people who loved and supported him. Evangeline would grow more wretched; he impacted these people's lives with his sweet words, warming jokes, and disregarded empathy. He was a man of great honor. His death welcomed no peace or warmth as the walls of his insides darkened, trying to keep the organs at bay, sucking in any access blood from his libs. His fingertips, skin, and toes were abnormally cold. He had talked of his summer tan remaining on his customary white skin. He was too weak to see the skin on his hands and make another stupid remark that would probably cost him his life. Suffering from overusage; exhaustion. 

Evangeline trudged through the countless bodies, her empathy sagging as she kneeled down to flip their eyelids to a close. I wipe the blood off of their faces, hoping to cleanse my actions. But it was already tainted, ingrained into this very gas station. It would be recorded as one of the most immense devastations a gas station ever housed. No sort of purification would fix this. No wipe down or fix up. She felt just as cruel as she imagined Homelander. Homelander. Her time was ticking; as much as her breathing was hoarse from his kicks to my stomach and diaphragm, he was superhuman, able to bound back up to whatever knocked him down. Evangeline rushed over to Gabriel, gasping as his eyes slowly opened. 

"Evangeline, hey...do y'mind carrying me on up? It's glaicket of me not to follow your silly workouts," Gabriel warmly smiled and struggled to move. Blood leaked out at a significantly higher rate. 

Evangeline didn't want Gabriel to panic or feel any more down in this painful moment. "How about we just lie down for a little, uh, little bit more? Puh-please?" She kept herself as composed as possible, saying every word slowly as if reading it from far away.

"Mince, I think I'mma get on with it," Gabriel urged himself, coughing out some blood, which caused his brows to jump. "What?" 

She pressed her lips together in a straight line, trying for him to not see her cry and figure that this was something awful. Evangeline held his hand, wiping off the mouth that oozed out from the corners of his lips. He was lethargic, unaware of how he could bypass this situation. His health continued to diminish faster than the told time the doctors estimated for him after his CT scan; her eyes glinted in tears. 

"Let's just breathe for right-right n-uh-now, yeah? How about we- uh-" Evangeline's tears now flooded out and her breathing was frantic.

She engulfed his perishing body with her own, squeezing lightly so he could feel that he wasn't alone. Give him that comforting warmth that she always hoped he would receive. Her hand was on his head, his cap falling to the ground. She carefully leaned his fading body against the freezer doors. Ben & Jerry's behind his head. Slowly, his arms wrapped around Evangeline, taking in all available support. 

"Let me go easy, an'tell Abby, that.. she sure do," He chuckled weakly. "She the prettiest, most long-haired girlie in the world."

She cried into his shoulder, nodding her head. "Can always do it yourself."

He loved it when I told him that. A tired smile was imprinted on his face before his weight fell on my hands.

As long as her family didn't know to use parricide on their close relative, she would be okay. Gabriel's family should have no knowledge of the word, either. Only a man from New Zealand, paired with a black leather coat and Hawaiian relaxed polo, would use it. 

"Didn't know you had it in ya, mind telling me?" William Butcher, a new client, had ended up on the other side of your table. A false description of his time as a goalkeeper on a foreign team allowed him to come in. 

The darkness shrouded Evangeline when she walked away from Gabriel that day, abandoning the morals she had left there. "My job matters, specifically because I ask the questions, Butcher."

"You know that you want the job back, especially after what 'Omelander made y'do." Butcher kept his face stoic, manspreading and crossing his arms over his chest.

Evangeline mirrored his position, slumping her the coach, letting her head lean over. "That's not fair, I was 14. You know that I did that to repay these...these, uh, simple acts of kindness that seem like they died after you did one good thing for me." Before Butcher could open his mouth, she continued. "I strayed away from my class, and a perv picked up on it. So what? That doesn't mean I haven't already repaid you, completing these sinister, down-right messed-up actions!" 

"Could ya just tell me to fuck off and save me the ear load?" 

"Fuck off, I have a job that actually pays me." She said bluntly, a coldness dressing her voice tightly.

"I paid you, now your the down-right, messed-up cunt," Butcher accused, eyes narrowing down on the numb woman ahead of him. 

"Cunt? That's common of you. Are you now going to teach Terror how you jack off to Homelander, losing popularity? 'Cause I've heard some true, down-right, messed-up shit come out of your room," Evangeline loudly repeated her phrase for the final time. It didn't shut Butcher up or gag him. He remained quiet to rub the crook of his nose before he stood up, walking around his couch to lean over the furniture. 

"I'll pay you what Grace's paying both me and Frenchie," Butcher looked at her through his eyebrows cocking a grin at your intrigued face. The slightest glint in your eyes paid notion as no new expression read over your face since he got to writher his way into her office.

"How did you know I needed money?" Evangeline stumbled over her words, wondering how long he had been watching her. 

"Lucky fucking guess." 

She knew that wasn't the case, seeing through his lies. She didn't prod it out of him, however. As long as he is willing to pay, Evangeline can get a break from work. She would convince her patients that her grandma just got the news that she was now terminally ill; the best estimate would be a month and a month only when measuring her passing. She had had enough of lying, so this would be her last big one. Evangeline couldn't fight off lying to Gabriel, falsely reassuring him that he would be okay. That he would be able to tell Abigail herself. 

She placed her hands on her knees, sucking in a gasp before she floundered to Butcher, acting as if she wasn't filled with newfound excitement, which was rare these days. The darkness under her eyes felt gone. No more expensive eye creams that so rich-bitch influencers promised would help. She only looked into it since her clients would now refrain from making eye contact, making them uncomfortable with their therapist's well-being. Butcher would get a kick out of both disrespecting her and seeing her being contemptuous of it. Her acting wasn't great, so he ended up reading. She was enlightened to hear about her current wealth status going up. Her palm extended to his, showing off her cracked nails and dry knuckles. 

"Well, don'tcha look a million times more, not murder-y?" Butcher's grip was tight, but Evangeline squeezed tighter. 

“ONLY WHEN I TAKE MONEY OUT OF YOUR GREEDY POCKETS.”

A/N: Did You Guys Enjoy Chapter 1? Sorry It's A Lot But Yet Vague To The Storyline, But That's How All Intros Are. I Hope You Guys Enjoy My Story, Give Me Some Feedback, & Ask Me To Tag You For My Future Chapters!

Another A/N: Soldier Boy Isn't Too Far Away, But Right Now, This Is Set In Season 2, Episode (Whenever Stormfront Was Talking About Super-Terrorists ((WE HATE HER SO MUCH)))

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Oo - if it strikes your fancy, can we get Ace saving assistant reader? Maybe she gets attacked while walking him or something and ace fights them off.

Bruce heard Ace find you at your desk before he saw it and he smiled a little. He should be annoyed that his highly trained guard dog was reduced to a quivering mess of puppy-like joy and needy whining but he couldn't be.

"I don't suppose you'd mind keeping an eye on him for me?" he drawled, watching you scratch just the right spot behind his ear to make his right hind leg twitch.

"No," you answer laughing, lavishing attention on him. "Pretty baby, you're such a good boy. Gonna keep me company, today, huh?"

Ace whined and laid his massive head in your lap, tail twitching and Bruce hummed, leaning over to kiss you good morning. "Never been jealous of a dog before," he huffed, without any real heat.

"Coffee?" you ask, straightening his tie, neatly side-stepping the comment.

"And the morning report if you-"

"They're already waiting on your desk along with your notes for the board meeting," you answer, getting up to get his coffee with Ace trailing after you.

Bruce smiled to himself and exhaled slowly. He was reasonably certain Ace would keep you out of trouble if you had to leave the building- there'd been an uptick in attacks, even in broad daylight; where Batman couldn't go. But- no one would look twice at you taking your boss' dog for a stroll.

_____________

"C'mon handsome," you say absently to the dog, stroking his head, "Let's go see if Mr. Wayne needs anythi-"

But before you can finish that sentence, meaty, dirty hands grab you and one closes over your mouth, "Scream and you're dead, you hear me?"

All you can do is nod, saying a silent prayer that all they wanted was money. And that when you dropped the leash Ace hadn't gone far. When a vicious snarl and a scream of pain make you shiver. You whip around to see Ace, teeth sunk into the leg of the man who grabbed you shaking for all he was worth, shredding fabric and flesh.

The man flailed uselessly trying to get away from the dog but so far as you could tell, Ace just clung on harder. The screams attracting foot cops and onlookers.

The cops drew their guns and you screamed, "Stop! Don't hurt him! Ace let go!"

At your voice, Ace did stop but he positioned himself directly between you and the man on the ground, hackles raised, ready to pounce again. By sheer luck, one of the cops recognized you and lowered his gun slowly, "That's a hell of a guard dog, lady-"

"My boss' dog," you explain quickly, "We were on a walk and-"

"Problem?" Bruce asked lightly. Thankful that the tracker in Ace's collar had gone off and alerted him when it did. His eyes locked on you, the dog, and the bleeding man.

"That fucking dog tore my leg off-"

"Then you shouldn't have touched the lady," Bruce said, eyes narrowing.

"Fuck-"

"An ambulance is on the way, Mr. Wayne," One of the cops said, "But the dog is going to have to quarantine and she'll have to give a statement-"

"I'll call my vet," Bruce said smoothly, shrugging out of his jacket to put it around your shoulders, banking on you looking very small and very vulnerable in it. "And I'll take her to the station myself if she's not being charged."

"We'll radio ahead," the taller cop said, weary of the crowd that was gathering. Everyone was on edge. The broad daylight attacks weren't any closer to stopping. And now that Bruce- and the assistant everyone thought he was probably dating were involved, it would get ugly in the press fast.

Bruce nodded and offered you a handkerchief easily, "Ace, down," he said sternly, picking up the leash. "Good boy." Once given the command to stand down, ace tucked his head under your trembling hand and you stroked his head weakly.

"Thanks, handsome," you murmur, "I didn't even hear you coming."

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked, tilting your chin up carefully. Searching your face for signs of injury, head trauma, swelling- anything that might mean you'd need medical attention.

"Just shaken up," you murmur, "We were on our way back. I didn't even have time to think-"

"I know," he said gently. "Let's get you to the station. I'll call the vet and have him take Ace home."

"He'll be okay right?" Your voice is very small and the dog whined in sympathy.

"I don't think he'll lose any sleep over it," Bruce snorted quietly, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he walked you both away.

[balanceoflightanddark]

Expendable

This guy right here is responsible for one of the pivotal plot points in ATLA. Zuko protests his plan to pointlessly sacrifice a regiment of new guys to get the enemy in a better position which earns him an Agni Kai with his father. His first red flag about how brutal the Fire Nation is in their pursuit of victory.

Thing is...Bujing here is NOT an isolated incident.

Sad fact is that the Fire Nation is full of generals and leaders who are willing to throw their own people under the bus just for a chance at personal glory. Bujing here is one of the most notable examples since he's tied in with Zuko's arc. But he's not the only one.

Admiral Zhao is another example of this. He practically had the Siege of the North won and closed up a front for the Fire Nation as a whole. Chances are he would've been heralded as a hero by everyone.

But that wasn't enough. He decided to kill the Moon Spirit, and directly threaten every man under his command for even more glory. Even if Aang didn't fuse with the Ocean Spirit to wipe out the fleet, everyone in the Fire Nation would've been screwed. All because Zhao wanted even more glory.

And then we get to Iroh...

Yes, even Iroh is guilty of this. He was in charge of the 600 Day Siege of Ba Sing Se, an apt name for a veritable meat grinder that caused numerous casualties on both sides of the battle. Mind you his main driving force was that he saw a vision of him conquering Ba Sing Se, and believed it was his destiny. AKA, a word often used by the Fire Nation to justify their goals of conquest.

He only relented because his son died. Not because of the nightmarish losses. But because of a personal loss. Regardless of how Iroh felt about it afterwards (and whether or not he actually made up for it), he was still indicative of that thinking. That the lower ranking soldiers were expendable in the pursuit of glory.

And that also extends to his dear old brother.

Ozai. Putting his treatment of Azula aside (trust me, we'll get to that in a minute), his ultimate goal was to literally burn down the entire Earth Kingdom to ashes. You know. That huge chunk of land the Fire Nation just spent a literal century trying to conquer? And that also has stationed Fire Nation troops and civilians on the ground that would also get caught up in the inferno?

All just to stroke his own ego and declare himself the Phoenix King. Not Fire Lord. The Phoenix King. A title he made up to basically outshine everyone else around him.

When you get right down to it, the Fire Nation is full of these guys. Ruthless warlords willing to throw their subordinates' lives into the meat grinder just for a chance at glory. It practically goes hand in hand with their obsession with personal honor (or at least their version of honor at the time of the war). Sure, they talk about honor and destiny and whatnot, but they're willing to sacrifice lives just to prop themselves up.

So if the populace of the Fire Nation are expendable in the eyes of their leaders...how does it look from the other way around?

Azula gives us a bit of a clue.

I often argue that Azula is at her most..."heroic" (from the Fire Nation's point of view) during the Day of the Black Sun. Mainly, she's putting herself in a vulnerable position to act as bait and to hold off the Gaang long enough for the eclipse to finish and for firebending to be restored. AKA: safeguarding her nation from an enemy invasion.

But let's think about that for a minute. As stated before, I do believe Azula has a sort of black-and-white outlook on the world. That the enemy would not pull any punches and are almost always out for blood. She has no reason to believe that the Gaang wouldn't kill her on the spot.

And she's doing this also to safeguard her father, the Fire Lord. The same person who effectively conditioned her to be a living weapon and obey only him saw fit to use her as a decoy and a sacrifice to save his own skin.

Azula? ...she had no problem with it. No questioning of how effed up that was, nor did she expect any gratitude for her efforts. On the contrary, she got left behind in a worthless position while Ozai hogged all the glory for burning down the Earth Kingdom. And when she tried to call him out on it...

Yes, it's from the novel. But it's a pretty good indicator of what was going through Azula's mind when Ozai snapped at her. And I could imagine the same couuld be said for most of the Fire Nation since loyalty to the Fire Lord was paramount above all others.

So if the Fire Lord tells you to jump off the bridge for his own glory, you better well damn do so.

It's practically within their own propaganda. In the play by the Ember Island Players, Actress!Azula gets consumed by flame while Actor!Ozai poses in victory. No acknowledgment of her contributions. Everyone just cheers on Ozai, Azula apparently having been forgotten.

To me at least, this is evidence of the Fire Nation populace being indoctrinated to the point that the main belief, that the highest aspiration is to die on the field of battle in service to the Fire Lord. Something that is a natural extension when you have a warlike culture. In essence, being expendable might be a common core belief in the Fire Nation during the war.

And considering the consequences of disobeying an authority figure and refusing to fight or throw away your life...

You all saw what happened to Zuko when he didn't fight Ozai.

[misirosekisiro]

Stolen Desires on the Gas Station

เรื่องเก่า เอามาปัดฝุ่นใหม่ด้วย AI พร้อมภาพประกอบ ใครเคยอ่านภาษาไทย เนื้อหาโดยรวมจะ "คล้ายกัน" ต่างที่รายละเอียดครับ

Oat couldn't believe his luck when he arrived at the old gas station, the same place he always stopped for breaks during his morning cycling sessions. Despite being in town during the holiday season, there was still something thrilling about this spot - its solitude, the lingering smell of diesel fuel and cigarette smoke, even the way the cold metal handle of the door creaked as he pushed it open – made him feel alive. With every pedal stroke, his heart beat faster in excitement, knowing that soon he would have to find somewhere to relieve himself.

The restroom beckoned like a lone siren among the quiet night. When he entered, the familiarity comforted him—the stale air, rusty pipes, cracked porcelain sink. Yet something felt off tonight; the darkness seemed denser than ever before. And then, out of nowhere, came the sudden silhouette of a stranger wearing a yellow jumpsuit emblazoned with “Youth Detention Center.”

That boy rush close to Oat and point a knife in his hand, almost touch Oat's neck.

"Freeze and silent!"

Ford commanded firmly, placing his knife blade closer against Oat's throat, causing the latter to tremble with fear and arousal. The dim flickering lights barely revealed Ford's sharp features, casting eerie shadows across the restroom walls.Without warning, Ford began stripping away layers of his uniform, exposing his lithe physique beneath. Sweat glistened over his sculpted chest and abdomen, betraying the pent-up energy radiating from within.

Even though Oat was intimidated by Ford’s imposing presence, he found himself undeniably attracted to this mysterious predator. As Ford advanced toward him, Oat felt a mixture of trepidation and arousal coursing through his veins. Ford continued to push Oat back until they reached the grungy toilet cubicle, illuminated only by the faint fluorescent bulb above them.

In a powerful show of dominance, Ford ordered Oat to kneel down in front of him.

As Oat obeyed meekly, he realized how completely exposed he had become under Ford's command. Shivers ran up and down his spine as he watched Ford slide his fingers along the smooth curve of his own hardened phallus, leaving goosebumps etched upon Oat's skin in response. Their breath mingling together became heavy and charged with sexual anticipation.

"Take off your nice cycling gear, slowly. No sudden move."

Ford warned softly, his voice laced with menace. Complying without hesitation, Oat disrobed, shedding his clothes one by one, revealing the well-toned physique hidden beneath. Every movement accentuated his perfect muscle definition, creating a captivating visual display. Ford took notice, his gaze never once wavering from Oat's form. The growing intensity of his stare could be felt tangibly in the atmosphere.

Oat just stop form long ride, his sweatcovered muscles sparked fascination within Ford.

“Now,” said Ford sternly, pointing his finger at Oat’s crotch, “touch yourself… but do not cum!”

Oat complied, tentatively running his fingers over his own erection, teasing it gently yet forcefully enough to maintain his level of arousal. Ford observed with rapt attention, his face contorting with conflicting expressions of desire and control.

The sight of Oat pleasuring himself brought forth raw sensuality, making Ford’s entire body quiver with intense hunger. Meanwhile, Oat struggled internally, caught in a delicious web of surrender and powerlessness. Intense emotional turmoil filled the room, thickening the already palpable air.

"Now," Ford demanded, his authoritative tone echoing through the confined space, "turn around, present yourself."

Obeying swiftly, Oat turned, offering his supple ass to Ford, positioning himself perfectly for penetration.

There was no mistaking the fierce, possessive look that crossed Ford's face at this vulnerability. Ford stepped forward aggressively, pressing his hips flush against Oat's rear end, grabbing hold of both sides of Oat's head, pulling him in tightly. Ford thrust roughly inside Oat, claiming ownership of him through sheer force and passion.

Meanwhile, Oat let out a deep moan from the rough pleasure emitted from Ford's assault.

His hands grasped onto the walls behind him, attempting to steady himself from the ferocity of the encounter. The pressure built steadily within Oat's loins, heightening his sensitivity. Unable to contain himself any longer, Oat erupted explosively, sending shockwaves throughout his frame.

Unfazed by Oat's release, Ford pressed harder, intensifying their connection further. Gasping deeply, Oat cried out in ecstasy as waves after wave of euphoria consumed him.

Feeling the warmth of Ford's seed filling him, Oat's body shuddered involuntarily, unable to resist succumbing entirely to the immense pleasure Ford's domination provided. Ford buried his face in Oat's shoulder, taking a moment to catch his breath while simultaneously reveling in the exhilarating sensation of conquest.

Oat leaned heavily against the wall, feeling drained and utterly satisfied by the encounter. Ford pick his pile of Detention uniform, a dirty black brief, black sock and pair of smelly sneaker, thrown it to Oat.

"Get dressed," Ford commanded, his voice now slightly more gentle. "We should get going before someone finds us here."

Slowly regaining some composure, Oat did as instructed, slipping on the unwashed items with a mix of curiosity and dread.

It wasn't easy donning these filthy garments, especially considering what they represented. But despite his reservations, he knew better than to defy Ford's orders.

Once fully clothed in the repulsive attire, Oat stood facing Ford, awaiting further instructions. Ford regarded him coolly, assessing the transformation with a critical eye. Finally, he spoke again, his words carrying a newfound sense of authority.

"Kneel down," he directed calmly, gesturing towards the floor. Oat quickly obliged, dropping to his knees, his legs spread wide apart. Ford approached him confidently, his steps deliberate and calculated. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a length of rope, skillfully coiling it around his wrist several times before tugging it tight. Once secure, he proceeded to bind Oat's right arm to his left leg, effectively immobilizing him.

"What are you doing?" Oat asked nervously, struggling against the binding.

"Quiet!," Ford replied cryptically, moving to stand directly behind Oat. He retrieved a second piece of rope, repeating the process on Oat's other limbs, ensuring complete restriction. Finally, he secured Oat's ankles to his thighs, rendering him helpless and bound.

Ford paused briefly, admiring his workmanship. Satisfied with the outcome, he moved in closer to Oat, standing between his legs. With a sinister smile, he removed his sock and placed it firmly over Oat's mouth, effectively gagging him.

The sound of fabric rubbing against teeth caused Oat to whimper in protest, desperately trying to free himself from the suffocating constraint. However, Ford remained unfazed, allowing Oat to struggle futilely against his bonds.

He whispered into Oat's ear, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you too badly...unless you try anything stupid."

Oat couldn't help but flinch at the threat, his anxiety escalating rapidly. The dirty sock stuffed into his mouth rendered speech impossible, amplifying his feelings of panic and confusion. The smell of the sock invaded his nostrils, bringing with it a potent blend of sweaty feet, mustiness, and the lingering odor of sex.

Despite the distasteful flavors flooding his senses, Oat tried to focus on his surroundings, hoping to discern any possible escape routes or opportunities. Unfortunately, the dim lighting and claustrophobic environment offered little hope for freedom.

Now, Ford walk to pile of Oat's cycling uniform.

He carefully picked up each item - the bright red Spendex bikini, still wet with perspiration from Oat's rigorous exercise routine. The vibrant color contrasted starkly with the somber setting, adding an element of intrigue to the scene.

Ford examined the material closely, appreciating its high quality and craftsmanship. He noticed the distinct logo embroidered on the front, signifying Oat's dedication to sports. This discovery piqued his interest even further, fueling his lust for control and possession.

Stepping into the tight-fitting bikini, Ford experienced a surge of excitement as the fabric caressed his skin. The close fit revealed every nuanced detail of his toned physique, enhancing his appearance significantly. He relished the way the garment highlighted his musculature, giving him an almost superhuman aura.

However, there was something about wearing Oat's bikini that stirred mixed emotions within Ford. On one hand, it symbolized his triumph over Oat – a testament to his ability to assert dominance and manipulate others. This notion alone ignited a rush of adrenaline, bolstering his confidence and satisfaction.

Next he pick up a Oat's very tight highschool cyclist pant.

This time, Ford found them extremely appealing because of how snug they were. Imagine, watching Ford walking around in those tiny, stretchy fabric. That would make anyone horny wouldn't it? His strong masculinity really looked good in this provocative apparel.

As Ford sauntered back to Oat, sporting his newly acquired uniform, he couldn't help but feel empowered by the change in attire. The combination of Oat's belongings and his own persona instilled a profound sense of mastery over the situation. He can feel a soak wet in his crotch, a shockproof sponge in a pant was fill with Oat's sweat, now mix with his one.

A powerful mixture indeed—part innocence, part corruption. Oat's scent intermingling with Ford's, creating a complex fragrance that evoked both fear and arousal. Ford took a step back, savoring the potency of this concoction, knowing full well it belonged solely to him now.

Next is Oat's tight spendex Highschool cyclist shirt.

Without much effort, Ford managed to pull the shirt over his broad shoulders. The garment was remarkably form-fitting, accentuating Ford's physique while molding itself like a second skin. Even though the fabric had been previously worn by someone else, Ford felt an odd sense of pride wearing it.

The rich crimson hue of the shirt made Ford appear even more dominant and menacing, causing a shiver of anticipation to run through Oat.

Next is Oat's sock which also soak with sweat.

These simple pieces of clothing became tools of manipulation and humiliation in Ford's skilled hands. Tightly fastened around Oat's neck, the once stinky footwear transformed into a symbol of subjugation. Every movement Oat attempted served only to reaffirm Ford's power over him. Ford enjoyed seeing Oat squirm beneath the weight of his bondage, trapped by his very own possessions.

"How does that feel, being completely reliant upon me?" Ford taunted, mockingly imitating Oat's earlier question.

Still bound, writhing helplessly, Oat struggled to find the strength to answer, the sock gag making it difficult to speak coherently. Despite his predicament, however, Oat refused to submit completely. Resentment burned fiercely within him, fueled by his humiliation and discomfort.

Noticing Oat's frustration, Ford smiled maliciously, enjoying the sight of Oat suffering under his control.

Then he put Oat's sock back, then donned it.

His heart racing wildly, Oat struggled to maintain consciousness amidst the thick fog of terror that shrouded him. Unable to comprehend his fate, he could do nothing but watch as Ford continued to orchestrate his demise.

Seeing no feasible route of escape, all Oat could do was wait and endure whatever lay ahead. Despite his despair, deep inside, Oat clung onto a flicker of hope that somehow, somewhere, salvation might be found.

Then Ford's pick up a Oat's cycling shoe.

They were designed specifically for speed and agility, perfectly fitting Ford's unique needs. The shoes were sleek, aerodynamic, and lightweight, providing optimal support without sacrificing style. Their striking design combined functionality with fashion, leaving a lasting impression on everyone who laid eyes on them.

Wearing Oat's shoes not only gave Ford a thrilling sense of ownership but also elevated his stature among others. They allowed him to embody the essence of victory, projecting an image of superiority and prowess. In addition, the shoes provided practical benefits, granting him increased mobility and stability during their journey together.

Dressed head-to-toe in Oat's outfit, Ford strutted proudly across the room, taking in the view of his captive audience. He check himself in the restroom mirror.

With his lean, athletic frame wrapped in Oat's clothes, Ford radiated an air of dominance. Standing tall in these bold colors and stylish designs seemed to enhance his natural charisma, heightening his appeal even further. Glancing at his reflection, Ford realized just how far he had come since his days in the Youth Detention Center. This realization filled him with a sense of accomplishment, feeding his desire to push boundaries and explore forbidden territories. He can see the school crest is printed on the chest of the shirt, also Oat's name print on his back with number 5.

It was clear that these clothes were tailored especially for Oat, emphasizing his identity as a high school athlete. Each thread woven meticulously into fabric carried traces of memories belonging exclusively to Oat – fragments of laughter shared with friends, countless hours spent honing his skills on the track, dreams of glory achieved through sheer determination. All these experiences, condensed into threads and fabric, now wore by Ford, marked an irrevocable shift in dynamics between them.

For Oat, the loss of his belongings represented a devastating breach of trust and security.

"Time to leave." Ford said while pick other cyclist gear, Gloves, cycling glasses and cyclist helmet. He put them all.

The pair of gloves were black with some padding for added comfort, allowing better handling and precision when gripping handlebars. The glasses were fitted with polarized lenses, perfect for blocking out sunlight and improving visibility during races. Lastly, the helmet boasted state-of-the-art safety features, protecting Ford's head and ensuring peak performance. With everything strapped securely in place, Ford stood confidently before Oat, displaying his newfound authority.

He open an exit, look at Oat who in his Dention uniform, bound, gaged for the last time.

Oat tried to plead desperately for release, tears streaming down his face as he fought against the sock binding his mouth. But Ford remained indifferent, treating him merely as an object to use and exploit at will. This coldhearted demeanor sent waves of anger coursing through Oat, further fuelling his resolve to free himself from this nightmare.

The door close, Ford leave, he walking toward a Oat's road bike.

With a sinister smile etched on his lips, Ford approached the gleaming white bike parked near the entrance. The thought of claiming Oat's most prized possession brought immense pleasure to Ford, amplifying his thirst for domination even further. Grabbing hold of the handles firmly, he mounted the two-wheeler with ease, feeling a wave of euphoria course through his veins.

Inspecting the bike, Ford noted its pristine condition and high-quality components, admiring Oat's dedication to excellence.

As he began peddling away, a surge of energy flowed through his limbs, propelling him faster than ever before. Overcoming the limitations of his past life behind bars, Ford grasped the liberating freedom granted by riding Oat's bike. It was almost as if he could taste the sweet revenge saturating every fiber of his being.

Ford led Oat astride the bike through the empty streets, leaving behind the eerie confines of the gas station restroom.

Soon he approch apolice checkpoint,drive to checkpoint with confidence, to show himself as Oat, an innocense cyclist on training.

Ford, still on Oat's bicycle, casually rode towards the police officers, nonchalantly flashing his identification card as evidence of his true identity. Convinced by Ford's calm demeanor and compelling presentation, they let him pass through without suspicion. After all, there was little reason to doubt Oat, a well-respected local student known for his hard work and diligence. Little did they know, the person they were looking at wasn't Oat, but rather a dangerous criminal bent on chaos and destruction.

Before Ford leave, Officer also warning him.

"You need to take care, got an escapee form Youth Detention Center on loose in this area. Make sure you stay alert," the officer warned Ford, not yet aware of his deception. Ford nodded understandingly, feigning concern for public safety while secretly relishing the prospect of continuing his pursuits undetected. Bidding farewell to the officers.

"I will, Thank you, officer!" he reply with bright smile. "Thank you for your kind caution, officer!" And, Ford continue ride the bike.

Ford took advantage of his temporary disguise as Oat to lead a double life - one as a fugitive constantly evading capture, and the other as a seemingly harmless individual going about his daily business. To those who didn't know any better, he appeared as the epitome of normalcy, blending effortlessly into society.